#drop leaf dining table | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

avenin7 · 1 month ago

Text

He hears a clatter from the other room and the little rito’s curse. It makes him snort as he grabs his towel and bottle again, moving back into the main room where he left Revali sitting at his dining table.

Somehow the little rito is now on the floor. Staring miserably up at the crossbeams in her roost like they’ve somehow personally insulted him. “I hate you.” Revali says. Still glowering above him and Milap sits back in his armchair, taking a slow drag from his bottle.

“Yeah? Why’s that?” She snorts again, amused when Revali whips his head around to glare at her and groans as vertigo hits him even on the floor.

“You bitch.” He slurs. “I said I wanted to get drunk. Not be sent to Hylia.”

Milap reaches for the bowl of tree nuts on the side table. Popping one into their mouth unconcerned. “Not my fault you can’t handle your liquor.” She says around a full mouth. Particulates falling onto her feathers where her shirt is unlaced. “Maybe if you weren’t such a chickadee about it-“

“I am NOT!” Despite his obvious dizziness Revali forces himself up and turns towards her. Wing outstretched to keep his balance. “I am not a chickadee! Take that back.” They keked in the back of their throat, slouching further into the comfort of the plush wool chair and held the bottle outstretched to the little rito. Revali’s face sours further. Glaring at the bottle while he debates the benefit of looking like a wuss or potentially not waking up tomorrow.

“I ain’t got all night chickadee.” He shakes the bottle and Revali chatters irritably as he takes it. Ignoring him again, Milap takes the bowl properly into his wings. Crunching away happily while Revali dig his own grave into the worst hangover he’ll ever experience in his life.

“See??” He says as he finishes. “Not a chickadee.” Clumsily he sets the bottle down on the table. Talons dragging against the rug in a way that might actually trip him if he’s not careful.

“Watch it.” They snap. Tracking him as he stumbles his way around to the bookshelf to glare at their choice in literature. He pulls a book and Milap can’t be bothered to gripe at him for it, letting him leaf through it with a drunken disinterest.

“None of these are interesting. What do you even do when you’re noth smithing?”

Beak quirking as his lisp peaks through he nods his head towards the other chair. Revali ignores him and keeps browsing his books. “I sit. And enjoy the silence of not having children bother me.” The little rito crows, offended and drops his fifth edition Complete Metalsmith on the floor. Her beak grinds in irritation. That’s a good book.

“I am not a child!” Both their eyes are narrowed at one another and Revali stalks towards him. “Besides. You let the hylian brat hang around your smith all day when he’s here. He’s younger than me!” Milap clucks at him in the back of his throat and Revali trills back.

“Yes. He is quiet.” You are not. “And polite.” Which you are also not. Revali growls low and angry.

“I don’t know what everyone sees in him. He’s not that great.” The kids feathers are rising. Working himself up over nothing. Never a great idea to do in general and certainly not a good one when drunk. But they can’t be bothered to care too much. If they exhaust themselves putting out one fire, Revali will just light another. So they stand to fix the books he left out of order on the shelf and put his Master Smithing back in its rightful place. She can hear Revali pacing behind her. Chattering under his breath. “Yes. I suppose he’s strong! And skilled with a sword! And maybe easy on the eyes. And- ugh- Hylia forbid nice.” He hisses the last word. “But he’s egotistical! And his bowmanship is crap. And last time he came to the village he acted like I didn’t know what his horse was!” He turns indignantly gesturing in Milap’s direction. “I know what a horse is! I go outside.” Revali’s braids clatter when he shakes his head. “And besides! He’s not all that good looking! He’s got a slightly chipped front tooth and his hair is a weird texture and- and-“ Milap turns, brow raised as Revali flounders. Beak opening and closing as his drunken brain works in overtime.

“He’s short!” He settles on, staring unfocused at the rug. She can’t help but laugh at him again. Throwing a wing around his shoulder.

“Look, just cause you have a hate crush on the dove doesn’t mean he’s a bad kid.” Revali squawks angrily at his words and fumbles to get out from under his wing. Violently flapping his own.

“I do nOT have a crush-!!!” His voice cracks halfway through the sentence and they watch in amusement as his feathers around his face flatten till he looks like a drowned cat. “I don’t know what makes you think I have a CRUSH but you’re wrong.” She chitters at him and leans into his space.

“Listen, I’m not the best for giving advice on this sort of thing. But it’s pretty obvious you have some kind of hate-crush-sex attraction thing going on with him.” He growls at her again and she just raises her brow in response. “Remember Alaida?” She says. His eyes widen and his crest raises and he stares blankly for a few minutes while the name processes until he chirps out and embarrassed sound.

“I- I didn’t- that wasn’t-! oh goddess……” Milap pats his shoulder and he buries his face in his wings mortified. “oh. how long was it that obvious? I’m so foolish. I’ve made an ass of myself.” She takes pity on his spiraling and grabs his shoulder again.

“Alright chickadee. You need to lay down. And eat something.” It’s a testament to how intoxicated he is that she has no problem dragging him down to the floor again. Shoving pillows and blankets at him until he’s at least semi cushioned. Stalking to her kitchenette, she grabs some dried salmon and fruit and a glass of water to balance in her wings and take back to the poor kid. Revali is chirping embarrassedly when they return. Head propped on his own knee, curled into a ball. “Eat.” They command. Pushing the jerky into Revali’s wing. He groans and shakes his head.

“Not ungry.”

“Don’t care. Your stomach is empty and you’re gonne feel like death tomorrow if you sleep like that.” They crouch to his level and force a beady red eye to meet Revali’s blown pupil. “Eat. Or I make you.” He groans again but complies slowly. Taking tiny nibbles of jerky with his eyes scrunched shut.

Content that he’ll not choke, she stands and makes for the kitchenette again. Though she can handle her own liquor well, she had quite a bit of that bottle too and she can feel her equilibrium is off. Pouring themself a glass of water and taking a sizable gulp he turns to snark over his shoulder. “You wouldn’t want me to have to regurgitate for you now would you?” They laugh at the disgusted sound he makes.

“Oh gods— shut up. I might actually be sick.” Their keking laugh fills the house and she takes a sick pride in how Revali covers his head with a blanket to drown her out. Good. Maybe he’ll actually sleep now.

She returns to her chair and props her feet up on a stool and waits in the silence a while. Enjoying it. Until she can hear Revali’s soft snores filter out from under the blanket. He chuckles and reaches for a book beside him to read until sleep finally drags him under as well.

#writebart #artbart #fic #oc fic #oc: milap #revali #revali + milap #revali’s first time getting drunk with the local hermit who gives him moonshine #this was fun to write #thank you husband for beta reading #thank you nat for letting me name drop your oc for drama #revalink #(if you squint)#might upload this to ao3 cause why not #digital art #milap uses he/she/they #tried to keep it consise but eeh

24 notes · View notes

hometoursandotherstuff · 1 year ago

Text

This is a bargain. I have never seen even a 1 bd. 1ba. home in New Orleans, Louisiana this cheap. It's $290K and comes with most of the furnishings! (But, there's a $441mo. HOA)

The description says that you can sit on the porch and watch the Mardi Gras parade.

The large living room has a beautiful fireplace and they have a dining table in here, too, b/c there isn't an eat-in kitchen.

There's a small counter and some kitchen cabinets in the hall. I would put 2 stools by the counter and a drop leaf table in the corner on the left.

Down further is the kitchen.

Kitchen's small, but at least they painted over the dated cabinets and the counters look like granite.

Cute window over the sink.

The bedroom's a nice size, has an original fireplace and a large closet.

And, there's a small 3pc. bath.

In the back hall is a closet with a washer/dryer.

If there's a yard, they don't show it, but there is assigned parking, which is good.

#NOLA home #old house dreams #houses #house tours #home tour

104 notes · View notes

thinkingaboutbetterdays · 3 months ago

Text

tick boy. ( freddie benson x reader )

gif belongs to me

Sam was well known for her temper, and after years of trying to break through to her, you were pleasantly surprised when she decided to turn over a new leaf one day. You had no idea why, nor did you push for answers, because it had been proven never to work, and you were too thrilled at the prospect of her getting into fewer fights.

You were a year older than Sam and Melanie and due to an absent mother, you adapted at a young age to look after the twins who couldn't be more different. You dropped out of high school and worked two jobs to pay off the credit cards Pam had taken out and to take care of your younger sisters. Despite your efforts to keep her on the straight and narrow, Sam frequently got into fights, and when you tried to break through with her, she only became resentful and you took the brunt of her anger.

You knew Sam viewed Spencer and Carly's apartment as a sanctuary, and rarely let the worlds cross, granting her that space she craved. When you took an extra shift at one of your jobs, you agreed to let Melanie go to a sleepover and stopped by Spencer's apartment to speak to Sam who hadn't answered your texts or when you tried to call.

You knocked on the door, sending Spencer a smile when he opened the door.

"Oh, look, it's the one person who actually knocks instead of just walking in." He looked at Freddie and Sam who were sitting at the dining table with Carly. "Unlike some people."

You thanked him when he gestured for you to enter and you sighed when Sam stood up from the table.

"What are you doing here?"

"You didn't answer my texts, or when I called you. So you left me no alternative."

"Did you ever think that I didn't care?"

You took a deep breath, licking your lips as you reached into your bag and took cash out of your purse, holding it out to the blonde. "For dinner. Try to order something filling like pizza." You tucked your purse back into your bag. "And Melanie's at a sleepover."

"Didn't I just say I didn't care?"

Used to her jabs, you didn't react, only raising an eyebrow. "Got your keys?"

Sam took her keys out of her pocket, dangling them in front of you. "Happy now?"

You nodded, looking at Carly and Freddie, "Bye, guys." You sent the two a smile which they returned, and you called goodbye to Spencer as you left the apartment.

"I don't understand why you're so mean to her all the time," Freddie spoke up as Sam pushed the money into her pocket and re-joined the table.

"She acts like she's my mom. I don't need someone watching over me."

"Yeah, 'cause you do fine on your own." He scoffed, shaking his head when Sam glared at him as he left the table. "I'm going to start setting up."

Despite her attempts to keep her anger in check, you always received the brunt of it even when you were trying to be supportive. Sam didn't want to be babied, so you gave her as much space as you could, but when you tried to treat her as if she was responsible she came close to biting your head off. There was so many things you kept your sisters sheltered from, wanting them to be normal teenagers without the worries you had, but the weight of it all was starting to become too much.

A week later, Sam returned back to her old ways, and you stopped by the apartment after the trio had returned home from school and were upstairs getting ready to begin their show. After Spencer let you in, you went upstairs to find Freddie at his computer, while Sam and Carly took a drink of water, getting ready to begin.

You knocked on the door and Freddie opened it, sending you a smile. "You don't have to knock." He stepped aside to let you in and you thanked him, looking at Sam when she approached.

"What are you doing here?"

"I came to give you these." You took out keys from your jacket pocket. "The door was repaired. New locks."

"Great. Now go." Sam took the keys and you shook your head when she turned away.

"I'm working late tonight." You took out some cash from the pocket of your jeans, holding it out to her. She took it and walked away.

"Thank you. Now bye!"

You sighed, sending Carly and Freddie a small smile, "Good luck tonight."

As you turned to leave, Freddie saw the weight on your shoulders, only made worse by Sam's attitude. A frown formed on his lips when the door closed and pursed his lips when Sam clicked her fingers, yelling to get his attention.

He looked at the blonde, shaking his head as he walked to his computer.

"What's the matter with you?"

Freddie didn't speak as he ran a few checks to make sure everything was ready and Sam waved a hand in front of his face to gain his attention.

"I don't understand why you're always so mean to her."

Sam rolled her eyes, "Urgh, this again."

"You were pretty cold." Carly chimed in. "All she is trying to do is look out for you."

"Well, I don't need her to," Sam replied. "Now are we gonna do the show or not?"

Several hours later you returned to the apartment, covered in chilli, and wishing you could lie down and wake up believing the day had been a bad dream. Unfortunately, it was not meant to be. After knocking your bag into the fryer, your phone was broken and the keys didn't work on the lock.

You walked upstairs where the trio was relaxing after filming their show. Freddie looked up when you opened the door without knocking and heard Sam grumbling under her breath. His eyebrows raised when he saw the chilli sauce on your hat and shirt.

"What are you doing here?"

"Just give me your keys."

Sam raised an eyebrow at your tone, "What? No please?"

"Sam..." Carly quietly scolded.

You put a hand on your hip, sighing as you looked at Sam. "I've had a really crappy day, and I just need your keys to get into the house then I'll be out of your hair."

"What happened to your keys?" She took her keys out of her pocket and held them out to you.

"I dropped them in the fryer at work along with everything else that I own." You sighed, not wanting to take out your rough day on her, "I'll see you at home."

When you walked out, Sam followed and Freddie quickly chased after her, sharing a glance with Carly as they followed you both to the living room.

"Does this mean you can't check in on me every ten minutes?"

You paused with your hand on the door handle and heard Carly mutter, "Oh, no."

You turned to your sister who was grinning and shook your head. "You want me to leave you alone?"

"Yes! I'm not twelve years old."

Sam almost missed catching the keys you tossed her way.

"Fine." You walked out of the apartment, closing the door a little harsher than normal. Sam's eyebrows rose at your outburst, while small it was bigger than anything you had ever shown before.

"Why do you always push her away?" Freddie walked towards the door.

"Where are you going?" Sam asked.

"I'm going after her."

You were leaving the building when he caught up to you and when you heard him call your name, you ducked your head to wipe a tear from your cheek before turning to him.

"Are you okay?"

"Of course." You sent him a smile that was not as believable as you hoped it would be. "Great show tonight."

"You watch it?" He asked with a smile.

"I can't always watch it live, but I've seen every episode." You sent him a genuine smile, "You're great at what you do." You took out your cell phone and held it up, "Since you're great at tech stuff, what do you recommend?"

"Whoa." He took your phone, examining it. "What happened to it?"

"I knocked it into the fryer. I had it propped up on my bag so I could watch the show, and when I turned, I hit the bag with the handle of the mop and, well," You took your phone when he held it out to you, "You get the picture."

"I'm sorry." He frowned.

"Why?" You tilted your head, "You weren't twirling like an idiot, were you?"

Freddie smiled softly, shaking his head. "No, but," He sighed heavily, "you had to grow up fast. And I know how hard you work to keep the three of you together."

You looked away, sitting on the wall and he took a seat beside you.

"She does care, you know. Even if she behaves differently - why do you have beans in your hair?" His chuckle elicited a smile from you.

"The guy I was working with tried to carry a pot and tripped over his shoelaces and next thing I knew I was drowning in chilli. Where is it?" You reached behind your ponytail trying to find it.

"Here I'll get it."

You turned your head, and Freddie removed the bean from your hair carefully and you turned around when he declared that he had found it.

"Thank you." You sent him a small smile. "For the bean, and trying to make me feel better."

"Did it work?"

"A little." You rose from the wall and met his gaze when he stood up. "Thanks, Freddie."

"You know, we're filming some scenes for the next episode tomorrow. You can stop by and watch if you want?" He put his hands in his pockets to hide that he was crossing his fingers, wishing you would agree.

"I don't know..."

"The world won't crumble if you let go once in a while."

"Sam doesn't like me in her space. Or anywhere." Seeing his features falter, you sent him a small smile, saying, "I'll think about it. Night."

"Goodnight." He sent you a smile and a wave which you returned when you glanced back over your shoulder as you walked away.

When you walked around the building out of view, Freddie grinned, walking into the building. "She'll think about it. Yes!"

When Sam returned home an hour later, you washed the sauce out of your hair and scrubbed your uniform while Melanie did her homework in her bedroom. You lifted your head when the door opened and Sam entered.

"Hey," You greeted softly.

"Hey," She replied.

You placed your shirt into the sink filled with warm water, "I'm sorry about earlier. I had a bad day and I shouldn't have taken it out on you. I'm sorry."

Sam put her hands in her pockets as she approached the kitchen. "Actually I want to apologise too. I have been giving you a hard time - more than usual - since you got this new job and I'm sorry. I know you're just trying to look out for me like you always do."

"What?" You asked, sensing her hesitation and leaned against the sink, crossing your arms.

"It feels like you don't trust me not to make a mess of things. Like I'm a screw-up, or you want me to be more like Melanie." She gestured to the hallway leading to the bedrooms.

You lowered your arms, frowning as you approached her. "What I want is for you to go to school and enjoy being a teenager. I don't think you are a screw-up. Look at you, you've got a web show with your friends that's really successful and, okay, you still get into trouble at school, but your grades are better. And that's all I want. For you to have options."

"Does it suck?" She asked. "Getting As and working in a place that sells chilli in little hats?"

You nodded slowly, "A little." You sighed, "But I get to be with you guys." You sent her a small smile, "And I'm really proud of you."

Sam looked away, trying to recall the conversations she had with Carly and Spencer. Carly encouraged her to try harder to get along with you, while Spencer helped her see things from your point of view because he understood it the most. He knew how hard you were working and keeping a clean house while raising twin teenagers seemed impossible, but he admired how you did it all without complaint but silently harboured resentment for your absent mother.

"Do we have any ice cream?" She asked.

You nodded, "Got some yesterday." You turned to continue scrubbing your shirt while she got the ice cream out of the freezer.

"Want to watch a movie?"

You looked at her for a moment, wondering where her new attitude had come from. Deciding to enjoy it while it lasted, you agreed and she handed you a spoon before heading to the sofa. You shared the ice cream as you watched a movie and for the first time when you showed interest in her life, she didn't shut you down. You felt the strain of the week fade away as you laughed together.

The next day you were more energetic as you walked into the studio quietly, sending Freddie a small smile when he looked at you while keeping the camera focused on Sam and Carly. You walked closer when they stopped filming and Sam grinned eagerly as she approached you.

"Did you bring it? Did you?"

You revealed the sandwich in your bag and the blonde took it, moving away to eat it. "Four ham sandwich." She cooed. "I've missed you."

"Do you need to be alone?" Carly asked.

"Yes."

The brunette shook her head, smiling as she looked at you. "You don't happen to have more of those, do you?"

You took out two more and she grinned as she took one, thanking you before sitting next to Sam. You smiled at Freddie when he thanked you, accepting the sandwich.

"You didn't have to."

"I know. But I wanted to thank you." You glanced at Carly who was engrossed in conversation with Sam, before meeting his gaze again. "I had an interesting conversation with Sam last night and I had a feeling it had something to do with the people in this apartment."

"You worked everything out?" Freddie walked away to place his camera down and you followed, nodding.

"I realized that I've never actually told her I was proud of her before." You sighed, "I was too busy running around trying to keep everything together and it never occurred to me that she didn't know." Shaking your head, you took a step back, "Anyway, you probably don't want to know all the details. I just wanted to thank you for yesterday."

"You're always looking after everyone else, I wanted to remind you that you need to look after yourself too." You smiled softly when he cleared his throat, "D-Do you want to stay and watch for a while?"

"I have work later, but I can stay for a while."

"Cool. You'll get to see me do my thing."

"You don't have a thing!" Sam called out.

Freddie glared at the grinning blonde and you suppressed a smile. You approach the bean bags and when you were about to sit on the floor so he could take the bean bag, Freddie told you to sit on the bean bag.

You shook your head, telling him to sit down and go back and forth until your sister yelled, "Will someone sit down?"

"We'll both sit." You shared the bean bag with Freddie and despite your efforts, the bean bag made you both lean into each other. You were soon distracted by your sister proclaiming her love for the sandwich you made and shook your head, missing the way Freddie glanced at you. But Carly didn't.

After luring him downstairs under the pretense of getting drinks for everyone, the brunette confronted him about his crush on you. While Melanie was known for being girly, and Sam was known for being the exact opposite, you were known for being responsible due to the years spent looking after them in your mother's absence. And for the past few months, Freddie had become more and more intrigued by you.

"Sam will freak out when she finds out!" Carly whispered.

"You can't tell her!" Freddie argued. "She'd kill me! For real this time!"

You looked at the two when they returned, seeing the strained smile on Carly's lips and the way they kept glancing at each other. Shrugging off their weird behavior, you thanked Freddie with a smile when he handed you a drink.

When the trio returned to filming for their show you occupied a barstool next to Freddie's computer and smiled when Carly and Sam put on their hats, getting into character. Your gaze drifted to Freddie as he fired up the camera, pressing his lips together as he pushed a button on both sides of the contraption he had built around it. Carly tried not to roll her eyes at the extra flair he put into it but quickly fell into her role for the sketch. Your eyes drifted to Freddie more than once as the two teenagers tried multiple times to make it seem more natural.

There was something different about him when he was working behind the scenes and a smile tugged at your lips, paying more attention to him than the sketch being acted out.

After thirty minutes Freddie switched off the camera and you clapped your hands, whistling as the girls removed their hats.

"If you're going to sit there could you act less like a soccer mom?"

You jokingly rolled your eyes at your sister as you stood up, "Just for that, I'm not going to tell you how great it was."

"Really? You think so?" Carly asked.

You nodded, "Definitely. I loved the little jig at the end."

"It's given me a craving for barbeque." Sam said.

"Really? I was getting salsa."

"How could you possibly crave salsa?"

Freddie glanced between you and Sam as you bickered back and forth and a smile tugged at his lips when she flicked your forehead and you retaliated.

"You know I miss the days when we didn't talk."

"You love me." You grinned, picking up the stool and pressing the button for the elevator with your elbow.

"It's hard not to." Freddie halted like a deer in headlights when all eyes turned to him, not realizing he said it out loud. "Because you're so much nicer than she is." He gestured to Sam who glared at him and he took the barstool from you, using it to keep distance between them.

You caught your sister before she could snatch the barstool and hurt Freddie, nodding for Carly and Freddie to take the elevator down. "We'll take the stairs."

After that day, you stopped by the apartment every week to watch them film the web show or give keys to Sam until you got a replacement set, and give her money for dinner when you wouldn't be home. When you missed a recording session due to work, Freddie knew he wouldn't survive until next week and suggested going for lunch at the sandwich shop where you worked during the hours they spent at high school.

"Finally a good idea comes from you. Free food!" Sam punched his shoulder and Freddie rolled it, wincing from the force.

Carly wanted to point out that he wanted to go there just to see you but kept it to herself knowing Sam wouldn't react well to finding out her friend was in love with her older sister.

Sam texted their orders and when they arrived you placed their drinks on the table before returning to the kitchen to get their food. You were arranging the tray when a waiter rushed into the kitchen and informed you that teenagers were arguing outside. You knew Sam was involved and walked out of the kitchen.

You recognized the older girl glaring down at Sam. She was two years older than you and you recognized her from high school. You stormed over when she knocked over their table and their drinks. Sam shot to her feet, demanding that she pick them up.

You stood next to your sister, crossing your arms. "You heard her. Pick them up."

"Y/N L/N?" She cackled. "What are you gonna do? Dance with little pompoms?"

You hit her hand away when she tried to grab your shirt, and pulled Sam aside when she swung her arm, causing her to miss. You felt someone grab your arms and glared as another held back Sam as the older girl stole someone's smoothie and approached you, ripping off the lid.

You kicked it out of her hand before she could pour it over you and elbowed the member of her crew holding you in the ribs, breaking free from their hold. You turned to your sister who was trying to stomp on the girl's foot but she didn't let her go and you grabbed her hair, and the back of her shirt, pulling her away from Sam.

"Leave her alone!" You pushed her towards the door and she stumbled, hitting the window and falling to the floor. You ducked when Sam shouted, and the blonde grabbed a tray, using it to knock another girl from the bully's crew to the floor.

You were lifted off the ground and squirmed to break free, groaning when the leader of the crew squeezed tightly, hurting your arms and ribs.

"Hey!" Sam jumped on her back and you broke free, helping Sam push her towards the door. She slid on the smoothie and fell on a member of her crew who was trying to stand.

"This isn't over Puckett!" She barked, before leaving the sandwich shop.

"You know, it's moments like this when I'm proud to say we're related." Sam put her arm around your shoulders as you watched the retreating bullies.

You looked at the smirking blonde, "It did feel good."

"Are you okay?" Freddie asked as he walked over with Carly.

Before you could answer, your boss called out your name and you sighed, leaving to speak with him in his office. When you walked out. you went to the kitchen to retrieve the sandwiches you had made for them and hid them under your jacket as you left the sandwich shop.

"There will be other jobs." You glanced at the three who were having different reactions. Freddie was concerned and Carly looked guilty that intervening had cost you your job while Sam looked thrilled.

"Hey, they had it comin'." She rubbed her hands together, "You brought the food, right?"

You rolled your eyes, revealing the sandwiches hidden under your jacket. "What is this my first day?"

"I knew there was something buried in you that proved we're related." Sam took her sandwich and you handed Freddie and Carly theirs, falling into step with Freddie who was less eager to tear open the packaging.

"Don't worry," You sent him a smile, "I left cash in the kitchen." You looked at Sam when he turned his head, "Don't tell her."

Freddie chuckled softly, nodding. "Deal."

"Hey, we're going to Carly's, want to come?" Sam asked, looking over her shoulder.

"I'm good." You smiled softly. "I'm a little tired."

The blonde nodded, accepting your answer, and continued walking with Carly. Freddie turned to you when you carried your jacket draped over your crossed arms. "What are you going to do now?"

You shrugged, "Find another job. There's always something."

You sent the trio a small smile, "I'll see you guys later."

Freddie frowned when you walked away. Carly stood next to him, "Does she seem okay to you?"

"She's fine. She released her inner Puckett." Sam mumbled between bites of food.

Freddie took out his cellphone and while he typed away, Sam noticed that he hadn't eaten his sandwich. Feeling her gaze, he gave it to her before walking away.

"Where are you going?" Sam called, shrugging when he didn't reply before walking with Carly to her apartment building.

You were nearly home when Freddie jogged, catching up with you. The door was jammed, and you tried kicking it, turning when he cleared his throat. An amused smile was on his lips at some of the similarities between you and Sam.

"Need some help?"

You stepped aside, eyebrows furrowing, "What are you doing here?"

"I felt bad about your job, so I thought I could help you find another. I-If you want?"

You covered your mouth with your hands when he tried to use his shoulder to bash the door open and rushed to his side when he groaned. You stifled a giggle when he clutched his shoulder.

"Are you okay?"

"What is that door made out of?"

"You're not supposed to do it like that." You took his hand, "Come on." You led him around the house and explained that Sam never closes the window when you ask and Freddie gave you a boost, watching as you climbed in, unlocking the back door. "Ta da!"

He chuckled as he entered the kitchen, closing the door.

"Here, this should help." You walked to the freezer, took out an ice pack, and held it against his shoulder.

"T-Thanks."

You sent him a smile as he held the ice pack, turning to take drinks out of the fridge, walking to the living room. "You really don't need to stay and help. I'm sure there's much more exciting things to do."

"Nope."

You looked at him, sitting on the sofa, placing the bottles on the coffee table. You shook your head when he smiled, unable to suppress a smile as he sat next to you.

"Okay, so, first, we need to find something that matches your skills." He said, taking out a notebook a pen from his backpack, opening to an empty page.

You thought for a moment, "I once hung someone by their shirt at the market when they tried to steal my ham."

Freddie raised an eyebrow, and you glanced at him as you took a sip from your soda, seeing the slight tilt of his head. "What?"

"I sometimes forget that you're related to Sam."

"In my defense, I'd already lost vegetables to a grandma, so I was pretty steamed."

Freddie shook his head, "Okay, so strong. That's an advantage. What else? You're kind, patient, and you're smart. Hard working. Good at solving problems."

You were surprised by how many good qualities he could list so easily and quickly. Freddie noticed the way you picked the label on the soda and asked, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. It's just...do you really think that?"

"Of course. I mean, taking into consideration everything you have accomplished over the years, growing up faster than you should have, you are all those things."

You smiled softly, thanking him. You looked at the growing list he was writing down.

"Is flexible a strength?"

"Uh,"

"I was a cheerleader in high school for a year. And I did gymnastics."

Freddie scrambled to say something when his mind could do nothing, but provide images of you practicing in a cheer uniform. "Flexible is good." He cleared his throat, taking a long sip of his soda, the pain in his shoulder long forgotten.

"Hey, thanks for doing this. I want you to know that I do appreciate it."

Freddie sent you a smile, "Anytime. You are always helping everyone else. I want to do something that helps you."

You mirrored his smile, "Did Sam ever tell you about the butter sock?"

He nodded slowly, "She said you came up with the idea."

"Pam was gone for a week. Sam and Melanie were five at the time. We were behind on rent. So the landlord came around. He tried to put his hand through the letterbox to reach a latch on the door. I took one of the socks out of the dryer, and when I was looking for something to put in it, I saw Sam licking the butter." Freddie shook his head, and you smiled at the memory. "I put the stick of butter in the sock and used it to hit the landlords hand when it got stuck in the letter box. He broke free and said he'd be back the next day. By that time, we were already gone. And the butter sock was born."

A frown formed on his lips when he realized how young you were and already looking after your siblings. "Were you scared?"

"If I was, I don't remember. I remember the way they hugged me afterward. I stayed with them all night when they were asleep to make sure the landlord didn't return." You looked away, shrugging softly, "I did what I had to do to protect them."

His cell phone rang and he groaned when he saw it was his mother. Freddie glanced around, worried she was watching as he reluctantly answered, grimacing when she shrieked in his ear.

"I expected you home over an hour ago! Where are you, Freddie?"

"Uh," He knew he couldn't tell her the truth. His mother didn't like the Puckett family as a whole thanks to Sam. "Out."

Deciding to give him privacy, you took the ice pack to the kitchen, returning it to the freezer. When you entered the living room, Freddie was arguing with his mother, gesturing with his hand. You bit the inside of your cheek when your eyes met, and he sighed as he ended the call.

"I better go before she sends the military to find me." He said, sliding his notebook and pen into his backpack, zipping it as he approached you.

"I get it." You smiled softly, "Thank you for helping me today." You walked to the front door and opened it.

"Sure, now it opens." He grumbled.

You shook your head, giggling, "Remember, don't talk to strangers, and if you get lost, use the maps on your phone."

Freddie laughed sarcastically, and you smiled as you leaned against the doorway. You bit your tongue to suppress the smile on your lips as you said goodbye and watched him walk away before closing the door.

A few hours later, while walking to clear your head, you saw Spencer in the street, and sensing you could use a break, he invited you to his apartment. As he let you inside, Spencer invited you to stay for dinner. You thanked him and offered to help, catching up with the eldest Shay. You found common ground with him easily as he had taken care of his sister for many years due to their mother leaving and their father's job that kept him away from home.

You looked over your shoulder when the trio came downstairs for a drink after their web show ended and greeted them with a smile. When Sam asked why you didn't go upstairs, you explained that you stopped by after spending an hour looking for a shirt Melanie wanted you to buy for her and met Spencer who invited you to dinner.

"Wait, you're having dinner here?" Freddie looked at Spencer when you nodded, "Can I have dinner here?"

"If your mom says it's okay, I don't see why not -" Freddie was running across the room by the word 'if' and out the door before he finished.

You looked at Sam when she spoke, "What are you doing to that boy?" You tilted your head in confusion, shaking it as you continued setting the table for dinner.

Freddie returned with a grin, announcing that he could stay for dinner as Spencer plated the spaghetti, and you turned to place the plates on the table.

"Uh-Uh, I am not sitting next to you. You will steal my food." You pulled Freddie into the chair beside you before Sam could sit down.

"You have more than me."

"No, I don't."

Freddie looked between you both as you bickered back and forth, mimicking each other. Sam took your plate, and you rolled your eyes as you took her plate that she argued had less spaghetti.

"Happy now?"

"Very."

"We're all relieved." You muttered under your breath, and Freddie coughed, covering his mouth with his arm as he tried not to laugh.

Sam glared at him. "What?"

"Nothing." He replied quickly.

You glanced at Freddie, a smile on your lips, and he mirrored it as he gathered spaghetti on his fork.

After dinner, you insisted on washing up, which led to Sam complaining that you were making her look bad as she never offered to help.

"I would help, but I'm so full." She slouched on the sofa, and you shook your head.

You gathered the plates, and Freddie stepped over to help. You cleaned the dishes while he dried, and you had a feeling he only did it to be next to you, not that you minded.

"Did you see the show today?" He spoke up.

"No, I was looking for a shirt for Melanie. Apparently, not having it would end the world as we know it." You smiled softly, "I spent an hour getting tips from a stylist about how to change my wardrobe. She even told me to cut my hair. Can you believe it?"

"Clearly, she can't be trusted because your hair is, well, it's..." Freddie trailed off when you turned your head to meet his gaze. "I like your hair."

"Thank you."

You wiped down the table as he put the plates away, and you smiled when he said you made a good team. "I can show you the episode if you want?"

You nodded, following him to the computer. He put on the show recorded earlier. Halfway through, he turned the camera after Sam interacted with him, and seeing his smile made you smile.

"The camera loves you." You bumped your shoulder with his and Freddie chuckled.

As the episode ended, the door opened and Mrs Benson entered. "Freddie!"

"Hello, Mrs Benson." You greeted politely.

"Y/N. You're here a lot lately." She commented before looking at her son. "It's time for your tick bath."

You raised an eyebrow, looking at Freddie when he stammered. "I-I don't need a tick bath." He met your gaze, "I don't."

"Come on, let's go." Mrs Benson walked away, pulling him out of the apartment.

For a few moments, the room was silent until you spoke, "She really is like that. I thought my memory was exaggerated."

"I know." Sam snorted, a grin on her lips, "She makes me glad that I've got you."

From Sam, it was the grandest declaration of love.

You smiled as you sipped your water. You moved to sit on the sofa as you caught up on the movie they were watching and halfway through, Freddie returned.

You suppressed a smile at his grouchy expression when Sam started teasing him. "I don't have ticks!"

You nudged your sister's shoulder gently as you stood up to put your glass in the sink. "I think he's suffered enough."

"Finally some compassion." Freddie typed on his phone, approaching the kitchen, standing next to you. "I think I found the perfect job for you." He glanced at you when you leaned in to look at his screen and realized it was similar to a dream he had. Except you were kissing. And in his bedroom. "It pays well. You won't need two jobs anymore."

"I don't know...I mean I didn't graduate."

"Doesn't matter. Training is provided. It's a great opportunity."

You bit your lip thoughtfully, not noticing the way it immediately captured his attention. "Okay.'

Freddie blinked out of his daze, "Good. Because I already sent in an application."

"You did what? When?"

"Yesterday." He smiled sheepishly. "But look, they want to interview you next week."

Your eyebrows raised when he showed you the confirmation message he received, and you threw your arms around his neck. Freddie placed his hands on your back, smiling when you thanked him, squeezing him tighter.

"You're welcome."

You pulled away, "I'll have to go shopping. Oh, what do I wear?" You mumbled as you walked to pick up your bag and jacket. You thanked Spencer for inviting you to dinner, saying goodnight before you left.

Sam stood up as Freddie tapped his phone against his hand, a smile on his lips that faltered when she approached him. "That was, uh, pretty nice of you. To help her out like that."

Freddie tried not to shrink back and kept his back straight. "She could use a little help."

Sam nodded in agreement. Freddie flinched when she patted his shoulder and the blonde left to catch up to you.

Later that night, she walked out of her bedroom, approaching your room when she saw the light was on, finding you were dumping clothes on the ground in pursuit of an outfit for your job interview.

"What are you doing?"

You turned, placing a hand on your chest when she spoke. You sighed as you gestured to the closet. "I have five outfits, and none of them are nice enough."

Sam looked around as she walked into the room. "There has to be something here."

You shook your head, "Maybe I should go back to the sandwich shop and ask for my job back."

"Those guys are jerks. Freddie said this job earned more than both of these jobs. Listen to the nerd."

You glanced at her with a smile, "Did you just compliment him?"

"Did I fall off a bull? Of course not."

Your smile grew when she approached the closet. Sam began to look through the clothes before deciding the answer was obvious. Melanie kept up to date with the latest fashion, and Sam recalled what Freddie told her earlier. It was time they stepped in to help more.

The twins returned, begrudgingly calling a truce for the night, and Melanie stepped forward with clothes she believed would work for your job interview.

You looked at the twins who had barely bickered all night and smiled softly, thankful that they were helping.

By the time the interview date rolled around, the group was more nervous than you were, and when you entered the Shays apartment, agreeing to meet Sam there afterward, you kept your smile small as you greeted them.

"What happened? Did you get it? Did you?" Sam was like a hurricane as she rushed over to you, and you glanced around before smiling brightly.

"I got it!"

You jumped up and down, smiling when she hugged you. When she stepped away, you looked at the group with a smile, "Dinner is on me tonight!"

You giggled when Spencer stepped forward to congratulate you, hugging you as he said, "I knew there was a reason you were my favourite."

Carly joined the hug, then Freddie and Sam. As you left the apartment, Sam looked at Freddie when he followed without going across the hall to speak to his mom. "Don't you need permission first?"

"Once we get there, I'll send her a text saying we're somewhere else."

"Livin' on the wild side." Carly teased.

You met Melanie at the restaurant and took a seat at the table, smiling softly as she congratulated you.

"Thanks. But I owe it all to Freddie, he got me the interview."

"All I did was tell them how great you are." He replied.

You sent him a smile across the table and picked up the menu. You bit the inside of your cheek, glancing at him as he looked at his menu. Sam looked between you both when you lowered your head, missing the way Freddie sneaked glances at you.

Later that night, you were approaching the point where you would go your separate ways with Spencer, Carly, and Freddie. Sam noticed the numerous glances you and Freddie stole at each other and brought Melanie into her conversation with Carly. You scooped your ice cream, looking at Freddie when he hung back slightly to walk beside you as Sam planned.

"They seem to be getting along," Freddie commented, nodding at the twins.

"For now, at least." You smiled, "Thank you again for getting me that interview. What did you tell them anyway?"

"I told them the truth." He shrugged, "I said you were hardworking, and you could do anything you set your mind to. I told them how kind, compassionate, and caring you are."

You smiled softly, placing a hand on his arm as you stopped walking. Freddie turned, and you kissed his cheek. "Thank you. It's the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me."

"Anytime."

"Ew! Don't kiss him, he has ticks!"

Freddie glared at Sam. "No, I don't!"

The two quickly fell into an argument, and you walked alongside him as they went back and forth. He glanced down when you looped your arm with his, continuing to eat your ice cream.

"Then why do you need baths, tick boy?"

"Because my mother is crazy!"

You shook your head, giggles leaving your lips. A short walk later, while the Shays went one way, the Puckett twins went another, you turned to Freddie and bit the inside of your cheek.

"Goodnight, tick boy." You kissed him briefly, lingering over for a few seconds before stepped back.

You sent him a smile before walking to catch up with your sisters. Freddie grinned as he watched you walk away. Carly noticed he was frozen in place, a broad grin on his lips, and walked over to pull him away.

"Come on!"

"How is she related to Sam?"

Spencer shook his head at the dazed smile he wore. "How many times has your mother called?"

Freddie quickly took out his phone and groaned when he saw the texts and calls. "Oh, man!"

"Welcome back, tick boy." Spencer patted his shoulder with a smirk as they approached their apartment building but the siblings noticed that the smile on Freddie's lips hadn't faltered since your kiss.

#freddie benson #freddie benson x reader #icarly

37 notes · View notes

martassimsbookcc · 1 year ago

Text

UPDATED SETS June-July 2023 | The complete list.

Hi! ♥ I took a break from converting new stuff to focus on updating old cc :) here's the complete list if you wanna take a look ^-^ Now that this job is done I can finally go back to my converting schedule yay ✨ Going through these old sets was really a pain in the ass, but it made me realise how much I improved. So proud of myself right now!

Sims-KKB - Food Set Novvvas - Loft Life Set 13pumpkin - Attic Ceiling Deco Fallout Dining Set Chicklet/SIMthing New - California Dreaming Set Simmerberlin - Fake Stuff Set Simsinatra - Body Pots SG5150 - Car Wash Set Sims-KKB - Cyberpunk Room Meinkatz - Serif TV Heurrs - Ethnicraft Set Meinkatz - Drop Leaf HM6 Simenapule - Bayla Set Novvvas - Potted Herb Garden Simsinatra - Moravian Set Novvvas - Random Bedroom Set Sims-KKB - One Room Set 6 Simenapule - Modular Sofa Set Slox - Rongmae Pt. 1 MamanGateau - Sacre Charlemagne Old Classroom Set MXIMS - Random Objects Set Sims-KKB - Korean Style Goods Set SG5150 - Jeep Grand Cherokee SG5150 - Lincoln Continental Dscombobulate - Rosa Set Sundays x Raventons - Dunes Set NynaeveDesign - Avis Candle The Sims 4 Laundry Day - Planted Angularity The Sims 4 Laundry Day - Succulent Succulents Leosims - Side Table Leosims - Boddhi Console The Sims 4 Laundry Day - Clean Sweep The Sims 4 Cats & Dogs - You’re Home! You’re Home! You’re Home! Entryway Shelf The Sims 4 - The Source The Sims 4 Romantic Garden - Where The Sunshine Goes The Sims 4 Parenthood - Rack of the Wood of the Dishes 3dhaupt - Indoor Pot Plant

#updatesmasterpost #s3cc #4to3

175 notes · View notes

happilyobsessing · 18 days ago

Note

(hiii omg thank youuuu hehe <3 🥺 here's some prompts in the meantime since it will take me a bit to get to the ask!!) for sfw: 6 & 10 and nsfw: 4 & 13 for a ship of your choice? :3

Tysm for the ask! Surprise, surprise, I'll answer these prompts for Weiler and Emmrich because they are currently consuming me body, mind, and soul. If anyone else would like to send a prompt, please find the original post here - my ask box is open!

Shipping Headcanons

SWF

#6 - Going out to eat: who pays? Who orders the most food, and who has dessert?

Emmrich adores taking Weiler out to eat. She unfortunately has very little experience of going out to dine - only going to an inn for the first time when she joins Varric's mission - and for a man with such a refined and extensive palate as Emmrich he simply cannot allow that to continue. It brings him great joy to see her eyes widen then flutter closed as she moans around mouthfuls of fragrant soups, steaks that melt on the tongue, the most delicate fish that flakes under the very suggestion of her fork. She cannot read, so he reads the menu out loud for her asking what she would like at every course. "Yes, the King Prawns in red chili oil do sound divine, and would you enjoy the focaccia as well? You won't want to waste a single drop of that oil. Splendid, that will pair perfectly with your linguine and mussels, and do make sure you save room for dessert, dearest. I have no doubt that you will love the lemon sorbet." Both have healthy appetites, and soon their table is groaning under the weight of platters and bowls and cutlery. It is an easy enough thing for Emmrich (once Weiler is distracted by slurping up her dinner) to slip the necessary payment to the waiter's hand each time. A light coin purse is an easy sacrifice to make when gains so much pleasure watching her recline back in her seat, her belly a little rounder than before, and a food-drunk grin splitting across her face.

#10 - Any pets? Plants?

Weiler has no experience of keeping anything alive (notorious, frenetic, traumatised assassins don't have the most experience with those particular skills) and Emmrich is fastidious with the cleanliness of his study and living spaces. But as Harding's garden begins to bloom, Weiler finds herself spending more and more time amongst the flowers, silently following her friend as she gardens. Every now and then she'll point at a plant, ask a simple question ("What's that one?" "That one?" "This?") and nod slowly at Harding's patient responses. In time, the scout has Weiler helping with easy tasks such as watering and de-heading dead flowers and the assassin finds the routine soothing. As the garden blooms, she notices a tiny spiderette sprouting from the end of a trailing spider plant leaf and points it out to Harding, who immediately takes a cutting and plants it in a pot. "Here you go! Your first project. They're pretty tough, so you'll have a hard time killing this." The spider plant flourishes under Weiler's attentive care, and after the blow at Tearstone Island she can sometimes be found gazing sadly at the plant, stroking its leaves for comfort. She will sit and wonder whether Harding can see how well the plant is continuing to grow. Emmrich will come and drop a kiss on the top of her head and squeeze her shoulder. "It's coming along beautifully, just like you."

NSFW below

#4 - Oddest place they have sex?

Once Weiler is comfortable enough to have sex (and enjoys it regularly) her libido skyrockets and - so long as Emmrich is also in the right mood and consents - she will eagerly suggest that they fuck no matter where they might be so long as they are not in direct sight of anyone. Perhaps the oddest place they have sex is in the boat of the Caretaker the one time it was at the dock unattended. Riding the high of defeating patrols of Venatori in the Converged City as they travelled alone, they gleefully took the opportunity to strip off with wild abandon and literally rock the boat.

#13 - Who's loud? Who's quiet? Does one try to make the other louder/quieter? How?

Neither Emmrich or Weiler is particularly loud, but Weiler is initially quiet to the point that it is concerning. She is so focused on remaining present in intimate moments and not slipping into traumatic flashbacks, she doesn't say a word or make a noise save the odd soft intake of breath. Worried that she isn't enjoying herself, Emmrich stops their lovemaking one night to hold her hands in his and talk to her about the importance of communication whilst they are both vulnerable like this. "Of course, this does not mean that you need to scream my name or make it a wild performance worthy of some Orlesian brothel. But, darling, I want to know what pleases you and, most importantly, which displeases you. It is my only wish to satisfy you entirely." Smiling awkwardly, Weiler responds that she might find it easier to know what to say with a demonstration, so Emmrich pulls her hands to his chest, moaning into the crook of her neck as her fingers brush the hardened nub of his nipples. "Keep touching me here and I'll be helpless in your hands."

#I had so much fun with this oh my gawd #the responses got away from me a little but who cares it made my Christmas a little better #please feel free to send me more prompts!#I may not answer tonight but I definitely will by tomorrow #oc: weiler de riva #emmrich volkarin #emmrook #dragon age #da:tv

14 notes · View notes

kylorengarbagedump · 19 days ago

Text

Playing Soldier: Chapter 18

Read on AO3. Part 17 here. Part 19 here.

Summary: You continue to be really really good at spying.

Words: 4000

Warnings: none!

Characters: William Tavington x Reader

A/N: Co-written with @bastillia.

Merry Christmas (and Happy Holidays to any/all who celebrate)!

Sorry for the delay - we've been traveling and this sort of plot is very important for us to try and keep logical and clean as we write it! So, there was time spent thinking very hard and also reading and researching, hehe.

Tavington will return soon, I promise - for now, hopefully, we don't land ourselves in a heap of trouble.

“Shall you open yours first, or shall I open mine?”

You stared across the table at Grace, each of you holding your letters in your hand, the remnants of breakfast discarded to the side of the dining table. She held hers like one might hold correspondence from the King, a certain reverence for what it was, a certain anxiety for what it might contain. You urged her forward with a wave of your hand.

To be honest, even if she hadn’t looked like a woman on the verge of a nervous collapse, you would’ve volunteered her to open hers. The fact your letter even existed inspired such an uncomfortable amount of rage you were terrified to address it. Holding anger toward Papa had never been something you permitted, let alone practiced, and its recent recurrence in your life made you feel like a cat awash in a white-capped river.

Grace hummed quietly, peeling the parchment open. You studied her face as she read, watched her lips tremble, her cheeks grow warm. Her eyes flicked back and forth, the silence broken by a giggle, then an outright laugh as she clapped her hand over her mouth. There was an urge, of course, to fly over the table and scour the letter for yourself, but you resisted, deciding to literally sit on your hands.

She deserved privacy. She deserved to grow up.

With a sigh, she folded it and placed it on the table like a piece of fine porcelain. The both of you stared at it. Grace folded her hands in her lap and wiggled with glee.

“Well?” you said with a slight grin. “Are you thoroughly wooed?”

She huffed playfully. “I don’t require wooing,” she replied. “But I do believe him to be quite intent on attempting.”

“Very well, then.” You eased off your hands, taking your letter and flipping it in your fingers, examining it. Grace’s eyes met yours, and she nodded toward you. “Yes?”

“Papa’s letter, of course,” she replied. “Go on, then.”

You flipped it again. You’d been so eager to read it last night. The breadth of time to consider its contents nurtured hesitation. “All right.” You slid a nail under the wax seal, and Grace gasped.

“Wait!” she said. “Papa said—um, he said to…” She paused, recounting the words in her head. “He said to read the letter inside the letter.”

“The letter inside the letter.” Your heart skipped along your stomach. This would involve some sort of subterfuge. And he’d just dropped it in Grace’s lap. “All right.”

With a sigh, you pried open the letter, and a second piece of parchment sealed with wax tumbled out to the table. Frowning, you picked that up next and peeled it apart, reading the first lines. It began with your name, and then—

I pray this correspondence meets not with that degree of cynicism which I am undoubtedly due. Our first meeting was admittedly a catastrophe of social blunder born of my own foolish apprehension. Your father had described you as intelligent and strong-willed and I was unprepared to make your acquaintance and present myself with propriety as he failed to mention your arresting beauty. Allow me to attempt an introduction once more. My name is Christopher Pearce, and

You rolled your eyes and flicked the letter away. It skidded across the table, where Grace pinned it under her palm before it could sail to the floor.

“Goodness,” she muttered. “That bad?”

With only an mm of acknowledgement, you turned your focus to the larger leaf of paper, spreading it out to begin to read.

“May I?” said Grace across from you.

Not really hearing her, you shrugged assent.

My cub,

Much joy it brings old hands to clutch a pen and write you these lines which I bid find you in good and spirited Health. Of news there is nothing worth the ink to write it but that I am as ever upon my greatest and happiest Adventure. No holes in my shoes nor want of wages can dissuade me of that Truth or sow in me a seed of wretched Doubt. But for the subject of sowing and reaping there is much to discuss and I pray you give these next lines your utmost Attention.

Across the table, Grace giggled. “Oh, sister,” she said. “Is this the gentleman I’m to assume left his brand beneath your collar?”

“What?” Your head shot up. Grace clutched Pearce’s letter in her hands, her smile utterly knavish as she skimmed the words. Heat flashed to your face. “He’s—no!”

“Ah,” she said, smirking. “Multiple suitors, then.”

“He’s not—I do not have suitors.”

Grace’s lips flattened into a skeptical line, her eyebrows waggling from over the page. Scoffing, you turned back to Papa’s letter.

… pray you give these next lines your utmost Attention.

On the matter of Turnips, Cabbage, and Carrots, take t’e foll’wing inst’uction with care – sow the f’mily of them so they may take Root before first Frost, and re’eive them most h’arty, robust and tender for Harvest. Plant the Cabbage in profusi’n so the goats and chickens may remain as Rotund as glad’ens th’m and as not to stymie that neces’ary Supply of milk and eggs.

I Conclude with the hope that you study these Measures in accordance with your eminent intellect as they will nourish our family through Winter. As I am ever a Student in life I now will practice my Numbers. These, as you know them Well, I hope you will check through for insurance of their Accuracy.

110.30.5,54.2.7,250.16.3,157.27.4…

You frowned, skimming over the continuous and nonsensical string of numbers that concluded at the end of the page. Then you re-read the letter several times over. With a huff of frustration, you plastered it out on the table and leaned over it, as if the light might glint off the ink at a new angle and uncover the true message beneath its apparent mundanity.

It had to be written in some sort of cipher. Given the fact that neither you nor Grace needed any reminder of when to plant the fall crop after so many years, that much was clear. It was surely a clever bit of concealment, but you puzzled over the logic. And then there was the strange grammar. The spelling errors. The insistence on “practicing” numbers which Papa knew perfectly well both how to write and manipulate. A simple farmer he may have been born, but your father would never suffer being mistaken for having the education of one. It was as good a place as any to start looking for clues.

The capitalized letters first, perhaps. But that only led to nonsense, no matter how many different ways you arranged them. The misspelled words, then. Each of them, you noted, was missing a letter. Humming, you spelled them out in your mind—

H-O-R-A-C-E-O-D—

Snatching the letter up, you bolted upstairs, darting to your bed and rummaging underneath it to find The Odes by Horace. The poems were ones your father had often recited to you as a girl and ones you’d never quite taken yearning to yourself as they were full of romantic whimsy and idealistic prattle for which you didn’t have time. But it was just the sort of book in which Papa would hide a message.

Letter in hand, you flopped open your copy of The Odes, studying the first several lines, then the letter, then the book again, then the letter.

These, as you know them Well, I hope you will check through for insurance of their Accuracy.

The numbers had to relate to the book. There were sets of three, separated by commas. Page, perhaps. You flipped to page 110. As your eyes skimmed the words, you realized the next countable quantity was lines. Line 30. The next sensible thing was the word. Word 5.

Daughter.

You grinned.

Breathless, you decoded the rest of the message—a halting set of instructions that, to your interpretation, informed you to find a stump where the river met the old town road. That you’d discover a dead drop accessed by a British spy, and that you’d deliver what you found to the rebel camp to the east, to whom you would identify yourself by use of a code phrase.

The code phrase, of course, was conspicuously absent. Sighing, your head fell back on your shoulders. Had he gone through all this work just to leave you without an exceptionally important detail? You ground your palms into your eyes. You’d read the letter within the letter just to—

You paused. The letter within the letter wasn’t just the numbered message. It was the stupid worthless waste of parchment that you’d discarded. The one written by Pearce.

If you ever did manage to find Papa again, you were going to kill him for this.

Grumbling, you folded up the parchment, stomped down the stairs and swept back to the dining room, dropping the paper on the table. An urgent breath rolled through you as you saw Grace, still rapt in Pearce’s words.

“What was your complaint with this one?” she said, looking up. “He seems quite sweet.”

“Give it.” You held out your hand. “Please.”

Relenting, she pushed it toward you, lips pinned shut in patience.

Your eyes raced over the useless paragraphs of platitudes, looking for something, anything that might signify a phrase—and then—

When next we meet, I do hope we may greet each other with warmth, that I may be able to recount to you with Sincerity such rousing tales as—A fine day for a fox chase.

Of course, the fineness of any day is found wanting in comparison to your

You sneered in disgust. Grace, whose fingers had been creeping across the table this entire time, slipped Papa’s letter from underneath your hand. Humming, she started to look it over.

“Ah—”

You reached over and plucked it from her fingers, then splayed both letters across the surface like they were a losing hand of cards. Chewing your lip, you glanced at her frowning face.

“We need to have a discussion.”

Grace tilted her head, sat up a bit straighter. “Oh?”

“I don’t wish to exclude you from anything that Papa and I discuss,” you said. “You were right, last night. You’re a grown woman and free to choose your own path. And you’ve mentioned wanting to be informed.”

Raising an eyebrow, she nodded. “Yes…”

“So I want you to be able to make an informed decision.”

“You are not inspiring confidence, sister.”

Nodding, you exhaled again. “Papa’s sent me instructions on how to collect and transfer intelligence to him.”

“To spy?” she replied, frowning.

“Yes,” you said, with a grimace. “And by giving you this letter, I believe he may even implicitly anticipate your involvement, as well.”

“Oh.” Her expression faltered. She stared at Ferguson’s letter. “I see.”

You swallowed. “Grace,” you said, “I know you have tender feelings toward this man. But Papa is a soldier in the Continental army. You’ve known this now for some time. And if you want to continue communicating with the major, then you should do so with the knowledge that any involvement you have with him has the possibility of endangering Papa’s life.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Do you think I’m foolish enough to do something that would actually bring harm to our family?”

“No!” you replied. “Of course I don’t—”

“Then how can you sit—”

“—think that, but it’s the truth! Even possessing this letter is dangerous,” you said, holding it up. “Having one redcoat in our home could encourage others, and you could be caught with something incriminating before you have the opportunity to dispose of it.” Returning Papa’s letter to the table, you added, “Not to mention how the major might feel about your holding that secret from him.”

Not that you cared how he felt.

Grace drew in a long breath through her nose, her attention falling to the parchment in front of her again. Folding her arms over her chest, she sighed. “Very well. I can’t deny when you’re right.”

You resisted the urge to reply with a satisfied I know. It wasn’t the time to gloat. You’d save that for when you finished the discussion. “So you need to decide what is most important to you.” With a shrug, you said, “I won’t judge you for whatever that decision is.”

Silence fell over the dining room. In actuality, you abhorred both options for her future. In your ideal reality, Grace would not be courting a redcoat, nor would she be placing herself in danger by associating herself with potentially deadly errands for your father. No, in your ideal reality, she’d be cozied at home, reading a book, Mr. Mouser curled at her feet until the war was over, and only then would she finally attract the attention of a man far less irritating than Patrick Ferguson.

But you were not omnipotent. The only one who deserved authority over her life was Grace herself.

Her fingers worried the edges of Ferguson’s letter. “I…” She sighed again. “I do want to know that Papa is safe,” she said, and her voice fell to a whisper. “I…” A tiny smile grew on her face. “I really fancy Patrick.” There was almost a sliver of embarrassment to her admission. “I hesitate to say that… well, I can potentially, perhaps, envision a future with him.”

Your throat thickened, but you nodded encouragingly. “You do.”

“Yes,” Grace replied. “That is…” She met your gaze. “I believe he feels the same way.” Now that she’d said it, her smile grew wider. “I don’t wish to place that future in jeopardy anymore than I wish to place you or our father in jeopardy,” she said. “So… exclude me.” A pause. “Please.”

A knock like a fist to wood thudded your chest. Grace was imagining her life with Patrick Ferguson. The ache it caused made you swallow the congealing wad of unease. Your fingers fiddled together, and you forced a smile. She was no longer the toddler giggling with mischief as she muddied her dress, no longer the little monster running at you with blackberry-stained fingers, no longer the girl who would bury herself in your arms, seeking safety as she cried. You could not pretend to be the barrier between her and the world. And she could not be your ward forever.

But at least for now, you could keep the war from her front door.

“I will,” you said. And then, because you meant it, “I am happy for you, you know.”

“I know you are.” She smiled, tucking her hair behind her ear. Her eyes fell from yours, lingered on your neck. Her smile twisted into something more devious. “Now. Will you tell me about these,” she said, pointing at the bruises, “or not?”

“Ah,” you said, fighting your own smile. “And here I thought I might have evaded that bloodhound nose of yours one day longer.”

Grace grinned, leaning forward across the table and sniffling toward you like a dog. You batted her face away with a laugh, making her snort as she fell back into a giggling pile in her chair. The chime of your combined laughter rang through the house. You both settled, and a strange pang lodged in your chest.

“It’s really not the gentleman from the letter?” she asked, nodding toward it.

Your lip furled in revulsion. “Good sweet Lord resting in blessed heaven, no.”

“Fine.” She sat back in her chair, grinning. “Then I demand details.”

Warmth bloomed in your face. “All right, all right. Then details you shall have.”

You curled your fingers in your petticoat. Your palms suddenly felt clammy. You didn’t want to lie, but you could not reveal the entire truth to her without entering a conversation you could not even wade into in your mind. With an exhale, you began.

“It was at the party Ferguson spoke of. He wasn’t a redcoat,” you said quickly, because technically William had green in his jacket, didn’t he? “I was feeling overwhelmed, and I missed the carriage home, and…” You hummed, hesitating on what to reveal, but found the words wanting to spill now that you had the walls of your home and ears of your sister. “He offered me a place to sleep, and one thing led to another, and, ah…” You suppressed a smile, remembering the heat of his body smothering yours, the pinch of his teeth at your throat. “I slept there.”

Grace gasped, holding her hand to her mouth. “You…” Her jaw hung open. “You mean you… you—”

You nodded. “I… did.”

“Oh. Oh my…” She clapped both hands over her face before erupting into laughter. “Well?” she squealed. “What was it like? Was it… good?”

“That…” Your eyes widened, you pulled your lips over your teeth in thought, your memory flipping through recollections of his cock plunging into your cunt, the power of your climax ripping through you, the viscous webbing of his seed on your fingers. “That is summarizing it succinctly, I’d say.” You swallowed, shaking your head. “But it was foolish.”

Grace rolled her eyes. “Oh, let God judge your foolishness,” she said. “I, for one, can’t decide if I’m thrilled or baffled.” She studied your face, a small grin on her lips. “Who was this man who so charmed you that you permitted his mouth brush your throat without ripping out his own?”

You sat, gazing at her for a moment. Who, indeed, was William Tavington? And why did you allow his mouth near your throat? Why did you even find yourself craving it?

“Well.” Your focus drifted to the wall in thought. “He’s very handsome,” you said, because it was true. When Grace only offered a raised eyebrow in return, you nodded relentingly. Plenty of handsome men had offered you their attentions, and you’d rejected them all. “He…” A smirk fought its way onto your face. “He doesn’t underestimate me. Ever.” Your cheeks grew warmer as you realized the bizarre fondness you felt for that fact. “And he’s… He makes me laugh. I think. Sometimes.”

Grace folded her arms over her chest, studying elevated to scrutinizing. “I notice, dear sister,” she said, “that you speak of him in the present tense.”

“Oh.” You averted your eyes. You hadn’t even realized you’d done so. “Well… I suppose I may see him again. I will be returning to duty, after all.”

“How? If he isn’t a soldier…”

“He may come by camp,” you replied quickly. “Those who work in the field hospital aren’t necessarily beholden to the Crown.” You grinned, pleased with yourself. “As you well know.”

She hummed suspiciously. “Of course,” she said. “Name, please.”

“I’m sorry?”

“His name?” she urged. “I anticipate future news regarding this gentleman, so I should expect to know him by a name.”

“Anticipate future news?” you replied. “Oh, please. He’s hardly—”

“He is, in fact, the only man I’ve ever seen you offer a minute of your mercy,” Grace said. “Name.”

You sighed. Well, she wasn’t going to get his real name, that was for certain. “John,” you said. “But that’s all I’ll reveal, lest you seek him out and insert your curious, meddling nose where it doesn’t belong.”

She laughed, an impish twinkle in her eye. “Am I that obvious, then?”

You snorted. “As obvious as blood in the snow.”

“Now, there would be a splendid trail to follow.” She snuffled her way across the table again, until you planted a palm on her face, turning her nose upward, and both of you collapsed anew into shrieks of laughter.

The rest of the morning was spent in comfortable conversation, each of you taking up chores, Grace ensuring you were current on the latest chatter from town. This was another part of being home you missed—even if you weren’t typically privy to idle conversation, you derived a devious thrill from knowing the private annals of your neighbors.

By the time you reached the afternoon, your mind had rolled over the message from your father enough times that you’d decided it was as good a time as any to head to the location he’d instructed to retrieve the intelligence. Whomever they’d managed to get to deliver the information, you hadn’t the faintest idea, but you supposed that wasn’t for you to know. Safer for all involved that way. Bidding Grace a brief farewell and tucking the spare pistol your father had kept under his bed into your petticoats, you trudged into the woods toward the drop point.

It was admittedly not the worst idea, having a known (or, rather, perceived) Tory civilian dip on and off the supply route highway for subterfuge. And Catawba, as a small settlement with a small population, had actually been a logical choice to stop. Though his thoughtlessness toward Grace’s safety had whittled your patience, you could at least admit Papa had committed some care to this plan.

The woods grew thicker around you, the wail of cicadas swallowing your ears. Once you had obtained whatever was waiting, all you would need to do would be to head to the location in the letter to provide him the information and then make your way to Fort Carolina. Simple, secure, swift. Yet as the Catawba river grew closer, your chest tightened with anticipation. You’d already demonstrated a lack of aptitude for sedition. An error here could easily mean Grace’s life along with yours.

You wandered along the length of the bank, focusing on your breath. A tiny whine zipped past your face. Then another. A flicker of shadow hovered through the mottled relief of sunshine dancing over your skin. You waved a hand in the air. Felt a tickle on your forearm.

A mosquito.

You slapped it, leaving a smear of blood near your wrist that you wiped away. Autumn could not arrive swiftly enough.

Yards beyond your feet, the river met the road, flowing under an old bridge long since fallen into disuse. You’d need to cross to the forest on the west side of the bank to find the drop. Heart thumping, you slipped out of the woods and skittered over the sturdiest boards left on the bridge, weaving through the edge of trees to spot a rotting, lonely stump.

You supposed it couldn’t be anywhere or anything else.

Swallowing, you sidled up to it, dropped to your knees and dug your hands into one of the crumbling splits. Nothing. Frowning, you rooted into the base of the stump, dirt and decay grating your nails, the heat of the day beading at your neck. But there was no paper, no package, no anything to be found.

There was no way this wasn’t the location. Your pulse skipped. Your palms sweat. Had your correspondent been compromised? Did the British already know? Were they on their way with nooses in hand, ready to wring your neck and drag your body all the way to Fort Carolina?

(Briefly, stupidly, irrationally: Would William even care?)

You breathed, slumping over the stump. No—your father wouldn’t have had any reason to expect you to arrive so early. It was completely reasonable that the information was still on its way. Perhaps you needed to return tomorrow. Or the next day.

Exhaling again, you gave the split one more swipe in hopes it would magically produce intelligence. Behind you, a careful, rhythmic knock of wood. Like footsteps. On the bridge.

You choked back a gasp, scrambled to stand. A claw of wood snagged your sleeve and yanked you back to your knees. Wincing, you flailed, hoping to splinter the stump or tear the fabric, whichever happened first, but you were stuck, stuck again. The footsteps left the bridge and crossed into grass. You held your breath, refused to be a rabbit with pinned paws. Swiveling, you whipped your flintlock from your skirts and aimed at the gaps in the trees.

You watched with a drumroll pulse. Shadows shifted. The understory crunched. You exhaled, and the man grew close, focused into perspective. As he did, your eyes found his own. Dark brown, stark against the halo of his curly, copper hair. Just like his sister’s.

Those eyes landed on your gun, and he stopped, heels grinding the dirt. “M—... Miss?”

“Ensign Goddard,” you replied, offering a sheepish grin. “What…” You dropped your arm, hid the pistol behind your back. “How are you liking Catawba?”

#william tavington #colonel tavington #colonel william tavington #the patriot #jason isaacs #playing soldier #fanfiction problems #champing at the bit to return to my man!!!!!

10 notes · View notes

angelatmidnight1 · 13 days ago

Text

Behind The Badge (Squealing Santa 2024)

Hi @scribblesandchai! I'm your Squealing Santa this year. I love the Scream series, particularly the 1996 movie, and I decided to try my hand at writing for Dewey Riley and Gale Weathers with the tickle fight prompt. I hope you like it and I hope you have a wonderful new year!

Fandom: Scream (1996)

Summary: After the Woodsboro murders, it’s hard to return to a sense of normalcy. Dating can become a distant memory when you serve as a first responder. In some ways, Dewey succeeded in keeping his community safe. But in other ways, Dewey believes he failed, since he couldn’t protect Tatum. Dewey cannot, will not, let that happen to his new girlfriend, Gale Weathers. He’s ever vigilant even when he’s off duty. Gale wants to bond with the man behind the uniform. It almost seems impossible…until she discovers that he’s ticklish.

Word Count: 2,152.

Possible Warnings: Spoilers for the movie, and character death indirectly mentioned.

The small-town diner was alive with the clinking of coffee mugs and muffled laughter. Dewey Riley sat across from Gale Weathers, as stiff as his badge. Most people would jump at the chance to dine with the renowned reporter. But his mind was elsewhere. He sat over his lukewarm coffee with a tight jaw.

And Gale, ever the observer, took in every detail of his posture.

Dewey looked good in anything he wore. Then again, she wasn’t expecting him to wear his uniform on their date. Somewhere nearby, a waiter dropped a plate, and the crash sounded throughout the diner. Both of them flinched. But, from the way his hand dropped to his waist, Dewey looked ready to draw his weapon. The Ghostface attacks were behind them, but not the aftermath. Gale cleared her throat.

“Dewey,” she said softly, “You’re safe. It was just a plate.”

He blinked a couple of times, eyes shifting to her. Then, he quickly looked away, taking a slow breath and putting his hand back on the table. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Old habits die hard.”

Gale gave an understanding nod. “I get it,” she said, her tone softening. “I’m sorry, D. I can’t imagine what you’re going through. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“No, no. It’s alright,” Dewey shook his head. He looked out at the people eating and chatting in the diner. “I haven’t been here since I was in high school.”

Gale followed his gaze. Then, she gave him a small, hopeful smile. “Must feel like yesterday, huh?”

Dewey snorted quietly. “Something like that. Back then, this place was where we all came to unwind after a long week of school. Tatum, Randy, Stu- hell, even Billy. It was…simpler.”

A comfortable silence settled over them. Then, Gale said, “I know it’s not the same, but I’m glad this place’s still here. I’m glad you’re still here.”

For the first time tonight, Dewey smiled. “Thanks, Gale.”

Gale smiled too. She didn’t think she’d be able to get him to smile at all tonight. Wanting to savor the moment, she continued, “I bet you were all business back then too, huh? Let me guess. Hall monitor? Safety patrol?”

Dewey snickered. “Not exactly.”

Encouraged, Gale stood and rounded the table, cozying up beside him. “Oh no? Maybe you were the one causing the trouble. Starting fights, stealing lunch money. It’d make sense that you’d turn over a new leaf.”

He laughed at that. He folded his hands on the table, and his shoulders shook from laughing. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Well, if I’ve got it all wrong, why not set the story straight? Tell me something about the real you.” Gale giggled. She leaned up against his arm and prodded at his torso with a manicured hand. “And don’t hold out on me.”

Dewey jolted from the pokes and leaned away from her. Thankfully, in the busy diner, no one seemed to notice. “H-Hey! Gale!”

Gale rose a brow. Her eyes sparkled with sudden mischief. “Oooh. I can’t say I’ve ever met a ticklish deputy.”

“I doubt you walk up to a deputy and poke them,” he scoffed without malice. “Besides, I’m not ticklish. That was just a reflex.”

“Bull,” she snorted. “I just tickled you and you flinched. If that doesn’t spell ticklish, then what does?”

“It doesn’t spell anything.” He swiveled when Gale tried to poke him again, this time catching her hand. “Gale! Quit it!”

Gale grinned. “Interesting. Well, Deputy ‘Not-Ticklish’, I hope you don’t mind if I conduct a little investigation.”

“I thought we weren’t working tonight.” As Gale leaned on him, he tried to shield his torso with his arm, but was trapped between her and the wall.

“Oh, this isn’t work,” she snickered. “This is personal research.”

Before she could tease him further, he lifted her hand to his lips. The gesture was soft, almost hesitant, his warm breath brushing her skin as he pressed a kiss to her knuckles.

For a moment, Gale froze, her retort caught somewhere between her mind and her lips. Her grin faltered—not because she didn’t like it, but because she hadn’t expected it.

Dewey lingered just long enough to look up at her, his boyish charm shining in the faintest smile. He was hoping—praying, really—that it would throw her off her game.

But Gale recovered quickly. Her grin came back, wider this time. “What was that?” she asked, feigning innocence.

“Uh…” Dewey stammered as her free hand darted toward his ribs.

“Nice try, Deputy,” Gale teased, her fingers finding their mark. Dewey jolted again and let out a shout of laughter that now caught some people’s attention. The deputy’s face flushed red and he waved an apologetic hand.

“S-Sohohrry,” he coughed out chuckles as he batted at her hands. He successfully caught them again and leaned into her to whisper. “If you don’t stop,” he began in a mock serious voice, “you’re gonna regret it.”

“What are you gonna do?” She laughed. “Arrest me?”

“No, but I’ll have no choice to defend myself,” Dewey warned, smirking.

She arched a brow, acknowledging the unspoken challenge. She rose from the table and mirrored his smirk with her own. “I’d like to see you try.”

Sure enough, the rest of their evening was filled with laughter. After they left the diner, they returned to Dewey’s home. It started out as a lighthearted argument about who’d get the last bite of dessert. The bickering took a turn when Gale seized Dewey’s sides and kneaded into them.

“GAhaha! Gahahahle!” Dewey doubled over, clutching the brownie to his chest. He half heartedly batted at her hands with his free hand. “STohohahaha! It’s mihihihihne!”

“It’s half a brownie,” she snorted. “Besides, whatever happened to ladies first?” She dug her thumbs into his tummy before he could get a good grip on her hands, and he shrieked. “Hand it over, D.”

Dewey refused. Instead, he let the container tumble to the floor and whirled around, wriggling his fingers into her stomach in turn. Gale yelped and dissolved into giggles. She abandoned her tickle attack to wrestle with his hands.

“Fahaha! AH! N-Nohoho, dohon’t you—” Gale’s squealing protests intermingled with her loud giggling as she battled with the deputy. He dropped his hands to her hips and squeezed. She cursed and laughed, and Dewey carefully led down on the floor to continue his attack.

Dewey kneeled over her, skittering his fingers across her waist before returning to her hips. “Told you I’d get you back,” he grinned. He worked his thumbs in circular motions against her hip bones. “What’s wrong? You were so confident a minute ago.”

Gale thrashed beneath him, laughter spilling uncontrollably from her lips. “D-Dehehewey! Y-You—ohmygahAH!—you CHEAT!” she shrieked, trying to twist away.

“Cheat?” Dewey echoed with a laugh of his own. You’re the one who started this whole thing. I’m just finishing it.”

Feeling a surge of confidence, Dewey moved away from her hips and jumped to her sides. The woman squealed and twisted, laughing loudly. She didn’t make it easy for him to keep her down; she kicked, bucked, and chased after his hands with her own. His hands scampered up to her armpits and she slammed her arms down.

“THEHE HEHELL YOUHU ARE!” Gale threw her head back and cackled. She kicked even more and, not wanting to take a leg to the groin, Dewey sat on top of them, careful not to put his full weight on her. He scribbled into her armpits with more purpose, fingertips scritching into the hollows.

“I think I am.” Dewey chuckled along with her and continued tickling her armpits. Now, not worried about getting kicked, he was able to tickle her with ease. He dropped one of his hands back to her side and squeezed a few times, returning to her armpit immediately after. He wore this sweet, yet mischievous smirk. He hadn’t had a fun moment like this in what felt like forever. For a moment, he didn’t have to look over his shoulder or go to sleep worrying about his loved ones. All he needed to focus on was winning the tickle war that Gale started.

And Gale wasn’t finished yet.

Despite her loud cackling, and despite being pinned down, she was still determined to win. In one more last ditch effort, she twisted her body sharply. Dewey, not expecting the sudden shift, had to catch himself with his hands so he didn’t fall on top of her.

“Whoa! Sh﹘no! Gale! NAhaha!”

Before he could recover, she latched her fingers onto his ribcage. Still winded, she gently pinched over the bones and ran her nails in between the spaces. Dewey yelled and rolled onto his back, trying to fend off her hands while laughing frantically.

“NOHOhohoho! W-Wahahahait!” Dewey arched his back and howled as she continued clawing at his ribs. She moved her hands quickly, too quick for him to get a good grip on them, and he bucked more whenever her hands ventured too close to his stomach. “GAHAHALE!”

“Oh no, you’re not backing out now,” Gale asserted, dropping her hands to squeeze over his hip bones. She giggled as he snorted and shook his head. She swirled her thumbs against the bones and he thrashed some more. “Thought you weren’t ticklish, D.”

“I’m nahahahahahahat!” Dewey lied and turned onto his side, batting at her hands. Gale snickered and suddenly jumped to his stomach.

“Liar.” Gale spidered her nails up and down his tummy, laughing at his high pitched scream. He flopped back onto his back, and she scooted up to pin his arms down with her knees.

“GAHAHAHA! Gahahahle, nohohohoho!” With his arms pinned, his laughter took on a more desperate note, and he thrashed underneath her. Gale’s teasing grin softened; his laughter, albeit loud, was rich with snorts and squeals. It was endearing to hear and, given what he had to go through during the Ghostface attacks, it was most likely a new rarity for him. She doubled down on her efforts, nails creeping underneath his shirt to tickle over bare skin. Dewey howled. “STOHOHOHOHOP!”

“You’re so ticklish, Dewey,” Gale cooed, smirking down at him. “How could you lie about that?” She pressed her thumbs into the sides of his tummy and swirled them repeatedly. Dewey threw his head back, laughing even harder.

“I’M SOHOHOHOHRRY!” Dewey wailed, trying to squirm away, but his attempts were futile. Gale kept his arms pinned down to the floor, and the laughter weakened him. “Gale, please-”

Gale slowed her attack and pretended to think. Her fingertips stroked along his belly and circled his belly button, keeping him in a consistent giggle fit. “Hmm, I don’t know,” she hummed. “Between you lying to me and keeping the brownie from me, I think I’m owed a little justice here.”

“I already s-said I’m sorry,” he stammered, pausing in between words to giggle. Gale leaned down to peck his lips, and his already reddened face turned redder.

“I hear you,” she pecked his lips again, and she felt him momentarily relax under her. “And yet, justice still needs to be served.”

Dewey’s eyes widened and before he could fully process it, Gale’s nails were skittering against his tummy again. He yelped and dissolved into another wave of frantic giggles.

“Youhuhu can tahahake the brownie!” Dewey squealed and squirmed side to side. He inadvertently snorted as she skittered her nails around and under his belly button. “TAHAHahahake it!”

Oh, I will,” Gale said with a triumphant grin, “Right after you’ve served your sentence, deputy~.”

From there, Dewey’s laughter picked up to cackles and she continued tickling his stomach. She pinched, prodded, and scribbled over his skin until his laughter sounded more like wheezes and snorts. She eased off of him after a few minutes and leaned over to pick up the brownie container.

Dewey breathed heavily, covering his red face with his hands. He was still giggling quietly and the blush stretched all the way to his ears. “You are evil, Gale.”

“No, not evil. Thorough.” She grinned and plopped back down on his legs. She opened the brownie container and broke the treat in half. “Here.”

Dewey propped himself up on his elbows and took the brownie half. They both ate their piece in comfortable silence though, for some reason, he was still smiling. Gale regarded him curiously, chuckling.

“What?” She asked, licking the small bit of chocolate off of her fingers. He jumped a bit, as if caught, and shook his head.

“Nothing. Just been a while since I laughed like that.” He admitted, his smile turning softer, even shyer. Gale smiled and leaned up to kiss his cheek.

“You’re welcome,” she giggled. “Laughing looks good on you.”

Dewey finished his brownie and wrapped his arms around her waist to pull her close. His shy smile turned cheekier as he met her eyes. “I think it looks better on you.”

#scream tickle #scream 1996 #dewey riley x gale weathers #dewey riley #gale weathers #ss2k24 #squealing santa 2k24 #ticklish!dewey #lee!dewey #lee!galeweathers #ticklish!galeweathers #ler!dewey #ler!galeweathers

8 notes · View notes