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peakyblindersxx · 4 years ago

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whiskey business - john x reader (part 3 of ?)

gif by @michaelgreys but i cropped it cause god daMn 👀

read part one and two! | my masterlist

a/n: this one goes out to all my john bitches!! i know it's hard out here, we get no new content but this part is steamy as hell. its not over yet, though! i'm a sucker for happy endings, ok? i hope you all like it, i'm still working on requests as i go :) much love to @stxdyblr-2k for ghostwriting on this series, she has the most amazing ideas in the world 🖤

love, abi xxx

tagging: @datewithgianni

prompt: john's been ignoring you and you want to know why.

warnings: fluff, angst, nsfw!! smut, cocky john, just straight up porn at the end but can you blame me

John hadn't spoken a word in your direction for a week. Despite constantly seeing you glued to Ada's hip, he’d barely acknowledged you since the wedding. He didn’t even bother looking up. Instead his jaw tensed, taking longer inhales of smoke, constantly examining the pocket watch dangling from his right hip. You were the last person John wanted to see right now. He couldn’t get you out of his head, the flush of your cheeks as you had moaned for him imprinted in his memory. You were fucking picturesque writhing around in his lap, a mess for him, and only him. He’d never felt like this; never wanted someone so badly it hurt. Usually, he drowned what little emotions he had in the nearest bottle of whiskey. You, however, were igniting something inside him he’d never felt. Lust, yes, but it was more. A yearning, a need, to see you smile at his crap jokes for the rest of his fucking life. God, you were getting to him.

His coldness and distance towards you hadn't gone unnoticed. To John’s embarrassment, his brothers regularly referred to it as "a little tiff", usually when you were within earshot, as they loved embarrassing his brother. They were blissfully unaware of the full story, assuming his cockiness had put you off him. He sometimes wondered the same; even though you remained polite by greeting him despite the minimal nod he responded with, you seemed ashamed. John only hoped it wasn't because you were ashamed of him. The truth was, he couldn't get the intensity between the two of you off his mind. Whenever he so much as caught a glimpse of you, he remembered how pretty you looked begging for him, then the embarrassment of having to reject you out of family loyalty. You admitting you wanted to have sex with him, him getting fucked off at you because you were off your face, complicating everything. Yet, every night, he held your words close to him, trying to decipher them.

He knew his brothers wouldn't get it. They wouldn't understand how tragic it was; they'd think it was funny that Ada's best friend wanted to fuck him. Either way, John would always rather put himself in the firing line of his brother's jokes than risk your reputation being blemished. He just couldn't look at you without a wave of guilt and sexual attraction flowing through his veins, causing his jaw to clench and his shoulders to stiffen, his suit jacket expertly covering strain on the crotch of his trousers.

A full week had passed since the wedding, of a man Tommy had recruited in an assassination effort. It was embarrassing how his family used money to attempt to push the trauma they created under the carpet. He knew he didn't have room to talk, but fuckin’ hell, a wedding? Maybe Tommy should've just not hired him to blow the brains out of his own father. Well, it was one way to get rid of the police commissioner who got too nosey, John guessed.

He had hoped that you were a passing phase of infatuation. He’d had many before; he’d been notorious around Birmingham for his conquests. Sure, it was possible he had just gotten overly excited and intoxicated around a beautiful girl. Yet, in the quiet moments of his life, in between his kids and business, his mind was only on you. You, straddling him in that booth, the way you grinned at him as he approached you at the wedding party. Sometimes when he was driving home, his mind would drift off thinking of the feeling of your figure pressed against him, the feel of your lips, your laugh, the sound of your heaving breaths against his ear. You haunted him the most at night, visions of you with his name on your lips in his silk sheets. You were his forbidden fruit, dangling barely out of reach.

***

John was at his desk, paperwork long abandoned in favour of whiskey and a cigar, lost in his own thoughts. The loud tapping of rain and the wind of the storm outside shook the windows, yet John felt somewhat at peace; a temporary peace, but he could unwind. Just his desk, the moonlight, the gas lamp illuminating his empty glass and the heavy English rain for company. He found far more joy in the simplicity of life than his brothers, who reeked of new money. He liked his things the way they were, it all worked, but he had to admit he was a sucker for a good suit. The kids were long in bed, the nanny to comfort their nightmares. It made him feel like a shit father, and he didn't want to be like his useless dad. He had started resenting the life Thomas was forcing him to live; the booze, the partying, the Tokyo, the fighting. It was wearing on him. He needed a break from everyone in this town, he reckoned.

However, a certain unexpected guest was always welcome to him. You had just drifted across his mind when a firm knock at the door caught his attention. He straightened his tie, leaving his legs outstretched and crossed on the dark oak desk, calling for the visitor to enter.

There you were. Dripping from head to toe, but still as beautiful as ever to him, despite your damp hair and slightly smudged makeup. You had caught him off guard, and in his surprise, he couldn't suppress the cheeky grin which spread across his face.

"Got caught in the storm, eh? I'll put the fire on and pour you a drink yeah? Warm you up." He slurred slightly, springing into action, lighting the fire and going to fill two glasses with whiskey, which you politely refused.

"I'm not drinking tonight, Mr. Shelby."

He decides he won't either. He tried to ignore your piercing gaze, motioning you to sit across his desk from him, reaching to put the whiskey in his drawer. "That's not like you. Where you headed, love? That lecture with Ada?"

"I came to see you."

He noted your firm tone, the flirty smile, the coy eye contact.

"What's the occasion?"

"You've been avoiding me." You told him bluntly, his cheeks reddening, eye contact breaking momentarily.

"Yeah, I know." He took a draw from his cigar, rolling the smoke from between his lips on the exhale. "M’sorry."

You watched him for a moment and he met your eyes, suddenly softened from his usual icey blue inquisitive stare. To shame, he looked so vulnerable right now. You could feel yourself falling for him again. This is what you hung around for, the fleeting glimpses of the authentic John Shelby. The lad you'd first giggled about in the girl's bathroom at lunch, barely knowing what sex was. Barely understanding power and politics. Unaware of who you'd both end up as.

"You're fucking soaked to the bone. Come on, I'll put your clothes to dry by the fire. And don't give me that look, I'll give you my coat to save your modesty, lass." He teased. You ignored the way his muscles flexed as he reached for his woolen jacket, some outrageously expensive tailored affair from some London boutique, his large rough hands brushing your fingers. "I'll turn around."

You grasped the coat, heading to the fireplace and warming up for a moment, checking that you were far from his line of sight. This was a dangerous game for you both. You wished he'd grab you, take you on his desk and finish what he started, but the way he absentmindedly drummed his fingers on the desk as he waited indicated that he was restraining himself.

You'd rid yourself of your thin jacket, bought from the market stall last week, effortlessly trendy but an imitation of the pricey stuff Ada and the blinder wives and girlfriends you knew. You were jealous of their fur coats, they were always warm and glamorous looking even on the coldest winter night in Birmingham.

You glanced across the room to John. He was staring intently at the wall lost in thought, teeth gritted.

"John? Could you unzip me?" You asked, purposefully making your voice sound as neutral as possible, looking at him over your shoulder.

He paused, bringing his fingers to rub circles against his jaw. You caught a glimpse of white teeth and dimples as he glanced at you out the corner of his eye and you can't help but match his coy grin. He pushed himself off the desk and quickly closed the small distance towards you, his hand finding first your shoulder then the zip at the nape of your neck, your breath hitching as he pulled the zip to your waist. You could feel his eyes tracing the curvature of your spine and hips. You both hesitated for a moment, before John’s warm fingertips grazed your waist, lips pressing into your hair affectionately. His mouth found his way to your ear, cheekbone, jaw and then neck, encouraged by the way your left hand cradled his head as you pressed your body back into his and how your eyes drifted shut at his touch.

"Sweetheart, why did you come here?" He muttered into your ear, his words and casual affection causing your core to swell in response.

"Couldn't stop thinking about you. I've barely slept in a week, feel terrible. Then you've been ignoring me-"

"It isn't personal, Y/N. You know this isn’t how I want it to be." His hands found their way to your waist, gripping lightly at your hip bones, sending a shiver down your back.

"Well this is how it is, John. It's never going to be any different. So, what are you going to do about it?"

"What are you fucking on about, love?"

"I reckon that just once can't hurt, nobody would know but us. Then we can both move on with our lives..."

John hesitated, "What about Ada?" His head rested on your shoulder, the scent of your sweet perfume causing him to want you even more. Jesus, he was too far gone.

"We were so close the first night I got here and we didn't. No one caught on then, why would it be different now?"

He wanted to trust you so badly, it ached inside of him. He wanted to feel you around him, make you cum for him again and again, for you to be breathless and shaking under him. He wanted to give you everything he could, even if just once. But he couldn't.

"She's my sister. Family is everything; if I don't have them, I’ve got nothin’." He stated firmly, yet his palms lingered on your hips, the liquor destroying his perception of the distinction between friendly touching and actions that made you swallow deeply and pray for relief.

"You have me for tonight." You pulled away from him, ignoring the groan that escaped from his lips at the loss of contact. You locked your eyes with his blue ones and pushed the straps of your dress from your shoulders, allowing the damp material to pool around your feet, standing in front of the man you'd wanted for years. It was now or never.

He stayed silent, watching you, eyes not leaving yours, challenging you for a brief moment before his eyes flickered over your figure.

"Is it such a crime to want to fuck you?" You asked, the silk of your skimpy underwear forcing John to wipe the corner of his mouth absentmindedly as he drank you in, mumbling profanities under his breath. Yet, despite the glances and his sudden frustration, you could tell you had him. His eyes were feral and hungry, daring you to keep pushing him. His shoulders were squared, he was ready for action. The crackling firelight illuminated you beautifully; you were irresistible to him.

"It's not a crime. Where'd you get this backbone from?" He asked, reaching for you but you stepped away, teasing him.

"University up north does sommet to a woman."

"You can fuck off or fuck me with that attitude."

"The latter if you behave yourself, Mr Shelby."

He smirked at you, holding his hands up in mock surrender, before wrapping his coat around your shoulders, pulling you towards him by the back of the collar. "You've got a mouth on you, love. You gonna put it to good use?"

"I was told months ago that you'd sort me out, John-" Your speech was interrupted by a small squealing giggle as he tugged at your hair lightly for mocking his voice, his eyes bright and crinkled at the edges due to his grin. "I'm disappointed with these delays, especially from the Shelby Company."

"Well, as the boss, I'll sort it for you, personally and immediately. Let me make it up to you, lass," John crooned, his lips meeting yours once again, fingers pushing your thighs apart, still clad in your black stockings and garter belt. "This is where we got up to last time, yes?"

"Yes Mr. Shelby, I believe so."

He pressed his lips and teeth against where your jaw met your neck, tracing his index and middle fingers over the silk of your underwear which covered your slit. You couldn’t help but lean into him, a slight hiss escaping your teeth.

"You like that, huh? You're fuckin’ soaked for me already, love," John muttered against your neck, lifting your left leg to hook around his waist, easily lifting you onto his desk, scattering loose papers and heavy accounting books onto the floor in his urgency to feel your bare skin on his. "They teach you how to push a bloke over the edge at that fancy university?"

"No, I figured that out on my own actually."

"Always knew you were bright," He smirked, quickly ridding you of your flimsy panties, the pads of his fingertips hot against your thighs. "Always going for the ones smarter than me, Tommy reckons it's not difficult."

"Your brother's chatting shit, he's not the one ‘bout to fuck me on his desk, yeah?" You shot back, opening your thighs to encourage him, your cunt exposed, cutting off John’s laugh. He couldn’t help but stare, eyes glued to your dripping cunt. "You're my favourite brother, always have been. If you tell Finn, I'll kill you," You teased.

"Come off it," John grunted in reply, unable to restrain pressing kisses to your inner thighs, your head tilting back, fingers desperately clutching at his hair. “Need t’get a proper taste of you, yeah? Look so fuckin’ sweet for me.” His mouth reached your core, slowly dipping his tongue into you, causing your mouth to fall open in ecstasy. God, his lips were even softer than they looked. His movements switched from light and teasing to purposeful and focused, his fingers curled and pumping inside you, tongue and thumb attacking your clit. He'd gotten on his knees, your legs wrapped around his neck as he groaned into your cunt, causing you to buck your hips wildly at the sensation, moans falling out of your mouth.

“Fuckin’ christ, John,” You swore, feeling yourself pulsate and twitch around his nimble fingers, crying out into the empty office building. You were getting so close, your hips jerking independently, chest heaving as you gasped for air. You were quickly getting overstimulated, you were so close. Before you could finish, John raised his head back to yours, letting you taste yourself on his mouth, his hands moving from your cunt to your tits, finger tips tracing the outline of your nipples through your silk bra.

"If we get to do this once, I want to feel you finish on my cock, doll," John grunted in a hushed tone, pointedly moving his lips to your collarbone when you opened your mouth to argue back to him.

"Then I get to ride you." Your statement took him by surprise; most women he'd slept with seemed fairly passive in bed. Sure they enjoyed themselves, but they never took control. He could feel himself swell in response to your words. He'd never been put in this position; he was a stranger to it, but the idea was thrilling and wickedly seductive. Especially from someone who was the epitome of "girl-next-door" as they were growing up.

"Polly reckoned you'd be trouble since Ada told us you'd returned. Don't mind getting into trouble with you, though," He teased, his plump mouth dipping to your cleavage, unclasping your bra, tongue circling your hardening nipples.

"John, fuckin’ christ, need you to finish me off, yeah?" You begged, voice shaking, much to his amusement, his fingers re-entering you roughly. John pressed open-mouthed kisses to your neck, soothing your body from the sharp sensation, the slight pain exacerbating the pleasure arising from his mouth and fingers.

"I've barely started with you, and already you're begging for me to fuck you." He muttered into your skin, as he watched you writhe and lift your hips, reacting beautifully to the feelings he was reawakening within you.

"John, m’not fucking about, yeah? I need you," You whined, hand resting on his inner thigh, fingers grazing the fastenings across his groin, gazing up at him from your seat on his desk. John hated waiting for relief, he had very little patience, and almost immediately he gave in and collapsed into his large armchair, pulling you on top of him, letting you pin his wrists to the chair and grind against him as your mouth found his, then his neck, removing his waistcoat, shirt and tie, revealing his muscular chest. The bruising kisses you pressed to his skin left him breathless and needing more, helping you unbuckle his belt and push his suit trousers down his legs. You couldn’t help but take him into your hand, moving it up and down his sensitive shaft.

“Christ, you’re too fuckin’ good at this,” John groaned as you spit on your palm to better move your hand up and down his cock, teasing the sensitive tip with your fingers and tongue. He couldn’t help but watch you, keeping eye contact as you toyed with him, blue eyes heavy with pleasure and lust for more.

You angled your hips above him and he adjusted himself, using his hand to better push himself inside you. You yelped lightly as you adjusted to his girth, his mouth distracting you by pressing kisses on your shoulder and tangling his hands through your hair, trying to control his breaths as you adjusted to him, soft moans falling from your mouth, your tight cunt gripping his cock.

“S’fuckin’ perfect, like your pussy was made for me,” he groaned, breath growing heavier with the sensation of you grinding against him. Pushing his hips up into you, he couldn’t help but grab at your hip bones, grip burning into your skin, bouncing you on his cock, mouth slightly slack, groaning as he grasped at your flesh. You’d imagined hundreds of times how fucking irresistible John would look underneath you, but it was nothing compared to the real thing.

The thrill of having John Shelby with his trousers down in his office, quickly dissolving into a moaning and grunting mess with every rotation or twist of your hips, in the midst of a stormy night while the thunder echoed around the empty streets below was almost too much to take. You should be home right now, curled up in that empty unheated flat, behaving yourself. Even on a date or fucking someone else. But instead you'd gone to him and now you were riding him. You wanted the moment to last forever, right now everything felt so right, you knew when it was over the guilt would hit. But you couldn't avoid it, you could feel your legs start to shake.

“Look so god damn pretty ridin’ me, love. Makin’ me wanna cum inside you.” John growled, panting, struggling to keep pace as you moaned on top of him. Your fingers found his jawline and guided him to look up at you, craving to see how his face looked when he finally came undone. He reached between your legs, torturing your clit with his fingers while he slammed into you a few extra times, using up the rest of his energy. The extra stimulation pushed you over the edge, crying out John’s name as you felt yourself release. Watching you whine his name was the last straw for him, spilling into you as your dripping cunt squeezed him, reveling in the image of you a mess for him.

***

You finally came back to your senses, catching your breath, John clutching you to his chest protectively for a minute or two, enjoying the tranquility and post-sex clarity. He checked his clock, sighing and lifting you from his lap to his desk, running a towel under the sink in the corner of his room and passing it to you to clean up between your legs with.

"Charming," You smirked, tired but satisfied. "No wonder the ladies always come back for more."

"Not you though, aye? One night only exclusive, this." He matched your playful tone, but his eyes were dull with exhaustion and he looked almost upset. He was probably just knackered after working all day and then going overtime just to please you.

"Make yourself useful and grab my clothes for me John-lad." You teased, thankfully changing the subject. He rolled his eyes in the waning firelight, locating the clothes the two of you had left scattered around the room. You quickly dressed, not caring how he watched you silently, as though trying to memorize the image of you. Your clothes were far drier than earlier, the last remaining remnants of damp clutching to the fibers and freezing you all over again. Yet before you could even comment, John's wool coat was wrapped back around your shoulders.

"Because you're cold, not because you look fuckable in it." He said pointedly, smirking slightly, the edges seeming artificial.

"Remind me not to fall madly in love with you. Won't be able to help myself if you keep talking like that, Mr. Shelby." You retorted sarcastically with a grin, earning a gentle dig to the ribs.

"It's Mr. Shelby if you're trying to fuck me. John is between friends and family, right?"

"Someone better inform Mr. Solomons of that distinction, then," You paused, "Mr. Shelby."

"Don't be a fucking cocktease." He scolded with a small grin, grabbing his car keys and hat from the door. "You want a lift then? Don't dick about being polite, Y/N, it's fucking midnight, just accept it."

"Since you asked so nicely."

"You know you've got worse since you've been at uni? Too fast for us lot now." He teased, half serious, as he led you to his car. He couldn't believe the beautiful woman in his passenger seat was the girl with pigtails who'd chase Ada around the canal with their girl gang for hours, the pretty teen who read for hours in his sister's bedroom, comparing notes together. No one was surprised you got a scholarship to university, despite your gender and class. You'd been incredibly lucky. Yet, you'd seen the world and had come back to Birmingham and picked him.

Shame you could only pick him once.

#john shelby imagine #john shelby x reader #john shelby smut #john shelby fluff #john shelby #peaky blinders headcanon #peaky blinders x reader #john shelby masterlist #peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders smut #peaky blinders masterlist

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the-cult-of-russo · 4 years ago

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gotta know how u think billy would be as a dad with his kids :D

I had so many requests for Dad!Billy headcanons 😭

I hope you're ready for this chaotic ramble.

Please remember this is my Billy I'm writing

You know those parents who take like a million pictures of their kid and show them to everyone? The kind that talks about their kid nonstop to anyone who'll listen? Their family, friends, the poor random old lady at the store that just wants to buy some damn milk.

That's Billy.

He's such an unbelievably proud parent, his pride for his kids knows no bounds. It doesn't even need to be some kind of milestone worth celebrating, everything his kid does makes him proud. You better believe when his baby has an explosive crap and ruins their clothes, he's boasting about it the next day to Frank and the guys at Anvil.

He's incredibly protective. Murder is a possibility if his kids in danger. He wants nothing more than to keep his kids safe. If they're being bullied, it takes all of his willpower to stop himself from kicking the kids ass for doing that to his kid. He's not above picking a fight with the bullies dad though if they don't get their little shit head in check and also making it known to the principle that this shit won't fly with him.

"Mr Russo, I don't think you understand how serious this is. Your son broke a kids nose," the principle mutters with a glare.

Billy tilts his head, regarding the teacher with those unsettling eyes that has the old man squirming in his seat.

"You’re damn right he did," Billy replies seriously, a proud tone to his voice. His dark eyes cut to his left where his son is, practically his double. As Billy smirks, unable to help himself, his son wears the same one although he's lowering his head to hide his amusement.

"We don't tolerate that behaviour here, Mr Russo," the principle huffs. Billy's eyes harden then as his eyes narrow, sitting forward in his chair just the right amount to be imposing. The second the man leans back he knows it worked.

"You know what I don't tolerate? My kid bein' bullied. You assholes won't do shit to stop it, so I say let the little fucker get a taste of his own medicine. Serves him right for messin' with a Russo," he smirks wickedly.

He teaches them self defence, wanting them to be able to look after themselves if it ever came down to it. Naturally, for their 16th birthday, they're gifted with a big ass knife.

Billy as a dad is so stupidly soft.

We all remember the scene from the show, right? Where he's in the hospital with his mom and he says;

"Maybe you did me a solid, you know? I mean, the way I see it, you want weak kids, give 'em everything. But if you... if you want 'em strong... treat 'em hard."

When he has a kid of his own he realises just what utter garbage this is. The idea of all the shit he's been through making him into the tough son of a bitch he is today is born from trauma that he still hasn't dealt with. The way his brain tries to rationalise what he went though. To make it make sense instead of it being so goddamn senseless.

But if he's honest, more than he'd like to admit, he finds himself wondering just what his life would have been like if he grew up in a loving home. What it would be like to feel wanted and cared for. To rise to the top being helped and cheered on by others instead of clawing his way there with bloodied and dirty fingers, the weight of the world bearing down on him as he's beat down at every turn.

He never wants his kids to feel that way. Not even a fraction of how unloved and unwanted he felt. He does everything in his power to make sure they know just how much he cares about them. There's literally nothing he wouldn't do for his kids. They could turn up at home one day and confess to a murder and Billy wouldn't hesitate to ask where the body is so he can handle it for them.

Billy is ridiculously sentimental when it comes to his kids. Drawings go up on the fridge and when a new one takes its place, the old one goes into a box of many others that he can't seem to ever throw away. He has multiple pictures of his kids at his office, even some framed cute drawings they did for him. He's kept all the mementos from the pregnancy, birth and onwards. They're his little treasures.

Billy is super supportive of everything his kids do. He makes sure they get a good education but he never pushes them to do something they don't want to do. Despite the large college fund he's got for them, if they choose not to go to college, he doesn't pressure them. Instead, whatever hopes and dreams they have, he does everything in his power to support and help them. Whether that's moral and emotional support, money or even breaking a few jaws of people standing in their way.

Let's look a little bit at how he is throughout some of the ages of his kid.

Billy with a baby is a sight to behold. No one has ever seen Lieutenant William Russo so goddamn soft. Once he's got hold of his baby, you've got no chance of getting them back off him. You'd have to fight him. He adores holding his little one close, soaking them in. He's constantly holding them no matter what he's doing and baby carriers and wraps are a godsend to him. You'd heard about them from a friend and told Billy and you better believe by the time the baby's born that he's an expert on all things baby wearing. He's a perfectionist and carrying a baby wrong can be dangerous. He makes sure he knows how to do it right.

Just as he has little affectionate touches for you, he has the same for his baby. His large hand stroking their tiny head and little hair. His finger stroking their chubby little cheek. He's a tactile person and touch is grounding for him. It soothes him to do so with his baby and reassures him they're really there and that they're okay.

He's super attentive. Of course he works a lot but as soon as he becomes a dad, he doesn't stay late anymore and makes sure to have days off. The second he comes home, he's making a beeline for his baby, scooping them up with a grin. He loves to read to them, something that continues as they grow up. His weekends used to be restful or if he was feeling like a masochist, he'd work from home. But now weekends are his time to shine. By the time you wake up on a Saturday morning, he's already up with the baby, making you breakfast as he's got the baby attached to him via baby carrier.

As his baby grows into a toddler, each milestone makes him tearful and full of pride. He kisses any booboos that happen and he's constantly playing with his child. He has a pretty silly side to him that most don't get to see. Making his kid laugh and smile brings him the greatest joy.

He loves taking his toddler to the office with him. Everyone dotes on his kid and treats them like royalty.

When they turn into a small child, he watches with a proud smile and amusement as his kid wants to fight with his men, watching them 'beat' the shit out of them. The guys at Anvil are more than happy to very dramatically go down, and the apple doesn't fall far from the tree when the tiny Russo grins smugly at their 'win'.

Their first day at school and Billy's a mess. It's such a turning point and he doesn't know how to deal with how fast their growing up. But every achievement at school, even minor ones, and he's showering them with praise.

He encourages them to work hard and as soft as he might be, he is still the boss. He makes sure they do their homework and don't fall behind on their studies.

One thing Billy loves is teaching his kids stuff. Whether that's mundane stuff to help with school or teaching them shit he knows like survivalist things, because you can never be too prepared, right? He loves helping them with school projects and answering any questions they might have about one of the many things he's knowledgeable about.

When his kids moves onto those hard teenage years, the ones where everything feels so dramatic and world ending, he's a little tougher when it calls for it. Billy is no novice to rebellion, he has a rebellious streak of his own and marches to the beat of his own drum half the time. He respects that. What he doesn't respect or tolerate is behaviour that's going to fuck his kid over in the long run or self sabotage. He will be firm and a hard ass if he needs to be to keep his kids on a path where they don't get hurt or ruin their life.

Billy has a zero tolerance policy on drugs. After the shit with his mother, he won't budge on this. If he finds out his kid is dabbling in drugs, they're grounded until they're old enough to move out.

No matter what age his kids are, Billy loves them immensely. He wants to be the father he wished he'd had growing up and he pours all of his anguish and pain from his upbringing into it. Channeling it into the purest form of love for his kids. To break the curse that had hold of him. He won't perpetuate the cycle.

Being a father brings him a sense of completeness and peace he didn't think was possible for him to achieve. It fills the void that's been eating away at his soul from his lack of love as a child and he loves every second of being a parent. Even the hard moments.

Bonus:

The Russo's and the Castle's go on monthly camping trips together. Billy loves the outdoors, the mild survivalist feelings he gets from it without the real danger. He loves taking his kids there, teaching them everything. In his role as dad and uncle, he sits around the camp fire at night, the light of the flames dancing along his face as he very theatrically tells the kids a spooky story.

You and his kids are his immediate family but the Castle's are his family too. So he really loves it when you all get to spend time together like that.

#billy russo #billy russo x reader #the punisher #billy russo imagine #billy russo headcanons

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donttouchtheneednoggle · 3 years ago

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I literally love the idea of Elyan adopting the Druid ghost boy it’s just 🥺🥺🥺 it’s so lovely

Do you have any headcanons about it/ about their relationship/ things they get up to together that you can share without spoiling the story if you’re still writing it 🥰 (I’d love to hear them but don’t worry if you’re saving them for the fic 😊💕)

LOSIGN my mind there is so much i want to do with this and i've barely written any of it down but tysmmm for this ask <333

so i recently realised i could set the fic after In the moment we're lost and found so that's happening :D

everything that happened in 4x10 is the same except gwen's already queen and lancelot's still alive cos ain't nobody got time for that shit

the boy is found in the woods by a patrol like the day after freezing cold soaking wet and absolutely terrified

elyan's the only one he lets near him and to start with he lives in the next door room to him in the knight's corridor and has nightmares like every night

after a few nights of this they move into the smith's old house in the lower town that gwen's just left so the boy's not literally surrounded by the source of his trauma

the boy's still pretty terrified and el's pretty eehhhh about the knights and everything now anyway so lowkey quits and starts working part time at the forge bc the people they gave it to have just had a baby so it works out well

the boy is scared of the dark, water, silence and cold so the forge despite not being the most child friendly place you can think of is actually really good for him :D

poor elyan's going through a very confusing time bc he went through this trauma that's completely turned his view of arthur and the knights and literally everything upside down he and percival literally just confessed their feelings and kissed, he's barely thought about ever being a parent and KAZOINK suddenly he's got this kid who is dependent on him he's up every night with him he's worrying about how he can ever be as good a father as tom was even when he had to work so much of the time and elyan can afford not to do that but what if he lets the kid down anyway like he lets everyone down-

thankfully he has gwen and percival to help him as the boy starts to trust them too and el doesn't have to do this alone :')

gwen teaches the boy knitting and brings him cakes and she's the second person he becomes comfortable around

el's like to percy ik we weren't expecting this and you didn’t sign up for this and its ok if you don't want to be with me- and percy's like wellll you didn't sign up for this either maybe let's just see what happens?

percival's mother was a druid so he's familiar with some of their traditions and stuff some of which the boy remembers so that helps a bit and he's so gentle and def had younger sibs and even though the boy doesn't trust him to start with he does grow to

it doesn't happen officially in the fic but yeah later on percy adopts the boy too :D

the boy still gets overwhelmed when there's a lot of people and different noises so gwen makes him a matching hoodie thing to el to help block out some of the sound :D

he really likes hugs but only from elyan and even when he starts to make happy memories and isn't so frightened he doesn't really talk or smile much but no one ever bugs him about it <3

he doesn't remember very much of his life before and doesn't even remember his own name which is so sad but elyan tells him he can pick a new one for himself like el did himself and after elyan tells him about his dad he settles on thomas <3

i do have another fic set like four years later even tho the timelines are a bit shaky that's much more likely to get finished and is basically just pure fluff, magic's been legalised over the course of the last fic, elyan and percy are married and thomas has a little sister, percy's left the knights too and is the physician's (merlin's) assistant, and things are just wonderful 🥰

#thank you willllll 💙💙💙💙#i love this fic sm but there's so MUCH idk if it'll ever get written :')#bbc merlin #sir elyan #my fic #ask #oh yeah only thing is arthur and el kind of #are no longer friends #like el's still on the round table he adores his neice bc ofc arwen have a kid too and they get on fine but #there are some things u can't just get over and your brother in law being responsible for the death if your son is one of them #mine

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onesunofagun · 4 years ago

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Undeath in the Era of the Hero of Time : 1

aka Seeing the Hero’s Shade in this TP replay shook up all my feelings of agony again and now I’m working backwards from there because I like to hurt myself.

Part One: An Overview of How Fucked Things Are ™

aka The Blood Soaked Hyrule of OoT’s time

Take it as you will, in the Zeldaverse, the colour green has an overwhelming association with undeath.

Sure, sure, life too, I hear you. Farore came down and produced all the living beings that would uphold the law, apparently (specifically not claiming monsters and demons, but that’s another thing). On the surface, that make sense. Forests, lush green fields, prosperity, all of those good things. Green the colour of the most common rupee, green the colour of the Hero’s tunic. Green the colour of magic, and potions that revitalise the body and spirit.

The thing is, revitalising the body and spirit is a flexible idea. To imbue something with new life and vitality can have a lot of implications, especially when you stop talking about the strictly living.

I feel vitality is certainly the best word, not only because of it’s association with life and potency ala the Goddess origin stories, but in the ways that the game uses green itself, such as a measure of both magic and stamina. Green is the colour chosen to represent the unlocked potential within young Heroes.

Vitality specifically refers to a state of being strong and active, and it also refers to the continuance of something to exist. That’s a great thing for plants, or economies, or a potion taken by a young Link who’s swung their sword around or fired off a spell one too many times and feels a little low.

But the dead, though?

As it happens, Hyrule is absolutely littered with human remains, in no small part due to the very recently ended civil wars.

The Civil War, if you need the reminder, is described as a time when the many races of Hyrule were divided and each focused on establishing dominion over the Sacred Realm (because Triforce). I touched on this in my last meta post, but basically, its no holds barred to stop that from happening because if the wrong person gets into the Sacred Realm and makes a wish, it immediately malfunctions.

The criteria for getting into the Sacred Realm and touching the Triforce without royally fucking everything, is basically impossible for anybody not chosen by Hylia.

If you are neither of Hylia’s Bloodline (The Hyrulean Royal Family) or one of her Chosen Avatars (The current incarnation of the Hero), you are not supposed to touch the Triforce. Ever. You WILL be found wanting, it WILL shatter, the Sacred Realm WILL be corrupted by your selfish desires, it WILL unleash and onslaught of mystical influence (reflecting your heart) onto the country.

Now, if it’s Zelda or Link who touches it, that’s fine. Good vibes will pour out. An age of prosperity will ensue. The Sacred Realm is in its default state, a blank and neutral wellspring of magical force.

The game has been rigged from the get go because Hylia still had a job to do. She had to get creative because Demise almost captured the flag, so to speak, leading to the snafu of the Cycle and all that because she cheated at the game, but ultimately Hylia’s task was to guard the Triforce. And that still remains true, for the most part. The Hyrulian Royal Family (and the Shiekah by extension) had to stop at absolutely nothing to win the wars and unify the country, and retain the stasis of the Realm and Triforce, because that’s what their divine orders are.

That’s what they’re supposed to do, ‘the very reason that they’re born’, to lend a quote from King Daphnes. With Hylia on their side by default, they’re willing to do a lot of fucked up things to make sure that happens, ‘for the greater good’.

These dark times are a result of our deeds... -- TP Zelda

In OoT The Sheikah are known as the Shadow Folk. They are heavily associated with death, whether that is caring for the dead’s rest in the graveyard, or working as spies and assassins on behalf of the Royals, or dabbling in various forms of necromancy. Red eyes are an established trait of their people. I will note that, at least from a Japanese point of view, red is often used with the intention of intimidating evil spirits. But it is also a color identified with power and vitality.

So, one could suppose, the Sheikah red eye also symbolises power/control over evil and darkness (spiritually).

That’s a little something that plays nicely with things like the OoT Manga’s explanation of the tear on the eye (and the previous betrayal of the Royal family) and the high probability of a Shiekah faction defaulting during the wars and being banished with other traitors to become the Twili. I know the manga isn’t canon and also SS Impa has a tear, but if you squint, that might be because of her own feelings of personal failure to the Goddess after Hylia’s shedding of her Divinity. You could headcanon that. The existence of the Yiga later in BoTW as a similar happening of division and betrayal lend some more weight to things.

Also, Sheikah who defaulted during the civil war might have even been the ones who actually utilised the Shadow Temple.

Headline: Necromancer ninjas in the process of torturing enough info out of the enemies of the Royal family, who were reportedly seeking the Sacred Realm, decide ‘hey fuck it, let’s take it ourselves’.

That certainly fits into the description of, ‘interloper skilled with dark magic started to appear, seeking dominion of the Sacred Realm’, for me.

Anyway, to the point.

In ostensibly one of the most haunted areas of the game, Kakariko village, we’re treated to the Graveyard and the Royal Family’s Tomb, the Shadow Temple, and the Bottom of the Well. All of these showcase the obvious death and torture that went on, as well as the creepy byproducts of places so saturated with blood, pain, regret, and hatred.

There are skulls in little alcoves on the walls of the catacombs, literally built of bones, who deliver messages to Link. The ones that whisper these messages are all marked by the glowing green eye sockets. Here, the green is used to make the presence of a ghostly sentience inhabiting the skull.

Unsettling. Musty. 4/10 heebie-jeebies.

The Deadhand, giver of childhood trauma that it is, really does its job to hammer home the fact that there has been so many deaths, so much anguish and horror, that those remains can seemingly form into entirely new monstrosities. An amalgamate of undead flesh and nightmare fuel, made up of the body parts of torture victims and the grudges of lingering spirits, seeking to consume the living vitality of whatever comes near-- Link wearing green around the thing might as well be red to a bull.

When defeated in game, it typically drops a small green pot that refuels Link’s magic.

This is a common theme with undead enemies, specifically the ones that are of the zombie flavour. Redeads, Gibdos, Deadhands. All of them generally give up, effectively, distilled magic as a drop item.

Terrifying. Probably smells even worse. 11/10 heebie-jeebies.

Literal torture device. So many people died here, the room has a green tinge to it. It is soaked in the spiritual imprint of the pain and anguish that took place here. Blood sits here looking freshly spilled, despite the civil war ending many years prior and the Shiekah having ‘died out’, save Impa.

Elsewhere in the temple and under the well, blood splatters are darker red and at least have the decency to pretend to be old. This means one of two things:

Impa still has to make sacrifices to the Seal that contains Bongo Bongo, or feeds people to the undead creatures who lurk down in the dark so they don’t wander up. (Cue the gasp of ‘so that’s why she let the Hylians into Kakariko! Every so often one of them goes missing!’)

Which is a fun dark headcanon to play with, but probably not the case.

Or more likely, the residual spiritual energy that the green haze suggests manifests fresh blood in a manner typical of extreme hauntings. For the victims, their hatred and pain persists so strongly, that their blood seeps up from the cracks no matter how long it has been.

Poltergeist shit. Slip hazard. 8/10 heebie-jeebies.

Then there is this. Some people say its just another torture thing, it could have been intended to convey some sort of acid dip. If not torture, maybe bodily disposal. And sure, that’s a reasonable guess.

But it is at the very bottom most cavern of the Well of Three Features, and if it were acid-- for how long the bodies have just been marinating in it-- you can assume nothing would be left of them to stick out. And the fact that all the bodies are neatly spaced, with the arms oddly preserved. They’re presumably like that from lowering bodies in from the wooden beams, the victims may have been tied up with their arms straight upwards.

But, given the Redeads wandering around nearby, I’m pretty sure that’s what this thing does. Make Redeads.

The liquid itself hurts Link, but Link is also alive, and this pool seems to be lacking much of a glow. It’s green, sure, but it’s not exactly teeming with energy. And I think that might be part of its designated purpose-- extracting that green vital energy from living prisoners, draining them until they’re dead. I’m talking juicing people and scooping out the good stuff like the pulp from a really disturbing OJ.

But still steeped in the juice as a corpse, you’re basically pickled in magic brine, so then those gross husks crawl out as Redeads. (Hey, you know what’s handy in wartime? Scaring the shit out of enemy forces by sending some zombies at them. And if they kill them, you’ve lost nothing. If the Sheikah could actually control them? Undead soldiers. Excellent stuff.)

But all the pulpy good stuff is gone, and has been for a while, so most of the bodies in there haven’t pickled in enough magic to reanimate, I suppose.

Human juicer that churns out zombies. Out of juice currently. 6/10 heebie-jeebies.

Now, THIS is active zombie juice, if I’ve ever seen it.

This is the Royal Family’s Tomb, by the way. Note the skeletons, picked clean, missing a lot of bones. And that’s a choice they made, because there are also full skeletons around to find.

There are plenty of Redeads down there, for good measure, so I’m going to assume the skeletons are potential graverobbers who were eaten. If Sheikah can presumably command the dead, then the Redeads down there might actually be a counter measure against thieves. If a thief freaks out in the dark when he realises there’s undead down there trying to eat their face, there is also a good likelihood they’ll trip and splash into this green death. A few seconds of exposure is probably enough to kill the average person, and then if their corpse stews for a bit, you have another Redead.

Their living energy revitalises the goop. Their body becomes bolstered security measures. It’s a self sustaining system.

Horrific but effective. 5/10 heebie-jeebies.

Also, there’s a chance that a couple of the skeletons or one or two Redeads down there are the remains of the Composer Brothers. But they will get their own special part in this series, covering Poes in particular.

But for the moment, let it be noted: their eyes are also that ghostly green.

Poes are spirits that are unable to move on and who have the unfortunate fate, if left unattended, of turning into phantom monsters who forget their human selves and prey on the living. They tend to pop up the most in two places. One, the Kakariko Graveyard, is obvious and somewhat expected. Dead people, lots of lingering spirits, most of them probably Sheikah and Knights of renown who died in the line of duty. Understandable.

So when you apply the same thought to the fact that Hyrule field is the second most common place to find them, you may as well be concluding that it’s an enormous mass grave of war casualties.

We have established that mass quantities of concentrated death, especially earth that is saturated by the spilled blood of strong soldiers and highly skilled warriors (full of life and magic, as it were), can result in creepy shit made from human remains reanimating over time.

Poes share their haunting of the field with these bumpkins:

These hauntings are not the result of Ganondorf, or the corruption of the Sacred realm. They are not a particular curse placed by anybody.

The Poes and Stalfolk are present in the game from the very beginning, and quite normal fare for Hyrulean life. Lon Lon ranch and castle town are walled off for good reason, and the drawbridge raises at night specifically in response to the literal skeleton monsters who roam around at night.

Stalchildren, specifically, seem akin to the Deadhand in that they are not a direct reanimation of any one particular set of remains. Rather, they seem to be mutated amalgamations of various parts. In the case of the Stalchildren, they rise up under the dark of night, a not-quite-human formation of bone and magic. They seem to possess an aimless drive to attack, perhaps possessed still by the orders of the soldiers who died there.

Interestingly, in a somewhat similar fashion to BotW’s blood moon reanimating the fallen monsters (due to the potency of Malice in the land peaking at those times), Stalchildren only seem to be active under the moonlight. They disintegrate when the sunlight touches them, which promotes the idea that they are the bones of the fallen possessed by the ghostly memory of the war.

They also appear to wear raggy leather kilts, which is a feature they share with the related monster, the Stalfos, who are often acting out the part of a soldier as well. Even better, those bastards are actually WEARING GREEN, to boot, which given the history of Hyrulean Knights prior and their uniforms (SS and Minish cap) is pretty self evident.

Stalfos, however, are also confirmed as humans who have died under certain unique circumstance (such as the magical influences of the Lost Woods) and reanimated as a consequence of what I assume is basically magic poisoning.

It could be a bit like an overdose, succumbing under the intense mystical forces at play within proximity to the Deku Tree (which the strong of spirit can resist). It could be a draining effect, maybe even just a gaseous version of what’s happening when people come into contact with the green goo, except extracted by the forest spirits and plants (also possible that the strong of spirit might resist). That could go either way.

The forest absolutely does eat people’s spiritual energy, though. RIP to Grog and Link’s mother. They’re Stalfos now.

"Anybody who comes into the forest will be lost. Everybody will become a Stalfos. Everybody, Stalfos."

Upon killing both kind of Stal, however, the bones rapidly deteriorate into flames.

You guessed it: green.

I’ve already pointed out a BoTW reference already, but to add more context back into this thing about the tie between green and things in Hyrule that refuse to die properly:

That last one is cheap of me I’m sorry but we’ll get to him too

So we have established that green has an overwhelming association with not only life, but states of undeath.

The overview is, things were already pretty fucked in OoT Era before Ganondorf got the Triforce.

On to part 2!

#tloz #legend of zelda ocarina #Ocarina of time #link #zelda lore #zelda meta #zelda theory #zelda theories #zelda discussion #death tw #blood tw #shadow temple #shiekah #stalfos #poes #undead tw #long post #hero of time #hyrulean history

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nakedmossy · 4 years ago

Text

Golden Hour ☼

A Triple Frontier Story - Part 1/?

Word Count: 3.1k

Summary: Molly [reader] has been living on the beaches of Mexico for the last 3 years since being honourably discharged from the army and leaving her fiance back in Texas. Riddled with PTSD, she went on a bender, ending up in a small coastal farming town in the Yucatan. Forced into early retirement despite being the best sniper in her company and all the trauma that came with that responsibility, she has worked hard to obtain peace in her new life. She was closer than ever to fully achieving it, that is, until her ex-crew member and lifelong friend, Will Miller, showed up with a proposition to bring her out of retirement for one last job with the boys. -----------------------------

The sun was hovering around the horizon, beating down on the beach as the water lapped the shore. You rolled the dirty cup around in the dishwater absentmindedly, scrubbing the dried coffee off the sides, letting your hands soak. It had been an easy day, a 5am rise for a morning surf, a bike ride to the market to pick up some fruit, and a mid day Dive to a wreck site with some tourists. All-in you had pocketed around $50, including tips, and a complimentary phone number from the bachelor who had tried to frisk you while you filled the tanks on the dock. It would get you enough food to last through to the weekend, and if it didn't, well, you could always call the bachelor tourist for dinner.

You were caught up in a daydream when you heard something rolling in through the bush, the sounds of the studded tires reverberating off of the rock and palm trees, the sand and jungle brush cracking and moving, the dull hum of the engine. You tipped your head closer to the window over the sink to see a slick black motorbike come to a stop near your hitch, a large muscular figure hooking his helmet on the handlebar before jumping off and walking towards your trailer door. Your hand hovered over the sidearm you kept loaded on your kitchen counter.

“Hey Sweet Cheeks” The voice shouted, the silhouette keeping its arms and hands visible.

Your stomach dropped. No way. The voice belonged to the boy who had pinched your ass as a kid, annoyed your ass as a teen, saved your ass as a new recruit in the army, and more than once grabbed your ass at the bar while you squeezed your ass into a tight dress. You froze for a moment before you looked out your window and saw him standing at your trailer door, waiting.

You opened it abruptly, swinging it hard enough that it hit the side of the trailer with a loud clank. You kept your arm out to keep it wide, surveying the sight in front of you with a shocked expression, your chest rising and falling in shallow, tight breaths of disbelief. He did the same, his eyes travelling up from your bare feet, along your tanned legs, to your jean shorts and your braless tank top, all the way to your shaded eyes.

“Will Miller” You spoke, his name like a muscle memory in your mouth. “What the fuck are you doing here.”

You took three long seconds before you smiled, then you practically jumped out of your trailer and into his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist, laughing uncontrollably in surprise and excitement. He squeezed you tight, one hand around your hips, the other on the back of your head, compressing you into his muscular frame. He let out a low growl of contentment while he nuzzled his head into your hair.

“Good to see you Molly” He mumbled.

You squeezed him with as much strength as you could muster before he let you slide down, your feet hitting the sand below. You brought a hand up to shade your eyes, the sun beaming directly in your eyes from behind his shoulder. You knew his face like the back of your hand, you had grown up with it chasing after you with spiders and nerf guns, then spent 10 years in active service being chased by cockroaches and real guns. You hadn’t seen him since you moved to Mexico.

“What are you doing here, man!” You laughed, you couldn’t stop smiling. He hadn’t changed at all, aside from a few new laugh lines around his mouth. His smile was reserved as usual, but unabashed.

“Oh, you know….I was in the area” He winked and looked around, snickering. Your end of the beach was cut off to tourists and hardly even accessible to locals. You weren’t even sure how they got a trailer there in the first place. It was as visibly remote as you could get in the Yucatan these days.

“How did you…find me here?” You watched him watching you closely, like he was looking for something.

“A local kid working at the market. I asked for directions to the little local Turkey with yellow hair and he practically drove me here himself.” He grinned with mischief and dodged my hand as I smacked him. “He seemed to know who I was, too.” He looked at you expectantly, which made you giggle to yourself.

Your friends son, Erik, was one of the few kids who spoke clean English and visited often. You had helped him with his math tests last year and he had agreed to cut you firewood for a year. He had seen the picture of you and your crew in your trailer and demanded stories around the fire every time he came by. He asked about Will the most.

“I can’t believe you’re here right now.” You said, stricken with shock again and unable to gather yourself. “Whats it been…2, 3 years?”

“2 years and 5 months” Will said quietly, smiling at you. “You look younger somehow”

“Yeah, well, that’s the tequila and the saltwater for ya. Stick me back in Iraq and strap a rifle on my chest, ill age 10 years in front of your very eyes”

Will nodded with a knowing smile and looked around, checking out your decaying trailer and old truck, his eyes settling on the boat overturned on the beach, which you were in the midst of patching and doing engine maintenance on.

You shared a quiet moment together, taking each other in, before he smiled again and open his arms for another hug. “Come’ere kid”

He squeezed you again and this time found your butt, pinching it.

“Fucki-OUCH” You wailed, pulling away and smacking his chest. He laughed like a little boy and bounced away a step, stretching his arms and sighing, relaxed.

“So,” You said after a few moments of silence, before stepping back and pacing in a half circle once. “You want a drink?”

He smiled at you and you felt your head spin. It was the same familiar smile he used to give you when you were kids and you couldn’t reach something or you needed his help lifting something. Not patronizing, just…pleasantly amused.

“Yeah, a drink would be nice.”

“Grab a chair, i’ll be right back” You motioned to the seats surrounding the fire pit that was on the edge of the sand. He turned and walked towards them and you felt your chest tighten. You could never calm down when he was around, staring at you, his physical presence was overwhelming. Even still, after all this time. After everything that had happened in the war, your breath caught when he smiled.

When you came back out with two glasses of bourbon, neat, he had his feet perched toe to heel and was leaning back, enjoying the view of the ocean.

“Pretty okay view to wake up to” You said, handing him his drink. You saluted each others glasses and he smiled, looking back out at the water.

“Unreal. I wouldn’t leave.”

“I don’t” You winked.

“So how did you end up here anyways” He took a drink and savoured it, balancing the glass on the armrest.

You took a long, deep breath and leaned back in your chair before exhaling quickly and looking around.

“I came down after Pete and I.…after I left. He took the house, I took…my shit, and I split.” You laughed bitterly, rubbing your eyebrow. “I don’t know. I went rogue for a bit and woke up here one morning after a bender, just never left.”

Will was quiet for a few moments, considering what you said, before speaking.

“Did things end badly - with Pete?” He was watching you intently.

You held his gaze boldly, amidst your discomfort regarding the topic, your face a blank canvas.

“No” You lied, forcing a smile.

His eyes narrowed slightly but he looked back at the water and took another drink.

“What’re you doing to make money?”

“Lots. Pole dancing, escorting. Selling drugs.”

You were mostly kidding about the last part, but you had sold a couple bags of weed to some of the local teenagers after you found out they were buying it from the cartel - trying to keep their names out of the streets as long as you could before they inevitably got recruited.

He was looking at you again, his face dark now, a shadow of the light hearted kid you had gone to prom with.

“Seriously, Mol. What are you doing down here.”

“Getting interrogated apparently. Calm down, Ironhead. Nothing illegal.” But when he didn’t budge you continued “Im a Dive Master, I take tourists out to some of the reefs every couple of days to pay the rent, and I help out at some of the farms on the off season.”

Half satisfied by your half answers he swirled his drink and took a sip.

“Enough about me, care to explain what you’re doing down here? Turning up at sundown like an old friend?” You watched him closely, observing his posture, noticing the hilt of his sidearm poking out the side of his t-shirt.

“Working” He said bluntly, returning your snarky smile with an equally shaded answer. “Recruiting.”

Your breath caught in your throat and you sat deeper in your chair, unbelieving how crassly he was owning up.

“Unbelievable. Just right down to business eh? You turn up here after 2 years, sorry, 2 years and 5 months and you don’t have the courtesy to wait 10 minutes before you pull this shit? No.” You said firmly. “No. Im retired."

He nodded, then leaned forward and downed the rest of his drink, placing the glass at his feet and resting his elbows on his knees. He watched you with such an intensity that you shifted in your seat and looked away.

“Mol, look at me.”

You sneered and looked at him, your hat shading your eyes from the setting sun, but barely.

“Its a 2 day job at most. 1 day and a single shot if we’re clean-”

“No” You cut him off, leaning forward to stand up.

“Its 5 million USD” He said quickly, stopping you from walking away. “Each.”

You took a deep breath and waited, considering sitting back down. You stayed standing. You tilted your head to the side and lifted your hand to your mouth.

“Who” You said quietly, not wanting to give him the impression you were seriously considering it.

“Juarez.”

You choked you had laughed so hard and so quick. You sat down abruptly on the edge of your chair, looking at him like he had two heads.

“No way. Not a chance. Are you kidding?”

He said nothing, just watched you and raised his eyebrows, the words ‘5 million’ written across his forehead like a banner. When it was clear he wasn’t joking you leaned forward, matching his posture, ducking your head down until you had his eyes squared with yours.

“Listen to me. There’s dangerous, there’s what we did in the army, and then there’s that.” You waited for a reaction that never came. You pressed on. “Will, I have been down here for 3 years. Living, working, fucking with these people. Juarez isn’t just a cartel boss who cuts fingers off and mails them to the victims kids on their birthdays. He systematically brings down monarchies. He beheads children. That man is a fucking monster.”

Will sat firm, his jaw set, not breaking eye contact. He was challenging you, as he had a million times before, only this time neither of you were in uniform and both of you had level playing ground. He wasn’t your superior officer, and you weren’t his sniper.

“We’ve dealt with worse.” He said finally.

You broke eye contact and looked at your bare feet planted in the sand, your tanned skin smooth and warm. No scars, no combat boots, no dust. Freedom. What you had worked for your whole life.

“Its 5 million, Mol. One target, one shot. Nothing more. Freedom for the rest of your life.”

“I already have that. Look around” You put your arms out, the whole of the beach and your paradise encapsulated in them, rage tickling under your skin. “5 million aint worth giving this up, 5 billion wouldn’t even be.”

He looked around and back at your trailer, at the rusting metal and the fraying tarps, before setting his gaze on your arm, on the scar that ran up it, and finally back to your eyes.

“Hows the Physio down here.” He said darkly. “Your off season farm job’s health insurance covering it?”

You flinched like he had hit you, your eye flickering as the memory of the bullet cutting through your arm and shattering the bone blazed like fire in your peripheries.

“Fuck you, Will.” You said finally, your voice cracking when you said his name. You stood up and pushed past him, walking towards your trailer. Subconsciously you held your arm and rubbed it, the phantom pain lingering. The deep and permanent damage had bothered you every day since you obtained the injury 6 years ago, on one of the last missions you had done with Will and the crew before they retired.

“Molly” Will grabbed your arm from behind, pulling you to a stop, and you winced. Not from pain, more from recognition. “Im sorry” He said intently, his eyes searching yours.

“I can’t” You said finally, your posture strong and your eyes set. You were still muscular and built like you were in active duty, but so was Will. “Even if I wanted to - I can’t.”

Will took a step closer, his breath almost on your face now.

“Why not” He pushed.

“Because” You spit back at him “I can’t use a scope. Or Binoculars. My heads fucked up.”

Wills eyebrows knit together and he looked over your head with his gaze, face taught with confusion.

“What’you mean?”

You shrugged and licked your bottom lip, looking away from his prying eyes.

“I had an accident a few years ago. I got a concussion that fucked with my equilibrium, haven’t been able to use binoculars or a scope properly since.”

You took a breath and straightened your back, setting your jaw. If he was going to play hard ass, then so were you. Fuck his intimidation tactics, you had learned how to deal with those in elementary school. He would have to try harder.

“Service?”

You shook your head, your lips pursed.

“After I left”

“What happened?”

Your eye flickered again, the memory of Pete attacking you and knocking you down a flight of stairs, your head cracking off the banister, still as fresh as if it happened yesterday.

“I fell.”

Will, visibly agitated now, shifted his weight to his other foot. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I don’t know, probably because I didn’t expect you to come down here and try to recruit me to whack the leader of my neighbourhoods biggest cartel?”

“Mol, im your friend, you shou-“ He started, but you backed up, shaking your head.

“Oh yeah? And where have you been? Last time I checked a prerequisite for friendship was checking in once in a fucking blue moon.”

Will bared his teeth in frustration and took a deep breath, looking down at his feet with his hands on his hips.

“Was it Pete?”

You didn’t answer, which was answer enough. Will’s hands covered his face and he groaned audibly, rubbing them into his hair in frustration.

“Molly. I have like 5 minutes left in me before I pull the fuse line to your propane, light a match, and drag your ass out of here on the back of my fucking bike. Come for drinks. Hear us out. Please.”

“Us?”

“They’re all here, waiting at the bar.”

You shook your head, smiling bitterly. Of course they were.

“There are better soldiers out there. Better snipers out there. Go recruit one of them.”

“Not true. You never missed a shot.”

“I missed once” You started, your voice lowering reflexively. “And you know what shot I missed.”

He held your eyes as the memory lingered in the air between you, the sound of the bullet hitting the body of the child behind your target would be something you took to your grave. It haunted every minute of every day.

“Molly, come on. Look at you. You’re living in a dump trailer with a half broke boat and a fucking peddle bike. You’re better than this and you know it.”

“Im not better than shit. Don't feed me that 'we were warriors' crap. I was a girl who was good with a gun, and I killed people. And now i'm broken. Thats the truth."

“MOL, I NEED YOU-” He yelled now, his hand shaking. The outburst took you off guard and you stepped back, your face slack. Will grabbed his hand and rubbed it, turning around and sighing deeply before facing you again. “Molly, I need you to hear us out. Come have a drink in town, listen to Pope’s plan. Please.”

You were still on guard from his outburst but you closed your mouth, your eyes dropping to his hand, which still shook lightly. PTSD was a tricky motherfucker.

You blinked silently a few times before raising your eyes to his again, a silent moment of recognition passing between you. He wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t seriously asking for help, and the rest of the crew wouldn’t be waiting if there wasn’t already a good plan in place.

“They’re all here? Redfly?”

Will nodded, his jaw tight.

“Fine” You said then, swallowing your pride and knowing you would regret it. “One drink.”

“One drink” Will repeated, his shoulders relaxing slightly.

“But Will,” You interrupted his budding smile and took a step so your faces were close again. “I wasn’t joking. Im not the shot I used to be. If we do the Recon and I tell you I can’t do it, that’s it. Im out. Full stop.”

Will blinked a few times as his eyes drifted down your face to your mouth and back up, his eyebrow twitching.

“I understand, Mol” was all he replied.

----

#triple frontier #charlie hunnam #will miller #benny miller #frankie morales #santiago garcia #garrett hedlund #pedro pascal #will ironhead miller #will miller x reader #triple frontier fic #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier boys #oscar isaac

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bitchywaldof · 4 years ago

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Beth/Daryl Fanfiction Recommendations 2021

Alternative Universe

Call me friend but keep me close – Pietromavximoff

E | Friends to FWB, FWB to lovers, secret relationship, Slow burn| 105k

When Beth Greene starts University and is away from home for the first time since her Mother’s death the freedom and independence could lead her to party and get drunk as most college students do, but Beth isn’t wanting that. Instead while focusing on her studies in a bar that’s quiet during the day Beth befriends Daryl Dixon a Bartender who is always there to intercept when college boys hit on her.

I loved this fic, the FWB into lovers trope is something I absolutely adore being explored and I don’t think I have seen it in the Bethyl fandom till reading this one. The writing was really detailed and I loved living in the characters head during the couple of days that I binge read it. I read this fic while I was in hospital for an endometriosis flare up and was alone as my fiancé couldn’t stay the night and honestly these characters really gave me comfort and positivity while I was going through that J

I’ll be yours for a song – dynamicsymmetry

E | Slow Burn, Friends to lovers, Coming of age, Mental health, Smut, Healing, Demisexuality | 381k

Authors Summary: “In a small town where he doesn’t expect to stay long, Daryl Dixon comes across a girl walking by the side of the road at two in the morning, soaked to the skin. He could offer to drive her home. But he very much wants to not seem like a creep. He also doesn’t want to leave her there.

He has no idea what he’s getting into”

This story really has left an impact on myself long after I finished reading it. You can tell that a lot went into the writing of this fic and the prose is so beautifully real and honest from Daryl’s perspective. The growth that Daryl shows in this story is at times hard to read but as someone who has gone through similar situations and mental health issues to the characters I really believe that what is represented in this story is authentic and an important exploration into how trauma impacts your relationships in your life good/bad.

Big Hands, I know You’re the One – gutsforgarters

E | Daddy Kink, light dom/sub, smut, Porn with plot in the best way 18k

Beth Greene is a girl on a mission. While on vacation with Rick Grimes and his family she just can’t get a certain muscly man out of her mind so why not just go for it?

Oh I could read gutsforgarters stories over and over and never get bored. I just love her AU Beth/Daryl so much. This story is light and sexy and captures those fun moments in the honeymoon period really well. And this story really got me into reading more Bethyl Daddy kink and loving that so there you go…(if you know you know, and if you don’t honestly give it a crack and you just might enjoy it ;))

Canon Divergence & TWD universe era

Lament – Saya087

E | Reunion, fix-it, season 6 era, happy ending, Grief/mourning | 16k

Inspired by 6x10 when Daryl begs Rick not to play the CD. While at Hilltop Daryl gets reunited with someone he thought he would never see again.

This little story really got me in the feels and was oh so sweet. I have found myself reading more and more ‘fix-it’ fics especially after the 10c episodes.

The Broken Ones Series - Badboy_fangirl

E | Reunion, fix-it, picks up post s4, domestic fic | 57k

Authors Summary: “After Daryl goes through some pretty heavy shit, he gets reunited with Beth.”

This series written in 2014 is a really fantastic look at how the show could’ve explored Beth and Daryl is they hadn’t fucked up. I love the AU universe the author has built and imagined up as it is the perfect setting to explore Bethyl in a domestic setting while still existing in TWD universe.

It’s going to take you people years to recover from all of the damage – Wandering_gypsea_feet

General Audiences |Reunions, fix-its, Team defiance, multi character perspectives | 62k

Authors Summary: “But there’s going to be a party when the wolf comes home.

One’shots focused on how Beth Greene might make it back to her family and different reunions spanning season 5 to season 10, leaning heavily on theories, thoughts and wishes. Looking at how her family would get her back and how they’d react to our girl. Different POVs each chapter.”

Oh I loved reading this authors updates of this story and seeing what she would explore next! I loved hearing the perspective from so many different characters and how they interpret Daryl and Beth and each characters reaction was so sweet and funny at times. Fingers crossed for season 11 to see if they will bring Beth back!

Endurance - SpicyPepper_SweetSugar

M | Angst, Darkfic, check tags for TW, Savior Beth, Negan| 135k - WIP (last updated 2016)

Authors Summary: “Three years have passed since Daryl and the others arrived at the ASZ. The community is now lead by Rick and Deanna together as they try and keep the balance of living and surviving. When a new threat arises, however. Daryl is forced to face the past that he has been trying to put behind, because on the side of the enemy, a familiar face can be seen.”

So this is a fic with dark themes so please check the tags before reading. I really enjoyed this fic for its commentary on PTSD, mental health and trauma on Beth. This fic really explores the concept of Beth not wanting to return to her family even though she has the chance and why that could possibly be. While some of the characterisation could be deemed ooc I really enjoyed what the author was doing in exploring such traumatic impacts on character and how that would result in shifting personalities and core belief systems and values.

Okay so that is it for now J I have seriously enjoyed being a part of the Bethyl fandom over the last few months since discovering it. It has such amazingly talented writers and I truly feel so lucky to be able to read so many stories about characters I love in such dynamic and interesting ways. I have been feeling really inspired to get writing myself (something that I have never felt before in any of my previous fandoms) because of this fandom and that has become such a fan and therapeutic outlet for me over the last month or so. I am excited to just be here and enjoying it J

#bethyl #Beth Greene #daryl dixon

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heresathreebee · 4 years ago

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A Real Date

[Ava Starr x Female!Reader]

Summary: You and Ava trying a dinner date that goes very wrong (just kidding it's actually fine).

Previous Masterlist Next

Word count: 1.8k words

Warning(s): 13+ | no-snap au, post-Ant Man and the Wasp, swearing, internalized homophobia(?), I think I’m working through something here this might be a little personal (sorry in advance), past relationship angst, presumed past of dating multiple genders but there is no definitive sexuality established for reader in the present, this was going to be something else but the story took over and I had to roll with it.

Author's note: no-snap au, post-Ant Man and the Wasp. I’m sorry I do not edit anymore, it only serves to stand in my way. This is part 3 of Ava Starr series beginning with Strawberry Soda. Art by Artmilla on DeviantArt (correct me if I’m wrong please)

It's important to note that not everything you see in media is the hegemonic truth. Take sapphic dating rituals for example: in media it’s a constant joke about how fast people move in together and own pets and plants like they were soulmates and always meant to be together. Which is nice to see– it’s not meant to be a cruel joke– but it does paint a picture of perfection. It doesn’t explicitly state whether your future wife is your first or fiftieth girlfriend but it sure as shit might lead you to believe every girl might be your last.

Real people don’t work that way. Real people have different interests, different lives, different traumas, different styles and needs. Every relationship is new and it has to be done deliberately and with care for what you and your partner want. So when you think about your relationship with Ava you can’t help but feel a little guilty.

Ava seems to like to take things slow. Your relationship prioritizes quality time over physical touch which you're fine with, but you can’t help it if you compare the details to other people you’ve dated. You’ve known each other for three months and in every other relationship by this time, you and your previous partners had hit a ton of milestones that you and Ava had just… not. So when you bring up the prospect of a ‘real date’ to Ava one night while cooking pasta in your kitchen, Ava chuckles.

“And what exactly constitutes as a ‘real date?’”

The television is playing some daytime television game show and the volume’s on low. You pass her the salt and take a swig from your beer with a shrug. Already you feel silly for bringing it up.

“Dinner. A movie. Sometimes both, I guess,” you say, flustered.

Ava raises an eyebrow at the softening bowtie noodles in the pot. “We’re having dinner right now…? Name one time we haven’t come back to your place to watch a movie.”

“The time the power went out and we played jenga by candlelight. But I– I mean like a date outside of the house.”

“We go to out to parks, the antique mall, lunch, the arcade–”

“Well, yeah I guess you’re right I just don’t know I still feel like–”

“Again, how is any of it different from a ‘real date?’”

“I don’t know! Just… just forget it.” you’re trying not to be bitter about it but you don’t even know what you mean so how could you explain it?

Ava calls your name softly and you already feel hot shame lick up your neck when you see her face. “I didn’t mean it like that, I– I just don’t think I understand what you mean and I want to! Honestly…”

You sigh and lean closer to her, careful not to touch but you want her to know you’re not mad. “No, I’m sorry. I just… I’ve been stuck on it for a week but I can’t seem to figure out why. Everything you’re saying I agree with but there’s still this nagging voice in my head telling me it’s not fair or I’m doing it wrong but I don’t know what it even is and I–”

You collapse onto the kitchen floor breathless. What the fuck were you even saying? Why was this bothering you so much? What ‘s different about this relationship than any other relationship you’ve already had? Your eyes are darting back and forth and your head is a million miles away. You keep talking as if saying it out loud will make your impulsive and intrusive thoughts and motivations clearer to you.

“It’s out of order. No, it’s not but it’s… with Jordan and Becky and Hal, I went on three dates before it felt normal. We did the traditional getting to know you stuff. Damien and Palavi were straight physical– not traditional at all but that still felt good enough somehow. And– and it’s not that I don’t believe what we have isn’t real, I just–

“Fuck, I don’t know! It feels a little like my relationship with Kat.” You can’t believe it but then the words were out there. You had never told anybody about Kat– Ava was still learning about the rest of them– but the instant those words left your mouth you regretted them. Ava was not Kat.

For instance, Ava slipped down to sit beside you on the floor– Kat would never lower herself to meet your eye. Ava looked at you and she saw you– Kat chose to ignore your feelings whenever it became more convenient to do so. Kat made you feel special and yet not special enough– OK maybe they shared a little bit of that. A tiny, micro piece of that.

“What was Kat like?” She said the words softly and without an ounce of jealousy.

You gather your mind with a deep breath. “Dating Kat was like being strapped to a rocket. It was like being a part of something bigger and stronger than me. Being with her made me feel inconsequential and sometimes I liked that, but then… then I realized I was just a dirty little secret. Kat liked me because I was convenient to her, not because she actually cared about me.

“When we talked or hung out, it had to be on her terms. No public, no friends or family, no social media. No one was allowed to know. She passed it off as just wanting me for herself but after she dumped me for something better I realized she never saw me as her equal. And it just… I was already in a dark place and that place just kind of got a whole lot darker after that. I felt especially not special.”

You lean back and rest your head on the cabinet under the sink. “I know that’s not you. Maybe I’m just tired of feeling like I have to hide a part of myself. I did a lot of stupid things in the public eye with Palavi, maybe part of that was because I was proud of who I am and I wanted everyone to know it?”

“I think I care too much about what other people think of me,” you said closing your eyes.

You didn’t expect to feel Ava lean her head against your shoulder but you don’t pull away. God, you could never pull away even as you worry she may be causing herself harm just to comfort you and your rambling. Her hair tickles a bit and smells like strawberries and lavender.

Ava lifted her head after a moment. “Let’s go on a real date then.”

Why the fuck were you so nervous? This was your idea! You had trouble picking a restaurant and picking a day and picking your clothes out and picking where to sit. So many choices with so much meaning or none at all. You just need this to be perfect because you hoped maybe this is what you need to stop that nagging in your head.

You made the call to meet each other there. You made the suggestion that it had to be somewhere nice– as in get dressed up nice. And darling, sweet, patient Ava let you have the control you so desperately needed. She offered suggestions here and there, and it helped you narrow everything down to a science. You feel a little self conscious sitting by yourself in your get up but you knew she'd be there on time.

It's just a matter of whether or not you could sit still for five more minutes.

You hold the cloth napkin in your palms to try and soak up the sweat. Forcing yourself to sit unnaturally still and you haven't touched your wine because you just know you'll get it everywhere somehow. Your eyes trace over the table to stop yourself from meeting the eyes of other patrons. Do nothing, wait it out.

Ava is stunning and you don't know she's there until the wait staff places the dinner menus in front of you. So much for pulling out her chair like you wanted to– but she's here and you break out into a big smile.

"You look amazing," you tell her.

Ava smiles and takes a sip of the rosé you ordered. The dim lighting in the room seems to soften the contours of her face but never the sharpness of her bright eyes. Something blossoms inside you and you feel it– that thing that's been bothering you like a knot in your stomach turns into a seed and its flowering now. This is your girlfriend. Not your friend who is a girl– your significant other. She's important to you and she has decided that she feels the same way about you.

You feel your body unwind, reaching across the table like you might touch her hand then stop an inch from her empty plate. She watches you curiously but without fear. After a beat, it's Ava who finishes the contact. She slips her hand into yours and you are delighted to discover she's not a corporeal being you've convinced yourself is real. Her skin is a little dry around the palm and she has calluses you never knew were there and she's real and this is happening.

You resist the urge to squeeze her fingers. Let her lead. Trust her to move away if she experiences any pain. She looks away from you with a flustered face you've never seen her wear and takes another draft of her wine.

"This is nice," she says softly.

You eat off each others' plates and you laugh together, and if anyone's watching you wouldn't know because for once you couldn't give a rat's ass what anyone thinks. You're with your person, for now or forever doesn't matter because she's letting you hold her hand and talk about a play you want to take her to on Saturday. Your heart flutters in your chest the whole way home and it’s not until you’re standing at your front door does her hand finally slip from yours. The feeling lingers though and your face hurts from smiling.

“This everything you wanted,” she asked.

“Yes,” you reply, “yes it was. Thank you for indulging me, it’s exactly what I needed.”

“I enjoyed it too.” She steps closer, seemingly reluctant to leave just yet. “We’re still going to see Rocky Horror Picture Show, right?”

“Absolutely,” you beam, “trust me, you’re gonna love it, it’s wild.” You blow her a kiss to send her on her way and spend the next hour giggling to yourself until you finally pass out from exhaustion.

#three bees writing #ava starr #ava starr x female reader #just girls being girlfriends #I'll make a masterlist for this soon I just want like two more fics

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guardianofjunmyeon · 5 years ago

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Finding Atlantis (part 6)

Pairing: Baekhyun x Reader

Genre: Action/Adventure, Enemies to Lovers, PirateAU

Description: 20 years ago the seas became angry. Unruly and unkind to any sailor, to any ship that dared venture too far out in her waters. Many a man has heard the tales of Atlantis, the lost city, the key the ocean. But fewer men know the tale of it’s missing child. The key to the ocean, the key to Atlantis but a lost little one. The power one would hold should they find this child would be nearly that of Poseidon himself. Thus, the hunt began.

A/N: I meant to update last week but my VPN wasn’t working! I couldn’t access tumblr bc it’s blocked here in china but i finally got it fixed lol. This one is long! WARNING(s): Smut + Character Death (??)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18

After hours of discussion and blindly heading southeast, you all were finally able to somewhat crack the code of the rhyme and the map.

“Follow the sound of your soul, she’ll call out to you to bring you back to your shoal. That’s clearly about the Atlantis return song. It’s the most important part of all of this. If we don’t get a better handle of when it appears and when it doesn’t we won’t get through the rest of the trails.”

“Trials?”

“Yes, there are three different trials masked in the lyrics of the song. The way back isn’t easy. If you leave Atlantis, you have to prove that you truly want to return,” Yeri replies.

You squint at the map now covered in writing.

“She’ll fight you to prove that your heart is true, to crush you and build you back stronger in her darkest shade of blue,” Sehun reads. “It’s about a storm. A very big one by the sound of it.” He points to an area of the map with nothing but water. “You see this area? It’s known for its unruly currents and unnatural weather patterns. It ranges from snow to thunderstorms large enough to wipe out entire islands.”

Junmyeon grazes his fingers over the map, passing the spot Sehun mentioned and further southeast. “Beautiful songs will call out to confuse the path, to distract you, but remembering your heart will get you through…if we continue beyond the location of the storm we’ll be set to approach Isla de Sirena within a week.”

“Shit,” Baekhyun murmurs.

Yeri looks on in confusion. “Why shit?”

“Isla de Sirena is an island known for luring ships underwater. They crash ships among the rocks with song. They appear as the most beautiful creature that you can imagine; whatever you subconsciously find the most alluring. I don’t know how they do it. Different people can look at the same one and see different things; they trick you that way. Mermaids…sirens, whatever you want to call them. Freaky little bitches.”

“Baekhyun,” Junmyeon admonishes.

“What? They are!”

“So we’ve got to face…beautiful singing women? Oh no the horror,” you gasp jokingly.

Baekhyun pinches the bridge of his nose. “You are so horny, and so stupid all the fucking time.”

“You’re one to fucking talk-”

“Children!” Junmyeon scolds. “Can we please hold off on the flirting until this is over?”

“We aren’t flirting-”

“Anyway!” You and Baekhyun close your mouths in embarrassment. “We’ve gone near Isla de Sirena, once,” Sehun adds grimly, eyebrows pitching angrily. “If you’re able to ignore their voices then you can see them for they are. They’re the ugliest creatures I’ve ever seen in my life.” He shivers.

“So what’s the final trial?” Baekhyun asks, back to contributing to the conversation and not being a pain in your ass.

“She’ll finally take you in her arms again, cradled and safe where all life began…” Yeri reads. A sigh. “We aren’t completely sure. It’s something about a rebirth?”

You scratch your chin.

“Maybe it’s about being drowned.”

Everyone turns their eyes to you.

“What?” you ask; your wide eyes look back at everyone staring at you as if you said something crazy. You point to the map in the general area where you think you all may end up. “There’s no land anywhere near here, and the city is underwater. Born from water, taken away from water, and then reclaimed by the water. If you leave, you must be drowned and reborn into an Atlantian again right? Why else would you forget your memories and connection to the sea the longer you’re away?”

“You are reborn in the place where life began…” Baekhyun mumbles. “You might be right. The final trial is a drowning of some kind. There’s a reason only Atlantian’s are the only people who can reach the city.” Baekhyun smacks you on the shoulder. “You’re not completely useless!”

You frown and hold your shoulder.

Bastard.

~~~

Candles cover the deck of the ship as the sun sets on the horizon. You watch somberly as each member of your crew places an object that reminds them of Taemin, of Amber, of Kun, and of Jaehyun in each of the four caskets meant to sail them to the other side.

Their bodies are wrapped in cloth to save everyone the trauma of facing their decomposing faces. Flowers, candies, articles of clothes surround each body with the things that made them who they were in life.

And will hopefully comfort them in the land of death.

Your most artistically inclined deckhand, Ten, places a portrait of each of them in their respective boat. An image to match the body.

“Jaehyun was always smiling; he worked hard as a gunner. He’d hoped one day to be master gunner of the ship.” Mark stands over the casket. “He uh, he never said much but he had the most imaginative mind of any person I ever met,” he says with a sad smile. “When the cannon backfired and killed him, it was quick, so at least he didn’t suffer for long. Farewell friend. I’ll see you on the other side.”

Luna takes over where Mark left off, standing in front of Amber’s casket. “I’ve known Amber since we were kids. She was a strange one,” she laughs. “She was very head strong and opinionated even when she was wrong. We both knew that working in the artillery was going to be rough, that it would be dangerous, but I know that she loved this job more than anything. She had a family with us, and she died where she would have wanted, I think.” Tears fill her eyes as she sits back down in the circle of crewmen.

“Kun…was like an older brother to me. He would tell me that I was getting on his nerves, but he would always take care of me…uh…take care of all of us in the best way he could. Every meal he served, every wound he healed, was done with care. Unfortunately, sickness isn’t as kind. He tended to Taemin with his last breath, tried to heal with all he had until he had nothing else to give. I’m going to miss him and his cheesy magic tricks.” Ten takes in a deep breath to keep his voice from wavering. “I hope he’s taken care of with as much love as he gave us.”

You can hear people holding back their tears. Sniffles and soft sobs escaping into the air every few seconds.

This time you stand as the representative to send off Taemin. You avoid everyone’s eyes and focus your gaze on his wrapped body and the trinkets around him. “Taemin was one of my earliest crewmen. I may have owned the ship, but Taemin was the one who knew best how she moved. He piloted with a grace and confidence I have still yet to achieve. I don’t have a single doubt that he’ll be able to guide himself to the other side without issue. He had a natural skill for movement.” You focus on an object nestled snuggly at his side. “I just hope he doesn't lose any of the things we’re sending with him the way he always loses his money pouches.” You manage a smile.

A couple of people chuckle softly, sadly.

“As Captain of the Storm Chaser, I release the four of you from duty.” You raise your gun in the air. “I couldn’t have asked for braver, hardworking, and loyal men.” You fire a single shot into the air.

It rings through the night.

Everyone stands, begins to close the wooden coffins, and Junmyeon soaks them in gunpowder and oil.

You watch the coffins get lowered into the water one by one. As they begin to float away, you, Mark, Luna, and Ten line up along the edge of the ship.

“Ready,” you all cock your guns. “Aim.”

“Fire.”

The coffins alight with flames. Yixing lights a single firework and it shoots into the air and covers the sky in bright yellow sparks.

May these lights guide them on their future paths.

No one moves until the coffins are far out of sight, their flames no longer visible. Until nothing but darkness rests in the distance. With heavy eyes, and heavier hearts, you all pull away from the railing.

Those who were close to the ones sent away cry openly and you allow everyone the rest of the night to rest and mourn as they see fit. Crying, shaking, screaming.

People cope in different ways.

As everyone disperses below deck you see Yixing rubbing Jongin’s back as the two of them cry clinging tightly to the other.

You know that Yixing grew up with Taemin. Yixing had been the one to recommend him for the crew because of their shared history. Knowing now that Yixing knew Jongin at the same time, you realize that Jongin must have known Taemin closely as well.

Leaving them to console one another, you walk away.

The stories of their deaths, of their lives, makes your heart a bit less heavy. Knowing that they died doing what they wanted, and not because life was stolen from them in situations counter to their personality eases a bit of the pain.

Minutely.

It still hurts, but the anger is no longer there. Just sadness.

This is the life of pirates after all.

Junmyeon has hidden himself away somewhere on the ship, as he always does when he wants to cry without being found, so you make your way towards the food storage for a drink. You need it after today.

People cope in different ways.

The stairs creak as you descend. One of the lanterns is already on, bright near the liquor storage. It shouldn’t surprise you. You wouldn’t be the only person who wants to drink to numb a bit of the pain.

What does surprise you is who you find hunched over with his face in his hands.

“Baekhyun?”

His head lifts and you immediately take notice of the red in his visible eye and face in the dim lighting. He seems alarmed to have been caught. He looks away in shame.

You sit down in front of him.

The bottle of whiskey at his side is half empty; you reach for it and take a sip.

For your men.

Silence shrouds you both.

You feel the need to speak. To clear the air. Whether you are doing it for him or for yourself you aren’t sure. “No one blames you, you know,” you say so softly that it almost blends into the silence. You hope he doesn’t hear.

But of course he does.

He looks over with anger. “I never said it was my fault.”

“You didn’t have to. You’re down here drinking alone after a funeral. This screams ‘this is all my fault’ you emo fucker.”

He snatches the bottle from your hands.

“Look, okay. No one thinks it’s your fault. You heard the stories. Yeah, you guys shot my ship, but their deaths weren’t directly a result of that. Things went wrong; I will accept that it was just a shot to immobilize us. If any of us thought you a murderer, in this case, we would have hung you by your neck long ago.” You forcefully grab the bottle back with a frown. “There’s plenty of other shit for you to feel guilty over. Like the time you shot me…or stabbed me…or left me on that island for dead.”

“I swear to the Gods-”

“The point is…this one isn’t on you. You don’t need to carry this guilt. Not this time.” You take a quick drink. “If however,” you point your finger at him menacingly, “this was on purpose, then I take all that back and I will kill you right fucking here I swear to the Gods.”

The bottle is taken back. “It wasn’t,” he admits, softly, angry. A swig. “It wasn’t on purpose,” he says again tiredly.

His honesty takes you by surprise. Baekhyun has killed just as many people as you have in your life. If he had tried to kill them, well that would be expected. But for him to be this affected by the accidental deaths? That’s surprising.

“What are you doing down here anyway?” he asks.

“Do you really think you’re the only person on this ship who hides down here drinking? You’re talking to the master!” you boast. “And it’s my ship you ungrateful wrench.” You finish off what’s left of the whiskey and reach for a bottle of golden rum tucked securely on a shelf. Uncorking it with your teeth, you hold it in the air between you. “To Taemin, Kun, Amber, and Jaehyun!”

It burns like hell itself going down.

You hold it out for Baekhyun with an expectant eyebrow raise. You wait.

He grabs it gently. “To Taemin, Kun, Amber, and Jaehyun,” he repeats in a murmur. He makes a noise of pain as the alcohol burns its way down his throat. “What the fuck is this?”

You shiver as the alcohol settles uncomfortably in your stomach. “It's the bad rum I think.” You cough violently. “Oh fuck I think I’m going to die,” you say clutching your stomach.

His wild laugh echoes in the dark space. A bit of the gloom lifts.

You let your hands fall from your stomach while you take in the relaxed happiness on his candlelit face. His eye crinkled in a crescent, shining with mirth. You don’t think you’ve seen him laugh like that since the first time you met him.

He’s pretty. You’d have to be stupid not to admit it. From his soft and shiny hair, to his cheeks that bunch up when he smiles. From his big dumb ears to all of the little moles that dot his body.

The bottle goes back up to his ridiculously pink lips and he laughs as it hurts his throat just as bad as the first sip.

All it takes is a second of thoughtless, drunken courage for you to lean forward and quickly press your lips against his, cutting off his giggles.

When you pull pack, the happiness on his face has made way for shock and then once more to nothing.

“Don’t kiss me,” he says tonelessly. His voice is serious, but you see the spark of challenge in his eye.

Ignoring the part of you that always tells you that jumping headfirst into him is a bad idea, you lean in again, slower. You brace your hands on his thighs and feel them tense beneath your palms. He stares at your lips and you watch enrapt as his tongue pokes out to wet his bottom lip.

You can feel your skin vibrating from the proximity to him, and you freeze; a breath away from meeting skin with skin. Your eyes glance up to meet his and you can see the want, the restlessness, and something else you can’t quite place in the dark.

As if waiting any longer would be torturous, he leans forward impatiently to press his lips against yours. The bottle of rum falls to the ground and spills onto the floorboards of the storage room.

You don’t care.

You push harder; open your mouth to let his tongue slide against yours in a way that sends tingles through every nerve in your body. Maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s the touch of sadness, but something feels different about this time.

You crawl onto his lap, driven purely by instinct and press every inch of your body against his. Heat seeps through your clothes and you pant longingly as he pulls you closer by your neck, his other hand grabbing you roughly by your ass. A wanton moan escapes your mouth and he pulls you closer, rougher. Breaths puff into each other’s mouths as you messily connect your lips over and over again. It’s uncoordinated. It’s wet. It’s exactly what you need.

You thread your fingers in his hair and yank his head back; diving to lick and suck along the column of his neck, to the sensitive spot behind his ear that you know drives him crazy. His grip on your body tightens as he releases a shaky groan and rolls his hips up against yours. Anticipation thrums through your body. To every noise, to every touch your body responds in earnest.

This is nothing but a distraction. For you. For the both of you, you don’t care. Neither of you have to think as clothes are removed. The sadness can be ignored as you claw against his skin and coax his tongue into your mouth. It’s all movement. All feeling. All lust.

People cope in different ways.

It always happens like this. You argue. You fight. You threaten each other. You fuck until you’re both exhausted and too tired to care about the years of hatred between you. For these few moments all you are, are bodies. Bodies moving in tandem, kissing the right places, touching the right spots, connecting at the right angle. Like this things are easy, wordless.

You each just understand how the other works.

Every movement is matched in urgency, in desperation. Touch for touch. Kiss for kiss. Sound for sound. Push for pull. Gasps, moans, whimpers are muted as best you can in the quiet of the storage. You don’t realize that you’re subconsciously avoiding aggravating the stitches that lie there, still fresh, in his side as your hands leave burning paths along his skin.

Just for now, you can allow yourselves to feel that maybe you don’t hate each other as much as you let on.

~~~

“Get your own fucking telescope!”

“Where am I going to get one? We’re in the middle of the god forsaken ocean; do you expect me to pull it out of my ass?”

“You should have brought yours with you if you wanted to use one so bad! That doesn’t give you permission to just take my shit whenever you feel like it. You aren’t Captain here.”

“Oh, bite me.”

“I’ll do worse than that. Seulgi, get me my pistol.”

“Captain I don’t think-”

“You think you’re going to shoot me? Chanyeol where’s my gun?!”

“I’m gonna shoot you right in your last fucking working eye you dirty fucking son of a-”

A hand covers your mouth before you can finish your curse. “Baekhyun, you’re needed in the kitchen. Kyungsoo is asking for you.” You and Baekhyun share one last deadly glare before he stalks off and you’re released.

“What the hell Minseok?” You turn on your gunner, anger from your argument with Baekhyun being projected instead onto him. It has to go somewhere.

He crosses his arms over his chest, unbothered.

“So you’re in love with him right? That's why you’re acting like this?”

Your eyes bulge out of your skull. “I’m sorry, what did you just ask me?”

He sighs, grabs you by your arm and drags you all the way to the infirmary. You’re forced to sit down stupefied as Minseok stares at you expectantly. “The two of you are exhausting to watch. If you weren’t two of our most capable men we would have tied you both up and put you in the brig until we found Atlantis days ago,” he says evenly.

You scoff, mouth agape.

“I would tell you to fuck and move on, but seeing as that seems to be what triggers a fresh round of arguments, I’m going to ask that you two refrain from ever having sex on the ship again in the future.”

You splutter embarrassed. Your skin heats at having been called out so boldly. “W-what?! How- Wh- How’d you find out?”

“Any time the two of you have sex, you spend the next month or so telling all of us how much you hate him, how you’re going to kill him, blah blah blah. After a while you stop being as vocal about it, but then we make port, usually at Arae, and he happens to be there, then BAM we're back where we started. You’re obsessed with each other.”

You flush. “We are not,” you try to deny. His face is unimpressed. “I don't know where you got the idea that either of us feel anything but pure hatred for the other. Okay yeah, we’ve had sex a couple of times. So what? It doesn’t mean anything. I’ve had sex with half of Arae.” You cross your arms defiantly.

“As soon as this is all over, we’ll part ways...in 6 months we’ll go to Arae for a bit, as we always do, you’ll have ‘angry hate sex’ yet again and then spend the next month being pissy over his existence. No one who genuinely hates someone spends so much time a) around them willingly and b) obsessing over them when they aren’t around,” Minseok says matter-of-factly. “I think you should both admit you’re in love with each other so we can all move on.”

“Minseok!”

“I agree,” Jongin’s head pops up from behind the singular bed in the room.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, heat again filling your cheeks at the extra witness to this interrogation.

“I work here?”

“I mean hiding behind the bed!”

“Oh…I uh tripped and then the door opened and you guys started talking and I was too afraid to get up and interrupt,” he says quickly.

You squint in judgment.

“This whole…” Minseok waves his hand around as he searches for the word, “…archenemies thing is getting old, Captain. If you really wanted to kill him, you would have done it already. And I’m sure the same goes for Byun. Right Jongin?” he turns to face the younger.

“Yeah,” Jongin agrees with a shrug.

You can’t believe your ears. “He just…hasn’t done anything worth actually killing him over yet. He’s useful sometimes…for information…” you murmur lamely. The excuse is weak even to you.

“You are both dumb and annoying…and also super transparent. Whenever you injure the other, it’s always in a place that won’t kill or do permanent damage. Don’t act like it’s just been luck that you’ve both managed to miss any kind of serious blow from the other. You’re both deadly fighters, you know how to kill someone if you want them dead.”

“He ditched me in cuffs on that island-”

“You had the key to the cuffs,” Jongin chimes in unhelpfully.

Minseok rolls his eyes at your words. “Yes, and again, in a survivable situation. Was there not food and shit on that island?”

You open and close your mouth pathetically.

“Exactly. It’s not like you’re an incompetent dumbass. You would be able to find your way off even if you hadn’t been found. He didn’t blow the ship to bits like he could have a month ago, you haven’t slit his throat like you could have many months ago. You both dance around injuring each other, making the other’s life difficult, and fucking. You’re in love, please just accept it. I don’t care if you’re into BDSM and blood play or whatever freaky shit gets you guys off, but I would at least appreciate it if you kept it in your bedroom.”

Jongin nods from the back. “I just think it’s obvious,” he adds simply.

“Pff…Psh…Tch…I’m-I am appalled that you would talk to your Captain like this.”

“I know, I know. You could have us hanged, shot, thrown in the ocean, whatever…but the fact of the matter is that you aren’t going to do any of that, and you know that we’re right. Now, I’m going to go make sure Chanyeol hasn’t shot any of my men with any of my valuable pistols, and I’ll leave you to your duties, Captain.” Minseok nods his head with finality and exits the room.

Mutineer…

You glare at Jongin for ganging up on you. He flushes timidly. “I’m uh…gonna go see if Kyungsoo needs any help…Captain.” With a nervous smile he dashes from the room.

This is mutiny…

~~~

The ship sails southeast for days before anything alerts you all of the impeding first trial. The weather is normal, the water is normal, and then all of a sudden, the winds become violent.

“Captain, I think we’re getting close to whatever the first test is…” Yixing says tremulously.

The wind whips around you and the sails of the ship flap violently. There’s no way to tell which way the wind is blowing from as it whips from what feels like every side simultaneously. The ship tilts dangerously to one side.

“Junmyeon…that song telling you anything right about now?” You ask anxiously.

Your first mate looks out on the horizon with worried eyes. “We’re going the right way…” is all he says.

“Helpful,” Yixing murmurs sarcastically.

There is no visible sign of a storm; nothing seems out of the ordinary outside of the unnatural winds. The crew is already reefing your regular sails and raising the storm jib and trysail. If the winds get any stronger, which they will, they’ll catch your regular sails and capsize your ship before the waves even begin to hit.

“Who can man the helm? Who’s the best pilot on board right now?” you ask Yixing.

Yixing looks around a bit panicked. “I don’t know… I don’t know Captain.” The ship lurches to the side.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” you scan the ship. Most of the men are working on preparing the proper sails, securing any moving parts, and making sure the wind alone won’t turn the ship on her side. You see Baekhyun working with Wendy on securing lose lines. You haven’t talked to him since your lecture from Minseok all those days ago. “Junmyeon, go check to make sure we have enough ballast in the hold. We’re going to be rocking and we need to pray that we have enough weight to keep us as stable as possible.”

He rushes away; you try to think of what else you can do to prepare. There’s no way to tell how long this storm is going to last, how bad it’s going to be, and you would rather prepare for the worst.

A sea anchor.

“Johnny!” The boatswain is immediately at your side. “Take whoever you need and deploy the sea anchor. We should have one somewhere in the hold. I need you to work fast, but be thorough.”

The ship is going to have to sail against the wind and against the waves. The wind will push the ship off course, but to survive a storm like this the ship needs to keep its bow to the waves. If a wave catches the ship on her side or back, there’s no chance for survival. You’ll have to use your sea anchor and just pray that the Gods are feeling merciful.

“Baekhyun!” you shout. He turns immediately at the sound of your voice. “How good are you at the wheel?”

“I’m decent.”

“How’s your tracking? Your jibbing? Can you keep the ship from capsizing in this storm?”

He looks up in the sky when the sound of thunder shakes the floorboards. “My jibbing isn't the best, but I think I can keep her afloat,” he promises.

The feeling of static fills the air. The hair on your body rises to attention. Another rumble of thunder rolls across the ocean, louder than before. The sky is darker than it was 5 minutes ago.

There isn’t much longer until the storm hits.

“I need you at the wheel. I’m trusting my ship to you. Don’t let me down.” With a determined nod, Baekhyun is off. You see your first strike of lighting. Bright blue and not far off.

Chanyeol runs up to you to assure you that all of the cannons, ammunition, and artillery are properly secured. “Tell Minseok to get all his men below deck in the storm rooms. Secure any hatch and pray to the Gods that we make it through this,” you instruct. He nods and runs off.

When a storm hits, it hurts more than it helps to have people above deck. Three people would do the job just as well as all 20. Half of weathering a storm is the training and skill of the crew; and the other half is just pure luck.

The beginning patters of rain begin to pelt the ship. You run back up to the helm where Baekhyun has stationed himself.

The ocean gets choppy, picks up ferocity. The ship leans starboard. Baekhyun has never steered your ship, and truthfully, you have no idea whether or not he can actually steer through a storm. You’ve never seen him at the wheel of any ship in all the years you’ve known him.

“Do you think we’ll make it through this?” you ask.

“Honestly…I don’t know,” he admits. “We have enough sea room; we won’t crash into anything this far out. I just hope we can pick up enough speed before the waves start to grow.”

Junmyeon reappears, with Kyungsoo at his side, both out of breath. “We’ve prepared all that we can. The sea anchor is deployed, we’ve got a decent amount of ballast, the jib is ready to be backwinded, and the crew is all prepared for the rocking. What’s the plan?”

“Heaving to,” Baekhyun says simply. He swipes at his bangs, heavy with water and clinging to this forehead. “We keep the bow to the waves, keep close to the wind, and then lock the helm in place.”

“Won’t we broadside?!”

“No, if we were to lie ahull, we would broadside,” Kyungsoo supplies, blocking his eyes from the rain picking up in ferocity. “By heaving to, we can keep the ship from going parallel to the waves and capsizing. We’ll have to stay above deck to correct it if the wind or waves suddenly change. Since you’ve got a sea anchor we’ve got more chance of keeping the ship sailing straight into the waves rather than along them.”

“If heaving to doesn’t work, we try to run off downwind. As the wind increases we’ll have to slow down the ship as much as we can so that we don’t dive straight into the wave in front of us.” A bolt of lightning hits the waves. The rain gets harder.

“We would die…” You say unhelpfully. Lighting blasts in front of you and the waves crash angrily against the ship’s sides.

“Exactly. So if we run off, we’re going to need more than the four of us to throw whatever heavy lines you have off the stern,” Baekhyun’s voice rises to be heard over the increasingly loud winds and waves.

“As a last result, we’ll lie ahull and just fucking pray that when we capsize the ship holds for long enough to keep all of us alive,” Kyungsoo shouts.

You exhale shakily as another three bolts of lightning flash across the sky.

Poseidon be kind to us all.

You leave Baekhyun with the job of steering the ship against the waves that grow in size and power by the second.

At Kyungsoo’s instruction, Junmyeon is in charge of keeping the jib backwinded, and you reef the trysail as soon as it becomes clear that it’s going to be a hindrance in the grand scheme of things. Kyungsoo stands at Baekhyun’s side correcting course when he gets thrown off balance. Baekhyun does the same as Kyungsoo is knocked to the side in turn.

The waves become brutal, rocking the ship so hard that it’s nearly impossible to keep on your feet for more than 10 seconds at a time.

The wind finally sets in a single direction, fiercer than anything you’ve faced, and the general direction of the waves becomes apparent. The ship rocks violently from side to side and then immediately forward and back. You’re thrown into the foremast by the unexpected direction change with enough force to knock the wind out of your body. You gasp in pain. You get up on wobbling legs and try to breathe even as the water falls so fast and heavy around you that it feels equivalent to drowning.

You can’t see more than two feet ahead of yourself.

Think. Think.

There is rope at your feet, secured to the mainmast of the ship. You untie it with cold, wet fingers and hold it tight as you walk to the helm. The ship crashes into another large wave and you fall to your knees as water washes over the bow of the hull, covers the deck in freezing water and pitches the ship forwards. You stand up, shivering but determined. You tie the rope around your own waist to help you keep note of where you’ve come from.

Getting to the helm is a challenge, but you make it. Junmyeon is helping Baekhyun and Kyungsoo lock it in place.

“We should head below deck!” You shout as loud as you can. Thunder and lightning work in tandem to drown out your voice. To remind you of who is louder. Who has more power. You’re soaked to the bone.

Each man above deck is in a similar state. “We’re going below deck!” Junmyeon shouts. “We think heaving to may work.” The ship lurches dangerously to the right.

“Quick! Let’s go,” Kyungsoo screams, hair clinging to his forehead in inky black tendrils.

You use the rope to guide you. It feels as though you’re swimming through the air with the amount of resistance the winds and rain are putting up. Kyungsoo makes it to the hatch that leads below first. You follow behind, climbing down the ladder with shaking limbs. Water leaks through the boards, but it’s a welcome change from the brutality of facing Mother Nature directly.

You gasp for breath, finally able to breathe without also inhaling water, and look around the space for the ship’s emergency supplies. The ship dips, your stomach lurches.

Freezing water streams into the room from the open hatch above. You realize belatedly that there are only two of you in the compartment. Baekhyun and Junmyeon haven’t made it down.

You’re thrown to the ground when the ship dips without warning.

Clattering catches your attention as Junmyeon is swept into the room with a fresh rush of water. “Baekhyun fell overboard!” Junmyeon screams. He crashes against the ground. The sky screams.

What?

Kyungsoo turns away from opening the hatch down to a lower level of the ship to gape at Junmyeon’s words in horror.

Gasping, soaked, Junmyeon looks around the compartment frantically.

You’re moving before you have a chance to think.

You vaguely hear your name being called out from behind, but you don’t turn around. Rope still secured around your waist, you run, slip, stumble, over to the closest life boat. As fast as your shaking hands can work, you cut yourself free of the mainmast and tie the end of the rope not tied to your body to the dinghy.

You slice through the thick ropes holding the dinghy to the side of the ship with an urgency you’ve never felt. Water hits you head on, chilling you to the bone.

The final rope snaps and you and the dighy fall into the water with the force of landing on cement. Something is broken, but your adrenaline is pumping so violently that you can’t feel the pain. It doesn’t register.

Doesn’t matter.

You look around frenzied. The water is pitch black and moving too fast. The rain pelts your skin. It stings, burns, blurs your vision.

The waves are too big for him to survive out here on his own.

They’re too big for you to survive in your search for him.

The sky roars.

The waves crash, flip your boat once, twice.

You settle upright for the second time when, by the grace of the Gods, you see his white shirt illuminated against the dark water by a strike of lightning. You row frantically as a wave begins to swell. You nearly scream in relief when you reach him, but the sound dies as your heart sinks.

He’s not moving.

And he’s face down.

With all the energy you can muster, you pull him into your little boat. You take a few seconds you catch your breath, then you realize the height at which the wave has lifted you. It begins to cascade down; instinctively, you wrap your arms around Baekhyun’s unmoving form and brace yourself for the crash.

It’s dizzying.

It hurts.

It’s terrifying.

You hold your breath, close your eyes, hold onto the man in your arms with all you have, and wait for the water to stop jostling you around so violently. The water seems to calm slightly, so you open your eyes.

The water is dark, and then bright. Black, and then illuminated by lighting.

Your chest tightens as your need for oxygen reaches desperation. You maneuver yourself beneath the water enough to hold Baekhyun with one arm and swim to the top with the other.

You break the surface and gasp for air desperately.

You pull your rope and the boat appears at your side, thankfully upright. You lift Baekhyun aboard first, and then with heavy limbs, you topple on top of him. You don’t give yourself a chance to catch your breath before you’re leaning over him checking for signs of life.

You lower your ear to his chest. You can’t tell if he’s breathing. If his heart is beating.

“Come on Byun. Don’t die on me like this,” you beg. You repeatedly push against his chest, the way you were taught to restart a heart. After a few beats you press your ear to his chest again to listen for a change.

Nothing.

“Fuck. Come on…come on,” you pant.

You pinch his nose and lean down to cover his mouth with yours, filling his lungs with the air that he’s unable to take in on his own. His chest rises each time you exhale into his mouth. You go back to pumping your locked hands against his chest. A wave knocks you on your side. The boat stays upright.

You exhale into his mouth again, once, twice. You beg the rain to let up. You beg the waves to grow smaller.

You beg his heart to start beating.

He jerks and water spurts from his mouth. Relief hits you so hard that all the energy left in your body is expelled and you sag forward and land directly onto his chest.

You can finally hear the dull thumping of his heart. You can feel the shallow rise and fall of his chest.

At last, you can take a second to just breathe.

The small boat continues to jerk around, but it’s clear that the worst of the storm has passed. The waves now are shallow and choppy. The rain has lessened to nothing but a drizzle. The thunder rumbles farther and farther in the distance.

And Baekhyun’s heartbeat gets stronger.

You close your eyes, and let exhaustion overcome you, lulled into sleep by the beat of his heart and the rocking of the boat.

#exo #exo fanfiction #exo fanfics #exo imagine #exo pirate au #baekhyun #byun baekhyun #baekhyun fanfiction #baekhyun fanfics #baekhyun imagine #baekhyun smut #exo stories #baekhyun fanfic #baekhyun stories #baekhyun pirate au

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adventuresloane · 4 years ago

Text

The Wanted (Revised Hurloane Fic) -- Ch. 4

“They had nearly as many names as they had stories told about them. Ram. Raven. Red. Devil. Deputy. Outlaw. Short ‘n Long. Ghosts of the Rapids.”

Hurley’s a bounty hunter, the Raven is an outlaw, and the desert is a lonely place.

(The 50k+ Old West Hurloane AU Where Hurley Becomes A Thief Too that no one asked for. Updates every Friday. Edited and reposted from an old version of the story–more significant changes to come in later chapters. T for non-graphic violence and discussions of death/injury/trauma.)

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"Absolutely no way."

"Oh, yes."

"Nope. Nope. You can't possibly hit that thing."

"Bet you anything I can."

Sloane snickered. "I'll take that bet. That bird is at well over a hundred meters away, faster than shit, and you're going at it with a goddamn revolver instead of a proper hunting rifle. Not possible."

"Shh, don't let it hear you." Their heart pounded against the ground like a closed fist as they lay flat on their belly, fixed on the roadrunner. Without thinking about it, they did what they always did, tilting the gun up an inch for every twenty meters. Just like hitting clay. They aimed for the question mark-shaped neck. Next to them, Sloane, meanwhile, had rolled onto her back with her hand flopped lazily over her stomach. Her neck was arched all the way back to look at the bird with a droll grin. She was looking at the thing upside-down. What did she know anyway?

"It's not gonna hear shit from this distance, which is, I'll remind you, very fucking far," she said.

"It could! You don't know!"

"You manage to hit that thing, I'll eat my ha--"

They shot, and the bird dropped with nary a squawk.

Hurley popped up from the ground. First they smiled at the still dark lump on the ground very fucking far in front of them, then, without changing their expression, turned to a gaping Sloane. When she glanced their way, they raised their eyebrows and swung their revolver by the trigger guard, back and forth, on one finger. Admittedly, they made a show of milking it.

She snapped her mouth shut and narrowed her eyes. Then, without so much as a sigh, she removed her hat, walked over towards the unlit fire pit, held it for a moment over the skillet sitting nearby, and, with a certain solemnity, dropped it.

They laughed. She didn't, but she smiled in this particular way they had come to recognize, where she wrinkled her nose, as though it were a grin repurposed from a failed sneer.

"I'll go grab the bird," they said.

She watched them the whole time they were walking back. When they got close enough, they could see the studying glint in her eye, her head cocked.

"Hey," she said. A second later, she tossed an empty can into the air. They drew and picked it off, hearing the satisfying tang as the bullet connected.

They took a moment to watch it fall to earth, diverted from its original course, before looking back at her. "Whoo!" They pumped their fists in the air, despite the fact that a carcass still swung from one.

She chuckled. "Damn." Holding her hand out toward the bird, she said, "Give me that." When they handed it over, she started plucking the feathers.

"You don't have to do that."

"It's fine. You ever had roadrunner before?"

"Nope. Have you?"

"Oh, a few times. It's alright."

"So you've shot them before!" They sat beside her cross-legged to watch her work. "Why were you giving me shit about it just now?"

"No, I've only trapped them. Just a few times, when I'm away from any towns for a good long while."

"Isn't that harder?"

"Yes, which is why you should be impressed." She glanced at them, then went on, "Also, I'm a terrible shot. Things look blurry to me when they're at that distance away, so there wasn't much point in learning."

"Really?" As her words sank in, they felt their previous excitement congeal in them like a blood clot, stopping them up. They wondered if she might be lying, but they weren't good at spotting that kind of thing in anyone, least of all her. She had not tensed or looked away as she had spoken, at least that they had seen. She just kept pulling the feathers. Anyway, it would have made for an odd thing to lie about in this moment.

The number 113 flashed through Hurley's head over and over. Abernathy had been shot from 113 meters away, the distance from the door of the bank to the general store's porch. Her bad sight and the clean gun and the fact that--they could tell--she hadn't thought to shoot when she had gotten caught. Her reaction to simply hitting Hurley in the nose. Would the law know all that? Would it care? It wasn't what one would call hard evidence, certainly nothing capable of proving her innocence, but it didn't add up. What did it mean to bring her back to a Goldcliff unaware of such things?

They didn't ask all that. Instead, they pushed past the stewing in their guts to ask, "Are you often out here for a long time?"

She shrugged. "Depends. Sometimes I have a harder time getting some sheriff off my trail, and I have to hide out here a little longer before I go back to a town. I can be here for a few weeks without much of a problem." She cocked her brow at them and jabbed, "When I'm prepared."

They flicked a spot of dried mud from their boot. "That sounds lonely," they said in the most neutral way they could, which was probably not very.

She snorted. "No. The quiet's nice out here."

Hurley looked around. "I think I agree. It's funny. I didn't like that about it when I first got out here, but being in a place that's sort of...stuck out of time, that's a nice distance to have."

"You can disappear, yeah." She passed the featherless carcass to them, and they began to slice its belly.

"I wouldn't want it all the time, though. Eventually I think I'd want someone around."

"I don't like answering to anybody."

"I'm aware of that," they said with a grin.

"Well, do you? 'Cause you seem like you'd rather be the person people answer to."

"Do I?" They paused when their knife was partway through the thin, shining muscle under the skin as they held the bird over the dead charcoals. The blood rose up out of it and dribbled onto the ashes, so that it would be soaked up. "I don't think it has to be about answering to anyone. You can just be with people."

"Where'd you learn to shoot?"

"Well, when I was young, maybe seven or eight, my mother--"

"Oh, gods."

"Hey, do you want to know or not?"

"Yeah, yeah, it's just I should've known you'd make it something sentimental." She gave them a flippant wave while still looking down at the roadrunner. Hurley chose to be optimistic and assume that was her version of a joke. "Go on."

They huffed. “Well, I’ll make it quick for both our sakes, I guess. I was gonna say that my mother always told me I thought with my belly.”

“Huh. Rude.”

“No, she didn’t mean it like that. She meant I listen to my gut before anyone else, including her, or my own brain. Like how I’d go running out the door in my underwear to frighten off the foxes if I thought I heard them near the chickens. I was maybe three when I did this, I should mention.”

“Oh, wonderful.”

“Anyway, finally Mom decided that if I was going to keep running into things without thinking about them, I might as well figure out how to protect myself while I did it. I started off with a slingshot when I was maybe seven, but I wanted a gun before long. She managed to put off giving me one until I was, oh, twelve or so.”

Sloane chuckled. “Very irresponsible. I love it.”

“Hey, at least she found someone to teach me before she let me lay my hands on the thing myself. I’ve been practicing ever since.”

“I can tell.”

“Yeah.”

It was some time before either of them spoke again. Several times, Hurley took in a big breath to speak, held it and let it grow hot and tight inside their chest, and then let it all out. The sun had melted into a band of fading yellow on the horizon.

Finally, they said, “Hey, let me switch out your shackles.”

They went to chain her ankles so that they could remove the irons around her wrist, but she rolled out of the way at the last second, flopping onto her back. “Nah, don’t feel like it,” she answered, playing up the lazy tone.

Hurley snorted. “Don’t be an ass, come on.”

This time, she flipped over onto her belly, still skirting just out of reach. Her head was in her hands as she fixed them with a playful grin. “You gotta catch me first if you want to do that, Red. I thought you were good at that.”

They stared her down and made a point of being unsmiling. “Sloane, it’s got to happen eventually anyway.

The smile slid from her face fast. She cast her eyes down to the ground. When she finally let them approach, it was while she was turned away from them and looking out to the fading light. She had closed.

Over the nearly three weeks that they had been on their own together, this was what Hurley had come to dread far more than the dark of the nights and the heat of the days. It was the feeling of collapse, of having to knock down something that they had built up themself. Because they could almost pretend, before they remembered the chains again. It seemed, sometimes, that she almost forgot them as well.

They had been sleeping closer together lately. On a particularly cold night, Sloane had even conceded to being under the same blanket with them, so long as Hurley kept their hands curled up against their chest. But it wouldn’t be tonight, regardless of how much either of them shivered.

#for christmas i would like comments <3 #hurloane #taz #the adventure zone #taz fanfic #the zone cast #taz balance #hurley #sloane #the wanted

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my-one-love-is-music · 5 years ago

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Write 365 Day 25

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Ollie slumped against him, having finally tired himself out after a long bout of crying into his shoulder. Derek’s shirt was soaked through, but he couldn’t really care when it was obvious just how far Ollie’s trauma went.

He gathered Ollie into his arms, glad that his breathing was even and his eyes were closed. He hoped that he’d be able to get a little rest after everything that happened and he’d truly be able to start healing now without having to worry about shouldering the burden alone.

Derek carefully climbed the stairs to the second floor. He tucked Ollie into his bed, pressing the blanket around him. He hesitated, one hand resting on Ollie’s shoulder before he pulled back.

As much as he was helping Ollie, they would forever be divided. Their lives were too different, their goals were too different. The space they’d built for themselves was temporary. One day it would shatter and they would be back to how things were.

Derek would be alone again.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t find some self-satisfaction in all of this chaos. He grinned as he descended the steps to his lab, his adrenaline already spiking in anticipation. This was what he’d been waiting for and now that he had the whole story, the anger was once again buzzing under his skin, demanding to be released.

Derek shed his clothes, getting changed into something dark. He grabbed a half-mask, enough that the top of his face would be concealed, but would leave his mouth free. He checked his handguns and strapped them to his thighs, adding a few knives in case he was feeling a little more sadistic when the time finally came.

He crept out the back door, pulling his bike free from the reinforced shed in the back. He walked it to the street and straddled the seat, revving the engine and glad for the nearly empty street in front of him.

He took off, flying down the street and ignoring the speed limit completely. The drive out to the farmhouse was easy and uneventful, he didn’t see a single cop on his way to the rural outskirts of the city. Probably a good thing. He wouldn’t have had the patience to deal with them if they tried to stop him.

He killed the engine as he reached the edge of the drive, leaving his bike stowed between the bushes and trees, out of sight from the house and anyone passing by on the road.

He saw the lights of the house long before he was within easy distance, his footsteps silent on the gravel drive. He kept his head down, sticking to the shadows. He glanced through the front windows, finding Craig Aubreckson sitting in his recliner, a beer can in hand and half a dozen empty ones on the table next to him.

Derek sneered. He really hoped he wasn’t completely out of it. He wanted him to be aware of what was happening. He wanted him to suffer without the numbing powers of the alcohol.

He moved away from the window and skirted around the house until he found the electrical box. He flipped it open--the idiot really left it unlocked where anyone could get to it--and hit all the switches. The lights went dark and Derek grinned. He moved to the back of the house, pleased to find a sliding door leading inside.

He gave it an experimental tug, his grin growing feral when it opened without a sound. This man was really so comfortable and felt so powerful that he didn’t even consider the possibility someone might try to break in.

He heard a muffled curse come from the front of the house. Derek moved silently through the shadows, pausing at the doorway to the living room. He wasn’t even bothering to hide himself, but Craig took no notice, stumbling around in the dark.

“Fucking shit,” he cursed again when he hit the coffee table in the middle of the room.

Derek narrowed his eyes and moved behind him. He threw an arm around his neck, Craig choking as his air supply was cut off. He tried struggling, feet kicking out and nails clawing at the fabric of his jacket sleeve. Derek sneered and dragged him to the front door and down the steps.

He was weak. Useless. If Ollie hadn’t been drugged, he wouldn’t have broken a sweat incapacitating this guy.

Once they were a few feet from the house Derek threw him to the ground. He scrambled backwards, eyes wide as he sized him up, the moonlight giving him enough light to see his outline.

“Who-who are you?”

Derek didn’t both answering. He pulled a knife from its holster and walked forward. Craig saw the gleam of the blade and rolled over, trying to get to his feet to run away.

Derek slammed his foot down onto his back, pressing him into the ground and knocking the breath out of him.

“And just where do you think you’re going?” he growled. “I’m not giving you the chance to leave my sight.”

Craig’s hands scrabbled at the dirt and gravel, Derek pulled a second knife from his belt and slammed each blade through the back of his hands, keeping them in place. He cried out in pain, fingers and hands shaking as blood began leaking out.

“What do you want from me?” he whimpered.

Nothing. Everything. Your life. Penance for hurting Ollie.

The thoughts swirled around his head but he didn’t voice any of them. He pulled out a third knife and stabbed Craig in the leg, earning another howl of agony. He repeated the process, carefully adding more stab wounds to his legs, avoiding all vital arteries, and letting the blood pool darkly in the grass.

Craig kept rambling, asking him questions about who he was and what he wanted from him. Derek ignored most of them, focused on his work.

“Please-I-I have a nephew-”

Derek growled and slammed the blade into the dirt in front of Craig’s eyes, making him gasp and jerk back, aggravating his injuries. He wanted to kill him then and there so his blood would soak the earth, bringing an end to the existence he didn’t deserve.

“If you even think about moving, I’ll cut off your dick,” he hissed, straightening from his crouch. He turned and walked back into the house, easily finding the keys on the hook inside the door. Craig had lost a lot of blood and if he wasn’t careful, he’d end up bleeding out before Derek could finish having his way with him.

He started the car and pulled it up beside Craig’s limp body on the ground. He opened the back door and yanked the knives out of Craig’s hands before he picked him up and threw him in the backseat.

He sounded pitiful, whining and making noises as he was jostled and manhandled. Derek grit his teeth, the sounds setting his nerves on edge. He couldn’t wait for this to be over, and not because what he was doing disgusted him, but because he hated that the man in the backseat continued to breathe.

He started to drive, heading in the opposite direction of the city. He didn’t plan on going far, just wanted to put some distance between them and the house. Craig continued making noise in the back seat and Derek tightened his grip on the steering wheel.

Once they were far enough that Derek would have quite the journey back, he pulled off to the side of the road, killing the engine. They were at the edge of an uncultivated field and Derek dragged Craig out of the backseat. He stumbled, unable to walk properly with the cuts on his legs, not that Derek would give him the chance if he could.

He threw Craig to the ground when they were far enough from the road that the grass would shield Craig’s body. He pulled out one of his guns and clicked off the safety.

“Please,” he pleaded. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because,” Derek finally said, voice icy, “you hurt someone you shouldn’t have.”

Craig frowned, eyebrows drawing down in confusion. “Wha-”

“You hurt your own fucking nephew and I’m going to do the world a favor by leaving you here to rot,” he hissed.

Craig’s expression went from confusion to shock before morphing into a scowl.

“So that little shit ran to you and tattled-”

Derek didn’t let him finish. He pulled the trigger, the bullet lodging between Craig’s eyes. His body swayed before collapsing into the grass. Derek pulled out one of his knives and undid Craig’s pants, cutting off his dick and shoving it into Craig’s mouth.

“Suck on that you fucking pig,” he muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets as he picked his way back to the road.

He ignored the car he drove there and turned back towards Ollie’s house. He had a long walk ahead of him, but he needed it. It would give the rest of his anger time to dissipate before he drove back to his house.

If you enjoy my work, please reblog or consider buying me a ko-fi!

#write 365 #molim writes #ocs #original work

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addytheheartbreaker · 5 years ago

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Yandere! Joen x Addy x Overprotective! Nicol (part 3)

(Warning: this story you are going to read will contains trigger and 16+ that involves angsty theme, mental issues, adult vice theme, mild swearing, violence, gore blood and death of the following story. Please respect and advice not to read it if you are uncomfortable of these topics)

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Joen's pov

Leaving my dear precious doll peacefully at her bed is such a grace to watch, it makes me feel happy on her safe state. Dying to be on my arms at my home, I started going back to the past where they are still alive.

Father is a great man with a huge popularity of his amusement park, "Great Roger's Madness Play". His reputation is so popular, everyone knows his name and his signature friendliness and kind heart he possessed. He is formally a boy band in his youthful days until She come to his life.

Mother is a famous singer and song writer in any ways. Her beauty stands out every man on their knees and woman and young girls inspired by her feminism and encouraged of young girls to chased their dreams. She work in many business with her family along with her sister who had a son to carry the legacy. Dad slowly fell in love with mom with a reason.

The letter he wrote for me and my brothers to read.

The Roger family has been passing its genes for generations with a twist of truths and secrets of our ancestors. Now that I understand why father loves mother, I guess I'm just like dad with my hair slick back, the perfect arch white rabbit and well.... The reason of loving a mate.

I'm so excited to mark my beloved as mine and mine alone. Well, besides my favorite bunny brother Leon who is the first one to finally mark his lover and soon to be brother in law in the future. Oh~ I wonder what she would look like when we were at the same age as my parents were? Or what dress she would dressed to my imaginable insane wedding that I've dreamed when I was a bunny. Alright I think I would be more then intrigued on what kind of girl if I finally see the true beauty behind all that elegant décor everyday? My guardian angel will take me to heaven to touch her, to feel her, to taste her-

To see how much she loves this Rabbit giving it to me~

Ugh, I losts control now. I needed her, I fucking need to confess my heart out and heal my beloved broken doll to a woman I ever gunna dreamed of. However, I need to be patient once she give in and open her heart for me, patient enough to let me get closer to her. Mother once told me that since she has a strong relationship with father with such love. Addy would be the most happiest girl to finally release those burden chains behind her back and healed all her broken crack porcelain that my pretty little doll possessed.

Now all I needed to do is to get rid of Nicol. I don't care of the peace contract we both had along time ago that I am about to break!

Anything to claim the Doll as my mate! That's what father told me. Finding the right mate to loved would do anything to claim it as mine. I made up my fucking mind to win this. Similar to how my brother Leon would back when we were still at the asylum. I also need to talk to my black rabbit brother for advice before I could finally kick the dog's ass. I'll do it tomorrow to prepared the plan. Nicol the Doberman Dog, our peace allies between our families is off.

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Nicol's pov

I heard that Joen left the dog mansion quickly. Why though? I went to check on dollface if she is alright and safe. I think she is now safe.... For now....

You may be wondering why I wanted to protect her at all cost even protecting her from her mission, preventing her from activating her DEaF power eyes she had explained to my training with her, people who dare tried and harm a single hair from her and death multiple times is because of a many reasons;

She and I are no different then everyone else.... We both experience it in a horrible way....

*flashback, Nicol's traumas and Wilderness era*

The Dog brothers are not entirely as brothers who are related honestly. We were all born at the adoption withe and my little brother together until I have a strong friendship with the 4 pups. We were always together as a group because of our connection we are having and how much we grew up together inseparably. My brother will always be beside me and followed me anywhere until we all started performing and show off our created talent. We became young celebrities together until at age 11. Me, my little brother, my soon to be step brothers and my brother's siblings are all adopted by a man.

The man is my new owner, my master, the one who would take care the whole family despite we are not sure why he adopted us? Learning that the man had knew the 5 of us that we are popular of our talent and give us something that we now soon as celebrities as I formed a group of boys as the Dog Brothers. We are so happy to finally made it.... That's is what I thought of.... Right?

"Bad environment, a horrible influence of a owner, a home filled with vices and master showed me and my brothers the most wicked crime that all of us lost our innocence".

I grew aggressive and wild on these stuff. I'm so uncomfortable at first for introduced me such illegal stuff in such a young age myself. I was just 13 years old when master showed me these things. I grew slowly addicted, it is so wrong yet felt high I'm started to get used to master's drugs and alcohol

Age 14 is my start on partying my favorite clubs. My brothers are also got used to these vices as they do the same wilderness and hunting more and more. I like to fight people and greedy on devouring liquor and drugs everyday on clubs, I've earned myself a nickname as the "Wild Dog".

That is until.... The sudden arresting for illegal crimes had made us realized our whole family are in deep cursed. Realizing that we had changed to the worse which we immediately almost broke our strongest relationship that we, the Dog Brothers we once have togehter. We started arguing and fighting out of no where and I blindedly harmed my own little brother multiple times in a heated tension that I gradually said the words that I broke our relationship with my brother for eternity.

"You Bastard! How dare you offended me and my families name! YOUR A DISGRACE TO MY FAMILY!!! I'M NOT A DISGRACE TO MY FAMILY, I NEVER BETRAYED IT BROTHER!!!"

Those words are all a lie, I did betrayed them being blinded with addictions and obsessions which controlled my whole body like I'm a puppet. Crimes that added on my list while the Dog brothers are all working as celebrities as we secretly hidden our vices from public. The family doesn't want the publics eye to know these secrets which would one day torn us completely with shame

Been arrested then releasing again and again as I reached age 17.

*Imprisonment era*

"Here comes the Wild Dog! A Beast! Ooo so scary *mockingly laughs*, the lil old crazy bitch who do drugs and shit. I heard he killed a man before. He is the guy that we heard from those rumors outside, stay away from him. Such a psychopath, no loved for you and more fuck torture for you to performed. Disgusting disgrace of a family. Are the rumors are true? These rumors are for real!"

Enough! Just fucking stop! Please that wasn't me, that wasn't us!!! I wasn't myself, WE AREN'T OURSELVES!!! Curse you master!!! for making me and my whole family for losing our own innocence and our humanity to this hellhole! Go to hell you asshole!

I'm so broken right now.... I can't take this anymore with the addicting drugs and alcohol, adding crimes is one thing and yet I have almost betrayed the Dog brothers. The public has spreading rumors and news of our crime which shamed our fame and money.

At the end.... We started trying to fix ourselves and our problems to solve as we are officially released after 4 year ago of the Darkest era of celebrity, I'm 18 years old that I have already forgotten who I really am and who my friends are. I have lost my own innocence and humanity on society. Its is time for the Mcgilles Family to rehabilitated our fame, not wanting our fans disappointed and go down on us. They still loved us despite we are in deep burden from the dark time.

*flashback ended, present day. Midnight*

"Nic? Nicol? Nicolas, wake up."

I've suddenly woke up laying on the floor. Was I asleep? And I felt something wet soaking on my cheeks. I look up to see my favorite older brother, Alejandro the Jindo Dog.

"Nic, your crying. And its midnight already. Why aren't you on your bedroom?"

Ah... I think I'm still inside Addy's bedroom floor crying at my sleep as I stand up with the help of Ale.

"Sorry. I'm must have doze off when I got here."

Looking back on Dollface peaceful sleep, still in the same straight sleeping body and her stuffed bunny has dropped beside me when I first fallen asleep beside her bed. I picked up the stuffed bunny with my own hands, looking down to its innocent eyes I cried. I could feel my own body shacking as Alejandro sympathies how broken I am.

"She too innocent back when we were met.... She didn't deserve it brother.... She is as broken as I am, you and our family too."

"I know brother, I know...."

Putting back beside the owner of this stuffed white bunny to the sleeping doll as I gave a one last longing look of pity to the girl then left. I felt tired with my eyes almost shut, unfortunately.... Something tighten my chest that danger is going near. This is a bad sign.

#the masked singer human au #the masked singer #masked au #the masked au #nicol mcgilles #nicol mcgilles the dog #joen roger #joen roger the rabbit

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darlingstarstuff · 5 years ago

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dream journal. 71.

july 29th, 2019

whoa whoa! what an interesting night. i had a pretty much- one full on dream, it was long, and was actually a coherent story! well. mostly coherent. and i remember like- ninety percent of it, which is crazy. what i did was, i made some tea, right? did a simple affirmation as i stirred sugar into it. and then, i actually tried energywork into the tea. like, i rubbed my hands until they were tingly, visualizing a lilac, cloudy energy orb growing in my hands. then o carefully put my hands around my hands and visualized the orb being soaked into the tea. and i seriously think it gave my affirmation a boost because wow, haha! i’m wanting to try this for about a week, like an experiment, to see what happens. exciting!

anyway, onto the dream. it starts out with me, driving a truck in a birds eye view. i... suck at driving. so when i make a bad turn and straight crash right through some fast food restaurant. i’m- not surprised. i can hear some other people talking like “wow they really allowing that wooow”.

i end up in a group therapy session in an office room. i guess the powers that be deemed by horrible driving as a result of mental trauma or something. it was a nice office, big enough for the group, it was in a building with a huge window in the back showing off the downtown skyline. the one leading the group session was a well dressed man, warm colors, thick yarn vest. tidy brown-red head of hair and beard.

words escape me, but i know we were talking about emotional stuff. then something happens that completely turns the dream to a different genre. i look up to the window and everyone does as well and shouts “captain marvel!” who was flying by the window, and waves. in my head though i think ‘brie larson’. i hear a guy by me say, “wow i wish i could fly on her shoulders.” okay dude.

i go... “home”. it turns out i was part of a cult, the members were black cloaks that hid their face and everything, and this house is were we all lived in and did practices. well, they did their ritual practices and i was just like the baby with powers they probably thought was annoying.

i go downstairs and up to one lady, i ask “can i go outside pleeease?” she immediately tells me no. of course. i get the feeling they never let me out. i could hear her mumbling though that she was tired and was going to take a break, she was reading a book- was probably up all night researching its contents.

i’m annoyed, and stomp back upstairs into my “bedroom.” then i hear shuffling in another room and check it out. there’s this guy there, looking out of place and nervous. i got the idea that he was a prisoner, and was probably going to be used for cult experiments, whatever that entailed. he told me we should escape together, we could get out of here. and it struck to me that, yeah, i could leave, i have the power. but the thing was we couldn’t just leave out the front or the back door. we’d need a distraction, or a secret escape route.

just as we head to the hallway, we hear something... kind of terrible. i don’t know if some cult dude accidentally summoned evil incarnate, but form where i stood at the top of the staircase, there was this horrible roar following by screaming, and every time it roared my vision would shake and turn red. i was fearful, as well as the guy, and i immediately run into my “bedside” and start working on opening the layers to the window. i shout at the guy to lock the door to buy us some time. i manage to pry open everything and just throw the ac there to the ground, giving us an escape.

i grab him, and jump through. we float down easily. “how are you doing that??” he sounds shocked. i focus more on getting away, my heart pounding. we land on the ground to the back yard and we run. i fling open the gate and just run with him. i look back and even though i don’t see anyone following i felt it. we ran until we were in a more downtown setting, among a crowd. looks like we’re safe for now.

that was crazy, right? me and the guy were huddle in this square-like area, calming down for a moment. he tells me “we have to tell the pros, man. we can totally out this cult.” and, hey, that’s a good idea. this “family” seemed to only keep me stuck inside the house, using me and my powers when it was useful for them alone. yes. let’s do it.

“do you have a phone?”

oh well, look at that actually yes i do, in my sweater pocket. we bring up a maps app, the guy telling me we needed to find hero headquarters (which was like avengers towers tbh, but short and circular) so we can out these cult dudes to the people can do something about it.

i look up and i see someone with their back mostly turned away from me, sitting on a granite bench on their phone. i didn’t know this person, but dream-me seemed to. i go up to him.

“taylor!”

“hm? oh, shit, hey what’s up!”

taylor wasn’t human. his whole body was made of what looked like white, white steel. he had no face at all, just a head. he looked very fashionable though in a comfy white hooded jacket and dark jeans. i think he had white sneakers on?

but i knew him, somehow. the dream continues on, we manage to find the hero headquarters and go to one of the receptionists and tell her about what we had just done and about the cult. the last thing i remember was her writing down everything we were saying in a high tech computer.

wow! what a crazy dream. but something else happened guys. i hadn’t finished writing this entry until after work. during my shift, i heard the name taylor again, just during a conversation i wasn’t even really a part of. of course, i was shook when i recognized the name from my dream.

i am... going to keep an ear out for taylor in the future.

#dream journal #dr entry 71 #dreaming #energy work #dreams

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animebw · 6 years ago

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Re-Watching: Angel Beats, Episode 3

In which Girl’s Dead Monster kicks all the ass, Iwasawa breaks my heart all over again, and everything changes in the space of a single, awe-inspiring performance.

Tipping Point

Episode 3 is, in retrospect, probably the single most important episode of Angel Beats. The first episode sets up the paradigm of the show at large, introducing us to a world where our ragtag band of undead misfits fights against an all-powerful angel for the sake of defying god. The second episode reinforces that paradigm by getting us invested in the individual members of the Afterlife Brigade by way of their instantly iconic death scenes, and especially in Yuirppe’s emotional conformation that their cause is a worthy one. But as we all know by now, Angel Beats isn’t a story about defying God and winning; it’s about finding peace with yourself, embracing your life and learning to accept it. Which means that the paradigm of the first two episodes has to crack somewhere along the line; the truth of Kanade’s true intentions and the nature of this world must come to light. And episode 3 is the C4 in the foundation, shattering our understanding of how this world works and making us question everything we took for granted with a single, emotionally gobsmacking scene. And while the rest of this episode primarily serves as buildup for that one moment, it’s such fantastically plotted and paced buildup that you remain on board all the while.

After the first two episodes barreled rapid-fire through exposition, character establishment and worldbuilding, episode 3 is able to relax a bit and give its cast time to just hang out. There are a lot more slow moments in the first half; shots last longer, characters aren’t as constantly expressive, and the atmosphere overall allows for much more silence and pathos. It’s a smart play, considering this episode’s focus is squarely on the most laid-back member of the brigade; we soak in every inch of Iwasawa’s quiet cool just by how confidently her presence allows this world room to breathe. Her impact on our appreciation of Angel Beats as a whole is comparable to that of Maes Hughes from Fullmetal Alchemist; she’s not around for long, but you feel the weight of every single second you’ve spent with her when she’s gone.

The Music in Me

It’s also worth noting that Iwasawa was the perfect candidate to initiate Angel Beats’ first big “Holy shit, I have to go home and re-think everything” moment. As easily the most level-headed of the bunch, even more so than the often-aggravated Otonashi, self-awareness comes far easier to her than anyone else, and she’s able to more clearly consider her place in this bizarre afterlife and what it means. Much like Yurippe, she’s spent her time in the afterlife unknowingly living the exact life she never got the chance to live on the other side; as a performer who can inspire people like the music that first inspired her. But unlike Yurippe, she seems to have already made some sort of peace with the trauma that took that chance away from her, seeing her tragic backstory as just one sad fact of her existence rather than a horrid unfairness she must fight against. She defies Angel not for Angel’s sake, but her own. Her performances with Girl’s Dead Monster aren’t just a distraction for her friends’ sake; they’re a chance to find her own redemption in the music she’s finally able to share with everyone.

And god, if Yuri’s backstory was an atom bomb of emotion, than Iwasawa’s backstory is somehow even darker; a quiet, creeping breath of despair that sinks into your bones slowly and steadily until you can feel the weight dragging you down into the earth. Even just the edit that transitions into her dark past- her drinking water match-cut with her father drinking booze- is such a fantastically evil gut-punch that immediately brings your defenses tumbling down. Her story is of a girl who almost made it, almost escaped her rotten family, almost managed to become the person she always wanted to be... until a single accident destroyed everything, leaving her unspeaking and unmoving, unable to do anything but wait in agonizing stillness for the final day of her life to tick away. And what really kills me is just how real it all feels. She doesn’t die a chaotic, whirling, massive death; her end comes from a medical head trauma, something so infuriatingly banal and basic, just a single horrid stroke of bad luck from a life full of nothing but bad luck. For as bizarre as Angel Beats gets, nothing about it is ever untrue to life. Death isn’t fair; it’s random, it’s indiscriminate, you never know when it’s coming, and there’s no way to escape it.

It’s this pain that underlies not just Iwasawa, but the entire show, this notion of struggling against an overwhelming force that you have no way of fighting back against. It’s the subtle hopelessness that colors everyone’s actions, however small; the fear that in the end, their quest to destroy God is nothing but arranging deck chairs on the Titanic, a futile revenge that could never recover their old lives. It’s the pain that colors the light, the sadness that mixes with the joy, the contradictory blend of emotions that makes this show such a goddamn masterpiece. It’s the reason it can make me laugh and cry at the same time; these two sides of it are so close as to be overlapping.

And they’re close enough to overcome each other.

Girl’s Dead Monster

Because the truth at the heart of Angel Beats, the ethos that drives its narrative, is the idea that no matter how broken things get, you can find your peace. Iwasawa lost her chance to inspire people in life, but she now inspires them in death. Girl’s Dead Monster is the embodiment of everything she hoped to achieve, every dream dashed against the rocks of reality far too fast. Their music doesn’t just distract the students of Undead High; it entrances them. It gives them hope. Even if they’re just NPCs, they find meaning in Iwasawa’s performances, meaning she was always trying to convey. And god damn does this show make you feel that meaning yourself. The massive concert scene spanning the back half of this episode is one of the best uses of show-don’t-tell storytelling I can recall, right up there with the first episode dropping you right into the family dynamic of the Afterlife Brigade to experience it firsthand; instead of just telling you why this band means so much to the student body, it just lets you attend their concert like you’re in the audience yourself, feeding off the crowd’s energy, getting pumped up to the music, roaring when things go wrong, starting transfixed as things go right.

And it works because, frankly, Girl’s Dead Monster is a terrific band. Their music kicks ass, their performances are full of energy and passion, and like I mentioned back in my first post, the production values of their concerts are on another level entirely, putting you right on ground level with their fans as if you’re actually inhabiting that space. If they really existed, I would absolutely go see them in concert. And that’s the level of talent that makes this show work; it’s only because Gldemo is so on-its-face spectacular that you buy into its importance so easily. You feel the magic that Iwasawa has created for yourself, and you understand firsthand how important this band truly is. Girl’s Dead Monster is awesome. It’s inspiring. It’s everything that Iwasawa always wished she could be.

Which means it was only a matter of time before she realized that fact for herself.

My Song

There’s a genius bit of foreshadowing at the very start of this episode, when we hear the tail end of Iwasawa’s new song as it’s rejected by Yurippe, because a ballad won’t distract as easily as pump-up numbers. A lot of information is communicated in that very simple moment; the knowledge that Iwasawa is likely going to play that ballad at some point, thus prepping us for when we hear her play a slow song for the first time, the idea that Iwasawa hasn’t yet been performing the way she wants to, that she’s still left something unfulfilled. It’s a fantastic setup to put us into her headspace, still uncertain, still reaching for something just beyond her grasp, for a moment that hasn’t quite arrived yet. And through learning of her backstory and seeing her kick ass at the concert, we come to fully internalize that she’s desperate for a moment where she can just play her music, her way, from her own heart, reaching out to directly touch her audience the way she always wanted to in life. There’s no need for exposition here, because we feel that tension and anticipation so clearly for ourselves.

And then, that moment finally arrives.

Sweet. Buttery. Christ. My Song isn’t just a spectacular musical number on its own merits, it’s a culmination of the entire rest of the episode, weaving all of Iwasawa’s hopes and regrets and desires together in a single, transcendent moment. It’s when the tension established at the beginning of the episode finally breaks, where her voice comes pouring out unfiltered and raw, her lyrics cutting directly to the core of why she sings and what she hopes to achieve with it. It’s a tidal wave of emotion that comes out of nowhere and hits you with the force of a supernova. In that moment, you feel her fulfillment. You feel her making peace with herself. You feel the aches and pains being swept away by the understanding that finally- finally- she’s been given the life she always wanted. And the reason it knocks you so flat on your ass is because you never thought this was possible before. You thought our heroes were fighting god because they couldn’t find the fulfillment they were seeking. That it was a last-resort, dead-end, almost hopeless option that wasn’t even guaranteed to succeed. But now? Suddenly, we realize that hope still exists. That the Afterlife Brigade hasn’t lost their chance after all. That the lives they’re looking for are just within their grasp, if they only reach out in a different direction.

And then, Iwasawa is gone.

Suddenly, everything clicks into place, even if we can’t quite put it into words yet. Hope exists. The battle we’re fighting doesn’t need to be fought. The despair we’re raging against can be dispelled. The fulfillment we seek is achievable. But to find that fulfillment means bidding goodbye. It means that once our character arc is over, we literally disappear now that we have nowhere else left to go. My Song is a triumphant moment of catharsis punctuated by a shocking, overwhelming emptiness of realization, and that discordant emotional punch utterly wrecks me. I’m left not just crying by the end of her performance, but shaking. Like a tether I took for granted was just unhooked, and my stomach is roiling with the unmooring knowledge I just became privy to. It’s tragic, it’s uplifting, it’s shocking, it throws you off balance in the best way, it hits you from every conceivable angle until you’re left defenseless and blubbering... it is, in a word, Angel Beats.

From this point on, there really is no going back. The bombshell of just what Iwasawa’s disappearance means remains with us for the entire show, coloring our heroes as they slowly come to realize the new path they must tread to achieve their goals. The world is unstuck, the paradigm has shifted, and our understanding of the show at large is irreparably changed. And it all happens in the apace of three minutes of one of the most beautiful, evocative, meaningful musical performances in anime history. Farewell, Iwasawa. May your song forever sing on.

Odds and Ends

-”Our weakness is we’re all morons.” “A leader shouldn’t be saying that.” askjdahskdja

-DEATH. BY. PI.

-”Call me Christ.” “Eh, way to ruin a perfectly good nickname.” I love how well their camaraderie shines through in all of these little interactions.

-Yui is such a wonderful spaz.

-”It’s like I’m the bad guy.” Another way we can feel the seismic shift of our understanding of the world is the subtle ways Kanade starts hinting at the very human pain she carries under her emotionless shell. It’s becoming increasingly hard to treat her just as a faceless enemy, so much so that even Yurippe is starting to realize it.

-Alchemy is a fucking amazing song, y’all.

Yep, this episode is still utterly fantastic. Next time? We take a break for baseball and initiate a stealth ship for the ages. See you then!

#anime #the anime binge-watcher #tabw #angel beats #masami iwasawa #kanade tachibana #yurippe #yuri nakamura #yuzuru otonashi #hideki hinata #ayato naoi #angel beats tk #angel beats yui #angel beats rw

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cole-winchester · 7 years ago

Text

I Won’t Run Away

Lethal Weapon Fic

Clayne Crawford - Seasons One and Two based ONLY! Don’t even get me started...

Summary:

A girl from Riggs' past surfaces and they discover they’re both as screwed up as the other. Alcohol, depression, PTSD...You name it, they’ve got it. When feelings develop, will their past trauma stand in the way of healing one another...or will it be their downfall?

Song inspiration for Title and Pic Quote: I Won’t Run Away

Original Characters:

Aiden Gallagher - Main character opposite Martin Riggs (pictured her as me in my head while writing - picture her as you wish with the descriptions given in story)

Robby Anderson - Main character’s ex (Pictured as Stephen Amell)

Mike Callahan - Main character’s friend/co-worker (Pictured as Dominic Purcell)

Warnings:

This is a whump fic. There will be characters beaten to hell and back. Some depression and PTSD flashbacks and suicidal dialog. Read at your own caution.

Tag List: Tags are always open, hit me up if you want on it!

@adorkabletiff91 @garcywinchester @t-rexprincess

Part One

"You good to close up, Mike?" I sighed lightly as I leaned on the doorway to the bar’s office, running my hand absently through my dark brown hair. The metal door frame was cool against my bare arm as I gazed down at the man.

"Yeah I got it." He smiled as he closed the safe and stood, turning to me. His tall broad frame making the office look much smaller than it was. "I'll walk you out."

I nod, grabbing my flannel and small cross-body bag off of the hook and met him at the front doors.

"You know you don't have to walk me out each night." I smirked as I stepped up behind him.

"Oh don't even start, Aiden." Mike chuckled as he opened the door for me. "There's too many psychos around this part of town at night."

"Yeah, but I'm a big girl." I joked and lightly bumped his heavily muscled arm with my shoulder.

He barked out a laugh. "Not as big as me, sweetheart. You're what? All of 130 soaking wet?"

I giggled as my boots scuffed the sidewalk. As much as I wanted to be tough, Mike was right. Any creep on the street would have to think twice with him walking beside me. He was tall, built to the nines with his wide jaw and shaved head...he was intimidating.

Mike had taken me under his wing when I came to LA a while back looking for a job. His bar needed the help and plus, he didn't want me getting caught up in a shitty situation that most pretty girls end up in out here. He was a sweetheart and with two daughters of his own, he couldn't turn away the option of helping a girl like me out.

We headed around the corner to the small parking area next to the bar. The cool air snaking around my legs. Mike's gaze scanned the surrounding streets for any movement in the shadows.

I turned to him as we reached my jeep and smiled. "Thanks, Mike." I embraced him, wrapping my arms around his waist. "You're a good friend."

Mike chuckled and pulled back, ruffling my hair with his large hand. "See ya Sunday, kiddo. Have fun at the barbeque tomorrow."

I smiled as he back stepped, shoving his hands in his pockets. "G'night, Mike."

"Night." He waited until I was safely in my jeep and pulling out of the lot onto the street before he made his way back to the bar.

* * * *

I walked into the house, closing and deadbolting the door behind me. I dropped my bag on the hook in the entry way and tossed my keys onto the small table. I stepped down the hall towards the bedroom when the kitchen light flicked on, stopping me in my tracks. My gaze snapped to the right and landed on the figure in the middle of the kitchen, my heart pounding.

"I missed you, Aiden."

Robby...

"No!" I screamed as I took off down the hallway. How could he be here?! He's in jail! This isn't happening!

I reached for my cell in my shorts, but found nothing. It was gone...as if it disappeared out of my pocket.

Shit!

I neared the corner of the hallway desperately trying to get to the landline in the dining room before he could. A force slammed into my legs, knocking them out from under me as he came around the corner. I crashed to the floor and quickly scrambled to get to my feet when his boot collided with my head, sending me backwards against the wall.

Wake up, Aiden! Wake the fuck up! This isn't happening! My thoughts screamed as my vision spun.

"You should've never opened your mouth!" Robby's hand dug into my hair, pulling me up from the floor and slamming my back against the wall. "You stupid fucking whore!"

"This isn't happening. This isn't happening. Wake up!" I whimpered as his face came into focus. His ice blue eyes glaring at me with pure hatred as an evil grin spread across his face.

"Oh, it's fuckin' happening, sweetheart!" He spat at me and lunged his right hand towards my stomach.

A white hot pain pierced my midsection sending fire throughout my body. My eyes widened in shock as his face was inches from mine. He eased back and I looked down as he pulled a crimson knife from my body.

"I told you I'd kill you for what you did to me. You can't hide from me."

My knees weakened and my body went numb as he lunged forward with the knife again.

* * * *

"No!" I screamed and flailed as I woke from the nightmare, tumbling off the bed in a tangled heap of sweat soaked sheets. I panted frantically as I clutched my stomach where the knife had been in the dream. The dull phantom ache of it still lingering.

I've had the same nightmare at least once a week since I'd testified against Robby, resulting in him being locked up for the next twenty years. My shrink said it's perfectly normal in these type of circumstances...but for three years?

He's locked up in max. He's 3 states away. He can't get to you. You're safe.

I repeat in my head, trying to calm the shaking in my hands. I absently reach up and trace the jagged scar running from my temple down to my jaw in front of my ear. It seems to burn at my touch, bringing back memories I've tried to put behind me. I shake my head, willing the images away. Untangling myself I look over to my alarm clock...the bright red letters blazing back at me...530am. I sigh and flop back against the side of the bed. I'd only had a couple hours of sleep since my shift at the bar. Deciding that it was useless to try and get any more sleep, I hauled myself to my feet.

Well... time for whiskey and some paint therapy.

I head over to the spare bedroom that I'd turned into my art studio. The floors covered with old flat sheets, stacks of fresh canvases tipped against one wall, finished pieces tucked in protective boxes ready to be sold against another and my large easel in the center with a fresh canvas. Aside from the bar, I had a part time afternoon shift at a local coffee shop and in my spare time, I created and sold paintings. Some were hung in the coffee shop advertised for sale, and every few months I did a small showing downtown. That's where I'd first met Trish Murtaugh. Her daughter, Riana, was a regular at the coffee shop in the afternoons when she got out of school. She'd eyed my paintings and had brought her mother to one of my showings. Trish had fallen in love with my art immediately. I was more of an abstract emotional artist. Most of it consisted of blacked out female silhouettes, some profiles, some full body, with bright colors splattered, slashed or dripped down around them. I also dabbled in realistic portraits and some custom commissioned work.

Today? Today called for some paint throwing.

I grabbed my bottle of whiskey and downed a shot, slamming it down on the table. I popped a can of paint open without looking at the color and reached my fingers in, coating them in the bright purple liquid. I stepped about five feet in front of the canvas....and flung my hand toward it like I was throwing a baseball.

I got lost. My mind blank with whiskey buzz and zoned in on the task at hand. Grabbing random colors and splattering them against the sheer white background of the canvas. The paint slightly dripping and mixing together to form its own shade. I was in my element. Lost in my own universe as the world around me ceased to exist.

After a while I stepped back a moment, gazing at the splattered canvas in front of me. The contrasting splotches of neon colors scattered across the face of it. It needed something. I set the can of paint down and stomped the few feet to the canvas. I drug my fingers through the wet paint, creating swirls and spirals in strategic order around the piece. I eyed it for another moment, gauging its story. Satisfied with my work, I wiped my hands clean on a rag and downed another shot of whiskey, plopping down in the corner of the room. I sighed and leaned my head back against the wall and gazed out the side window at the rising sun. A new day had begun.

* * * *

I had managed to catch a few more hours of shut eye thanks to Mr. Daniels, when I was awoken from a text alert.

Shit, what time was it?!

I fumbled for my phone on the nightstand as I sat up against the headboard.

1130AM

Oops, guess I got more than just a few hours..

I rubbed my eyes as I opened my Messages.

Trish: You're still coming today right?

Yes. Wouldn't miss it. You need me to bring anything?

Trish: Just yourself! :) I can't wait for you to meet everyone.

Awesome. I'll see you then!

I locked my phone and tossed it on the bed as I stretched my stiff muscles. I had two hours before I had to be at the Murtaugh's. Thank god Trish had texted me.

* * * *

I eased my Wrangler at the curb across from the Murtaugh residence. I felt weird not bringing anything to the barbecue but Trish insisted, and from what I'd gathered so far in our friendship, you don't argue with her. I glanced around at the few cars in the driveway and along the street as I stepped out onto the pavement. At least I wasn't the first one here...that's always a little awkward. I made my way across the street as I heard laughter coming from the backyard. Assuming everyone was outside, I let myself in the side gate. As I rounded the side of the house I was greeting by a decent sized group. Some teenagers Riana's age but majority were adults that most likely worked with Trish or her husband, Roger.

"Hey! You made it!" Riana bounded off of the deck to me, embracing me in an excited hug. I laughed and hugged her back. "Mom's inside grabbing some more wine. Come on!" She grabbed my hand with a big smile on her face as she led me over to the grill. "Dad!"

A man looked up from the grill at her call and he smiled as he stepped to us. "Ah, this must be the famous Aiden I've heard so much about. Roger." He held out his hand to me. I took his hand and smiled, laughing off his comment. His eyes darted to my scar and quickly back to my gaze, his smile only faltering slightly before he recovered.

"Nice to meet you." I said as I released his hand.

"Likewise. Trish has shown me some of your work. You're really talented."

"Thank you." I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. I was never one that accepted praise very well.

"Oh!" Trish's voice sounded from the deck behind us. "I'm so glad you could make it!" She stepped down and handed Roger a plate of burgers before embracing me. "You want something to drink?"

"Sure." I glanced around at the coolers lining the deck.

"There's beer in the coolers and wine inside." She smiled and turned slightly to Roger, dropping her voice to a heated whisper. "Is he coming? Where is he?"

"I don't know he said he'd be here." Roger wasn't as quiet as his wife so I was still able to catch the conversation...and then it hit me.

"Oh, god, Trish. Tell me you're not trying to set me up with someone?" I smirked and crossed my arms over my chest.

Both her and Roger snapped their attention back to me. Roger looked guilty as hell and Trish plastered on a mischievous smile. "I-I wouldn't call it 'setting you up.' More of ... just a friendly introduction."

"Ugh." I sighed and dropped my head back chuckling. "While I appreciate the offer...I'm not looking to date anyone right now." I gave her a small smile.

I hadn't opened up to her yet about my past. This was the first time aside from my art gallery shows that we'd actually hung out. We'd become friends but not to the point yet of sharing our deep secrets. I'd caught her and Riana eyeing my scar each time we'd seen each other, but they both had the respect to not ask about it. I just wasn't ready to share that dark part of my history yet with anyone.

"I'm not asking that you read anything into it. He's a great guy. A little rough around the edges but-"

Trish was cut off by a commotion from the side yard at the corner of the deck.

"Aw, you guys didn't have to wait for me to get here! Let's get this party started!" A loud male voice echoed through the yard.

"Speak of the devil." Roger muttered as Trish threw me a smile before moving behind me towards the man.

"Martin! I'm glad you came! Come here, I'd like you to meet someone." I turned as Trish laced her arm through the man’s and guided him over toward me.

I froze.

Martin stopped abruptly when I’d turned to face them. Trish didn't seem concerned and stopped with him, smiling as she motioned for me to come forward. Martin removed his sunglasses and his shocked amber gaze bore into me. Everything around me seemed to stop as my pulse pounded in my ears as our eyes remained locked with each other.

"Martin, this is my friend-" Trish began.

Martin breathed out in disbelief, cutting her off. “Aiden..?”

#clayne crawford #clayne crawford whump #clayne crawford fan fiction #martin riggs #martin riggs whump #martin riggs fan fiction #lethal weapon #lethal weapon fan fiction #martin riggs x female oc #lethal weapon fanfiction #clayne crawford fanfiction #martin riggs fanfiction

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