#I SCRAMBLED TO LOOK AT THE VIDEO TITLE AND LOST MY SHIT | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

poge-life · 3 years ago

Note

⚠️ obx² spoilers!

hii, idk if you're accepting requests for long smut stories at the moment, but I love 365 days so much that I instantly thought of you when I had this idea. Would you write an imagine based on that scene where Rafe is at Ward's closet (you can change the context if you want), and then the reader walks in when he's looking in the mirror and she leans against the door/wall saying something like "Looking good Mr. Cameron", but in a teasing way so it leads to smut ofc, you can choose how it happens, but with dom!rafe, basically the same energy as 365 would be fantastic! I love your writing 💞

I am so flattered that you thought of me to write this and i knew as soon as I read it, I had to write it. This does not take place during the 365 timeline, but the OBX timeline. Please do not read if you haven't watched Outer Banks or finished this season because this does contain spoilers for OBX2 beneath the cut.

Also, it took me fucking forever to figure out to get a clip of Rafe putting on Ward's jacket, so enjoy!

Summary: After needing space after everything that happened this summer, you decided to go and see Rafe, just not expecting him to look good in Ward's jacket

Warnings: OBX2 spoiler, smut, daddy kink, name calling, spitting, spanking, hair pulling, and angst towards the end if you squint.

This past summer was...eventful. To say the least. Rafe had asked you to spend the summer with him instead of going to Florida with your family like you do every summer. And of course, you said yes. Spend the summer in Miami with your family or stay in the OBX with your hot-ass boyfriend? That was a no brainer.

You just didn’t expect this summer to turn out the way it did. Topper and Sarah had broken up because she ended up with John B, the Pogue who worked for her dad, Rafe’s drug habit had gotten bad, his dad had decided he needed to get a job, Rafe ended up beating Pope Heyward up with a golf club, and then proceeded to try and beat the shit out of JJ at Midsummers, annnnd Sheriff Peterkin was dead.

Oh, and Sarah and John B were alive after getting lost in the storm that they were chased into by the police.

And the cherry on top was that Rafe was the one who shot Peterkin and his dad killed himself to keep Rafe from going to jail.

You had distanced yourself from Rafe for a while, needing a moment to process everything that had happened. You didn’t know what to do. Rafe had come to you after everything that had happened and told you he knew something was wrong with him. That he had all of these thoughts in his head that made him want to hurt people but he didn’t want to do it.

He had gone to Ward about it but as usual, he had brushed it off and told him there wasn’t anything wrong with him and that he was going to be okay.

You could tell something wasn’t okay with your boyfriend. Ever since Peterkin’s funeral, he had been acting differently. His movements were sluggish and he seemed to zone out a lot and he acted more impulsively. Well, more than usual.

He came straight to you once he found out that his dad had killed himself. And that was the first time you had ever seen him cry. He was scared of what he was going to do and didn’t know how to stop it. He wanted help but no one was willing to get him the help he needed.

So, you vowed to help him in any way you could.

Sarah had texted you and told you Rafe was having a hard time processing everything that had happened with Ward. She had told you that their father had left behind a video, explaining everything; how he killed Big John Routledge, stole gold from John B, and killed Peterkin.

So, yeah. You could understand how Rafe would have a hard time processing what was going on.

You parked your car, grabbing your phone as you made your way up the driveway of Tannyhill. Letting yourself in through the side doors that you knew they never locked, you made your way up the stairs. Taking the way you knew like the back of your hand at this point to Rafe’s room, you peeked in to see his room empty. Pushing the door open, you made your way to the bathroom, not seeing him there either.

Realizing where he was, you made your way to Ward’s room. The light from the lamp gave the room a soft golden glow. You saw shadow movement from the closet and slowly made your way over to it.

Rafe was standing in front of the mirror with one of Ward’s jackets on and you hated to admit it, but he looked good. Really good.

Your eyes raked up his figure from his reflection and you leaned against the door as you called out, “Looking good, Mr. Cameron”

Rafe turned to look at you in shock before relaxing when he realized who it was, “Hey.”

“Hi.” You softly said, making your way over to him. You stopped with just a few inches in between the two of you. You brushed your hands over the front of his jacket as you looked up at him through your lashes, “You do look good, Rafe.”

He turned back to look at his reflection in the mirror, “Really?”

“Mhm,” You hummed, wrapping your arms around his waist from the side, “looking all professional. Really gets me going.”

Rafe couldn’t help the laugh that came out as he looked at you through the mirror, “Yeah? What about it, baby?”

You shrugged, running your fingers over the top of the band of his jeans, “Just thinking about you sitting behind a desk and in comes your beautiful girlfriend, hoping to distract you from all your hard work...only for you to get frustrated because you have an important client to work with so you have no choice but to bend me over your desk and take those frustrations out on me”

You let out a teasing sigh as you pulled away from him, “But then again, you’re just wearing a jacket.”

You barely made it a foot away from him before he tugged you back to him, his hand instantly finding its way around your neck, causing you to look up at him. He had a smirk on his face as his eyes roamed over yours, “good to know that even in your little fantasies, you know who’s in charge.”

“Who said it has to be a fantasy?” You whispered

And that’s all it took for him to snap.

Rafe leaned down and smashed his lips onto yours, tightening his grip around your throat, causing you to moan as you wrapped your arms around his neck, one of your hands going straight to his hair, giving it a tug.

You were so glad he had decided to ditch the hair gel and just leave it natural. You loved it that way.

Rafe pulled away, causing you to whine, “I want you in my room, naked on all fours. Do you understand?”

You had never been so glad to have his hand around your neck because you knew you couldn’t hold yourself up after what he just said to you.

You nodded but you should have known that wasn’t gonna fly with Rafe.

He shook his head, kissing his teeth as he titled your head up even more to look at him as he delivered a harsh slap to your ass, “C’mon baby. You know better than that. Use your words.”

“Yes sir.” You whispered, biting down on your bottom lip.

He released the grip he had on your neck as he nodded his head towards the closet door, “Go on. And I really wouldn’t test my patience right now if I were you.”

You all but scrambled out of the closet, making a beeline straight towards your boyfriends room. Kicking your shoes off by the door, you made quick work of the button on your shorts, pulling them down along with your thong, basically ripping your shirt in half to get it off, tugging off your bralette as you made your way to the bed.

You did as you were; on all fours with your ass in the air. You felt a little embarrassed at the situation, considering this was going to be the first time you guys fucked in the house with Sarah, Rose, and Wheezie home. But you didn’t care. You just needed Rafe. And you needed him bad.

You heard the door shut and the sound of the lock clicking in place.

Rafe stopped in his tracks at the sight of you on his bed. On all fours, just like he asked. He knew you were going to listen. You always did when it came to him.

He slowly made his way over to you, lightly trailing his fingers up the back of your leg, watching in satisfaction as goosebumps appeared. He grabbed your ass with both hands, kneading the flesh in both hands.He spread your cheeks apart and had to bite back a moan at the sight of your glistening pussy.

He knew you had gotten worked up earlier, but jesus, he didn’t know you were this worked up over him.

“You know why you’re being punished, don’t you, sweetheart?” He softly asked, ghosting his fingers over the place you wanted him the most

You had to fight the urge to moan at Rafe’s words, looking back at him over your shoulder, “No, sir?”

Rafe raised his eyebrow at you, “You have no idea why I’m punishing you? I suggest you think real hard.”

“I interrupted your work.” You mumbled, letting out a yelp from the hard smack he delivered to your ass, “You know I don’t like it when you mumble.”

“I interrupted your work.” You spoke louder, looking back at him once again, him nodding in agreement, “You did. And you know how I feel about that. You could have lost me an important business partner. But lucky for you, all I had to explain to him was that my girlfriend was a needy little slut who’s desperate for me to put her in her place.”

You couldn’t help the moan that slipped past your lips at his words. You loved his dirty mouth and he knew it too. Which is why he always took advantage of that fact.

Rafe let out a dark chuckle at hearing you moan, “Yeah? You like hearing that I have to tell people that I have to put you in your place because you're desperate for my cock? You like people knowing that you’re my little cock whore?”

You let out a whimper at his words, nodding your head, “Yes, I like people knowing I’m your little whore.”

“Good girl.” He smirked, slowly inserting a finger into your pussy, “Yeah, you’re my good girl.”

You pushed yourself back onto his hand, making his finger go deeper. Rafe quickly pulled his hand back, kissing his teeth, “You always seem to forget I’m in charge, baby. I thought you were my good girl?”

You quickly nodded your head, “I am. I am your good girl.”

Rafe shook his head at you, shrugging off the jacket, “See, I don’t think you are. Because good girls take what I give them. But you decided to be greedy and wanted more.”

“I’m sorry.” You said.

“C’mere.”

You moved from your position, turning to kneel in front of him on the bed. Your eyes raked over his appearance, lingering on his arms, because good lord, they look really good in that shirt (I am not kidding. I watched him put on the jacket an embarrassing amount of times just to watch his arms flex)

Rafe stepped directly in front of you, causing you to lean your head back a little bit to look up at him, noticing his eyes had gotten a shade darker. He dragged his hand up the front of your body and you shivered from the feeling, Rafe smirking at the reaction.

He rubbed his thumb on your bottom lip, pupils blown as he watched you take his thumb into his mouth, lips wrapping around it as you sucked on it, going down to the knuckle.

“Fuck me.” He let out, causing you to release his finger with a pop, nipping at the top of it, “Then fucking do it, Cameron.”

Rafe reached for the back of his shirt, pulling it over his head as you worked on unbuttoning his pants, tugging them down and tossed his shirt to the side, kicking off his jeans as you rubbed your hand over his cock.

You hooked your fingers on the top of his calvins (you can’t tell me that both Drew and rafe aren’t the type of guys to wear Calvin Klein), slowly tugging them down, not breaking eye contact. Rafe kicked them off the rest of the way as he tangled his fingers in your hair, yanking your head back.

“Open.”

You smirked as you opened your mouth, sticking your tongue out as Rafe leaned down to spit in your mouth. You closed your mouth, swallowing before showing him.

“Good girl,” he smirked, “back on all fours, baby. You know how I want it.”

You nodded as you moved your body back into the position you were in only minutes ago. Except this time, you were facing the mirror that was attached to his dresser. You watched with your heart racing as he kneeled behind you on the bed, stroking his cock, never taking his eyes off your pussy.

You leaned down so your chest was on the bed, back arched, with your ass in the air, just how he liked it. Rafe ran the tip of his dick up and down your pussy, collecting your arousal, making it easier for him to slide in, not like that has ever been a problem before.

He didn’t even give you a heads up as he slammed into you, causing you to let out a loud moan as he quickly set the pace. Going slow but bottoming out at a hard pace. Just the way you liked it.

“Fuck, baby,” He moaned, grabbing onto your hips, throwing his head back, “you always feel so good.”

You threw your hips back against him, causing him to stop, holding you tight against him, a vice like grip on your hips, “what did I just fucking say? Good girls take what I give. But you’re not one. You’re a needy little whore.”

He leaned over your back, wrapping his hand around your throat, pulling you up so you were flushed against his chest.

“Look at you, baby,” he whispered, both of you making eye contact in the mirror, “you go from this sweet girl in public to my little slut as soon as I touch you.”

“Please.” You begged, wiggling your hips against his, causing him to let go of your waist only to bring his hand back down on your ass. Hard.

“Please what, baby?” He teased, smirking at the way you leaned back into him.

“Please fuck me.” You begged, wrapping your arm around his neck, tangling your fingers in his hair.

“Please fuck me, what?” He teased, tugging on your ear, waiting for you to say the word so he could give you what you both wanted.

“Please fuck me...daddy.” You whimpered, leaning your head back on his shoulder, turning to leave kisses on his jaw.

Rafe turned his head to the side to pull you into a bruising kiss. Teeth clashing, spit dripping down your chin. It was hot. Rafe pulled away, pushing you back down on all fours as he pulled out so just the tip was in before pushing back in hard.

You let little moans and whimpers at the brutual pace he was going. And you knew it was all the frustrations he’s built up these past few weeks.

Rafe leaned forward and tangled one of his hands in your hair, tugging your head up to make you watch in the mirror. He had a light coat of sweat on his skin and his hair was messed up from you running your fingers through it.

“Such a good girl.” He moaned, pulling you up so you were flush against his chest again, “C’mon baby. You want this dick so bad, fuck yourself on it.”

You moved your hips back at a fast pace, locking eyes with him in the mirror as he leaned down to press wet, hot kisses on your neck. You pulled away from him and turned to face him, tangling your fingers in his hair as you pulled his head down to bring him into a kiss.

Rafe leaned forward, causing you to lean backwards, moving so you were laying flat on the bed with him hovering over you. Rafe wrapped one of your legs around his waist as he moved to push back into you. You both let out a loud moan at the feeling of being connected again.

You pulled Rafe down for a kiss as you wrapped your arms around him, digging your nails into his back. He pulled away, placing both of his hands next to your head, not breaking eye contact with you.

You see just how much he was hurting just by looking at him. And it made your heartbreak. He was never one to ever show his emotions but after everything that happened this summer, you knew he was slipping through the cracks. And it was only a matter of time before he broke.

You tightened your grip around his waist as he sent a hard thrust that spot that had you letting out a loud moan. Rafe smirked at you and did what every guy was supposed to do when this happened, just keep doing it. He kept the same angle as he leaned down and buried his face in your neck, sucking on your sweet spot.

“Fuck Rafe.” You dragged your nails down his back, causing him to let out a groan at the feeling.

“C’mon, baby,” he leaned up, brushing his lips over yours, “you know what you need to do if you wanna cum.”

“Please make me cum,” You whimpered, tugging on his hair, “I wanna cum.”

“Yeah?” He spoke, “You wanna cum?”

You nodded, leaning up to press your lips to his.

He pulled away, pulling out of you, causing you to let out a whine at losing the high.

“Ride me.” He said, laying down next to you. You quickly climbed ontop of him, his hands sliding up your thighs and to your hips. You reached inbetween the two of you and rubbed the tip of dick along your pussy before sinking down on him.

“Oh, fuck.” You moaned, throwin your head back. You placed your hands on his chest before slowly moving up before sinking back down again. Rafe tightened his grip on your waist, his eyes never leaving your chest.

Even after all this time, your tits were still his favorite thing. And he kept his word and somehow managed to find bars with an ‘R’ on them. And of course, there were many pictures taken that night as he could barely keep his hands off of you.

Rafe leaned forward and attached his mouth to your tits, his hand going up to grasp the other one, kneeding it between his fingers. You tangled your fingers in his hair, pressing yourself closer to him, moving your hips back and forth.

Rafe pulled away from your tits, looking up at you as you looked down at him, just keeping eye contact for a while. He leaned back on the bed, causing you to lean forward with him, placing your chest directly on his as he placed his feet on the bed, driving his dick into you at a fast pace.

He let out a moan at hearing your whimpers in his ear, nails digging into his skin. He turned his head to the side and pressed his lips to yours, not once faltering in his pace. He felt you tighten around him and pulled away from the kiss, “Shit, baby. You’re squeezing the fuck out of me.”

“I wanna cum,” you begged, leaning forward to place kisses on his neck, “Please make me cum, daddy.”

How he could he not give you what you wanted when you begged for him like that?

He flipped you both over, pulling your legs over his shoulders as he fucked into you at a brutual pace. All that could be heard was the sound of skin slapping on skin and the occasional moans from the both of you.

Rafe placed a kiss on your ankle as he watched you play wih your tits, squeezing them in your hands. He felt you tighten around him once again and licked his thumb before bringing it down to rub your clit.

Your back arched off the bed as his thumb moved in circles, bringing you closer to the edge. You grabbed onto the sheets, closing your fist around them as you felt the knot begin to grow in your core.

“You wanted to cum,” Rafe growled, thrusting hard after each word, “So cum.”

And that’s all it took for the knot to snap. You let out a loud moan as your legs shook around his shoulder, gripping the sheets tighter in your fists as Rafe never stopped the brututal pace he was going at, chasing after his own release.

His hips faltered as he began to slow down as he felt his cock twitch, shooting out his cum as he began to catch his breath.

Rafe pulled out, causing you to let out a quiet moan at the feeling as he laid next to you. You turned to look over at him, watching as his chest moved at an irregular pace. You shot up as you looked closely at his face, noticing the tears that built up, looking for a chance to escape.

“Rafe…” You spoke in a quiet voice as he sniffled, looking over at you. His lip quivered as his tears started to fall. You scooted closer to him, pulling him into your embrace, wrapping your arms around him as he buried his face in your chest, tightening his grip around your waist, letting out sobs.

You looked up at the ceiling as tears of your own began to show up, placing a kiss on his head as you rubbed his back, “It’ll be okay. Everything will be okay.”

But both of you knew that it wasn’t going to be okay.

#drew starkey #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey smut #drew starkey imagine #drew starkey imagines #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron imagines #rafe cameron imagine #obx rafe #rafe imagine #rafe fic #rafe obx #rafe #outer banks x reader #outerbanks rafe #outer banks smut #obx imagines #obx smut

395 notes · View notes

flaminpumpkin · 4 years ago

Text

Small treasures

“Five more minutes,” Bruce grumbled as he distantly heard the door open through his sleepy haze.

There was some shuffling sound around the room and then it was flooded with bright morning light as Alfred mercilessly opened the heavy curtains, the rays of sunshine hitting the Bat right in the face, making him scramble for the covers to hide his sensitive eyes.

“Very well, Master Bruce. Breakfast will be ready for you in the kitchen.”

He was so used to Alfred’s barely hidden exasperation after all these years that his words took longer than usual to register with Bruce. A frown appeared on his face as he finally realized what was wrong with the butler’s statement.

Alfred never served breakfast – or any meal for that matter – in the kitchen.

He would rather shoo everyone out with a spatula full off batter than let anyone eat where he cooked. Bruce couldn’t even count the number of times he had seen Dick or Tim appear in the dining room with a sheepish look, a thoroughly exasperated Alfred hot on their heels.

Pushing the sheets away just enough to uncover his head, Bruce peeked over his shoulder at the still open door, eyebrows knitting further in confusion.

“What?”

Something caught his eyes.

There was a piece of yellow paper on the nightstand. An origami bat, he realized after finally deciding to emerge from the sea of sheets and pillows he had buried himself in during his sleep. He reached for it and took the little paper animal gingerly between his fingers, eyes focusing enough to read “unfold me” written in elegant cursive right at its center.

Bruce did as he was told.

Dear Master Bruce,

My words most probably confused you as the kitchen is a place I do not tolerate for anyone to eat in. But, need I remind you, there always has been one peculiar occasion where I allowed you to do so.

Bruce stared at the note, confusion growing.

Oh.

His eyebrows raised a bit, pleasantly amused. There was indeed one occasion Alfred would let him eat in the kitchen while he worked. What did the kids put Alfred to this time?

Led by his curiosity, Bruce climbed off the bed, fully awake now as he put on a shirt, and padded out of the bedroom, towards the kitchen.

No one was there when he arrived, which wasn’t odd per say but he had learned to be cautious over years of attempted surprise parties. There was a plate though, on the little table, with French toasts that smelled like butter and cinnamon and a cup of coffee with probably enough sugar and cream that it didn’t even taste like coffee anymore.

It was a breakfast Alfred had always prepared for him on the morning of his birthday after his parents’ death. He would put the plate on this same table and work silently as Bruce happily ate, the two of them sharing the same space in the simplest way. It wasn’t a grand gesture but it had meant the world to him nonetheless.

Another little origami bat was waiting for him, propped against the cup. A small smile tugged at his lips.

Bruce put it aside before starting to eat, careful not to stain the paper with coffee or grease, only taking it again once he had cleared the table and washed his hands. He unfolded it with the same care as the first.

My happy place.

(Took a piece of bread. Alfred said yes. Thank you.)

Cass

The dance studio on the third floor.

A while back, Bruce had decided to redesign one of the biggest rooms on that floor in a place where Cass could dance that wasn’t the ball room. He had wanted for it to be a place only for her, where she could express herself and spend time however she pleased, without anyone bothering her. His greatest recompense had been the radiant smile on her face before she had locked himself in there and played music until late that night.

The next course of action wasn’t too hard to guess so Bruce quickly folded the paper back into its bat form, slid it in the pocket of his pajama pants, along the first one, and headed for the next place.

As expected, he found another bat in Cass’s dance studio, tucked into the folds of a bright orange knitted scarf. There was a running joke between his kids saying that it was because Bruce always forgot to take a scarf with him during winter that his Batman voice sounded so bad.

One thing was for sure, he would not forget this one.

Hey B, remember that time you told me you were proud of me and then proceeded to suffocate me with your muscles? Just kidding, you give great hugs. Like, super comfy, 10/10. But yeah, go there next.

Steph :p

He huffed at Stephanie’s words, eyes rolling with fondness. He remembered perfectly what she was referring to.

The young woman had been staying in the manor for a few days that time, Alfred being keen on keeping her under careful observation after she had been hit with a new type of fear gas while on patrol with Dick. She had continuously apologized to Bruce, blaming herself for Dick’s injuries.

Until the third day, where he had found her reading in the library, curled up in one of the love seats. Before she could utter a word, he had crouched down and grabbed her hands firmly.

“You do not need to apologize or blame yourself for anything, do you hear me? You managed to drag Dick and yourself out of this building while under the influence of fear gas when most would have stayed frozen in place. I’m sure he will agree that a few scratches and broken bones are far better than what would have awaited him if you hadn’t been there. I’m proud of you, Stephanie Brown. More than you’ll ever know.”

After that, she had thrown herself at him and Bruce had hugged her for the better part of an hour until Alfred had come to fetch her for some blood analysis.

This time, when he walked into the next place of this little treasure hunt, he found a laptop, sitting open on the table next to one of the windows. The windows of the library were wide and high and the spot where the next gift awaited was one of his favorites.

So he let himself sink in the armchairs cushions and started to play the video.

“You better not ruin this, Todd,” Damian was saying, standing next to the piano in the lounge of the west wing, violin already positioned on his shoulder.

Jason was scowling at the piano in front of him, focused.

“Just take the lead, brat. I’ll follow.”

“Could you two focus, please?” Tim said off camera.

The other two huffed with the same affronted look towards the camera.

Then the melody started and both of their faces softened. It was gentle, melancholic. Almost sad if you asked Bruce. But he listened with a smile on his face, bemused at the sight of his two quick tempered sons playing with a soft kind of intensity together, Jason following Damian’s lead flawlessly – probably the result of hours of practice. It was truly beautiful and he knew that the melody was one of Damian’s compositions.

But it was over too soon for Bruce’s taste so he played it a second time, closing his eyes. And then a third as he read the next message, only heading for the next place once it was over.

Blah blah blah, some cute shit about us bonding, blah blah blah. Just get your ass to the garage old man.

Ps: Remember your Aston Martin? I think I scratched it a bit but I’ll blame it on Timmy anyway.

Jay.

Bruce knew exactly which car Jason was talking about (and knew perfectly that he didn't scratch it). An Aston Martin DB5 he had inherited from his father. Nobody had driven it in ages when Jason had brought it up during dinner one evening, not long after he had taken him in.

“Isn’t that James Bond's car?”

“It is. But it’s been so long since the last time I used it, I’ll probably need to pop open the hood before anything else if I want to drive it again.”

“Can I help you fix it?”

Jason’s eyes had been so full of hope and excitement when he had asked Bruce. He had laughed before agreeing. The next day, Alfred had had to come and pry them away from the car for lunch because both of them had forgotten about eating in their eagerness.

He noticed a tape case on the board as he approached, in front of the wheel. Bruce opened the door and climbed in so he could reach for it easily. On the piece of paper tucked between the clear case and the tape, Bruce could see every song scribbled, one in each of his children’s handwriting. He recognized a song by The Clash in Tim’s handwriting – of course – and Midnight Sonata in Damian’s. The other titles and artists were mostly lost on him, except maybe for that Belgian one Cass listened to a lot.

I can’t count the number of times I fell asleep there while you worked and you had to carry me back to my room.

Dick

Bruce couldn’t recount either.

Although he remembered fondly the first time Dick had fallen asleep in his study, curled up in one of the seats across his desk while he worked on some urgent papers for WE. They both had been so young. Bruce being completely new to parenthood, he had seeked out Alfred who had only fixed him with a blank stare before sending him back.

“Don’t you dare wake up this child, Master Bruce.”

He had actually managed to pick up the gangly child without waking him up, even if rather awkwardly, and had carried him all the way to his bedroom uneventfully. Only to trip on one of Dick’s schoolbooks once there, nearly dropping him.

They had both elected not to mention it to Alfred and, to this day, it was still something only the two of them knew about.

When he arrived at his study, another message was waiting for him in the seat Dick used to sleep in, along with a gift card for that 24 hours coffee shop that had opened recently in downtown Gotham. Bruce let out a breathy laugh at that.

I know you always listen when I play, Father. Why do you think I leave my door open when I do?

D. Wayne

And here he thought he had been smooth. However, he should have expected that his son would pick up on his habit of passing by his room while he rehearsed with his violin.

But Bruce couldn’t resist the pull in his chest. Damian was a gifted player, just like Jason, able to translate raw emotions in barely a few notes. It always put his mind at ease, smoothed out his most troubled thoughts even for only a few moments. He had caught everyone at least once, standing outside of his youngest’s door, listening to soft melodies in a rare moment of peace.

It was silent moments shared with everyone, brought together by Damian's deft fingers. Something he had been doing knowingly and willingly apparently. It made it all the more special for Bruce.

There was no gift when he went searching for the next clue in Damian’s room. Or so he thought.

Sitting on his son’s music-stand along with yet another yellow origami bat, was an open partition. It was still in work, Bruce could tell. Notes were hastily written with a pencil, a few stains where some had been erased. Nothing out of the ordinary for Damian and his creative mind. Except for the title.

Ode to Family.

Thankfully, no one was around to witness the shuddering breath that escaped him as he read. He exited the room still unable to breathe normally, heart so full he almost felt like suffocating, and walked towards his next – and probably last – location.

You spent hours trying to teach me how to dance the waltz there after I told you I wanted to take Steph dancing for her birthday. I still don’t know how to dance but we had fun.

Tim

Indeed, Bruce still regularly caught Tim stepping on his partner’s toes during charity galas and other events. But he suspected the young man of going to great lengths to not learn how to dance correctly because it usually dissuaded most people from asking him to dance with them. And god knew how much his son disliked dancing.

That was why it had greatly surprised him when Tim had asked him for help.

“I wasn’t really the best boyfriend to her so I just… I thought I could at least be a good friend and take her dancing? She loves it when Cass takes her in the studio and they dance so I just thought… Yeah…”

Five hours later, Tim had made absolutely no progress. He had known the steps by heart at this point, had it memorized and yet, he couldn’t seem to stop stomping on Bruce’s toes. To both Dick’s and Alfred’s delight.

His eldest son probably still had videos of it, he thought as he entered the vast and empty ballroom. There was nothing out of the ordinary or out of place and Bruce almost expected for his family to sneak up on him and surprise him when he noticed one last, black origami bat on the wooden floor, right in the center of the room.

He crouched down and unfolded it slowly, warily even, some would say.

Terrace on the second floor. You know, the one where I inelegantly asked you to marry me and you just stared for a good five minutes before laughing. (And saying yes, of course.)

It wasn’t signed and even if the message wasn’t telling enough, he would recognize that hasty scribble everywhere.

Bruce took off, climbing stairs two by two and running down hallways. His heart was pounding in his chest.

He had been gone for six months. Six excruciatingly long months of absolutely no contact, of not having any means to make sure his husband-to-be – yes, that idiot had asked him to marry him just before leaving – was still alive and well. Six months of worrying, of his children asking nervously if he had any news of his whereabouts.

Bruce barged through the French doors leading to the wide terrace on the second floor of the manor and, surely enough, everyone was there. Absolutely everyone.

“Happy birthday, Spooky. Half a century, we gotta celebrate,” Hal drawled with an easy grin.

“Someone take the cake away from Hal. Right now, before they ruin it!” Bruce heard someone say distantly and, next thing he knew, he had taken the few steps still separating them and was kissing Hal, holding him close by the lapels on his jacket.

There were groans, cheers and something that sounded a lot like someone telling them to get a room. Hal laughed against his lips, pecked him one last time before pulling away, opening his arms widely with a grin. A clear invitation for everyone to pile up on them which everyone took with great enthusiasm, barreling into them and crushing Bruce and Hal under their combined weight.

#batfam #bruce and his kids #that's it #batlantern #at the end #as a treat #cuz I love these old men #bruce wayne #batman #happy birthday batsy #this was supposed to be a short drabble i don't know what happened #clemwrites

195 notes · View notes

aereres · 4 years ago

Text

4 times you pressed play on your song + 1 time he did - Auston Matthews

Summary: Basically, what it says in the title lmao

A/N: This was so random lmao, don’t even ask why I got this idea

Word Count: 2,2k

Warnings: none, pure fluff

Song: Tenerife Sea - Ed Sheeran

"God, I missed date nights so much," Auston whispered, letting his arms slide around your waist and nuzzling his face in your hair. You detached your eyes from the sizzling pan in front of you, sending him a quick smile as you let one of your hands trace his tattoos.

"Well, I missed you so much," you whispered, grabbing the wooden spoon and using it to mix the pasta that had just been put inside a pot. "Can you pass me my phone?"

He obliged, his warm embrace leaving you for a small moment before he was back behind you, holding you close to his chest as he overlooked your cooking. After fiddling with your device for a bit, you pressed play, the intro of one of your favorite songs filling the walls of Auston's condo, making you lean your head back into his chest.

You look so wonderful in your dress I love your hair like that

You turned around in Auston's grasp, finally facing him as you let your hands tangle themselves behind his neck, his own arms never leaving your waist. Your cheek pressed itself against his chest as soon as he started swaying the two of you around the kitchen, feeling the slow thump of his heartbeat.

The way it falls on the side of your neck Down your shoulders and back

He kissed the top of your head just before resting his chin on the same spot, letting the soft rhythm of the music lull the two of you into a stage of calmness. His hands were soft against your body, moving from your smaller back towards your cheek, rubbing the skin there gently.

We are surrounded by all of these lies And people that talk too much

"I don't think I'll ever be able to stop missing you," Auston chuckled, letting you pull apart from him just to let your eyes find his. You leaned on the tip of your toes, arms still wrapped around his neck as you leaned in for a kiss

His lips, just as soft as you remembered them to be, were gentle, but not hesitant. He pulled your body even closer to his as he got lost in the kiss, his tongue tracing your bottom lip before he pulled away to breathe in some fresh air. His forehead rested against yours, your bodies continuing their dance to Ed Sheeran's voice.

You got that kind of look in your eyes As if no one knows anything but us

Should this be the last thing I see I want you to know it's enough for me 'Cause all that you are is all that I'll ever need

Your heart started beating out of your chest as you finally found the courage to say those three words back to him, your hands resting flat against his chest, making him look down at you.

"I love you," you whispered, getting lost in his dark orbs all over again, a small smile appearing on your lips as soon as he kissed the top of your head, trying to hide his teary eyes from you.

"I love you, too," he said gently, his forehead leaning against yours. Your moment was interrupted by the smell of burnt food that filled the room, right next to the sound of water hitting the burning stove.

"Shit!"

II.

"I'll probably just spend some time at home, eating take out," you chuckled, answering Auston's question about your Christmas holidays plans. "Calling my family, missing you,"

Auston was silent as he listened to you, trying not to focus too much on your fingertips tracing his tattoos. "That has been my Christmas for a while now," you joked, eyes finding the fireplace as you cuddled closer to him to find more warmth. "What are your plans?"

"My family is going to Los Cabos," he said after a beat, dropping the hand that was playing with your hair to your waist. You hummed grabbing your phone to change the song, deciding to let the soft tune of 'Tenerife Sea' play.

"When are you leaving?"

"On the twenty-second," he mumbled. Ed Sheeran's voice was the only thing that could be heard as the two of you stayed in silence. You felt Auston's heartbeat quicken when he pressed a quick peck to the top of your head. "I was wondering if you wanted to join us? Breyana has been begging to see you for ages,"

You bit your lip to hide your too-excited smile, your own heart going wild against your ribcage as you lifted yourself up from his chest to properly look at him. "And I know you've been wanting to go on vacation for a while,"

"I- uh, I'll have to think about it," you whispered, pecking his lips before getting back to your previous position, your head lying against his chest. "I don't want to intrude, you know?"

"My parents love you, Y/N, and my sisters do, too," he said. "We'll just relax on the beach, have some fun,"

You bit your lip as you looked up at him, straddling his waist as you gently kissed his lips. "I won't waste a chance to see you shirtless," you giggled.

"Is that a yes?" He asked with a chuckle.

"Count me in,"

III.

The sand was cold against your feet as you clung close to Auston, his hand gently playing with your hair as he stared at the moon. The sound of waves crashing was the only thing you could hear apart from his heartbeat, bringing you to a state of calmness.

The annual trip to Los Cabos had been a dream. You had managed to get even closer to Auston's sisters and mom, to have a great time, and to spend every single moment of the vacation with him.

"I don't want to go back home," Auston mumbled quietly, his hand still playing with your hair. "I feel so relaxed here,"

"Same," you agreed, letting your eyes gaze at the stars before finding his orbs again. When the warm, salty water hit your toes, you remembered the song. Your song.

You scrambled for your phone, finding it in the back pocket of your jeans, before letting the melody fill the air. Auston chuckled, his eyes finding yours as you rested your head against his chest again.

'Tenerife Sea' had quickly become your song after the events in the kitchen back in Toronto, and the gentle melody started to hold all of your best memories with Auston, from lazy mornings in bed, to romantic getaways during the off-season.

"I feel like you're obsessed with this song," Auston chuckled, taking your hand and making you twirl gently. You stumbled back in his grasp, your palms resting flat against his chest as you giggled.

"Aus, this is our song, now," you explained, fidgeting with the strings of his hoodie. "I'll never stop playing it,"

He chuckled, leaning down to press a swift kiss on your lips before looking back up at the moon. "I'm so in love," he sang along softly, slightly out of tune as he held you close.

"So in love," you took the lead, singing back just as out of tune as he did, a laugh escaping his lips as you clumsily dragged his body along with yours in a silly dance. You closed your eyes, enjoying the moment with the love of your life as the two of you jammed to your song, your bodies close.

Auston's hands gingerly slipped away from yours, but you kept dancing, turning your back to him as you twirled gently. When you finally turned around and opened your eyes to pull him back in your dance, he was on one knee, holding up a small velvet box.

"Aus-" you whispered, teary eyes gazing at him as he smiled nervously.

"Will you marry me?"

IV.

You giggled as you watched your grandma interact with your husband, Auston's hand on your smaller back as you leaned against his side. Your heels had been killing your feet, and he was trying to be as helpful as he could, handling most of the conversations thrown your way.

Your name was called from the other side of the place where the reception was taking place, the DJ waving his hand as he tried to catch your attention. You could see some of Auston's teammates bringing in the projector, and the white sheet had been rolled down just for the occasion.

"We're ready," the DJ smiled your way, showing you his laptop screen where the video was ready to be played.

"You guys need anything?" You asked with a smile, ready to grab the guys a water bottle or anything they needed. "I feel like that's the only way I can thank you,"

"Just go on the dance floor, alright?" Mitch stated, giving you a quick hug before pointing at your heels. "And get those off, you're going to break an ankle if you don't get rid of those,"

You giggled before handing him your shoes, a small yelp leaving you when they announced your moment loudly. Auston looked at you from the other side of the room, a smile on your lips as you pressed play on the computer.

As quickly as you could, you sprinted towards him, dragging him on the dance floor just as Ed Sheeran wished you a happy life together as husband and wife. "I can't believe you've done this," Auston chuckled, his warm palm finding your smaller back when the chords of 'Tenerife Sea' filled the room. "How did you even get Ed Sheeran to record us a video?"

"Justin helped me out," you admitted, letting your arms wrap around his neck as you started to slow dance. "I couldn't just forget about our song,"

Auston chuckled, kissing the top of your head as other people started joining you on the dance floor. As you looked around, Steph and Mitch were quietly dancing, and right next to them were Auston's parents, having their own moment.

An excited Felix stood to the side, his tail wiggling as Breyana tried to hold him back from sprinting towards the two of you.

"I love you," you whispered, your hand gently playing with the hair at the back of his neck as you let your head fall against his chest.

"I can't believe you're finally mine," he mumbled quietly in your ear. "Mrs. Matthews sounds good on you,"

You giggled, looking up at him before kissing his lips. "I do think it sounds really good, actually," you joked, letting your hand cup his cheek as you went back into your relaxed state. "I don't want this night to end,"

"Me neither," Auston sighed with a smile, his fingers tracing figures on your smaller back. "But, I can't wait to have you in our bed, later,"

"Auston!"

+ I.

Auston woke up to the distant sound of Connor's whines, the lights coming from the cloudy city coloring the master bedroom in a dark shade of grey. His eyes found your sleeping body, cuddled gently against his side. He kissed the top of your head swiftly before making his way towards the nursery, where his newborn son was fussing.

"Hey, buddy," he whispered, a smile on his features as he gently lifted the baby in his arms. Connor's small head rested against his chest as Auston moved around the house, settling on the couch.

He pressed a few buttons on his phone until the familiar melody of 'Tenerife Sea' filled the room, making him sigh out. Connor was out in less than a couple of minutes, and Auston was equally as tired from all the waking up during the night, which led to him falling asleep, too.

You woke up after you heard the familiar tune repeat itself multiple times, your body still tired. You left the comfort of the bed to go search for your husband, only to see him cuddling with Connor, both of them sleeping.

Auston had taken his role as a dad seriously, which resulted in him having as much skin-to-skin contact with Connor as possible, just like the nurses had told him. You were sure the baby already had him wrapped around his finger. What you hadn't noticed, though, was the lack of facial hair on your husband's features.

You walked closer to your boys, lying a small kiss on your son's forehead before letting your hand card through Auston's hair, waking him up. "Hey, babe," he grumbled, protectively holding Connor close to him.

"What happened to your beard?" You asked, trying to hide a giggle as he touched his own skin. "And your stache, you loved it so much,"

"Shaved them off last night while I was waiting for the bottle," he mumbled, scratching the sleep away from his eyes as he sat back up, facing you. "I didn't want to hurt the baby with my scruff, so I just shaved it all off,"

You shook your head with a giggle, leaning down to peck his lips as you started swaying your hips to the music. "How am I the one obsessed with this song when you listen to it every day?" You joked, helping him up on his feet and letting him pull you in closer.

"Honey, this is our song," he mocked you, making you chuckle. "And Connor seems to love it, too. Ed definitely relaxes him,"

You leaned up to kiss Auston's lips, leaning your forehead against his soon after.

"I'm so in love," you sang along softly, eyes closed as you let yourself relax against Auston's body.

"So in love,"

Taglist: @thirsthy-bitch @bellaguarneri @celestialblae

#auston matthews #auston matthews x reader

143 notes · View notes

i-will-physically-fight-you · 5 years ago

Text

Safety Net Fanfic

Title: Safety Net

Summary: After the events of the video, the last thing Roman wants is to speak with Patton. So he goes to the one place Patton wouldn’t think to look for him.

Pairings: platonic prinxiety

Word-Count: 964

Warnings: Anger, Crying, Panic, Angst With Some Comfort, Spoilers for SvS Redux

I feel like I should put out a disclaimer that I do love Patton and so does Roman and they will almost certainly reconcile (just not in this fic), but have you ever been so mad with somebody you just don’t want to see their face until you calm down? This is Roman in this fic.

Roman takes a quivering, heaving breath. He grips the cream satin bed sheets of his bed, twisting and tightening the fabric into knots. His heart hammers away, a molotov cocktail of emotions burning through his gut. He cannot pin down a singular emotion. Anger, devastation, frustration, sadness, grief, humiliation--the list goes on, like in a cartoon when a character unfurls a paper and it fills the whole room, out the door and never stops.

Normally, in this state, he sets off to the Imagination. He loses himself in an adventure, slaying giants and rescuing royals to get back a feeling of good. He cannot do that today. Not after this particular discussion. He tries wrapping his brain around the semantics--is it good for him to want to create scenarios that place his fictitious kingdom at stake so he can feel good saving them? Or does that make him a bad side?

The bed sheets slips from his fingers as he grasps his pounding head, gasping. His chest stings as if someone stabbed it with a white-hot poker. He curls into himself, like a hermit crab trying to protect itself without a shell. His outfit is going to wrinkle. He cannot bring himself to care about that.

He lays there, motionless, until there’s a knock on his door. It’s soft and tentative but it might as well be a loud clanging bell of a cathedral. Roman jolts upright like it is, his hand moving to hold onto an invisible sword that is not there at his side.

“Roman? Can we...can we talk?” Patton.

Roman’s lips warp into a mockery of a smile. Hadn’t they done enough talking today? He can’t imagine doing more will do any good, and he’s Creativity. His whole purpose is to be imaginative.

Before he voices any of this, the door starts to open. Roman jumps off the bed, his heart-rate rocketing. One emotion pushes its way to the front; rage. It pulses through him, radiating his entire being. His whole body trembles. He does not want to be coddled with soft words and touches. He wants to hold onto this anger alone and scream until his voice gives out on him.

He doesn’t stay long enough to catch a glimpse of Patton. He teleports going somewhere, anywhere, that Patton wouldn’t think to look for him. It’s dark where he pops up. This freaks him out, his eyes stinging as they readjust. He stumbles around, tripping on something. He crashes hard onto the floor. He takes a breath and then promptly wails.

It isn’t quite the fall that causes this. It’s the darkness he’s in that intensifies the emotions already present. His concealer is ruined. Just like his pride and everything he fought so hard for. It’s been torn to pieces like Cinderella's stepsisters ruining her dress.

A shadow stirs in the distance. A murky outline that might be a person and might also be a monster. He swears their eyes glow, but it might just be because of his watery tear-filled vision.

“Roman?” A voice asks. The shadow seems to tilt their head, as if confused by his presence.

He doesn’t respond. Not unless you count a warbling cry and a slight half-jerk of the head. He hopes the shadow will go away and torment someone else. Perhaps if he ignores it and turns his head away, it will.

“Wait, shit, Roman?!” Within a blink the shadow is at his side, “Roman, what the hell, you need to get out of here.”

The shadow, of course, isn’t just a shadow; it’s Virgil. Up close, he looks much worse for wear than Roman himself. A disheveled rat’s nest of a hair, sunken red-tinted eyes, charcoal black panic clinging heavily to his frame. He holds onto Roman, as if preparing a sink-out.

Roman knocks him back, scrambling away until he hits a wall. He heaves, his eyes darting around for any potential escape route. He doesn’t want to leave. This is the one place Patton wouldn’t dare to look for him. He refuses to leave.

Virgil looks at him, eyebrows raised. “Roman--”

“Please,” He begs, “let me stay, I swear on--on my honor I won’t mess with your stuff, why you won’t even know I am here!”

“Why?”

“W-what?” Roman splutters.

“Why do you want to stay?” Virgil asks softly, “My room--it’s hurting you Roman, you know that.”

Roman lets out a laugh. Harsh and blinding like a sunset’s glare on a windshield. It certainly feels like he’s the sun; burning and bubbling with heat, ready to one day explode and cease all life around him forever.

He tries opening his mouth to explain, but it comes out all jumbled. “I--the wedding--Patton--Janus--”

“Wait, Janus?” Virgil asks, his gaze darkening.

Roman nods miserably. Pathetic, he cannot even voice his own fears to the embodiment of Thomas’ fears. How he fears Deceit--Janus is lying again. Tricking Thomas and Patton just like he’d tricked him at the courtroom. How he fears he’s inadequate, unable to achieve the wants and desires of Thomas’ heart. How he fears Thomas never meant any of his praise, that he wasn’t ever truly his host’s hero. That above all else, he’s terrified because he’s lost and confused, on a tightrope with no safety net.

Strong arms latch onto him, pulling him away from the wall. He cannot find the strength to fight against it. Rather, he falls into them, weeping. The arms encircle him, acting as a protective shield from the world.

“Roman, I’m here.” Virgil whispers.

There’s a weight to those three simple words. A meaning. As much he’d like for the anxious broody side to have been there earlier, he is here now. And he is probably not letting go of Roman for a long, long time.

#thomas sanders #sanders sides #roman sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #kat writes #ts spoilers

577 notes · View notes

chickensarentcheap · 4 years ago

Text

Never Gonna Be Alone- Chapter 16

TITLE: Love and War

Warnings: profanity, mental illness

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @alievans007, @tragiclyhip, @miss-smutty

“You know, I’m really fucking sick of your cheating,” Tyler snarls.

“I am NOT cheating! “ Esme cries, and refuses to make eye contact with the man sitting beside her; aware of the temper that’s slowly boiling. He’s agitated; eyes narrowed, shoulders tense, jaw tightly clenched. She’s seen and heard it all before; the bitterness and the irritation and the rash jump to conclusions. “You’re imagining things!”

“Bullshit I’m imagining it. I have eyes you know. I CAN see. And what I’m seeing? You’re cheating.”

“Listen, I don’t know what’s going on in that head of yours, but there’s no cheating happening. You’re just pissed.”

“Damn right I’m pissed. I know what you’re up to. I can’t fucking believe you think you can get away with it. I know YOU. I know when something’s up. And something is up.”

She rolls her eyes. “The only thing that is ‘up’ is your temper. Take it down a notch, Australian. Or I’ll take YOU down a notch.”

“I’d love to see you try,” he scoffs. “What other tricks do you have up your sleeve? What other shady shit are you going to pull?”

“There you go with your paranoia again. There’s nothing going on. No shady shit. Can’t you just accept that you’re losing?”

“I’m losing my mind is what I’m losing.”

A derisive snort. “Not much left to lose.”

He scowls. “I have had just about enough of your lip.”

“What are you going to do? Stab me? Shoot me? Throw a grenade at me?”

“I’m going to beat your ass is what I’m going to do. Go all fucking HAM on you.”

“You’re going to start now? Have you been napping for the last hour?”

“Is that a shot at my age? I’m pretty sure that was a shot at my age.”

“It was a shot at your poor skills and your lapses of judgement. You’re slowing down. No wonder you’re suffering so badly.”

“I’m going to make you suffer in a second.”

“Bring it. There’s nothing you got that I can’t handle.”

It’s been sixty minutes of this. The snarling and the scowling and bickering back and forth; nasty exchanges fuelled by his hurt feelings and damaged ego and her refusal to back down or admit any wrongdoing. It’s a battle of both wills and personalities; two strong and resilient yet extremely stubborn people, neither giving the other an ounce of sympathy or allowing any breathing room. And it comes to a head; a growled ‘fuck!’ on his behalf followed by the xBox controller being tossed onto the cluttered coffee table in pure frustration. Letting loose a groan of both defeat and annoyance, he leans back against the couch and rakes both hands through his hair and then runs his palms over his face.

“Cry some more!” Esme shouts, and gleefully bounces up and down on the cushion beside him. “Unleash your inner bitch baby! Because you just got knocked the fuck out. AGAIN.”

“I really, really, REALLY do not like you right now.”

“It’s not my fault you can’t handle defeat." She reaches for the open bag of red licorice that sits on the arm of the sofa; yanking a strand out and pointing it at him before taking an aggressive bite from it. “That you’re way too competitive even with the stupidest of shit.”

“This!” He wildly gestures towards the flat screen television across the room. “Is NOT stupid shit!”

“It’s a goddamn video game, Tyler. Stop taking this so seriously.”

“It isn’t just a video game,” he argues. “It’s my fucking pride! My manhood!”

“I highly doubt your manhood is in any danger because your wife beats you at Call of Duty. You need to simmer down, son. I can’t help it that I’m THAT good.”

“Is this what you do all day back home? When I’m not around? You hone your video game skills?”

“No. I just happen to have the magic touch. I can’t help it that I’m a natural. I even beat TJ AND Millie and you know how good those two are.”

He places his hands behind his head and laces his fingers together. Sighing heavily and then turning his gaze towards the ceiling. “They’re amateurs compared to me.”

“Well you’re the one who has been looking like the amateur, so…”

He shoots an annoyed glare in his direction.

“Look, in real life you may be the king when it comes to this shit; shooting people and beating the shit out of them. But in video game land? I’m the fucking master. And you WILL accept defeat and bow down to me.”

“Like fuck I will.”

“You know the rules. You’re the one who wanted to play with these kinds of stakes. Now get to it. Pay your dues to the true Queen.”

Sighing heavily, he reluctantly gets to his feet, fingers pausing on his belt buckle.

“Do it,” Esme orders. “All is fair in love and war.”

“You know, this isn’t over yet. Even without these on, I won’t be totally naked. Which means you haven’t won a damn thing.”

“I’ve won five out of seven games. You have way less clothes on than me. Now suck it up and take them off.”

“Fine,” he huffs, and angrily yanks the leather from its clasp and rips the belt from the loops on his jeans; glaring at her as he tosses the item aside. “Happy?”

“Pants too.”

“Pants and belts are two separate things. I only need to take one off.”

“Pants and belts go together. They count as ONE item.”

He frowns. “Says who?”

“Says the rules.”

“Whose rules?”

“Listen, I don’t make them, I just enforce them. A belt isn’t a piece of clothing. It’s an accessory. So it is counted WITH the pants. Stop being such a baby and play by the rules!”

“Your imaginary rules you mean. I didn’t make you take your underwear off when you lost YOUR pants. Aren’t those an accessory? Shouldn't they have come off too?”

“Underwear can be worn alone.”

“You can’t go out with just underwear on, Me. Give me a break.”

“You can walk around the house in just underwear. But you don’t walk around in just a belt now, do you? Stop whining, suck it up, and drop your drawers.”

“You’re a pain in my ass,” he grumbles, and finally relents; popping open the button and reaching for the zipper.

“Yeah baby!” she hollers, and scrambles up onto her knees; whistling noisily and once more excitedly bouncing up and down. “That’s what I’m talking about! Take ‘em off! Let me see that sexy ass of yours! This is way better than any peeler bar!!”

“If you’re going to objectify me, shouldn’t you be tucking money into my underwear?”

“You don’t wear any. Where am I supposed to tuck it? In your ass crack? Does it work like a debit machine? I just slide my card in? Is that how it works? I have to slip something up your butt?”

“You come anywhere near my ass with the intention of slipping something into it…”

“Like you’ve never enjoyed a little ass play. Don’t act so innocent. You damn well know you don’t mind a finger up there every now and then. Don’t act like you’ve never allowed it to happen.”

“I was drunk.”

“Each time? Something like a dozen? You were drunk EACH time? Listen, there’s nothing wrong with admitting it. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with having that kind of kink. It’s only when I’m going down on you and you’ve been extra….well...EXTRA.”

“Enough! Why do we have to talk about it? Isn’t it enough to just to do it?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Does it make you uncomfortable? Discussing butt stuff? Well now you know how it feels. Not literally, because your dick is way bigger than my finger. So you DON’T know how it feels. Now shut up and do what I say. Drop your pants!”

Sighing, he slides the zipper all the way down and allows the denim to slide off his hips and ass; letting it pool at his ankles before kicking them off.

“Wait a second…” her eyes narrow and she points the remains of her licorice strip in his direction. “What the fuck are those?”

A grin plays at the corners of his mouth. “What’s what?”

“Those.” She gestures at the extra layer of clothing. “What the hell, Tyler James…”

“It’s a pair of those UnderArmour things you bought me. You said I should start wearing them. That they’ve been sitting in the drawer since we bought this place. I’m finally wearing them.”

“You’re supposed to wear them outside! To keep you warm! You don’t wear them in the house!”

“Says who? I can wear them where the fuck I want.”

“You…” she snarls, and glares at him. “...you did this intentionally. As soon as you declared this strip Call of Duty, you went upstairs and put those on. You weren’t wearing them earlier. I KNOW what you wore out. And I saw you take those clothes off when we got home from picking up the food and you were NOT wearing those underneath. You sneaky bastard.”

“Don’t hate the player,” he says, and drops down onto the couch and reaches for the controller. “Hate the game.”

“You absolute dick. I can’t believe you did that. Now THAT’S cheating.”

“It’s not cheating. It was purely a strategic move. And you call me an amateur.”

“You went calculating mercenary on me. You pulled out THAT card. You shit!”

“You may be kicking my ass at the game, but I outsmarted you. I’ve always been able to. Haven’t you realized that by now?”

“Oh, it’s on,” she declares, and snatches up her own controller and plops down beside him. Scowling and moving away when he attempts to slide closer to her. “Don’t even think about it. We’re enemies right now. Mortal enemies. Your treachery will not go unpunished.”

“And you say I’M taking this too seriously?”

“You totally upped the ante. You crossed a line, mister. Accusing me of cheating and all along it was you that was up to no good. I see how it is.”

“Does it make it any better if I tell you that I love you?”

“Save your ass kissing. Because when I win, I’m going to make you get on your knees and pucker up. You have no idea what you’ve done.”

“I’m not scared of you. Much.”

“Be afraid. Be very afraid. I will destroy you.”

Grinning, he reaches over and presses the start button on her controller. “Bring it, short stuff.”

*****

She emerges victorious. Easily handing him a crushing defeat that leaves her still clad in an oversized plain shirt and wool socks and him relegated to stripping off the last layer of clothing. And his smirk is one of both annoyance and amusement as he watches her, standing on the couch with a foot on either side of his thighs and partaking in her victory celebration; a mixture of wildly tossing her hair -or what’s left of it -around and suggestively bumping and grinding her hips while repeatedly chanting: “I did it, I did! I beat you, I did!”. She’s had a little too much to drink; enjoying nearly three quarters of a bottle of wine and then indulging in two hot chocolates infused with Kahlua. And between her somewhat inebriated state causing poor coordination and her penchant for being clumsy on even her best and most sober of days, he keeps a firm, protective hold on the back of her calves. The last thing he needs is a trip to the ER and an awkward explanation of just how she fell and busted her head open. In Telluride she’d once slipped on loose stone in the driveway and went down hard; catching the back of her head on one of the truck’s running boards and creating a hell of a gash in her scalp. And for someone that had spent years in the military and on the job and who’d inflicted gnarly injuries and gruesome deaths on others, he’d been the one close to panicking; convinced he’d seen he’d never seen so much blood in his entire life and nearly hyperventilating at the mere thought of her being hurt. She’d been the calm one; trying to talk him down on the way to the hospital while he drove with one hand on the wheel and the other holding a blood soaked towel to the back of her head.

But it had been what had happened once he’d gotten her help that caused the most trauma. For both of them. The nurse in charge of administering the first line of care had taken one look at the sheer size of him and the amount of scars and tattoos covering the visible parts of body and had gotten her guard up. His behaviour had been the nail in the coffin. His PTSD (undiagnosed at the time) triggered by hospitals and all of the sounds and the sights and the smells that accompany them. He’d been irritable and short tempered and unable to sit still; alternating between vigorously bouncing or shaking his legs or aggressively pacing the floor. He had sent off a number of red flags, and no sooner did they make it back to an exam room, a handful of cops showed up. Explaining the nurse's worries and how their arrival at the ER and Esme’s injury was being treated as a possible ‘domestic abuse situation’. That had only made his mood even worse; being accused of the one damn thing he’d always vowed never to let happen. No matter how dark and dire a situation got, no matter how bad their problems or volatile their arguments, he’d sworn he’d never hurt her; promising to put a gun in his mouth and pull the trigger if he ever ‘blacked out’ and physically hurt her. To this day he’s still amazed that he never caught an assault charge. Shoving one of the officers that had attempted to escort him to a different room and grabbing the throat of the other; triggered the second they made physical contact with him.

Six hours later they’d been sent home with five stitches in her head, a prescription for pain meds and a half assed apology. The next day, Child Protective Services showed up on their doorstep; receiving the hospital report and hearing about how he’d assaulted two cops and wanting to further investigate. Nothing had ever come of it; their case file quickly closed when it became apparent that the children were well taken care of and there were absolutely no signs of abuse in the house. But it had done a lot of damage; worsening his PTSD and helping his distrust in the general public grow to epic levels.

“Are you done?” he asks now, when the celebration finally comes to an end. Her hair messy and wild, cheeks flushed from a mixture of her erratic movements and the alcohol she’d consumed, chest heaving from exertion. “Got it all out of your system? Or are you going to gloat some more?”

“Don’t be such a baby. It’s all in good fun. Everything I do and say, is done with love.”

He smirks. “Sure it is. You good? You finished? Or do I have to boot you to the couch tonight?”

“I’m good. I’m done. It’s over. I won’t gloat anymore and further hurt your delicate sensibilities.”

Smirking, he runs his hands around to the front of her calves and slides them upwards. Briefly lingering on her thighs before snagging the bottom of her shirt and yanking her downwards. She gives a startled yelp when she initially loses her balance and then begins to giggle when he easily and effortlessly gathers her into his arms; knees on either side of his hips as he pulls her tightly against him.

“I know I got a little out of hand,” he says. “Over the whole video game thing. I get a little...intense.”

“You think? Intense is putting it lightly. You’re a little competitive.”

“Yeah, just a tad.”

“And I’m sorry too. I’m sorry you’re a sore loser.”

“Excuse you,” he chuckles, and she laughs and squirms against him when his fingers dig into the sensitive areas below her rib cage. “I was trying to be nice. I was trying to apologize. In my own way.”

“You don’t have to apologize. I know what you’re like, Tyler. I know how you are. You’re insanely competitive. I’ve seen you while playing xBox with the kids. And I’ve seen you after when Millie’s kicked your ass.”

“First, she doesn’t really kick my ass. It’s a small margin of victory. Second, it doesn’t happen often.”

“You keep telling yourself that, babe. Regardless, I know you. I know how worked up and intense you get. I don’t take anything you say seriously when you’re like that. Especially when you ARE losing. It’s all in good fun. You don’t say shit to be mean. Same way I don’t. It’s just who we are. We shit talk each other. I think that’s pretty cool, actually. That we ARE like that. That we’re not just husband and wife and two people raising a family together. We’re friends too. I know you’re my BFF. No doubt about it.”

“You’re definitely mine. But let’s be realistic; how many BFF’s sit on your lap with no underwear on?”

“I lost them an hour ago. One of the three games you actually won. And speaking of which…” she glances down between them. “...technically, things aren't over yet. There’s one thing that remains. That you still have to do.”

“I admitted defeat. I watched your stupid little victory dance. I let you rub it in my face. Isn’t that enough?”

“Nope.”

“What more do you want from me? My right kidney?”

“I want you to do what you’re supposed to. The rules were made very clear at the very at the beginning. And YOU’RE the one that made them. So…”

“I thought maybe you’d go easy on me. Cut me a break. Have some sympathy.”

“You’d have zero sympathy for me and you’d totally enforce the rules. So, you have no choice in the matter.”

“Me, come on, you already hurt my pride. You want to decimate it entirely? Take pity on me.”

“Sorry. I have none to give. You know what you have to do.”

“You know, I was thinking maybe you’d do it for me. Give you that last piece of victory. Give you that feeling of power.”

“Mmm...hmmm. You know what I think? I think that you were hoping getting me down there would weaken me. That I’d do a little something for you.”

“Well I DO need comforting,” Tyler reasons. “You did beat me pretty bad.”

“I totally kicked your ass. But comfort? I don’t know…”

“Be nice to me. You already humiliated me. What more do you want?”

“Don’t turn this around. This isn’t about what I want. This is totally about what YOU want. Because you know if I give in, it puts you at your twice a day. You just can’t handle change. Even when it comes to THAT.”

“I’m a creature of habit. I need my routine. I can’t help it. You know how my OCD acts up when my routine gets fucked up.”

“I love how you just so casually play that card to get what you want. Lucky for you, I’m feeling generous tonight. And a little drunk.”

“Just a little?”

“Maybe a lot drunk. Or at the threshold between still being able to make conscious and wise decisions but not drunk enough to pass out and have you carry me upstairs. But, seeing as I’m in a generous and giving mood and you HAVE been on your best behaviour lately, maybe I could give you a little something.”

A slow grin spreads across his face. “Yeah? A little something, huh? This is where I’m going to miss the hair the most…” he uses gentle fingers to push wayward strands out of her hair; looping dark tresses behind each ear. “...when you’re getting to business. I always knew just how much effort you were going to put into it when you’d put her hair in a ponytail.”

“I thought you liked it. My hair. I thought you didn’t mind it like this.”

“I do like it. I love it. It suits you; shows off your cute, tiny little face. I’m just used to it being long, that’s all. You know, being able to grab it and shit.”

“There’s still some length to it. Enough for you to get even your humongous hands on. And as for the whole ponytail thing, I promise I’ll find another way to let you know when I mean business. When I’m all in.”

“I’m not too worried. Even when you haven’t put your hair back, you’ve never put in a bad performance. Let’s just say, it’s not just Call of Duty you’re a master at.”

“I figure I must not be too bad. I must be doing something right. I haven’t heard one complaint in twelve and half years.”

“Baby, you’re doing everything right. You will never hear a complaint from me. Ever.”

“Have you ever thought maybe I’m not actually that talented? That maybe you’re just very easy to please?”

“Me, no one has ever gotten as quick of reaction out of me as you have. Right from day one. So I don’t know what hoodoo voodoo black magic you’ve got through those veins of yours, but all those other women? None of them even come close to you.”

“Not a single one? Not even the stripper in Thailand you once told me about?”

“Not even her. I actually had to concentrate really hard to get it up. With you? You just look at me a certain way and that’s it. You’ve got some power that I can’t even come close to explaining.”

“Maybe it’s the fact it’s lust AND love?”

“That’ll do it.”

“Speaking of lust, I really do want you to see you with your pants off. I know what a tremendously beautiful sight that is. And I’m actually feeling very generous and giving right now.” She pushes her fingers through his hair; tightly gripping the longer top strands as she leans in to kiss him. Nothing soft or slow about it; lips demanding and her tongue insistently pushing against his teeth. Even after twelve and a half years, it’s rare for her to be the aggressor; preferring him to take charge and enjoying being dominated and ‘man handled’. And it took him a while to get used to letting her have even the slightest bit of control; liking his usual role of being the one fully in charge.

His hands briefly rest on her shoulders and then slide down her arms, pausing at her hips before reaching around to slip up the bottom of her shirt and grab her ass. Fingers pressing into the soft flesh; pulling her even tighter against him and bringing her bare crotch in direct contact with the beginnings of his erection. Twelve and half years later and he still wants and needs her just as much as he did that first time in Dhaka. Maybe even more so. There’s nothing mundane about it; he enjoys the changes in her form and the familiarity that comes with their love making. Their bodies know each other so well; always eagerly responding to one another and knowing exactly how to both torture and please.. And he can’t imagine wanting to be with anyone else; completely content and satisfied knowing that what they have extends far beyond passion and sexual gratification.

She’s cradling his face in her palms when she slowly pulls out of the kiss, and he winces when her teeth capture his bottom lip between them; hard enough to draw tiny beads of blood. It’s her way of letting him know just what she’s in the mood for; the slight hint of aggression and the darkness in her eyes betraying the combination of primal want and need. Even after twelve and a half years she never actually verbalizes it; the self conscious side always leery about being that honest and open and fearing rejection. So he’s become a master at reading her signs; the assertive and domineering way in which she’ll kiss him, the way her hands hungrily and needily paw and grab, the darkness that appears in her eyes and the little smirk upon her lips.

That smirk is there now. Tugging at the corners of her mouth and she slides off his lap; her dark hair slipping through his fingers and his legs parting when she places her hands upon his knees. Something changes when she settles herself between his thighs; the softness returning to her features, the smirk transforming into a delicate smile. In that moment she seems so delicate pure; that smooth, porcelain skin accentuated by the dark hair that frames her face, those enormous eyes sparkling in the glow given off by the fireplace. There’s so much trust and faith and love evident in her eyes that it almost takes his breath away, and he reaches out to lay a hand on her cheek; fingers splayed over her ear and his thumb brushing over her lips. And she turns her face into his palm; gaze never leaving his as she presses a kiss to the calloused skin. And suddenly, despite the earlier bantering and sexual innuendos, the time doesn’t seem quite right; the comfortable silence between them, the softness of her hands resting upon his knees, the dainty curve to her lips and the innocence in her eyes. And he slides his hand to the back of her head and tangles his fingers in her hair as he gently draws her forward. Her arms circling his neck as he pulls her into him; the kiss long and deep and passionate, leaving them both breathless.

“Let’s go upstairs,” he says, forehead resting against hers. “Do this right.”

“I think you’re going to have to carry me. My toes are tingly.”

“I think I can manage. How should we do this? Do you feel like caveman style of Rhett Butler in Gone With The Wind?”

“Caveman style. Makes your muscles bulge more. And gives me a chance to stare at your butt.” She gives a small shriek when an arm wraps around her waist and effortlessly hoists her up onto his shoulder; yelping when a hand clamps down on her ass he pushes himself into a stand. “My big, strong man,” she giggles. “My knight in slightly tarnished armour.”

“Just slightly?”

“Your armour is perfect as is. It’s beautiful and it’s sexy and man, does your ass look extra good from this angle.”

“Speaking of asses…” he brings his palm down on one of her cheeks in a ringing slap. “....this one? This ass? It’s all mine.”

“All yours,” she agrees, tightly grabbing hold of the waist of the UnderArmour pants he still sports as he begins the journey up the stairs. “Don’t drop me! Don’t let me fall!”

“I’d never let you fall, Me,” he vows. “Ever.”

****

The confines of his arms are the most secure and comfortable place on earth; strong and muscular, even the lightest of embraces always possessing intense power and protection. Affection -both receiving and giving- had once been foreign to him; deprived of a loving parent when his mother passed away and left with one that was cold and menacing and did nothing but inflict torture and abuse. His first wife hadn’t been one for the more quiet and relaxing moments following sex, and his life after his divorce had consisted of no strings attached hook ups; out the door as fast as he could flush the condom. So it had been a learning process; a slow yet steady journey of travelling outside of known behaviour and comfort zones. Now he’s a master of it; the aftercare and the snuggling and the long, sleepy conversations as they lay in midst of tangled sheets and sweaty limbs. And he readily seeks and offers physical contact in all aspects of his life; quick with the hugs and the taking of a hand or little random kisses when you’re not expecting them.

She lays tightly tucked into his side. Head resting on his shoulder and her arm draped across his midsection; fingertips lazily following the lines of his ribs and drawing feathery patterns on smooth, warm skin. She knows every inch of his body; able to blindly find each scar and trace the outline of every tattoo. His body is hard and strong; tall and broad shouldered, athletically built. It’s reminiscent of how he’d looked when they first met; lean and muscular, impossibly strong without any extra bulk. She’s seen him every shape and size. Rail thin and sickly looking when he’d finally gotten out of the hospital; an almost staggering loss of both weight and muscle. And the 'lumberjack' stage; thick and powerful; his build phenomenal, extra weight gathering at his stomach and just above his hips. She’s loved him each and every way; during the best days of his life and the worst. Her heart breaking at his struggles with his thin and weaker body during his convalescence five years ago; the days he hated what he saw in the mirror and would fly into rages directed at Nathan and how he’d managed to break him both physically and mentally. And she’d supported him through nearly two years of physiotherapy. The weeks filled with gruelling and painful appointments; comforting him the best she could when it all became too much to bear and he’d cry tears of both frustration and agony. Trying not to break down herself when he claimed that it would have been easier had he died. That he felt useless to both her and the kids. Lamenting that he wasn’t even half the man he was when they’d first met. But she’d gotten him through it; gently leading him out of the dark place in his head and doing whatever she could to encourage him to keep going.

Five years later and he’s come a hell of a long way. There will always be issues; long lasting effects both physically and mentally. The damage Nathan had done causing permanent and life altering problems; vision loss in the right eye, post concussion syndrome, nerve damage in the small of his back and into his right hip, a leg limp that becomes even more pronounced when the cold weather sets in and irritates the arthritis that thrives in his knee and femur. Yet he never complains; down playing the pain and refusing to let it control his life. He’ll need another operation when he hits sixty, if not before. The knee not healing and bouncing back as well as it should; the surgically repaired ligaments and tendons far weaker than they had hoped they’d be. But he doesn’t let it slow him down; even on the days he can barely move and she has to help him get out of bed or in and out of the shower. It’s a bitter pill for him to try and swallow; occasionally needing assistance when it comes to even the smallest of everyday things. She sees how it both annoys and embarrasses him; someone his size and possessing his skills and capabilities needing help from someone as tiny as her. Holding onto that one shred of toxic masculinity that tells him the roles should be reversed; he’s the one that should be taking care of her and doing whatever it takes to make sure she’s safe and healthy and protected. And she handles it the best way she knows how; quietly and efficiently. Never calling attention to his struggles and keeping his mind from travelling down a dark and dangerous rabbit hole by encouraging random chit chat; keeping things light and happy and her hands soft and loving. And in the future, never bringing up what he’d needed or what she’d had to do.

She presses a kiss to the scar that mars his left shoulder. “You awake?”

“I am.”

“You okay?”

His fingers continue to comb through her hair; slow and soothing movements. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’re extra quiet tonight. I mean, you’re always quiet. But you’re even more so.”

“I’m just lying here enjoying it. The post orgasmic bliss.”

She lifts her head to look at him, admiring the line of his jaw and the beard that’s beginning to fill out and thicken and those impossible long and dark eyelashes that rest upon smooth skin. “Hey, that’s MY line.”

“Not tonight it’s not. I beat you to it.” As the fingers of one hand continue to move through her hair, the others drift along her upper arm; calloused tips occasionally pausing to trace slow and lazy patterns. “You alright?”

Nodding, she slides further up the bed. Nose pressed against the sensitive spot right below his ear and her hand reaching up to rest on the top of his head; thumb repeatedly brushing against his brow. “I’m good. VERY good, actually.”

“You were fucking amazing,” he praises, and turns his face into hers and places a kiss on the bridge of her nose. “You always are. But that? That was…”

“Extra?”

He chuckles. “Yeah. Very extra.”

“I don’t want to ever hear that you’re complaining about me ever again. Because you are extremely spoiled and there are many men who would envy your sex life.”

His eyes flicker open and a frown tugs at the corners of his mouth. “I don’t complain about you.”

“Like hell you don’t. All couples complain about each other. I admit that I complain about you. About some of the shit you do that drives me insane. Doesn’t mean I love you any less.”

“There’s not really anything to complain about when it comes to you.”

“Right…” she laughs. “...don’t go sparing my feelings, babe. I know what I’m like. I know what kind of bullshit I bring to the table. And yet you’re still here. You still keep hanging around.”

“It’s not that bad; dealing with your bullshit. Besides, I kinda like you.”

“Kinda, huh?”

“Just a bit.”

“I kind of like you too. And I wouldn’t mind if you hung out around here for the next...I don’t know...fifty years.”

“Good. Because I think I’ll stick around. I’m kinda comfortable. I can think of worse lives. I’ve LIVED worse lives.”

“Well now you’re spoiled. Insanely. You’re like that mangy little kitten someone finds in a gutter and nurses back to health and they get all fat and happy and get to sleep all over the furniture.”

He grins. “Did you seriously just compare me to a stray animal?”

“Hey, you needed some work when we first met. You were a little...feral. You were living in a shack with a chicken as a roommate.”

“Roommate? That’s my child you’re talking about.”

“You were pretty rough around the edges. You needed some big time TLC. And I was more than willing to give you that. You had potential. I saw it. You weren’t as scary as you liked to think you were.”

“Maybe not to you. I wasn’t like that with you. I was trying NOT to be.”

“Until you had your meltdown over having the feels and you tried to choke me out.”

“Not one of my finer moments,” Tyler admits. “But I wasn’t trying to hurt you. I was trying to scare you. Because I didn’t want you getting all caught up in something and then have me fuck it up and disappoint you. I was trying to protect you.”

“From you?”

He nods.

“I wasn’t afraid of you. I didn’t think you’d hurt me. I could tell you weren’t that type; to put your hands on a woman. No matter how angry you got.”

“It wasn’t about hurting you THAT way. It was about us taking things too far and feeling things for each other and trying to make something of nothing. I wanted that to happen, but I was scared that it would. Doesn’t make much sense, I know.”

“I think you were trying to protect yourself more than you were trying to protect me.”

“Maybe. I guess I worried I was feeling too much, too soon. That you’d find out who I really was and you’d run. I didn’t want to get attached and have you take off because you couldn’t deal with my shit. In the same way I didn’t want you getting attached and finding out I was too much of a mess and regretting what happened between us.”

“That was NEVER going to happen. I knew you were different. I SAW you, Tyler. Who you really were. Behind those walls you built up. Behind that whole hardened and emotionally vacant mercenary act you put on. I saw it the second we met. It was all in your eyes. That you weren’t like everyone else.”

“I think you give me way too much credit.”

“And you don’t give yourself enough.” Her thumb moves to the scar on the left side of his forehead; thin yet jagged, running vertically. “I was thinking about that first night. In Dhaka. After we...you know.”

“Fucked? Four times?”

“Normally I’d tell you not to be so crude and that it was a little more softer and meaningful than that, but…”

“There was nothing soft or meaningful about ANY of those four times. It was fucking. Let’s not sugar coat it.”

“Whatever it was, it was amazing. YOU were amazing. But do you remember afterwards? When I cuddled up to you? And you wondered what the fuck was going on? You didn’t know how to react; you sort of froze up and didn’t even budge. Were you angry or…?”

“Why would I have been angry? There was nothing to be angry about. I’d just gotten through having the most incredible sex of my life. FOUR times. I had a beautiful, amazing woman in my bed. Still naked. I definitely was not angry.”

“Uncomfortable?”

“Surprised. I wasn’t used to that. The whole afterglow thing. I was used to just getting shit done and getting the fuck out. And my ex wasn’t into that kind of shit. She was a roll over and go to sleep kind of girl.”

“You poor, neglected man. Never getting to enjoy the aftermath. You made up for it though. With me.”

“That I did. I was just surprised when you did it. Cuddled up to me like you did. But I definitely wasn’t angry. Or uncomfortable. It was just different. YOU were different. Doesn’t mean I didn’t like it. It felt good. It felt right. And I figured if something feels that right? There’s no way anything could be bad about it.”

“I love this side of you,” she declares, and presses a kiss to his temple. “This softer, sweet side. I mean, I love all sides of you. But this? This is always a breath of fresh air. And it did; feel right. What was going on with us. And it kind of scared me too. I wasn’t used to that. Feeling things so quickly for someone. Trusting them the way I trusted you.”

“It was a little unnerving. I was a little spooked. But all’s well that ends well, yeah? I mean, here we are. Twelve and a half years under our belts, Me. Seven kids. I think it’s safe to say that we weren’t wrong about what we were feeling. Even if it did seem too soon. I kinda knew I was in trouble pretty early on.”

“When? When you saw me on your porch?”

“I had a feeling you’d be a handful,” he grins, and turns his face into hers; placing a kiss on her brow before resting the side of his nose against hers. “It was the second night though. When I told you about Austin. It had been years since I talked about him to anyone. And I just let it out. Something told me I could. But it did scare me.”

“What were you scared of?”

He shrugs. “Being that honest about things. So soon. I was worried I’d tell you what happened...what I did...and everything would change. I thought you’d be disgusted. That you’d look at me like I was a huge piece of shit. And I would have deserved it. If you did.”

“You made a mistake. We all do. You’re not perfect, Tyler. None of us are.”

“It wasn’t just a simple mistake. It was a horrible fucked up one. I took off. My kid had cancer. And I couldn’t handle it and I ran. Like I always do when shit gets too hard. I wasn’t even there. When he died. I left him and he spent the last of his days wondering where the fuck I was and asking what he did wrong that made me hate him enough to leave.”

“You were a different person back then. You couldn’t handle it. A lot of people wouldn’t be able to. And you had a lapse of judgement. Unfortunately, it ended up being way worse than you thought it would be.”

“I was worried once I told you about all of that, you’d hate me. That it would make you sick to even look at me.”

“I have never once hated you. Not even back then. I didn’t feel disgust. You know what I felt? I felt sad. For Austin. For you. That either of you had to go through that. My heart hurt for YOU. That your child got sick and you had to watch him suffer and that it was so painful to see that you made a bad decision. I was sad for you. Like I still am. But hate you? I could NEVER hate you. You have enough hate for yourself. To last a lifetime.”

“Yeah…” Tyler’s voice quivers with emotion. “...I guess I do.”

Smilingly softly, she combs her fingers through his hair. “You’ve been thinking about him a lot lately, haven’t you.”

He nods.

“I know it gets extra difficult around this time of year. At Christmas. I know how hard it is for you. Trying to be happy and enjoy things while it feels like your heart is being ripped out of your chest.”

“It’s not normally this bad. I mean, it’s bad. But THIS?” He swallows heavily around the rock of emotion sitting in his throat. “Never like THIS. I don’t know what it is. Why it’s hit me this hard this year. I don’t know if it’s ‘cause I see how much Millie and TJ are growing up. Or I see so much of Austin in both of them. It’s normally not like this. This bad.”

“It’s okay, you know. To feel this. You don’t have to hide that from anyone. Especially me.”

“I don’t want the kids seeing me like this. I don’t want them thinking they can’t be happy. It’s Christmas. They deserve to be happy and excited and to have the time of their lives. I don’t want them thinking they have to walk on eggshells because of me. Or that I’m not happy being with them. Because I am. Happy. With them. With you.”

“I know you are. You don’t have to convince me of that. I know how much you love us. How happy you are. I never doubt that.”

“I guess sometimes I feel guilty. That I am as happy as I am. That I did move on and have other kids. That I didn’t do it right by him but I turned around and made more kids I could screw things up with.”

“You are NOT screwing anything up. You are a great dad. An amazing dad. And your kids love you so much. They idolize you. You’re their daddy. There’s no one they love the way they love you.”

“He loved me. Idolized me. And look what I did. Look how I betrayed that. How I betrayed HIM.”

“It was a mistake.” Gentle fingertips brush away the tears that glisten on his cheeks and the sides of his nose. “You made a bad decision. But that doesn’t make you a monster, Tyler. It just makes you a man who screwed up. And you know what? Austin would want you to be happy. He’d want you to have a life. To have other kids. Because he’d know how much love you have and he’d want you to give that to other people. He would never deprive you of that; having other kids.”

“Maybe. Doesn’t mean it makes it any easier. The fact he died. Alone.”

“I know it’s of little consolation, but he wasn’t alone. His mom was with him. And I’m sure she told him how much you loved him. That she probably told him you had to go. Not that you chose to.”

“You give her a lot of credit. I can assure you that she DIDN’T say any of that. That he died knowing I abandoned him. That he died hating me.”

“A mother will do anything to protect their child from getting hurt. And I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what she did. He was vulnerable and he was sick and I highly doubt she’d make that worse by shit talking you. I know I wouldn’t. That I’d never let any of my kids hear any of that. That if it had been me? I would have made sure he knew how much you wanted to be there and couldn’t. I would have told him how much you loved him. And would always love him.”

“You’re a different person, Me. She’s nothing like you. Not even in the slightest of ways.”

“I know at one time she loved you. And you loved her. That it wasn’t always bad. That there were some good memories too.”

“I did love her. But not the way that I love you. Not even close. What I have? With you? What I feel? That’s the real deal. Her? I don’t know what that was.”

“She was your highschool sweetheart. You thought you were destined to be together. It just didn’t work out.”

“Which is a good thing. Or I wouldn’t have what I have now. Which is why I’d never go back and change things. Even if I could. Because I change one thing, it changes everything. And I wouldn’t give you or my kids up for anything in this world. Which makes me feel like shit. That I wouldn’t bring back my first kid.”

“Tyler, don’t let your mind go there. That’s a very dark place and that is not where you need to be. I’m sorry it happened. I’m sorry Austin got sick and died. That you had to go through that. But comparing what you had then to what you have now? That will lead to nowhere good. Stop tormenting yourself like this. You have a good life. One that you’re more than deserving of. You have people that love you. Don’t overlook that because you’re so busy looking back at things. You’re not betraying Austin because you had other kids. Because you found love and are loved. And I can guarantee you that he would not want you doing this to yourself.”

“It’s not that easy.” He frantically swipes at the tears that freely roll down his face. “I wish it was. I wish I could turn this all off. That I’d never feel a damn thing again.”

“And that’s not good EITHER. It’s okay to feel. You’re a human being. But dwelling on what you did? You’ll never really enjoy what you have if you keep doing that. And one day the kids WILL notice it. They’ll see the difference in you. And they’ll wonder why they weren’t enough. Why you didn’t love them the same way you loved him. And I know you don’t want that.”

“I do love them. They’re my kids. You have no idea how much I love them.”

“Then you need to let it go. Not Austin himself. But what happened. The decision you made. Because it WILL destroy what you have. It’ll destroy you. And you’ve come way too damn far to let that happen. I won’t LET it happen.”

“I don’t want to be like this. I don’t want to keep going through this. I just want it over. I don’t want it to hurt so much. And I don’t know why it does. Why it’s so hard this time around. I don’t have an explanation, Me. I don’t why I’m like this. But trust me, I don’t want to be this way.”

“Come here…” she encourages, as her one hand finds the nape of his neck and the fingers of the other tangle in his hair. And she pulls him down into her; both of his arms wrapping tightly around her torso and his face nestled against her collarbone. “...it’s okay, Tyler. These times are going to come up. We were told this would happen. That you’d feel this way from time to time. You’ve had a great five years. You’ve avoided these kinds of moments. It was bound to creep up; sooner or later. Christmas is always a hard time for you. I get it. I know you can’t help it.”

“I don’t want to be this way,” he sobs against her. “I just want it to stop. How bad it hurts sometimes. I just want it to stop.”

“You’re going to be alright.” Her voice is soft and soothing; fingertips lightly massaging his scalp. “It’ll pass. You’ll get through this. Same way you’ve gotten through so many things. So many bad, BAD things. You’re a tough cookie, Tyler Rake.”

“I wouldn’t be able to do this if you weren’t here. If you didn’t keep giving me chances. Putting up with all this shit. I wouldn’t even be here. Alive.”

“I love you. More than you could ever know. I love you more and more every day. And I’m not going anywhere. You know how you always say ‘I got you’? Well I’VE got YOU.”

“I love you. So much. I wish there was a way of telling you HOW much.”

“You don’t need to say it." She drops a kiss on the top of his head. “I know. You make it perfectly clear. In your own way.”

“Thank you. For this. For everything.”

“You’re going to be okay,” she assures him, and runs her fingers through his hair. “I won’t let you fall either.”

#Tyler Rake #Tyler Rake fan fiction #Extraction fan fiction

6 notes · View notes

esoanem · 4 years ago

Text

“Let me tell you a story, about a Spaniard named Vasquez...”

Following this fantastic video essay by Rowan Ellis (contains spoilers for the entire show), I am currently rewatching Black Sails. The first season has a slightly different tone from the rest of the show and, in particular, has a major sexual assault storyline. I know several people who have been put off from watching the show as a result

So, with that in mind, I’m gonna give summaries and content notes for the episodes of the first season as well as timestamps of any scenes with particular content people may want to avoid. Hopefully this information can allow people to either skip those scenes or, read the summaries of these episodes and skip them entirely

Anyway, this post is about the very first episode

Major Content Notes:

Violence: some bloody violence, shot fairly brutally

Wikipedia Synopsis:

John Silver joins Captain Flint's crew as his ship's new cook whilst secretly holding a highly valuable page of the Captain's Log, which he takes from the first cook, who had stolen it from the captain himself. Meanwhile, Captain Flint faces a potential mutiny from his crew and must work to secure their support. The Captain recruits his first mate Billy Bones' help to overthrow the mutineer's leader, Singleton. Meanwhile, Eleanor Guthrie tries to keep order on the lawless island of New Providence conducting her father's business, as the Royal Navy's suspicions of the pirates grow stronger.

There’s quite a lot going on in this episode, with several speeches establishing important themes, because it has to establish all the major players, and most of their relationships, so the summary is actually quite a long (albeit quite condensed from my 8 pages of notes). Below the cut are the timestamps of any scenes requiring any of the major content notes, and then the summary (which includes all the events of the episode)

Timestamps:

All timestamps are from the “Complete Collection” DVDs which includes a Starz logo at the start. Depending on your source, timestamps may vary a little, which is why I’ve included the timestamp for the opening titles. Timestamps are only given for the start and end of scenes featuring any particularly warning-worthy content

06:30: opening titles

56:23-60:30: Flint & Singleton’s fight. The violence here is pretty brutal & bloody, moreso than most of the rest of the series

Summary:

1715 West Indies

The Pirates of New Providence Island threaten maritime trade in the region

The laws of every civilized nation declare them hostis humani generis. Enemies of all mankind

In response, the pirates adhere to a doctrine of their own… war against the world

A merchant ship is attacked by Captain James Flint’s pirates on the Walrus. During the attack, the cook steals a page from a logbook, and ends up barricaded in a compartment with the coward John Silver (below). The cook plans to joint the pirates after the fight, saying a good cook is always in demand. Silver spots the pouch the page is hidden in, causing the cook to draw his sword

The rest of the crew barricade in a separate room, but eventually the pirates break in, defeat them and the pirate captain, Flint (below), gets the merchant Captain to surrender

The quartermaster Hal Gates (below) walks through the merchant ship assessing the prize as the crew breaks down the door to Silver’s compartment, in which he finds the cook dead, stabbed in the back, Silver claims to be a very good cook and asks to join

On the deck, Singleton (below, and also pictured in the background of Flint’s picture) is giving a speech to the captured merchant sailors, appealing to their sense of class consciousness

"Now that the fight is over, you have nothing more to fear from us today. Because we know this fight was not of your making, it was the choice of our true enemy, your true enemy, the tyrant captain. Many of us once sailed on ships like this one, we know what it is to be slaves to his whims, his violence, his shit wages! His insufferable stupidity! So we’ve made for ourselves a different life, where we don’t rely on wages”

The accountant Dufresne (below, note that he is played by a different actor as his original actor sadly died after the filming of the first season) assesses the prize as barely covering their costs and, after four prizes in a row with little profit, Gates is concerned about dissent in the crew, and that Singleton is angling for the captaincy

Flint and Gates appear conspiratorial over the logbook, saying it proves that this is the ship, but Gates quickly spots the missing page, the schedule, without which the logbook isn’t very useful in leading them to the greater prize

“let me see if I have this right. This is the fourth prize in a row from which the profits will barely exceed the expenses it took to win it, Singleton’s out there trying to convince your crew to torture that poor bastard of a captain simply because he hasn’t worked out how to get them to do it to you, but all’s well, because you’ve discovered, that the information we can’t tell anyone we’re looking for, exists on a page, that we don’t have“

A Royal Navy Man-o-War, the Scarborough is spotted (unusual seeing as she’s based in Boston), and the Walrus leaves behind the merchant ship so it can get away

Belowdecks, the Bosun, Billy Bones (above) introduces Silver to Randall (below), who used to be the Bosun before him, before he was beaten to within an inch of his life and “lost his wits, but not their loyalty”. Randall is mistrustful of Silver, apparently because he feels like Silver is replacing him. Billy emphasises the equality of the pirate ship, that everyone should get the same food, including the captain & quartermaster

Gates tells Flint that Singleton plans to replace him, and now has the votes to do so. Flint tries to manipulate Gates into blaming himself, even though the crew’s poor morale is due to Flint’s seemingly poor choice of prizes to chases. Flint says that with a few more days, the schedule could be reconstructed from the logbook, but he’ll need a favour from Richard Guthrie who is responsible for selling all the goods the pirates steal. When Gates is skeptical that Guthrie will help them, Flint says they’ll just go back to normal and pretend none of this ever happened & Gates calls him out for lying

The Walrus arrives in Nassau, and the crew go ashore (below). One of the pirates tells Silver that it used to be English, now it isn’t, and that now it’s “ours”. Gates tells Billy that Flint is going to ask Guthrie for a favour and is likely to react badly when he refuses, and tells Billy to go with him and, when the time comes, restrain him, so they don’t lose Guthrie’s business. As Silver is unloading the cargo, he notices one of the logbooks is not among them and deduces the page must be from the missing volume and is in Flint’s quarters

Silver then gets hazed. He is accosted and told he needs to see Blackbeard, who “meets the new ones, no exceptions”. When thrust into a smoky room he’s told contains Blackbeard, he realises that the person in the throne is not, in fact, the pirate Edward Teach, but rather a prostitute. When he questions this, she opens her coat, revealing a large black bush. The pirates laugh, tell him to yell if he gets lost in there, and close the doors. As Silver is stripped, and has sex with the five prostitutes, he keeps glancing for the page that has fallen out of his clothes

Gates goes to speak to Eleanor Guthrie (below, left), in her tavern. She is introduced berating a captain for being scared of the mere whiff of the Navy rather than going for profit, and clapping back at a drunk pirate telling her to fuck herself. Gates warns Eleanor & her right-hand man, the former slave, Mr Scott (below, right) about Singleton’s plan to take over, and asks for a loan to buy the crew’s loyalty. Eleanor eventually agrees, but Mr Scott chides her, saying that he doesn’t think her father would approve

Max (below), one of the prostitutes from Silver’s hazing pours some tea as he scrambles for the page, which she already found, having noticed that despite having “a whore for every finger on your hand, but your eyes kept drifting to this”. Realising it’s valuable, but that Silver doesn’t know anyone to sell it to, she offers to act as a middle-man, in exchange for half

Gates enters a tent with several of the black pirates and negotiates with the eldest of them, who he knows the rest will follow, to buy their votes. Despite having spent the entirety of Eleanor’s loan on other sections of the crew, he persuades them to side with him in exchange for payment taken out of the next prize. Unfortunately for him, Jack Rackham (below) spots him and tells Singleton that Gates has been buying votes

Silver sneaks into Flint’s cabin aboard the ship with Max waiting in a rowing boat, where he finds the logbook and matches the page to it, but disturbs a feather Flint had left

Meanwhile, Flint has his meeting with Richard Guthrie (below), explaining his plan, how he heard of it, how the logbook confirms his lead, and that he needs Guthrie’s contacts to reconstruct the schedule

“Let me tell you a story, about a Spaniard named Vasquez. A few weeks ago, he staggers into a tavern in port royal, takes a seat next to an English merchant captain. Vasquez, it turns out, is dying, bleeding to death from a knife wound to the belly. The knife wound was courtesy of his former employer la Casa de Contratacion in Seville”

“Colonial Intelligence?”

“Navy, more specifically. One of the top agents in the Americas, responsible for the security of one particular ship, a ship with a cargo so rich, the king of Spain is very anxious to see it launched. Vasquez warned that it was too late, storm season was upon them and no escort could be mustered to guard her, but his superiors demanded that he sign off. They advised him that if he couldn’t arrange for an escort, he should plot a course unknown to anyone but our captain, and consider that route to be a state secret of the highest order. When Vasquez refused and threatened to report his concerns to the court things got ugly. The ship in question? Urca de Lima. The largest Spanish treasure galleon in the Americas. According to Vasquez, total cargo in excess of 5 million dollars”

Guthrie refuses to help, saying that the ship is heavily armed even without an escort, and that even making enquiries would jeopardise his standing with the Spanish. Flint twists his arm and goes to break his fingers, asking Billy to threaten Guthrie with his pistol, but Billy instead aims it at Flint

They hear a commotion outside, it’s the British! Captain Hume of the Scarborough to be precise. Billy, Flint, & Guthrie have all returned to their positions to maintain the pretence of respectability, but Hume isn’t buying it treating us to his pontifications on the relationship between gossip and civilisation, and attempts to take them all into custody. Flint & Billy resist, defeating the Navy men, but Guthrie is shot in the shoulder

“Tell me something, Mr Guthrie. Do you have gossip here?

“Gossip?”

“I’ve often wondered if it can survive in so remote a location. You see gossip is what holds civilisation together. It reinforces shame, and without shame, well, the world is a very dangerous place”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand”

“Do you know what the gossip is in London about you? The gossip is that you make your profits selling ill-gotten cargo, stolen by the pirates of Providence Island”

Singleton confronts the leader of the black pirates about his change of heart. When they refuse to change back to his side, Anne Bonny (below right) appears together with Jack Rackham and she kills them

Before the leader is killed, Captain Charles Vane (below) comes out of the shadows too

Gates tells Mr Scott & Eleanor that he’s secured the votes, only to be told by one of the remaining black pirates that their leader was killed, and his last words were “Vane”. Eleanor decides to do something about Vane

Jack, Anne, & Vane are drinking in a brothel, and discuss their plan. Singleton will become captain, fail at it, and the skilled hands will then defect to their crew. We also find out that Jack & Anne are fucking. At this point, Eleanor storms in, and punches Vane. He punches her back and then offers her a hand to help her get back up. He follows her as she goes to clean up. She explains that he’s fucked her over, and we find out he used to love her and, despite grabbing her face, he still tucks her hair behind her ears suggesting conflicted feelings about that. She threatens to cut him off from selling goods, but vane points out that her father is the one who buys the goods, and he’ll always choose profits over daughters

Max sees that Eleanor has been hit, and leads Eleanor to her bedroom, hand-in-hand. She correctly guesses that Vane is the one who hit her and, when Eleanor blames herself she scoffs at it. She nurses Eleanor, they kiss, and then have sex

Flint & Billy sail away from Mr Guthrie’s mansion, with his pale, unconscious body. Flint strips Guthrie’s rings & wig, and explains that he plans to hide Mr Guthrie, so as to avoid panicking the crew when they find out their fence is burnt

Billy calls out Flint’s constant lying, and wonders if maybe Singleton is right, and they do need a change. This causes Flint to move aggressively towards Billy, but he puts his sword between them forcing Flint to keep his distance.

“War is coming, one ship is not the war. When a king brands us pirates, he doesn’t mean to make us adversaries, he doesn’t mean to make us criminals, he means to make us monsters, for that’s the only way his god-fearing taxpaying subjects can make sense of men who keep what is theirs and fear no-one. When I say there’s a war coming, I don’t mean with the Scarborough, I don’t mean with King George, or England. Civilisation is coming, and it means to exterminate us. If we are to survive, we must unite behind our own king”

“We have no kings here”

“I am your king”

Flint tells Gates about Guthrie, and finds out that whilst they were gone, Singleton has called a council to vote on him taking the captaincy. Flint takes a moment in his cabin and, whilst flinging some furniture, notices the feather Silver had disturbed

Taking the logbook to the council, Flint tells them of his plan, and accuses Singleton of having stolen the schedule from the logbook

"I’m sorry. For the short hauls. For the trouble I’ve caused. But most importantly, for the disregard it seems I’ve shown you

“The most important element of a healthy ship is trust. Trust between men. Trust between captain and crew. Without it, a ship is doomed

“For the past few months, you and I have been on the trail of a prize so rich, it could upset the very nature of our world. And for that reason, I felt it necessary to keep it secret

“I didn’t trust you. And that was my mistake. Right now I would like to tell you that prize is within our grasp and we are close, so close. But it would appear that my concerns about secrecy had merit

“Someone on this crew discovered my plans. And tore from this log the very page necessary to discover that prize. Stole it for their own gain. Stole it from us. And then, stoked your resentment to cover his crime, and make himself your captain”

Obviously, Singleton is confused, and protests that he doesn’t know anything about this. Gates points out that this is a serious accusation, thievery being punishable by death, and a false accusation likewise. Per the articles of the ship, Singleton must either submit to a trial (with Gates as judge, who Singleton does not consider would be impartial), or they can settle it by sword

This fight is analysed in a lot of detail by Matt Easton (a historical fencing instructor, well versed in military sabre of the late 19th and late 18th centuries, so only shortly after the period of the show) here (may contain spoilers for later in the show, I don’t remember). Flint has good form, and is clearly well-trained, but Singleton is stronger, tougher, and more ferocious, easily gaining the upper hand

There is some back and forth, with Flint temporarily gaining the advantage, before losing it again, ending up injured and covered in blood. He is finally able to grab a cannonball and smash Singleton on the head, before crawling over him and beating him to death in front of a shocked crew

Flint produces a piece of paper, seemingly from Singleton’s bloody corpse, and offers it to Billy (seeing this page, Silver confirms that he does in fact still have the real page). Billy opens it, sees that it’s a completely blank page, but as Flint coolly holds his gaze tells the crew that it is in fact the stolen schedule

“Friends, brothers, the prize that you and I have been pursuing, is l’Urca de Lima, the hulk, a prize of almost unimaginable value, now with this page securely in our possession, we can begin our hunt, and we will succeed, no matter the cost, no matter the struggle, I will see that prize is yours, I’m not just going to make you rich, I’m not just going to make you strong, I’m going to make you the princes of the new world!”

The crew all cheer whilst Billy, Gates, and Silver, who all know that this page is not real look on in disbelief

Max is called from her room, where we see Eleanor sleeping naked on the bed by Idelle, one of the other prostitutes. She goes down to meet Jack & Anne and, sitting on his lap (which Anne does not like), tells them she has something she thinks they may want to buy

#black sails #black sails content notes

4 notes · View notes

savannah-lim · 4 years ago

Text

Defying Gravity || Norma & Savannah

Title: Defying Gravity Timing: Nightmare POTW Location: Hanging Rock Parties: @normallee and @savannah-lim Content Warnings: Hit and run (on monster), reckless driving, Wizard of Oz references

Going for a run or a walk to clear your head. People did that, right? Savannah was way more likely to make regretful sex decisions or have a few strong drinks, but it must have been getting to her head, because she was starting to see really weird shit. Savannah figured a few days off the alcohol would do her some good. She wasn't totally immune from making regretful decisions though, and still managed to snapchat her ex from the clifftop; Apparently they used to hang witches here. Cool, huh? she plastered over the top of a photo of the ocean from Hanging Rock. That definitely wasn’t a shark in the background, right? Nope. Definitely a large seal. “I must be going fucking crazy,” she chuckled to herself before she sent the picture and continued with her hike. She whipped her phone out again to video a flock of birds, curious looking things, probably migrating or something. And what the hell was that big one in the middle? “Holy shit--” she looked around as if checking anyone else was nearby. She’d seen a few dog walkers and bird watchers, so someone had to be close enough to confirm this, right? “Hey! Uh, sorry, hi, excuse me?? Do you see these birds?” Birds, yep, they’re birds, just keep telling yourself that.

Norma didn’t quite understand why humans were both so insistent on building things up and out and taking over every inch of land they could, while at the same time preserving nature. It truly made no sense. Still, she was told Hanging Rock was a nice place to visit and that many humans enjoyed going there to “get away.” What they were getting away from, she had no idea, but it was nice out there so that was pleasant enough. She sat by the edge of the cliff, legs dangled over the side, swinging them on occasion. The breeze did feel nice and if she sat there long enough, she could almost see the way things used to be about a thousand years ago. Almost. The railings and signs and occasional boat below shattered the illusion slightly. As did the witch flying through the sky. And those things that looked like flying monkies. So annoying. She should really know better to stay out of the way and let the humans appreciate nature in all its splendor. “The birds?” She asked, twisting back towards the woman who seemed a bit frantic. “Oh yes. I saw them. They’re very nice, do you like birds? I’ve been told some people watch them. I’m not entirely certain what they expect to see other than a bird but it’s nice they keep an eye out for them.” Norma turned back to look out in front of her. “It’s such a shame that witch is blocking the view. Really, the audacity.” Norma sighed. Was that witch getting… closer?

Savannah really did enjoy White Crest in a lot of ways, but she was starting to wonder if it would be the death of her, perhaps literally as well as metaphorically. The nightmares, the visions, the hallucinations, it seemed to give her a permanent headache, and in spite of the fact they’d found Javier’s remains, she still wasn’t any closer to solving the case. She was almost desperate for confirmation from the stranger, and yet how could she be sure she wasn’t hallucinating that too. “Witch?!” Savannah’s eyes widened, and she stared at the shape in the sky that twisted amongst the backdrop of clouds and birds. She instinctively took a step back. As the so-called witch twisted and danced on her broomstick among her companions, the sky grew louder with the chattering and squealing of monkeys. “Is that normal for White Crest?!” she asked. A short time ago, that would have seemed like a really stupid question. Now, it was par for the course.

The woman seemed confused by the word witch. Perhaps Norma had to explain it to her. “Yes, a witch. She’s green and riding a broomstick, see. And yes, most actual witches are not like that but since enough of popular culture has in fact decided that is what a witch looks like, we can both agree that a woman dressed in black with green skin flying on a broomstick is in fact a-- AHHH!” Norma screamed and rolled back as one of the flying monkeys howled and swiped at her head. She pulled herself up and away from the ledge and hid behind the woman. She looked hearty, she was jogging, she had to be athletically skilled in some way. “I’m not aware! I haven’t lived here for very long. I do not think monkeys often fly but I could be mistaken.” Norma squealed as one of the monkeys pulled at her hair. The witch was nearly there, cackling and quite pleased with herself seemingly. “We should remove ourselves from this situation! How do we do so?” Norma asked, panicked, still cowering behind the other woman.

“I know what a witch is! I just don’t expect to see one on my afternoon jog!” Savannah’s words were pointed, her tone and body language erratic. She had really lost her grip on reality. They were going to take the case away from her. They were going to take her whole job away from her. “I don’t know? Run?!” She practically screamed at the stranger, and of course, being that she wasn’t exactly on duty right now, she wasn’t wearing a gun strapped to her hip along with her athleisure wear. Savannah ducked behind a rock, throwing her water bottle at a flying monkey that seemed to cackle as it dove just a little too close. It connected, sending the monkey falling to the ground, useless. But that still left the other dozen or so. She practically grabbed the stranger by the arm, dragging her down with her. “I parked my car over at the other end of the trail. Maybe we can make it.”

“Well if you know what one is, why are you asking me about them?” Norma shouted. The other woman was running and so Norma did the same as that seemed like the best solution at the moment. “Quick thinking!” she said with a nod as the water bottle decked the monkey that was practically breathing down their necks. It seemed like Norma had hitched her horse with the right wagon, whatever the humans meant by that. “Okay, I think we should just ru--” Her words were cut short by another scream as hands gripped her shoulders and feet wrapped around her waist. Norma reached out to grab her companion, to try and tether herself to the ground, but the monkey’s grip was tight and she couldn't break free. “Help!” she screamed. “Put me down you idiot! I can’t fly! I know it’s very confusing why some furies have wings but they don’t WOOORRRK!” Her voice shifted to another scream as the chattering beast pulled her upwards farther into the clouds. This was bad. Very bad. Norma reached and grabbed her shoe off her foot and tried to slap the animal with it enough to encourage it to let her go.

This was more of a workout than Savannah had planned for. She knew you were supposed to get your heart-rate up, but this was a little on the extreme side of things. “Hey!” she called as the stranger was hoisted up into the air. She tried to grab for Norma’s hands to pull her back down, but she was gone too quickly for Savannah to stop it. “You little shits!” She scrambled for the water bottle again, for some rocks to throw, for anything that might give them something of a chance. She threw them at the gaggle of primates, which unfortunately disrupted them just enough to drop Norma to the ground. “Oh, shit!” she hurried to Norma’s side, swatting monkey hands out of her hair. “ARGH! GET OFF! Are you okay?!”

“Let go, let go! Let-- Stop throwing the rocks at me!” Norma shouted at all parties involved, still hitting the monkey with her shoe. She wasn’t sure if it was her shoe or the rocks that encouraged the primate to let go, but it did in fact loosen its grip on her. That was nice of it. She got what she wanted. Then she realized she was plummeting to the ground, wind rushing past her as gravity pulled her back to the earth. Norma screamed and tried to brace herself, covering her head. She hit the ground with a thwack. Gods, there were things definitely broken. Oh no, that hurt. Norma pulled herself off the ground with a groan. She bit down and pulled her lips into a thin line as she popped her shoulder back where it belonged, trying to hold in the squeal of pain. It was very much not her first time doing so, but she never much enjoyed when she had to. If only the whole invulnerable thing meant she didn’t have to feel pain or healed as quickly as some other supernatural species. Then again, injuries aided her in her aim to appear human. The avoidance of what should have been something close to death? Well, that would have to wait. Norma stood up, wincing as she tried to put her weight on her foot, cradling her bad arm with her other. “I’m alive! Do not worry I have not perished! Hold on!” Norma pushed past the pain to grab her other shoe and chucked it at the monkey bothering her companion. It squealed and flew off. “Now please help me to your car before that witch brings that small tornado closer to us.”

“Oh god, oh no, we need to get you to a hospital.” Savannah cringed as Norma clicked her shoulder back into place. Norma’s groan of pain shredded the afternoon air and seemed to give the monkeys pause for a moment, likely due to the surprise of the shrill sound. They twisted and turned in the air, and the witch straddled her broom, waving her arms and cackling as if she were conducting an orchestra. She didn’t have time to worry about Norma’s strange way of speaking. She’d pulled for her phone to call a hospital, but the monkey’s reaction to Norma’s squeal gave her an idea. She covered her head with her jacket to protect her head, turning on the loudest, most shrill alarm sound she could and pointing it up in the air as she ran. She followed the trail, not daring to look back at the small tornado that followed them. “UGH!” She grunted as she tripped on a dip in the dirt path, cutting her palms and, of course, smashing her phone. “Oh come ON!” She winced, pulling herself up. They were almost there. “That one! The silver Honda,” she groaned as she forced herself upright again, leaving her broken phone on the ground as she wrestled through her pockets for her keys.

“Hospital?” Norma’s eyes went wide and she could feel her heart pounding in her centuries old chest. “Oh, no thank you! I’m sure I’m fine. Look at how very fine I am! I’m alive and breathing, I’m very sturdy like that.” Even in pain, a human hospital was the last pace she needed to land herself. There were too many things to explain and circumvent and truly just simply not going was the best solution. She was unaware of the current plan but hobbling behind her companion was the best she had so that’s what she did. On their way, the other woman tripped and fell. Norma considered leaving her behind, survival of the fittest, or the supernatural in reality. That seemed like a bad thing to do, not the way to make human friends. Norma bent down to help lend a hand to her, pulling her up as they ran to the car. She wasn’t sure what a Honda was but she followed her to the silver car. Maybe all cars were now called Hondas. Norma pulled and pulled on the door. “Faster, please! I would like to hide in your vehicle as soon as possible. Ideally before that tornado hits!” There was a swirl of wind and branches tearing through the trees towards them, witch cackling just behind it.

“You just… dislocated your arm!” Savannah answered between laboured breaths. She screamed as one of the monkeys grabbed at her hair, smacking at it and letting out a string of incomprehensible curse words before it finally let go. She frantically hit the unlock button on her keys and dove inside. Norma didn’t need any encouragement to hurry. As soon as the doors were closed, she locked them with a swift click. That didn’t stop the witch swirling around them with awful cackling, and the monkeys flying into the windows like bugs on a windshield. Thank God her car had bulletproof glass. The wipers and lights? Not so lucky. She didn’t know where she was going, but she knew she was getting the hell out of her. She turned the key and put the car in drive, stepping down on the gas and ignoring the awful squelch of what she was sure was a couple of flying monkeys beneath the tires.

Norma fumbled with the door and threw herself inside the car, wincing as her slightly mangled body found a decently comfortable position. She had barely pulled the strange belt contraption onto her lap when the other woman took off driving. And Norma started screaming, bracing her good arm on the dashboard. “When did motor vehicles start going so fast?!” she shouted as they barreled down the road. “Watch out for the— AHHHH!” Norma looked around out the back window. It was very much a mistake. She saw the flattened bodies of the monkeys that they had run over as well as the swirling tornado headed their way. There was no way they could out run it. Unless… “Turn right!” she shouted. “Go towards the water! Just to the edge. Then stop! I think it’ll work!” Fingers crossed. “We might need to jump out of the car if we want to…” Guess they’d see.

Savannah was a good driver. They did learn car chases in Quantico, but that was a lifetime ago, and these weren’t exactly the conditions she’d tested under. “Fuck, shit, fuck!” She cursed more emphatically under her breath, and then not so under her breath. She couldn’t take her eyes off the--well, it wasn’t even much of a road--but she couldn't take her eyes off it anyway. She was less than thrilled about driving on these precarious cliffs, but she was running on pure adrenaline and did it anyway, half-skidding around the bend as she took a hard right, and skidding again to a halt with grass and rock under the wheels before the tornado blew past them, just a few feet from the window, and off into the ocean. She took a breath, then another, and another, and as quickly as it had turned to chaos, everything was calm again. “Jesus,” she sighed, clutching her chest and leaning back in disbelief. “That was a close one.” Savannah looked over at her passenger to ensure she was unharmed. “Are you okay? I’m Savannah, by the way… didn’t get a chance to introduce myself before Planet of the Apes.”

Norma screamed the entire time they were driving down the way, through the winding path, tornado just behind them. This was not a nice pleasant day in nature. Humans were truly perplexing in their definitions of a good time. She ducked under the dashboard as the tornado blew past and into the water. She peaked out to see a house drop down right next to them, striped stockings sticking out from underneath the porch. “I think the witch is dead. That’s nice. It was a very convenient house. I’m sure that someone will be very happy to live here at this very nice park. I assume the tornadoes only happen with mild frequency.” She turned back to the driver and gave a smile and held out her hand, Oh wait, no, that was the injured one. Right. She held out her other hand to shake. “I’m Norma Lee. It’s very nice to meet you. I’m thrilled you were able to save me from the flying monkeys. I very much hope that house was not yours. Mine is downtown. Would you be willing to drive me back there? Thank you!” She was not sure if this was a normal interaction but hopefully, she made herself a new friend.

#paras #with: norma

7 notes · View notes

jackuswritus · 4 years ago

Text

Hidden Places

Everybody had a hidden place when they were younger, right?

Those overgrown clearings that laid off the beaten path of other parks, past all those manmade mulch pits and nauseatingly bright plastic playgrounds that always overheated in the summer sun. They were hard to find, and always required a bit of finesse to travel through, but the sense of ownership and independence that they came with was always worth it. It was like unearthing something sacred, something that nobody had ever laid witness to.

Ours was a little less picturesque, of course. The various blunt wrappers and capri sun pouches that were strewn about quickly dashed our fantasies of being grand explorers mapping out uncharted territory. On top of that, the actual scenery wasn’t particularly beautiful on its own. The only thing resembling a source of life was the thin trickle of brown, diseased-looking water that cut through one of the ditches we jumped across. You got the sense that it was an area left unexplored for good reason. None of us were particularly picky about that, though. As teenagers, we were just glad to have some semblance of independence.

As well as a discreet place to get high.

Looking back now, the fact that we managed to keep it so well-hidden was pretty impressive, especially considering that our activities down there were anything but. We mostly just sat around, picking at various bits of dead and decaying nature, laughing at whatever dumb shit had happened earlier that day. It was typical teenage boy behavior, just moved to a more rural location. The only thing that really changed was that we didn’t have to worry about keeping our voices down quite as much. After all, we all felt pretty secure in assuming that we were the only ones out there. Still, there was one reoccurring trend that I couldn’t help but notice:

No matter what, everyone always seemed to leave before the sun went down.

It wasn’t one of those cliché unspoken rules, mind you. Most of the kids that frequented the spot usually just had other stuff to do, whether it was studying for a test the next day, worrying about upsetting their parents, or just plain wanting to go home. Everyone always seemed to find a reason to leave before the golden hour was up. I’m sure that a handful of us were genuinely afraid of staying there after nightfall, but nobody would ever admit to something as shameful as that. Not to a group of vicious adolescents, anyway.

There was only one kid who pointed it out. That was Mark.

He was a weird one. The sort of guy that exists on the fringes of your friend group, not really tethered to any particular person, coming and going as he pleases. The only other place we saw him outside of the meeting place was school, and that was it. He definitely made his presence known, though. His fixation on the dark and morbid gave him something of a reputation with his classmates, teachers, and (especially) guidance counsellors. He would always draw a crowd in the school computer lab, playing videos with titles like “REAL GHOST FOOTAGE CAUGHT ON TAPE” and “CRYPTID SIGHTING NEVER BEFORE SEEN” with a barely restrained sense of glee. He seemed to revel in the discomfort of others, the same way that teenagers often enjoy getting an immature rise out of people. It followed, then, that he would be the first to suggest exploring the meeting place at night.

Everyone he tried to rope into his expedition responded with either indifference or outright disapproval. It seemed that everyone had some kind of excuse to avoid going back after night had fallen. Some were able to mask their fear with a façade of aloofness and casually dismiss the whole thing as a waste of time, while others couldn’t help but let it slip. He didn’t seem to mind, though. If anything, he felt a sense of distinction, a sense of pride, at being the only one brave enough to do what the others couldn’t. It was all he could talk about, spouting off disjointed conspiracies to anyone that would listen, or anyone unfortunate enough to walk too close. I still remember him pulling me aside the day before he was supposed to venture out. By that time, the whole school was aware of the reputation that he had. It followed him around, dispersing whole crowds of people and reducing boisterous conversations to barely audible whispers. His eyes were sunken and hollow, but you could still see something behind them. It was like he was being possessed, compelled by something greater and more awful than even he could comprehend.

“Somethings out there, man.” He whispered, as if guarding a terrible secret, “And I think I’m supposed to find it.”

That was the last thing he ever said to me.

I think that, deep down, everyone knew what had happened when he didn’t show up to school the next day. It was just a matter of who wanted to believe it. Some struggled to keep up a sort of misplaced optimism, while others simply refused to accept that something terrible had actually happened. Nobody wanted to shoulder the burden of witnessing a tragedy unfold, knowing that they might have been able to do something to stop it. A quiet sort of tension gripped everyone, and the pressure only mounted with every passing day. Rumors were spread, fights broke out, kids had to be dragged, weeping and hysterical, out of class.

It wasn’t until the last search party was called off that things started to die down.

The police chalked it up to an avoidable tragedy, using it as leverage to keep impressionable teens from causing trouble at night (as well as impose a strict curfew). Nobody wanted to argue, regardless of whether they agreed with the decision. Of course, it wasn’t like there was an eager queue of explorers ready to follow in Mark’s footsteps. For most people, the collective trauma surrounding his disappearance was enough of a reason to never look back, to move quickly and stay under the shelter of the sun when traveling. I wish I could say the same. I wish I could say that everything that happened was enough for me, that I could put Mark’s memory to rest and come to terms with the fact that he was gone. But I had my own separate burden to carry, my own terrible, secret reason that I could never hope to forget.

It was that he was right. There was something in those woods.

A week after Mark went missing, I found myself back at the meeting place. Even with the vice grip of fear beginning to tighten around the town, I still couldn’t pry myself away from the memories that resonated there. Even back then, I knew that nothing would be the same, that the sense of community that this place once provided was about to be torn away. In a way, I guess I was there to say my last goodbyes to all those memories; To lay them to rest before they became too painful to hold on to. The tears flowed freely. Loudly.

The sunset seemed to sneak up on me, despite being so gradual. As those rusty colors began to drench the world around me, I was confronted with the bittersweet reality that they had lost their meaning. What once struck fear into our hearts and left us scrambling for the safety of home had only a sliver of its former power. As depressing as it was, it was a fitting close to that chapter of my youth. I was almost ready to leave those ghosts behind, to dump them with the rest of the waste and refuse that had been scattered through our makeshift meeting place.

It only took several minutes for night to fall. While I had the advantage of being familiar with the various ins and outs of the clearing, that thick, murky blackness was all it took to leave me fumbling my way through. I could still make things out, vaguely, but the unfamiliar shroud of the night rendered them completely alien to me. The first pangs of anxiety were beginning to set in, as well as a distinct sense of annoyance. All these years of coming back here, and they still somehow weren’t useful here? Against my better judgement, I found myself nervously laughing at the idea that the real reason why nobody stayed out past dark was because of how damn hard it was to navigate. I stayed there for a while, chuckling as I tried to quiet my nerves.

Something shifted in the bushes beside me.

I wish I could say that I hadn’t seen it, that it had been a product of my own cowardice and paranoia. After all, in the unfamiliar murkiness of the night, anything could have been out there. It could have just as well been a stray animal or broken branch that sent me running. Still, no matter how much I wish that were the case, I wasn’t afforded the luxury of unknowing, of blaming my imagination for what had happened.

I don’t think my mind was capable of imagining what I saw.

It walked like an animal, made to stand on its hind legs for someone else’s cruel amusement. Every step seemed to cause it pain, forcing its body to contort and twist in different directions, directions that living things weren’t supposed to bend. It was emaciated, gaunt, pale, as if there was just enough life in its body to keep it staggering forward. Bones jutted out, barely covered by its own horrible, pale skin. I didn’t dare look at its face, but the faintest trace of a gaping jaw could be seen dangling and flapping with every movement. I was paralyzed, every part of me freezing up in anticipation of the fate that awaited me.

It wasn’t until a noise escaped its mouth that I started to run. It was a wail of agony, a cry brought on by the inherent pain of its own existence. No matter how far I ran, it still seemed to echo through the trees. Every muscle in my body burned as I flailed my way through dead foliage. I didn’t dare to look behind me, both for the fear of being slowed down and for the fear of seeing it again.

Thankfully, I didn’t see it again. Not when I stumbled through a clearing and found myself back on the trail, or when I was questioned by the police for being out so late, or when I finally got back home and collapsed into my own bed. No matter how certain I was that it would come back, it never did. Some days, I think that the dread and paranoia that it left me with are worse than anything it could have actually done to me.

Enough time has passed now for me to know that those memories will never truly leave. The things I’ve seen, the things I’ve heard, they’ll be with me until the end. There’s a sort of peace to that, I suppose. A kind of quiet acceptance in familiarizing yourself with the burdens that you have to carry. Things don’t get easier, but they certainly don’t get any more difficult. Maybe me writing all of this down is part of that acceptance, that familiarity. For all intents and purposes, it seems to be working.

I can almost get to sleep at night now.

Still, there will always be times where the dam breaks. The memories, fear, and trauma surge back in full force, uncontrollable in their potency. Some nights I wake up as terrified and drenched in sweat as I was back then. Some nights I find myself feverishly checking outside, certain that it will lurch back into view at any moment. Some nights that awful sound rings in my ears, drowning out any futile attempt to ignore its presence.

Some nights I swear it sounds just like Mark.

But I know that can’t be.

-end.

#horror #fiction

2 notes · View notes

hookedontaronfics · 5 years ago

Text

Drifting in a Dream - Prompt fic

Title: Drifting in a Dream Pairing: Taron x Reader Rating: T Warning: None A/N: Plenty of fluffy cuteness. It’s been feeling, and looking, a lot more like winter here so I felt inspired to write this sweet little prompt! I hope you enjoy! x Prompt: How about a dreamy, romantic, fluffy one shot where Taron takes his lady ice skating because he knows she loves it….even though he knows he’s terrible at it?? Thank youuuuu!! This fic is for user @bruno-rami-taron-oh-my! Hope it fits the bill for you, lady!

“Hey, y/n, Line 6 is for you,” your colleague said, popping her head up over the cubicle wall.

“Who is it?” you asked, and she just grinned.

“Your looooverrrr,” she smirked as you groaned and rolled your eyes at her teasing.

You picked up your phone, hit the line for 6, flipped off your colleague, who just laughed and disappeared back behind the cloth wall, and waited for the line to pick up.

“Hello?” you answered, just in case it wasn’t him. The last thing you needed to do was accidentally call your boss “babe” - It was something you could see your colleague pranking you with.

“Heeeey,” Taron replied happily, making you instantly smile despite the day you’d been having at work, buried under projects you were scrambling to get done before the holidays.

“I’m so glad it’s you,” you giggled lightly.

“Who else would it be?” he chuckled lightly.

“Oh, I don’t know, any number of clients who want their work done right this very second and oh don’t you mind changing literally everything you’ve already done thanks love,” you sighed.

“Rough day?” he asked, sounding a bit concerned.

“No more than the usual this time of year,” you said. “Sorry for being crabby.”

“You’re hardly crabby, love. But, I do have a surprise for you,” he grinned. “I’ll pick you up after work, sound alright?”

“You’ve already made my day, T,” you grinned, eyeing your stack of as-yet-untouched paperwork. “I’ll try and clock out on time.”

“I’ll be waiting, darling,” he said. You managed to hang up the call and looking forward to Taron’s surprise (he always had the best surprises) made your day both drag and fly by simultaneously, if that were possible. You were actually quite proud of yourself by the time you left your desk; you’d not only finished two projects but also gotten a decent start on the third, with three days left in the week still to get them done. Taron must be good for your productivity, you mused as you took the elevator down the high-rise and went to find your boyfriend in the carpark.

He hadn’t noticed you approach and when you pulled open the car door the familiar chords of a Bowie song, and Taron’s lovely singing voice, spilled out into the open air. He looked over at you and gave you his dashingly boyish grin before moving the wrapped box from the front seat so you could sit down, and then promptly setting it back down on your lap.

“That is for you. But you can’t open it yet,” he chuckled, making you raise your eyebrow at him.

“Gonna tell me where you’re taking me?” you asked, and he shook his head.

“Not a chance.”

“But Taaaaaron!” you whined slightly, and he only met your whining with a chuckle as he pulled out of the parking spot and onto the London streets.

“You know I don’t like surprises!” you groaned lightly, worrying the edges of the tape on the gift slightly.

“You loooove my surprises and don’t you lie,” he teased lightly, playfully slapping your fingers away.

“So what’s the occasion?” you hedged, trying to trap him into telling you.

“No reason other than I thought I’d treat my lady. Am I allowed to do that?” he grinned over at you.

“Yeah, I mean, of course!” you laughed, trying to shake the box slightly, which was around the size of a shoe box. Something shifted inside, but you still couldn’t tell what. “But you really do treat me all the time.”

“My mam taught me well,” he just replied with a small shrug. What felt like small gestures to him always felt embarrassingly huge to you, but you wouldn’t have him any other way. You were a quiet soul really, the kind of person who enjoyed nothing more than a cup of tea and a good book on the couch. Taron was a lot more social and outgoing, and his greatest pleasure was dragging you along on these adventures of his. But you loved him, and you usually ended up having fun once you pushed past your initial anxiety.

It was a little difficult for Taron to hide where he was taking you once you pulled onto the Alexandra Palace grounds, but there were also a lot of activities that went on there, so you still weren’t exactly sure what he had in mind. The place was pretty packed, though, and that made you have to swallow past the anxious feelings. Obviously whatever Taron had planned would be worth it to you because he knew your anxiety in crowd situations.

Once you were parked, he turned to you and clapped his hands together excitedly. “Alright, you can open that now,” he grinned happily.

You quickly pulled the wrapping paper off and squealed when you opened the box: Nestled inside were a beautiful new pair of ice skates.

“Taron, these are amazing,” you gasped, picking one up and inspecting it, your eyes going wide as you realized he’d put John Wilson blades on the boots. “Holy shit, these cost a fortune! Taron, this is too much,” you said, shaking your head.

“And you love ice skating. It’s one of the things I know gives you joy. So I chose the best for the best person in my life, yeah?” he smiled softly while you felt so overwhelmed your eyes grew teary. He gave you a moment to compose yourself before squeezing your hand sweetly. “Why don’t we give them a try?”

“Um, yes,” you said, excitement taking over any other feeling you were having. You carefully enveloped the skates in your arms as you followed Taron into the ice rink, the evening sunlight streaming in through the wide decorative windows. You had skated at many of London’s rinks in your time, but the Palace was always your favourite. It had so much character and history to it, and that wasn’t lost in the modernization it had undergone.

Taron paid for your tickets and when he asked for rental skates for himself, you touched his arm gently. “Are you sure?” you asked, knowing he did not care to skate himself.

“Of course,” he laughed. “You’ll completely leave me behind in the dust, or shall I say ice chips, but I’m not about to let you go out there alone,” he smiled.

“Thank you,” you said genuinely, as he leaned in and stole a quick kiss from you. He gathered up his skates and followed you over to the benches; you both laced up and he dutifully clomped along behind you, chuckling under his breath at his own lack of balance on the blades. You slowly stepped out onto the ice, instantly feeling the blades bite at the ice and anchoring you. It was such a beautiful feeling, the way these new blades slid over the surface, perfectly toned and balanced. You gave an experimental turn and giggled to yourself before turning to watch Taron carefully edge out onto the ice himself, holding his hands out in front of him.

He wobbled a few times as he skated over to you, and you couldn’t help thinking he was the cutest thing on earth at the moment. You sweetly took his hand and pulled him along, you graceful, him a bit clumsy, but it didn’t matter. The notes of Christmas music tinkled through the air, the laughter of other skaters echoing off the rink walls. You completed a couple of loops around the rink before Taron lifted your gloved hand to his mouth and placed a sweet kiss there before dropping your hand.

“Go on then,” he grinned. “Dance circles around me, love,” he chuckled, and with your eyes alight, you dug into the ice and pushed off, feeling the wind rush past as you gained speed. You flipped from forward to backward and forward again, switching from the inside to the outside edge and back again, testing the responsiveness of the blades, but they were gold. You even did a couple of twirls, trying to not show off too much, but having taken lessons since you were eight, you couldn’t help feeling at home on the ice.

You skated back over to Taron just in time to watch him manage to trip himself, doing a couple of quick hops to try and catch his balance before he royally fell on his ass. You tried to hide your laugh behind your hands before quickly going over to help pull him up. But he only grabbed your hand and pulled you down with him, making you squeal and the other skaters around you give you bemused looks as you landed in his lap, careful to not nick him with your blades.

“So, worth it?” he asked, the tip of his nose a bit red.

“Totally,” you grinned, your face flushed and your eyes happy. He pulled you in for another quick kiss before letting you back up and letting you pull him up to his feet this time.

“Your arse is totally wet now,” you teased, skating a circle around him backward.

“Show off,” he teased. “And why are you looking at my arse?”

“Not my fault you have the cutest bum in the place,” you snickered, taking his hand again and encouraging him. He stumbled a couple more times but started to get more of the hang of it before admitting he was totally wiped out and was more than happy to sit and watch you go round and round the rink while nursing his cup of steaming tea. You waved to him cutely every time you passed, and he just seemed happy to see you enjoying yourself so thoroughly.

Closing time was fast approaching and the rink was emptying out. You decided, just once, to try for a jump, and Taron wanted to catch it on video. You took two quick laps around the rink before switching to the backside edge. You dug the toe pick of your free leg into the ice and felt the effortless rise from the ice as you initiated the double toe loop. The landing wasn’t the cleanest you’d ever done, but you managed to stay on your blades and recover on the exit, and you could hear Taron cheering you on, so you flashed him a huge grin and two thumbs up. Oh, you and these skates were going to become very good friends.

You finally exited the ice, feeling worn out and sore in the most delicious way. Why you’d never pursued skating professionally was beyond you, and those days were also long behind you. But that you hadn’t forgotten your training from all those years ago filled you with its own sort of inner glow.

“You’re bloody brilliant, you know that?” Taron said happily as you unlaced your skates. He hugged you closely to him as you both walked out of the rink after returning his rentals.

“You always say that, T,” you smiled sweetly.

“And I always mean it, y/n,” he grinned softly, gazing at you for a moment, the setting sun painting colors over his face. “So, I’m thinking we grab some takeout curry and settle in at home under the duvet.”

“Perfect,” you smiled, ready to get warm and rest after the day you’d had. But oh, it had been truly wonderful.

Once you were settled at home together, a movie on low volume on the telly and finished bowls of curry sat on the coffee table, you sighed contentedly and laid your head on Taron’s shoulder, both of you snuggled up under the duvet to keep warm. “Today has been truly lovely. Thank you,” you said.

“It’s not quite done yet,” he smiled, turning to you and cupping your face gently in his hands, leaning in until your noses were touching, both of you just sweetly gazing at each other for a moment before he pressed his lips to yours, reveling in the kiss. Sweet, soft, slow, kissing him always took your breath away. You wanted more but he wouldn’t let you have more, pulling away just as things began to get heated. You whimpered slightly and he smirked at you.

“Patience is a virtue, my sweet little virtuoso,” he grinned, making you roll your eyes playfully at him.

“Whoever said that certainly had never kissed you,” you joked but your laugh turned into more of a squeak as Taron opened the end table drawer and pulled out a little shiny black box. Your heart instantly slammed into your throat before beginning to race like crazy at the sight of it.

“I was going to do the whole reservations-at-a-fancy-restaurant kind of thing, but I decided that really wasn’t us. This is more us, honestly, and I wanted you to feel comfortable and happy. And I think I’ve hopefully achieved that,” he smiled, grinning over at you with the sort of look in his eye that meant you were the only person in the world that mattered right now. You nodded, your voice failing you a bit.

“We’ve been together for years now, and you’re the best part of me. You make me strive to be a better man every single day, and I couldn’t ask for a more kind, caring, compassionate woman to be by my side for the rest of the days I have on this earth. So would you do me the absolute honor of marrying my sorry Welsh arse?” he said, fairly beaming at you as he opened the box and showed off the simple ice-blue sapphire ring he’d chosen for you.

Your hands flew to your mouth in shock, surprise and absolute wonder that this moment was happening right now; You hadn’t even remotely suspected it. He had caught you so off guard, and yet, everything about this sweet moment was perfect too. “Yes, yes of course I’ll make a proper man out of you,” you teased back, making him chuckle and also have to wipe at his eyes, which only then made you tear up, and you were quite grateful you were in the privacy of your own home and not in public for the world to see. This moment was private and beautiful and just between the two of you, and that he had respected your need for that privacy meant so much more to you.

He carefully removed the ring from the box and slid it on your finger, his hands shaking only slightly. “Now this day is perfectly perfect,” you whispered, forgetting everything else about the mountain of paperwork on your desk, every snarky client comment and every stressful email from your boss. Every day with this man in the life he promised ahead would be as full of joy and spirit as you felt when you were on the ice, and you could hardly believe this would now be your life.

“You do know this requires you to take skating lessons now so you can keep up with me, right?” you teased him lightly, making him laugh, and cry, at the same time.

“I’m looking forward to it,” he managed, his emotions spilling over and overwhelming him. You pulled him into your arms and held him that way, so grateful for him that you didn’t even have words to express it. You gazed outside the window and noticed that it had just begun to snow, tiny crystals alighting on the sill outside and sparkling in the soft light. It was truly like being inside a dream, you thought, and sometimes dreams really did come true.

#taron imagine #taron egerton #taron fluff #taron fanfiction #taron x reader

48 notes · View notes

quinnybee-writes · 5 years ago

Text

Title: The Silence Is So Loud

Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia/My Hero Academia: Vigilantes

Rating: G

Word Count: 1826

Summary:

Shouta didn’t want people to be soft and wary and kind to him; he didn’t want to be coddled and kept warm and dry. He wanted to storm and stalk and bulldoze his way through the rain until he looked as bad on the outside as he felt on the inside. He wanted to shove it into everyone’s performative, platitude-spewing faces and make them see that things were stupid and bad and would be that way forever because of him, no matter how much they patted him on the head and told him things would turn around eventually.

Picking up the pieces is always harder than it looks, but it gets easier if you have another set of hands.

**BNHA: Vigilantes Spoilers**

On AO3

Hizashi kept trying to share his umbrella as they walked home from school, half-jogging to stay in step with Shouta even as he tried to sidle out from under it. Shouta walked directly through some deep puddles to shake him but Hizashi kept pace with him, grimacing as his shoes flooded and the rainwater wicked up his pant legs to the knee. Shouta gritted his teeth in a flash of white-hot annoyance. He stalked away from Hizashi on the last few seconds of a crossing signal, stranding him and his stupid umbrella on the other side of the street. Even that only gained him a few moments alone in the downpour. Practically right on his heels he heard Hizashi shouting apologies to drivers as he scurried through traffic to catch up; a moment later the umbrella had returned. Shouta took a sharp left down a side street, shoving past Hizashi as he did. Hizashi took a moment to recover but soon enough he was back at Shouta’s side.

Shouta felt the last brittle strands on his patience snap like an overtuned piano wire in his chest. If there was one person he’d counted on to understand where he was right now, it was Hizashi. Shouta didn’t want people to be soft and wary and kind to him; he didn’t want to be coddled and kept warm and dry. He wanted to storm and stalk and bulldoze his way through the rain until he looked as bad on the outside as he felt on the inside. He wanted to shove it into everyone’s performative, platitude-spewing faces and make them see that things were stupid and bad and would be that way forever because of him, no matter how much they patted him on the head and told him things would turn around eventually. He wheeled on Hizashi, hands balled into fists. Before Hizashi could react, Shouta snatched the umbrella from him, closed it, and shoved it hard into his chest. Hizashi stared at him, mouth hanging open in shock, but Shouta was already blazing past him back towards the main street.

“I lost him too you know!” The sudden whipcrack of Hizashi’s voice made Shouta stop short. He turned to see Hizashi still standing where he’d left him, head down and hands shaking as he gripped his umbrella in white-knuckle fists.

“I decided I was okay with always being your second choice a long time ago, because at least then I was still a choice,” Hizashi went on. His voice was choked and raw in a way Shouta had never heard from him before. “But now you’re too busy being an asshole to even notice I exist!” Hizashi stormed over as he spoke, his voice climbing to a furious bark. “You just mope around with your head up your ass, leaving me behind like you don’t even care!” He punctuated his words by shoving Shouta in the chest again and again, sending him stumbling back a step each time. Shouta smirked bitterly. It sounded like Hizashi was finally realizing the trash he’d spent so long trying to elevate was just holding him back. Good for him. He turned away, ready to leave Hizashi to follow the thought through to the inevitable conclusion of Shouta’s worthlessness. Hizashi grabbed him hard by the jacket lapels, shaking him sharply and screaming, “Look at me!”

Shouta was so startled by the jolt that he did. At first he just felt confused by what he saw. Hizashi’s face was flushed and blotchy, the dark hollowness of his eyes made all the more obvious by the tears streaming down his face. Hizashi was genuinely, blazingly angry; worse still, he was crying. None of this made any sense. Hizashi didn’t get mad; he got salty and caustic and hilariously petty but he never seemed to have it in him to get mad. Likewise he might squeeze out a few tears for a cute baby animal video or when something especially sappy happened in a Disney movie, but never in choked, breathless sobs like this. Shouta stared, frozen, while his numb brain scrambled for a reaction.

The fight seemed to go out of Hizashi as their eyes finally met. He slumped forward onto Shouta’s neck, fists still gripping his jacket so hard Shouta could feel every knuckle straining. “I can’t,” he whispered. “I can’t do this by myself. Please. I need you, Shouta, please…”

This was wrong. No one needed him, he was the reason everything fell apart. No one should think the person who broke them this badly would be the one to fix things again. Shouta didn’t think he could fix anything now. Even so, some part of him wanted to try if it meant Hizashi wouldn’t hurt like this anymore. Slowly Shouta lifted his arms and wrapped them around Hizashi’s shoulders. Hizashi’s arms snapped tight around his ribs, fingers digging into his back so hard it was almost painful. Shouta shut his eyes tight, squeezing Hizashi just as hard as he took what felt like his first full breath in weeks.

They went to Hizashi’s apartment because it was closer and the rain was coming down harder than ever. Hizashi’s mother didn’t ask why the two of them showed by raw-eyed and soaked to the skin. Instead she just ushered them both into warm baths and dry clothes in an affectionately exasperated tone that brooked no argument. Shouta went first, drifting in the hot water until the prickling feeling on his skin stopped. Everything that had been moving double-time seemed to have boomeranged around to a snail’s pace instead. Being angry had at least felt like he’d been doing something, even if it had mostly just been burning his life down and salting the earth behind him. Now his warpath had been brought to a screeching halt and the sludgy inertia of sadness was biting at his heels.

When he emerged Hizashi’s mother descended on him almost immediately with still more practical comforts. She tucked a large knitted blanket around his shoulders before wrapping him in a hug almost as bone-crushing as her son’s and kissing the top of his head. It felt pleasantly suffocating as she squeezed him so tightly he felt his back pop; what felt even better was the way she just pushed a mug of very strong tea with too much milk and honey into his hands and sat him down on the couch without any of the thousand iterations of commiserating with his pain he’d grown so rabidly sick of. She repeated the ritual with Hizashi when he came out of the bathroom, telling them she would be working on emails in her room if they needed her before leaving them alone.

Hizashi dumped himself awkwardly onto the other end of the couch from Shouta. The distance between them felt immeasurable and alien. Shouta glanced at Hizashi out of the corner of his eye. The other boy was staring down into his tea without seeing it, wet hair sticking to his forehead and the back of his neck. He looked as lost and broken and small as Shouta felt now. A sharp squirm of guilt dug its way into the pit of Shouta’s stomach and begged him to just leave before he made things worse. He took a deep breath and stood his ground against himself.

“I’m sorry, Hizashi,” Shouta said quietly. He saw Hizashi flinch in his peripheral vision, hands flexing around his mug.

“Nah, don’t worry about it,” Hizashi replied with a forced chuckle that sounded more like he was trying not to throw up. “I know you’re going through...stuff. I, uh. Got kind of vicious back there. Sorry.”

“You were right, though,” Shouta said. “I’ve been too caught up in myself to pay attention to anyone else. That’s not fair. I’m sorry.” He frowned, trying to think of a good way to phrase the rest. “What you said before, about always being my second choice,” he began.

“We don’t have to get into that,” Hizashi jumped in quickly. “I-I was just mad, saying shit.” He bit his lip, shaking his head. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It obviously is,” Shouta said, a little more sharply than he’d really meant it. This seemed so patently Hizashi, playing off his feelings to keep things from getting too serious. Shouta wondered how long this had been boiling below the surface. “Even if it isn’t,” he said, starting again, “maybe it should be?” Hizashi looked over at him, surprised. “It wasn’t supposed to be like that. I always thought it was all three of us in it together. Equally. I’m sorry I made you feel like that wasn’t true.” Shouta sighed, shaking his head. “I didn’t realize how messed up things were already. Too far up my own ass I guess.”

To his surprise Hizashi snorted out a weak laugh at that. He breached the unspoken divide between them, scooting over to lean just a little bit too much into Shouta’s personal space. It was normal for him, but normal felt like a miracle right now. “Don’t beat yourself up too much,” Hizashi said, elbowing him gently in the side. “You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t spend half your life stuck in your own head.”

Shouta rolled his eyes but deep down he felt comforted by the backhanded compliment. “Can I tell you something stupid?” he asked.

“Always.”

“Honestly, I. I always kind of thought I was the one who didn’t fit,” Shouta admitted quietly. “I’m just okay at school, and I’m not good with people or with my Quirk yet like you and--like the two of you are,” he said. He corrected himself before he said the name out loud; just the thought of it still felt like swallowing broken glass. He shook his head. “How the hell did we manage to have two black sheep in a group of three people?” he wondered dryly.

Hizashi barked out a sharp but genuine laugh. “And somehow it’s us oddballs who are left,” he agreed. “Figure that one out.” He gave a theatrical broad shrug, then slumped back down onto the couch. The moment of levity seemed to hang in brittle shards around them. It felt wrong to be joking around, but it felt worse being sad. Shouta leaned into Hizashi’s side, resting his head on Hizashi’s shoulder.

“I don’t know what to do anymore,” he admitted in a shaky whisper.

“Me neither,” Hizashi murmured. “Guess we have to figure it out on our own.”

Shouta felt a warm trepidation at the word “we”. “Are you sure you still want to saddle yourself with me?” he asked.

Hizashi snorted, his mouth quirking into a ghost of his usual broad grin.“Uh, duh. You’re never getting rid of me now.”

“Promise?” The question felt childish and Shouta immediately regretted letting it slip out. Hizashi took his hand, threading their fingers together and squeezing tight.

“Yeah. I promise.”

#boku no hero academia #my hero academia #boku no hero academia: vigilantes #my hero academia: vigilantes #boku no hero academia: vigilantes spoilers #my hero academia: vigilantes spoilers #vigilantes spoilers #aizawa shouta #shouta aizawa #yamada hizashi #hizashi yamada #I don't even go here I just have a lot of feelings #and most of those feelings are ANGST #Quinny thinks she's a writer

19 notes · View notes

uas-fics · 5 years ago

Text

Title: The Messy Room Stressor

Summary: Token thought he would have his Saturday all to himself, until he is recruited by Tweek to help Tweek pick up his room, anyway.

Rating: G

Ships: Gen

Other: For @tweekweek day one Relaxation.

Read on Ao3

—-

A Saturday where Token made it to ten AM without a call from his friends usually meant the day was his for the taking and he could do whatever he wanted. He could play video games, catch up on a new show, read the growing pile of books his dad keeps bringing home for him, go to the zoo — the possibilities were endless!

As Token started to narrow his choices down in his head, a knock came from the door. He frowned. Were Mom and Dad expecting anyone? They hadn't told him. The guard wouldn't let just anyone past the gate, either.

Shrugging, Token jumped off the couch. The knocking grew frantic as he neared the door.

"I'm coming. I'm coming,” he muttered. "Hello?"

Tweek nearly jumped out of his shoes. "Token! I need you!" He grabbed Token by the wrist. "Come on, come on!"

Token dug his bare heels into the carpet, but even that didn't stop Tweek from dragging him down the front walk towards the gate.

"Tweek, dude, stop!" His hand shot out to grab a low hanging tree branch and yanked them both to a stop. "What's wrong?"

Tweek danced nervously from foot to foot, chewing on his lower lip and wringing his hands in his shirt. His hair went out in more chaotic directions than usual and a third of his buttons were messed up.

Tweek hadn't been this stressed out since well before he and Craig started dating.

"I need help, and it can only be you." He pulled at the bandaid across the top of his hand.

"What do you need help with?" Token asked.

"My room," Tweek squawked. "I need help organizing it. I tried to do it by myself and I can't. You don't need to help me pick up, just, like, sit with me in there and don't let me stop cleaning until it's done. Please, Token?"

Token folded his arms and tilted his head. "That sounds like something anyone can do. Why do you need me?"

"Everyone else is too distracting! Clyde ends up talking about something fun and I stop wanting to clean to play and Jimmy makes me laugh too much and Craig..." Tweek shook his head. "It has to be you. You’re the most mature and responsible. Please, Token? I'll give you a free hot chocolate—and a muffin—at Tweak Bro's next time you come in."

Token hummed in thought, stroking his chin. He could make hot chocolate any time he wanted at home, and using much higher quality ingredients than Tweak Bro's could afford, but Tweek was his friend. It wouldn’t be right to leave him hanging like that. Besides, what else did he have to do today anyway?

"Alright, I'll help, but first," He lifted up his foot and wiggled his bare toes, "can I get some socks on?"

---

Token did not try to hide his cringe at the state of Tweek's room.

It wasn't just a mess. It was chaos.

It looked like a tornado came through and took everything from the drawers and threw it around. Shirts and pants hung off the back of his desk chair. A tower of coffee cups sat on the windowsill. Toys were piled in heaps along the walls and corners. The only clean path led from the door to the bed and to the birdcage in the corner.

Tweek's bird, Polly, flapped around, contributing loose feathers and birdseed to the mess.

"Polly is more stressed about the mess than I am," Tweek laughed. He puttered out when Token didn't join in. "Um, you can sit on the bed while I work. Don't let me stop, ok?"

Token nodded and carefully picked his way to the bed. When he sat, something moved. Gasping, Token jumped to his feet and spun around. With a shaking hand, he lifted up the mattress. A little man with a beard and cone-shaped hat popped out from between the mattress and box spring.

He panted, holding his chest. "Thank God! Freedom!" He cried out in a squeaky voice. "I thought I was lost forever in this room. Thanks, kid." He waved at Token.

The little man walked along the bed frame to the head of the bed then jumped down. As he fell, he threw a powder up from his hand and shrunk even smaller before disappearing behind the nightstand.

Mouth hanging open, Token turned to Tweek to make sure he hadn't imagined that, but Tweek had his back to him near the desk. He started setting papers and lego bricks on his desktop, muttering to himself.

Shaking his head, Token carefully crawled onto the bed. This time, nothing moved. Not trusting that Tweek didn't have a real-life monster under his bed, he pulled his feet up. Tweek would probably wash his bedding when he was done, so it didn't matter if he put his shoes on the blanket.

After watching Tweek clear a pile from his floor, Token asked, "Hey, Tweek? Want me to play some music?" He held up his phone. "I'll let you pick."

Tweek twisted around. "No, no, not a good idea. It'll be distracting! I might start to sing and dance and I won't finish. Sorry. I think I have some headphones on my windowsill. You can use them if you want."

Token nodded and rolled over to his hands and knees to crawl across the bed to the window. Tangled up in the cord for the blinds was a pair of headphones. They were missing an earpiece and a bare patch in the plastic exposed the wires.

Better than nothing, he supposed. When he reached over to untangle the headphones, a rancid smell hit his nose. He recoiled with a gag.

Polly flapped loudly around his cage at Token's reaction.

Token craned his neck to look at the source of the smell. White and green mold grew on the coffee left in the top cup of the highest tower.

Inside the top cup of the second-highest tower, the contents had all evaporated, leaving a thick, brown sludge caked to the inside. In the final towers, top cup was something black that Token couldn't identify.

When he went to pick up the cup for a better look, a swarm of tiny gnats burst out. Despite his best efforts, some of the gnats went up his nose and in his mouth. Token coughed but ended up swallowing some of them anyway.

He shuddered, feeling disgusted, before taking a look inside the cup.

Now that the infestation had gone, Token's best guess at the contents were old ravioli. The mini kind of ravioli from a can, like Craig's mom, made sometimes when he went for a sleepover. But Craig's mom never served it in a coffee cup. Did Tweek run out of clean bowls?

Token's stomach twisted. Once Tweek's room was spick and span, he was going to make him sign a blood oath to never ever bring ravioli into his room again.

"Tweek, when was the last time you took these cups out?" Token asked, setting the ravioli cup down. The moment he did, the gnats returned to congregate on the old pasta.

Tweek's head snapped up. He scrambled to his feet.

"Shit! Cups! Cups! I forgot. I was going to take those out yesterday." Tweek nearly tripped as he raced to the bed. "Hand them to me. Mom's been looking for them all week. We're out of clean cups and have to drink out of paper cups from the shop."

"Ooooo-kay, then," He muttered, carefully grabbing the top and bottom cups of the tallest tower. He passed off the tower to Tweek before reaching for the next one.

"I'll help." He offered.

"No! It's my room. I have to clean it all myself." Tweek spun around. He took two steps, then tripped. The cups, luckily, landed in a pile of stuffed animals and didn’t break. The moldy coffee and assorted sludges spilled on the fake fur.

Tweek put his hands to his hair and let out a scream of frustration. "Nooo! This isn't fair! Why can't I do this?"

Token scooted to the edge of the bed then slipped off to his knees. He moved over and set a hand on Tweek's shoulder.

"Are you doing alright, man?" Token asked. Tweek turned towards him with his lip quivering.

"No, I'm not." He swallowed a sob. "I'm stressed as all hell and I know it's because I let my room get this bad when I shouldn’t have. It's all my fault and everything is terrible, and I hate it!"

Token looked around the room again. His eyes lingered at the spot Tweek was working before he called him over. The pile wasn't in anyway organized, just relocated from the floor to the desk.

"It's not that bad," Token lied. "If you let me help, I'm sure we can fix it."

"It's my fault. I need to do it myself." Tweek sniffled, wiping his nose on his sleeve.

"Why?" Token dropped his hand to his lap.

"Because...you know!" Tweek waved his hands out. "Just because!"

"That's a dumb reason." Token gathered the coffee cups and stacked them into two towers. "You have friends so when you mess up you can get help from them, Tweek."

Tweek tried to argue, but Token held up his hand to cover his mouth.

"I'm helping you clean your room," he told him sternly, falling into his Mom Friend voice. "No ifs, no buts, no coconuts, got it?"

He didn't particularly care to be seen as the ‘Mom Friend,’ but he had to admit it had its advantages in times like this. Tweek wouldn't argue with him now.

Tweek sighed against his palm but nodded anyway. Token bobbed his head back and handed Tweek half the cups.

"Alright, I think we should get all these cups out of your room first, then take your stuffed animals down to wash. After that, we'll make a game plan for the rest of the room." He smiled. "Sound good to you?"

Hopefully, he sounded knowledgeable enough that Tweek wouldn't worry. In reality, Token didn’t know more than the bare minimum how to clean his own room. His family had a cleaning lady who showed up once a week to pick up the slack, after all. He never bothered to learn more, but Token was sure he could handle it.

Tweek carefully stood, holding the cups tightly to his chest. He took a breath then returned Token's smile.

"That sounds great. Thanks, Token."

---

Once he had a plan, Tweek barely needed Token's help at all. After taking all the window cups, along with a plate Token accidentally kicked from under a half-empty bag of birdseed, down to the sink, the two gathered up the soiled stuffed animals and took them to the washing machine where Token learned that, apparently, stuffed animals should be washed in pillowcases.

Token laughed and tried to play it off that he was testing Tweek about washing machine practices, but he was pretty sure Tweek didn’t believe him.

When they returned to Tweek's room, Token took a pad of paper and a pen from the pile on his desk. The pen was a Red Racer themed pen with multiple kinds of colored ink, which Token thought might have actually been Craig's, but didn't point it out. Nichole took his jackets and pens all the time too. It just came with the territory of dating. Everything belongs to each other.

With Tweek's help, he made a list of everything they needed to pick up. Then they went to picking everything from that category up in the room. All the clothes first, then the dishes and so on.

All the clothes were agreed to be dirty. Tweek and Token took four trips to take them all down to the washer. By that time, the stuffed animals were finished so Tweek could start a new load.

His room already looked much cleaner with the clothes picked up, so it was easy to find all the dishes and take them to the sink. The toys they piled on to Tweek's bed and started putting every toy where it needed to go, in the closet or on the shelves or toy chest.

Then they repeated the process with everything else on the floor.

While working at organizing the toys, Tweek had fully taken over cleaning duties, so Token sat in the desk chair and watched. He could practically see the waves of stress fall off of his friend as he organized his room.

"Hey, Tweek," Token asked, leaning back in the chair, "Can I ask you a question?"

Tweek stood on his tiptoes to throw an action figure to the top shelf of his closet. Falling to the flats of his feet he replied, "Sure. What?"

"Why didn't you get Craig to help you? He's the most organized of all of us. His room is the cleanest, and he likes to pick up messes — because he's a weirdo like that." Token idly drew a circle on the pad of paper in red ink. He clicked the pen to green and drew another circle inside the first.

Tweek sighed as he picked up a board game. "It's because, um, I don't like how Craig cleans."

"What?" Token dropped the pen. He stared at Tweek in confusion.

Tweek shook his head. "He tried to make my room like his, and I don't like it. My legos and blocks stay in the box by my desk so I can grab them easily when I'm playing, not under my bed. I keep my favorite books inside my nightstand's drawer so I can read them before going to sleep. Craig has all his books on his bookshelf near the door. He has all his underwear in the bottom drawer with his socks. The gnomes took all my underpants, so I don't even have any to wear anymore! How Craig keeps his room drives me bonkers."

Tweek shoved the board game under his bed with the others. "That's why my room got so bad this time. I had to take everything out to find what I needed since nothing was where I keep it."

"So this was Craig's fault." Token chuckled, picking the pen back up.

"Kinda?" Tweek picked up a rope with colorful wooden beads and a little silver bell on it. As he walked to Polly's cage he went on, "Don't tell him though. He'll get moody if he thinks I'm mad at him."

Polly squawked excitedly as Tweek hung the toy up in the cage. The bird instantly landed next to the toy to ring the bell.

"I won't," Token promised. He jumped to feet then picked up some lego men attached to a long flat brick. He held them up before asking, "These go in the box by your desk, right?"

---

Tweek fell back on his naked bed. The sheets and bedding, the last bit of laundry he and Token washed, were still in the dryer. Token folded the last shirt and set it in the top drawer of Tweek's dresser.

Once he shut it, the room was done--save for the bed, of course.

Token looked around with his hands on his hips and nodded. "We make a good team, Tweek."

Tweek pushed himself up on his elbows. "We do. Thank you again, Token. I'm feeling so much better now without all the clutter stressing me out."

Token flopped down beside him. "No problem, dude. This was kind of fun, actually." He quickly added, "Don't make a habit of it, though."

Tweek laughed and nodded. He rolled over to look at the alarm clock on his nightstand raised his head.

"Do you wanna have a sleepover?" He asked. "Mom and Dad should be home by now, so we can go ask."

Token hummed and looked out the window. There was plenty of light for him to run home and pick up his PJs and a change of clothes.

He jumped to his feet then spun around with a grin. "Of course, but on one condition."

Tweek scooted off the bed as he asked, "What?"

"You promise me on your life, that you'll never bring ravioli into your room again."

---

AN: Cleaning up and opening up my living space actually really helps when my anxiety is through the roof. Less clutter, less to worry about. There is probably a scientific reason behind it somewhere.

#tweek tweak #Token black #south park #fanfiction #tweek week #one-shot #comedy #childhood shenanigans

42 notes · View notes

aquaquadrant · 5 years ago

Link

Title: it wears a mask Chapter Warnings: language, death mention. Summary: Beck has a change of heart at the trainyard and takes Peter captive instead. In many ways, it turns out much, much worse. (NOT SLASH)

Chapter Six Preview

It’s good to be back.

Beck greets his friends with smiles and nods as he makes his way through the headquarters. He’s glad to finally let himself relax and fully drop the Mysterio act. There haven’t been many moments completely to himself since London. And that costume really doesn’t breathe well.

Hill offered him a place at the old Avengers compound, and Beck had to play the ‘tortured loner’ role to decline and take off without sounding suspicious. He has his whole team to think of, not to mention Peter. And besides, what’s the fun of being a superhero if you’re living in a government sanctioned compound with constant surveillance? Stark had the right idea, living it up in his own private mansion.

The event has started Beck thinking about a more permanent settlement. This temporary headquarters isn’t too shabby, but he didn’t really want to settle in Europe. Staging his attacks in America will get him more attention; American news always does. And he can be a bit pickier about exactly where he sets up shop. This base is a bit too public for his liking. Their security is tight, but all it takes it one accidental glimpse through a door as it opens, one troublesome teenager sneaking around where they aren’t supposed to, and the whole thing is blown.

He might take some notes from the Avengers and get himself a nice, secluded compound. Sturdy, well protected, with plenty of room to breathe. And he can take notes from Wakanda and set up a perimeter of drones to hide the entire thing under cloaking technology. No shame in stealing from the best.

But he doesn’t have to think about that now. He’ll have plenty of time once the buzz from the London attack ebbs- it’s already dropped down the list of trending topics, so it won’t be long. It’s been a busy three days, but the world moves on quickly. He’ll have to get his next planned attacks rolling to stay relevant, just a few little disturbances to put him in back the headlines.

At least Beck has the time for this; checking in with his favorite web-crawling do-gooder. He’s tapped into the video feed a few times since the last time, but he hasn’t actually spoken to Peter in person since making that call to his friends. And seeing as he’s due for a check-in with everyone at home base anyways, it’s a good time as any.

Beck pauses just outside the door to Peter’s room, briefly pulling up the video feed. Peter’s sitting on his bed, finishing a sandwich while trying to look like he’s not watching the news report playing on the wall. Beck closes the projection with a grin and lets himself into the room.

Peter jumps at his entrance, and the initial surprise on his face quickly turns to alarm as he realizes who it is. The sandwich falls from Peter’s hand onto the bed as he scrambles away from Beck, his back hitting the wall.

The wound on Peter’s face looks a lot worse up close. Angry red skin borders the tiny stitches along his cheek, making it look even more out of place than the bare gash itself. His right hand in its splint is held close to his chest, his left hand pressed back against the wall.

Beck chuckles. “Aw, what’s the matter, not happy to see me?”

Peter doesn’t reply, instead continuing to study him with that distrustful, wide-eyed gaze.

Beck puts his hands on his hips. “Oh, what, what’s that look for? I’m just here to talk.”

Peter hesitates. “I don’t know if you’re real,” he says, wary.

“You’re still on this?” Beck asks incredulously. “What reason would I have for appearing as an illusion now instead of just talking to you through Herod’s intercom?”

Instead of an answer, Peter blinks at him. “Herod?”

Ah shit, right. “Oh, that’s what I’ve named your drone,” Beck explains, waving a hand. He grins. “It’s a biblical reference, get it? Peter and Herod?”

Peter’s face is blank. “We don’t really, uh… go to church so, yknow…”

Beck raises his eyebrows. “Really? You’ve never heard of- forget it.” He shakes his head, mildly disappointed. “Now, even if I was an illusion, what would be the harm? Clearly I’m not going to kill you, otherwise I would’ve done it already. You’re a prisoner in a secure cell. Why would I use an illusion to attack you now?”

Peter’s expression grows guarded, and it’s immediately clear to Beck that an answer has come to Peter’s mind and he doesn’t like it. “You tell me,” he snaps.

“Ooh, getting feisty, are we?” Beck taunts, unfazed by the insult. “It’s amazing what a hot shower, a change of clothes, a good meal, and medical treatment will do for the spirit, huh?”

“Stop it,” Peter says, his voice low. His shoulders hunch by his ears defensively. “I just… need to know if you’re real.”

It comes out a lot more wobbly than Peter probably intended. Beck puts his hands on his hips, nonplussed. He genuinely didn’t expect the illusions to have such a lasting effect on the kid’s head- but in hindsight, Beck shouldn’t be surprised. He’s won Peter’s trust only to tear it all down, throw him into a nightmare, almost kill him, and then take him captive. Even if there wouldn’t be any danger involved this time, Peter doesn’t want to be tricked again. It’s only natural.

“Well, I already know you won’t take my word for it,” Beck says eventually. He stretches an arm out, almost as if for a handshake. “Go ahead, see for yourself.”

Peter gives a start, like he hadn’t expected Beck to go along with it. Then he’s wary again, eyes narrowing in on Beck’s hand like it might shoot lasers at him. After a moment, he eases off the bed and onto his feet, moving in that same slow, tense way from earlier. He approaches Beck by walking sideways- protecting his most vital organs, smart- and the bend in his knees puts him closer to the ground, ready to spring away in an instant.

Beck is abruptly reminded of his attempts to befriend alley cats outside his childhood home. Sitting still with an outstretched hand as they slunk towards him, those slitted eyes roving over him as their ears twitched curiously. They got close enough to sniff his hand before darting away, tails bristling, and the process would repeat. It was a miraculous lesson in patience for ten-year-old Beck, and his efforts were rewarded within just a few weeks; the cats would come when he called.

Amusement quirks at Beck’s lips with the memory, but he doesn’t let himself smile. Peter might take it as a warning.

Finally, Peter stops before him. When his hand darts out to make contact, he doesn’t take Beck’s offered hand. Instead, he ends up sort of poking the back of Beck’s hand, just for an instant. Another calculated move, Beck suspects, because if Peter had taken his hand, it would’ve given Beck the opportunity to grab him.

As soon as Peter’s hand falls away, he retreats to the bed. Like he can’t get away from Beck fast enough. His expression is hard to read- not from any effort on Peter’s part to conceal his emotions, but because they’re so conflicted. He settles cross-legged again, meeting Beck’s gaze evenly.

“Why are you here?” he asks.

“Just checking up on you,” Beck says, folding his arms. “I heard about your hand. Feel like telling me why you’re punching walls?”

Peter bristles, his hand curling to his chest. “No.”

Beck hums noncommittally. “Well, I know you definitely weren’t trying to escape, because doing so would kill your best friends in the whole wide world, and we don’t want that.” His smile is a bit too wide to be friendly. “So what gives?”

Peter glares at him, but Beck can tell the reminder has its desired effect from the way Peter sets his jaw. “I got angry,” he says finally, glancing away. “Lost my temper.”

Beck knows it’s a lie right away. Peter Parker is many things, but he’s not the kind of person who is prone to anger issues. Beck’s research told him as much. So he reads between the lines, searching for the half-truth. Maybe Peter did lose control of himself, but it wasn’t out of anger. That’d be something he’d want to keep to himself, especially after the trainyard.

“Alright.” Beck doesn’t press it, filing the info away for later. “Next time, count to ten.”

Peter ignores the comment. “You can’t keep this up forever, you know.”

Beck tilts his head. “Keep what up?”

“This… fake hero thing.” Peter’s voice is layered with thinly-veiled disgust. His eyes trace the projection of the news report still playing on the wall. “What are you going to do when the real villains show up? The real monsters? You keep establishing yourself, and it’ll only be a matter of time before someone challenges you.” He frowns, thoughtful. “It’s like, you’re trying to make a game, right, but there are already real players out there. And they play by their rules.”

Beck nods slowly. “Interesting point,” he says, humoring Peter. “What would you suggest I do?”

Peter studies him for a moment, hesitating. “Quit while you’re ahead,” he offers finally. “If you stop now, you could get away. Disappear before anyone knows what’s happening. But if you wait for someone or something else to expose you, your chances are a lot worse.”

It’d be a good answer, if Beck was a man of less nerve. He’s come too far to have doubt now. “I’m sorry, what about this situation has made you think you can try to bargain with me?” he asks.

Surprise flares in Peter’s eyes, and he holds his hands up. “I’m just saying, this isn’t sustainable.”

“Maybe you weren’t paying attention.” Beck lets the slightest edge come into his voice, feeling satisfied by the way Peter tenses. “I have Edith now- thanks, by the way- and Edith has access to Stark’s entire satellite surveillance network. If it’s online, Edith has access to it, and that means any potential threats can be identified and neutralized before they happen.”

“You…” Peter knits his brows together. “Wait, you’re talking about using Edith to-”

Beck interrupts with a question. “Were you old enough to pay attention to the whole SHIELD shitstorm? With Hydra and the helicarriers and Project Insight?” At Peter’s hesitant nod, Beck continues, “they might’ve been onto something. But while they used an algorithm to predict who could potentially cause problems, I’ll be using Edith to locate them and take them out before any damage can be done.”

Horror dawns on Peter’s face. “This is… you’re going to use a worldwide surveillance network to eliminate threats, and then create fake ones to fight? That’s-”

“Changing the game, I know,” Beck amends. “If we’re going with your little metaphor.”

Peter stares at him. “You’re killing all the players before they enter the stage, and replacing them with CPUs.”

Beck chuckles. “Sure, that’s a way to put it. Might be cheating, but at least I know I’ll always win.”

“But not without cost,” Peter says, his words slow with realization. “You’re… going to keep killing people for it, aren’t you? Innocent people?”

“Collateral damage,” Beck agrees. “It’s necessary.”

Sure, if Beck were more of a humanitarian, he could just use Edith to keep the world safe and not even bother with all the theatrics. But he’s got a couple reasons for going about it this way. One; many people would disagree with persecution coming before the crime, and his actions have a much better chance of going unnoticed if he gives the world something else to look at.

And two; Beck is tired of working in the shadows.

Peter’s expression hardens. “It won’t work forever,” he says quietly. “Someone or something is gonna get through the cracks, and- and what do you do then? What if you get attacked in public, no illusions prepared, with the whole world watching?”

Despite himself, Beck feels a small sliver of unease trickle down his spine. As good as Edith is, he’s not the only person who can play things close to the vest. If someone was cautious and clever enough, they could hide their intentions until it was too late. Plus, people and plans could change in an instant. Accidents happen. In this world where mild-mannered scientists could Hulk out at the drop of a hat, it’s nearly impossible to be certain you’re truly safe, at any moment.

Maybe Beck hasn’t prepared for everything as thoroughly as he believed.

But he doesn’t let his newfound doubt show. “How about I worry about the hero stuff, and you worry about keeping your friends alive by being a good little spider, alright?”

Peter’s expression clouds with disappointment and bitterness, and that alone tells Beck that Peter was really hoping to get through to him. Hoping to convince him to abandon this path. But Beck has a perspective Peter can never understand; living in a world where half the population vanished without a trace, and the other half was abandoned by the heroes sworn to protect them. Or, at the very least, avenge them. He remembers the chaos in the days immediately following, his own fear after watching the world crumble around him.

Since the snap was reversed, Beck has often wondered if it would have been easier, had he been blipped. But he’s glad to have experienced those five years. It’s made him stronger, and only solidified his resolve. There’s not enough control in the world, he realized, and the control they have is in incapable hands. It won’t be willingly handed over to the right ones, it has to be taken.

So while some people fell into despair, Beck got to work putting together his own team and fine-tuning the projection technology that would one day power his illusions. Stark’s development of Edith was the last piece to the puzzle, and everything from there fell into place.

Peter is the one outlier Beck didn’t account for, but he’s good at improvising.

“I’ll let you get back to your show now,” Beck says with a grin, nodding at the ongoing news reports. “The lights are gonna go off in a couple hours, and someone will be in to patch up the shower tomorrow morning. You have a good night-”

“Wait.”

Peter’s voice makes Beck pause, his hand on the doorknob. Looking over his shoulder, he sees Peter staring hard at the floor, his good hand clenched into a fist as if he’s steeling himself.

“The guy who was in here earlier, Virgil…” Peter takes a deep breath and meets Beck’s eyes. “He said that you didn’t show any of them what happened at the trainyard.”

Oh, interesting. “That’s correct,” Beck admits.

Peter actually looks a little upset at that. “Why?”

It’s surprising that something like this would matter to Peter, but Beck takes it in stride. “There are some things that I keep to myself,” he says mildly.

Sure, he’s not keen for the others to see the way he hesitated. He’d much rather them believe that his decision to spare Peter was well-thought out instead of the result of a… sudden weakness. But it’s more than that, it’s not wanting the others to see what Peter went through.

And not out of any concern for the kid’s privacy, no. There’s something appealing about keeping that knowledge to himself. About being the only one to have seen Peter like that- aside from William, who only heard it through the mic. It gives Beck a sort of power, he thinks. The power of knowing just how far he successfully pushed Peter, how effective his methods had been.

He’s earned it, in a manner of speaking. Earned the right to see Peter fall apart. No one else has.

Despite saying none of this out loud, the look Peter’s giving Beck makes him think the kid has worked it out on his own. Sharp as a whip, this one. The clash of emotion across Peter’s face is so startling, it’s like he’s inventing new ways to look horrified and betrayed.

Beck rolls his eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic. It’ll be our little secret, yeah? Now finish your dinner and get some sleep tonight. I’ll be checking in soon.”

Peter looks like he’s going to say something but cuts himself off, glancing away.

Beck takes that as his cue to leave, locking the door behind him. Once outside, he quickly pulls up Herod’s projection again, just to double check.

Peter’s sitting right where Beck left him, absently scratching at his wrist splint. As Beck watches, he gives a barely noticeable sigh and picks up the sub sandwich he’d dropped. He looks like he’s fully lost his appetite, but he starts eating anyways, and he pointedly avoids looking at Herod or the projection of the news reports.

Beck closes the feed again, nodding to himself. Looks like everything’s settling down for now. All things considered, Peter’s taken this pretty well. He’s been logical enough to not try and escape, and been on his best behavior where Herod can see him.

But even the strongest wills break given time, and Beck can’t wait to watch.

#spiderman far from home #spiderman ffh #marvel cinematic universe #mcu #mcu fanfiction #my writing #im gonna see if actually posting the chapter here does anything LOL

6 notes · View notes

obsessive-fics · 6 years ago

Text

Title: too late to be getting afraid

Rating: T

Summary: Dan's freaked out being home alone after playing Outlast. Almost as if on cue, Phil calls

Word Count: 1.1k

A/N: This was was written to fill the prompt “Spooky Week” on my @phandomficfests bingo card. I now officially have bingo!

[Read on Ao3]

He knew this was a bad idea. The minute he hit record Dan knew this was a bad idea. But it was their first Spooky Week, and that meant a video every night, even if he had to scare the shit out of himself without the added comfort of another person being there. He managed to get through the game, and then practically tripped over himself running to turn the lights back on. He looked around the room- all the furniture was where it was supposed to be, there was nothing under the desk or floating in the window… He was completely alone.

He’d wanted to be completely independent this time. He could spend a few days by himself, he didn’t need Phil around to be his personal security blanket. But the house was bigger by himself, quieter, and he was starting to feel a little disappointed every time he opened up his cereal to find the exact amount he’d left in there. He did a liveshow after editing the video, which made him feel a little better- the familiar comfort of talking to an audience, but he couldn’t stay on YouNow forever.

Dan continued his plan of turning on every single light in the house, and turned on the tv to fill the silence. One of the old Halloween franchise movies was on, because it was October, and everyone was playing scary movies. And if he wasn’t alone, it’d probably be fun to watch, and to make fun of all the special effects that hadn’t aged well. But as it was, there was a girl hiding in a closet, and the killer was closing in, and it suddenly felt like someone was behind him. Dan turned around quickly- no one was there, obviously, and scrambled to find where he’d put the remote.

Almost as if on cue, his phone rang.

“I’m fine,” he said in lieu of greeting, cradling the phone to his ear, and finally pulling the remote out of the couch.

“Well that was convincing. I just wanted to call you before I fell asleep,” Phil replied, and Dan could tell by his voice that that could happen any minute.

“You don’t have to check up on me. I’m an adult, I can be home alone,” Dan said, because his first defense was always petulance.

“I’m not checking up on you. I’m calling for entirely selfish reasons,” Phil replied, completely unphased.

“Oh… And those reasons are?” Dan wondered. Usually if Phil needed a favor he’d just text him, so he was curious to see what warranted a full phone call.

“I was telling my family a story, and I kept looking to my right so you could chime in. But you weren’t there. And then I realized how used to you being there I am. And that I don’t like it when you’re not there,” Phil told him, and his voice got progressively softer as it went on, and Dan missed him so, so much.

“I want to make fun of you, but I just finished recording a gaming video, and I was definitely doing the same thing,” Dan admitted after a second.

“Well, it’s good to know you miss me too,” Phil teased, and Dan could hear the smile in his voice.

“Don’t get too full of yourself, now. I’m eating all the cereal before you can come back and steal it,” Dan replied.

“Do you wanna Skype?”

“Ah, so that’s why you called. And here I thought you actually missed me,” Dan said, pretending to be offended.

“Shut up, that’s not what I meant. People do skype just to talk you know.”

“I know. Let me get my laptop.”

Five minutes later, Dan was settled in his bedroom and the Skype call was connecting.

“So how was Outlast?” Phil asked. He was sitting in his childhood bedroom, wearing his t-shirt with the ghosts on it and cookie monster pajama pants.

“It was fucking terrifying, Phil. Our electricity bill is gonna be insane, cause I’m not turning any lights off until you come back,” Dan told him, and he was partially kidding, but he was also fully planning on not leaving his room until morning.

“So I’m guessing you don’t want to have that horror movie marathon when I come back?”

“No, we’re definitely doing that. It’s Halloween, it’s our favorite time of the year,” Dan pointed out immediately. Sitting in the dark with popcorn and candy making fun of scary movies was not only one of their favorite things to do, it was a tradition.

“There are some things I’ll never understand about you,” Phil said, laughing fondly, and as well as they knew each other Dan kind of liked that that was still true.

“You love me.”

“Obviously. You want me to stay with you until you fall asleep?” Phil asked, his entirely transparent way of being worried without letting Dan know he was worrying.

“If you can stay up that long,” Dan said, and Phil laughed.

“Shut up.”

“Tell me how everyone at home is doing,” Dan asked, and Phil launched into stories about his mum’s cooking, and playing board games with everyone, and finally beating Martyn at a video game they used to play when they were younger. By the time he got to talking about getting lost with his dad while they were going for a walk, the house didn’t feel empty anymore at all.

“Come home soon, okay? I’m never playing a horror game by myself again, you know,” Dan yawned. He was starting to have trouble keeping his eyes open.

“You won’t have to,” Phil told him softly. “I’ll be back before you know it, and maybe next time, you can come with.”

“Really?” Dan asked, slightly more awake now.

“Well, yeah. Everyone’s been asking about you nonstop. And I wouldn’t have to miss you if you were here,” Phil pointed out, shifting his laptop so he could lay down.

“And I wouldn’t be hiding in my room from the Blair Witch if I was with you,” Dan added, which made Phil laugh.

“Exactly. So you’ll come stay with us next time?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll come.”

“Good,” Phil yawned, and Dan could tell he was gonna be out any minute.

“Don’t forget to take your glasses off,” Dan said, and it was weird how you could miss something as mundane as taking your boyfriend’s glasses off when he falls asleep with them on.

“Mm. Love you,” Phil mumbled, and then he was asleep.

“Love you too, idiot,” Dan said quietly, but he didn’t hang up, and before long he was asleep too. And come morning? He hadn’t had a single nightmare.

#phanfiction #Phanfic #phan fluff

19 notes · View notes

theprojectatedensgate · 6 years ago

Text

The Lamb of God (A FC5 multi chapter: Chapter one

Ft OC: Brooklyn “Ariel” Carter

The Beginning

Warnings: Swearing, Violence,

“Montana... Big Sky Country... The Treasure State... People got a lot of names for it, I just call it home.”

“Lived here my whole life, still amazed at how beautiful it is.”

“Maybe that’s what blinded us to how ugly the people were getting.”

“And everything became perfectly still...”

“Good day to you Brother.”

“You don’t understand, no one took these groups seriously.”

“They were religious. Militant. It was a Goddamn Cult.”

“The Collapse is upon us my children...”

“They started buying up every farm for miles. Then the radio station. Not long after that they even had the fuckin’ cops.”

“Their own sovereign religious state. Built right here under our noses.”

“Ain’t no one comin’ to help us. Government can’t do shit. We’re on our own.”

“God demands we save those lost souls whether they want to be saved or not.”

“People don’t want to believe groups like this exist.”

“People are scared, man.”

“...Some will wish to harm us... Some will wish to destroy all that we have built here together... And some will betray us...”

“We don’t know what he’s capable of... Who? Their leader.”

“Joseph Seed.”

“They call him “The Father.””

“And those in the outside world are blind, they do not believe, they have no faith. Shhh.... But I will make them see...”

SERVICE LOST

“Hey Rookie... Rookie!”

Brooklyn’s mind reeled as she lowered the phone, the images of the man digging his thumbs into the cameraman's sockets flashed before her. The unsteadiness of the Chopper threw her from thought, the Sheriff’s voice on the headset cutting through her.

“You’re wasting your time, there’s no signal out here.”

The Marshall shot her a grimace, glancing down to his to a paper in his hand. That must be warrant. Her gut lurched, they were going to arrest the man. The man who had just slaughtered someone without a second thought, The Father, Joseph Seed. Pratt’s voice came through the headset.

“The found footage, where was it found exactly?”

The sheriff rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous glance out the window.

“Just outside of the Holland Valley.”

“Crossing over the Henbane now.”

Out of the shadows of the Whitetail Mountains, a large block of white came filled her view, a stark contrast against the blue Montana night. Brooklyn lent closer to the window, her mouth dropping at the sight, Hudson exhaled through the speaker.

“Oh, fuck. There he is.”

A giant statue, arms out stretched, book in one hand, his other raised to the sky. Brooklyn couldn’t believe her eyes, a huge sculpture, The Father himself.

“Crazy MotherFucker.”

“Jesus.”

“Holy shit.”

“We’re officially in Peggie’ country.”

“How much longer?”

“Just long enough for you to change your mind, so we can turn this bird around.”

Brooklyn furrowed her brows, picking at her nails. She watched The Marshall and The Sheriff in silence. Why would he want to override a federal warrant? It’s all their asses on the line back at the Department if they didn’t go through with it. She had never met the wanted man before, only skimming quickly through his profile. He didn’t seem that dangerous at first, a calm looking man with certain notes of intensity, but after watching that video, after watching the Sheriff, she was beginning to doubt. The Marshall furrowed his brows, cocking his head to the side.

“You want me to ignore a federal warrant, Sheriff?”

“No sir. I want you to understand the reality of this situation: Joseph Seed, he’s not a man to be fucked with. We’ve had run-ins with him before and they haven’t always gone our way. Just sometimes... Sometimes, it’s best to leave well enough alone.”

The Marshall toyed with the paper, and Brooklyn watched him with anticipation She had heard things, whispers and rumours in the office, Joseph Seed was a madman, he would kill all who stood in his way. As a cop she couldn’t really rely on conjecture, they needed actual evidence. Which the Marshal had been more than happy to provide, he had been talking non stop about the case since he arrived in Montana. Brooklyn listened to him politely, all she knew was they had to bring some man of God to the station who had a potential to turn nasty, nothing more.

“Yeah well, we have laws for a reason, Sheriff. And Joseph Seed is gonna’ learn that.”

The Sheriff sighed. Ahh good old Whitehorse, never got on well with the city folk. He sent Brooklyn a knowing look, she smirked straight back at him.

“Pratt, open a call with dispatch.”

“Ten-Four.”

Whitehorse pushed the mic to his lips, taking a deep breath.

“Whitehorse to dispatch. Over.”

The radio crackled with interference, Nancy came through on the end.

“Go ahead, Earl.”

“We’re approaching the compound, Nancy. Over.”

“Roger, Sheriff. Still planning to go through with this? Over.”

Whitehorse shook his head, breathing a sigh.

“We are -- Unfortunately-- Still trying to some sense into our friend the Marshal. Over.”

The Marshalled glanced at Brook, smirking and shaking his head. Her faced breached a smile, attempting to stifle a giggle.

“Alright. He’s lucky I’m not there... If you get into any trouble you just let me know. Over.”

“Ten-Four. Over and out.”

Pratt closed the call to dispatch, his grip still firm on the bird, he turned to Hudson, scoffing and titling his head to point at Brook.

“Maybe we shoulda Nancy along with us instead of the Probie. These Peggies wouldn’t fuck with her.”

“Pratt!”

“Hey fuck you Staci.”

The Marshall raised his brows at her, and turned in his seat. Whitehorse winked and she sent him a confident grin.

“Why do you keep calling them “Peggies”?”

“The Project at Eden’s Gate. P.E.G. Peggies. It’s what the locals call em’. You know they started off harmless enough a few years back. But now they are armed to the teeth. Hell, they’re lookin’ for a fight.”

“Are you scared, Sheriff?”

He didn’t answer, and a bile rose up her chest. This was Sheriff Earl Whitehorse, he didn’t spook easily. He had taken her under his wing when she had arrived, if he was afraid, she needed to be too. Brook fiddled with her phone, her mind flashing to images of Cultist with belts of ammo wrapped around their necks, AR-C’s slung over their shoulders. She wasn’t a stranger to cults, growing up with her daddy’s stories in the ATF. She was proud of him and followed his path into law enforcement. She knew crime well, training for it everyday back home. Dealing with a cult directly however? That shirt had not been worn. Pratt disrupted the silence.

“We’re here. Compound’s just below.”

Brook lent forward towards the window again. Rows of white houses surrounded by a wire fence and trees, A church sat proudly at the head, white, fitting in with it’s surroundings. The pale moonlight and the flaming bonfires below basked the compound in an eerie light, a lump formed in her throat.

“Oh my...Jesus.”

Pratt exhaled sharply, attempting to keep the bird steady, Hudson exhaled along with him, sharing a glance.

“This is a bad idea.”

“Last chance Marshall.” The Sheriff’s voice stern.

The Marshall’s gaze lingered over the side momentarily before sighing and facing Brook. He looked at her with confidence, and she sent him a supportive nod.

“We’re going in.”

The Sheriff glanced upwards, swallowing before regaining his composure.

“Set her down.”

Pratt hesitated, shifting in his seat, his expression full of concern.

“Pratt.”

“Roger, that.”

The slowly sunk to the ground, dust and dirt blowing up around them. The size of the church seemed to grow and so did the lump in Brook’s throat. She took note of the entryway, “Church of Eden’s Gate” wrought into the white metal fence. The Chopper hit the ground with a thud, bouncing it’s passengers in their seats.

“Dispatch, you still there?”

“Yes, go ahead, Sheriff.”

“You don’t hear from us in fifteen minutes send in everyone. Call the goddamn National Guard if you have to. Over.”

“Yessir, Sheriff. I’ll be prayin’ for you.”

As the blades of the bird died down, Whitehorse removed his headset, the rest of the team following suit, he turned to face them.

“Now listen up, Three rules: Stick close. Keep your guns in your holsters and let me do the talking.” He nodded at the Marshall. “Got it?”

“Got it.”

“Rookie?”

“Yes sir.”

“Alright everyone, stay sharp. Let’s go.”

They scrambled out of the bird, Brook climbing out last, her eyes widening as she took in her surroundings, the video made sense. Their own sovereign religious state... Built right here. Pratt raised a thumbs up, keeping an eye from the Chopper. Whitehorse, Burke, Hudson, walked in a row, heading towards the Church.

“He’ll be in the Church. Stick close,”

“Eye’s open, these folk can spook easily.

That’s when Brook saw them, the “Peggies.”, just like she had seen on the found footage from those missing bloggers. Men with ragged, grown out beards, standing around the bonfires and keeping watch. There were women too, long un cut hair, guns slung around them just like their male counterparts, keen eyes trained upon the strangers. They adorned with light colour sweaters, the church symbol on their front. Dog’s barked in the distance and the smell of dirt, wood smoke and gunpowder filled them. There was something else too... Ammonia like. Brook trailed behind her squad mates, transfixed on the sights around her. The people had a thousand yard stares, the look of someone who knew all there was to know, experienced all there was to experience. It un-nerved her. Hudson must have noticed Brook’s reluctance spinning around to look at her.

“Brook! On me. Stay loose, huh?”

Brook straightened her composure, marching confidently forward. Mutterings came from the crowds of people, she only picked up a few sentences.

“We’ve done nothing wrong.”

“What are they doing here?”

“Be calm. Stay calm everyone. Just go about your business. This doesn’t concern you”

The Sheriff’s words had no affect, the crowd still focused on their every move, whispering and glancing at one another, glaring at the officers.

“Somethin’ tell’s me they do not like law enforcement.”

Hudson nodded at Brook, before placing a hand on Whitehorse’s shoulder.

“Sheriff, I don’t like this.”

“Everything’s fine Hudson... Everything’s just fine.”

The Marshall stopped in his tracks, turning to the officers with astonishment.

“Jesus Christ, you’re wearing badges aren’t you?”

“Yeah but they don’t respect the badges much out here.”

“They’ll respect the nine millimetre.”

“Not every problem can be solved with a bullet Marshall...”

They carried on their way, passing the white buildings. Brooklyn noticed they were all named in Latin, she furrowed her brows trying to figure out what it all meant. The Church loomed over the compound. The Moon casting a gloomy shadow beneath it, voices grew louder as they grew nearer. A familiar tune, hummed out by a choir of people. Brook almost found herself singing along, before shaking her head and focusing on the Church door. The same symbol on the cultists clothing, the Church of Eden’s Gate. There was writing etched in the wood, she couldn't make it out, layers of dirt and dust covering the lettering, she moved to brush her hand across it, pulling back as the Marshall wrapped his fingers around the handle, Whitehorse grabbed his arm.

"Woah, Marshall. Now we do this, we do it my way: Quietly. Calmly. You got it?"

The Marshall rolled his eyes, outstretching his arms in defence.

"Fine."

"Hudson on the door. Watch our backs. Don't let any of these people get in. Rookie -- On me."

Hudson stood with her back towards the Church, her hand ready at her side arm. The Sheriff turned to the Marshall once more.

"And you, just try not to do anything stupid."

The Marshall smirked at him, placing a gloved palm onto his shoulder.

"Relax, Sheriff. You're about to get your name in the paper."

Brook shot a look at Hudson, who also rolled her eyes. She glanced back towards her, concern on her expression.

"You'll be fine."

"I know."

Brook shot a reassuring smile back, turning to follow the Sheriff and the Marshall into the building. Whitehorse pulled the doors open gently, the soft glow of candles illuminating the outside. Brook saw the backs of cultists, the long shadow of a man, stretching across the floor boards. A stern, powerful voice that reverberated and echoed against the walls of the building caught her attention.

"Something is coming. You can feel it, can't you? We are creeping toward the edge... And there will be a reckoning."

She moved forward, sticking close behind her colleagues, she caught eyes with the people in the pews, who rose to their feet as they walked on. Fear tingled at her neck, she kept her eyes forward.

"That's why we started The Project. Because we know what happens next..."

Her eyes started to adjust to a tall figure, stood upon the podium, the source of the voice.

"They will come. They will try to take from us. Take our guns. Take our freedom... Take our Faith!"

Brook turned to glance at the doors, the Peggies had started to crowd behind her. Panic surged through her chest and she tapped at the Sheriff's arm. He sent her a nod of acknowledgement, before nodding towards the figure.

"But we will not let them."

The Marshall picked up on Brooklyn's uneasiness, sending the Sheriff a look of confusion at the lack of action.

"Sheriff, c'mon."

"Just hold on, Marshall."

The figure was in clear view now, dressed only in black jeans, Black boots surrounded by candles and a rosary clutched in his hand. A belt buckle that matched the symbol that shone behind him, enlightening his features, the symbol on the church. He hair was tied up in a bun, yellow shades fixed on his eyes, a beard like the others, tattoo's and scars adorned his chest and arms. Brook squinted to examine the markings. Two swallows resting below his collar bones, a crown on his chest and below that a lamp with the word "Eden" written onto it, what looked like a verse of some sort written along his waist, flowing down to his abdomen. She examined his scars, the word "Wrath" etched onto the underside of his forearm, "Lust" just above the lining of his pants.

"We will not let their greed, or their immorality, or their depravity hurt us anymore!"

"Sheriff-"

"Do not pull that trigger. Remain calm..."

"There will be no more more suffering-"

"No fuck this." The Marshall shoved the warrant forward. "Joseph Seed! I have a warrant issued for your arrest on the suspicion of kidnapping with the intent to harm!"

Brooklyn looked behind the preacher, taking note of man who stood to his left. A well dressed man, dark hair slicked back, long coat and sunglasses upon his head. He too had a beard, and Brook smiled a little at the resemblance. The man caught her gaze, raising at brow at her expression, heat flooded through her and she turned her attention back to the wanted man.

"Now, I want you to step forward and keep your hands where I can see 'em!"

Joseph raised his arms, pointing towards the officers.

"Here they are... The Locusts in our garden... You see they've come for me."

The peggies started grouping in front of him, forming a protective barrier. Brook's heart thudded against her chest, her eyes flicking between the defensive crowd and Whitehorse.

"They've come to take me away from you. They've come to destroy all that we have built!"

The crowd started yelling and yowling, raising their guns in the air as they pointed and shouted them. Brook's hand instinctively went for her side arm, the Marshall followed suit.

"Alright, now. Put your guns down. Put your guns down!”

The Sheriff raised his hand against the Marshall and Brook, shouting over the Cultists, confusion gracing her features.

"Now hold on, do not touch that service weapon! Hold on and stand down! Stand down! Everyone calm down!"

Joseph stood off of the podium, silencing the crowd, he placed his palms on two of his followers, glancing back as the man on his left stalked behind him, his gaze fixed on Brook. He moved over to the right, now in clear view, crossing his hands behind his back. Joseph looked back at his followers with a grimace, as they awaited instruction.

"We knew this moment would come. We have prepared for it. Go. Go..."

He gently pushed them forward and the follower looked around with anticipation. Another figure had come into view behind him, a red headed man, arms crossed over his chest, a military jacket rolled at his forearms. He stood to his right, also staring at Brook. She began to feel like a caged animal, the Sheriff was right, they should have turned around. Reluctantly, the cultists started walking out of the church, sending filthy looks towards her. One more figure had joined the men behind him, a woman, dressed in a white knee length dress with flowers and bare footed, dirty blonde tresses snaking over her shoulders.

"God will not let them take me."

Joseph raised his arms in the air, facing towards the heavens. her

"I saw when the Lamb opened the First Seal, and I heard as it were the noise of thunder, one of the four beasts say, "Come and see..."

The Marshall tensed up, taking a step towards him.

"Step. forward." He lowered his arms, walking closer to the officers, raising a finger to point at the Marshall.

"...And I saw, and behold, it was a white horse..."

He looked over at the Sheriff, before finally meeting Brook's discomforted expression, his blue eyes filtered green through the glasses, boring into her with a powerful intensity, she felt like he knew everything about her, she felt vulnerable under his gaze.

"...And Hell followed with him..."

He extended his arms towards her , palms facing upwards as he pressed his wrists side by side. Readying himself for the hand cuffs. The Marshall smirked, shaking his head in his typical fashion.

"Rookie -- cuff this son of a bitch."

"God will not let you take me."

The spotlight was on her now, she stood in front of this man, a stage fright freezing her in place. He stare tore though ever fibre of her being, as if this man knew all the answers, for every question known to mankind. She reached a shaky hand into her back pocket, fumbling with the cuffs.

"Rook! Put the cuffs on him!"

"Put down your guns, take your friends and walk away..."

A small voice in the back of Brook's mind spoke to her, telling her she should drop this and leave. The staring of the group behind Joseph only served to make this worse. Trembling slightly, she slapped the cuffs around his wrists. The holy man stared at the floorboards, before shaking his head and smiling at her calmly.

"Sometimes the best thind to do... Is to walk away..."

Brook placed her hands on his shoulder, spinning him around to face the door, with one hand on the cuffs and on his shoulder, she pushed him toward the exit. The Sheriff nodded at her with approval, sending her another wink.

"Let's go."

The group of three that stood behind Joseph, watching the whole scene unfold, observed in silence as they walked their leader from the Church. The Marshall and the Sheriff both shoved the doors open, to meet Hudson's' terrified expression.

"We have to get the fuck out of here."

The sounds of engines from Trucks started pulling up outside the church, the crowd of people larger now, heckling and cursing at the officers. Brooklyn walked on with caution, keeping a firm grip on her prisoner. The peggies shouted, the dogs were barking.

"Marshall you take point."

"On it."

"Stay on the path Rook."

"Yes sir."

The Marshall grew skittish, unable to focus on everybody at once. A cultist lunged for him and he elbowed them into the ground. Hudson became panicked.

"Burke!"

"Everyone keep back!"

Hudson glanced back at Brook, her eyes wide with fear.

"Rookie keep up!"

The cultists came closer, almost cutting off their path to the bird.

" I am a US federal Marshall and I am ordering you to stand back!"

Rocks started raining down upon them, the drew their service weapons, pointing behind Brook. She ducked, speed walking towards the Chopper. The Marshall fired shots into the air, causing the cultists to move out of their way. Hudson clambered into the bird, beckoning Brook with her hands.

"C'mon! C'mon! Get in!"

"Pratt! Get us outta' here!"

They stumbled into the chopper, the blades whirring to life, the air filled with the noise of people shouting and an engine. Brook shoved Joseph in first before seating herself, the Marshall and Whitehorse following. All hell broke loose, people started throwing themselves at the bird, crying for their Father, scrambling all up the sides and clinging on to the aircraft. The Sheriff threw on his headset, calling for dispatch.

"Nancy?! Nancy are you there?!”

One of the peggies managed to get a hold of the Marshall's arm as they liften from the ground, he shot at them watching them drop like a stone. A woman grabbed hold of Brook, but she pushed her out of the Bird. Chaos was unravelling, Hudson, Pratt, Whitehorse and Burke all shouting over the top of each other. But something caught Brook's attention, she look at Joseph and noticed he was singing. The same song from the church.

"Amazing... Grace... How sweet... The sound..."

The chopper shuddered roughly, the sounds of metal crashing together made Brook's gut tie into knots. They started spinning, falling from the sky, another Peggie was thrown off the side, the speed of the fall increasing, Brook's hands clasped into her seat, the Marshal was pressed up against his, eyes firmly shut as he started to scream.

"We're going down!"

The Sheriff grabbed ahold of Brook's hand and squeezed, but she was fixed on Joseph, she couldn't tear herself away.

"That saved... A wretch... Like me..." The tree's became a blur, her chest tightened with a lack of oxygen. She forced her eyes closed, bracing for impact.

"Was lost... But now I'm found..."

The smacked into the ground at speed, the bird rolled with the impact, flipping twice before landing. Blackness pooled in Brook's vision, her head becoming dark. Josephs voice becoming muffled as she faded.

"Was blind... but now... I see..."

Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think!

#far cry 5 #fc5 #Joseph Seed #John Seed #Jacob Seed #Faith Seed #Deputy #OC #deputy brooklyn carter #multific #farcry5 #edens gate

42 notes · View notes