#at least with andy i think they had a long rest and it was post saving [REDACTED] by the beach

[grapecaseschoices]

replaying kendis' run bc i wanted to make sure i get to recruit minthy with that new update.

and thsi is the FASTEST gale's EVER told any of my tavs his secret:

they're legit just in the makeshift prison

Gale: We've been traveling quite a while now

Kendis: I just met you like five hours ago.

Gale: I've grown to trust you with these deep dark secret.

Kendis: Don't.

[buckets-and-trees]

hii i have a request this can be for Ransom or Andy

But imagine y/n and him are in an arranged marriage. y/n is doing everything she can for him to sign the divorce paper for examples smashing his cars, serving overly salty food, cutting his expensive clothes into pieces, disrespecting his workers, and spending his money on the most useful things (but if it ransom spending money at “low class” retail shops only bc I feel like he’ll hate that), etc.

instead of giving her a divorce, he just randomly starts acting like a romantic gentleman until the night ends he punishes her 🙊😈

I have to apologize for taking so long to answer this ask... and forgive me for not using all the inspo you dropped my way, but from the MOMENT I read this, I knew it was going to fuel something very specific for I'm Your Man Andy and his entrapped fiancé reader., and so I still needed to post it as an answer to this to give some credit where it's due. So even though it took months and months to get to here, this is the result.

Title: Don't Look Too Far

Characters/Pairings: soft!dark mafia Andy Barber x female!reader Word Count: 6.4k Summary: After jetting away with Andy for a week, you're back. The reality that this is going to be your life starts to settle in in very unsettling ways. And although Andy's taken so many liberties with you already, he finally crosses a line you didn't know was on the board.

Content/Warnings: violent behavior; spanking as punishment; emotional manipulation; explicit smut: nipple play, cock stroking, vaginal fingering, oral (female receiving), vaginal intercourse, unprotected sex; use of pet name (sweetheart), implied dacryphilia

Author Note: This is not a stand alone section! You can find the previous parts here.

Author Note 2: I've been sitting on this for a long time, and I'm excited to finally have it here to share with you. Some of you genuinely seem to love this awful Andy, and you'll like this chapter. Some of you kinda like him against your will and I think you'll like this chapter (cough @stargazingfangirl18 cough). Some of you loathe this man, and you might like at least a few things in this chapter (looking at @biteofcherry).

You are glad to get home from your whirlwind trip with Andy.

Everything had been stunning, luxurious, and beyond your wildest dreams in one of the places you’d been longing to go almost your entire life. Even Andy had been nearly wonderful and certainly subjected you to endless spoiling and copious amounts of exquisite sex.

He makes all of this so difficult.

The private jet touches down in the early afternoon, and Andy allows you to avoid him until dinner. One of the things he’d made clear was an expectation from day one was having dinner together. After dinner, he insists on taking you for a ride in his Aston Martin DBS 770 Ultimate Volante ��� not his only sports car in the gargantuan garage of his mansion, and not even the only Aston Martin. Though he gave you no choice in whether or not to join him, he doesn’t force conversation, merely lets you enjoy the scenic drive, occasionally holding your hand. Once home, he takes you to bed and gets you to scream out through two orgasms for him before he lets you rest in peace.

The next morning, you awake alone. Andy only invokes a little small talk in the kitchen, lets you know he’ll be taking a few meetings, places a kiss on the top of your head while you eat breakfast at the counter, and then leaves.

It is more room than you have been used to in the mornings, and you don’t question it. You are happy to have the Saturday to yourself.

Three days after Andy so decisively put his engagement ring on your finger, he put a black card in your wallet. Today you will break it in.

You start at a hair salon you have never been able to afford but that had been on the “essential” list of prenuptial rituals for some of the wealthiest brides you’d planned nuptials for. Having the long-standing relationship with the establishment to arrange appointments for your clients meant they were willing to fit you in last minute for the late morning.

You hold yourself back from doing anything drastic. You don’t want to give Andy the satisfaction of driving you to go for a new style. You leave more than a generous tip.

You get lunch at a small sandwich shop – one of your favorites. You choose a table with a view out one of the large windows. It’s nice to be in a familiar place, even with the presence of Shep watching out for the non-existent security threats.

After lunch, you ask Mark to drive you to the plant nursery you love.

You get everything you want, leaving no plant behind if it strikes your fancy. You buy lovely pots for all of them and never look at price tags. When you tap your card for the enormous bill, it’s with a self-satisfied smirk on your face.

Next you go to the nail salon. They are busy, as it’s Saturday afternoon, just as you knew they would be, but they say they can take you in an hour or less, and since you have no demands on your time, you’re more than fine waiting.

As it’s late summer, it really is too warm for the plants to stay in your car, so you insist on sending Mark home with the plants – you know better than to try to convince Shep to go with him. The man has made it clear he will not shirk his duty as the point man for the security Andy has assigned to you. He’s ever present, and you don’t give him a hard time – he’s only doing his job. Shep doesn’t like your suggestion, however, and instead calls someone from the house to come pick up your plants so neither of the men have to leave.

Once your pedicure and manicure are complete, you check your phone while you’re escorted to the SUV. Your mom has sent you a text.

MOM: Call me when you get a chance! I want to hear all about your trip!

You frown as you slide into the backseat.

How did she know?

Since being trapped and installed into the life of the mob boss, you’ve avoided getting together with any of your friends or family, phone calls, and any deep text conversations. It’s self-isolation, nothing mandated from Andy. But what would you tell them about your new circumstance? Forced into an engagement with a charming, handsome man who just happens to be a mobster with control issues you were sure you could never escape from? Not a subject you want to get anywhere close to.

You only hesitate for another moment before you hit the call button and place the phone to your ear as Mark starts your drive home.

“Hello, dear!” your mom’s voice is clear and full of excitement.

“Hi, Mom,” you reply, smiling despite yourself.

Your heart aches for the weeks it’s been since you two last spoke. You missed her voice. You’re close with both of your parents. Your job had kept you incredibly busy over the past five years, but you usually spoke with them at least once a week and made it out to their house in the suburbs once or twice a month.

“I got your text,” you say simply, not sure how else to begin.

“Yes!” she exclaims, her voice full of enthusiasm. “I want to hear everything about your trip! But first, we have to talk about Andy!”

She can’t see it, but your jaw drops. “Andy?”

“He made us promise not to say anything until after lunch today – and I’m sorry, it’s why I haven’t texted or called all week, I wasn’t sure I couldn’t NOT bring him up, but he told us everything! How you met–”

“Well, you know I planned that signature gala for him,” you interject, somehow needing to jump in to clarify that point.

“Of course, yes, but how he was so impressed by you but waited until the event was over before saying anything, how he couldn’t help moving so fast with you. When he reached out earlier this week to set up the lunch with your father and I, he said he wanted us to meet him without you there so that we could thoroughly vet him and judge for ourselves without worrying you, make up our own minds even though he was obviously hoping we would approve since you’re engaged, but he didn’t reveal that detail until today.”

“Oh,” your mind is racing. “Andy always seems to have something up his sleeve.”

She laughs. “I can only imagine! And things certainly developed quickly!”

“Yes…” your voice is thick with hesitancy, and you know you can’t hide it from her.

“But your father and I want you to know that while you don’t need our approval, you have it. We’re surprised, but we approve. He’s so clearly smitten with you, and we know you would never jump into an engagement like this unless you were sure. We trust you.”

You don’t know what to say.

“I would have told you and Dad about the engagement,” you say. You don’t know when you would have. You were still so freshly coming to terms with its reality and ramifications…

Now telling your parents about Andy is yet another thing he has stolen from you.

“We know! We were young once, too! I can only imagine how much that man must have swept you away!” she soothes and exclaims, her voice bright and beaming through the phone.

It makes your chest ache because if this had evolved without Andy’s constant control, it might have been like this, and you would have gushed and been giddy with your mom right now in this moment.

“Why don’t we get lunch tomorrow just the two of us?” you suggest, wanting nothing more than to talk to your mom, but desperately needing to get off the phone so you can regroup, clear your thoughts, and figure out what in the world you are going to be able and willing to tell her.

“I would love that! Where do you want to go?”

You quickly sort out details that you promise to confirm over text, say your goodbyes, and then you end the call. You set the phone on the seat, drop your head back, and shut your eyes, fighting back angry tears. You wouldn’t let them fall down your cheeks.

“Your mom sounds like a lovely woman,” Shep interrupts your thoughts.

The laugh that tumbles out of your mouth is short and underscores how ridiculous all of this is. “She is. She’s not perfect, but she’s the best and has the biggest heart,” you respond with a genuine smile.

“She passed it on to you,” he says, meeting your eyes briefly in the rear-view mirror.

“You two should probably meet her tomorrow,” you offer up.

“We look forward to it,” Mark chimes in.

That’s the end of the exchange, but it dawns on you that while these two men have been assigned to your personal security and transportation, and they’re work for Andy, they have been nothing but professional, and you can see now that while they’re not warm and soft, there is a degree of care from them that has developed or that you’re only now recognizing exists that does seem to go beyond being a paycheck for them. Mark is probably close to your age, and you would guess Shep is eight or ten years older. Both men wear wedding bands on their left hands.

Having to have them assigned to you, you’re grateful it’s these two seemingly good men.

You’re sure there could be much worse.

You’re quiet the rest of the ride home, but your mind doesn’t stop racing.

“Would you like to get out at the front of the house or in the garage, ma’am?” Mark asks as you near the house. He always asks because the house is so large it makes a difference.

The corner of your mouth lifts as you decide, “The garage, please.”

The garage is a drive in basement level on the southeast corner of the house and holds two dozen cars, including the black Range Rover designated for you. You wonder if you’d ever be allowed to drive a car of your own again.

More aware now of the men, you notice there is a degree of ease that settles particularly over Shep now that you’re safe in the house again. You wonder if that’s always been the norm or if there’s a higher threat potential than usual. The shift does clue you into the reality that Andy is involved in more dangerous things than you thought. Instigator or target, you don’t know which he is, but regardless he’s swimming in dangerous waters, and you’re tied to his fate now.

This is your life.

Would you have chosen it?

Would you have?

A month ago, before the gala, you had genuinely been taken with him, even thought of him as you went to bed, alone, a hand on your breast and a toy between your legs and imagined what it would be like to have him there dealing out your pleasure instead. You hadn’t thought any serious interest being reciprocated from even the faintest possibility.

You had been so wrong.

And he’s dealt more pleasure than you had ever experienced.

More pain as well.

He was mindful of your physical limits, even if he rode them mercilessly.

He failed to comprehend the gravity of the rest of the pain he caused.

And today he reached a limit you hadn’t been expecting.

You slide out of the backseat when Shep opens your door, and instead of heading for the staircase in the corner, you move to the south wall of the garage and start opening cabinets. Shep tracks your movements but gives you space.

In the second set, you find Andy’s golf clubs.

Perfect.

You test a few of the drivers, and when you’re satisfied you’ve got the heaviest in your hands, you pull it clean out of the bag and make your way directly to the car you’ve noticed Andy favors most.

His silver Aston Martin DBS 770 Ultimate Volante.

The very car he drove you around in last night.

You hold nothing back in your swings, cracking the glass with your second hit. The third doesn’t do much more damage, so you move to the metal body, and here’s where you see you will get at least some of your satisfaction, easier to create dents in the metal than breaking the windshield. You do manage to smash one of the windows. Then you round on the next car.

Neither Mark nor Shep move to stop you, but you do see Shep is on the phone briefly.

You guess that you won’t be alone for long, so you move to a third car. Andy arrives as you lay into the fourth car. You look over at him with apprehension, unsure of what his next move will be. He meets your gaze, surveys the damage you’ve done so far, looks back at you, and then takes up position leaning against the Range Rover.

You grit your teeth, then raise the club over your head and bring it down with a battle cry over the hood of the silver Porsche 911 Turbo. A fifth car bears the fire of your rage, and mid-swing on the sixth is when a someone finally grabs the other end of the iron. You scream in fury and turn to face Andy, who’s looming over you, his blue eyes dark, stormy, and his mouth a thin line.

You yank against the club, but his grip is firm. You don’t let go though, still trying to wrest it from his hands, eyes locked on his, and he uses the rod to pull you closer to him, nearly chest to heaving chest (yours, not his).

“That’s enough, sweetheart.” His fingers work yours away from the metal rod, and he clasps one of your hands in his to keep you close while - eyes on you - he tosses the club to Shep, who catches it easily.

You huff and try to pull your hand away, but he interlocks your fingers and then starts to lead you away and up the stairs. Not wanting to allow him seeing any petulance from you, you comply and follow him in silence. Adrenaline starting to taper off, you feel exhaustion seeping into your limbs, and part of you wonders if Andy knew you were reaching the end of your strength and stopped you before you would have lost steam on your own. Your stomach seethes.

Once on the main floor, you fall in step with him, not needing the staff to see anything that will make them talk. Some of them may be oblivious to why you’re here, but you know there are those who are aware at different levels that you aren’t here as the other half of a fairytale.

Your destination turns out to be the family dining room, not the formal one.

Dinner, of course.

He pulls your chair out for you, tucking it politely as you sit, and then takes his place across from you.

Sometimes you and Andy talk over dinner.

Tonight is not one of those nights.

If he’s going to be silent about today, say nothing more about your vandalism on arriving home, then you certainly are not going to stoke conversation. His eyes are on you frequently, but you ignore him.

Halfway through dinner and after taking a sip of wine, Andy finally says, “Your hair looks nice.”

You scoff. “As if you really noticed. Your men told you where we were.” You know it’s hardly changed.

Andy set his fork down. “Look at me,” he demands, tone serious, and so you comply. “They’re your men, and don’t make the mistake of thinking I will ever fail to notice a detail, especially when it comes to my wife.”

Your heart skips a beat - part fear, but part some flare in your heart that you hate reacting to his words. You raise your chin in defiance. “I’m not your wife.”

“Yet.”

Threat and promise.

As if the exquisite engagement ring whose heavy weight you were growing so used to weren’t a constant reminder.

Rather than think further on that, for the rest of the meal you consider his correction that Shep and Mark are your men when you’d said they were his. It was an interesting distinction, and you would put feelers out to ask about it later - not Andy, but maybe with the men.

When dinner is over, Andy stands and reaches for your hand. He always does. It’s unsettling because if only you had ever had a choice, the gesture would be endearing. A few nights over this month that you’ve been his, he kissed the back of your hand and left to attend to business. Some nights, he wanted to watch something with you before bedtime, or go on a drive like last night. Most often he takes you to the bedroom.

It’s the latter tonight.

You walk silently to the master suite together. Every muscle in your body is taught with tension, with the simmering rage and hurt of the day seething through your veins.

Andy closes the door and turns to face you.

“Do you want to tell me why you’re so upset before or after your punishment?”

“My - what?!” You glower and put your hands on your hips. “Why am I being punished? You let me smash two more cars before you even stopped me.”

“It’s not about the cars, it’s your refusal to talk to me about something that clearly has you worked up.”

“Worked up?” Your eyes widen and then narrow. “I’m not worked up, Andy, I’m infuriated.”

“Then tell me what crime I’ve committed.”

You scoff and turn away.

He catches you before you’ve taken two steps, gripping your upper arm. He hauls you toward the bed, takes a seat on the end of the mattress, and then lays you down over his lap. He takes both your wrists in his left hand and holds them firmly while his right hand pulls your pants down.

All of it happens so swiftly that you can’t even fight him, but you cry out when the first, harsh slap hits your bare ass. The sting is sharp and shocking. The second comes quickly after. You try to shake out of his hold, but he growls your name, tightens his grip, and the third slap comes even harder.

Four. Five. He kneads the flesh of your ass between some of the smacks. Eight. Fifteen. Twenty. Somewhere in the middle, the smacks morph into a swirl of simultaneous pain and numbness – a mirror of how you feel. You’re sobbing once he finally stops, body sagging in defeat over his lap. He lifts you carefully and lays you stomach down on the bed. You fold your arms and hide your face into the frame of them to cry and settle into softer cries, and Andy lets you have the moment of privacy.

It’s not long before you register Andy’s return though, his weight sinking onto the bed next to you. Then his hand is on your tender backside, applying a cold cream to your skin, and the relief makes you let out a shuddering sigh. He works it over you slowly, gently, methodically. By the time Andy’s finished, so are your tears. You’re still full of emotions, but they’re a swirling, complicated mess. You feel like the frustration has been spanked out of you, but you’re still hurt and angry, but now you’re also confused by this tender act. This only extends when he urges you to roll over, and sit up, and he kisses your forehead. You look up at him dolefully, he wipes away the remaining tracks of your tears. He’s shed his clothes from the day and is now bare-chested and in a pair of navy silk pajama bottoms. He proceeds to gently help you take off your shirt, your bra, and then slips you into a silk robe he’s brought from the closet.

Then Andy stands, scoops you up into his arms, and heads to the balcony of your master suite. He settles down onto the loveseat and arranges you in his lap so you’re sitting sideways over him, and he wraps his arm around you. It’s more of the confusing closeness, physical intimacy that you crave but can’t give into with him. It’s the first time you’ve been out here, and it affords a beautiful view of the darkening sky. Yet another thing you would have yearned for but don’t want like this.

“Are you ready to talk?”

“I don’t even know where to begin,” you say honestly.

He puts his hand under your chin and tilts your head up to look at him. “I’ll listen to anything you have to say.”

“But will you hear me?” You ask and turn your head away and out of his hand.

He smoothes his thumb over your jaw but - to your surprise - doesn’t force you to look at him as he had before. Instead he lets his hand drop and brings it around your waist so he’s got both arms banded around you again.

“You’ve taken so much from me, Andy. You’ve made it abundantly clear that I have no way out of this, but it’s been mounting and it came to a peak today. I had a day to myself, but I couldn’t bring myself to spend it with my friends or my parents because I can’t tell them about us! I haven’t spoken or texted any of them on more than a surface level since this all began. And I haven’t gone back to work yet, but I want to work, I need to work, and I don’t know what I’m supposed to tell them either!”

He is quiet for a moment. And then, “I knew you hadn’t told anyone, but why do you think you can’t tell them about us?”

“What am I supposed to say?” You scoff. “I can’t tell them that you threatened me with blackmail and forced me into our engagement!”

“No,” he agrees, “You can’t tell them that.”

“So, what am I supposed to tell them?”

“That you fell for my charms, that I surprised you when I declared my intentions and by how serious I was, that I made it almost impossible for you to refuse me. It’s enough of the truth.”

You frown and scrutinize his face. “Enough of the truth,” you repeat, the words tasting bitter in your mouth. “Is that how you always live your life?”

 He lifts his chin, a flash of hardness in his eyes. “I’ve done what I needed to.”

“You didn’t need to go behind my back to meet my parents!” You blurt, the hurt in your voice bleeding out despite trying to keep it in, to keep it away from him, not wanting to share something so personal.

“I want to have a good relationship with my in-laws. My mother’s dead and my father was sentenced to life in prison when I was a kid.”

“But they’re my parents,” you stress. “I should have been able to be the ones to tell them about getting married. You stole that from me.”

Andy studies your face quietly.

You drop your gaze. You won’t tell him why stealing this moment – more than anything else he’s done – was your breaking point. You doubt he would care or understand, but he also doesn’t get to know something so personal. He hasn’t earned that right.

“You love them,” he finally says.

You nod. “We’re very close.”

He falls silent again.

Finally, you give an exhausted sigh. “Why did you have to do this to us?”

“I wanted you.”

“I wanted you, too. You should have let us fall into it.”

“Fall now.”

“I can’t,” you protest, and you look up to argue further, but he’s faster, cutting you off with a kiss.

His lips are demanding, and the heat he pours into the kiss seeps into the cracks he’s been chipping away inside you, and your traitorous body leans into the moment. You’re exhausted physically and emotionally.

You don’t know how you can ever let yourself fall for him.

But as his hands soothe up and down your back, you wonder if you have to deny yourself everything for the rest of your life?

What if you fell into him for one night? Allowed yourself to let go, to forget for just a few hours? You are so tired. And your body aches. And after so much hurt, betrayal, and anger running high through your veins for so many hours now, after the shock and release from being put over his knee, maybe you just want to forget and get lost in pleasure.

Pleasure you know he was far too capable of giving.

Not only capable of giving, but master of overwhelming you with it.

After he’s stolen so much from you these last weeks, maybe you want and need to steal a night of ecstasy without any thoughts.

You shift on his lap, his arms still around you, until you’re straddling his lap. You leverage his broad shoulders to push yourself up on your knees, and you look down at him. You can’t read everything in his dark blue stormy eyes yet, but you can interpret some of what’s there. He’s intrigued and you can see the spark of hunger flaring, but there’s something else you can’t quite read.

But that doesn’t matter right now.

He doesn’t pull you in closer, but his arms hold you steady in your kneeling stance. You reach for the tie of your silk robe, and you slowly pull it loose.

“Tonight is not for you,” your voice is low, quiet, but not soft, “it’s for me.”

His eyes narrow a fraction, but as you shrug the silky garment off your shoulders, he helps let the robe fall free to the ground.

Andy’s eyes rake over your naked form, drinking in every curve and dip of your body. His hands glide up your sides, rough palms contrasting with the softness of your flesh. You shiver despite the warmth of the evening air.

You place your hands on his chest, feeling the solid muscles there. Your fingers trace the lines down to his abdomen, following the trail of dark hair that disappears beneath his waistband. You can feel the evidence of his arousal, and he groans, gripping your hips tightly, and you squeeze his length - big as the rest of him - the cock that has ruined you.

He leans in and his lips burn a trail down your neck, over your chest and find one of your breasts, nipping on the swell before licking at your aereola and taking it into his mouth. Your fingers rake into his hair, and he sucks insistently until your nipple is almost painfully hard. He releases it with a pop, then moves to give equal treatment to your other breast. You press your needy cunt down against his groin, keening for him.

You grind against him, and he can’t help but groan. In one fluid motion, he stands, lifting you with him. Your legs wrap tightly around his waist instinctively as he carries you back into the bedroom. He lays you down on the bed with surprising gentleness. He takes less than a second to push his pajama bottoms down and off before he joins you on the bed, his body covering yours.

His weight presses you into the mattress. You feel every inch of his hard body against yours, and you arch up, desperate for more contact. Andy's hand slides between your bodies, finding your slick folds. He groans when he feels how wet you are for him.

"Always so ready for me," he murmurs against your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin there.

You whimper as his fingers tease your entrance, circling but not entering. You buck your hips, trying to force him inside, but he pulls back with a dark chuckle.

"Patience, sweetheart," he admonishes.

But patience isn't what you want tonight. You want to lose yourself in sensation, to forget everything but the pleasure he can give you. You reach down and grasp his thick length, guiding him to your entrance.

He forces your hand away with a tsk, and you glare at him, but he is grinning, moving down your body already. He kisses the sensitive spot on your lower stomach, the one he discovered that always makes you gasp and arch your back for him. His shoulders force your legs open to accommodate his frame as he plants himself between your thighs.

Andy's mouth descends on your core, his tongue laving your sensitive folds. You arch into him, a moan escaping your lips. His beard scratches deliciously against your inner thighs as he works you over with his skilled tongue. He alternates between broad strokes and focused attention on your clit, building your pleasure steadily.

Your hands fist in his hair, holding him against you as you rock your hips. The coil of tension in your belly winds tighter and tighter. Just as you're about to topple over the edge, Andy pulls back, denying you release.

“Andy, please,” you beg.

Andy's breath ghosts over your sensitive flesh, making you shiver and whine. He places a soft kiss on your inner thigh, then another, slowly working his way back towards your center. You squirm, desperate for more contact, but his strong hands hold your hips firmly in place.

He chuckles, the vibrations sending sparks of pleasure through you. "I thought this night was for you," he teases, his beard scraping deliciously against your thigh. "Let me take care of you."

Before you can protest, his tongue laves a long, slow stroke up your slit. You cry out, your back arching off the bed. He repeats the motion, this time circling your clit with the tip of his tongue.

Your hands fist in the sheets as Andy's talented mouth works you over. He alternates between long, languid strokes and quick flicks of his tongue, never letting you settle into a rhythm. Just when you think you can't take anymore, he slides two thick fingers inside you, curling them to hit that spot that he knows makes you see stars.

"Oh god, Andy!" you cry out, your hips bucking against his face.

He hums against you, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your body. His fingers pump in and out, matching the pace of his tongue on your clit. The dual sensations are overwhelming, and you feel yourself hurtling towards the edge.

"That's it, sweetheart," Andy murmurs against your flesh. "Let go for me."

His words are your undoing. Your orgasm crashes over you in waves, your body arching off the bed as pleasure overwhelms you. But he’s anything but finished.

Andy doesn't let up, his mouth and fingers working you through your orgasm and pushing you towards another peak. Your body trembles, oversensitive but craving more. You tug at his hair, torn between pulling him closer and pushing him away.

"Too much," you gasp, but he ignores your weak protest.

He adds a third finger, stretching you deliciously as he continues to lap at your swollen clit. The intensity builds rapidly, and before you can catch your breath, you're tumbling over the edge again. This time, Andy pulls away, allowing you a moment to recover.

He kisses his way up your body, pausing to nip roughly at your collarbone. When he reaches your mouth, he kisses you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. You moan into the kiss, your hands roaming over his broad back.

Andy positions himself between your thighs. You reach between your bodies and guide him to your entrance. You need him inside of you. He pushes in slowly, stretching you deliciously, filling you completely. You both groan as he slides in to the hilt, and you throw your head back. He stills there, kisses along your jaw, then gives a soft rock of his hips, rutting against you, but not thrusting.

“Move,” you plead, wrapping your legs around his waist to urge him on.

Andy leans down and claims your lips again, demanding the intimate kiss as his price, his tongue licking into your mouth to tangle with yours. He then sets a steady rhythm that has you moaning with each thrust. You buck your hips to draw him in with each stroke. The room fills with the sounds of skin slapping against skin and your mingled moans of pleasure.

You drag your nails down his back, leaving red trails in their wake. He hisses, then retaliates by biting down on the juncture of your neck and shoulder. The sharp pain mixed with pleasure makes you cry out.

"Harder," you demand, needing more, needing to lose yourself completely.

Andy growls, his grip on your hips tightening as he complies with your demand. He pulls almost all the way out before slamming back in, the force of his thrust pushing you up the bed. You cry out in pleasure, your nails digging into his shoulders. He sets a punishing pace, each thrust driving you closer to the edge.

The headboard bangs against the wall with the force of his movements. Your walls clench around him, drawing a guttural groan from his throat.

"That's it, sweetheart," Andy grunts, his voice rough with exertion. "Take what you need from me."

You're climbing higher and higher, chasing that blissful peak. Andy snakes a hand between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit. He rubs tight circles over the sensitive bud, and it's too much.

You shatter, screaming his name as waves of pleasure crash over you. Your body convulses, clenching rhythmically around him. Andy fucks you through it, prolonging your orgasm until you're a trembling mess beneath him as he chases his own release.

It takes a few more strokes, and then he’s spilling his hot seed inside of you, groaning against your neck. He collapses his weight onto you for a few moments, catching his breath. Your hands roam over his back. If you had been given the chance to choose him, to choose this life, wrapped in his arms right now you would have felt blissfully content, and so since tonight was a pass on reality, you let a satisfied sigh fall from your lips.

Andy’s lips find yours again, and you kiss until you feel floaty and boneless beneath him, head empty of all thoughts.

When the fervency of the kisses finally slows into a languid calm, Andy finally rolls off of you. He reaches for the switch to turn off the soft lights that had been on, then settles on his side, facing you. He traces lazy patterns over your form with his fingers, and you close your eyes and simply feel.

You didn’t know you had fallen into sleep except that the motion of Andy pulling you into his chest so he can spoon up behind you pulls you back into consciousness. He chuckles softly at your little mewl, and then pulls you a little closer to his warm chest and plants a kiss on your neck, just below your ear. You settle against him without complaint.

You’re exhausted, and you don’t know where he finds the resilience, but his hand snakes down to cup your cunt again, and you hum as he begins to work your clit. You have no strength left in you, but if you don’t have to work for it and Andy’s going to give it to you, you’ve learned under his hand that he always knows how to coax out one more climax from you when you think you’re already spent.

Your breath speeds up again, and you can feel the promise of pleasure pulling at your muscles, tightening them for one final release.

As he works you quickly up to that point, he speaks directly into your ear. “You said tonight was for you, not for me. It’s the lie you needed to tell yourself to let go, and that’s fine, but know that your pleasure is always pleasure for me.”

And so unfairly, your body comes for him right then, exactly as he wants you to, and you cry out before going even more limp in his arms. He presses another kiss on your neck, and you can feel his satisfied smile against your skin. You desperately wish you could break out of his arms and roll away from him, but you do not have even an ounce of strength left, and so you simply let the exhaustion overtake you and escape from him in sleep.

You’re vaguely aware of how close Andy keeps you all night. Since he typically does, it’s a surprise when you wake to an empty bed. There is only a vague suggestion of sunlight beginning to come in the windows, so you know it’s still incredibly early. The sheet is down around your waist, and you splay your arm out to where Andy should have been. The bed isn’t cold, but there’s only a hint of warmth, so you know he’s been up for a while.

As if unnervingly on cue, Andy comes in from the ensuite bathroom and hums at seeing you awake. “Good morning, sweetheart.”

He strides right up to the edge of the bed, leans down, and plants a kiss on your cheek, then rubs his hand softly over your jaw.

“Morning,” you respond.

You hate how lovely this scene should be. Your heart wants it, but your brain reminds you not to accept this contrived intimacy he pretends is real and normal.

He crosses the room and retrieves his phone, starts to put on his watch, the finishing touches before he embarks on his day.

“You can sleep in,” he says softly.

“Why are you up so early? It’s Sunday.”

“Early tee time at the country club,” he answers.

You make a vague sound of acknowledgement and pull the sheet and duvet back up to burrow in for a lazy morning of more sleep and maybe some reading.

“Enjoy lunch with your mom, by the way,” he says at the door. “I’m teeing off with your father, so I’ll persuade him to have lunch with me to give you two time as just mother and daughter.”

You suck in a sharp breath and he departs, dropping this revelation, and leaving you to seethe at his making yet another bold move, seeping steadily further into the foundations of your life.

SO

YEAH

Still with me here?

Even though I figured out the plot point for this chapter a while back, when I wrote it, I had to take a break a few times because I was upset over how some things were playing out.

I was also surprised by some of the development with her security detail of Mark and Shep. I randomly made them up really quickly during Prepare for Takeoff, but then here I learned they were going to end up being even more important than I thought (including something key for two specific future plot points).

next part: Burned Off the Haze

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[soulfulazrael]

Haven't watched Mastermind episode (and wont), but will talk about stuff I saw from it and heard about it

So... I as you who follow my ramblings here probably know (all 2 of you probably). I do not watch this show anymore because I don't care about it's story. Apparently this new episode is BEST OF THE SEASON, but since rest of the season at best gave me a feeling of pure apathy and at worst INCREDIBLE disdain and lack of faith in humanity I say good middle ground is talking about pieces I saw because at this point I don't think I can stand watching this show for longer than 5 minutes at a time.

I make my own story for HB/HH so I will make some comparisons to my own story and plans... Maybe one day I will do bigger post about how my versions of Sins and other things look. No arts though... no talent on my part. Eh... Or maybe... Eh we will see. Probably not, but... Maybe... I dunno.

Comparisons will be mostly about Sins. And the thing I reference is a fic called Song for the Quiet Bird that for now is center of my AU where I make things of Hellaverse in my own way.

So first off. Stella moment. Probably the first thing I saw from it when I heard about it. When I saw that scene I was like: Wow. Actually proper moment where Stella shows more of a character and maybe nuance aAAAAAAaaaand the smirk...

You are amazing at failing every expectation aren't you HB? YOU KNOW SHE LE EVIL!? YOU KNOW SHE BAD!? YOU KNOW STOLAS GOOD!?

Yes I do. I am deaf from the amount of SCREAMING you are throwing at me about this every other minute. Thank you. I am not a 5 year old. She evil. What you do with it? Also apparently NOW she has a brain compared all other times besides season 1 where she had more of a peanut there? What is it? Also incest with her brother? Great... Keep on going with this. I am sure at some point even completely blind AND deaf people will understand how evil she and Andy Magic are. I sadly missed the part where I am supposed to find them interesting. But HEY at least it gives such a great explanation of why Octavia sees Stella as better parent than Stolas which is clearly shown in some of that promotional material... entire one scene... that is not a minute long even and has no dialogue between them. No chemistry or anything... Let's be honest though. For most fans that's probably enough. Just slap one or two scenes later of Andy Magic and Stella saying how bad Stolas is and you are golden... Fuck my life as it is not even a joke. Jesus.

Okay. Besides that... tragedy? I dunno. There is also SINS! Leviathan and Belphegor...

Well... that's just amazingly underwhelming. You know there is a problem when I cannot tell if a character is even meant to be someone special. Because what the Hell (get it? HELL!) is this? They look like about nothing Demons. They are barely more interesting visually than any other shmuck we saw in this world. Ozzie keeps being the best design out of all of them with most distinct and accurate one and I am starting to feel like it is only because Viv took years in making it before hastily making ones for everyone else. Seriously, would you even be able to tell they are meant to be important characters? Because they look like everyone else in this world.

Now funnily enough I have my own concepts for those in my AU. Not exactly more interesting visually as again... not an artist and it is still more concept thing as I keep figuring things out, but this is the current form I want to get them across. I think they do the job on some level in terms of what they are meant to be. One is Leviathan. It is... interesting to portray it with 2 heads... a reason for that kind of eludes, but who am I to judge? But I know in my version it will just honestly a large beast swimming across endless waters of Envy. A giant sea monster that keeps itself in a giant form among domes of Envy where cities are with immeasurable wealth and power, a creature meant to be envied. But also a creature that envies deeper than any other over the loss of their partner at the hand of God, not being able to be close with anyone or even be understood. A creature who's deep resentment and pain created entire Ring around them.

If I made a scene like that with 'sins' meeting I think it would be with a High Demon that serves as a high priest/priestess of the Leviathan faith. As all very high rank demons like Sins, certain Goetia Kings and other VERY important figures have their own religion that Hellborn MUST adhere to, in a way choose their deity and in this case it would be a Demon from said church of Leviathan that interprets them... cluelessly.

While Belphegor would not be much different as a creature that also is a larger than life being. But this one being like a giant, anthropomorphic crocodile like being similar to SCP 682, but more... static. Basically giant center point of a garbage heap that is Sloth in my AU. In some ways beautiful, but also incredibly toxic and dangerous to everything wasteland. Very bottom of Hell. Horrible place where you can be killed by some horrifying monsters with no real mind that prey on the helpless. As Belphegor itself (dunno if it even has gender) exudes aura of sloth where most Demons that come to sloth will be at some point forced to lay down and stay in place. "Bask under non existent sun" which is a term used in that version of Hell a bit to call someone lazy and it comes from that which can spell someone's horrid death.

Those are my ideas for those. But next one is the big boy himself. The Big S. Adversary. Satan.

He looks alright. Nothing you would not imagine a Satan to be. He looks dragon like, buff (even if he skipped leg day) and has funny horns of Imps. Also he has little therapist... which is funny because in my fic I also have a trial with the main judge there (in that case Lucifugus or Lucifuge Rofocale) who also has his own little therapist thing (alongside some other annoyances... and far more misery). It is funny how I guess both me and Viv kind of agree people in high political power in Hell would have their own therapist. In my version though he keeps them deep within the tower he resides in. But either way. Can't say his design or personality is something I did not see coming.

As for my version I will go with... yeah it will be quite different. Better or not. Your choice. A centaur like being that has 4 big arms, molten lava in his veins and skull on top of his body looking like a goat or dragon like being (still thinking on that). A demented monstrosity who's head went awry due to their perpetual rage who can now think of nothing, but drowning everything in so much blood that he will one day swim on that tide of gore to the Pearly Gates and smash them open in ultimate showing of their superiority over all of creation. Something his kin the Imps for the most part also believe and praise. A promise of sea of gore and glorious war. Not the kind of creature that would hold a trial. In that world it's more of a Lucifuge thing... or Lucifer if he is mood for jokes and tormenting some poor souls for their amusement.

Also I hear Stolas lost all his wealth and power over... NOT the shitty things that he did, just that he was forced to lie for the sake of I.M.P.... Eh... The avoidance of responsibility continues. Even when characters face consequences it can NEVER be over their own actions. It has to be something that can be proven wrong and goddamn will that probably be true with Via as well. Because let me tell you they are most likely going to make her be in the wrong for hating poor little Stolas baby and I hate it already. I know making assumptions is not good, but by GOD were they good at making those expectations of nuance low so far...

Actually what expectations? I don't watch this show anymore. But I am passionate about it's ideas... and that hurts me. A lot. I made this entire post because of those... and make a fic that has now few HUNDRED THOUSAND words. Damn. No idea if my version is better or worse... but it is one I prefer. It is different definitely. Even though in certain ways it's weirdly similar.

[tuttle-4077]

Damaged Goods

I... generally don't like romance. I don't generally read it or write it. But dear @annieslytherpuff21 requested this story, so I shall deliver... but I'm not sure I will post it on FFN. It's too... romance-y.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Carter yawned as he shucked off his heavy wool coat and hung it up. Straightening his suit jacket, he made his way into the teachers’ lounge and headed for the coffee pot.

“Morning, Sunshine!” Joe Curtis chirped from the table where he sat, reading his paper. “Late night?”

“Yeah,” Carter said over his shoulder as he poured himself a mug of what was sure to be terrible coffee. Nothing a little— or a lot— of cream and sugar wouldn’t help.

“Tsk. Shame on you, Andy. Don’t you know the old saying, ‘early to bed, early to rise’?” Joe asked.

“Oh sure. But I was in the middle of doing repairs to that house I bought and I lost track of time. It was past midnight before I even bothered to check my watch!” He took his coffee and joined Joe at the table.

“That’s home ownership for you,” Joe replied. “You either fix things yourself or pay someone else through the nose to do it for you.”

“Guess so,” Carter said. He sipped his coffee and frowned. Not even cream and sugar had fixed it. “Yech. I had better coffee as a prisoner.”

Joe laughed. “You’re a teacher now; it’s almost the same thing!”

“Now, Joe,” Mable Perkins scolded as she approached. “You love teaching!”

“I do, I do,” Joe conceded.

Mable smiled and sat next to Joe. “So your house is coming along then, Andy?”

“Yes ma’am,” Carter nodded. “I gotta put a fresh coat of paint on it and a few other things and then I think it’ll do just fine.”

“Good for you,” Mable said with a smile.

“I remember when I bought my house,” Joe said. “Me and Lisa were already married and we were renting this little suite from a nice old couple. Say, Mable, you know the Wilkinsons, right?”

“Of course.”

“Well, they rented to us pretty cheap so long as I was willing to cut the grass and—”

Carter tuned Joe out because, at that moment, Lucy Morgan walked into the room. Everything else faded away, lost in her aura. He was mesmerized by her dark curly hair, long lashes that framed brown eyes, and perfect red lips.

Immediately, he stood up and raced over to help her out of her winter coat.

“Morning,” he greeted.

“Morning,” she said. She looked around and then gave him a quick kiss. Carter felt a wave of dizziness wash over him as he reveled in the simple yet intoxicating act.

He must’ve been frozen in place because he heard Lucy giggle and then suddenly she was no longer in front of him. He whipped his head around to find her pouring herself a cup of coffee. From the corner of his eye, he saw Joe and Mable exchanging sly looks.

“Told you,” he heard Joe murmur.

Carter couldn’t stop his cheeks from going hot. Though he had met Lucy earlier, Joe had made a point of bringing her and Carter together at a Christmas party about two months ago. Overcoming his initial hesitancy, Carter had asked Lucy out for coffee. They had seen each other outside of work at least three times a week since then. She had even invited him to her father’s New Year’s party. That was where she first kissed him. If Carter hadn’t been hooked before (and he very much was), that kiss sealed his fate.

“Uh…” Carter’s brain turned back on. He raced Lucy to the table and pulled out a chair for her. She thanked him and sat down. Carter sat next to her and rested his cheek on his fist, watching her as he again became lost. She rested her chin on the back of her hand and looked back at him, a delicate blush colouring her cheeks.

“Twitterpated,” Mable mock whispered to Joe.

“Both of them,” Joe whispered back. “So!” he continued loudly. “I heard aliens landed in Fargo.”

“Really? I heard they were dinosaurs who crawled out of the earth!” Mable said.

“No, aliens. Big ugly green ones that… Huh. Say, this is serious, Mable.”

Carter barely registered what the two other teachers were saying. It wasn’t until someone cut between him and Lucy, leaning on the table with his back towards Carter, that he snapped out of his love-induced haze.

“Hi, Lucy,” Tony Davis greeted.

“Oh… hello Tony,” Lucy replied.

“Say, I was thinking of catching a movie tonight. Wanna join me?”

“No thank you. Andy and I are having dinner.”

“Andy? Who?” Tony straightened and turned. “Oh right. Sergeant Carter.” He clapped Carter roughly on the shoulder and then squeezed tightly. “Everyone’s favorite new chemistry teacher.”

“Actually, Andy was a Lieutenant,” Lucy said nonchalantly.

“Yeah, didn’t you hear about that crazy SNAFU with his rank?” Joe said. “Boy, I tell you, that army bureaucracy can never be accused of having any brains!”

“I can’t argue with that,” Tony said. He gave Carter’s shoulder another squeeze before letting go. Then he grabbed Carter’s coffee and moved around to sit on the other side of Lucy. “I tell you, there were times when I forgot who the real enemy was. But then I’d get in my plane and go up against a bunch of Japs and that set everything right again. Say, did I ever tell you about the time that I saw one of them Japs bail out and then get eaten by sharks?”

“Oh, Tony, please, how gruesome,” Mable said, appalled.

“I heard that one,” Joe said. “You really have some great stories, Tony.”

“Yeah, well, that’s what happens when you’re actually fighting. You don’t get a lot of great stories from being a prisoner, huh, Andy?”

Carter shrugged. “Nothing that would interest you.” He checked his watch. “Say, we all better get to class.” He stood and gave Lucy a kiss. “See you for lunch?”

“Always.”

Carter grinned. If he was a smug sort of person, he would have shot Tony a triumphant glare, but, as it was, Carter didn’t pay him any attention. He took Lucy’s hand and gave it a small squeeze before heading out of the room.

Kids were already starting to fill the halls, talking loudly to each other. A few said ‘good morning’ to him as he passed.

As he approached his classroom, he noticed the door was slightly ajar. He tilted his head. It was supposed to be locked. Maybe the janitor had forgotten to close it back up. Deciding that was it, Carter pushed open the door.

Two boy, hovering over something at a table, immediately straightened and turned to face him, hiding whatever they were working on.

“Gentlemen,” Carter greeted, an unasked question in his tone.

“Er, hey, Mr. Carter,” Bobby Bucks said sheepishly. “You’re early.”

“No, but you are. What you got there?”

Bobby and his companion, Dale Stuart, exchanged a panicked look. “Errr, ummm…”

“You know you ought to be wearing safety gear before you muck around with anything,” Carter said nonchalantly. “First rule of experimenting.” He couldn’t really get mad at them for sneaking in to experiment. After all, he had done the same thing when he was in school. But, on the other hand, he had always been good at chemistry. Bobby and Dale? Not so much.

“So what are you cooking up?” Carter asked. He grabbed a couple of lab coats off from their hooks.

Again, the boys exchanged a look, but they seemed relieved when they turned their attention back to Carter. “Dale here read about stink bombs and we thought…”

Carter laughed. “You thought you’d have some fun. All right. Tell me about your process.” He handed over the lab coats. “Goggles. Gloves.”

Both boys reached into the table drawer to pull out the objects. “Well, we mixed a little bit of this and a little bit of that,” Dale said. He moved to show Carter a nearly full beaker. Carter’s heart immediately stopped. The contents were bubbling angrily.

“A little bit of this and that? This and that what?” He noticed several bottles on the table and quickly catalogued them. Whatever they were making was definitely not a stink bomb.

“Um… well I don’t remember exactly… just anything that smelled nasty!”

“But this is the last ingredient! It smells the worst!” Bobby said, grabbing a graduated cylinder of something.

“Okay, don’t—”

Before he could get his words out, Bobby poured the contents into the beaker. Almost instantly, the concoction spewed out of the beaker, flying everywhere.

They all cried out in surprise as the brew splattered on them. They shielded themselves the best they could from the onslaught. It fizzled and popped and then everything was still. Slowly, Carter straightened and looked around. Their experiment was all over.

“Are you boys all right?”

Both boys looked around. “Uh, yeah, I—”

“ARG! Mr. Carter, my hand is burning!” Dale cried.

“Sink. Now.” Carter could feel some burning on his skin, too. Together they rushed over to the sink to rinse off. Carter turned on the water and they crowded around, rinsing off their hands and arms. “Did it get in your eyes?” Bobby had poured before any of them had put on their equipment.

“No, I’m okay.”

“Me too.”

“Wait! It’s burning through my jacket!” Dale cried. “My back!”

“Take it off!” Carter tore off his own suit jacket and noticed a couple of holes. “Okay, showers. Now!” There was too much to rinse off in their relatively small sink. Not for the first time, Carter cursed the fact there wasn’t an emergency shower station in his lab.

Together they burst out of the room and towards the gymnasium. “Out of the way, out of the way,” Carter barked to the kids in the hall. Surprised by their mild-mannered teacher’s tone, kids quickly pressed themselves against their lockers, clearing a path for them.

They flew into the change room, interrupting the boys who were getting ready for their morning gym class. They rushed to the showers, turned them on and stood under them, rinsing off.

“Are we good?” Dale asked.

“Fifteen minutes,” Carter replied.

“Aw, but we’re going to be late for class!” Bobby whined. Carter shot him a dangerous look and he immediately stiffened and shut his mouth.

“Strip,” Carter ordered, feeling the chemical burn under his clothes.

“Slacks, too?” Dale asked.

“Yep. Everything.”

“This is humiliating,” Bobby said.

“This is what happens when you mix random chemicals together!” Carter snapped as unbuttoned his shirt. “For Pete sakes! For a stink bomb, all you need is ammonium sulfide, vinegar, and bicarbonate! I thought you said you read about it!”

“We did! We read about stink bombs and thought it would be a good idea to make one. But we didn’t read how.”

Carter covered his eyes with his hand and squeezed the sides of his face. “You two are going to be in detention for a long time,” he growled. He didn’t care if it took the rest of the school year, he would drill safety protocols into their heads until it sank in.

“We’re sorry, Mr. Carter,” Dale said as he peeled off his clothes.

“Me too,” Bobby mumbled, looking down in shame.

“We’ll talk about it later,” Carter said. “Let’s just focus on rinsing this stuff off.” They turned away from each other as they finished undressing. The bell rang, signalling the start to class. They remained under the water, rinsing off in silence.

“Hey, what’s going on in here, fellas?” Carter heard Tony bark from the main room. “You lot were supposed to be out on the court five minutes ago. Hey, who’s showering back there? Get on the— Holy shit!”

“Chemistry accident,” Carter explained, not bothering to open his eyes as the water rained down on him. “We’ll have to borrow some gym uniforms for the—”

“What the hell happened to you?” Tony asked.

“I told you, we had a—”

“Mr. Carter!” Bobby exclaimed. Carter looked over his shoulder and saw Bobby’s eyes wide with horror.

“What?”

“Geez! I’m gonna be sick,” Dale said.

“What?! Did you ingest any of that stuff? Sit down and let me—”

“Mr. Carter, your back!” Bobby said, pointing.

“Your… everything,” Dale said in disbelief.

It suddenly clicked.

“Oh.”

“Geez, Andy, what the hell?!” Tony said as he gestured to him. “Someone put you through a meat grinder?”

“I was… shot down… remember?” Carter said, knowing that excuse could never explain away even a portion of the scars that marred his body. He managed a small, nervous chuckle. “War is hell, right?”

Tony blinked, looking overwhelmed by the sight. Then he snorted. “Just get dressed. You’re going to give me nightmares.” And with that, the gym teacher turned on his heel and marched off.

Carter and the boys continued to rinse off in awkward silence. Carter tried to ignore the fact that they were zeroed in on his scars with wide, disbelieving eyes. He unconsciously rested his hand over his left shoulder where the worst of the scarring was.

“Fifteen minutes,” Carter announced, trying to keep his voice even. “Let’s dry off and we’ll see if your ‘stink bomb’ caused any permanent damage.”

Even if the chemicals had no lasting physical effects, he knew that the incident had permanently changed something that might not easily be repaired.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Carter looked ridiculous. The lab coat he wore clashed terribly with the t-shirt and red shorts– with their ‘Prairie Breezes’ emblem– that he had borrowed from the gym closet. But he felt terribly exposed without the coat on. He wanted to hide himself as much as he could.

Word of the morning incident had quickly spread throughout the school. Principal Hanson had already chewed him out and Carter had spent nearly an hour talking him down.

It was lucky neither he nor the boys had been seriously injured. After going over the chemicals the boys had used and pressing them on their exact method, Carter was surprised they had escaped relatively unscathed. He made a note to either change, or add locks to all his cupboards.

Carter padded down the hall in his bare feet— his shoes were near the radiator, drying. He had debated eating his lunch in his classroom, but he had plans to meet Lucy. She had already seen his ridiculous getup when he had reported to Hanson’s office and her only reaction was to ask if he was okay.

As he passed through the halls on his way to the teachers’ lounge, he heard kids whispering. Some even pointed at him as he passed. Carter frowned and shrank into his coat. He swore that the long, jagged scar on his shin shone out like a gaudy neon light, drawing every eye to it.

“Andy!”

Carter stopped and looked over his shoulder to find Lucy popping out of her office. He smiled brightly, but was suddenly hit with a wave of self-consciousness, and his smile faltered.

“Ready for lunch?” Lucy asked as she caught up to him. She looped her arm through his. Carter gave her an affirmative hum. “You sure you’re okay? You didn’t get hurt, right?”

“I’m okay,” he said, trying to smile. He glanced into her eyes before quickly averting his gaze.

“I’m glad.” She rested her head against his arm. Together, the entered the teachers’ lounge. “I made us chicken sandwiches!” she said as she let go of him and headed for the refrigerator.

“Sounds good. I’ll grab the coffee.” He went over to the pot and grabbed two mugs.

“Hey, Frankenstein.”

Carter stiffened.

“Hey, Joe,” Tony said, “did you hear about our friend Frankenstein?”

“What are you talking about?” Joe asked.

“You heard, didn’t you Lucy?” Tony said.

“Heard what? Who’s Frankenstein?” Lucy asked, sounding confused.

“Frankenstein, written by Mary Shelley in 1818,” Jill Cunningham, the English teacher, said from over her newspaper. “Many erroneously refer to the monster as Frankenstein, when it’s really the name of the scientist.”

“He’s also in some pretty good movies,” said Del Russell between mouthfuls of food.

“I know who Frankenstein is,” Lucy said, exasperated. “I just don’t know what Tony is talking about.”

“I’m talking about Sergeant Carter, here,” Tony said. “All stitched up like a horrible experiment gone wrong.”

Carter took a breath and closed his eyes. He couldn’t let Tony rile him up. That was exactly what that bully wanted. His hand shook as he replaced the coffee pot. He grabbed his and Lucy’s mugs and turned, trying to fix a smile on his lips.

“Tony here saw some of my scars,” Carter said, adopting a light tone. “I picked up a few when I was shot down.”

“A few?!” Tony exclaimed. “Are you kidding? It looks like you were eaten by a shark!”

“I’m sure you’re exaggerating,” Mable said coolly.

“I swear I’m not,” Tony replied. “Seriously, you guys have got to see them to believe them! They’ll give you nightmares!”

“That’s enough,” Carter growled, finally losing his temper. He pulled himself up to his full height and took a breath. “Yes, I have a couple of scars. They’re not pretty. But I earned every one of them in war so we’re not going to talk about them. Understood?”

Tony cocked an eyebrow at the display, but then smirked. “Whatever you say, Frankie.”

“Come on, Tony,” Joe said warily. “Drop it.”

“I think it’s disgusting that you would make fun of him for his war wounds,” Mable scolded.

Tony just shrugged. “It’s not like I didn’t fight in the war either. But I’ve got medals to show for it.”

Del suddenly jumped up, shaking his sandwich at Tony. “Carter deserves more medals than all of us put together,” he said furiously. “Why if you only knew half the things he—”

“We’re done,” Carter said quickly, cutting Del off before his anger caused him to expose more than they were allowed. “Tony, Mable’s right: you’re being disgusting. And if you want any friends at the end of this conversation, I suggest you drop it. Now.”

Tony stared him down, but Carter stayed firm. Finally Tony shrugged. “Fine. Keep your shirt on. Literally.” The gym teacher grabbed something out of the fridge and sat at a table.

An awkward silence hung over the room. Finally, Carter set the mugs down on the table and pulled out a chair for Lucy. She handed him a chicken sandwich and they ate quietly.

Eventually, the bell rang and everyone packed up. As Carter stood, Lucy grabbed his hand. “See you tonight?”

“Ummm… Actually, you know, I have a lot to do at the house. Repairs, painting. All that. Rain check?”

Lucy frowned. “Andy…”

“I promise, another time,” Carter said, offering her a weak smile.

“Well… okay. Another time.” She stood and went to kiss him, but he turned his head and her lips landed on his cheek.

“I should get going,” Carter said. He retreated, not looking back as he left Lucy behind.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Wearing a towel around his waist with water dripping down from his hair, Carter let out a long sigh as he swiped his arm across the bathroom mirror. Two weeks of nightmares had left him feeling old and worn.

As the fog cleared from the mirror, it reflected back the source of his nightmares. A horrendous network of scars covered his torso, stark reminders of the dangerous work he’d done during the war.

Before Tony’s rude reminder, he had been able to shuffle his memories into the back of his mind. While he couldn’t ignore his scars entirely, they hadn’t bothered him in a long time as they simply became part of him. He had the occasional nightmares, but they had thankfully become fewer and further between as the war continued to move into the past.

But after being exposed, the ensuing terror in his students’ eyes, the quiet whispers, Tony’s jabs, and the gossip that had gone far beyond the walls of the school, all came together to remind him of past terrors. And despite his efforts to forget, he still remembered how he got every single scar. Daily nightmares had come back with a vengeance, making up for lost time. Each had been a swirling mess of jumbled memories and when he slept, the pain of each resurfaced and seemed terribly real.

Carter gently ran a finger over an ugly, firework-shaped scar on his right rib cage— an electrical burn courtesy of Herr Grendel in Bayonne. He knew if he could see his back, he’d find more souvenirs from his time in Bayonne and he shivered at the memories that came into his head.

A small scar on his hip spoke of an encounter with a German patrol and a knife while on a mission outside the wire. The jagged scar on his shin told of a piece of shrapnel from an explosion that went off a minute too early. A dozen of other scars each told their own stories.

The worst of them, though, centered on his left arm and shoulder, creeping onto his chest and extending to his back. A testament to Major Hochstetter’s crazed desperation to finally pin Papa Bear’s identity on Colonel Hogan. The upper part of his bicep, which had borne the brunt of the attack, dimpled where the muscle had been shredded and torn apart. Carter could hear his own screams ringing in his ears, above the growls and frenzied barks of the German shepherd.

Carter gripped the counter tightly as he hung his head, his breath coming out in gasps. He needed to stop thinking about it. He needed to forget it. It was in the past. He’d survived. He had survived it all. He had his whole life ahead of him; he couldn’t let himself disappear into the shadows of memories.

But that was exactly what he had been doing for the past two weeks. He had shied away from everything and everyone. He could no longer muster his usual enthusiasm in class. He ate alone in his classroom, locking the door to keep anyone from joining him. He came to school right before the bell rang, and left as soon as class was dismissed.

And Lucy?

Carter groaned as an ache settled into his heart. He had avoided Lucy like the plague. He couldn’t bear to be near her. She was so beautiful and wonderful, while he was broken and grotesque. She deserved better than him. But, coward that he was, he hadn’t been able to tell her that directly. Eventually, though, she’d get the hint.

He knew it was silly. Surely Lucy wouldn’t let a few— a lot of— scars bother her. She was too good a person for that. Steady, kind, tender. No, they wouldn’t bother her.

But what if they did? What if she saw them and was completely repulsed? Or, worse, what if she saw them and pitied him.

He should have told her before. Shown her before. He was in love with this woman and had seriously considered proposing more than once, despite their short courtship. And yet he hadn’t thought to warn her. What kind of a man hid that? What kind of a man trapped a woman into a marriage with damaged goods?

A faint knock from the front door filtered past his thoughts. Carter took a few deep breaths and looked up into the mirror. The scars stared back at him.

The knock repeated. Carter quickly dried himself off and threw on a bathrobe. He grabbed some slacks on his way through his room and pulled them on as he hopped down the hall to the front door. He glanced at the wall clock— 0800. Who would be knocking on his door this early on a Sunday morning?

Carter opened the door. Lucy stood on the porch, her hand raised to knock again.

Unsure of what to say to his unexpected visitor, Carter stood still, staring at her blankly.

“Hi, Andy… may I come in?”

Carter mechanically stepped aside to let her enter. She looked around. “It’s nice. The house, I mean.”

“How did you know where I live?” They always met in town or at her house since he lived so far outside Bismarck.

“My dad helped close the paperwork when you bought it, remember?” Lucy said. She slipped out of her overcoat and passed it to Carter, who took it wordlessly and hung it up in the closet. She made her way into the living room. “You don’t have much furniture,” she remarked, nodding to the lone armchair.

“Well, it is just me,” he said. In truth, he had plans to add to the furniture but there was still a lot of work to do before he reached that point. Right now he wanted to subtly impress upon her that he wanted to be alone.

Lucy turned on her heel to face him. She reached out to take his hands, but he quickly put them into the pockets of his robe. Lucy dropped her own hands to her side.

“Andy, what’s going on?”

“What do you mean?”

Lucy scrunched her nose and glared at him as a hand went to her hip. “You know what I mean! You’ve been avoiding me! You’ve been avoiding everyone!”

“No, I… I’ve just been busy… I have…” He let his words trail off lamely as he gestured to the room. “Repairs… papers to mark…”

“Is this about Tony? You know he’s an idiot, right?”

“It’s not about him,” Carter replied, though he didn’t meet her eyes as he said it. “It’s just…”

“Andy, I miss you.” She stepped closer and reached out, grabbing the fuzzy sleeve of his robe. “I… I’ve been going crazy because two weeks is too long to be without you. Don’t you know I love you?”

At that, Carter looked up and blinked in surprise. The ‘L-word’ hadn’t yet entered their conversations.

“I—” His brain was reeling, preventing him from forming a coherent response. She loved him? Him? Carter nearly forgot everything that was bothering him. In that moment he wanted to howl at the moon; he wanted to wrestle a bear; he wanted to climb the highest mountain and shout to the world that the most wonderful woman he had ever known loved him!

Before he could collect his thoughts, Lucy bridged the gap between them and kissed him.

They had kissed before, but this was different. This was every good and exciting feeling in the world coming together and enveloping them, surrounding them with light and music and fireworks. Carter forgot everything as he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close so there wasn’t any space to keep them apart.

But then her hand went to his chest and slipped under his robe to his shoulder. He instantly pulled away.

“Stop.”

His brain was still floating from the kiss, but he had enough sense to reinstate some distance between them.

“Andy—” Lucy, her cheeks red, sounded breathless as a look of confusion marked her lovely features.

“Wait.” Carter held up a hand. “The thing is… I love you too.”

Lucy beamed, but then her smile faltered. “But…”

“But… But Tony was right… I’m…”

“Don’t.” Once again, Lucy moved closer and placed her hand gently on his lips.

Carter shook his head. “No, look, I’ve got to be honest. I… I can’t let you… we can’t… You need to see before… before anything.”

Lucy stepped back and nodded. “If you think so, then all right. But, Andy, I love you, and nothing is going to change that.”

Carter bit back a skeptical snort. “Okay, well… if you change your mind…”

“I won’t,” Lucy said firmly.

He desperately wanted to believe that. But he hesitated as he fumbled with untying the sash around his waist. “Actually… maybe this isn’t such a—”

Lucy put her hand on his. “It’s okay.”

“Right… Okay.” Carter took a deep breath and untied the sash. From the corner of his eye, he caught Lucy steeling herself. Then, like a band-aid, he pulled off his robe, exposing his scarred torso to the woman who held his future happiness in her hands.

Despite whatever efforts she had made to prepare herself, Lucy gasped and her hand flew up to cover her mouth.

“Pretty awful, huh?” Carter said lightly, trying to ease the anxiety that had taken root in the pit of his stomach. He watched as Lucy’s eyes flitted across his body, soaking in every gruesome detail.

“Oh Andy,” Lucy breathed before turning away. She sucked in some air and then met his eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

Carter’s heart sank. Pity. It was worse than disgust.

“Stop it,” Lucy suddenly said, a harsh tone warping her voice into something alien. “Stop. It’s not pity. Don’t you dare think that.”

Carter blinked. “How did you—”

“Because it’s written all over your face. But it’s not pity. It’s… I’m just… I’m just sad. I’m sad you— wonderful, gentle, wonderful you— had to go through any of that.”

“That sounds like pity,” Carter said, trying hard to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

“It’s not. It’s anger at whoever did this to you. It’s sadness you had to go through it. It’s… Oh, I don’t know what it is. What I do know is that I loved you before you showed me and I love you now. And I know I’m going to love you more and more with every second we spend together. Not because of any scars. But because you’re wonderful, and smart and fascinating, and… because you’re Andrew Carter, the man I adore.”

A small smile tugged at Carter’s lips. “You know what? I believe you.”

Lucy returned his smile. “You better!”

Carter’s small smile expanded into a grin. He grabbed her hand and pulled her close before wrapping his arms around her. He kissed her, drinking in her warmth and goodness as she kissed back. They broke apart and he rested his forehead on hers.

“You know, I, uh, have more furniture in the…” His cheeks burned and he cut off his scandalous suggestion before it fully left his lips. Golly, he had nearly sounded like Newkirk for a moment!

Lucy smirked before pulling him into another kiss.

And, well, if they made their way to the furniture in his bedroom, he was too much of a gentleman to ever admit it.

[carriehobbs]

Hi ^^ I was reading your tags on the tina/verda finding out post and first of all, you are so right that not stopping verda's research is not the same as telling him.

I like that you mentioned the bobby finding out path, because that one *is* a choice we get to make, and it made me wonder: what is syd's reasoning for not wiping bobby's memory?

hi seren!! 💕💕

yeah, not stopping verda or tina from finding out =/= telling them directly!! and i think the detective should be allowed to have a variety of feelings about the fallout of tina and verda finding out (whether the detective told them directly or not), some of which may include retroactive self-blame for their situation, but it shouldn't be just written into the narrative like that (ex. if alina saw how poorly verda reacted to finding out about the supernatural and felt guilty because she could have stopped him from finding out and chose not to, that's a completely fair reaction. but it shouldn't be the only option, and it shouldn't be treated the same as if she told him explicitly).

but i digress

so, bobby (or douglas) does not find out about the supernatural in any of my detective's (current canon) worldstates. this is because all of my detectives are 1) people who take the stakes of their mission in b3 seriously and appreciate the opportunity to have backup and 2) are willing to set aside their feelings for rebecca (whatever they are) in order to get the backup they need to ensure their mission succeeds. however, as a player, i am very interested in having a subplot or character arc for bobby&douglas (depending on if the detective is on the bobby route or the douglas route. i'm going to use "bobby&douglas" as a shorthand to mean "whichever character's route the detective is on" for the rest of this post).

as wayhaven is still in development, i don't know yet if there will be alternative subplots or character arcs for bobby&douglas for detectives who did ally with rebecca at the auction (and so bobby&douglas didn't find out about the supernatural). if there aren't any further subplots/character arcs for bobby&douglas, i've seriously considered going back and having one/some of my detectives make different decisions at the auction, so at least one/some of my detectives have the opportunity to explore this subplot in their worldstates. as such, i've spent a lot of time thinking about 1) which decisions would each detective make about bobby&douglas? (lauren would wipe bobby's memories, alina would encourage douglas to work with the agency, syd would let bobby keep his memories, i waffle a bit on this but i think andy would let bobby keep her memories) and 2) which detective would, realistically, not ally with rebecca at the auction and actually unlock the supernatural subplot for bobby&douglas? all this is to say that, in syd's worldstate, bobby never learned about the supernatural, but if he had, she would have let him keep his memories.

the short answer to your question is: if bobby learned about the supernatural, syd would have let him keep his memories because she and bobby have a good relationship. the long answer is under the cut, since this is long enough as it is

(unless i'm suuuuuuper mistaken) wayhaven has 2 different stats for the detective's relationship with bobby: there's a past relationship stat, which you decide at the beginning of b1 and is on a scale of 1-4 (i don't know which numbers are which relationship off the top of my head, but let's say 1 is "everything's fine and there's no hard feelings" and 4 is "i want to hit them with my car"), and a current relationship stat, which takes into account your ongoing decisions through the books and involves adding value to your relationship stats with every decision. in terms of pure stats, syd's past relationship stat with bobby is a 2 (lauren's and alina's are at 4, andy's is at 3. bobby is the ex of all of my detectives) and her current relationship stat is fairly high (it's an invisible stat, so i don't know the numerical value).

syd's relationship with bobby is a little complicated. syd felt incredibly betrayed by the plagiarism incident and there was a lot of hurt between them after the breakup. they kind of fell out of each other's lives afterwards, during all of the messiness. however, syd managed to do something none of my other detectives have managed to do when it comes to their relationship with bobby: syd moved on. so while there is still lingering hurt and their relationship will never be quite what it was, syd doesn't hate bobby anymore an hasn't for a long time (this hurt is why their past relationship stat is a 2 and not a 1).

additionally, one thing about syd is that, if you have ever been someone important to her (even if you aren't close anymore), she will always care about you, at least a little bit. this significantly impacts her current relationship with bobby. when he comes to her and expresses concern about the murders in b1, she cares about him enough to try to assure and relate to him. when he comes by her house unexpectedly in b2, she's worried enough about his sudden and unexpected arrival that she lets him in and expresses concern for him. and, if you have a good relationship with bobby, he does express care and concern for the detective, in his own way (if you have a bad relationship with bobby, he's pretty unrepentant about fucking up your whole day; however, if you have a good relationship with him, there are moments where he does show he cares. i'd love to pull up exact lines, but i don't have any handy). syd doesn't have any lingering romantic feelings for bobby at all (she deliberately doesn't kiss bobby in b2), but she does still care about him. he's probably always going to be someone she has some kind of attachment to.

(i don't remember the exact lines here so excuse me for potentially incorrectly paraphrasing but) when bobby and syd talk at the agency after the auction, bobby says something about how he wouldn't want to lose the memories and knowledge he's just gained, and how he's wanted for a while to be able to be closer to her and hopes this will bring them closer together. at that moment, syd respects bobby's wishes regarding his autonomy and his desire to keep his memories and (perhaps inadvisably - we will see in b4!) genuinely thinks that he won't tell anyone about the supernatural (yes, he normally over-sensationalizes his papers and tends to report on anything that would make her life harder, but he might keep the knowledge of the supernatural under wraps because it's important to her, it can be a secret the two of them share, it can bring them closer, etc). ultimately, syd believes that their relationship has been positive enough after all this time that bobby won't turn around and betray her trust again. maybe this is (incredibly uncharacteristically) optimistic of her, but syd has always had a weak spot when it comes to the people she cares about, and syd does still care about bobby.

[nevermindirah]

a public transit meet-cute

inspired by this post

"Your ticket is for this time next week," the clerk had said.

Nile could come back in a week, but the whole point of this trip is to see her dad, and his leave will be over by then. Damnit.

She's doing her best to pull herself together when she hears someone say, "Excuse me."

The man says he couldn't help overhearing and offers her the spare ticket he suddenly has because his friend ditched him. Which is so kind. Unfortunately, this train is only going as far as Frankfurt.

"Of course. Well, just in case, here's the list of the 5 places this ticket is going between here and Budapest."

"No way."

"Sorry?"

"I'm supposed to be going to Budapest."

"Would you... still like to?"

"Wow, um, yeah. Thank you." Like, wow. This is beyond lucky. And nice of this person. Whose name she doesn't know yet. "I'm Nile."

She and her rail station hero both go to shake hands and are both stymied by the fact that their hands are full of luggage. The awkward laugh they share is… nice.

"Sébastien," the man says with a cute little nod.

As they wait in the boarding line Nile asks what's bringing him to Budapest.

"Meeting friends," he says. "Minus Andy, who was supposed to be traveling with me, but her ex-wife barreled into town and swept her off her feet."

They chatter their way through the boarding line, then once they're settled in for the first leg of their trip, their conversation winds down to companionable silence. Nile spends most of the ride alternating between working on a research paper, doodling in her sketchbook, and just enjoying the view. Sébastien sits quietly next to her typing away at what from a few glances seems to be some kind of tech job.

Transferring is a little rushed but they make it onto their next train just fine. Sébastien naps for the first few hours of that leg while Nile finishes up her work. She's about to get dinner when he wakes up, so they go to the bistro car together.

Nile was lucky enough for a stranger to come by and solve her can't read the dates on train tickets problem. As the trip wears on she's finding just how much she hit the jackpot — she's having a great time hanging out with Sébastien.

If she'd booked for the right date, she would've been doing this exact same trip, only she probably would've missed her second transfer. Fortunately for her, Sébastien has a lot more experience hopping across Europe and was able to navigate them through a chaotic 7-minute layover.

The longest they stayed in one place for the rest of the trip was wherever they did their fourth transfer, a three hour and change layover that Nile spent most of asleep on Sébastien's shoulder. They'd gotten pretty comfortable with each other by then, she guessed. Or at least she had. He didn't seem to mind.

Finally they're on their fifth and final train of this ridiculous adventure. As the sun comes up, Nile gets an enormous coffee and starts to tell Sébastien all about what she and her dad have planned for their time together. She's talking a big game about what she'd like to do today as if she's not gonna crash by noon and need to head to the hotel for a long nap.

Sébastien and his friends are more play-it-by-ear about their plans, and more intent on night life than museums, but a few places are on both their lists.

"Who knows, maybe we'll run into each other," Nile says without really thinking about it.

But then Sébastien's eyes brighten. "I'd like that," he says.

Now that Nile's thinking about it, she'd like that too. A lot, actually.

"Hey, if you… if you want," Sébastien starts. "I don't know what your plans are, if you're going to stay the extra week or… If you wanted, I've got the extra seat for the return trip next Thursday."

She smiles. "Wow, thank you." With a little laugh, she adds, "Again."

"How about we exchange numbers, and you can let me know what you decide?"

Some things Nile later decides to do:

leave her dad at the hotel to enjoy an early night in while she goes to meet Sébastien and his friends at a bar

dance with Sébastien

kiss Sébastien

start calling him Seb

kiss him some more

take him up on his offer to travel back to Marseille with him

go on a real date with him, not with his friends in tow (though they're great) and not on various trains (though that was so much more fun than she could ever have imagined)

go back to his place >:)

marry him

[moonchildreads]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love❤

aaaaaaa this one's hard!!! i've only written small town so far (which you can read here lol thank you for giving me the chance to shamelessly promote my work losty 🤎) so what i'm gonna do is share my fave five chapters instead!

chapter 3 - tonight she comes - this is when we meet our girlie dot, and it was my first time writing the hellfire club all together in the same room. here's where we start to explore their dynamic as a group and it's full of foreshadowing for things that haven't happened yet 👀

chapter 10 - that's what friends are for - this chapter has everything i love: the hellfire club spending time together, the gentle will they/won't they between eddie and dot, deep conversations with chrissy, dnd, and a lot of bickering. i consider this one to be one my best chapters and it was the longest i'd written at the time! 💕

chapter 13 - you give good love - another entry into one of the chapters i'm most proud of and, again, it includes a lot of the things i love about small town: wayne being a menace, chrissy being eddie's biggest supporter, dot and eddie realising that it isn't them individually vs the world. this was their first big fight, and i had been working on this fic for around a year by the time i posted this specific chapter so it'll always be special to me. got 3/3 laughs with the sponge bit amongst my friends so that's a win to me! 🧽

chapter 15 - don't you want me - the whole sleepover at gareth's will forever be one of the bits i've enjoyed writing the most about this fic. i adore that little gremlin and so much of him (and the rest of hellfire, really) is based on friends i've had throughout the years. there is something so very pure about a platonic friendship (stobin, am i right?) and if chrissy is eddie's steve, i wanted to give dot her very own robin in gareth. this was me officially confirming that both eddie and dot are bi/queer and bonding over rocky horror, which felt important to me as a queer girlie. it's my fic and i can do what i want, lol 💗💜💙

chapter 20 - self control - the moment everyone was waiting for!!! the love confession!!! it was messy, and so uniquely them, you can't take it and give it to anyone else because it's so dot and eddie that there's just no other way around it: if it had to happen, it was going to be like this. other things i loved about this chapter were allowing nancy to dip her toes into dealing with her grief over barb (more on that later lol), the hellfire class of '86 being there for one another, and finally getting to kick andy's bitch ass down!!!! 😈

honourable mention goes to chapter 14 - missing you, which is the mother's day chapter and deals with eddie and dot's mothers who passed away when they were children. i wrote this one while actively mourning someone i'm still thinking about every day and while i will probably be dealing with this for a long time, this chapter helped me purge a lot of my inner demons and helped heal more than i thought it would. it's my love letter to my person who isn't here anymore, and i know that she'd be proud of it because one of the last conversations i got to have with her was about me writing small town, and she was so happy and interested about it.

i'm in the process of writing chapter 23 right now and hopefully i'll get it out this week if i can stop crying at work for more than five minutes lmao. again thank you losty for giving me the opportunity to talk about small town, i love this fic, and i love writing it and talking about it. 🥰

[nicascurls]

Final Family - Alice lives Au because I'm scared of what Don has done in season 3

Usual key changes for my AUs apply: Nica still has her limbs (fuck you Don), Season 1 took place 2 weeks after Cult like it was supposed to meaning Season 2 was 2018 and this then goes on to be just before Season 3 (around fall of 2019). True to the Final Family AU started by @streets-in-paradise and @losersclubisms Andy has adopted all the younger Chucky survivors and Nica still hunts Tiffany when possible but lives with them the rest of the time after rescuing Caroline.

So basically, Alice's 'death' happened not long after Chucky successfully possessed her, making her about 8 years old at the time. (I believe Curse was supposed to take place around January of 2013, I'm happy to make a post explaining why I think that if people are interested) Since we don't know Alice's birthday I'm just gonna make it the same as Summer's, so late May.

What ended up happening was as Chucky in Alice's body tried to stab the victim, they ended up being able to grab the knife and fight back, stabbing Alice in the abdomen before fleeing the scene. Chucky, afraid of dying since he didn't have his army of dolls yet, quickly made his way back to where he had been staying and transferred his soul back into a Good Guy before leaving Alice to bleed out. Alice however, managed to get up and at least out of where Chucky was staying before collapsing and someone finding her and taking her to hospital.

Long story short, Alice survives the attack and after being discharged from the hospital, is put back in foster care but she gave a different name after waking up out of fear of Chucky finding her again.

Over the next 5-6 years, Alice is sent to multiple different foster homes and during her free time secretly tries to find a way to visit Nica until the news comes out when she is 12 that Nica escaped and is assumed to be behind the murders that took place at Harrogate before her escape.

This is when Alice starts to form a reputation of 'trying to run away' from her foster homes whenever she gets an idea of where Nica and as she has worked out, Chucky and Tiffany would probably be.

Eventually, Alice settles down in a foster home since she realises that with Chucky and Tiffany being involved again, she needs a better constructed plan, and she gets along well with her current foster mother.

This takes us to fall of 2019, obviously the Final Family are all together, but Nica still believes Alice is dead. (When Chucky was possessing her he could essentially look into her memories and vice versa, and Chucky ended up showing Nica Alice's 'death' at one point during the year she was imprisoned). Chucky and Tiffany are working together again since they realise the danger they are in with the survivors together and at some point, Chucky finds out that Alice survived and they both go after her.

Now 14 year old Alice wakes up to a noise one night and creeps downstairs to find her foster mother dead and quickly flees the house, grabbing the bag she had packed for emergencies. From the research she had done over the years, she found out what had happened to Sarah back in the 80s and that Mike Norris was the one who first killed Charles Lee Ray. With that in mind she heads towards Chicago, hoping that someone in the police department may have worked with Mike and know where she could find him now.

This leads to Mike getting a call one evening from one of his old work friends, claiming that a girl has turned up asking if they knew where he was and that he saved her grandmother in the 80s but she won't tell them her name.

Mike and Karen both know the story about Alice from Nica and Andy, so quickly make their way to the station where they recognise Alice from the photo Nica has. They end up sharing their stories and tell Alice that they know where Nica is and that she is safe. Since it's late that night, Alice ends up staying with Mike and Karen for the night as they leave a message for Nica telling her they need to meet as soon as possible.

The next day, Nica gets back to them and they bring Alice over to the cabin, needless to say, it's a tearful reunion for both Alice and Nica. Andy and the kids obviously agree to Alice staying with them instantly and she ends up living at the cabin too and attends the same school as the other teens once again using her real name.

It turns out all the other kids get along great with Alice (especially Lexy since they bond over having shitty mothers and Devon through thier love of reasearch and the general fact that Devon is the most chilled of the kids) and Alice loves having so many people around since she had always wanted cousins or siblings. The twins also adore her and are very protective of her, calling her their little sister. Basically, Alice fits into the family instantly and Nica is overjoyed to have her niece back and to know she's safe.

[barclaysangel]

Sick Day

This is 100% dedicated to @streets-in-paradise as a little belated birthday present (feliz cumpleaños, amiga!)!

Lucy, remember how I was writing a Barclay-Wheeler oneshot where Andy was sick and Jake and Junior were taking care of him BACK IN JULY (I'm awful, I know)? Well, since I realized too late it was your birthday yesterday, I decided I was going to buckle down and finish the oneshot. I spent all night and this morning writing it and I finally finished this 3.3K oneshot!

I reeeeeeally hope you like it, sweetface, because I started writing this when I was still weary of my Andy skills so I hope I did him justice by writing in his POV. Also...I think this is the first Barclay-Wheeler written thing that I've ever posted. So...congrats to me I guess!

I hope whoever also reads this enjoys it, please comment what you think of it! Comments help fuel me and make me feel motivated!

Thank you and enjoy :)

As soon as Andy started waking up, he was aware of his head pounding. 

He was confused as to why he had a huge headache that felt like someone was trying to drill a hole into his brain. But it wasn’t until he became more aware of his scratchy throat when it finally occurred to him what was going on. 

Andy was sick. 

Great. That’s exactly what he needed. 

He had spent nearly two weeks taking care of the boys when they got sick. First Junior and it didn’t take long for him to pass his illness onto Jake since the latter had been determined to also help out his cousin due to Junior not dealing with being sick well. 

They were both doing better now, Junior being completely healthy and Jake still having the occasional cough, but Andy actually thought that he managed to avoid getting sick also. 

That was proven to be entirely false when he woke up with a headache and sore throat. 

Fuck, this was going to suck. 

Andy groaned, the sound not agreeing with his throat and caused him to cough into his fist. Jesus, when was the last time he had been sick? He could barely even remember, but he knew that he took care of himself well enough. Except now he had to take care of the boys and himself. 

It would be fine. He could pretend to be healthy, it wouldn’t be that difficult. He needed to focus on Jake and Junior, he could worry about himself later.

It was proving to be more difficult than he thought, physically pulling his body off of bed when every part of him wanted to just lie down and stay there for the rest of the week. What got Andy to keep going and move his legs out the bedroom door was the thought of having to take care of his boys. 

He definitely didn’t want them to try and cook or anything. Especially Junior. Things tended to be very flammable whenever he was too close to the stove. 

At least Jake was a better cook, but he still wanted to be the one to make meals for them anyway. 

Andy all but stumbled into the kitchen, one hand on his head and his eyes just managing to stay open. The boys weren’t there yet, thankfully. He could still hear them bickering in one of their rooms, just like they do every morning. 

He was pretty sure they got along better when they were fighting than when they were actually being nice to each other. 

Andy leaned his forehead against the refrigerator doors, accepting as much of the coldness as he could against his burning head and closed his eyes. He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, probably for a minute or maybe even ten minutes, but he pulled himself away and opened his eyes once he heard the familiar footsteps from the chaotic teenagers that he took in. 

“Good morning.” Jake said as he walked into the kitchen, Junior coming in with a “morning, Andy” as well. 

“Mornin’.” Andy responded and tried his hardest not to wince from how scratchy his voice sounded and felt, hoping that it wasn’t noticeable. 

“Dude, why do you sound like how Kyle’s gonna sound like in ten years if she keeps smoking?” Junior asked and yelped quietly under his breath, presumably from Jake nudging his elbow against his cousin, a habit he got into if he was sure that Junior’s words were a little too blunt and mean. 

Apparently, his new “smoker voice” was more noticeable than he realized. 

“I just woke up, kid, not everyone sounds great when they first wake up.” Andy told him, keeping his back turned to the boys as he opened the fridge door to grab the milk and eggs so he could make pancakes, something he did every Saturday. 

“I mean, you do sound…off.” Jake chimed in this time and even though he wasn’t looking at the kids, Andy knew could practically feel them staring at him. 

“I don’t sound off, this is how I normally sound.” He insisted, swallowing a few times in a pitiful attempt to soothe his sore throat, which felt like he was swallowing glass, as he went over to one of the cabinets and grabbed a bowl. 

“We know how you usually sound, short stack. You having a gravelly smoker voice is definitely new.” Junior said, somehow not earning an elbow nudge from Jake. 

Andy turned his head to shoot Junior a glare for the short comment. The glare must’ve looked pathetic because both of the teenager’s eyebrows scrunched together in concern so he quickly turned his attention back to the pancakes he was trying to make. 

“Are you okay, Andy?” Jake asked him, a worried tone in his voice. 

“Yes, I’m fine.” He reassured Jake in a—hopefully—convincing manner. He wasn’t quite sure if it worked, but he hoped so. 

Andy closed his eyes in an attempt calm the raging headache that was growing by the minute. He didn’t even bother to open his eyes when he cracked one of the eggs. 

“Uh…Andy?” 

“Hm?” 

“You just cracked the egg into the sink…the bowl is behind you.”

Andy opened his eyes and sure enough, he realized that he had indeed cracked the egg into the sink, judging by the almost sickening yellow yolk that was staring up at him. He rubbed his forehead with one hand and dropped the egg shells into the sink, grabbing another egg and turning around to face the bowl. 

“Mhm, yeah. I knew that. Was just…testing to see if the egg was still good.” He lied, trying once again to sound convincing but knew that the boys weren’t buying it. 

“Andy, you’re an even shittier liar than Jake and that’s definitely saying something.” Junior bluntly told him, which prompted another elbow to his ribs from Jake and he shot his cousin a deadly glare. Then Junior turned his attention back to the adult, squinting for a moment before his eyes widened with realization. “Oh, shit…you’re sick, aren’t you?”

“No, ‘m not sick.” Andy denied and looked away from Junior’s piercing stare. 

Then his body decided to betray him, quickly burying his face into the crook of his elbow as he sneezed harshly three times in a row. Andy sneezed so hard he nearly doubled over, his back aching in the process, but he’d die before admitting that and dealing with another joke about him being old from the boys. 

No one said anything for a moment before Jake broke the silence. “Yeah, you’re definitely sick.” 

Junior suddenly nudged his cousin’s shoulder with the back of his hand. “Good job, Jake, you gave Andy your disease.” 

Jake gave Junior an incredulous look. “I gave him my disease? You were sick first and then got me sick, you jackass!” 

“Enough!” Andy stopped the fight that was bound to break out between the cousins by raising his voice. It succeeded, but the adult nearly winced again from the headache his own damn voice gave him. He still swallowed what was left of his pride, quickly wiping his nose on his sleeve before straightening up. “I’m not sick. I’m just tired. I’m fine.” 

For a moment, the boys didn’t look convinced at all. They just stared at him, eyebrows raised until Junior sighed and shrugged his shoulders. “You’re right. I’m sure you aren’t sick. You probably just didn’t get enough sleep.” He said in such a casual tone that it made Andy raise an eyebrow this time. 

“Uh huh…yeah.” 

“Right,” Junior took a few steps closer until they were only a couple feet apart, “that’s exactly what’s going on, it makes total sense.” He then put his hand on Andy’s cheek, patting it a couple times almost goodheartedly before whirling his head toward Jake. “He has a fever, definitely sick.” 

Oh, that little shit! Andy cursed mentally. 

He should’ve known that the most mischievous of the two kids he adopted had a trick up his sleeve, he always did. 

“I knew it was only a matter of time before he got sick.” Jake said while standing up, shaking his head and observing the grown man more. 

“Kids, I am fine!“ Andy tried to convince them but his shitty lies fell upon deaf ears, Junior’s hand moving to the back of his shoulder and gently pushing him out of the kitchen. 

“Yeah right, you seriously are a worse liar than Jake.” Junior scoffed and ignored his cousin’s “hey!” at the slight jab toward him while the latter grabbed his sleeve and joined in on tugging the adult toward his bedroom. 

Andy knew that the little shits weren’t going to be listening to him at this point, so he just gave up. At least, that’s what he told himself. He really was exhausted and every part of him was screaming to just lie down and fall asleep. 

He didn’t even bother trying to hold his ground and stop the boys from dragging him back to his bedroom. Andy knew that it wouldn’t work to begin with—damn those boys for being already taller than he was—so he continued stumbling over his own feet until they finally got to his room. 

“Okay, get in bed, Andy.” Jake said stubbornly, lightly pushing him onto his bed. 

Andy sat on the bed before adjusting himself to start lying down, having almost no energy to continue arguing with the boys. The cousins got to work pulling the blankets up to Andy’s shoulders, finally getting the adult to protest. 

“You-you two really don’t need to do all this—” 

“Andy, I will punch your lights out to make sure you rest if I have to. Don’t test me.” Junior threatened the man while practically tucking him in, Jake finally not nudging his cousin despite his almost terrifying warning. 

It seemed as if, for once, they were both in agreement. 

Great, he was being bullied by two teenagers. 

Andy opened his mouth to speak but instead began coughing severely into his fist. Each painful sounding cough was enough to make his lungs ache and his back to feel like he was being stabbed. He wasn’t sure how long he was coughing for, not until he was able to feel Junior’s hand patting his back to ease his coughing and then Jake pressing a glass of water to his hands so he could drink it. 

When did he get a glass of water? 

Andy’s coughs began to slow down so he was able to drink his water, carefully sipping it. The cool liquid helped refresh his burning esophagus but still brought a painful feeling in the back of his throat. However, it was enough for his coughs to subside, barely being able to keep his eyes open anymore. 

“Just go to sleep, Andy. You took care of us, now it’s our turn to take care of you.” Jake said softly now, to probably not aggravate Andy’s headache, taking the glass away and putting it on the nightstand beside him. 

He finally allowed himself to rest his head on his pillow, almost melting from the feeling. His body started to relax, even though he was shivering from his fever, and despite every part of him wanting to argue, to insist that he was fine and that he didn’t need to be taken care of by his own kids just because he was sick, he didn’t anymore. Andy was just too fucking exhausted at this point. 

Just before he could drift off, he heard Junior whisper a “G’night, mom” before he finally succumbed to the sleep he so desperately needed. 

At some point, Andy woke up. He wasn’t sure how long he was out, but the sun was no longer glaring through his window. In fact, the room was almost dark now. 

He realized that there was a damp rag on his forehead, reaching one hand up to pull it aside and drop it beside himself on the bed. His throat was still sore, body aching, and head pounding, but he had to admit, he did feel a bit better. He was no longer shaking with the chills, thankfully, the fever must’ve broken. 

Andy tried to lift his head to see what time it was on the clock before Junior suddenly poked his head into the bedroom and grinned. 

“Oh good, you’re awake!” He said enthusiastically before calling out to his cousin. “Jake! Sleeping Beauty has risen from his slumber!” 

The adult rolled his eyes at the very inaccurate comparison while Jake quickly rushed into the room, both cousins now almost awkwardly yet worryingly hovering over him. 

Jesus, was he like this when the boys were sick a couple weeks ago? 

“How long have I been out?” Andy asked, his voice still grating but not as painful as before. 

The teens paused before Jake smiled delicately. “…nine hours.” 

Andy’s eyes widened. “Nine hours—?!” He started to exclaim before coughing. Just like before, nine hours ago apparently, Jake helped him drink the now completely full glass of water until he was able to stop his coughing fit. 

“I mean, it wasn’t consecutive,” Junior ended up correcting with his hands on his hips, “you kept going in and out of consciousness.” 

“I was?” 

“You don’t remember?” Jake asked and the adult shook his head. “Huh…that kind of makes sense. You were really out of it. Delirious and shit, mumbling too.” 

“Try enunciating next time, so we could further understand the ramblings of a mad man.” Junior threw in with a teasing smile, ignoring the glare from his cousin. 

Andy rubbed a hand over his face, trying to process all of this. “Yeah, I…don’t remember anything. Last thing I remember was you two putting me to bed. And that was it.” 

“I mean, I guess it’s not that surprising. You did have a really bad fever,” Jake said before reaching out and placing the back of his hand to Andy’s forehead, then pulling it away, “Which has gone down now, thank god.” 

“That’s definitely good because your fever did get pretty bad. We were worried that we were gonna have to drag your ass to your car and then I’d have to personally drive you to the hospital. Or worse,” Junior paused, most likely for dramatic effect, “call Aunt Kyle.” 

“Thank you for not doing either of those things.” Andy truly was grateful that the boys were able to lower his fever so neither of those options happened. He sure as hell didn’t trust Junior behind the wheel, the kid enjoyed speed far too much and then all three of them would be in the hospital. 

As for Kyle…he’d rather not deal with her yelling about how he should’ve called her because he was sick. She’d be far more overprotective over him than the boys were being, so he would worry about her later. 

Jake moved to sit down beside Andy on the bed, Junior doing the same on Andy’s opposite side and leaned his back against the wall. “Are you feeling better now, Andy?” Jake asked, his eyes still laced with concern. 

Andy looked at the boys and nodded slightly, cracking a small smile. “Yeah, I’m doing better. Thanks,” he paused for a moment, “you two really didn’t need to take care of me like this, I would’ve been fine on my own.” 

“That’s it, I’m gonna punch him.” 

“No, Junior, you’ll make his headache worse.” 

Thank you Jake for assuring that Junior won’t punch me just because of my headache. Andy thought to himself sarcastically. 

“Look, all I’m just saying is…” the man thought about the correct way to phrase it so he wouldn’t earn a punch from one of his kids, who certainly looked eager to deliver at the moment, “I’m the adult. You two are the children—I know you’re teenagers, don’t give me that look, just roll with me here. I’m supposed to take care of you. Not the other way around.” 

“But you always take care of us,” Junior reminded him, “every single day. Especially when we were sick. Did your brain get fried so much from your fever that you don’t remember?” The last comment finally attained a nudge to his side by Jake’s elbow, leaving Junior to scowl at his cousin. 

“Look, what Junior was trying to say before his asshole alert went off was that it isn’t a crime for us to take care of you. You always take care of us and this time, it was our turn to take care of you. And there’s nothing wrong with that.” Jake translated for his cousin as Junior nodded along in agreement. 

Andy supposed, if he thought about it, the boys were right. Everyday, his sole focus was on taking care of the kids. When they got sick, those feelings were enhanced. He rubbed Junior’s back when he coughed so hard that he threw up, he lifted Jake’s head so he could drink water because he was too physically drained to do it on his own. 

From the moment he had the Wheeler cousins, his goal was set to being there for and helping them. Their previous fathers certainly never understood the role that Andy took on, so he made sure to give all the love and support that he had to the boys. 

So maybe, it would be okay to let Jake and Junior take care of him while he’s sick. 

Just this once. 

“Thank you, you little shits.” Andy said to them with a fond smile. 

“You’re welcome, mom.” The cousins said simultaneously, something that he was sure that they picked up from Glen and Glenda. 

Great, he had to deal with another set of twins. Except they weren’t actually twins, just cousins that were born a few weeks apart. 

“You hungry?” Jake asked. “I have chicken soup on the stove, I just need to heat it up since I wasn’t sure when you’d wake up.” 

Andy nodded with a smile. “Yeah, I’m kind of hungry, thanks.” He said as he tried to sit up. Both boys got into action in helping him, propping a few pillows behind him so he could comfortably lean back against the wall. 

The adult knew that the kids picked that up from him, remembering clearly that this was how he would sit them up so they could eat when they were sick. 

Jake left the room to get started on the soup and Junior scooted closer to Andy, resting his head on his shoulder. “You two have eaten, right?” Andy asked, already growing concerned at the mere thought that the boys became so focused on taking care of him that they forgot to feed themselves. 

“Yeah, yeah, we ate.” Junior quickly reassured him. “We’re running on Jake’s pancakes and last night’s leftover lasagna. His pancakes aren’t quite as good as yours, but they made do. And we ate an entire bag of party size Fritos chips.” Junior paused, now bashful. “Okay, I lied, I ate the entire huge ass bag of chips, not Jake.” 

“Good. I’m glad you’re well fed, kiddo.” Andy said quickly, playfully nudging his cheek to the top of the teenager’s head, hearing his kid giggle. 

He knew that Junior still struggled with food at times and couldn’t care less that he ate an entire party size bag full of chips. The kids could eat as much as they wanted, they deserved it. 

Besides, Andy bought those chips knowing how much Junior loved them. It was about time that he went to town on them. 

They sat there in peaceful silence for a few minutes, the silence occasionally being interrupted by the adult coughing, before Jake came in with the soup. The boys started conversing while Andy slowly ate, listening to them joke around and squabble with each other with a smile. 

Maybe being sick and having my sons around isn’t so bad. He thought to himself as he watched Jake and Junior. 

After a moment of watching them endearingly, Andy smiled more. 

Yeah, this really wasn’t so bad after all.

[pumpkin-is-fandom-trash]

Hot Fuzz OC Fanfic

So...this fanfic is about my Hot Fuzz OC, Lola. I made a post talking about her, and someone said it'd be cool if Nicholas adopted her. This fic isn't the best, I had a few ideas but had no clue how to write them so take my shoddy writing with a grain of salt. And please no hate, this is for fun and is not to be taken seriously.

Word Count: 2272 (Longest thing I have wrote in ages.)

Lola was anxious enough in this small town as it was. She’d only lived here a month or so at this point, and she hated it. It was too…perfect there. So perfect it felt unnatural. In her mind, having spent a lot of time watching horror movies and reading similarly horror-esque stories, it felt…off-putting. Well, that was to put it lightly. Very lightly. But she brushed it off. She was somewhere she was unfamiliar with…and she stood out like a sore thumb. 

What she hadn’t expected was to become (or nearly become anyway) one of the many deaths that had been happening far more frequently as of late. 

And yet, here she is, face down in the lake. Everything had been fine, her and her rather flashy artist parents had been taking a late night stroll by the lake near the church, not wanting to worry themselves over everything that had been happening lately. And suddenly the trio all felt a harsh shove and now here they all were. 

Her parents long since stopped breathing, she could tell. And she was holding her breath, hoping that the attackers would leave…and think she too was deceased. And her hopes were answered as her would be killers walked away, convinced they’d succeeded.

She lifted her head above the water, finally gulping down air, trying to ignore the burning in her lungs from lack of oxygen, and swam to the edge of the water, pulling herself up onto dry land where everything faded to black.

Hours later she awoke, wincing as the light of the sun nigh on blinded her. Goodness, had it always been so bright? Then again, being out cold for hours would probably mean her eyes needed to readjust.

She reopened her peepers once more and glanced around. She wasn’t on the edge of the shore now, no, she’d been moved into the back of an ambulance and was being monitored. At least she survived, she thought to herself, but sadly her parents were a different story.

The rest of that day was a blur of doctors words and everything else. She sort of just, let the day happen. 

On the other side of the sleepy town, there was some debate in the police office. “These can’t all be accidents!” The newest face in the Sandford Police Department huffed out, arms crossed. 

“Or maybe, it can be.” Andy Wainwright….or was that one Cartright… Scoffed, rolling his eyes, earning agreement from the rest of the folks there. They’d heard this whole ‘murder’ spiel too many times at this point. Well, they’d heard it two times so far, but still, in a place where no murders have been recorded in years, such a spiel does seem rather…far-fetched to those who only know their hometown as safe.

“There was a survivor though this time, weren’t there?” Another officer spoke up. They had a point. But that brought up the question, where would that survivor go? By all accounts she was in fact still a child. She couldn’t exactly stay on her own. She wasn’t ready to live alone.

After a whole lot of debate, it seemed nobody wanted that responsibility… it was decided that a certain Nicholas Angel would be the one offering the survivor shelter ... though he was…incredibly reluctant to do so…

Later that evening, he set off to pick up the young girl he would now be taking care of. She seemed…shaken. Understandably so though, her parents had died and she nearly had as well. 

“Are you okay?” He asked the young girl, who was simply looking at the ground as they walked to her home to gather her belongings.

“What do you think?” The teen mumbled, her gaze not once lifting from the floor, as if it was all she wanted to see. 

“Sorry you’re stuck with me.” She added under her breath, already sensing his reluctance to be the one looking after her. “The name’s Lola..” She continued. Well if he had to take care of her he’d have to know her name.

He nodded “Well, Lola, what exactly happened? How did all three of you end up in the lake?”

Lola shrugged “Pushed” She said bluntly “Felt someone push me, they probably pushed my folks too.”

Pushed? So…this really was a murder? Well, this just proved that these weren’t accidents…or this one at least. Nicholas made a note of this.

The next day went by. Lola’s stuff had been moved to the hotel room Angel was staying in. The girl didn’t bring much. A blanket, some books, a sewing kit, some clothes, and a spare pillow. She’d set up her own sleeping place on the floor to one end of the room, having set her pillow and blanket there. 

Nicholas had went into the station, doing his duty and work. His first course of action, speaking with the chief. He had to tell him what he had found out. “Sir, I have cause to believe this incident was not an accident.”

“Oh? Are you sure?” Frank asked, raising a brow.

“Yes, sir, I am quite sure. The..victim told me that she felt someone push her into the lake. Someone intended to harm her and her parents and did succeed at ending two of the three lives.” Angel explained. Perhaps this was enough to convince everyone.

Of course though, no one believed him. He should have expected it at this point. But he knew for a fact this couldn’t have been an accident, but no matter how hard he tried there was no convincing the rest of the police. 

The day went by as always. He nipped to his hotel room briefly to check on the young girl only to find her huddled under the bed covering her ears. He crouched down and peered under the bed at her. “Is..everything okay?” He questioned, looking at her.

“Th-there was someone banging at the door earlier. I-I didn’t know what to do so I hid.” She told him, slowly uncovering her ears as she looked up at him.

Could that have been her attackers coming back to finish the job? It was likely.

Well, he couldn’t leave her here alone if that was the case. “You’re safe now, Kid. I’ll keep an eye out.” He said, gesturing for her to come out of her hiding place. “Just stick with me, alright?”

Lola nodded slightly, crawling out from under the bed. 

She did just that too, she stuck with him. She seemed to feel safer having a police officer nearby at all times. She made sure to keep out of the way, and not to interrupt any conversations, overall being more polite than one would expect from her.

One day Lola and Nicholas were sat in the hotel room. Lola seemed to have settled in by now, she seemed less anxious. She was far more talkative than a day prior. “Thanks for looking after me, Mister Angel.” She said, looking over at him with a smile as she set down the small project she was working on, careful to place her needle and thread where they wouldn’t get knocked off.

“It’s alright kid, Just doing what’s right.” He told her, a barely noticeable chuckle in his tone. This kid was…a lot sweeter than she looked.

The pair spent a while chatting. By the end of it the pair seemed more at ease than before. She wasn’t as anxious, and he wasn’t as reluctant.

This kid was just…lost in a way. No longer having the guidance of her mother and father. She needed that guardian figure, so he made up his mind that he’d be that figure.

More deaths occurred over the next few days, all as brutal as the last. Nicholas’ suspicions were growing with each death. And in turn his concerns for the safety of both the innocent folk of Sandford and the teen he was tasked with taking care of.

He’d often let her accompany him when he went to the station, he needed to keep an eye on her..make sure the attackers didn’t come back. A few times he’d taken notice of her chatting with the others, laughing with them. At least she seemed to be cheering up a bit.

He had on a number of occasions heard her discussing movies with the others. He realised her and Danny would probably get along, both seemed to enjoy movies. (Though the genres were vastly different, Danny enjoying action movies, whilst Lola enjoyed Gritty and darker films…one he’d often heard her bring up being The Crow).

Then one night, where he assumed it would be just another night, was when a certain trolley boy came a-knocking. So these were no accidents, and now they were trying to get rid of him too? They sent Lurch to deal with him. This just proved he was right.

Lola, oblivious to the situation outside, was in the bathroom, changing into her sleepwear, but hearing an almighty ruckus, she opened the door, just a crack mind you, and peeked out, her eyes widening and her instincts kicking as she shut the door and hid herself, she wished she could go out and help, but she just…couldn’t. She was a kid, what would she be able to do?

After what felt like forever, she peeked back out, spotting Lurch on the floor. 

Nicholas looked at her, silently checking she was okay, and she nodded in a silent answer. She was okay. Startled but okay.

She stayed there, hiding herself behind the locked door of the bathroom while Nicholas went to deal with whoever was at the church. 

Lola stayed in there for what felt like hours, well…actually it had indeed been hours. She wasn’t aware of anything going on. Nor was she aware that Nicholas had learned everything and…had taken Danny’s car to leave Sandford. She wasn’t aware of anything that was happening until the next day when Nicholas returned to Sandford.

She hadn’t witnessed his bad-assery (Sorry, I will forever refer to it as this). Well, she had seen some of it through the small window in the bathroom, watching in silent awe at the shootout taking place outside. 

She silently unlocked the bathroom door and crept down to street level to get a closer look, sneaking outside and watching in…a less than safe location. She did what she could to help out without being noticed…mostly throwing rocks at those who were clearly the ones Nicholas was dealing with. 

She wanted to help out more until she was spotted, much to her dismay. The man she had grown to view as her guardian noticed her and gave her a stern look, gesturing for her to go back inside where it was safer.

Begrudgingly, she did just that. She sat there inside for ages, waiting for whatever was happening to end. She ended up dozing off as she waited, woken a while later by someone shaking her. She looked up to spot Nicholas. “Hey. You okay?” He asked.

She nodded, looking at him. “What was all that about out there?” She asked, peering over his shoulder to spot some of the other officers.

It was a long story but they filled her in on everything. 

“So…does that make you all town heroes?” She asked, raising a brow as she looked at them.

 “I guess it does, Lola.” Nicholas said, nodding at her. Her eyes widened, that was the first time he used her name instead of calling her Kid.

“There’s no guessing about it, you guys are heroes, Nicholas!” She retorted, calling him something other than Mister Angel for once.

Lola had…started to feel like she had a family again now that she was in Nicholas’ care, and he seemed to care a great deal about the young girl too.

Lola had been hanging around with some of the other kids in the village, when she happened to spot an…explosion (Yes, I’m including the sea mine scene because I can) coming from…oh no!

Her eyes widened in horror as she realised where that was. She ran towards where it happened. “Hey? Dad?!” She called out, not noticing her slip of the tongue when calling for Nicholas. The relief she felt when she saw him alive. But she noticed the look on his face and could instantly tell something was wrong, she’d never seen him so…worried.

“Dad, what’s wrong?” She asked, stumbling over rubble, ignoring the fact that she was stumbling and tripping constantly. That’s when she spotted why he was so concerned, seeing Danny on the floor. “Oh…”

Thankfully, Danny wasn’t dead and instead was rushed to the hospital. Lola felt awful, she could only imagine how worried Nicholas must be feeling, and she walked over, looking up at him. “Hey, I’m sure he’ll be fine..”

“Yeah…yeah you’re right…”

Months or so passed, Danny was out of the hospital and he and Nicholas were talking. Nicholas…was asking him for his opinion on something. You see, Nicholas wanted to…officially adopt Lola and wanted to let his closest companion know first.

Danny was glad to hear the idea, and encouraged Angel to do just that.

It wasn’t long before the documents were signed, and he was officially the father of Lola. And well, she was thrilled! 

A day or so after he had officially became her new father, he found something laying on the table in their cottage. A small handkerchief? How odd. He looked at it and noticed, embroidered into the fabric was a message. “Thank you for everything, dad.”

He knew exactly who it was from.

[babyjakes]

and you know, and so do i.

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summary | andy calls you in for office hours, just as he’s done almost every week of the semester. you both know your grade in his class is the least of the worries that he hopes to address.

pairing | professor!andy barber x student!reader

warnings | ed themes mentioned: implied restrictive subtype, no real symptom talk/mostly just body experience descriptions (weak, dizzy, spaced out, confused), resistance to help andisolation, suggestive that reader is severely ill. angst; this is not a fic with a happy ending, this is not a fic headed in a happy direction. soft!very concerned!andy.

word count | 1,179

an | hi friends. this is one of those fics that i don’t really know how to write an introduction for. i think this was mostly written as a way for me to support myself when i wasn’t getting the support i needed. please heed all the warnings given; the topic of ed’s is very fragile, i know, and i want you all to be safe and make choices that’ll be healthiest for you. i wrote this originally after rediscovering a song i used to listen to a lot back in high school when i was in the worst of my anorexia; listening to it again after so long brought back a lot of memories, one in particular of one of the last times i was brought into the er. i was deteriorating heavily and i remember just lying there and staring at the ceiling, listening to this song and feeling like i was back at my childhood home, sitting by the open windows listening to the neighbors’ kids playing outside. idk, it’s a very vivid memory for me. here’s a link to the song (getting lighter, goldmund) for anyone who’s interested.

Sitting in your regular brown armchair, the worn vintage-patterned fabric barely bending beneath your shallow frame, your eyelids droop like flower petals heavy with rain; you could not focus on the man in front of you if your life depended on it.

Standing with his back to you, broad shoulders filling out the deep navy seams of his university sweatshirt, Professor Barber tends to the whistling kettle on the stove, carefully killing the heat as he asks his question again, “Y/n, are you sure you wouldn’t like a cup of tea?”

Eyes lazily resting on some point just beyond the tip of your own nose, you hum some sort of confirmation or agreement, though it isn’t enough for him to understand until he turns around briefly to look at you, his gaze softening in worry as he watches you watch… nothing. Pouring himself a mug, he adds a tea bag and joins you in taking a seat, picking his usual spot on the green sofa across the narrow office from you. Setting his drink down on the coffee table beside him, the man sets his hands in his lap, an expectant silence falling over the room as he looks you over carefully.

And you, are entirely somewhere else. Chapped bottom lip parted ever so slightly from the top, you draw in a shaky breath as something warm hits your cheek; you think it could be a tear before you realize the window is open right beside you, a gentle ray of sun shining in and landing just below your eyes. Closing them for a moment, you stop to listen, the distant sounds of blowing grass and voices from afar filling your chest with heaviness. The whole world feels so light, like you could step right off the ground and float up into the sky on the breeze. For a moment, just a moment, you begin to forget where you are. Everything sounds and smells like home; you wonder if the faint smell of tea leaves in the air is coming from your mother’s favorite olive-green mug.

Voice trembling, you manage to say, “It’s beautiful out.”

“It is,” Andy’s soft voice agrees through the darkness. Andy, he had told you to call him that. Sometime, weeks ago. You never knew why he kept calling you in to see him every Thursday afternoon, and he never offered any reason, and yet- you continued to show up, week after week. Or maybe, maybe you did know. Maybe you do. Maybe even, you know, that he knows.

“It feels like summer,” you admit, your own voice barely recognizable to you as you do your best to fight back tears that have for some reason built up; maybe it was the tenderness of his voice. Maybe it’s the familiar smell of the spring air. You realize that you don’t want to be here; this is a frightening place for you, sitting in the warmth of the early May sun. Your hands squeeze the armrests of the chair as you do your best to remind yourself of your surroundings, but you can’t help but feel like maybe you’ve fallen asleep; maybe you’re dreaming of home. Maybe you’ll never see home again.

“Do you like the summertime, y/n?” Andy asks, watching patiently as you continue to sit with your eyes fully closed, nostrils flaring slightly as you struggle to take in a breath that feels big enough.

Head still heavy with thought, you mumble an, “I don’t know.” I’d like to live to see another one, you think to yourself, but as always, the words just can’t seem to find their way past your lips.

Straightening himself a bit in his seat, Andy nods though you can’t see him, clearing his throat briefly before saying your name once more, “Y/n.” Your eyes open, gaze landing on the man as he sits just a handful of feet away from you, and the look on his face is something you’re not ready for; it’s full of concern. You can’t tell if that’s everything you’ve ever wanted, or everything you’ve been trying to avoid. “Do you know why I assign you here, every week?”

Breaking away from his softened gaze, you try to shrug off the question. “I am barely passing your course,” you admit.

Andy nods, though you somehow already know that’s not where he’s headed. “Of course. But you know that’s not why I ask you to come. That’s not why you do come, is it?”

Heaviness sinks into the tips of your fingers as you blink at his question; part of you knows there’s no point in answering. Though still, you find yourself confirming his guess, “No, it’s not.”

He hums with a nod, repeating your name once more. “Y/n…”

“I can stop coming,” you say quietly, everything about you: your voice, your body, your presence- suddenly feeling incredibly and dangerously small as your head drops in shame. “I-I can stop. I won’t bother you anymore.”

Shaking his head, Andy’s tone has softened as he tells you, “I hope you won’t stop. I hope you keep coming- I hope you’ll talk to me, y/n. I hope one of these days, one of these afternoons, you finally will.”

Swallowing down a lump in your throat, you can’t bring yourself to look at him again. You know you should get up, you should walk out before this can go any further, but there’s something too heavy about the sunlight on your face, the thick balminess of the air that keeps you trapped in your seat as you blink back more tears. You are stuck; there is no way out for you. And you think that you’ve probably been that way for a long, long time.

“I don’t want to talk,” though you’re expecting your voice to be full of bitterness, you’re surprised to find it’s more than anything else, just weak. Weary.

“I’m sure you don’t,” Andy acknowledges understandingly. “But don’t you think you should?”

“I-I can’t,” you say, eyes struggling up to meet his waiting gaze. “I just… I can’t.”

Smiling gently in defeat, Andy nods. “Well, I can’t force you, and I wouldn’t want to. But I will keep inviting you back, just in case,” he tells you.

As he shifts directions in the conversation, beginning to go on about something that happened the other day in class, the heaviness in your chest rots and blisters into a burning pain. Eyes clouding over as the man’s voice floats up and away, out of reach for your ears, something collapses a little inside you. Pressing your palms into the wood of the chair’s frame, you realize this’ll be the last time you sit here in this spot; next week when youre invitation arrives, you’ll ignore it. You have to.

Eyes drawing to a close once more, you inhale deeply, savoring the sounds of the world through the window as they grace your ears. You’re not coming back, and you won’t hear them again. And a part of you knows you won’t make it home for the summer.

[mprosperossprite]

Since my post yesterday about Nile Freeman’s erasure from The Old Guard fandom, I’ve noticed several non-American folks respond that they want to explore Nile more but feel like they’re missing an understanding of a key piece of Nile’s backstory that it seems like American folks understand without talking about it: that Nile is not just from Chicago, but she’s from The South Side of Chicago.

I’m not an expert, and, once again, I’m a white person. But my best friend is a middle school English teacher who’s taught A Raisin in the Sun, Lorraine Hansberry’s groundbreaking 1956 play about the Youngers, a Black family attempting to achieve the American dream by moving from their apartment on the South Side of Chicago into a house in a white neighborhood. On the first day of the unit, before they even touch the play, she shows her students these two maps.

The first is from 1934. Though the language used to refer to Black people is antiquated (please never use the word this map uses), the data is interesting. It shows each census tract in the Chicago area, shaded based upon what percentage of the population in the tract is Black. The darker the shading, the higher the concentration of Black people living there. Note that there are a series of tracts in the southern part of the map that are shaded to indicate that Black people consist of 80% to 99% of the population in those areas. Also note that most of the rest of the tracts on the map have almost no shading.

So what does this map tell us?

It tells us the Black people in Chicago were concentrated in certain neighborhoods, to such an extreme extent that there are almost no other groups of people in those neighborhoods and almost no Black people anywhere else.

This was intentional.

The US Federal Government engaged in a practice called red-lining, wherein the Federal Housing Authority designated some neighborhoods as “dangerous” and “undesirable” and made it almost impossible to get a home loan in those areas because the agency would not insure mortgages. Richard Rothstein, whose book The Color of Law, interrogates the ongoing harm and effect of red-lining calls this a “state-sponsored system of segregation.” Yes, state-sponsored segregation happened in the North, too.

There were other contributing factors that created this intense housing segregation in Chicago and other northern cities, including restrictive covenants that legally prevented homeowners in certain neighborhoods from selling their homes to non-white, non-protestant people, but the result of all these policies is that during periods of so called “American prosperity,” wherein white Americans were owning homes at higher rates than ever, Black Americans were excluded. The result was neighborhoods like the South Side of Chicago, intensely Black and intentionally impoverished.

But that was almost 100 years ago. Red-lining and restrictive covenants and other housing discrimination practices have now been ruled unconstitutional.

So let’s look at another map, this one from the New York Times’ 2015 project Mapping Segregation. Using the 2010 Census Data, each dot in the map below represents 500 people. The different colored dots represent the different racial categories used by the Census. Notice how in the southern part of the map, there is a wedge that consists almost entirely of the blue dots representing Black people. Notice also, how the green dots, representing white people, are intensely concentrated on the northern shoreline of the city, as well as on the outskirts, in the suburbs.

What I hope you notice about these two maps is that they are essentially the same. They tell the same story.

The end of state-sanctioned discrimination and ghettoization does not reverse the harm and inequality caused by these practices.

All this is interesting, but what does this mean for Nile specifically?

It means she grew up in a segregated neighborhood, in an intensely segregated city.

It means that the glittery downtown and famous lake-shore probably felt almost like a different world, even if it was technically her own hometown.

It means she probably grew up in a community with Black churches and Black hair salons and barbershops and kids playing streetball and cookouts in the summer. It means she grew up in a community with a long tradition of celebrating Black culture and Black arts and Black identity.

It means she probably also went to a school that was chronically underfunded, with teachers who were overworked and underpaid. The odds are good that Nile had at least one full school year where her class didn’t have a permanent teacher at all.

It means she probably grew up knowing the sights and sounds of gun violence in her neighborhood, and knowing people who were the victims of gun violence, both gang related and caused by police.

Perhaps, most important of all, she grew up in a neighborhood which is heavily targeted by US military recruiters. The most common pitch these recruiters make is that the US military will pay for their college education if a person enlists straight out of high school. For many of the people Nile grew up with, and maybe even Nile herself, this seems like the only path to higher education that won’t saddle them with an inescapable amount of debt.

In the film, Nile tells Andy that growing up on the South Side of Chicago with a single mother meant there was a “million different ways it could have gone left.” That might just be the understatement of the century.

And yet one of the reasons I love Nile and think she's so so so important is that her story is not about any of this. Her story is not about how she triumphed over adversity, or how she "made it out." Nile's story is about a woman whose upbringing and identities inform her future actions. She understands loyalty. She understands suffering. She understands fighting for herself and those closest to her and what she believes in. And maybe the South Side had something to do with all that, but it also comes from who she is.

[navybrat817]

Beg Me

Pairing: Andy Barber x Female Reader Summary: Distracting Andy from his work is always a fun time. Word Count: Over 1k Warnings: Explicit sexual content, hand job, possessive behavior, dirty talk, Andy Barber (he's a warning!) A/N: For @happygowriting 's Hat Draw Challenge (Prompt: “I’m going to jerk you off until you’re begging me to stop.” with Andy Barber) ). Congrats, lovely!!! ❤️ Not beta read, so any and all mistakes are my own. Moodboard by yours truly. Comments, likes, reblogs and asks are appreciated. ❤️

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I do not consent to have my work posted on any third party site or app. If anyone sees my work anywhere but here or archiveofourown under my same username, it has been reposted without my permission. 18+ Please!!! By reading this, you agree that you are at least 18 years old. Enjoy, lovelies!

If you could have dreamt up the perfect man, he would have been in the form of Andy Barber. Handsome, commanding and passionate, there was no denying him and you never wanted to. While he was usually the dominant of the two of you in bed, you occasionally liked to be the one who drove him crazy. It wasn't to give you a sense of power or control. You were just happy to make the man you loved feel good.

You watched him as he sat at his desk, tapping your fingertip against the doorframe. He promised he wouldn't work when he got home, but there he was. You didn't blame him and you weren't even upset. But now was the perfect time to give him something to get him through the rest of the day. 

You walked over to the desk, your hips swaying enticingly. You continued to watch him intently as he tried to ignore your presence, but you saw him look out of the corner of his eye. He cleared his throat as he looked back at the papers in front of him. Smirking, you snatched them from his hand and put them out of reach. You swore he snarled when you kept the smirk on your face.

"I'm trying to work and you're distracting me."

Your body clenched in reaction to his glare. Being on the receiving end of that look scared most people, but you were the exception. It sent a shiver of excitement through you when he didn't blink and you dared to step closer. 

"I know I am, but I can help you out," you offered. 

Andy raised an eyebrow as his gaze shifted to feigned disinterest. But he couldn't hide how dark his eyes got. "You're going to help me?"

"Yep. I'll get you off and you can go back to it," you said innocently, straddling him as he leaned back in his chair. 

His hand reached up and gently moved along your jaw, the small action immediately spreading more heat between your thighs. You had no idea how he turned you on so quickly with the lightest of touches, but you wanted to have the same effect on him. Before he could pull away, you grasped his hand and brought it to your lips. Your eyes twinkled with something lustful as you sucked a finger into your mouth, moaning around it. 

"You think teasing me is a good idea?" he asked, a slight rasp to his tone as his finger slipped free. 

"Teasing would imply that I have no intention to follow through. And I have every intention of doing so."

Brushing your lips against his, you moved a hand between your bodies to cup him. You felt how hard he was beneath his slacks and you wondered how long he had been worked up. Thankfully, he had you to take care of him. 

"Poor Andy," you said softly as you rubbed him, kissing the corner of his mouth. Feeling his beard tickle your lips made you tremble as you unbuttoned his pants. Maybe later you could convince him to rub his beard against your inner thighs. "How are you supposed to get any work done with your cock so hard?"

You heard the air rush out of his lungs as you pulled the zipper down, feeling his strong thighs tense beneath yours. "Still fucking teasing me," he groaned as your hand grasped the band of his underwear to move it down. "Fuck, honey."

You smiled as you grasped his cock and pulled him free. Holding him in your hand, your fist went tight. You rubbed your thumb across the head as you leaned back and glanced down. The thickness of him never ceased to amaze you. It made your mouth water.

“I told you I'm not going to tease you," you reminded him as you twisted your wrist. "I’m going to jerk you off until you’re begging me to stop.”  

Andy was amazing. Addicting. How could not worship him? You ignored how soaked your panties were as you pumped your hand because this was about him. And after so many nights of him bringing you over the edge multiple times, it was time to return the favor.

"Fuck, honey. Faster," he groaned, his hips rocking as you worked him in even strokes.

"No," you laughed softly. "You have no patience right now, Mr. Barber, and that won't do. Just like my pussy is yours, this is my cock. I'll go as fast or slow as I please."

There was no mistaking the growl this time. He sounded impressed that you took control. "I'm ruining my pussy the second I'm done-"

"The second you're done what? Coming?" you questioned, kissing his cheek as you brushed the head of his cock again. Feeling him leak for you had you lightly grinding your own hips. "I told you. Until you beg me to stop, your cock isn't leaving my hand."

His hips bucked hard enough to rock the chair, his moan low and deep. "You think I won't fuck you with my fingers? Or make you ride my thigh until you gush on these pants?"

"That would be a shame," you sighed, feeling more precum slide across your fingers. "I like these pants… But it would be fun to ruin them the way you ruined me. Just like I want to ruin you."

His head fell back as he could look in your eyes, his hips starting to lose their rhythm. "I was ruined the moment you walked into my life," he breathed.

You whimpered, wanting so badly to take him into your quivering cunt at his words. "Later," you thought because your release didn't matter. But his… "Prove it. Make a mess on my hand. C'mon, hotshot. Do it. Come."

He whined, actually whined, for you as his cock pulsed, shuddering as you watched his release spread between you both. Some of it landed on your hand as you finished stroking him, hot and searing. You wanted to taste every drop as he came down. 

"Fuck…" he panted as his shoulders slumped, catching his breath. 

As you pulled your hand away, you quickly replaced it with the other. 

"What…" he gasped as you brought it to your lips.

"Beg me," you whispered as you began to clean your fingers. "That's an order, Mr. Barber."

[harrysgoldenline]

When In Italy Part 3

Part 1 | Part 2

He remembered your order.

It was all you could think about after you sat down, a waitress coming quickly to your table and he gave you a look, asking you if that’s what you wanted. You gave a small nod and you refrained from commenting on it, not wanting to stroke his already enlarged ego you are sure has only gotten big since you have seen him last based on… well everything.

The waitress thanked you both, taking your menus and leaving the two of you alone, giving one another an awkward smile before you looked down at your hands, now regretting pretending to not know what to order in order to hide behind your menu a bit more.

“So…” Harry began, fingers drumming onto the table, “how have you been?”

You let out an airy laugh, looking up at him with a raised eyebrow before leaning back in the woven dining chair, warm Italian sun hitting your face as you looked out at the view and back to him, not even sure what to say. You, obviously, were not doing great and he was.

You open your mouth to start to answer but stop when the waitress comes back, placing the cool, water glasses in front of you and they quickly become interesting as you watch the condensation drop down from the glass onto the table.

“Y/n…” Harry began, looking up at you and sighing when your eyes met, “Can you talk to me? I just want to see what you’ve been up to.”

“What about you?” You counter, heart pounding against your chest, “I feel like you’re the one who needs to check in and share some updates more than anyone else, don’t you think?”

“I guess I deserve that.” He chuckled, taking a sip of water and looking at you over the glass causing you to scoff.

“I’m glad you think it’s funny.” you glare, crossing your arms over your chest, trying to calm your pounding heart, “really makes the whole situation better.”

“Okay, you’re right, I’m sorry,” He nodded, holding his hands up in defense, “but I didn’t know you were going to be there, I would have never brought her if I would have known that, obviously and I’m sorry it happened this way but I’m glad I saw you, I’m glad to see you.”

“Who is she?”

He looked surprised by your question, not expecting you to rip the band-aid off in the way that you did. But, you knew him. Better than anyone you’ve ever known in your life and you couldn’t understand why he was beating around the bush like this so much. You also needed this for yourself, not wanting to fall for his famous charm, looking into those beautiful, jade eyes you knew you would be done for.

It’s the reason your sitting across from at this table at all, not being able to resist his smile, his sot, caring voice as he asked you to see him, having no idea what you would be getting into all, you said yes without any hesitation and you decided in that moment, watching as he went around the clear high priority topic with ease.

“Her name is Olivia.” He sighed, “she’s the director of the movie I’m going to be in and…”

“You’re together?”

He didn’t answer, looking at his hands.

You nodded, taking his silence as the clear answer and you bit your bottom lip hard, tasting blood as your teeth sunk into the flesh, hoping the pain would stop the tears that were stinging your eyes. You could feel your hands shake and you let out a sigh, standing up from the table and running your hands over your skirt, frustrated he didn’t even have the nerve to come out and simply say it.

“I-I’m going to go,” You began to ramble, looking down at the water glass and you dug through your bag, looking for money to pay for your meal and tip the waitress, even though it wasn’t yet served to you, eyes burning as you did your best to keep in your tears.

“Please stay.” He whispered and you shook your head rapidly, pulling out your wallet and looking for a big enough bill, “Okay, let me just drive you back, put your wallet away this is on me.I asked you to come.” He added, pulling out his wallet and laying down a more than generous amount.

“No, please.” You whispered, stepping back as you stepped closer to you, “just, stay. Take my food with you. I’m gonna book a flight home and you guys can have the house to yourselves by tomorrow night.”

“Y/n-”

“Goodbye, Harry.”

You ignored his calls of your name, walking down the pavestone as you made your way through the quaint town, passing the many boutiques and gelato shops you two went through a dozen times.You also did your best to ignore the longing look of pity as you passed by the strangers, thankful your italian wasn’t as good as his, that way you didn’t have to also hear what they were saying about you.

You wandered your way through the beautiful village, wishing it brought you the same amount of joy as it always did, but not it just left you a bitter taste in your mouth, reaching for your phone and calling for a cab, looking up flights the second the car pulled up.

***

Your eyes fluttered open at the sound of your alarm, heart wrenching at the realization that all of this was real and you fist rubbed your swollen eyes, sniffling as you sat up and the details all came back to you.

“He found someone else already.” you had sobbed into the phone to your best friend, clutching at your chest as your back was against the front door. “He already moved on, y/bff/n and he brought her here and-and… I-I got a flight home and I just don’t know what to do.”

You were beginning to hyperventilate, mind being unable to wrap around the fact that he had moved on so quickly, the man you thought you were going to marry, being together for years, had already moved on to someone else.

Your best friend had done her best to calm you, begging you to let them fly there to help get your things together, to at least meet you at a connecting flight so you weren’t flying home completely alone, but you didn’t allow it, knowing how much trouble they would get into with their boss.

“I’ll be there to pick you up.” they told you, after a long pause, their heart was breaking at the sound of your cries, “You’re gonna make it through this, y/n. I know you are.”

You weakly stumbled out of bed, walking straight to the closet and, once again, pulling your bags out and throwing them onto the bed, throwing your all clothes into a messy pile and zipping up the bag, pushing it into the hallway after quickly changed into a clean outfit, slipping on a pair of sneakers as you got ready for your flight home.

Forcing yourself to brush your teeth and run a comb through your hair was harder than you had ever imagined, hating to have to look at your reflection as the face of her was being compared side by side in your mind. You hated yourself more for wishing that Harry tried a little harder, wishing that he had ran after you and tried to at least explain more, extend the olive branch so to speak, even though it would never fully heal your wounds.

Your anxious mind wouldn’t stop reliving your morning with Harry and you couldn’t help but have regrets, wondering if you overreacted, wondering what would have happened if you stayed for the rest of the meal.

Could you ever be friends?

Pushing yourself away from the counter you hoped that the thoughts would subside, wishing you knew the answers but knowing you never would. You shuffled your way into the living room, curling up on the couch as you waited for the car to come pick you up and take you to the airport, not having the energy to reach to pick up the remote so you sat in silence.

Although it felt like minutes, an hour soon passed and you heard the knock at the door and you forced yourself up, grabbing your suitcase and wheeling it behind you as you opened the door, being greeted by the driver who took your suitcase from you and loaded it into the car as you followed behind, finding your place in the backseat.

The time went faster than you thought it would, the drive to the airports, the security line, flights, layovers, all of it. The next thing you knew you were walking down the steps of the airport, seeing the face of your best friend and running towards them, dropping your suitcase in the process as they quickly took you in their arms, holding you as tight as they could.

“I got you.” They whispered, rubbing your back as your tears sunk into the fabric of the fabric covering their shoulder, “I’m so, so sorry, sweetheart. You’re gonna be okay, I promise.”

“How do you know?” you horsley whispered, ���my heart hurts so much.”

“I know, I know.” They whispered back, pulling back and looking you into the eyes, giving you a smile and wiping away your tears, “It’s going to be okay, I promise. You are an incredible human being, y/n, you are so unbelievably strong andI know that you can do this and I’m going to be there for you every single step of the way, okay?. ”

And they were.

Being there for you every single step of the way for the next two weeks since you got back from your trip and even moved into your apartment with you for a few days at first as you adjusted. Holding you every single time that you cried, always checking in and making sure that you were taking care of yourself and always being there for you to talk about everything, even though you weren’t quite ready yet, they were there for you when you were going to be and you couldn’t have been more thankful for that.

Now, after a couple weeks of healing, after your plummet on your journey of healing post break up, you felt like you were back on your way up. You started leaving your apartment more again and y/bff/n even got you to go out with them and a couple of friends one night.

Actually starting to feel better and even starting to feel a lot more like yourself.

Your phone buzzed and you quickly took a look down at it, seeing a text from y/bff/n

Be there soon! i can't wait to try out this new coffee place!

You smiled and sent back your quick reply, letting her know you were going to head downstairs touching up your makeup quickly as you looked at yourself in the mirror and smiled back at your reflection, seeing the glow and fullness starting to come back to your face, the circles under your eyes slowly disappearing more and more everyday.

Grabbing your purse off the kitchen counter and sliding on your shoes you got ready to leave your apartment, heading out the door and locking the door behind you, jiggling the handle to endure it was locked before turning on your heel to head out. You go to reach for the elevator button, but it dings as it announces its arrival and you step out of the way, allowing whatever neighbor to have a clear path to their apartment. Instead, you're met with a pair of familiar green eyes.

“Harry?”

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

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[nevermindirah]

Do you have any thoughts on the use of AAVE for Nile (or lack thereof) in TOG fanfiction? I've been reading some Book of Nile fic and some writers seem to write her as a Millennial™ (using words like "fave" and "woke") but never acknowledge her Blackness in her patterns of speech. I know we don't see her use as much AAVE in the films, but I would argue she's in situations where code-switching would be valued (first in a "professional" environment in the army, then around a group of non-Black strangers).

Hi anon! I have many thoughts on this and I'm honored you asked me! But I should start by saying I'm white and any thoughts Black fans and especially Black American fans have on this that they want to share would be beyond lovely. (I'm not gonna tag anybody bc that feels rude but please add onto this post if any of y'all see this and want to!)

The main reason I personally avoid AAVE for Nile in my own fics is because I'm not Black. But Nile-centric fics by Black writers tend to avoid using much of it too, at least from what I've noticed/understood, and my guess is it's largely for the reason you mention, that she's in situations that encourage code-switching.

In movie canon Nile is highly competent at tailoring her language to each situation she finds herself in. This fantastic linguistics analysis meta shows how skillfully Nile chooses her vocabulary and grammar to meet her goals with different conversation partners in different contexts. In comics canon Nile had a bunch of different civilian jobs before joining the Marines, so she would've had experience code-switching in the ways that made sense for all those different contexts as well as the Marines and her family and high school and wherever else she spent her time before we met her. And now she's spending her time with a handful of immortals none of whom are native English speakers and a fellow Black American but one with a Queen's English UK accent whose professional experience is in the CIA where high-status code-switching is often an absolute must for success or even survival.

Fics featuring Nile are charged with extrapolating from that to how it might show up in her use of language that she's coping with a traumatic separation from her family and her career and pretty much everything she's ever known and now she needs to be able to make herself understood to people who seem to care about her and each other but are super duper in crisis, three (soon to be four) of whom predate Modern English entirely and the only one who's anywhere near her contemporary she's not supposed to talk to for a century. All of these people are telling her that pretty much any contact with any mortals poses an existential threat to her and the rest of the group. How the FUCK is she supposed to cope with that, like, generally? And would it be a more effective way for her to cope if she talked to Andy Joe and Nicky using the speech patterns that she used to use with her mom and brother, to at least retain that part of her identity even if it means having to do a lot of explaining, or would it meet her needs better to prioritize Andy Joe and Nicky understanding what she means with her words over using the particular words and grammar forms she used with her family?

I've seen several fics, both Nile-centric / BoN and otherwise, explore this a little bit in how/whether Nile uses Millennial™ speak. It's often a theme in Nile texting Booker despite the exile because of the popular headcanon that he as The Tech Guy is the only other immortal who understands memes. But Nile's much-younger-than-Booker mom probably uses Boomer and/or Gen X memes and Andy has been adapting to new communication styles for forever as evidenced by her canon high level of fluency with standard-American-accented English.

Which brings us back to people avoiding AAVE because they're not Black and they don't want to make mistakes (or they're not Black and they don't want to get yelled at for making mistakes, though I think many people overestimate how much they'll get yelled at while underestimating how much these mistakes can hurt). I can imagine some Black fans hold back from using much AAVE in fic because they don't want to share in-group stuff with white people who are likely to then adopt and ruin it, as white people so often do with Black cultural stuff. Some links about this including a great Khadija Mbowe video. I'm saying this gently, anon, because you might not know: woke, an example you cited as Millennial™ speak, is AAVE, and that's gotten erased by so many white people appropriating it and using it incorrectly online.

And also there's the part where fandom is a hobby and you never know when you're reading a fic that's the very first thing someone's ever written outside of a school assignment. This cultural considerations of language shit takes a level of effort and skill that not everybody puts into every fic, or even could if they wanted to because they haven't had time to build their skills yet. It's definitely easier for non-Black fans to project our millennial feels onto Nile than to do the layers of research and self-reflection it requires to depict what Blackness might mean to Nile, and it's not surprising that often people sharing their hobby creations on the internet have gone the easier route. There's not even necessarily shame in doing what's easier. It's just frustrating and often hurtful when structural white supremacy means that 3-dimensional Black characters are rare in media and thoughtful explorations of them in fandom are seen by the majority of fans as not-easy to make and therefore Nile Freeman, the main character in The Old Guard (2020) dir. Gina Prince-Bythewood, has the least fic and meta and art made about her of our 5 main immortals.

I've been active in different fandoms off and on for twenty years and I barely managed to write 5,000 words about Sam Wilson across multiple different fics in the 7 years since I fell in love with him. There's an alchemy to which characters we connect with, and on top of that which characters we connect with in a way that causes us to create stuff about them. Something about Nile Freeman finally tipped me over the edge from a voracious reader to a voracious writer. It's not for me to judge which characters speak to other individuals to the level of creating content about them, but I do think it's important for us to notice, and then work to fight, the pattern where across this fandom as a whole Nile gets way less content, and way less depth in so much of the content that's in theory about her, than any of these other characters.

Anyway, back to language. My two long fics feature Nile with several Black friends — Copley and OCs and cameos from other media — but all of those characters except Alec Hardison from Leverage aren't American. It's very possible I'm guilty of stereotyping Black British speech patterns in I See Your Eyes Seek a Distant Shore. I watched hours and hours of Black haircare YouTube videos in the research for that fic and I modeled my OCs' speech patterns on what I heard from some of those YouTubers as well as what I've heard people like John Boyega and Idris Elba saying in interviews, but the thing about doing your best is you still might fuck up.

I'm slowly making progress on my WIP where Nile and Sam Wilson are cousins, and what ways of talking with a family member might be authentic for Nile is a major question I need to figure out. For that, I'm largely modeling my writing choices on how I hear my Black friends and colleagues talking to each other. I haven't overheard colleagues talking in an office in a long-ass time, but back when that was a thing, I remember seeing a ton of nuance in the different ways many of my Black colleagues would talk to each other. Different people have different personalities! And backgrounds! And priorities! A few jobs ago my department was about 1/3 Black and we worked closely with Obama administration staff many of whom were Black and there was SO MUCH VARIETY in how Black people talked to each other, about work and workplace-appropriate personal stuff, where I and other white coworkers could hear. There are a few work friends in particular who I have in my head when I'm trying to imagine how Sam and Nile might talk to each other. From the outside looking in, God DAMN is shit complicated, intellectually and interpersonally and spiritually, for Black people who are devoting their professional lives to public service in the United States.

One more aspect of this that I have big thoughts on but I need to take extra care in talking about is the idea of acknowledging Nile's Blackness in her patterns of speech. There's no one right way to be Black, and Nile's a fictional character created by a white dude but there are plenty of real-life Black Americans who don't use much or even any AAVE, for reasons that are complicated because of white supremacy. (Highly highly recommend this video by Shanspeare on the harms of the Oreo stereotype.)

Something that's not the same but has enough similarity that I think it's worth talking about is my personal experience with authenticity and American Jewish speech patterns. My Jewish family members don't talk like they're in The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel, and I've known lots of people who do talk that way (or the millennial version of it), some of whom have questioned my Jewishness because I don't talk that way. That hurts me. Sometimes when another Jew tells me some shit like "I've never heard a Jew say y'all'd've," I can respond with "well now you have asshole, bless your Yankee-ass heart," because the myth of Dixie is a racist lie but I will totally call white Northerners Yankees when they're being shitty to me for being Southern, and this particular Jew fucking revels in using "bless your heart" with maximum polite aggression, especially with said Yankees. But sometimes I don't have it in me to say anything and it just quietly hurts having an important part of me disbelieved by someone who shares that important part of me. The sting isn't quite the same when non-Jews disbelieve or discount my Jewishness, but that hurts too.

Who counts as authentically Jewish is a messy in-group conversation and it doesn't really make sense to explain it all here. Who counts as authentically Jewish is a matter of legal status for immigration, citizenship, and civil rights in Israel, and it's my number 2 reason after horrific treatment of Palestinians that I'm antizionist. But outside that extremely high-stakes legal situation, it can just feel really shitty to not be recognized as One Of Us, especially by your own people.

It can also feel really shitty to be The Only One of Your Kind in a group, even if that group is an immortal chosen family who all loves each other dearly. Sometimes especially in a situation like that where you know those people love you but there are certain things they don't get about you and will never quite be able to. I'm definitely projecting at least a little bit of my "lonely Jew who will be alone again for yet another Jewish holiday" stuff onto Nile when at the end of I See Your Eyes Seek a Distant Shore she's thinking about being the only Black immortal and moving away from the community she'd built with a mostly-Black group of mortals in that fic. Maybe that tracks, or maybe that's fucked up of me.

Basically, this got very long but it's complicated, writing about experiences that aren't your own takes skill which in turn takes time and practice to build, writing about experiences not your own that our society maligns can cause a lot of harm if done badly, it can also cause a lot of harm when a large enough portion of a fandom just decides to nope out of something that's difficult and risky because then there's just not much content about a character who deserves just a shit ton of loving and nuanced content, people are individuals and two people who come from the exact same cultural context might show that influence in all kinds of different ways, identity is complicated, language is complicated, writing is hard, and empathy and humility and doing our best aren't a guarantee of avoiding harm but they do go a long way in helping people create thoughtful content about a character as awesome and powerful and kind and messy and scared and curious and WORTHY as Nile Freeman.

[itlivesproject]

Hi! I only recently downloaded ILW and love it so far. I have a bunch of questions, and hopefully I'm not spamming you guys too much.

First, massive props for making Joss so likeable that I'm actually romancing her in several playthroughs (not all because Amalia is too amazing, and I'm a sucker for a good BFFs to Lovers story. And yes, I'm creating several playthroughs with multiple setups; my main one is the one based on what actually happened when I played ILITW and ILB. Then there's the 'ideal' playthrough where Parker stayed, and neither MC was romancing anyone (I originally romanced Ava) so I can guilt-free set up a romance between ILITW MC and Noah, now another one where it's ILITW MC and Dan, some where MC sacrificed herself, one where Noah actually killed her, some where both the gangs except MCs survived or where everyone other than MC died, and the absolute worst possible setup where everyone who can die, or in Parker's case leave, died. Most are barely started, but you've got me seriously invested in the story, ILW is that good), and making me genuinely enjoy Connor as a character when he bored me in ILITW. Amazing work right there.

Speaking of Joss, I (and I know others in the fandom do so as well) have been wondering, is she on the autism spectrum? That line about her taking some things too literally or something a few chapters ago, I don't remember the exact wording, but it struck me.

So ILB MC vanished, huh. I was hoping we might interact more with that side of the anthology soon, since ILITW has been dominating the story with only one throw-away mention of Tom until then in my main playthrough. Might be Andy romancers had more, but it was Ava for me so idk. I'm definitely excited for whatever you have in store for us in that regard. Does it have anything to do with Annie's sudden reappearance in ILW MC's life 👀?

How many chapters are projected for ILW, by the way? We're at number 9 now, so around halfway, less or more than that?

Also, I keep hearing something about a hiatus, and when exactly does it start, next week? (That would be just my timing, lol. I finally download ILW, and it goes on break immediately after.) Do you have any idea how long it might last, if I may ask?

Basically ILW has really captivated me, you guys are doing amazing, I'm looking forward to all the coming plot twists and branches (which I'm exploring with my different playthroughs as much as I can) and can't wait for whenever the next chapter drops. I probably forgot a bunch of questions I was going to ask, but this ask is already a mile long so I hope I didn't bother all of you too much. Thanks for this project, it really captures the spirit of the IL series in a way I didn't think was possible to replicate. I can tell it was made by real fans, and that's awesome, and for answering these rambling questions!

I love all the different setups you have! 😍😍

So we haven’t explicitly stated if she is on the spectrum but it is an absolutely valid interpretation that I support!

ILW is slated to be a whopping 23 chapters. You can find our progress tracker in our pinned post!

The hiatus will be after chapter 11 airs on July 2, so you have two more chapters before the break 🥲 the length will be a few months at the least but there is no finalized time frame. Basically we just need to finish writing/editing/programming the rest of the chapters so however long that takes 🤷‍♀️

Thanks for sending this in and for all your kind words and support! We value it so so much 🥰 can’t wait to share more of the game with you!