#just putting it here to push the poll out farther | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

andypantsx3 · 4 years ago

Text

statistically significant | 3 | bakugou/reader

length: 23,490 words | 7 chapters

summary: You’re the scientist who developed a neural net to model the value of assists. Now that your work is feeding into the hero rankings, pro hero Ground Zero has a bone to pick with your results.

tags: romance, enemies to lovers, sexual tension, reader-insert

warnings: aged up characters, eventual smut, m/f threats of violence, problematic behavior

note: I cannot overemphasize that this interpretation of Bakugou is based on season 1 Bakugou, which means he behaves very questionably at the beginning. Please heed the warnings!

The next Monday found you anxiously nursing a coffee, carefully looking over Bakugou’s latest results.

You’d let the model retrain overnight, just to get a more up-to-date picture of Bakugou’s work, and you’d barely slept a wink while it ran, fretting over your first meeting with him. After waking up earlier than ever, you’d found yourself restless all morning, so you’d made your way into Miruko’s agency well ahead of schedule and had spent your time since sucking down coffees and eyeing Bakugou’s assist and rescue scores warily. They still sat well beneath his kill and capture scorings, and you mentally braced yourself for the near impossibility of getting him to prioritize those aspects of his work.

With Mina’s help, you’d been able to con him into working with you. But just because he’d agreed to your bet, you were not stupid enough to think that meant he was going to make anything easy for you.

Bakugou, for his part, seemed the very antithesis of nervous when he met you in the surveillance room. He barged into your makeshift office mid-morning, looking well-rested if annoyed. The door banged loudly off the opposite wall and rebounded closed with a slam that rattled the AV equipment.

“Let’s get this over with,” Bakugou growled, throwing himself down in the seat opposite you. He was dressed in dark training clothes--simple athletic fabrics that suggested that he meant to book it to a training room the second he was done with you. His whole manner suggested you should keep things short.

You sat frozen, fingers paused over your laptop keys. “...Good morning to you too.”

He looked at you incredulously, blonde eyebrows raising. “I didn’t fucking come here for small talk. Get on with it, nerd.”

You suppressed a twitch of irritation, looking away from him where he sat in an agitated pile of strong lines and tense muscle. God you hoped this was all going to be worth it, at the end of things.

You sighed and clicked into the model results screen, knowing it was only going to work him into a lather if you pressed him on social niceties. “Okay, so I did some analysis--”

“Big fucking surprise.”

“--and,” you continued loudly, “as you well know, you need to adjust certain priorities on the field.”

A scoff issued from his direction. “I don’t need to adjust shit.”

It took everything in you not to roll your eyes. He was literally here to discuss adjusting shit. What was the point of him being so defensive?

You eyed him speculatively, taking in the oppositional slant to his broad shoulders, the thin slash of his mouth as he regarded you irritably. Your observations from last week floated to the forefront of your mind, that this was a man who would not easily do anything he didn’t want to do. And it was clear he did not actually want to do this--he had only been baited into it by the grace of his meddling, pink-haired friend.

You mentally resolved to play as nice as you possibly could, to minimize the amount of fussing from his side of things.

“As I think I explained last year,” you began carefully, “the model I train relies on a set of weights, and you’re ranked on that. Your work is divided up into categories: public perception, kills, captures, property damage, rescues, and now assists. Some of those categories are weighted more heavily than others, so if you do well in them, you’ll outperform your peers in the rankings who do just as well in other categories.”

Blood red eyes darted up to a monitor as you projected your laptop screen onto it, the model results translated into neatly organized and color-coded graphs.

“You are unmatched in kills, fairly unmatched in captures as well, and you’ve kept property damage to a surprising minimum in the last few years considering your quirk. You’re also wildly popular, particularly with young people, according to public polls.”

You glossed over the fact that his appearance probably had a lot to do with it, considering the tidal wave of interest from the female bracket of respondents. The fact especially did not bear thinking about when he was alone in a tiny office with you, bare arms and the hard planes of his chest displayed prominently in his training gear.

“Just fucking---out with it,” Bakugou demanded, turning to glare at you again. “I don’t have all damn day.”

The tiniest hint of smoke and sweetness hit your nose as he leaned closer, and you pushed away from him, baring your palms in the universal gesture for peace.

“Okay, okay. So you’re good at those things, but your rescue scores need work, and your assist score puts you in the top ten least cooperative heroes in the entire industry,” you explained, watching as a muscle in his jaw jumped in obvious irritation. “Rescues are the highest weighted category in the rankings model, and assists are the third highest. So no matter how good you are in other areas, you will not surpass anyone who performs well in these categories.”

Bakugou made an annoyed sound, his brows drawing together. “Quit fucking talking to me like I’m a baby. I fucking know--tell me exactly what your fucking nerd-ass model needs me to do and I’ll fucking do it.”

You breathed out of your nose very slowly, quelling the rising tide of annoyance within you. Everything out of his mouth was so abrupt and demanding.

Software engineers, picture the software engineers.

“Okay so I ran deeper analyses on those two categories and compared your movements with generalized results from the top ten heroes from each category,” you continued.

“The thing that stood out in terms of rescues, is that you were almost twice as fast as other heroes to leap into combat with a villain. This means you’re spending less time assessing the situation than other heroes, and therefore spending less time processing victims. So if I had to make a recommendation here, it’s that you should actively look for civilians before jumping into a fight. You might still find that the smarter thing to do is leap into the fight instead of evacuating them, but you at least need to slow down before you do.”

The crease between his brows erased itself and he leaned back in his chair, tension bleeding out of him somewhat, which was--unexpected. You’d have thought he’d get more defensive as you explained his shortcomings to him.

“Fine,” he said shortly. “What else?”

You pulled up two videos and projected them side by side, bright little clusters of dots collected over the location of each hero. “For assists, it looks like when you’re in range of other heroes, you actually do help, at least a little. I only found an issue when I generalized results from the top ten in this category and ran calculations about their movements in comparison to yours.”

You let the videos play, watching Bakugou’s eyes track the movements with unblinking precision. He said nothing as you let the loop repeat, the tense lines of his body inexplicably unravelling even further with each loop. He looked as close to relaxed as you had ever seen him.

After a few loops, he finally let out a scoff. “Those needy fucks stick closer to other heroes,” he concluded gruffly. “That’s what the dots are tracking.”

You nodded. “On average, you move three times farther away from other heroes on scene than the top ten heroes do. So you’re less likely to be in range to help.”

He rolled a powerful shoulder, unwittingly drawing your eyes straight to it. You gave your leg an annoyed pinch under the table, forcing your gaze back up to his face once you realized what you were doing.

“So I have to look for weaklings and stay closer to these b-list fucking clowns, that’s what you’re telling me?” he prompted, running a hand through his mess of blonde hair. It looked unexpectedly soft under his fingers.

You drew your eyes away from him again, focusing hard on the relief you were feeling that he seemed to be processing and internalizing your feedback. “Yeah, you need to assist civilians and stay in range of your team. Those are the only areas in which you really need help.”

There was a sharp crackle, and tense movement caught in the corner of your eye. You turned to find that all of Bakugou’s unease had suddenly returned, a snarl riding his mouth.

“Help?” he demanded. That scent of smoke and sugar suddenly pressed in on you again, sharp and dangerously hot.

You blinked at him in confusion. “...Uh, yeah?”

His gaze darkened and he leaned over the table between the two of you, a calloused hand catching the collar of your shirt to yank you towards him. The corner of the table dug into your ribs, and his fingers were hot where they brushed the skin under your collar.

“I don’t fucking need help,” he spat, crimson eyes boring into your face like a drill. Your hands came up to grab his, trying to untwist it from your shirt, but his fingers only tightened, unyielding.

“What--? Yes you do?” you garbled, fingers scrabbling over his. “What do you--?”

He pulled you further across the table, so that his face was scant inches from your own.

“Fuck you if you think I need anything from you,” he growled in a low tone, voice almost dangerously soft. Your blood iced over in your veins, limbs freezing. He stared at you for a long, heavy moment.

Then, in the next second, you were being shoved backwards into your chair, and then Bakugou was gone, door slamming behind him with a force that shook the walls.

You stared after him in shock, mouth gaping open. He had been fine up until a couple of seconds ago, even seeming to relax under your analysis. But then his temper had suddenly flared for no fucking reason.

What….what the fuck was wrong with him?

You spent the rest of the morning in a state of restless agitation.

What the literal fuck was wrong with Bakugou? Why had he just stormed out like that? What had flipped the switch for him in the space of mere seconds?

You replayed the conversation in your head nonstop all through your next few meetings and over your lunch break, where you furiously wolfed down a bento without tasting any of it. Your frustration carried you all the way into the afternoon, when a head of wild pink curls poked itself through your door.

You looked up into Pinky’s dark eyes and brilliant smile.

“Y/N!” she chirped happily, closing the door behind her and sprawling into the seat across from you.

You returned her friendly smile. “Ashido-san,” you greeted her politely.

She laughed and waved a rosy hand, leaning forward over the table. “I would never ask stats girl to be formal with me. Call me Mina!”

You huffed an embarrassed laugh. That was sweet, but the nickname stats girl needed to die a brisk and fiery death.

“Mina, then,” you amended, pulling up her model results on your laptop, trying to tamp down on your embarrassment. She was almost overwhelmingly friendly.

Her dark eyes flickered over you curiously and a cautious smile played about her mouth. “Heard it didn’t go well with Katsuki this morning.”

You looked up at her in surprise. “He told you?”

She laughed. “No, I just saw him annihilating a training room. I know him well enough to know when he’s throwing a tantrum.”

An awkward, hot sense of shame welled up within you at the thought that you’d pushed him to that, though you didn’t know how. You got the sense that you’d taken one step forward but two steps back. So much for your promotion.

“Uh yeah, he kind of...stormed out? He’d been listening, actually, and I thought things were going weirdly well. The bet was a good idea, so thank you,” you said. “I just…somehow I screwed it up, I think.”

Mina rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest, splaying out flat in her seat. “God, you know what? I’m just so tired of my best friends being guys. They’re so dramatic and so fussy about their tough guy image. And take themselves so seriously, for no reason, even fucking Denki. I have sat every single one of them down and forced them into make up so it’s absolutely baffling to me that they still stomp around like they’re so serious and so tortured.”

Your mouth dropped open as what she’d just said caught up with you. Take themselves seriously...when she’d forced them into make up? “No. Even…?”

Mina smirked. “Oh yeah, even Katsuki. No idea why he thinks he’s such a tough guy when all it takes is a couple of tears and boom, he’s working a smokey eye and tiny little pigtails.”

You choked on a laugh, trying to dispel the horrifying image in your mind of Bakugou in mascara and lipstick. The idea of him in make up was somehow even more intimidating than his usual appearance. You did not want to know more.

It certainly did beg the question, however, why he was such a difficult jerk if it was that easy to get him to acquiesce to something that horrifying. Maybe the answer lay in Mina’s powers of manipulation. She’d known to make the bet with him, after all. And if she knew how to get him into eyeliner and lipstick, then she might know how to get him to agree to let you help him.

“Wow,” you murmured. “That’s...terrifying. How did you even convince him though? I can’t get him to spend more than two seconds around me without blowing his top like a volcano.”

Mina grinned conspiratorially, leaning over the table. “You just have to know how to work him. Trust me, you might have good numbers sense, but I have pretty good people sense. Katsuki is all smoke and fire until you dig underneath.”

You almost did not want to know what was underneath. “That’s--but he’s so volatile. I can’t predict any of it.”

Mina's grin widened. “Actually, it’s pretty straightforward. He’s actually super in control all of the time, even when it seems like he’s lost it. He’s only really sensitive about one thing.”

“For example,” she leaned forward, her smile morphing into something dark and leery. “I heard he burned through your dress at the Hero Awards.”

You put your face in your palm. “Yes. This is what I’m talking about--I thought he was gonna fry me to a crisp.”

Mina snorted, raking a hand through her mess of curls. “Maybe I only see it because my acid is similar--but it’s pretty hard to only burn through a tiny strip of fabric and not touch anything underneath, even if you’re not out of your mind with anger. It requires some precise control. Wouldn’t you say?”

You froze in your seat, staring at her. Implications began to creep over you like a dark shroud. “What?”

She grinned. “He didn’t touch you, right? Only the dress?”

You gaped at her. “Yeah--only the dress.”

She cut her dark eyes to you, looking like she was trying to suppress a laugh. “Very interesting that he managed to sear straight through your dress, then, without burning you. One might think he did it on purpose.”

You floundered. “But I--but he--! I told him to do better and he got all worked up and intense!”

Mina laughed out loud. “I bet he did. Katsuki’s a total control freak but he loves a challenge. That’s why he took your bet, and that’s why your meeting didn’t go as poorly as you thought it might at first, and that’s why he was so fixated on you after the Awards.”

Your face heated. “Don’t put it like that.”

She chuckled. “I don’t know how you feel about him, but I can guarantee he’s very interested in you. He loves girls who don’t take any of his shit. Why do you think he signed with Miruko? It’s actually kinda gross,” she made a face.

Your face was on fire. A hot wave of embarrassment washed through you and you resisted the urge to dive under the table and hide. This is not the turn you thought the conversation would be taking.

“Uh, so,” you managed, fingers fluttering. “So--um, why did he freak out earlier then? I did tell him everything he was doing wrong. But then he lost it, I think when I told him I would help.”

Mina’s grin settled back into place. “He’s so fucking predictable. He hates being looked down on, and the word help implies that you think he’s weak enough to need it. I’ll bet you anything that’s why he totally flipped.”

You considered this. “But I didn’t mean it like that--”

“It doesn’t matter. He’s got a very specific way of looking at things. He’s way better than he used to be but that’s the one thing he’s still sensitive about.”

You mulled that over. It did explain, then, why he’d reacted so poorly when he’d seemed to be fine with your critique. “Does he really need to be seen as strong that badly?”

Mina picked idly at the fluff on her costume’s jacket, thin fingers tangling in the white strands. “He has insane expectations for himself, and he’s only comfortable when everyone else has those too. It’s like if you think he can’t live up to those standards, that you don’t truly see him.”

So that was it. The mystery of Bakugou’s volatile nature explained--a weirdly deep-seated inferiority complex wrapped up in layers of crankiness and--you blushed--an interest in girls who gave him shit. You quickly buried any considerations on his romantic inclinations, and focused on the inferiority complex.

Whether you’d intended to or not, this morning you had managed to convey to him that you thought he was incapable, and not in a way that personally challenged him like the bet had, or your demand he do better at the Hero Awards. It was so ridiculous, you thought, but then so was he. And if you wanted to make any progress on your promotion, then you were gonna have to suck it up and work within those constraints.

You sighed. You owed him an explanation, maybe even an apology.

Mina regarded you approvingly from across the table. You also owed her a drink. Maybe several.

“Got it,” you acknowledged, clicking back into your model results and pulling up her ranking analyses. “And thank you--I owe you a ton. Now let’s get to what we came here to do which is to talk about how you can kick even more ass.”

Mina grinned, leaning forward in delight. “You’re welcome. And hell yeah, this conversation was so not passing the Bechdel test.”

You snorted, suppressing a wild smile. Oh, you really liked her.

You would apologize and get things back on track with Bakugou. And once Bakugou netted you your promotion, you were gonna turn back and rocket Mina up the rankings to give him a run for his money.

#bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugou katsuki x reader #bnha x reader #my hero academia #bnha #katsuki bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou #tw threats #tw gendered violence

421 notes · View notes

mercurysstars · 3 years ago

Text

The Shadow Thief (part 8)

Summary: What happens when Peter has to work with the girl he hates to possibly save the world

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of blood, talk of traumatic events.

Authors Note: Hey it didn’t take me a month to update, be proud of me :)

"I was wondering when you were going to come." Y/n looked up from the ground.

There she was, it was the first time in months that Y/n had seen her. She quickly snatched her hand back and turned to the girl, the girl looked her up and down in disgust "You know we've had eyes on you the whole time."

"I had a feeling you did Kaitlynn, Maybe it's you tried to kill me at the school or again at the avengers compound, but I'm not really sure what gave it away." She said sarcastically.

Actually, Y/n didn't know it was them at first, it wasn't until they tried to kill them again at avengers compound that she put it together. She knew Hydra wasn't smart enough to figure out where they were at twice so it could only be one organization. She felt a twinge of guilt from dragging Peter into it when he didn't deserve it.

"Joking around won't help you escape," Kaitlynn said as the two began to circle one another.

"I've done it three times so far I think I might be able to manage a fourth." Y/n tilted her head at the girl.

"When we get back to the academy Head Mistress is going to give you a slow, painful death. Or perhaps I should just end it for you right now, say it was the slip of the finger on the trigger." Kaitlynn said taunting her, even if she was saying that to rile her up, she knew it was true. The headmistress wasn't merciful.

"I'm sure you would say it was a mistake, that would be believable since you can't seem to get anything right." Y/n snapped back.

"Is everything alright ladies?" Peter asked placing a hand on Y/n should, standing next to her.

Y/n got in front of Peter, pushing him behind her. He was confused, the two girls looked like they were seconds from killing each other. He didn't even know that she knew anyone from the state of New York. He just assumed that she was new there.

She put her hand behind her pushing him farther back "Peter go find our seats on the train." She commanded.

"What? No, I'm not leaving you here." He stood up straighter looking at her like she had lost her mind. He could tell that she was serious and wasn't joking by the tone in her voice.

"Yeah go run Peter." Kaitlynn mocked.

Running out of patience, Y/n turned around and pushed Peter as hard as she could in the chest, caught by surprise he felt backward into a pole, the bag in his hand sliding across the floor. She lunged toward Kaitlynn, throwing a punch at her. Kaitlynn ducked, kicking her in the stomach "It hasn't even been six months and you're already rusty."

Y/n stumbled back before regaining her footing, "You're just bitter that no matter how hard you try to play teacher's pet, you'll never have powers."

This time it was Kaitlynn who threw the punch, Y/n grabbed her arm, twisting it behind her back. "Jealousy isn't a good look on you babe." She whispered into Kaitlynn's ear. Kaitlynn was shorter than her, standing just a bit above her chin.

Several gunshots went off and people started to run for the exits and trains. Kaitlynn let out a menacing laugh "I guess you better put those powers to use."

Unexpectedly Kaitlynn, stomped on Y/n's foot, forcing her to let go. Kaitlynn spun around, somehow having a knife in her hands. She thrust her hand out towards Y/n's stomach, it was too late, Peter wouldn't have time to push her away, at that moment he couldn't recall if he let out a scream or not, he sat there frozen, just like uncles bens death, he was useless. He knows that she didn't mean to push him into a pole, for some odd reason she was trying to save him, his face had hit the poll with a strange amount of force. Even being dazed for a few seconds wasn't an excuse to just let her die.

Right as the knife was about to plunge into Y/n's stomach Kaitlynn suddenly stopped, Y/n held her right hand slightly out toward the girl, Peter watched as what he could only explain as darkness swirl from Y/n's arm, circling around the knife in Kaitlynn's. It was like the mist? Was holding her back from stabbing her.

Y/n threw her arm out to the side and the knife obeyed her command, flinging across the room. She began to raise her arms and the lights started to flicker, he watched as she struggled to bring her hands up to her chest, placing her left hand behind her right, he could hear the sound of light bulbs breaking as the room got darker and darker. Suddenly she thrust her hands out toward Kaitlynn, the darkness went rushing to her, throwing Kaitlynn into the wall that was more than twenty feet from her.

Y/n didn't waste any time before rushing over to Peter. She helped him up off the floor and grabbed the bag a few feet away from him. She wrapped his arm around her shoulder and her arm around his waist. They both limped over to the train and wordlessly Peter handed the man the tickets, he wasn't sure how she had gotten them but he didn't ask. He was surprised that they were still accepting tickets after what had happened not even 30 seconds before. He guessed when you lived in New York long enough you see everything.

As they continued to walk through the train he felt as Y/n shook, putting more and more weight onto him. They nearly carried each other into the bathroom before he closed the door. "Sit." She said, nodding toward the toilet, he was sure she needed to sit more than him, but he didn't put up a protest.

She took the bag off her arm placing it on the sink, she opened the box of tampons before taking one out and placing it on the sink. Grabbing a wad of toilet paper she walked over to stand in front of him. He looked down, refusing to meet her eyes. She gently grabbed his jaw and lifted his face up to hers, she used the toilet paper to wipe the blood from under his nose that he didn't know was there. She threw the bloodied paper in the garbage before grabbing a tampon and ripping the packaging open, she placed it at the base of his left nostril and pushed on the inserter. He tried to move his head away but she held his head firmly so he wouldn't be able to until she was done.

"What was that back there." He asked softly.

Y/n squeezed her eyes shut as hard as she could. She wished everything would just go away, she wished she could go away. She hated this, sometimes she felt as though she was drowning in the darkness, it was suffocating. She was just barely treading water and underneath was a promise of sorrow and suffering.

Peter let his feet tap against the floor a few times before pushing himself up "I've tried Y/n, I've tried to be patient but someone just tried to kill you. So tell me what the hell is going on."

She gripped onto the sink before wetting her dry lips "When I was young, only three or four months, my parents had made a deal with some very bad people and for some reason, they couldn't hold up their end of the deal so they got me as collateral—."

There were several loud knocks "I know what you guys are doing in there, people need to use the bathroom, get the fuck out."

She clenched her teeth so hard he thought they might shatter, Peter swung open the door, he was about to tell him to get lost but Y/n's hand grazed his arm and she shook her head. The man standing outside the door looked at the pair and let out a slow whistle "Woah, you two are in bad shape."

Y/n just rolled her eyes and walked past the man, Peter turned around shoving everything into the bag before following her. She walked toward the back on unsteady feet, he caught up to her, looping his arm through hers.

When they got to the back he let her sit down first so he would be on the outside. She let out a small sigh of relief before turning toward Peter. He set the bag down between them and nervously began to chew on the inside of his cheek, he should be the one that's nervous. She was the one that was hiding a secret, so why was his stomach twisting?

"I was raised in the red room for a while, for about four or five years until they found another purpose for me." She sniffed "This was around the time the Avengers were getting big, Hydra and The Red Room both knew them to be threats so they decided to collaborate, them having similar interests and all."

She rolled her neck before continuing "They picked girls in the Red Room, they had to be young and in peak condition, so they were only a few of us. We were sent to a small school in the middle of Europe, a woman called the mistress raised us. We were trained, tortured, six days a week, save Sunday as they used that as a day for us to recover. They used us as lab rats, injecting us serum after serum, I watched as many of my classmates died.

"If you didn't get powers they wouldn't stop until you either got them or died, some girls were unfortunate and were strong enough to survive but not enough to get powers, and I was one of the lucky or not so lucky ones to get powers, it depends on how you view it."

Peter sat there as she continued to talk, hanging onto every word. His mouth hung open, she didn't let one tell slip, her voice didn't even waver in the slightest, he could see how tired she was, tired of everything. He wanted to wrap her up in a blanket and protect her from every bad thing that came for her but he knew she wasn't like that, the only person she could trust was herself, and he didn't blame her.

"So what are your power?" He asked her lightly, leaving room for her to leave the conversation alone.

"Essentially I can manipulate shadows, I borrow people's shadows and use them to do my bidding." She shrugged.

"So you're a shadow thief?"

That caused a small smile to form on her face "You know, thief is a strong word, and plus I always give them back."

"Wait, have you ever stolen my shadow?" He scrunched his face.

"I haven't, not for the lack of trying of course." He scrunched up his face and she huffed out a laugh, letting out a yawn "Your shadow is different."

"How so?" Now he was confused, how could someone's shadow be different?

"When I take other people's shadows, I let the shadows pour into me, I feel the power run through me but with your shadow, it feels as though I have to pull it to me. It's more powerful, it's like it has reflexes or a defense mechanism."

Peter frowned "I guess that would make sense because of my spider-sense. But aren't shadows just the lack of light, so could you take the shadows of an inanimate object?"

"I can but it's harder." She sat up slightly, angling her body towards his "They say that shadows are connected to the soul, and that's why they used to say that vampires didn't have souls, because they don't have shadows. It doesn't hurt when I take people's shadows, but I've been told you do feel as though something is missing because I took a piece of your soul."

His eyes widened "So you're a soul sucker, maybe don't steal my shadow, I don't want to feel incompetent for the rest of my life."

Y/n rolled her eyes "You won't feel like that forever, it doesn't go away. You can't steal shadows, Peter, if you take something that's not yours, you can't go without consequence."

Peter tilted his head at her "That's why you were shaking earlier, using your powers takes a lot out of you."

"Pushing you into that pole took more force than I thought it would. Sorry about that, by the way."

"It's okay." He lifted his fingers up to graze his nose, it felt slightly swollen, but it would heal in a matter of hours. "You have weird powers."

She narrowed her eyes, grabbing one of the snacks out of the bag "Says the one that can walk up walks."

He gasped "Walking on walls is perfectly normal, so you want to know what isn't normal? Being a soul-sucking demon."

"Am not."

"Am too."

Part 9

Taglist

@fandom-strumpet • @ginger-swag-rapunzel • @libraries-and-coffee • @nearlydanger9 • @jesuswasnotawhiteman

#peter parker x reader #peter parker fanfiction #peter x reader #spiderman x reader #peter parker #peter parker x fem!reader #spiderman #peter parker x y/n

34 notes · View notes

broughttoyoubytheletterf · 3 years ago

Text

Goddess

This is basically just an indulgence on my part, but you can have it too. Loosely based on Xana’s “Goddess” (which you should definitely listen to, on repeat, like I have recently)

You're fuckin' with a Goddess And the bitch bites back

Jay and Kat are too far away to do anything when it plays out, they can only watch. The Secret Service detail Elizabeth only recently acquired is even farther away, this was supposed to be a simple garden party fundraiser after all, every guest vetted, there shouldn’t have been any danger. The California sun is beating down and it’s uncharacteristically humid, but everyone is in good spirits, they’re up five points in the polls and are looking to beat all expectations for fundraising this quarter. This event has also turned into a chance to catch up with old friends.

Nadine is talking to a man Jay is pretty sure is the head of a major defense contractor. Elizabeth is near her chatting up the wife of a big donor, she’s starting to look twitchy though and Jay is pondering whether he needs to go intervene when a rapid series of events occur. Elizabeth is suddenly between Nadine and the defense contractor, so fast Jay doesn’t see her move, then Elizabeth absorbs a punch from him, taking it mostly on the shoulder. She barely sways, even wearing three inch heels, and as the man goes to hit again, Elizabeth uses the momentum from his swing to spin him around and send him to his knees, still holding onto his wrist. He starts to struggle and she pushes him further down, until he falls face first into the concrete of the walkway.

Everything around them has frozen and the man is still fighting Elizabeth’s hold. She holds his wrist to his back as she kneels down, one knee digging into his lower spine. “Hey Gary,” she calls out to the closest agent, “Can I get some help over here?”

Movement around them reasserts itself in a cacophony of sound and chaos. Jay hears the distinctive click of a camera and sees phones come out. He is worried less about managing the public image and more about getting to Elizabeth and Nadine, he starts to sprint over, but Kat stops him with a tug on his arm. “Don’t, I think they have it handled.”

Sure enough Secret Service is handcuffing the man as he sputters and protests, his face dripping blood, from some injury. Elizabeth is watching calmly when he spits a mouthful of blood her way “Dumb fucking bitch,” he cries. She doesn’t break eye contact as she reaches up and swipes the blood off her cheek with her thumb.

“Put your hands on anybody near me again and you’ll get worse.” Elizabeth’s voice is deadly and it rings with truth. She dismisses the attacker with a hand wave and turns to Nadine who is still standing motionless, Elizabeth wraps an arm around Nadine’s shoulders and leads her away, speaking quietly.

“Holy fuck,” Kat says at his side, then, quieter, “that was hot as hell.” Jay rolls his eyes.

“Come on, we need to find Mike and figure out how we’re spinning this.”

“I don’t think this needs much spinning,” Kat replies but follows behind him.

Later, with quotes from Conrad about how Elizabeth received basic combat training at the CIA and how she’s never tolerated bullies, combined with the attacker’s long history of assaulting women being revealed, they are in the middle of a surprisingly positive news cycle.

Jay is still trying to figure out how Elizabeth moved that fast and why half of the interns are walking around with even more stars in their eyes, but he leaves those mysteries for another day, deciding he needs to be satisfied that everyone is safe and that America is pleased that their future Commander-in-Chief can defend herself.

#madam secretary #elizabeth mccord #fic #ficlet #dude #this is just for me #because i think it would be hot #just call this the i am very very gay and strong women are my kink fic

33 notes · View notes

babbushka · 5 years ago

Text

Hide Your Smile

Flip Zimmerman x Reader

11.5k ; Warnings for: Dark!fic (graphic depictions of violence [drunken violent outbursts, domestic violence, domestic abuse {physical and verbal}], blood and gore, graphic brutal murder, mild stalking, possessive behavior), & NSFW content (Car sex/fingering)

Also available on AO3!

(this fic was written in collaboration with my amazing friends and followers here. Thank you all so much for voting in the polls to determine this oneshot, I hope you enjoy it!)

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

You don't own me I'm not just one of your many toys You don't own me Don't say I can't go with other boys

And don't tell me what to do Don't tell me what to say And please, when I go out with you Don't put me on display 'cause

You don't own me...

Darkness, all around.

Nothing but hot wet earth, mud sinking under your feet, swallowing you whole.

Rain, thudding against the ground, against your back as you are chased by a monster in the night, bitter breath haunting the back of your neck, the hair rising on your arms only to be drenched down by the torrential downpour flooding your lungs.

The world blurs around you, and you can’t tell, can’t tell which way is up, which way is forward. Things feel slow, thick, you blink but the spots only multiply. There’s a rush in your ears, a gruesome thud thud thudding – is that your pulse? You don’t know.

Blood stings your eyes, dirt caked into the backs of your molars. You can’t see, you can’t hear, you don’t know what’s going on, you see lights in the distance but when you run towards them they seem farther and farther away. Claws and teeth nip at your heels, you can’t stop running, can’t stop no matter how badly your legs ache, because if you stop even for just a moment, he’ll get you, and who knows what will become of you then.

Somewhere far away, a million miles away, Leslie Gore sings and your friends dance in a cookie cutter house in a cookie cutter town. But there in the woods, as something closes around your arm and drags you down to the ground,

you scream.

The party had been going well enough, hadn’t it? Josh hadn’t taken his hand off of you all evening, and wasn’t that something just dandy. Things had been getting tense between the two of you lately, you try not to think about all those heated arguments and cold shoulders that your boyfriend had dropped atop your head. You could ignore all of that now, he didn’t mean it, you knew that.

Maybe he did mean it, but he wasn’t meaning it now, as he dances with you in the dimly lit living room. You weren’t so sure what time it even was, gosh the rain was coming down so hard and making the skies nearly pitch black; why, it coulda been two in the morning for all you knew!

You give a strained smile to Josh for a brief moment, before laying your head back down on his chest. You think he looks relatively dashing tonight, dressed up for the party. New Year’s Eve 1962, could you believe it? Or well, it’d be 1962 in a couple minutes, but still.

You wore a mini-dress with the grooviest pattern you could find, some bright purple tights and white block heels, and you’d done your hair up so high you were sure you could feel it swaying on top of your head. It was very on trend these days, this sort of hairstyle. From what you could tell, anyway. You knew that this party was important for Josh, was important that he show up and make a good appearance with his football buddies, there were guys here that knew NFL draft scouts and he needed to impress them so he could get on their good side.

You wanted to look nice. He looked nice too, in his letterman jacket and jeans. Maybe he could have dressed up a little more, put a little more effort in. It was alright, it was fine. He gelled his hair down, that was more than you were expecting.

Thunder cracks across the sky and you involuntarily press yourself closer to him – he’ll hold you, won’t he? You wait for his arms to tighten around you, but they never do. Disappointed, but not surprised, you think.

“What’s your problem babe?” He asks, his voice slurred. You realize you’ve stopped dancing, stopped the short back and forth of your feet and he’d picked up on that.

“Nothing Josh. Just you know, the thunder and all.” You shrug, but he only scoffs and rolls his eyes.

“It’s not even real, it can’t hurt you, get a grip.” Josh steps away from you, away from the dance floor.

There are prying eyes there in the dark, and you’re embarrassed by the volume in his voice. He doesn’t realize how loud he can be sometimes, you know that, especially when he’s a little more buzzed than normal. He’s been getting more and more buzzed these days, you didn’t think it was good, was healthy. Just because he was of legal drinking age didn’t mean that you should dump alcohol into your body, not the way he did anyway.

“Right, of course Josh, sorry.” You grit your teeth, clench your jaw.

“Why don’t you go get me another beer, make yourself useful.” He dismisses you, turning towards his group of friends on the football team, towards bigger and stronger boys than he is, an attempt to weasel his way inside their group.

You’ve had quite enough of being dismissed, pushed aside. You’ve had enough. You’d been thinking of leaving him for a while, thinking about telling him what for, for once and for all. It never felt like the right time, something about him always made you feel like something bad would happen if you tried. But you’re at a point where you’re not being given any other choice.

You watch him laugh with his friends, with these college seniors, big boys on campus, and your heart races in your chest. A very small part of your brain fantasizes late at night about killing him, pushing him off some cliff or into traffic, an accident. Always an accident.

You’d never do it of course – of course not. Good girls didn’t kill their star athlete boyfriends.

But.

But maybe…maybe if something were to happen to him, you wouldn’t be so upset, would you?

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough to drink?” The words tumble past your lips without much thought, and you don’t really even register it until the whole group of jocks go silent and Josh turns around slowly, menacingly, to stare you down.

“…What the fuck did you just say?” His voice is low, angry.

“You’re supposed to drive me back home after this, I just want to make sure you’ll be alright to drive.” You’re unrelenting, shoulders square and jaw tight. If he thought he was going to be a jackass to win brownie points, then he had another thing coming.

The jocks only sip their beers, carefully watching. You wonder if any of them would come to your defense, but their silence is telling. You decide you hate them.

“I didn’t ask for your fucking opinion, I asked you to get me a fucking beer.” Josh shoves his red cup into your hand and you decide you hate him too.

Without another word, you accept the cup and with a forced smile, make your way to the kitchen where people are crowded by kegs and bottles.

You give a small sigh while you pour a cup of whatever shitty draft they’d gotten for the party. Part of you wishes you hadn’t come at all, you knew it could have only ended like this, being ignored and belittled all evening.

You wish that Flip were there, and you sigh again.

Philip ‘Flip’ Zimmerman, your best friend. The handsome basketball player, the guy who’s got his life together. A good job at the lumbermill, probably going to be a manager or something, the CEO one day. Smart, so smart! You can’t help but think of how many nights he tutored you for math with gentle eyes. And funny, and kind, and nice to you. He’s a couple years older than you and probably doesn’t think of you as anything other than a friend, but…but for a moment, you imagine what it might be like to call Flip your man.

You wonder if Flip would hold you tight when the thunder cracks across the sky, and a small smile threatens to creep up on your face. He definitely would, he’s done it before, hasn’t he? Given you his jacket to keep you dry from the rain, strong arms around your shoulders. Your cheeks begin to warm at the thought, at the way you can practically smell the cologne he wears whenever you’d rest your head on his shoulder.

You wish Flip were here. Or maybe no, maybe you just wish you were with him alone, were with him anywhere that wasn’t here. You wish you were cozied up on the couch in his Ma’s house, watching some scary movie and tucking yourself under his chin while you share a bowl of stove-top popcorn.

Lightning splinters across the clouds through the window in the kitchen, and you sigh again.

You had asked him to come, you really did try. But he said he was busy with work stuff, and he couldn’t. You admired that about him, his work ethic. He was so dedicated to everything he did, and even though you wanted to be selfish and whine and complain about needing his attention, you respected when he put his foot down.

Watching the froth begin to fade from the top of the beer cup, you think to yourself that tonight’s it, the last night you’d deal with Josh. You decide that you’ll go over, give him his beer, and then as soon as he drops you home whenever this party is supposed to end, you’ll tell him not to bother calling you ever again.

Something inside of you lightens up at the thought, like a weight slowly slipping off your shoulders. You can’t help but smile a little bit, at the thought of no longer being with him. Maybe…maybe if Flip saw you were single, he’d make a move of his own. Your head is in the clouds thinking about Flip, when you accidentally bump into someone on your way back to the living room.

A little bit of beer sloshes onto a boy’s shirt, and you recognize him as one of Josh’s new pals.

Before you can even open your mouth to apologize for the mess, he grabs you by the arm. His grip is harsh, and he yanks you around for a second, the beer spilling everywhere, all over the floor, onto your new white shoes.

“Hey J, are you gonna control your woman or what?” The guy – was his name Tommy? – sneers down at you. He’s tall, and he’s strong, you can start to feel a dull ping of pain on your arm where his fingers are digging in deep.

“I’m not his to control.” You wrench yourself out of the guy’s hold, stumbling backwards a few feet from the force of it.

Josh is up off the couch in an instant, infuriated with you.

He’s drunk, eyes glassed over like some shark, dark and empty. He backhands you across the jaw, sends you falling to the floor despite your best efforts, the crack of your skull against the wooden panels calling spots to your vision.

“Don’t ever speak back to someone like that, are you out of your fucking mind?” He wrangles you back up off the floor, grabs you by the front of your dress and hauls you up roughly, unkindly.

“Don’t touch me!” You shout, your nails scratching at his face, teeth bared in a rage of your own, pent-up anger that you’ve been swallowing for six months as you smack him across the face back in retaliation, angry and spitting, “Get off of me!”

Josh doesn’t let up, in fact he doubles down, kicks at your ankles so your knees cave in to try and support yourself as his hand shoots up from the collar of your blouse to wrapping around your throat. He drags you like that through the party, and you can’t help but wonder why no one is saying anything, doing anything? Do they not hear you? Do they not care?

“I’ll make you regret that – I’ll make you regret everything.” Josh hisses lowly in your ear as he forces you through the house by the scruff of your neck, sour breath of a drunken stupor stinging like a brand across your cheek.

“I already do.” You choke, struggling against his hold, against his hands.

You manage to elbow him in the stomach, hard, hard enough that he doubles over from the wind knocked out of his lungs, and you run.

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

Don't try to change me in any way You don't own me Don't tie me down 'cause I'd never stay

I don't tell you what to say I don't tell you what to do So just let me be myself That's all I ask of you

Shoving through the crowd of people, a hundred faces you don’t recognize, smiles fading into confused glares, you run.

Thunder, rain, lightning, music deafens in your ears as you look for the door. Why is it so dark at this party? Where in the house are you? Hallways lead to doors that lead to nowhere, and you can hear his footsteps, can hear him running running running after you.

Didn’t you pass through this room before? Where was a telephone, surely whoever’s house this was, surely they had a telephone. But who would you call? You couldn’t call your parents, couldn’t let them know you snuck out of the house. You could call Flip, yes, that was it! You’d call Flip, if only you could find a phone.

They laugh at you, the people at the party. Laugh with their drug addled eyes, high off mushrooms and LSD, acid trips going wrong wrong wrong. They dance and laugh and laugh and dance, chugging spiked drinks with wild abandon, lights flashing red yellow purple green blue, a cacophony of psychedelics.

He’s there, somewhere among them, he’s there, you know he is. The smack of your footsteps sound like gunshots against the wood, your head throbs. You want to sob and scream and shout and cry cry cry but you can’t do that until you are safe, and if you stay in this house, there’s no telling where you’ll find safety again.

Or at all.

You try every door, locked ones, unlocked ones, looking for a way out. Eventually you lock yourself in a bathroom, lucky that there’s a window. It’s a single story house, the jump isn’t far.

You abandon your shoes, they don’t stay on your feet that well anyway, and you don’t have the time to groan about the frigid mud that squeaks between your toes as you splash down onto the ground from the window.

“Help!” You cup your mouth and shout, hearing something, a twig snapping not too far away. You see him, he’s coming after you through a side-door, and you have to run, you have to go. “Oh fuck – ”

You bolt, freezing rain soaking your clothes.

You don’t know where you are, don’t recognize this part of town.

Josh knew the area, not you, not you. These were his friends, not yours, not yours.

You just run, hoping your legs carry you to safety, carry you away. There’s woods, in the distance. You whip your head around, try looking for a road, any road. Where’s the driveway? It must be on the other side of the house, it must be ��

Josh is gaining on you, athletic legs more powerful than your own.

“You can’t outrun me, don’t even try, don’t bother, get the fuck over here!” He hollers at you, voice guttural and deep, primal in a way that strikes fear into your heart.

You wish you had something, a weapon of some kind, any kind, to fight him with, but you don’t.

So you run.

“Shitshitshitshitshit – someone help!” You toss your voice to the wind, the howling wind which carries sheets of rain, pounds it down sideways against your back, your face, hair sopping wet and sticking to your eyes, nose, getting in your mouth as you pant pant pant, sobs of terror spiking through your chest, salty tears whisked away by the rain.

You don’t know how far you’ve gotten, you don’t know if anyone can hear you, don’t know if anyone would even come if they did. You need to form a plan, need to put enough distance between you and this monster of a man, need to catch your breath.

Your adrenaline pounds in your ear as the earth slips and slides underneath your feet, your nylon stockings not doing anything to help gain traction. You skid your knees on rocks and trip over gnarled roots, but every time you get up, each and every time you have to get up, otherwise he’ll get you.

You can feel how close he is, his hands reaching out to tear away at your clothes, can feel the ghost of his fingers trying to hook around your dress, and you can’t help but let out a high-pitched scream, something that pierces into the blackness of night, something that sends the birds from their branches.

“How dare you! How dare you embarrass me like that!” Josh manages to snatch you, the both of you tumbling down to the ground from the momentum, rolling in the mud. It’s in your eyes, mouth, a sharp hot pain at your temple makes you think you’ve hit your head, maybe on a rock? You don’t know, you taste copper in your mouth. You feel hands, no, fists, hard against your jaw. “I’ll kill you, you whore, I’ll fucking kill you for embarrassing me.”

“Don’t touch me – !” You scream, searching the ground for something, for anything, relief flooding through your body when your hand closes around a rock large enough to do some damage.

“Quiet, just be quiet!” He’s annoyed with you, annoyed with how loud you’re being, as if you’re inconveniencing him by not taking a beating politely. You take in a deep breath and muster all the strength you possibly can, to slam the rock against his face, making him knock backwards with a loud, “Fuck!”

“Someone – please!” You cough and sputter as blood streams down your face, washed away by the heavy rain which does not relent.

In an instant, the hands are yanked away from you, and you scramble to get away as fast as you can to catch your breath. You cough and hack up blood, dirt, mud which grinds between your teeth, the pounding against your temple making you dizzy, making you sick. You feel like you’re going to be sick, the adrenaline rising up up up your throat.

“Who the fuck are you – ” You hear Josh start, before the sound of punches and grunts cuts through the air again, and you squint in the dark to see who came to your rescue, who heard your calls.

“Flip?” You nearly can’t believe it, can’t believe your widened eyes, but there he is – you’d recognize those broad shoulders and the pattern of his breathing anywhere. Despite all better judgement, you rush back to his side, slipping and sliding on mud as rain beats down with such fury as your best friend’s fists, “Flip!”

“You don’t get to touch her, ever again.” Flip does not yell, he does not scream.

He does not raise his voice, he is calm, eerily calm, unnervingly calm.

You almost don’t hear him speaking at all, from how softly his voice comes out as he kicks the shit out of Josh, as he holds his head in place and knees him so hard in the face once, twice, three times, hard enough that the sick crunch of bone and cartilage echoes the thunder all around you, and he goes limp.

But Flip doesn’t stop, he doesn’t stop beating Josh’s face in with his fist until the man is a mess of blood, teeth coming loose, broken nose and busted lip bubbling hot, steaming in the freezing cold air. He doesn’t stop still, and you watch in awe, in twisted admiration as Flip hauls the ragdoll of your former boyfriend up enough to get him in a chokehold and snap his neck.

Only then, does Flip drop him, face down into the mud.

You look at the lifeless body, and then up at Flip, who you find is already looking back at you. His chest is heaving, he’s panting, out of breath and exhausted. The rain has soaked him through too, but he’s not shivering, not the way you are. He must have ran too, had to have ran to catch up with you. You don’t know how deep in the woods you are, how deep he had to go to find you.

But he did, he did.

You’re numb, standing there. Numb from the cold, from the shock, you don’t know. You want to comfort Flip – and isn’t that fucked up? You wanting to comfort someone else right now? But you do.

Everything feels like it’s going to be okay now, now that Flip’s here.

“Oh my god.” You say, because you don’t really know what else to say, don’t really know what else to do other than stand there. You’re frightened, you can feel the fear bubbling up in your stomach, but there’s calm now too, a calm that’s got you more afraid than anything. You look at Josh, then back to Flip once again. “Do you think…”

“Are you okay?” Flip pushes the hair out of his face with a bloody hand and takes a cautious step towards you.

“Me? Yeah – yes I’m…Do you think you killed him?” You ask, holding a hand out to Flip.

You know he’s worried about scaring you, and warmth cuts through some of the chill in your bones at the thought. You extend a hand and encourage him to take it, smearing blood between your palms which the rain washes away, carries down into the wood in thick muddy rivers.

You’re not afraid of Flip, could never be afraid of Flip.

“Look at me,” He’s hung up on it, presses his forehead against yours and goes nearly cross-eyed in the dark to peer into your eyes, your soul, “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know.” You finally answer truthfully, taking another step closer to him, trying to get as close to him as possible. You feel safe, your brain screams safety with this man, with your friend, your Flip. “But I’m better now that you’re here. What are you doing here? I thought you had work.”

Confusion dawns on you, and you frown a little bit, just because it doesn’t make sense for him to be here right now, it doesn’t make sense for him to be here at all. Flip’s eyes widen a little, and even in the scant moonlight you can tell he’s blushing. He tries pulling away, but you don’t release your grip on his hand, warm and solid and real against your own.

“I just – I’m sorry I – well I got off early and I wanted to make sure that you would be okay so I came over and just kind of watched from the car in case you needed me for anything.” He rushes out in one big breath, winces, waits for you to berate him.

“Do you do that? Watch me from a distance.” You ask him, the both of you standing there in the rain.

You know it’s absurd, somewhere in the back of your head a small voice tells you it’s absurd to have a conversation like this while standing over a body in the middle of the woods, but you push it away, push it away and step closer to Flip. You’re not accusatory when you ask, you’re not condemning him – you’re just curious.

“No – I – well yes, sometimes, but only when you’re out with him.” He admits, nudging Josh’s back with the toe of his boot. His voice is dark, low, gritty in the back of his throat but he doesn’t yell, you sigh against him, your heart breaks for the anger in his voice, the sadness. You wish you never started dating this schmuck, wish you never said yes to him, wished that it had been Flip who asked instead. “I don’t trust him, (Y/N), I don’t like how he treats you. I worry, and I know that it’s creepy I know, I’m sorry, I’m not a creep I swear, I just. I care about you.”

You’re quiet for a little while, and then you move away from him only far enough to plant your stocking-clad foot onto the back of Josh’s head, push him deeper into the earth, the mud. The body gives no resistance, and a sick satisfaction makes your vision go blurry.

“Have…have you done this before?” You ask, that numbness starting to fade, the tremble of shock at what you witnessed, experienced setting in.

Flip looks like he would fall to his knees before you in that moment, as he blinks water out of his eyes, as he trembles too.

“No, I swear. I don’t even know what came over me, but I heard you screaming and begging and I couldn’t stop, I had to help you somehow.” His voice breaks, and all you want is to be close to him, so you go, go rushing into his arms, and he holds you tight.

He holds you and you hold him back, two people under the moonlight as lightning illuminates the body with picture-perfect clarity for a split second. He’s face down in the earth but you can tell, you can just tell he’s brutally mangled by the damage Flip did to him, and as you shove your face into Flip’s chest, for the briefest of moments, you smile.

“We have to get rid of him.” You say softly, trying to think of a plan, trying to think of what to do.

Flip gently pushes on your shoulders to separate the two of you, and shakes his head with a frown.

“We? No (Y/N), you can’t be involved at all, you can’t, just please go to the car and get dry and warm, I can handle this.” He’s sweet, so sweet with the way there’s sincerity in his eyes, but you’re not having any of it.

“I’m already involved, Flip, I’m not going to let you do this alone. Whatever it is, we’re in this together now. We can’t go to the police, they wouldn’t understand, they wouldn’t believe us. I’m with you.” You squeeze his hand lovingly in your own, and you can’t help but think how good it feels, how right it feels, to hold his hand.

“I think I have an idea, but first, we need to get him to the car.” Flip chews the inside of his cheek, a nervous tick of his that you always scold him for.

You don’t scold him now, there’s no time, that’s not what’s important now.

What’s important is hauling dead weight down the woods without a trace, without any evidence other than what will be washed away.

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

I'm young and I love to be young I'm free and I love to be free To live my life the way I want To say and do whatever I please

And don't tell me what to do Oh, don't tell me what to say And please, when I go out with you Don't put me on display

The body rolls around slightly, in the trunk. You’re in Flip’s dad’s '58 oldsmobile, the heat is blasting, and you hug your knees in the passenger seat, as Flip maneuvers through the winding Colorado roads. It had taken quite some time to get back through the car, out of the woods.

He had been parked out front, only a few feet from the driveway the whole time. All evening, sitting, watching, waiting. Hoping you wouldn’t need him, but prepared to do anything for you if you did. He’s silent on the drive to wherever it is you’re going, the radio is playing softly. The music helps calm your nerves, and you’re thankful for it, you try not to freak out.

The little clock on the dashboard says it’s only about midnight, but you feel like it’s way later than that. The rain fucks everything up, you think, the rain’s been pouring for hours and hours now, but it feels like days.

Every time the car makes a sharp turn, or goes up and down a hill, the body thuds against the walls of the trunk, and you just hug your knees tighter.

“Where are we going?” You ask eventually, voice soft. You’re afraid if you raise it, you’ll scream. Your throat hurts, you’ve done enough screaming already.

“Hospital.” Flip replies easily, not taking his eyes off the road, his hands at perfect ten-and-two. You wonder if he’s afraid of screaming too.

The thought of the hospital sends a spike of fear through your blood, makes all the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

“What? Why?” You demand immediately, confused, scared.

“You still haven’t stopped bleeding and I need to make sure you’re okay.” Flip says evenly. You can tell he wants a cigarette, you can tell. But this is his dad’s car, and he can’t smoke in it. You wonder what his dad would say to knowing that there’s a dead body in it, wonder if smoke would be more of an issue.

“No!” You shake your head, turning yourself towards him fully, a hand on his arm. “No, Flip please, they’ll call my parents and they don’t know I’m out this late, please just – let’s just get rid of him, and then take me home, Flip I’m begging.”

“But what if you’re seriously hurt? What if he did something severe?” Flip’s grip on the steering wheel is white-knuckled, and your stomach flutters as the windshield wipers beat back and forth, whisking the rain away.

“I’m okay, I promise I’m okay, I’ll be fine.” You don’t know if that’s the truth, but you have to believe that it is, you have to. “Philip, please.”

The use of his full first name convinces him, you don’t think you’ve ever said it before, not out loud anyway, not like this. He chews on his lip and sighs, nods his head to your supreme relief.

“Thank you.” You want to kiss him, want to embrace him desperately, but now isn’t the time. He’s driving, there are more important things right now, more important things to deal with. “What are we going to do with him? We can’t bury him in the woods, the rain’s logged all the dirt.”

“Logged – we can go to the mill.” Flip snaps his fingers, and it’s like a light bulb has gone off inside his head.

You just sit back and press a bundled up wad of wet napkins against the wound on your temple, hugging your knees, knowing that you’ll be okay, as long as you’re with Flip.

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

The lumbermill is a family-owned and operated affair. Flip’s grandfather had founded it sixty-two years ago way back during the turn of the century in 1900, and it had remained in the Zimmerman hands ever since. Once a small business, now stood a proud industrial center for logging and clearing away trees to produce more logs and square away neat pockets of land. Where there used to be only hand-held tools and traditions, now there were the highest-end types of machinery.

You thought Flip was brilliant, absolutely brilliant – you knew exactly what he was thinking.

Just last month, Flip’s dad had been bragging about the new woodchipper that had finally been ordered. You remember sitting at Flip’s Ma’s shabbat table and listening to him go on and on about the new sharp blades, how much more efficient it would make everything, not to mention how little waste they would have, considering the wood chips could be sold for all kinds of uses.

At the time, you had thought it was a little annoying how he wouldn’t let anyone else at the table get in a word, but now you’re thanking your lucky stars that you had been paying attention.

It’s strange, being here this late, being here at all. You’ve visited before of course, Flip has always been eager to show you around. It never felt like you were sneaking about or anything, not considering his family owned it, considering he’d own it one day too.

But it’s strange, with the flood lights filling the night sky with a brilliant white, the usually bustling lumbermill quiet, nothing but the sound of harsh rain clanging on machinery and metal roofs. Flip parks the car in the lot, reaches into the glove compartment and pulls out a key-ring. There must be a dozen keys on the little circle, but Flip seems to know exactly which ones are for what.

“Emergency backups of all the gates,” he explains, jingling it on his index finger for a second, “No one will suspect anything.”

You nod, chew on your cheeks. The thought of going back out into the rain is unpleasant, but you suck it up and open the car door, bracing yourself for a minute before the icy water plunges down the back of your dress once again, body already shivering.

He meets you at the trunk, pops it open. With the flood lights, you can see the extent of the damage to Josh’s face – if you could even call it a face anymore. It was nearly caved in completely, soaked with blood and mud, all the planes of a face that should push out were indented inwards. You manage a glance at Flip’s knuckles, and you see they’re busted wide open, and you suck in a sharp breath.

“Follow me.” Flip says, hoisting the body over his shoulder like a fireman would rescue someone from a burning building, and his boots splash in the mud towards where he knows the woodchipper is set up.

You regret not going back for your shoes now, as more freezing mud stains your tights. You regret dressing up at all, dressing for fashion instead of comfort. Flip is in a flannel and jeans, and normally you tease him for being like a cartoon character always wearing the same thing, you wish that you weren’t in a fucking miniskirt and tights in the dead of winter.

Lightning backs the machine dramatically, after a few minutes of trudging. The ground here is much more substantial than the woods, and you push your legs across a developed terrain instead of through the wilderness of the mountains. It stands tall, proud, the woodchipper, and you swallow a lump around your throat.

“Is that it?” You ask, close enough to Flip that you only have to raise your voice a little bit to compete with the sound of the rain.

Flip dumps the body onto the ground, goes over to the woodchipper and turns it on. You can tell that using it in the rain is a poor decision, but it’s the only option you have. Flip adjusts some settings, and the thing roars to life, metal blades whirring whirring whirring.

“Yeah but it – he’s too fucking big he can’t go in all in one piece, it’ll get jammed.” Flip runs a hand through his hair as he comes half-jogging back over to you, and you just blink for a moment.

“Okay then we cut him up.” You say matter of factly, your heart pounding in your chest, aware that time is not on your side, that you have to get this done and get out, have to get this done and go as quickly as possible, in case someone comes, in case someone sees.

“(Y/N), are you sure you want to do this?” Flip asks you seriously, puts his hands gently on your shoulders and looks into your eyes.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my entire life.” You whisper, eyes wide, feeling more liberated and free, feeling so light, determined. Maybe it’s the shock, maybe you’ve lost your fucking mind, you don’t know. But you can’t stop now, you’ve done this much, you can’t stop now. “It can’t be too hard, like breaking down a chicken, right? Split at the joints.”

The analogy is lost on Flip, because as much as you love your friend, he cannot cook to save his life. Flip isn’t one to smile, and he doesn’t smile then, but you know he’s agreed with you because he looks around, tries to find something.

“Hold on.” He runs across the yard, finds one of the sheds that’s tucked against the back wall of one of the main buildings.

You stand there and wait, arms crossed, staring down at Josh. While Flip searches for whatever it is he’s looking for, you just grow more and more angry, watching rain flood the spaces in the dips of his shoulders.

“Fuck you.” You say to his lifeless body, “You say I embarrassed you? You tormented me. I wish I could have killed you myself. You’re lucky Flip did it, I wouldn’t have been so merciful.”

You don’t know what’s come over you, but the words sound like the most truthful ones you’ve ever told this boy, this husk of a monster, a wolf in sheep’s clothing. You can’t help yourself, spitting onto the ground in his direction, sneering through the rain, blinking it and the shocked fury out of your eyes.

Flip returns with an axe, brand new from the looks of it. The blade glints in the floodlight, freshly polished metal dripping with silver rivers of water as Flip swings it lightly in his hand.

“This should work, fuck, okay. Okay. Okay alright okay, you come over here, stand over here I don’t want you getting hurt accidentally.” He’s steeling himself, psyching himself up for this, and you put a hand on his back to calm him.

“Want me to do it?” You offer, not knowing the first fucking things about even how to hold an axe, let alone swing one.

“No, no let me.” Flip huffs out a laugh, shakes his head. You can’t help but feel silly for asking, you know there’s no way you’d have the upper body strength to cut through a person. You’d never even chopped wood before, and well, Flip was an actual lumberjack.

“Okay, I can count to three?” You acquiesce with a tremor in your voice.

“Please.” Flip whispers, getting the body into position.

You stand where Flip tells you, a little ways away, as he raises the axe high above his head.

“One…”

There’s a ringing in your ears, a pounding in your chest. You’re doing this, you’re really doing this, you can’t help but think. Flip plants his feet firmly on the ground, takes in a deep breath. You can see his hands flex and grip the handle, as he liens himself up.

“Two…”

Your face shakes, teeth rattling in your skull from where your jaw chatters, shivers in the cold. It’s so bright, so bright with all the floodlights, you feel like you’re being watched, you feel like you can hear the whispers, the murmurs of ghosts all around you, the ghost of this monster you’ve killed.

“Three!”

Hot blood sprays from Josh’s shoulder as the axe swings down, cleaves into his shoulder. The blade is bran new, terribly sharp, and it nearly goes all the way through. The bone splinters, you can hear it, can hear it slicing into pieces. Flip pries the blade out and lines himself up again, does not wait this time for your count before taking aim and slamming it into the body again.

Blood hot and thick bubbles up, gurgles around the wound, and when Flip tosses a severed arm away from the rest of the body, despite yourself, you turn around, brace your hands on your knees and throw up. Everything you ate and drank at the party comes back up in an acrid stinging cough that has you nearly choking, but you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and get yourself together.

You don’t know how Flip has the stomach for this, for it, but he has a steady hand as he works on the other arm, separating it from the body.

The machine is still on, the machine is hungry.

You want to give it what it wants, you want to see the spray out the other end. Without waiting for his instruction, you pick up the arm, grab it by the wrist. You make sure there’s no jewelry, no watches or anything that could get jammed, and you rush it over to the woodchipper, drop it into the basin.

The sound it makes is horrific, the sick squelch and crunch of bone, the shredding shredding shredding of the blades. Mincemeat blasts out the other end, and even as some of it sprays back against the wind, even as some of it lands on your face, speckles of blood and guts and shards of crushed bone, you find that you’re grinning, because it worked.

“Another one, give me another one.” You say eagerly, holding a hand out to Flip.

He smiles too, eyes too bright, as he gives you Josh’s other arm, hacked away in nice clean segments. He watches as you dump the second arm into the machine, gets to see as it eats up the flesh, grinds and slashes it into nothingness, watches as the bits of this man land in wet smacks on the dirt.

Piece by piece, you obliterate the monster that had tormented you for months.

Piece by piece, you free yourself of the hurt and pain, the lies and manipulation he shackled you with.

Piece by piece, you destroy the evidence, watch as it washes away, watch as the rain carries it down the drain, into the sewers where he’ll rot among the rats like he deserves.

The rain absolves you and Flip of the muck and grime of the deed, and now that it’s over, now that he’s gone, you close your eyes and tilt your head up towards the sky, letting the rain patter down onto your cheeks, your forehead. You feel clean, though you are cold, so so so cold, the only thing you can focus on is the cleanliness, the relief.

“You never should have fucked with her.” You hear Flip say, and that makes you open your eyes, makes your turn towards him.

Flip looks down to the drain, and you smile, because he looks lighter too.

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

You’re leaving the lumbermill, when it hits.

You’d been so caught up in the euphoria of getting rid of him, of this man who had made your life a living nightmare for far too long – that you hadn’t stopped once to think of the consequences of these actions.

“I – holy shit I can’t believe we did that.” It slams into your chest, the realization that you’re a murderer, you’re both murderers, you’re going to go to prison for this, they’ll send you to the chair for this, they’ll kill you for this the same way you killed Josh. Your heart races, pounds pounds pounds as dread and terror and fear all come rushing back, all come slamming down inside your brain. “What the fuck did we just do? Flip what did we do?”

Flip must have willpower of steel, because he doesn’t even blink when you whip around to face him, when you immediately freak the fuck out, when you start to hyperventilate, holding the sides of your head.

“It’s okay, it’s fine. Things like this happen. It was an accident that spiraled out of control, it wasn’t your fault, you didn’t do anything wrong.” Flip is calm, so calm, and that almost freaks you out more, maybe you were going to scream, maybe you were already screaming, you don’t know, you don’t know anything except you just murdered a man.

“Oh my god what are they going to say when he doesn’t come back to the party? Or go home?” You panic, shifting around too much in your seat, legs bouncing, back aching from the way you keep twisting and turning, “What’ll they do if they find the pieces of him?”

“You have to breathe it’s going to be okay, we’ll be okay – fuck, what was that?” Flip is cut off by a loud thud, the car coming to a complete stop.

Your eyes begin to well up with tears as you hiccup out terror, hands shaking. You want to slam your fists against the window, want to throw yourself onto the street and beg for forgiveness, you want to be sick, you want to tell Flip to drive and never look back.

“Oh no, oh no no no this is it, this is the karma catching up to us already.” You can feel the tethers of reality start to slip, black splotches dancing in front of your vision – will you pass out? Are you at your limit? You don’t know, you don’t know but the car isn’t moving, it’s not going anywhere no matter how hard Flip pushes on the gas pedal.

“Stay here.” He says, and you’re in no mood, no state to defy the instructions now.

Flip puts the car in park, gets out and shuts the door so water doesn’t come pouring in. You watch him through the warped view of rain on the windows as he walks around the car, his hands on his hips, trying to figure out what the fuck happened.

It doesn’t take him too long to find the problem, and he comes back into the car with a sigh, soaking wet and unsure of what to do.

“We’re stuck.” He tells you, and that’s the last thing you want to hear. A flat tire you knew he could change, even in the rain like this, but being stuck left nothing to do except wait for someone to come un-stick you.

“So we’re stranded out here?” Your voice creeps up higher and higher in octave as the consequences of that stab you through the chest.

You never should have snuck out of home, you lament, hot tears finally stinging the rims of your eyes. You never should have left home through your window, never should have agreed to the party. You never should have agreed to date this fucking guy, you think, because if you hadn’t maybe you’d be safe and warm somewhere, maybe you’d be asleep soundly in your bed and not stranded in the pouring rain, in the middle of you don’t even know where.

“Yes but – but this is good. This is good, this is our alibi. We don’t know anything, because we were stranded in the middle of fucking nowhere in a ditch.” Flip knows you’re freaking out, he knows, he can feel it, can see it, it’s happening right in front of him.

“Wh—what will we say that we were even doing out here? What if someone asks why we’re here in the first place?” Your whole body wracks through with terrified sobs. “They’re going to kill us for this, Flip if they catch us they’re going to kill us – I don’t want to die, I don’t --”

He collects you in his arms and holds you tightly against his chest, rocks you to soothe you, calms you. The rain is unrelenting, and you wonder how much water the sky can hold, how many clouds are up there to maintain such a downpour. Flip’s arms are so warm around your shoulders, and his neck is blazing hot where you tuck your face against it.

“You called me to pick you up from the party, I came, we got lost, wound up here. It’s dark and raining, that’s all the truth.” Flip whispers, “We don’t know anything, we’ve been here, waiting for someone to pass by.”

You nod, because it’s all you can do right now. You had almost forgotten how cold you were, the stark comparison of your own body temperature compared to Flip’s making you feel even colder.

“I’m f-f-freezing.” You say, because you don’t have anything else to say, and Flip hums in the back of his throat.

“I don’t have any spare clothes, I’m sorry.” He frowns, but then you pull away for a moment, begin stripping off your dress. You peel away the layers until you’re in your bra and underwear, just wanting the wet cold fabric off of your skin. Flip’s hands drop from your body, and he nervously looks away with a very gentlemanly, “What are you doing?”

“I’m sorry – I just – I figured maybe if we use body heat – ” You explained, suddenly feeling stupid, feeling unwanted, feeling --

“Don’t stop, I’ll do it too, if you want. I’ll keep you warm.” Flip nods, understands what you’re doing now, what you mean. He looks at you cautiously, not ever wanting to be imposing, not wanting to make you comfortable. “Only if you want.”

You lick your lips and nod, and in mere moments, he’s shedding his clothes too, until he’s just in his underwear.

Flip climbs over the bench seat and lands in the back, laying down on his back and spreading out. There’s significantly more room in the back seat, and without another thought, you unclip the straps of your bra, letting your breasts breathe, before arranging all the clothes in the direct line of the heater so they might have a chance to dry, before climbing over too.

Flip welcomes you with open arms, and as you settle against him, body flush with his, your heart pounds. He rubs your back, warms you with his palms, palms which feel like the most comforting iron brand, heating you through.

“You know…” You whisper, listening to the sound of his breathing and the rain that pitter-patters onto the roof of the car, “I’ve been thinking about doing something like that to him for a long time.”

“Yeah?” Flip asks, voice thick.

You’re nuzzled against his chest, feeling the most safe that you ever have. The panic has subsided for now, for now at the very least.

“Yeah. It was never a real idea that I had, at least not in the beginning. But more and more lately, I’ve been thinking about how good it would feel if he were gone forever. I don’t know what I ever saw in him. I guess I just…I liked that someone liked me, wanted me. It felt good to be wanted, for a minute there.” You’re honest with Flip. Sometimes it feels like Flip is the only person you can ever be honest with.

“Just a minute?” He asks softly, teasing and playful in a way that makes you want to cry.

“Yeah, just a minute.” You whisper back, propping your head up onto your hands, looking at him.

“There are…other people, you know. Who are out there, who like you. Want you.” He looks back at you, eyes filled with apprehension, but hope.

“People like you?” You ask, hope in your own lungs, in your heart.

“Yeah, people like me.” Flip nods, caresses the back of your head with his strong, capable hand.

“You know, the entire time I’ve been with him, I wished I were with you.” You confess, because now feels like as good a time to confess something as any, doesn’t it? What’s this admittance, compared to the thing you have just done together?

“This isn’t the shock talking, is it?” Flip’s hand smooths around to hold your cheek, pinch at the apple of your smile, because you are smiling now, smiling how he hasn’t rejected you, how he never would have, now you know.

“No, no I promise. This is me talking.” You turn your face into his palm and press a light kiss to the creases in his hand, those hands, the hands which have only ever protected you, defended you, loved you.

“Why are you crying?” Flip frowns, confused, worried, but you shake your head, unable to stop, unable to quit the smile, the tears.

“Because I’ve dreamt about being in your arms like this for what feels like forever, and I – I kept thinking that there’s no way you could ever want me, I thought I was just delusional for thinking maybe we could be something. And here you are, coming to my rescue, the way you always do, and we’ve just killed a man but all I want to do is kiss you.” You huff out a laugh, a laugh that’s tinged with regret for the past, all the time that could have been.

“Can I?” Flip asks suddenly then, innocent and gentle, “Can I kiss you?”

“Oh Flip, yes, please.” You nod, pushing yourself up a few more inches so that your lips can meet.

They press together in the softest, sweetest of kisses, and all at once it feels like the gates of your heart have been unlocked, and all the love you feel flows out with wild abandon.

Flip deepens the kiss when your mouth opens in a small gasp, and you let yourself be rolled underneath him. The car rocks a little from the effort, but you don’t care. A kiss or two becomes making out, and you feel your head fill with the thick perfume of lust, your whole body warm now, on fire almost. His mouth is hot, tongue thick and heavy against yours, but he tastes delicious, tastes like home.

He kisses you until your breathing begins to quicken, until the smallest noises start to moan and hum in the back of your throat. Your nipples are stiff, so hard from where they’re brushing against his chest, your arms looping around his shoulders, legs parting so he can settle between them.

“Did…did you two ever…?” He pulls away, lips kiss-slick and flushed, and you blink, forgetting all about your boyfriend, or one you used to have.

“No, no I didn’t want to, it didn’t feel right. Not with him.” You tell him honestly, suddenly feeling inexperienced, feeling self-conscious, “Have you?”

“No, I’ve been waiting for the right person.” Flip shocks you by blushing out his own truth. Your eyebrows shoot up, you really would have pegged him for a womanizer type, he was certainly handsome enough for it. But thinking back, you realize in all the time you’ve known him, he’s never once mentioned a girlfriend or even a fling, nothing. It’s always just been you, and him. Flip blushes deeper when you don’t say anything right away, stammers out, “I know it’s cheesy.”

“It’s not cheesy.” You shake your head quickly, dismissing the idea that you’d make fun of him for something like that. You’re relived, it means you can be together for the first time truly together.

You kiss him, invigorated, no longer feeling shy or inadequate. He kisses you back, and when your eyes close there’s nothing but the welcoming embrace of his warmth and affection to pull you in. Your mouths and tongues slide against one another, and your hips raise up, your underwear rubbing against his, wishing there were no barrier between you.

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to, I don’t ever want to pressure you or – ” Flip shakes his head, so caring, worried, nipping at the corners of your mouth.

“Maybe, maybe you could just touch me? Just for now, touch me and then, then we can see where we go.” You’re desperate for him though, desperate for him in every way.

He smiles against your mouth, and you smile too, his hands sliding down your body. He shuffles back a little, straddling your hips, knees digging into the upholstery as his hands roam your body, touch where he didn’t have permission to touch before.

He’s drawn to your breasts immediately, kneads them. He licks his lips and rolls your nipples between his fingers, and your back only arches for him, pushes your chest up into his hands further. His breathing is heavy, and you decide that you’re tired of holding yourself back from the things that you want – after this, after tonight, you won’t deny yourself anything ever again, you’ve spent so much time bending to the will of other people, from now on you are going to ask for what you want.

You cup the back of Flip’s head and push him down, gently nudge him. He takes the hint, immediately nuzzles his face into your cleavage, rubs against your breasts. His mouth latches around one of your nipples and he kisses and licks and sucks, and you moan, the pleasure going straight to your pussy.

So does his hand, tentatively skimming over your panties until your legs spread enough to give him permission. He tugs the cotton aside and you hiccup out a little cry of pleasure when he reverently pushes his fingers through your folds, pushes his way through into the tight wet heat of your cunt.

“Oh, oh, that feels good.” Your eyes fly open, hand tangling in his hair where he makes out with your breasts, grunting and groaning with need that the praise spurs in him. His fingers are more insistent, more purposeful, and his thumb swirls over your clit making your hips lift up up up against his hand. “Yes, yes! Flip – do that again, please do that again.”

“Good?” Flip lifts his head from where he’s been smothering himself in your tits, eyes so big and brown, eager to please.

“So good! Phil, it’s so good, I’ve wanted this for so – ah!—long.” Your head tips back against the seat as your toes curl, his fingers moving faster, your stomach expanding with each deep breath you take, trying to suck down the air, trying to lose yourself in the bright white hot light of pleasure.

“This doesn’t count as our first time, okay?” Flip bites a mark around the bottom of your ribs.

“Okay.” You grin, elated that this means maybe maybe maybe he’ll want to have sex with you again, maybe he’ll fuck you with his cock. Maybe he’ll want you forever, maybe he’ll ask you out and take you on dates and do all the things that you’ve always hoped but never dared to dream for.

“I want our first time to be sweet and good and gentle, and not in the back-seat of this car.” He fingers you faster and faster, and you struggle to pay attention to his words because his fingers are so thick and so full and they know just where to touch you to get your feet searching for purchase as you moan and whine and gasp. “I’m going to take you out to dinner and then a movie, and then I’m going to make love to you on a big bed with rose petals like you deserve.”

“Oh fuck – I’m – I’m gonna – ” You gasp out, hips rolling, undulating against his palm, grinding your pussy against the warmth of his hand to chase your orgasm, your body thick with pleasure, sweet and sticky like molasses in your veins.

“Come on my fingers, it’s okay, you’re okay.” Flip encourages you, presses a little harder, moves a little faster, the car shaking shaking shaking from the way your body trembles, rain thudding against the roof as your orgasm crashes through you, a wave of nothing but good, nothing but love.

“Fl-Flip!” You shout, eyes shut tight, the first couple hints of tears clinging to your lashes.

“You’re so beautiful, holy shit.” Flip strokes your pussy through it, coaxes out come that shines on his palm, shimmers on your inner thighs. He kisses your neck, your chest, bites and sucks and marks you so thoroughly, marks you as his, you’re his you’re his and he’s yours and, “(Y/N) you’re – you’re so beautiful.”

“Can I, I want you to come too, I want you to feel good too.” You try, you offer, but he’s still sliding his fingers through your pussy, two – no, three? -- stretching you wide, stretching you for him, for his cock. You want it, you want it so badly, want to be filled, but an aftershock of pleasure builds builds builds and you’re not sure it’s just an aftershock anymore, as your toes curl again, knees shaking, bones aching to come again, “Flip I’m, I think I��m – oh!”

“No, it’s okay, you don’t have to do anything for me, this is more than enough, you’re more than enough, thankyouthankyouthankyou.” He smudges the words into your chest, your throat, litters you with sweet nothings and gratitude, and you want to ask for his dick right then and there –

But there’s a sound, coming from the window.

A knock on the window.

Someone is there, knocking.

“Wait – what was that?” You freeze, the rose-tinted glasses ripped off.

Flip carefully pulls his hand away from your pulsing cunt, sucks your come off of his fingers until they’re clean. He reaches for something, anything, to cover you with, to cover himself with.

“Cop.” Flip says quietly, and you want to panic but he shakes his head, “Don’t, it’s okay, follow my lead.”

You are suddenly very very aware, of what you both look like. Flip with his torn up fists, you with the split lip and wound on your temple. You’ve both finally stopped bleeding, but you know – you just know – that this officer is going to question you on it, normal people don’t go driving around in the rain with head wounds and split knuckles.

Fuck, you think, you haven’t even cleaned the car yet, there’s bound to be blood in the trunk from where the body had been stashed, what if the officer decided to search the car? There were no weapons in the car, but there didn’t need to be. Your stomach does little flutters of panic as the impending anxiety drips cold down your spine, and just hide yourself behind Flip’s denim jacket, cover up as much as you can, cover your face.

Flip rolls down the window, and a flashlight peers inside the car for a few moments, before you hear a resigned sigh.

“Alright you kids, come on, break it up.” The cop says, tapping his flashlight on the roof of the car. “The middle of the road isn’t the place for this kind of shit, let’s go.”

“Our car is stuck, we’ve been waiting for someone to drive past to ask for help. Could you help give us a push?” Flip asks, and the officer looks at him like he’s crazy.

“No.” The man scoffs, before sighing again, realizing that he can’t just leave the two of you out here. “But I’ll call someone. Then off you go, okay? It’s late.”

“Thank you.” Flip says, and then, like some miracle, the cop goes back to his car, radios for a tow, and leaves.

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

You both are dressed by the time the tow arrives and pulls you out of the mud. Leaving the clothes in front of the heater did wonders, and though your dress is still fucking filthy and caked in mud, it’s not freezing, or soaked. You feel awful, Flip’s dad is going to be pissed when he sees the car like this, but Flip assures you that he’ll have Jimmy help deep clean the whole thing before his parents come home after the weekend.

The tow truck driver doesn’t ask any questions, doesn’t really talk to you at all. By the time he arrives, the rain has stopped, slowed enough as the storms moved across the mountains. You don’t say anything, just sit there and wait for the wheels to come free, holding your breath until the tow driver leaves too.

The radio is soft and gentle, the time on the little clock reads just past three. Flip drove all the way to your house with a hand on your knee, reassuring, comforting. You can’t help but think it feels so different from Josh’s hand, how gentle Flip’s hold is on you. You wonder if he’s trying to ground himself, or keep you calm. Maybe it’s both.

He shuts the lights off and the radio when he rounds the corner. Puts the car in park, and the two of you walk the last few yards to your house. It’s not raining anymore, not at all. That feels like a good sign, somehow.

“Will you come in?” You ask him softly, standing under the streetlamps, careful not to step on cracks in the sidewalk.

“If you want me.” Flip nods, and you smile, and he smiles, because you both know that you always will.

The climb up through the window is a little difficult because of how wet everything is from the rain, but you both manage easily. Your bedroom is warm, and you both shed your clothes in the tub of your private bathroom, knowing your parents wouldn’t ever look in there. You want to shower desperately, but doing so this late would raise suspicion, so you don’t, you’ll have to wait until morning.

But that’s alright, because for now it’s enough to be in clean clothes. Sheepishly, you offer Flip some of his own clothes, clothes that you’ve accumulated over all the time you’ve known him; jackets accidentally forgotten on your couch, sleep shirts and pajama pants he let you borrow that you never returned.

Flip doesn’t tease you for them, he only accepts them gratefully, and the two of you lay down on your bed in the dark. You face one another, so close that your noses almost touch. He’s so handsome, you think. You’ve always thought it, but up close, this close, it’s like the thought consumes your whole mind.

“We can’t ever tell anyone about this, ever. Not even when we’re old. This is something we take to the grave.” You whisper, rubbing the tip of your nose against his.

“Agreed.” He breathes, tucking some of your hair behind your ear. You lean into the touch, lean into him.

“I don’t want to think what would have happened if you didn’t show up.” You confess, and in the silence of the room, the thought of what might have been is more terrifying than anything you two had done together. Flip is quiet, but his jaw clenches as he gently touches the closed wound on your temple. You don’t know what prompts it, but suddenly you’re asking, “Do you believe in alternate universes?”

“Hm?” Flip frowns, and you shrug in the dark.

“You know, like, a different version of our world, existing in some other dimension out in space.” You explain, shuffling close to him, tucking yourself under his chin.

“I never thought about it.” He admits with a shrug of his own and you close your eyes against his throat, warming yourself with his heat as his arms wrap around you.

“Maybe there’s a world where this never happened.” You whisper, “Maybe there’s a version of us out there that never had to do this. Maybe there’s a universe where we’ve always been together.”

“We can be together now, here in this one. If you want.” Flip whispers back, and you can feel the rabbit of his pulse jump jump jumping in his chest, and you smile.

“Phil?” You ask, not opening your eyes, not moving, barely breathing, “I love you.”

“I love you too.” He responds right away, with enough feeling behind the words to make you think that maybe he’s loved you just as long as you have loved him, maybe even longer.

A grin spreads across your face as you snuggle up closer to him, impossibly close, suppressing a thrilled little bubble of laughter as he cards his fingers through your hair.

“You’re stuck with me now, you know that? Forever.” You tease with a smile in your voice – but you both know there’s some truth to it. No matter what happens, you’re bonded by this, this nightmare of an evening.

“Happy New Year, (Y/N).” Flip teases right back, kissing the top of your head, before you reach up to kiss him properly.

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

When the sun rises the next morning and you find him gone from your bedroom, tub empty of soiled clothing and the car driven away to the cleaners, you aren’t afraid, because there’s a note on your nightstand written in the most incomprehensible handwriting that could only be Flip’s, asking you on a date, and a brand new pair of heels to wear for it.

And when they ask about Josh you’ll say you don’t know, and when they launch the investigation you’ll testify lies, and when you attend his funeral you might shed a tear, but only only only if Flip’s there by your side, so you can stand behind him, and hide your smile.

You don't own me

I'm not just one of your many toys

You don't own me

Don't say I can't go with other boys

You don't own me

You don’t own me

You don’t own me.

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

Tagging pals! @steeevienicks @heldcaptivebychaos @solotriplets @formerly-anonhamster @lookinsidemyhead @candycanes19 @adamsnacc-kler @whiskey-bumblebee @magikevalynn @tinyplanet-explorers @chelsjnov @romancedeldiablo @helloimindelaware @autumnlovesadam @peterisparker @goodboybensolo @the-marvelatic @miasera @emily-strange @proxyfoxy @disaster-rose @hazydespair @yosoymuyloca @1-800-choke-that-snoke @ktellmeastory @anongirl007 @zimmerxman @okk--maaan @flapjacques @aweirdlookingtree @callmemania-pls @theold-ultraviolence @og-selene @pinkmoontribe-blog @schopenhauerdeathsquad @nekonaomitard @feminine-machinegun

#flip zimmerman #flip zimmerman x reader #flip zimmerman/reader #flip zimmerman x you #flip zimmerman/you #adam driver character #adam driver fanfic #blackkklansman #flip zimmerman smut #flip zimmerman angst #flip zimmerman fluff #darkfic #my writing #heed the warnings please #flip zimmerman imagine #flip zimmerman fanfic

607 notes · View notes

moody-blues-requiem · 4 years ago

Text

Dullahan of the Opera (afab reader x Dullahan!Prosciutto)

SPOOKTACULAR FICS GO!

First up is the winner of the poll in a 3:1 victory, Dullahan Prosciutto!

Fic is n/s/f/w, mild warning for semi-public sex.

Enjoy!

Deep in the heart of Venizia and dressed to the nines on a temperate October evening, Prosciutto clasped your delicately gloved hand to his side as he guided you carefully along a narrow sidewalk. You were blindfolded, eyes hidden behind black silk, matching the simple, open-backed gown and elbow-length gloves you wore. Walking blindfolded in heels was a feat in itself, but one you managed with grace. You hoped Prosciutto wouldn’t be too distracted with guiding you to notice your impressive performance. Before he had put the blindfold on you, you’d gotten to see him in a different suit than his usual patterned one; rich black with gilded details, and of course, his usual pendant dangling from his neck.

When asked why a blindfold, you were told to trust him. When asked where you were going, you were told to trust him. You trusted Prosciutto with your past, present, and future, but that didn’t stop you from playfully pouting at your lover. “Can I get a hint, at least?”

“Alright,” he said. “You’re wearing the blindfold because I want to surprise you with where we’re going.”

Even without your sight, you could feel the smug aura practically radiating from him.

The sounds of the city around you changed as you approached your destination. You hear more voices, softly murmuring and mingling together, indicating a crowd of people. The light shifted just a touch warmer, you were approaching somewhere bright. Soft music played from some unseen source. Where…

Prosciutto placed his hands on your hips, stopping you from going any further. Sturdy fingers removed the blindfold over your head, carefully brushing your hair back into place after. The sudden light took a moment to adjust to, but once you could see you immediately recognized the building before. Tall and grey, with beautiful stone pillars, statues, and decorated with colorful flags. A sculpture of a bird adorned the entryway sign, but you didn’t need to read it to know where you were. One of the most famous opera houses in all of Italy, Il Teatro La Fenice. Prosciutto flashed two tickets in your direction, with a sly smile. “Private opera box,” he said. “Just for us.”

It was rare for Prosciutto to splurge like this, but when he did, he went all out. Waiting for you in your private seating was a chilled wine that you knew had to cost at least half a job for him. Was it wrong to enjoy such finery at the cost of blood money? Maybe. Were you going to indulge yourself anyways? Absolutely.

The show opened with a beautiful duet piece sung by a couple, a young woman and a slightly older gentleman. Something about restrained love-- even as a fluent Italian speaker, the way they sang could make the words difficult to understand, but you enjoyed it nonetheless. The passion in their voice spoke (or rather, sang) for them. The wine was delicious, the music beautiful, and your lover had his hand protectively on your thigh the whole time. Even alone in the opera box, he liked asserting a subtle dominance over you.

It was a bit less subtle when, out of the corner of your eye, you thought you saw Prosciutto begin to nod off, but when you looked, his head was off his shoulders completely.

You knew he was a dullahan. He’d taken his head off in front of you countless times. You’d never adjust perfectly to the sight of his stump neck, glistening red with blood that didn’t flow like the blood in your body. He’d explained that it was perfectly natural for his species of fae to be able to remove and reattach their head at will, and no, it didn’t hurt. He could still talk, and even eat with a detached head and the food would still make it to his stomach. “Fae magic, I don’t know”, he said, as if that were a perfectly good explanation. “Why is that harder to believe than a detachable head?”

The blonde passed his head from one hand to the other, delicately placing it in your lap. You tore your eyes away from the singer on stage to look down, met with the sight of a smirking Prosciutto. “You *did* get my text about what to wear, didn’t you? Or more specifically, what not to wear?”

You… had an idea of where this was going. Prosciutto had asked you to forgo your panties for the evening, though you assumed that would be for when you got home, or maybe the car ride… and a while back, months ago, he’d asked your thoughts on sex in public.

“Not just out in the open, no,” you’d said. “Maybe something more private, where we could get caught but probably won’t… I think I could do that.”

And then he just… never acted on it. So you forgot. Until now, of course, as he looked up at you with a fire in his eyes. “Pull up your dress, love. Let me see.”

You kept Prosciutto balanced expertly in your lap while you maneuvered the dress up over your knees, the slit over the left leg making it easier to pull the material back and expose yourself. The thought of anyone other than Prosciutto seeing you like this made your cheeks flush a deep pink, which only darkened as Prosciutto spoke again. “Show me, [y/n]. I’m afraid you’ll have to hold me, my hands are a bit occupied.”

Careful not to mess up Prosciutto’s hair, you held his head back and spread your legs, giving him a nice view of you. You’d shaved everything, just as he liked. Already the thought of being so impure with your boyfriend, here of all places, had you glistening wet with excitement. You turned your head just a bit to glance over at Prosciutto’s body, and nearly dropped the man’s head when you saw his cock out, flushed a deep red and leaking precum, hard and desperate for attention.

“Careful!” Prosciutto hissed. “But I could see just how you responded to that…. You got even wetter, didn’t you, naughty little girl? Give me a taste, before I let you play.”

You brought his head in close, enveloping him between warm thighs and the scent of your desperation, earning an aroused growl from Prosciutto’s clenched teeth before he dove in with his tongue. For as prim and proper as he was in other respects, there was absolutely no decorum when it came to eating you out; he went at you like a man starved. Lapping at you with feverish strokes, fucking you with his tongue, letting the end of his nose rub over your clit just to heighten your sensations farther. Your hips bucked and rolled against his severed head, but he was kept firmly in place by your clenching thighs.

When you felt your thighs growing shaky, Prosciutto growled. “Enough,” he said, between gasps for air. “Set me on the table, where I can see my body. I want you to fuck yourself with my cock, darling. Don’t stop until you cum on me, but if you dirty that suit one bit the dry-cleaning bill is on you.”

Prosciutto’s eyes were practically glued to your body as you, pulling up your dress a bit to give him an even better view, slid yourself down onto his waiting cock. Prosciutto groaned, the combination of your wet walls surrounding him with the sight of his cock disappearing into your tight hole was incredible. You groaned as his length slid perfectly inside of you, as if you were made to take him. Prosciutto regularly reminded you that you were.

“Move,” he commanded, barely audible over the voice of the opera lead beginning an emotional solo piece. “Fuck yourself on me, amore, go…”

You wasted no time, swirling your hips over his lap before setting a slow pace up and down, bouncing, feeling his length push just a bit further with every thrust. His hands grasped your hip bones like handles, commanding you to go deeper and faster. You tilted your head down to nip at his collarbones, both to tease your boyfriend and to help silence your desperate little sounds. The opera singer’s voice dominated the large auditorium, but you didn’t want your own little solo to accompany hers.

You found your hips moving in pace with the song, a ballad fiery with passion and… maybe anger, you weren’t exactly paying attention, but the tempo and feeling of the song compelled you to move faster and faster, moan a little louder, clench a little harder around Prosciutto’s cock… The man’s head was biting his lower lip, blue eyes blown wide with lust. “Fuck, amore, I’m close,” he whispered. “Keep going. I want to feel you cum, I want-- I *need* to fill you up.”

“Prosciutto, please!” you gasped. You could feel your end approaching as the song reached its’ fervent peak. “Please please please--”

Prosciutto growled, wilder and more unrestrained than you’d seen him before. His manicured nails were digging into the skin of your hips. “Cum for me, amore, now!”

You fell apart at his command. Stars danced in your vision, the song faded in and out of your ears, masked by the waves of pleasure overtaking your whole body. Distantly you could feel something thick and warm filling you up, Prosciutto’s cock pumping into you, his hands pulling you in close. You were sweaty, disheveled, but you didn’t care. Let those fancy opera-goers see who gave you pleasure unmatched. Let them see the inevitable stain on Prosciutto’s suit (oops). The body beneath you leaned over, grabbing Prosciutto’s head and returning it to his shoulders before the man leaned in for a kiss, ruling his fingers through your now-messy hair.

“That was incredible, Pros,” you whispered against his lips. “Thank you.”

“The pleasure was all mine, dear. And besides,” he looked over your shoulder, just in time to see the woman on stage bow at the crowd’s thunderous applause. “We still have two acts left.”

#prosciutto #jjba prosciutto #vento aureo #golden wind #la squadra di esecuzione #dullahan prosciutto #dullahan!prosciutto #my writing #n/s/f/w #va

72 notes · View notes

sheerfreesia007 · 4 years ago

Text

Yes Ma’am

Title: Yes Ma’am

Fandom: Kingsman

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x Reader

Author: @sheerfreesia007

Words: 682

Warnings: Smut, Girl on top, cursing, dominant reader

Permanent Tag List: @paintballkid711, @fioccodineveautunnale, @phoenixhalliwell, @synystersilenceinblacknwhite

Author Notes: So dominant reader was requested but I can’t remember if the whole “yes ma’am” or if I just put it on the WIP list. Anyhoo! Here’s a short little dirty fic featuring the words “Yes Ma’am.” Enjoy! I loved writing this one! Feedback is always appreciated!

P.s: I miss writing for Whiskey. And I can’t wait to get back to writing series for him after this month! (It’s a toss up about which one I wanna write though. I’ve got 2 in mind. I might do a poll with you guys.)

Gif Credit: Google

“Only rule is you have to do what I say.” she says sweetly to him and Jack knows he’s a goner. She’s kneeling above on the bed as he lays back propped up on the pillows. He doesn’t know why he agreed to this but he thinks it had to do with those pretty eyes of her pleading with him silently to let her take charge in bed. How could he say no to her?

“Yes Ma’am.” he says softly and waits for her instructions. She grins at his words there’s a wicked little lilt to that grin that only spells trouble for him.

“No touching.” she whispers to him and leans closer to press a soft sweet kiss to his lips that doesn’t correlate with their situation of being naked in bed with each other at all.

“Yes Ma’am.” he repeats breathlessly once she pulls away and he watches as those pretty eyes flash with a dangerous look towards him. Her hands land on his chest and her fingers curl so that her nails are pressed into his skin. She drags them down his chest and he watches as red lines appear quickly in their wake.

One hand slides farther down to circle his hard cock and he jerks at her touch grunting softly. While her other hand slides back up onto his chest and pushes him further into the pillow behind him. She crawls on her knees up the bed closer to him as her hand around his cock begins to pump him steadily. He moans out loudly and throws his head back while his hands fists in the sheets under him.

“Does that feel good?” she asks softly and sweetly and he groans loudly.

“Yes Ma’am.” he pants out harshly as his head lifts to look down at her hand pumping along his length.

“Do you like watching me jerk you off?” she asks curiously and he nods his head. “Answer me.” she snips out fiercely and his eyes dart to hers where she stares at him heatedly.

“Yes Ma’am.” he responds in awe as he watches her shift into the dominant role in the bedroom. He watches as she lets go of his cock and he mourns the loss of her touch before she’s lifting up to straddle him. Her hand is back on him positioning him just right before she slides down onto him and he groans.

“Fuck you’re always so big.” she gasps out softly and he moans as his hands land on her hips to steady her. Suddenly her head snaps up to stare at him and her hands cover his gripping tightly. “I said no touching.” she hisses softly at him and he widens his eyes at her.

“Yes Ma’am.” he says apologetically but she raises his hands to rest on the pillow under his head. She nods her head and begins to raise up on his cock before slamming back down onto him. “Yes Ma’am!” he shouts loudly the infliction on the last syllable of the word in his sentence giving the word a whole other meaning.

“You feel so good inside of me.” she says kindly as she continues to bounce on his cock. Her breasts are swaying in front of his face but he doesn’t move to kiss them like he wants to, he remembers her instructions. “Oh fuck, I’m gonna cum.” she gasps out as her pace and bouncing speed up. “Are you gonna cum for me sweetheart?” she asks softly.

“Yes Ma’am.” he responds and she slams down on him again and grinds her hips in a circle on him as her walls clamp down onto his cock. He moans loudly and thrusts upwards once before feeling his orgasm rush him.

She’s laying sprawled out on his chest now. The two of them have come down from their highs and they are currently floating pleasantly in the afterglow. He smiles down at her and she grins up at him the two of them moving to meet in the middle with a soft tender loving press of their lips together.

#my writing #thirsty thursday #agent whiskey #agent whiskey x reader #kingsman the golden circle

28 notes · View notes

yusuke-of-valla · 4 years ago

Text

like rats fleeing a sinking ship, pt. 10

Whumptober 2020 Day 15: Into The Unknown

Prompt: Possession

TW: guns, fight scenes, canon typical violence

<- Previous Next ->

AO3

Only the tips of some of the tallest buildings are visible from where Kasumi stands on Shido’s ship. Akira had warned her about this, but it’s still off-putting. The rest of Tokyo was still normal in the previous two Palaces she’d seen.

Kasumi doesn’t want to think about what that means about the ruler.

“Are you ready to go?” Akec- er Crow asks, tapping a boot against the deck of the ship.

“Sorry!” Kasumi says.

“We need to give Yoshizawa a codename first though.” Mona points out.

Crow stares at her for a second. “Gymnast?”

“We’re not calling her that.” Skull says. “How about… Red?”

“At least my idea was unique to her. That could just as easily describe Panther.”

“But Panther’s already Panther, so.”

“How about Mist?” Joker suggests. “You know, since it’s Kasumi in English?”

“Isn’t that a little tasteless?” Crow asks.

“It’s better than Gymnast ”

“That’s not-”

“I love it!” Kasumi says. “From now on, I’ll be Mist.”

Crow tilts his head at her for a second, but throws his arms up. “Fine, whatever. Let’s just go.”

Joker takes the lead, putting Mist, Crow, and Noir in the front group. Mona and Queen hold back and focus on navigating.

The Palace is crawling with shadows, and Joker leads them through the halls, until eventually they arrive at a large pair of doors.

“So this is where the Treasure is?” Mist asks.

“Yep, we’ve got three of the five letters of recommendation we need,” Panther says. “We were still going to grab info about the IT company president since he apparently never leaves his room.”

“We can go over the plan once we get to the safe room down the hall.”

Mist goes ahead a bit and stops at a door. “This one?” she asks.

“Yep.”

Mist pushes the door open.

“Duck!”

She drops to the ground before the Shadow behind the door can swing at where her head was, and Joker is quick to shoot it.

The guard stumbles backwards, then splits into three shadows.

One that looks like a large white lion breathes fire at her, but Mist manages to cartwheel out of the way, just barely singed. She isn’t so lucky when another shadow, a big snowman king thing swings his staff at her.

“Mist!”

Queen throws out her hand, and suddenly a golden wall like a vault appears in front of Mist, and though she takes the hit, it doesn’t hurt as much.

“Thanks Queen!” Mist says. She calls Cendrillion to pierce the shadow with Illusory swords.

Joker pulls his new gun out, and blasts a ray of ice at the lion-shaped shadow, freezing it solid. In the meantime, Noir and Crow have managed to knock down the other two, and Joker gives the signal to finish them off.

Ths shadows defeated, Mist takes a second to catch her breath. “Sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” Joker pants, “there should definitely have been a safe room there, though.”

“There was.” Mona says. “It’s not there anymore.”

“So Shido’s cognition is shifting,” Queen says.

Skull scratches his head. “So what? Like, the cocky bastard feels like he has more control over things, so there aren’t as many places where the cognition is weaker.”

“Something like that.” Crow says.

“Wow. I didn’t think I could hate him more!” Skull sighs. “On the bright side, new gun’s working well!”

Joker grins and reloads the gun Skull had designed for him. Skull had explained earlier that while realistic guns were useful, since the Metaverse was based on cognition, they could probably get away with using guns that wouldn’t work in reality but were accurate replicas of weapons from movies and video games. Joker’s new freeze ray was a replica of a villain’s weapon from the Cake Knight Rises movies.

“Well there have to still be some safe rooms around, right?” Panther asks.

“Sure, they’ll just be fewer and farther between,” Queen explains. “It’s not ideal, but it’s still manageable. We just need to do our best to conserve energy.”

Joker nods. “We’ll switch up our strategy to rotate people out a bit more frequently.”

“Sounds good.” Noir says. “Anyway, I believe the last time we were here, we were going to try the restaurant to see about getting up to the IT president’s room.”

Everyone nods, and they make their way to the restaurant. Mist is impressed with how efficiently Joker leads them around corners, and the way he seems to know where enemies are. There’s a swell of pride in her chest when she sees Joker backflip away from a shadow to get the drop on it.

They do eventually find a safe room that is still a safe room, and they rest there for a bit before checking the restaurant.

They get the room number from the restaurant, then head to the side deck of the ship.

“Crow, are you alright?” Mist asks at one point when they’re both in the reserve group.

“Of course I am, why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’re just trailing behind the others, I was worried something was wrong.”

Crow shrugs. “I’m just focused on the mission.”

“Sure but even fights, the others compliment each other and stuff but you’re mostly quiet.”

“Why would I? I’m not part of the team, or anything.”

“You’re not?” Mist asks, tilting her head a bit.

“No, I am definitely not.”

“Oh,” Mist says, trying to conceal her smile.

“That makes you happy?”

“No! No, I’m sorry,” Mist says quickly. “I guess it just makes me feel better that I’m not the only outsider on the team.”

“I wouldn't really call you an outsider. They definitely consider you an equal part of their team.”

“But not you?”

“No.”

“Well,” Mist says, “even if they would consider me part of the team, I think I’ll stay back here with you. I don’t want you to be lonely after all.”

“I’m fine.”

“Nope,” Mist says, grinning. “Still going to stick around.”

“You wouldn’t say that if you knew everything about me,” Crow says in a threatening tone.

Mist hums. “I think I would. I can tell, senpai. You may be a more… intense kind of person than I was expecting, but you care deep down.”

Crow stops for a second, then runs to catch up with Mist. “Anyway, while it’s just the two of us, I meant to ask you something earlier. Why does Joker keep calling you ‘Kasumi’?”

“Senpai! Codenames. ”

“Huh?”

“You’re supposed to use my codename, not my real name,” Mist admonishes.

“But-”

“Hey, hurry up, we’re here!” Skull shouts.

“Sorry,” Mist replies, hopping across balconies to join the others.

“Not a problem,” Joker says. “So this seems like the president’s room, we just have to figure out how to get the letter of recommendation out of him.”

“Ask nicely?” Crow says, holding up his gun pointedly.

Queen shakes her head. “We want to avoid a fight as much as possible, if we can. We still need to get the letter from the Cleaner after all.”

“It wouldn’t be much of a fight, I assure you.”

“How did you get the other letters?” Mist asks.

“Well we basically just asked for most of them. In some cases we had to lie to convince them we deserved it, but yeah.” Skull says.

“So we should just go in and ask?”

“That might not be a good idea,” Mona says, frowning. “With the way Shido’s cognition has been shifting recently, the shadows might recognize you as the Phantom Thieves right away, even if you changed.”

“Well, I’m not wanted. I could ask,” Mist offers.

“Are you sure?” Panther asks.

“Sure! Don’t worry, I’ve got this!”

Mist climbs into the IT president’s room. “Hello, sir!” she says cheerily.

The president startles backwards. “Huh? Who are you?”

“I’m so sorry, but I’m looking to get a letter of introduction to Mr. Shido,” Mist says, “and I’m just such a big fan of your company and your work, that I had to ask you!”

The president looks skeptical, and Mist continues.

“I know you’re a very private person, but since you’re Mr. Shido’s favorite co-conspirator, I thought I just had to get his letter over anyone else’s!”

“Well, Captain Shido does appreciate my genius,” the president says after a moment.” You know I created the fake Mejed for him and manipulated the results of the Phantom Thieves’ polls? And I erased all this Cognitive Psience research, clean off the net!

“Wow! That’s so astounding!” Mist says. “No wonder Mr. Shido speaks so highly of you! So can I have a letter?”

“Well, you’ve convinced me.” The IT president points to the desk, and one of the women in the room with him grabs a pen and paper off of it. “So tell me, are you a fan of my companies’ products?”

“Yes, sir! Huge fan!”

“Then you’ve got the latest model phone?”

“Uh, well no. I mean, my dad won’t let me get a new one.”

“So you have last year’s?”

“Can you just give me the letter.”

The president rips the letter from the note pad and holds it back. “Show me your phone.”

Reluctantly, Mist pulls out her phone.

The IT president nearly gags at the sight of it. “That thing is ancient. You’re no fan of my company!”

“Are you serious?” Mist groans. “Uggh, fine.” She lunges forward and grabs the letter out of the IT president’s hands.

“You little- I’ll kill you!” the president roars before he and the women with him transform into shadows.

“You could have just given me the letter!” Mist shouts, dodging his attacks. “Guys, I could use some help!”

The other Phantom Thieves burst into the room. Panther is the first to act, wrapping her whip around one of the shadows beside the IT president and sending a jolt of electricity through it, shocking the shadow. Joker shoots it, causing it to drop to the ground.

The IT president meanwhile is still focused on Mist, who blocks one of his attacks with Cendrillion. Skull takes the opportunity to use the bed as a spring board, jumping on the shadow and slamming his pipe down on its head.

“Gah!” the shadow president cries, but Crow doesn’t give him much time to react, rushing forward and having Loki unleash a brutal barrage of attacks on it.

Noir uses psykokinesis to take down the other shadow, knocking all three of them down.

At Joker’s cue, the Phantom Thieves attack simultaneously.

The shadows revert to their more humanoid forms.

“Anything you want to tell us?” Mona demands.

“N-no! I don’t know anything about the mental shutdowns, I just or anything, I just extracted, deleted, and encrypted the research! I promise.”

“So you’re useless to us, then,” Crow says, pointing his gun at the IT president’s head.

“Crow, no!” Mist says, grabbing his arm.

Crow scoffs. “Fine, let’s go.”

Once everyone is back on the balcony, Mist turns to the others. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get the letter.”

“Oh you were fine,” Panther says, patting Mist on the shoulder. “That went about as well as literally every other time we tried to get a letter.”

“But you said to avoid a fight.”

“And you did the best you could!” Queen says. “You were great, believe me.”

Mist feels a weight leave her shoulders. “Thank you! I’m happy to help!”

“Hell yeah! So that’s four letters down, one to go,” Skull says. “We just need to get something from that Cleaner guy next, right?”

“We’ve checked all over the ship though, where could he be?” Mona asks.

“The engine?” Joker suggests.

Panther frowns. “Have we seen an engine, though?”

“Skull noticed smoke before,” Queen points out.

“So let’s find a way into the engine room.”

After a bit of searching, Joker eventually spots a grate with smoke coming out of it. “I think this is our way in,” he says.

They bust the grate open, and crawl through the vents. Sure enough, it empties out into the engine room, and they can see the Cleaner.

“There he is!” Mona whispers.

“Can we do this my way?” Crow asks.

“I don’t know,” Noir says.

“He’s Yakuza, we’re not going to be able to just ask him nicely,” Crow bites back.

“I think Crow’s right, Noir,” Joker says. “We might just have to fight through this one.”

Crow grins. “Thank you!”

“Hey, you!” Crow calls out as soon as they’re out of the vents.

The Cleaner turns around and groans when he sees them. “What?”

“We need a letter of introduction to see Shido.”

“Sorry, can’t help you,” he says, shrugging. “I’m fresh out.”

Crow summons Loki. “I wasn’t asking.”

“Crow, look out!” Mona calls, suddenly.

Crow turns around just inside to avoid the bullet that ricochets off the metal walls of the engine room.

“Don’t worry, I can handle these ones,” the cognitive Goro Akechi says, grinning maniacally.

“Sounds great,” the Cleaner replies, walking off.

“Oh no you don’t!” Skull shouts, chasing after him, but Cognitive Akechi snaps his fingers and suddenly a group of Shadows appear in Skull’s path, knocking him back.

“Skull!” Panther shouts, running to his side.

“I’m fine,” Skull mutters as he sits up

“Now, I can finally get rid of you all at once!” Cognitive Akechi says. “Our glorious captain will be so happy.”

“I’m going to enjoy wiping that smug look off of your face,” Crow says. He pulls out his sword and charges towards Cognitive Akechi, but Cognitive Akechi dodges.

A shadow leaps towards Crow, but Mist manages to knock it away with a well-timed strike from Cendrillion. “Careful, Crow!”

Crow grits his teeth. “I’m fine!”

“Skull, Noir, Panther! Handle the small fry,” Joker says. “The rest of us need to focus on the Cognitive Akechi!

Everyone except Crow, who’s mainly focused on attacking his double, gives their affirmations.

Queen summons Anat and boosts everyone’s defense, while Mona attacks Cognitive Akechi aside. Unfortunately, Cognitive Akechi blasts Crow away with an Almighty attack and kicks Mona across the room like he’s a soccer ball.

“Loki!” Crow calls, “Laevateinn!” The Persona appears in a burst of energy and rushes at Cognitive Akechi, causing him to stumble backwards.

Meanwhile, Noir summons Astarte to unload hail of bullets on the shadows while Panther heals Skull up. Skull’s quick to get back on his feet and has Seiten Taisei sends ripples of electricity through the metal floor to hit all of the shadows.

While Cognitive Akechi is focused on Crow and Loki, Mist catches him off guard with a Kougaon. The bless attack calls him to stumble back, dazed.

“He’s weak to bless!” Queen calls out.

Crow grins. “Perfect.” With a flick of his wrist, Loki disappears and Robin Hood appears in its place. Joker follows his cue and switches to Dominion, and they follow up with two bless attacks of their own.

The cognition drops to one knee, panting. Crow strides over to him, and points a gun at his doppleganger’s head. “Well, this has been fun, but I’ve had enough of you.”

“Oh, I assure you, the fun isn’t over,” Cognitive Akechi says. He snaps his fingers again, and Crow doesn’t have time to attack before another shadow rushes him.

Joker quickly uses his grappling hook to pull the shadow off of Crow, but in that time, another reinforcement has healed Cognitive Akechi up.

Crow summons Robin Hood and cast Kougaon again, but instead of knocking him down, the attack is reflected back in Crow’s direction.

“Shit,”

“I got ya!” Mona says, healing Crow.

Crow looks around and sees the others aren’t fairing much better. The new reinforcements are overwhelming them, to the point that Noir has been knocked out and Queen has to help Panther and Skull fend them off.

“Aw, Akechi, are you worried about your friends?” Cognitive Akechi asks. “Don’t worry, you really should be more worried about yourself.”

Suddenly, a curse attacks rams into Akechi’s side, sending him across the room. When he looks up, he expects to see a shadow, but instead it’s Joker stalking towards him with a blank expression.

“Joker-senpai, what are you doing?” Mist asks.

“He’s been brainwashed,” Mona explains.

“That’s just great .” Crow spits out. Joker charges towards him, knife drawn, but Crow manages to parry with his sword.

“Mona-senpai, what do we do?” Mist asks.

“We have to find the shadow that’s brainwashing Joker and defeat it.”

“Alright! Hold on Crow, don’t hurt him too much,” Mist shouts as she attacks the shadow Joker had been fighting.

“No guarantees,” Crow mutters under his breath.

Mist and Mona manage to defeat the shadow Joker had been fighting, but it doesn’t help.

“Mona, which one brainwashed him?” Mist asks.

“I don’t know!” Mona says. There are about five shadows left, and they have no way of knowing which one brainwashed Joker.

Crow drops down and sweeps Joker’s legs. While Joker’s down, Crow tries to charge at his cognitive double again.

Unfortunately, he feels something wrap around his leg, and Crow’s legs are pulled out from under him by Joker’s grappling hook. He tries to get up quickly, but just ends up staring down the barrel of Joker’s gun.

“This has been fun, hasn’t it?” Cognitive Akechi says.

“Joker! Don’t do it!” Mist calls, but Joker doesn’t react. She tries to run over to sop him, but one of the other shadows stands in her path.

“Damn it!” Mona says, helping Mist. “Joker, you have to snap out of it!”

“I don’t think that’s going to happen,” Cognitive Akechi says, watching as all the other Thieves are occupied with the shadows. “Now then, I think it’s finally time to take out the trash. Any final words.”

“Fuck you.”

Cognitive Akechi rolls his eyes, and motions for Joker to shoot.

Joker pulls the trigger, and a bang goes off.

But.

Instead of the feeling of a bullet entering his skull, a shimmering barrier appears in front of Crow that seems to have absorbed the attack.

Before anyone can really attack, a large chunk of ice flies right past Cognitive Akechi, hitting and freezing another shadow instead.

“Fox, you idiot, you missed! ” Crow shouts as Fox rushes into the engine room.

“I wasn’t aiming for him, Crow,” Fox shouts as he shatters the shadow. Suddenly, Joker clutches his head and stumbles backwards. “And that’s not the polite way to thank someone for saving your life.”

“Fox?” Joker says, still shaking his head. “God, I hate being brainwashed. How’d you get here?”

“I saw you guys were in trouble so we got here as fast as we could!” Joker jumps at the sound of Oracle’s voice. “F- Oracle ! Where’d you come from?”

“We can explain later,” Oracle says, “for now, you might want to get rid of that other shadow that can brainwash people.”

“A-Alright,” Joker says, before summoning Arsene and attacking the shadow Oracle pointed out.

Fox helps Mona and Mist, allowing Mona to revive Noir. Queen hits the two remaining shadows with a massive nuclear attack, destroying them

Meanwhile, Crow goes back to focusing on his double.

“Noir, while he’s distracted, use psykokinesis on the cognition!” Oracle says as soon as she’s up.

“When did-”

“We’ll explain later!” Oracle snaps, “just do it!”

Haru does, and the blast causes Cognitive Akechi to stumble backwards, allowing Crow to get a good hit on him.

“He’s switched resistances again!” Oracle says. “Ok, before he gets the chance to call for more reinforcements... uh… new girl! Hit the cognition with another bless attack.”

“Oh, me?” Mist asks. “Ok! Cendrillion!”

“Now we need fire, Panther!” Oracle calls out!

“Hecate!”

“Don’t let up! Hit him Skull!”

“Seiten Taisei!”

With each hit, Cognitive Akechi looks worse and worse for wear. He’s clutching his side and panting.

“He’s on his last legs! We just need to hit him with a curse attack.”

Crow locks eyes with Joker. “Ready?”

Joker smirks. “More than ever.”

“Loki!”

“Arsene!”

“Eigaon,” the shout simultaneously. The two personas work in tandem, unleashing a curse attack that pushes Cognitive Akechi straight into the wall. The cognition tries to get up, but ultimately dissolves.

“Finally.” Crow sighs.

Suddenly, Skull shouts. “What the hell?”

Crow and Joker quickly pull their weapons to deal with the new threat.

“What’s wrong?” Joker asks.

“Oracle’s a ghost!” To prove his point, Skull sticks his hand through Oracle’s head.

“I’m not a ghost. I’m broadcasting into the Metaverse from outside Tokyo,” Oracle says.

“You can do that?” Queen gasps.

“With a lot of help. I met these guys called the shadow operatives, and a couple of them have the same powers as me so we can combine them to increase the range of my scanning.”

“Woah, really?” Panther asks.

“Yeah. Oh also, one of the people helping me is Rise Kujikawa, by the way.”

Panther’s eyes widen. “Ok now you’re messing with me!”

“No she’s legit here! Say hi Rise!”

Futaba’s form flickers and Rise Kujikawa stands in front of them. “Hello!”

“Oh my gosh it’s Risette.” Mist gasps.

“This is the coolest thing to have happened to me, ever.” Skull says. “Can I get an autograph?”

“I can give one to Futaba-chan for you!” Risette says. Then her form shifts again, and Futaba is back.

“Thank you! That’s the reaction I was looking for! Inari wasn’t impressed at all!”

“I told you that I was happy for you.” Fox says, walking towards the others with a slight limp.

“This is the coolest thing ever, I was expecting something a bit more excited!”

“Alright,” Queen says before the bickering can get out of hand. “We need to return to the real world soon, we’re all pretty banged up.”

“We still need to get that last letter of recommendation!” Crow says.

“None of us can handle another fight,” Mona says. “And you were the one that said we probably weren’t going to get a letter from the Cleaner by asking nicely!”

“We don’t have time to waste though!”

“Um if all we need is the Cleaner’s letter,” Fox says, reaching into his pocket. “I’ve got that one.”

The other Thieves stare at him.

“How?” Joker asks.

Fox and Oracle share a look.

“There’s a lot you need to catch up on,” Oracle says. “Lemme find you guys a safe room nearby, then Fox can tell you the whole story.”

#alto writes #whumptober2020 #which i'm still writing in december because I am very slow and very impulsive #on the run au #persona 5 #p5r spoilers #kinda sorta but not really? like it makes more sense if you've already played the third semester but you know just to be safe #wordcount: 3500-4000 #brainwashing tw #this is me stretching the prompt but my house my rules :p #yes this might be the most self-indulgent chapter I've written so far #no.15

14 notes · View notes

sockpansy · 6 years ago

Text

Lost At Sea

Hey! This is a fic based off of two drawings done by the amazing @thelazyblueshipper who gave me permission to write a fic!

Warnings: blood mention, ghosts, kidnapping (its too a mermaid) and let me know if I need to tag anything else!

_______

Roman had wanted to do it for years, ever since the pirates found out about them. Ever since they started to take, kill, sell their kind.

Roman wanted to stop them.

But Logan wouldnt let him.

"Its too dangerous Roman! As long as we stay farther down and away from nets, we can be safe."

"But then we have no freedom! We are confined to the deep waters only! We have to watch how fast we go, we can even float on the surface to sunbath!"

"But if they catch us, we die." Logan spat. "If we go after them, we Will get caught, then what do you suggest we do?"

Roman fell silent, not able to make a reasonable agrument.

"There are ships we could fix up easily and-"

"No Roman."

That had been the end of that argument.

_____

"Help! Help!" Patton sped through the water in search of someone, anyone who could help.

He found Roman and Logan, who had heard him and came as fast as they could.

"Patton! Calm down padre, what's wrong? Predator? Underwater volcano?"

"Virgil!" Pattin cried.

Logan looked around."where....is Virgil? Patton what happened?"

Patton's tears floated in thw water. "I just wanted to go above for a little bit, i didnt know they were so close! I didnt know there net was so close!"

The rest was lost in cries, but it was obvious what happened. Virgil had saved Patton but got caught by pirates instead.

"Roman." Logan starred at the water above them.

"We need a ship."

_____

Luckily, Roman knew were a ship was in...ok condition and not filled with water completely.

"How did you even find this?" Patton asked as they arrived at a small islabd with an old ship on it. It had a hole in the side and a broken mast,but was rather alright.

"Before we started to stay under, I found it."

"We better get to work if we want to get Virgil back before they reach a port then." Logan was still unsure, but...they couldnt just leave Virgil,to be sold or...killed, if he wasnt already.

_____

It took a few days to fix the ship, but they found swords, and old clothes they could wear when they transform in homaniod forms. Roman was the self proclaimed captain, with logan as the firdt mate who has some common since. Patton was the one incharge of leading the way to Virgil right now.

But logan still worried. They only had three people, a small, barely afloat ship, and they are all secretly mermaids. They were up agianst a full pirate crew, on a big ship, who catch mermaids.

They needed a plan.

"We need a plan." Logan said one night. "We can't just attack, we will be killed or captured."

Patton looked down."if I just stayed away..."

"Patton, we have been over this, it isnt your fault, and we sre gdtting virgil back." Roman said, tilting his captain's hat up.

Patton sniffled but nods, pushing his new glasses up. (He put on a random pair and found out that he can see a lot better with them, same with Logan)

Logan,nods as he thought."we could go under the cover of night, but even then they will have people awake and ready to fight..."

"What about during a storm?" Roman suggested.

"What?"

"Well they will be busy with the storm right? We can show hi in mermaid form, get in, pretend to be part of the crew, get virgil out and only have the fight if we get caught." Roman suggested.

Patton lit up."that could work! Its dark during storms, and...and if they see our patched up ship, they can think its a ghost ship!"

Logan nods along as he listened. "It...could work...that we need some way to have our clothes when we are in the water so we can change quickly..."

Roman hummed."we could...get dressed on there ship?"

Logan shook his head."too wierd and supious."

"We could pretend to be crew members who fell over?" Patton suggested.

Logan nods, "yes...but only one of us, it will be easier to get one then...and other two will stay on the ship and act as ghosts." He grinned ad the plan started to come together.

_____

Virgil didnt know how much time past. He remembered pushing Patton away from a net, just cor his tall to get caught, he remmebered being hauled up over the ocean. He remembered being out in a barrel filled with water, and a lid being put on with holes so he could breath. But he lpst count of the days and nights he spent in there.

He had given up after day two, accepting his fate.

He could feel a few rain drops through the holes in the lid, and couls hear yelljng do the ship didnt get blown off course.

Then he heard screams for help.

A scream from the water.

That sounds way to familiar.

Pattin was screaming for help. They caught him.

Virgil started to fight inside the barrel, knowing full well that it was tied up so he coulsnt move it or knock it over, but he ahd to try. Patton was in danger. Why wasn't Roman or Logan with him!

He could hear pattin on the ship.

"Thank you, i fell off in the storm."

Wait, what?

He couldnt hear much after that, because there was yelling about a...ghost...ship?

It wasnt long before his barrel was opened and Patton stared st hin in human form. He,smiled and held a finger to hus mouth to tell Virgil to stay quiet. Held helped Virgil out of the barrel and threw him over into the ocean, and Patton jumped in after him, transforming once he was in the water and gathering up his clothes.

"Hey Virgil, long story short, we need to get to the pirate ship."

"But we just got off it!" Virgil said, before coughing. He hasn't used his voice in a while. Patton just grabbed his hand and swam to a different, smaller boat.

Patton helped viegil onto the boat and Virgil saw Roman and Logan standing and facing the other boat in human forms, as if daring them to attack in thus storm.

Patton put on his clothes as he got out some for Virgil. "Ok, short story longer, im so sorry I got you captured! We fixed up an old boat Roman found and came up with a plan to save you. I pretend to have fallen overboard in a storm, they gwt me up, i fins you, Roman and Logan pretend to be pirates on a ghost ship, and we are all free!" By the time he finished talking, Virgil was dressed and then hugged tightly.

"Im sorry i wasnt more careful Virgil...you could have been..could have..could...could have..." Patton sniffles aa he held virgil tight.

Virgil hugged back."im right here pat, i promise, id do it agian to save you in a heartbeat."

_____

The ship turned away from the other and left the storm. Once a safe distance away, Virgil was covered in hugs.

Virgil smiled as he stood and loked st his pirate clothes, "ya know guys...why dont we do this all the time?"

"Uh Virgil, I dont think getting caught is something id like to makw a habit." Roman suggested.

"No, i mean...saving mermaids. You guys have a plan that worked. And with an extra person, you have a bigger crew. Why cant we save more of our kind before we are the only ones left?"

"I agree with Virgil." Patton smiled. "And i like being in the sun." He giggled.

Roman tipped his hat grinning. "And ive been wanting to do this forever!"

They all looked st Logan. The first mate. The logical one. The one who fixes plot holes and makes sure everyone is safe.

He gave a smile. "Well, we have to name the ship first, dont we?"

____

It took a while, but soon, a legend was born for the small crew.

Legends that say that if you are a pirate crew transporting mermaids, avoid storms.

For in a storm, you will come across a ship called 'the Siren' with ghosts on it.

No one knows how many are on the ship. They only know that there are always four who will always be seen at one point.

There is a boy with square glasses and a dark blue bandana around hus forehead. If you see him in the ship, watch him, for if he gets into the water, your ship will sink.

Then there is a boy with round glasses, and a light blue scarf around his waist. He seems sweet, but it will be too late when you realize it is him. He is a spy who boards your ships as crew. He is the reason you get caught.

There is a boy with purple hair and eyes. Much like dark blue, beg that he stays on the ghost ship. If you don't see him, then you must fear everything around you. You never know what he will take. Food, gold, your life, maybe all three.

Then there is the captain, who stands at the end of the bowsprit, sword held at his side. It is said that his eyes are red with the blood of those who he has fought, and if you get close enough to see the color, he will add your blood to his eyes as well.

The legends warns you to be wary of boys with light blue eyes on on your ship. To stay clean of storms. To release mermaids when you see the ship, so many you will live to tell about the encounter.

Legend says that it is safer to let mermaids be free.

____________________

Yes i was tempted to name the ship lamp.

And done! First off, i know i kinda skipped around, but in happy with how thiz this turned out!

Bowsprit: the poll thingy at the front of a ship

Also! Some things i wanted to to say! The crew does get bigger. Some mermaids they save decide to,join, others will stay until they heal if they are injured then leave. Others stay to repay a debt, so the amount of crew members change.

At the end, the legend talks about each side a bit, and i wsnt to explain why i chose to do that the way i did!

Logan is logic. He is smart and you can do a lot of damage (probably) to the bottom of a boat if you know what your doing. He breaks boats (with help from other crew members) to make them sink. But only some.

Patton is morality. He is cute and sweet and he volunteered to be the spy. He joins crews and finds out how many mermaids are on board and finds a way to get the ship into a storm. Sometimes he will disappear from a crew ship a few days ans reappear like he never left. He swims right under it and will go inform the sides about the boat by leaving at night.

Virgil as Aniexty. He causes fear. Patton will tell him were gold is, food rations, and on occasion, jerks who need to be taught a permanent lesson. He sneaks on and steals, throws overboard, does anything to inconvence the pirates.and because well...they are pirates,too, they need money!

Roman is creativity. And he is the captain. And what js scarier than the red eyss he has? He started the rumoe about his eyes himself, and does sword fight on occasion. I just feel it fits him to stand dramatically xD

Part 2:

https://sockpansy.tumblr.com/post/179462778629/gaining-a-crew

#Sanders sides #lost at sea au

44 notes · View notes

p-artsypants · 6 years ago

Text

Boy Toy- Act I

At the age of 21, Princess Astrid lawfully has to pick a husband. But when the perfect groom is now where to be found, she requests the toymaker to create one for her. It's safe to say that everyone in the kingdom is a little concerned. (Pinocchio!AU I guess?)

I’m still working on Arcadia or Bust, but I have this weird AU already finished from like forever ago. I know I’ve been doing a lot of AUs lately, but I just really love them.

AO3 | FF.net

----

“No! I won’t go! You can’t make me!” She screamed as she threw herself on the bed. The princess kicked her perfect dainty legs into the mattress.

“It’s rude to skip out on a party,” her beloved servant, Tuff, stated.

“Especially your birthday party,” his twin sister, Ruff, replied.

Astrid looked up from where she had her face buried in her pillow. “But there’s going to be so many people that I’m going to have to shake hands with. And you know Uncle is going to stuff me into a dress.” She hid her face again. “I’m not doing it!”

The two servants looked at each other and sighed. “Why do we do this?” Tuff asked. “You whine and complain, and then you know your uncle is going to make you go anyway, even if he has to carry you in.”

Astrid rolled over on her back. “I don’t like your attitude. I took you off the streets, and I’ll put you back on them.”

Ruff smiled at the princess, looking in her closet for the right dress. “You can, but you won’t.”

Tuff sat on the mattress casually. “Yeah, then who would you throw your axe at? One of the other servants?”

Astrid mumbled. “They always flinch and get hit…”

“See? You’ll just have to tolerate us.”

Astrid sneered. “Sometimes I really hate you two.” She was lying of course, but she needed to keep her servants in their place somehow.

The trio was sequestered in the East wing, what she had dubbed as her living quarters. Thick sheets covered the windows, broadswords and heavy axes hung on the walls. The furniture was in disarray as sometimes her anger would be too much for her and she would cleave a bedpost in two. Only her most trusted servants were allowed to enter, a pair of twins that she had personally hired from off the street with no training whatsoever.

Ruff pulled out a pink taffeta dress with pink-feathered plumes sticking off the back. “Here’s the dress Dagur got you last year for your anniversary. You could wear this!”

“I thought I told you to burn that abomination,” the princess hissed.

Ruff laughed as she stuck the garment in the back of the closet. She and Tuff enjoyed teasing the princess like this. Despite how bratty her replies were, they knew that Astrid was truly happy when people interacted with her instead of just blindly following every order.

She was just bad at showing it.

Just then there was a knock at her bedroom door. Tuff opened it and greeted the nameless servant on the other side.

“His Majesty would like to talk to the Princess in his study,” the shy girl spoke.

“Here we go!” Astrid flung herself off the bed and snagged her favorite battle-axe from where it was lodged in the fine cherry wall. It was her security blanket, if only the twins knew it.

She was perfect. She had to be. The whole world was watching her, pandering to her, and adoring her. Though that adoration ran dry when she turned away. In truth, she would sooner push someone down in the mud to keep her boots clean, than to offer a hand to help them up. She viewed the world over her nose, and demanded perfection.

Astrid, the princess of Berk.

A perfect bitch.

She stomped down the hall and threw the door open to her uncle’s study. “I have arrived, oh great Stoick! Here at your beck and call!”

Stoick, the Tsar of Berk, was a stark contrast to his ‘niece’. A huge man, built like a mountain, but had the soul of a lamb. He was a quiet man, but lived to serve the people. His crimson beard, rosy cheeks, and cauliflower nose only made him look kinder. No Tsar was perfect, but if the populace of Berk had been polled, his numbers were stellar.

So how could such a kind and gentle man be related to Astrid? Well, Uncle wasn’t exactly a truth. When he had fostered her from her old kingdom, she had refused to call him ‘father’ like every councilman had asked. Stoick had suggested ‘Uncle’ instead, and she begrudgingly agreed. Even then, her past traumas had put a bleak disposition on the Princess the likes no one had seen before. Regardless, he loved her dearly, as he had no children of his own.

A parentless child, and a heirless King. Naturally, things worked out.

The monarch looked up at his niece; her blonde hair disheveled, tattered clothes, and that blasted axe.

“The party is in three hours. I expect you to be ready by then.”

“Well, you should lower your expectations.”

Oh how she vexed him. “Astrid, please, you’re turning 21. There’s going to be a lot of people here to see you.”

She huffed, “I don’t want to see them.”

“I know. I know.” Stoick stood from behind his desk and dwarfed the princess. “But tonight is very special. Tonight, you’ll be picking a husband.”

Her axe fell to the ground with a clatter. “Excuse you! I will do no such thing!”

“Yes, you will. I’ve told you this several times!”

“When? I don’t remember!”

“That’s because you never pay attention, child!” He accused. “Everyone in the line to the throne has to be married or engaged by their 21st birthday.”

“I didn’t think that applied to me!”

“I have no heirs, Astrid. Who did you think was going to take on the crown after me?”

She crossed her arms. “I think we should just become a democracy.”

Her uncle laughed and turned his back on her. “Those never work. You give people power and they vote in idiots.” He cleared his throat. “Don’t distract me from what I called you in here for.”

She grunted and dropped in a chair. “I hate this. I hate everything about my life.”

“No, you don’t.”

“You don’t know how I feel.”

Being the ruler of a country was hard. But being a father was exhausting, Stoick was often at a loss at how to handle Astrid. As she got older, she just seemed to grow farther and farther away.

“You’re right my dear. Maybe I don’t. But I went through some difficulties when I married your aunt. A loveless marriage that ended before it even got started. God bless her soul. That’s not what I wanted for you. Which is why I mentioned it so many times before. I want you to find love. You deserve it.”

The blonde relaxed her rigid stance. “I appreciate the sentiment, Uncle…but no one would ever love me.”

“What about Dagur?”

She snatched her axe up from the ground and pointed the blade at the monarch. “Say his name again, and you’ll wake up bald!” She shrieked.

“I know, bad break up. Forget I said anything.”

Astrid twirled her weapon and rested it against the chair side.

“As for the dress…”

Astrid groaned as she slumped in her chair, her chin resting on her chest.

Stoick stepped over to the chestnut cabinet in the corner of the room. To any other person, it would look out of place and full of junk. But to the royals, the wood panels held magic. He pulled out a leather garment bag, and draped it over the desk. Astrid sat up in interest.

“I was waiting to give you this until you got older and could fit in it.”

The princess unzipped it herself. The dress inside was black with gold trim outlining the off the shoulder neckline. More gold flowers were embroidered into the bodice of the dress. Finally, the skirt melted from black to scarlet. The colors of Berk’s flag.

Astrid stared at the dress.

“It was your mother’s. I gave it to her as a gift when our kingdoms first united.”

“Yes. I’ll wear it.” And she re-zipped the bag.

If there was something he could depend on from his niece, it was her fierce loyalty to her family.

The few hours remaining before the party were quiet. Astrid had retreated to her room, and was no doubt sitting in quiet agony while Ruff did her hair.

She stood rigidly, faking her smiles to all that graced her presence. Her arms were folded gently in front of her, occasionally squeezing tightly, as the men poured into the room. They all glanced at her with knowing looks, all thinking the same thing:

��She’s going to pick me.”

The crown jewels sat on her milky collarbone, as there was no way to avoid that tradition. Along with the tiara and red sash, everything screamed untouchable royal. Despite the quaint smile and flirtatious eyes.

She really did make herself sick sometimes.

“My dear, why aren’t you mingling with the young gentlemen?” Stoick touched her shoulder, noticing not a word had come out of her bright red lips.

“Uncle…” Astrid spoke quietly, trying not to be heard, “because I don’t want to talk to the young gentlemen…if you could call them that…”

“Now Astrid, don’t be rude. I’m sure there’s a nice, handsome, quiet guy that you could take out on special occasions. Go on, be cordial.”

Rich, beautiful, eligible men as far as the eye could see. All she had to do was point, and the man that would inevitably serve her for the rest of her life would be chosen. And yet, as she danced around the room, he was not there. The man of her dreams, the man that didn’t fake smile around her, the man that could see through her act, the man that could love her for who she was; he didn’t exist. Astrid was no fool. She knew of her cruelty, she knew what was being said about her.

And yet, how could she change if there was no one to love her?

“Well, hello my darling,” A smooth voice spoke. Astrid’s foul mood plummeted into the floor. The man speaking was a tall man, beefy in build. His broad chin was dotted with the faint hairs of an attempted beard. His hair, copper, was parted in the middle, and curled around his ears. His deep forest green eyes, the same eyes she used to gaze into for hours, had not changed, but great amusement reflected back.

She didn’t even try to hide her distaste. She growled, “Dagur B. Zerker. For what God forbidden reason are you here? To steal my food?”

He laughed. “No, not quite, you see. Your uncle invited me. He hoped that we would get back together.”

The princess blinked once and then shrieked across the ballroom. “UNCLE!!!”

Most attendees jumped at the shout and scrambled to move out of the war zone.

The ruler had just gotten away from her, when she stomped back up to him and stuck her finger in his face. “WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?!”

Stoick rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I was hoping you would reconsider courting him again.”

She shook her head. “I’m surprised at you uncle. I loved him, but he got Mala, one of my ladies in waiting, pregnant, and you think that’s a reason for another chance?”

Dagur snorted behind her. “She had a miscarriage, though.”

Astrid riled up in anger, before turning around and decking him in the mouth. “You ass!”

Startled gasps went up in the crowd as the gentry began whispering and staring.

Stoick grabbed his niece. “Enough! Behave yourself, woman!”

“He started it! I’ll kill him! That son of a bitch!”

Dagur, after he had been punched, made the wise decision to run out the room.

“Now,” Stoick stated, “I need to do damage control. Can you handle socializing for a little while without starting another fight?”

Astrid looked away in shame, but nodded solemnly.

“Good, I’ll be back in a bit.”

The crowd parted like the red sea, and Astrid was left alone. And for once in her spoiled life, she felt like she had nothing. She always had the best, the newest, the most expensive. But it wasn’t enough. She needed more and more. But in this moment, she realized it would never be enough. There was no happiness in material goods or false words.

Then, from across the room, she spotted Gobber, the Toymaker. One of the best in the world. Every year, he took a request from Astrid for her ideal custom present. No other like it was to be made.

This was Astrid’s favorite part of her birthday every year. Not just because the present was quality and made exactly they way she wanted, but because Gobber took pride in his work, and he made sure Astrid knew it. One year, the girl asked for a racing car, one that she could drive inside the palace. Gobber came multiple times in the process of building to have Astrid sit in a chair and pretend she was the one driving. Gobber was the father she never had. She never confessed to anyone, but she was always excited to see the man.

The toymaker came to her and respectfully bowed. “Your highness, happiest of birthdays to you. Long live the Princess.”

“Gobber,” She smiled pleasantly.

“I won’t beat around the bush, my dear, what do you wish me to make? I know you have it all thought out. Just like every year.” He smiled, his lead tooth glimmering in the light.

Truth be told, Astrid had forgotten to think about her present. She’d been so preoccupied with worrying about a groom…she chuckled to herself, and without thinking, blurted her personal joke out loud.

“Make me a husband.”

The toymaker laughed, but then grew silent when he saw the Princess was not joking.

“A-Are you sure?”

“Yes, Gobber, I am.”

“…Anything particular you want me to consider? Looks?”

“Just make him perfect.”

She was the Princess, and she always got what she wanted. This was no exception. Gobber took a shaky breath, “I’ll do my best, my lady…but--…”

“Your best is all I ask,” She affirmed. “I wouldn’t want anything else.”

The toymaker shrugged. “Okay. I guess I have no choice.”

“Take your time on this, I am not in a hurry to get married, but lawfully I must wed by the end of the year.”

“Three days, my lady. As tradition, you will have your gift in three days.”

“Lovely. I will see you in three days then.”

“Yes, Princess Astrid.” The toymaker bowed low and exited the ballroom. The rest of the room could only look in shock and horror at what had just happened.

“I do believe this solves everything.” The Princess smirked.

Out of nowhere, the two twin servants burst into delighted laughter. They approached from both sides. “That was priceless!”

“What a joke!”

“Did you see how everyone reacted?”

“Excellent!”

Astrid glanced between the two. “I’m serious, you know.” She raised an eyebrow.

The laughter waned. “Wait, really? You’re going to marry…a toy?”

“Most likely. But I haven’t any stretch of the imagination what he’s planning on doing. If it turns out much different then I expect, then I will make the toy another servant…or maybe a moving target, if I’m so inclined.”

The siblings shared a worried look. It was a well-known fact that the Princess morbidly stunk at human interaction, but to go as far as to marry a machine? That was an act of desperation. “If you say so.” Ruff shrugged.

#fanfiction #boy toy #httyd #how to train your dragon #hiccup horrendous haddock iii #hiccstrid #Astrid Hofferson #pinocchio #AU

13 notes · View notes

newstfionline · 4 years ago

Text

Headlines

As wildfire smoke becomes a part of life on the West Coast, so do its health risks (Washington Post) Every morning for the past few weeks, JoEllen Depakakibo has had a new kind of morning routine. She sets her alarm for 6 and opens the Environmental Protection Agency’s AirNow site on her phone. If the Air Quality Index (AQI) passes 150, called “unhealthy” by the EPA, Depakakibo has her employees shut the main door and turn on a medical-grade air purifier inside Pinhole Coffee Shop, the cafe she opened here six years ago. If it passes 200, they close the cafe. She’s had to shut five times in recent weeks because of the smoke that has stubbornly settled over the city. The fires are also having a massive impact on people far from any actual flames. Massive plumes of smoke have converged and covered almost the entire western edge of the United States. It has drifted into the neighboring states of Nevada and Arizona, lowering air quality in some parts. And smoke has even blotted out the sun thousands of miles away in D.C. The haze along the West Coast has created the most polluted air in the world over the past week, forcing millions of residents indoors. And the smoke is creating short- and long-term health risks for everyone exposed, health experts say.

Showdown set as US to declare UN sanctions on Iran are back (AP) In defiance of overwhelming opposition, the United States is preparing to declare that all international sanctions against Iran have been restored. Few countries believe the move is legal, and such action could provoke a credibility crisis at the United Nations. Virtually alone in the world, the Trump administration will announce on Saturday that U.N. sanctions on Iran eased under the 2015 nuclear deal are back in force. But the other members of the U.N. Security Council, including U.S. allies, disagree and have vowed to ignore the step. That sets the stage for ugly confrontations as the world body prepares to celebrate its 75th anniversary at a coronavirus-restricted General Assembly session next week. The question is how the Trump administration will respond to being ignored. It already has slapped extensive sanctions on Iran, but could impose penalties on countries that don’t enforce the U.N. sanctions it claims to have reimposed. A wholesale rejection of the U.S. position could push the administration, which has already withdrawn from multiple U.N. agencies, organizations and treaties, further away from the international community.

MiGs on the campaign trail (Foreign Policy) The fundraising arm of the Trump campaign issued a digital ad centered on supporting U.S. troops, which ran from Sept. 8 through Sept. 12. The only problem? It used photos of Russian fighter jets, Politico reports.

Remote work vs. office work (Bloomberg) A Gallup survey conducted for Wells Fargo found 42 percent of the 1,094 workers it surveyed looked favorably on working remotely compared to just 14 percent who viewed it negatively. Other surveys conducted for large employers have found similar interest in at least partial work-from-home moving forward. When a management consultancy asked 1,000 people in June what they were looking forward to when returning to the office, 20 percent said “nothing at all.” In related news (via Business Insider), the vast majority (83%) of millennials currently living near a major tech hub, such as Silicon Valley or New York, plan to or are considering a move to a more affordable city because of COVID, according to new data from a survey of 500 US tech workers by domain extension provider .Tech Domains. It coincides with US tech giants pioneering new flexible working policies because of the pandemic.

Gulf Coast braces for 2nd round of flooding in Sally’s wake (AP) Homeowners and businesses along the soggy Gulf Coast began cleaning up Thursday in the wake of Hurricane Sally, even as the region braced for a delayed, second round of flooding in the coming days from rivers and creeks swollen by the storm’s heavy rains. In hard-hit Pensacola and surrounding Escambia County, where Sally’s floodwaters surged through downtown streets and lapped at car door handles on Wednesday before receding, authorities went door-to-door to check on residents and warn them the danger wasn’t over. With the Florida Panhandle and Alabama on alert, Sally’s rainy remnants pushed farther inland across the Southeast, causing flooding in Georgia and threatening more of the same on Friday in North Carolina and Virginia. Forecasters said Georgia could get up to a foot (30 centimeters), and South Carolina 10 inches (25 centimeters).

For Mexico, a somber Independence Day (Washington Post) Troops marched in formation across a deserted public plaza in the Mexican capital Wednesday, and military planes rocketed across a clear blue sky to mark the country’s independence from Spain. But while many Mexicans enjoyed the day off, lingering in bars and eateries across the city, the prevailing mood was one of brief escapism from a dark and worrying time, defined by the devastation of a virus that has take more than 71,600 lives and hammered the economy. “We are proud, but we are angry and sad at the same time,” said Laura Santander, 28, a physician who was sipping rum and Cokes with friends at a noisy cafe. “This is our nation’s birthday, and normally we love to celebrate and shout and carry on. But we know the pandemic is not going to go away for a long time. It is eclipsing our pride.”

Back to the past in Bolivia? (Foreign Policy) An opinion poll published on Wednesday suggests that Luis Arce, the candidate representing former Bolivian President Evo Morales’s Movement for Socialism, is leading all other candidates for next month’s presidential election, a sign that Morales’s legacy in the country is still strong. Arce served as the country’s minister of finance from 2006 to 2017, and was a close ally of Morales. According to the poll, Arce’s support stands at 40.3 percent, distantly followed by former President Carlos Mesa and current interim President Jeanine Áñez, the former senator who took over the presidency after Morales’s forced resignation in November.

Lesbos and its migrants (NYT) One week after a fire razed Europe’s largest migrant camp, on the Greek island of Lesbos, few countries have offered to take in any of the 12,500 people who became homeless, and while the Greek government has quickly erected a makeshift tent camp, migrants and aid workers fear it will fall into the same squalid conditions that have symbolized the continent’s failures.

As India’s virus cases rise, so do questions over death toll (AP) When Narayan Mitra died on July 16, a day after being admitted to the hospital for fever and breathing difficulties, his name never appeared on any of the official lists put out daily of those killed by the coronavirus. Test results later revealed that Mitra had indeed been infected with COVID-19, but the virus was deemed an “incidental” factor. “He died because of the virus, and there is no point lying about it,” Abhijit Mitra said of the finding. Such exclusions could explain why India, which has recorded more than 5.1 million infections—second only to the United States—has a death toll of about 83,000 in a country of 1.3 billion people. India’s Health Ministry has cited this as evidence of its success in fighting the pandemic. But experts say the numbers are misleading and that India is not counting many deaths. (Other countries are reportedly guilty of the same.)

U.S. Sending Weapons to Taiwan as Tensions With China Remain High (Foreign Policy) The United States is planning to sell a range of new weapons to Taiwan, deepening its commitment to the island nation amid deteriorating relations with Beijing. Sources told Reuters that the sales include seven major weapons systems, including mines, cruise missiles, and drones; a huge supply of weaponry that represents a major departure from the more conservative approach taken by past administrations. Details obtained by the Wall Street Journal said that the deal was expected to total around $7 billion, and would include $400 million worth of sophisticated drones, complete with sensors, logistics, training, and other equipment. The move is sure to provoke a strong reaction in Beijing. China has long considered Taiwan to be part of its national territory, and it strongly opposes any overtures by the United States to develop deeper ties with the country.

Churches have become South Korea’s coronavirus battleground (Washington Post) In South Korea, Christians find themselves at the center of pandemic controversy, after places of worship and Christian communities were blamed by President Moon Jae-in for two waves of coronavirus infections. The ensuing dispute has mixed religion, epidemiology and politics in a nation where nearly 1 in 3 people identify as Christian and where those who do often lean conservative, putting them at odds with Moon’s center-left government. As a result of the controversy, Seog’s Gyesan Jeil Church—in Incheon city, southwest of the capital, Seoul—was forced to switch to largely online services last month. And the pastor is not happy. “Except for a few rule-breakers, most churches, including ours, have been carefully observing health rules at excruciating emotional and financial cost,” he said in an interview. “Enforcing these restrictions unilaterally upon all Protestant churches, this is nothing short of communism.” Meeting with leaders of Protestant groups in the Seoul area last month, Moon urged compliance with the coronavirus rules.

Under lockdown, Israel faces bitter start of Jewish New Year (AP) Eating apples dipped in honey on Rosh Hashanah is a Jewish tradition to symbolize a sweet start of the New Year. But in Israel, bitterness prevails on the eve of the holiday as the country faces a second nationwide lockdown to stem a raging coronavirus outbreak. Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu’s government has imposed a three-week lockdown, beginning on Friday afternoon—just hours before Rosh Hashanah starts. Israel’s first lockdown, in March and April, put a damper on Passover, the Jewish spring holiday marking the deliverance of the ancient Hebrews from slavery in Egypt. Now, the Jewish High Holidays look to be similarly subdued. Religious and secular Israelis alike mark Rosh Hashanah with festive holiday feasts with family and friends. They pack synagogues, often spending hours in prayer, especially during the fast of Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, which falls later this month.

Tracking device for UAE visitors (Reuters) International passengers arriving at Abu Dhabi airport will now have to wear a tracking device while they complete a mandatory 14-day home quarantine due to COVID-19, according to state-owned Etihad Airways. Daily infections in the United Arab Emirates rose this month to their highest since the outbreak started, which officials have largely blamed on people not practicing social distancing.

Sudan flooding (AFP) The White Nile and Blue Nile rivers are Sudan’s lifeblood. Heavy rains, however, have transformed them into a force for calamity. More than 100 are dead and more than half a million are homeless in the worst flooding in at least a century. Khartoum is the worst-hit area, inundated by waters from both Nile tributaries. Humanitarian aid has been slow to arrive, and many have been sheltering in schools and government offices.

#headlines #news

0 notes

thenewsboysrazorblades · 8 years ago

Text

Back To Birmingham Part Five

You lay in the bed that the maid had showed you too earlier in the night, after Tommy had left to do his business. The business you knew took part in beating the living shit out of the man who had left your body broken and bloody. Tommy Shelby was not happy with you, but Poll was right, this wasn’t something that he would have turned a blind eye to. What on earth ever made you think that Thomas Shelby would not react to you being the object of another mans aggression.

The ivory colored rose had not wilted at all since you plucked it from the garden, it was laying on the nightstand beside your head. You stared at it and examined each petal before taking it into your hand and pressing a few petals in between your fingers. A few moments later the rose changed colors, and started to wilt. It reminded you of yourself in many ways. Tommy had raised his voice to you, but even all that you had been through recently it didn’t make you frightened. Although for many, it would have, but not you. You were in love with him, even years after parting from the Shelby family.

Sleep wasn’t going to be your friend this evening, and the pain was returning to your head from your broken cheek. You rubbed it lightly with the palm of your hand, feeling a movement in it that was not very pleasant. Pushing yourself up from the mattress you waltzed into the hallway, and made your way toward the kitchen. A light was shining from under Tommy’s study and you could hear his voice, which you could only assume meant he was on the phone. It was still early in the morning, but darkness still loomed outside.

“What do you mean by that?” You heard him say. “She lost a child, does that not concern you?” His voice grew nearer to the door and you jumped back slightly, hoping that he had not heard your footsteps. “The doctor said that she was pregnant, or had been recently.” His voice trailed back farther away. “Not that I’d want any part of that fucking boy traipsing around in the world anyhow. It was part of her, shouldn’t she be feeling some sort of loss? I fear that she has been emotionally hurt and is not responding to it. I need help understanding what I can do for her.” His voice growing closer once more, your heart lurched at this conversation, only wondering even more who he could be talking to on the other end of the phone. Hoping that he hadn’t been laying all of your medical history out to his family. “I understand that your a doctor too, but I can’t have people in here giving her a look over every five minutes. I just want to make sure she is okay.” A moment later the phone clanked down.

You padded past the doorway, wondering if what the doctor had told Tommy was true. You wanted to burst into his office, and demand why the doctor he had sent in lied to you. You swallowed hard and headed for the kitchen.

“A baby. But the other doctor had told me that I couldn’t have children.” The thought boggled you. Shouldn’t you have been more upset about that kind of loss? Shouldn’t you have known what was going on inside your own body?

“Midnight snack?” You jumped and hit your head on the roof of the refrigerator.

“Jesus Tommy.” You pulled out a glass of milk and some cookies that had been stashed away.

“Never did talk to him much.” He looked you over, with the same concern he had in his eyes since you arrived at his house.

You gave yourself away by the next action, instead of responding with a retort about religion you poured the milk into another container. He knew you were avoiding the next conversation and he dove in head first.

“The conversation I was just having on the phone.....” You pretended not to hear him and he cleared his throat, walking over to the counter to stand beside you. “Was not about you, (Y/N).” The milk caught in your throat, and you slowly swallowed feeling just how deep the bruises were on your neck.

You looked at him puzzled. “Then w....” Before you could get it out he held up his hand.

“A client.” He simply stated, fiddling with a cigarette and then thinking better of it. He slid it behind his ear. “However, I did talk to the doctor about your health as well.” You could see the desperate need for a drag in his eyes and felt immediately guilty that he was afraid it would send you into another coughing fit. “Woman, did I teach you nothin’ about fightin’?”

“Apparently all you taught me was about....” His fingers laid on your lips.

“Guns and ammo, I know.” He was keeping his hands busy, and reached for a cookie. He took a seat on a bar stool as you waited for the scolding to begin about how you should be in bed, but it never came. “Two broken ribs, a broken cheek bone, severe bruises to your neck muscles, and a busted lip.” Tommy ran his hand over his face, he was exhausted from the day. Who knows what kind of business he was dealing with before I came along.

“I didn’t ask this of you.” Your voice raspy from the soreness.

“You didn’t have to.” He said curtly. “I don’t want to fight about this again, (Y/N)” He reached for the cigarette out of habit but stopped short. His hair was a mess, as you could tell that he had been running his hand through it. His blue eyes looked up at you, as he snaked his arm around your waist, pulling you close. It was contact that you had not been expecting, but welcomed.

Tommy buried his head into your chest, and you ran your hand through his hair and down his neck.

“I’d lost you. I don’t know what I would have done if I had found anything had happened to you because you thought I’d abandoned you.” He was breathy in his words.

“You never lost me Tommy. I’ve always been here.” You looked around the kitchen, pictures of grass fields splayed around on the walls. White tile, and a concrete floor, ideas that you had filled his head with when you were just teenagers. A house that was a house, until someone made it a home. “I knew I should have turned to you, I just....I couldn’t after I had left you like that.” He looked up at you, this time there were no tears, Tommy had shed all of the tears he was going to allow you to see already.

“I let you walk away.” He blinked slowly and thoughtfully.

“You followed me, kept an eye on me. That was until I sent them trumping back home, on Polly’s orders.” You put the last part in air quotes. “There is nothing you could have done to save me, before now. It was my decision, my mess to live in. I just never expected....”

“This?” He motioned to the various bruises lining your body.

You nodded in agreement. “I never expected to...” You swallowed hard and felt a searing pain in your throat. The muscles were angered at the aggravation of talking and the movement of your vocal cords. “To not be able to have children.” Tommy sat up right. You were unsure of what made him do this. “Did the doctor not tell you?” You asked hurriedly, wanting the immediate return of his body warmth to yours.

“No.” Was the only thing he stated. Your heart broke even more, and Tommy immediately tried to counter he initial reaction. He reached for you, but you had already turned your back to him. “(Y/N)?” He spoke softly. You didn’t answer. He came around to face you, placing a hand onto your cheek and wiping away the stray tear with his thumb. “You’re not broken, not to me.”

The tears fell like waterfalls, as Tommy pulled you in close careful of your wounds. He stroked your hair, and faltered with you to the floor. At some point you began striking his chest, but he still just held you. He cooed and rubbed your back as you cried, the next thing you remember was being placed back into bed.

The sun shone through the window, and you shook your head shuffling in the covers. “How’d I....” You observed the room and noticed a sleeping Thomas in the arm chair facing the bed. You weren’t in the same room that you had exited from the night before, you were in Thomas Shelby’s room. The room where he slept every night (probably not accurate). His head was folded to the side in a very uncomfortable looking fashion, his chest rising and falling in a slow motion. He was still dressed in the wool waistcoat and tie that he’d had on when he came back from getting you divorced the night before. You didn’t have to stare at him very long to note the set in his jaw had tightened over the years, creases formed where laugh lines should have been, a furrow line in his brow. There was no trace of the carefree Tommy that you had once known. You had broken that part of him long ago, but you had seen glimpses of him in the nights passing.

You didn’t want to wake him,so you traipsed around looking for other clothes to put on. A maid found you wandering in the hallway.

“Mr. Shelby had these delivered for you.” A simple skirt and blouse were handed to you. You curtsied slightly in what little you had on.

Pulling the white shirt over your head, you could smell traces of Tommy on it. You didn’t want to remove it, but you were sure the rest of the Shelby clan would be arriving soon and would rather have a multitude of your mangled body hidden from sight.

Once dressed you descended the staircase where a maid was waiting for you, and guided you toward the dinning room. You still had not taken the time to pin back your unruly hair, and worried that you would look like a mess at breakfast. You fiddled with the ends, when his hand stopped yours.

“You look...” He paused, but his eyes said it all. Broken. You could see the setting in of deep purple under his eye lids. He hadn’t gotten much sleep at all.

“You should have gotten some rest. You didn’t have to watch over me.” You heard a car pull in the drive.

“You were fidgeting so much in your sleep, and you kept whimpering. I couldn’t tell if you were in pain or having a bad dream. Then you spiked a fever, and I had to make sure that you were okay.” You looked at him puzzled. Then slightly remembering a cold cloth on the nape of your neck and his hand pressed to your forehead. He immediately turned at the sound of the doorbell.

“I, um.” You wanted to apologize but Tommy’s presence was gone from the room. A heard of Shelby’s came in through the doors toward the elongated table. You would be seated next to Tommy on his left, Poll on his right. She stared at you across the table, and was about to speak when Tommy raised his orange juice glass.

“A toast.” The others followed suit. “To good family, good friends, and the return of what has been lost.” They all nodded in return, and looked at you briefly before discussing the business deal that Tommy was obviously referring to at the end of his toast.

16 notes · View notes

h-bailey · 7 years ago

Text

Gov. Greg Abbott may be looking beyond Texas, as he runs even farther to the right

Texas Gov. Greg Abbott leads his staff on a neighborhood get-out-the-vote effort in McAllen, Texas, July 15. (Photo: Holly Bailey/Yahoo News)

McALLEN, Texas — It was not yet 10 a.m. on a recent Saturday morning when the doorbell rang. At first the man inside thought it was some Jehovah’s Witnesses calling, making their usual weekend rounds in his suburban neighborhood here in far south Texas.

But when he opened his front door, the man, who later introduced himself as Victor, seemed momentarily taken aback by what he saw. At least a dozen people, many with cameras and microphones, were crowding the tiny entryway of his modest brick home, while one photographer scrambled through the bushes like a wild animal to get a better vantage point. “The guy probably thinks we’re from Publishers Clearing House,” someone whispered.

But there were no giant checks, and no surprise jackpots. Just a man in a wheelchair right in front with big smile and a strong handshake, which he quickly offered up. “Hello,” he told Victor, grabbing his hand firmly. “I’m Texas Gov. Greg Abbott.”

It was officially day two of Abbott’s reelection campaign. Less than 24 hours before, the Texas governor had announced he would run for reelection in 2018. It was just a formality, though; the campaign had already been up and running for months, assembling the kind of political infrastructure not usually seen this early in a nonpresidential race. Abbott’s team has been working the ground game for months, canvassing neighborhoods across the state in what national party officials have described as one of the most advanced voter-targeting operations of any political campaign in the country.

And that’s how Abbott ended up here, rolling down Jasmine Lane in his wheelchair on a hot and sticky summer morning in one of the last remaining counties that still votes strongly blue in a flaming red state. While Abbott easily defeated his Democratic opponent Wendy Davis by 20 points during his race for governor three years ago, she trounced him here in the Rio Grande Valley by a margin as high as 30 points in some counties. It was a disappointing result for Abbott, who had visited the area dozens of times — more than Davis and more than any Republican before him — trying to make inroads with an electorate that is heavily Hispanic. It’s an issue that is personal for Abbott: His wife, Cecilia, a former teacher, is a third-generation Mexican-American, the granddaughter of immigrants.

Texas Gov. Greg Abbott and his wife, Cecilia, speak to a potential supporter. (Photo: Holly Bailey/Yahoo News)

The Rio Grande Valley was the first place Abbott visited after launching his first campaign for governor, and nearly four years later, it was his first stop again, even as he has pursued an agenda that has grown distinctly more conservative and, in some cases, some have argued, anti-Latino. But Abbott hadn’t given up trying to win over voters here. “I have a vision. I have a goal that I intend to achieve,” Abbott bluntly told a group of volunteers who had gathered to go knock doors on his behalf. “Whether it be this election or some election in the future, my goal is to ensure that in my lifetime the Rio Grande Valley is gonna be voting Republican every single election.”

Abbott’s campaign had chosen this block in particular, as it was home to what an aide described as “soft Democrats” — moderate, swing voters they believed could be convinced to support a Republican. Steering his wheelchair down a bumpy sidewalk, Abbott, who is partially paralyzed from the waist down, seemed more hopeful about his chances than decades of voting data would suggest. “You can’t get someone’s support unless you ask,” he breezily declared as he rolled toward the next house trailed by his wife, a contingent of staff and security and a scrum of reporters. “So we need to ask.”

Even before he arrived here, Abbott’s campaign was already in full force — so well organized that many outside Texas have taken notice, wondering if there isn’t more on the governor’s mind than trying to flip Democratic counties in the far southern part of his state. As of June 30, Abbott had nearly $41 million in the bank for his campaign, $10 million of which he’d raised in the last few days of the month alone. It was a near-record haul for any statewide candidate at this point in the race, even though he has yet to attract any major opponent and is widely regarded to be one of the safest gubernatorial incumbents in the country. A Morning Consult poll released this week named Abbott as the seventh-most-popular governor in the country, with a 64 percent approval rating among likely Texas voters.

Abbott’s popularity in a fast-growing state that is as strongly identified with Republican politics as California is for Democrats has already sparked whispers among GOP insiders always on the lookout for who might be worthy White House material. Abbott’s aggressive reelection campaign has only added to the speculation about whether the governor, emboldened in part by the example of Donald Trump, has higher ambitions than another four years in the Texas statehouse.

Texas Gov. Greg Abbott greets supporters after declaring his bid for reelection July 14 in San Antonio, Tex. (Photo: Holly Bailey/Yahoo News)

“I wouldn’t put him in the category of he goes to bed at night dreaming of being in the White House because he clearly is a guy who enjoys being governor of Texas,” said Bill Miller, an Austin-based lobbyist and political consultant who has close ties to Abbott world. But after Trump’s victory last November, Miller noticed a change: “I felt at that time his national antenna had gone up. He’s the governor of Texas, and in the political field, the person who is governor from Texas, the most conservative state, it puts you in the profile [of White House hopefuls]. I think he started thinking about it.”

Another longtime GOP campaign hand was less circumspect — though he declined to be named to speak more freely. “Abbott is from the land of George W. Bush and Rick Perry, who both ran for president,” he said. “You don’t think he’s looking at the White House right now and thinking he can do so much better?”

Abbott, a former Texas Supreme Court justice who spent 12 years as the state attorney general before becoming governor, has the strict conservative credentials that many Republicans used to require for those considering higher office — at least in the days before Trump. And he already has close relationships with the Koch brothers and other heavyweight conservatives who were viewed as Republican kingmakers before Trump’s unlikely campaign for president upended the 2016 campaign and shook up the party.

What is telling is that Abbott did not seem so outwardly surprised by Trump. Though he had endorsed Sen. Ted Cruz, a close friend and political ally who had worked for him as Texas’ solicitor general in the GOP primary, Abbott did not criticize Trump in the way many others in his party did. Perhaps that’s because he had already been embracing issues that came to animate Trump’s surprising political rise, including calls for stronger border security, a crackdown on so-called sanctuary cities and efforts to limit the resettlement of Syrian refugees in the U.S.

While Trump’s efforts to deliver on those campaign promises have been caught up in a mix of politics and legal wrangling in Washington, Abbott has continued to push forward with little opposition, raising the idea that Trump’s vision for America may ultimately be implemented by state executives like him, not the White House.

In May, Abbott signed a law banning sanctuary cities, which threatens local officials not only with stripped state funding but jail time and removal from public office if they do not cooperate with federal immigration authorities. Known as SB4, the bill also included a controversial provision that allows law enforcement officers to question the immigration status of people they detain.

A supporter waits for Texas Gov. Greg Abbott to speak at his reelection campaign kickoff San Antonio, Texas, July 14. (Photo: Holly Bailey/Yahoo News)

Similar to Trump’s executive order signed earlier this year that sought to strip federal funding from sanctuary cities, the Texas law has prompted a flurry of litigation, including lawsuits from local governments including Texas’s four largest cities: Houston, Dallas, San Antonio and Austin. But unlike Trump’s order, which has been blocked by the courts and is currently under appeal, the law Abbott signed is set to take effect on Sept. 1, barring interference from the courts.

Abbott has seized on other issues that have been championed by Trump and energized his conservative base. He has argued against the resettlement of Syrians and other refugees in his state — though as governor of Texas he can do little but complain about what is largely a federal issue. And echoing Trump, Abbott has decried what he has described as “rampant voter fraud” across Texas, though only a few cases have actually merited prosecution so far.

Earlier this year, a Mexican national from Fort Worth was sentenced to eight years in prison for illegally voting in the 2012 and 2014 elections. The woman, who is a permanent U.S. resident and cast her ballot for Republican candidates including Texas Attorney General Ken Paxton, who prosecuted her case, said she believed she was allowed to vote and simply made a mistake. But Abbott pointed to her case as proof that “voter fraud is real and will be punished in the state of Texas.”

On some issues, Abbott is further to the right than Trump — though it’s unclear whether he is there out of personal conviction or the fear of being outflanked by other prominent Texas conservatives. That includes Lieutenant Gov. Dan Patrick, a fiery former talk radio host and tea party conservative from Houston who is the tonal opposite of the more restrained Abbott, who tends to operate with what a friend describes as a “judicial temperament.”

Their differences in style has led to criticism, even from Republicans, that Abbott has allowed Patrick too much control of the agenda in Austin. People close to governor insist he is leading, not following, but some also acknowledge the pressure Abbott has faced in keeping up with a party that has moved further and further to the right.

Supporters at Texas Gov. Greg Abbott’s reelection campaign kickoff, July 14. (Photo: Holly Bailey/Yahoo News)

“The biggest challenge for Abbott right now is the danger of getting flanked on the right, and he knows that,” a close ally of Abbott said. “And the atmosphere just keeps getting more and more conservative. You don’t think we can get anymore conservative, and then we do. And so he just has to keep going that way, to stay ahead of the needle.”

Abbott this week convened a special session of the state legislature to tackle unfinished business from last spring’s session, including the “bathroom bill” championed by Patrick that seeks to restrict which public restrooms transgendered Texans can use. The bill is modeled after a controversial law passed by North Carolina in 2016 and partially repealed by officials there earlier this year after widespread boycotts, including from the National Basketball Association, which pulled the All-Star Game out of Charlotte.

Abbott initially seemed to try to stay out of the fray as Patrick promoted the bill, which like the North Carolina law, has sparked threats of boycotts, including from the National Football League and dozens of corporations who have threatened to relocate jobs elsewhere. But he later signaled his support for the bill. When Patrick, who is head of the state Senate, failed to reach a deal with state Rep. Joe Straus, the moderate Republican speaker of the House, the governor called the state legislature back to work, with the bathroom bill as one of the leading agenda items.

Abbott has said the bill is necessary to clarify state law because of mixed signals from the federal government. But some in Texas have wondered if there are other political motivations at work. That includes persistent rumors that Patrick had considered a primary challenge against Abbott next year — something Patrick, who has announced his own bid for reelection, has repeatedly denied.

The Texas governor launched his reelection bid against the backdrop of the special session in what seemed to be a move to raise his public profile. In a shift, he’s threatened to publicly shame Republicans who break with his agenda, suggesting he might campaign against them next year — a move that was cheered by his most conservative supporters. He’s become more active on social media including Facebook and Twitter — where, like Trump, he seems to be trying directly engage and energize his base.

Texas Gov. Greg Abbott speaks to campaign volunteers in McAllen, Texas, July 15. (Photo: Holly Bailey/Yahoo News)

Asked about the ground game and fundraising, Abbott aides say the governor will eventually attract an opponent, and they want to be ready. “If you don’t run a campaign, you can’t win … whether we have a serious opponent or not,” said Dave Carney, a New Hampshire-based political operative who worked for Rick Perry before he signed as a senior advisor to Abbott.

On the stump, Abbott has been urging voters not to be complacent. In his announcement speech and later to supporters in McAllen, Abbott also cited concerns about an increasingly energized Democratic base in Texas — pointing to Trump’s 9-point win over Hillary Clinton in November, the smallest margin of victory for a Republican presidential candidate in 20 years.

Though they have worked hard for years to make inroads into what has unquestionably become one of the reddest states in the country, many Texas Democrats believe their party is still far from winning back significant ground in the state. Democrats haven’t held a statewide office in Texas since 1994 —the longest record of any state in the country. But you’d never know that listening to Abbott.

“Liberals are trying to mess with Texas,” the governor said in his announcement speech, pointing to places like Harris County, which includes Houston. He won there three years ago, but it went decidedly blue for Clinton last November, handing victories to other state and local Democrats on the ticket. Political observers cite changing voter demographics, including a growing Hispanic population that is expected to outnumber Anglos in the state within a few decades, and the influx of new voters from states like California, drawn to Texas by lower taxes and strong economic growth.

But Abbott attributed the results to outside forces like George Soros and House Democratic leader Nancy Pelosi — the familiar bogeymen for the right whose mere mention elicited loud boos from the governor’s supporters. “Liberals think they have found cracks in our armor,” Abbott warned.

As he spoke, a supporter waved a handmade sign that had been distributed by Abbott’s campaign, depicting a cannon that said, “COME AND GET IT.”

Texas Gov. Greg Abbott with a supporter in San Antonio, Texas, July 14. (Photo: Holly Bailey/Yahoo News)

The next morning, rallying supporters at a barbecue restaurant in McAllen, Abbott issued a similar warning. “We’re fighting for something that the liberals are trying to take away. And that is the freedom that Texas stands for,” he said. “If we were to lose Texas to the liberals, there would be no other place in the United States for people to go to for freedom. If we lose Texas, we lose America.”

Beyond Abbott’s conservative bona fides, he has a personal story that likely would play well on the national stage. In 1984, after graduating from Vanderbilt Law School, Abbott, who grew up in East Texas, moved back to Houston, where he had landed a job at a tony law firm. One day, while taking a break from studying for the bar, he went for a run and was jogging past a towering oak tree as it crashed to the ground.

A nearby Cadillac was flattened, and so was Abbott’s spine, nearly killing him. He was hospitalized for months and left paralyzed from the waist down. Doctors rebuilt his vertebrae piece by piece along with steel rods in his back.

When Abbott tells the story on the trail, he tries to do so with a little humor, telling voters that politicians promise all the time that they will have a spine of steel. “I really do have a steel spine,” the governor jokes.

Abbott’s disability makes him unusual — especially in Texas politics, where politicians are known for their swagger. But observing him, one quickly gets the sense that Abbott’s injury also motivates him to demonstrate his will and stamina. He operates with the air of someone who has something to prove.

Not by coincidence, the Texas governor kicked off his reelection on July 14—the 33rd anniversary of his accident. Though he made no mention of the date, Abbott rolled up a ramp to a specially lowered lectern, where he maneuvered around the stage shaking hands before delivering a 25-minute speech. Afterward, he worked the crowd longer than most politicians would, spending another 30 minutes posing for photos, leaning in for hugs and shaking the hand of everyone who approached him. He stayed until the very last supporter had cleared the stage, and then he rolled down a ramp and climbed into a waiting car on his own.

Texas Gov. Greg Abbott campaigning in McAllen, Texas. (Photo: Holly Bailey/Yahoo News)

It was a striking image compared to how aides to Franklin Delano Roosevelt discouraged and even outright forced reporters to refrain from showing the president, who had lost the use of his legs as a result of polio, in a wheelchair. Though Texas media has reported extensively on Abbott’s disability, some voters are still surprised to discover the governor’s paralysis.

During his get-out-the-vote effort in McAllen, Abbott rolled up the driveway of a Korean War veteran who was stunned to see the governor in a wheelchair. All the times he’d seen him on television, “I didn’t know you were paralyzed,” the man said, as he patted Abbott several times on the leg —explaining that was how troops would greet and honor comrades who had lost limbs in conflict. “Nice to meet you too,” the governor said.

Abbott’s political identity in Texas has been defined just as much by his willingness to take on Washington in the courts. Texas sued the Obama administration 48 times between 2009 and 2016, according to a tally by the Texas Tribune — with most of those lawsuits filed by Abbott himself. When he was running for governor in 2013, Abbott famously described his average workday: “I go to the office, I sue the federal government, and I go home.”

But having Trump in the White House has made it trickier for Abbott to present himself as a relentless warrior against Washington. Many of the regulations that he filed suit over, including rules from the Environmental Protection Agency, are in the process of being dialed back by the Trump administration, which means Abbott has less to complain about.

On the campaign trail and on the job, he rarely mentions Trump. In a radio interview earlier this week, he offered a rare critique of Trump’s performance so far, suggesting the White House needs some legislative accomplishments. “It’s like going through the first half of a football game without scoring a touchdown,” he told Austin’s KOKE radio. “You have to start putting some points on the board.”

A man speaks to Texas Gov. Greg Abbott during a get-out-the-vote effort in McAllen. (Photo: Holly Bailey/Yahoo News)

But there are tensions. Last month, Paxton, the state attorney general and a close ally of Abbott, threatened to sue the Trump administration if it did not act to rescind a 2012 program approved by President Barack Obama that granted temporary work status to so-called dreamers — young undocumented immigrants who came to the U.S. as children.

The letter, which was co-signed by nine other Republican state attorneys general, called on the Trump administration to immediately cease processing new enrollees into the program and renewals. It came as Trump has publicly agonized over program — the fate of which he will personally decide, he told reporters on Air Force One last week.

At the same time, Abbott continues to champion one of his pet projects: a call for a new constitutional convention. Among Abbott’s proposals is an amendment that would allow a two-thirds majority of the states to override a Supreme Court decision and one requiring Congress to balance the federal budget.

Asked earlier this year if he still thinks a convention of states is necessary under Trump, he told reporters, “What is ailing America is far bigger than what any one president can fix.”

For the better part of an hour, Abbott rolled from house to house in McAllen, dodging low-hanging tree limbs and occasionally jetting into the street to avoid cracked sidewalks and driveways blocked by cars, as his entourage ran to keep up with him. Along the way, he stopped at five houses, cold calling on residents who seemed stunned to see the governor of Texas on their doorstep, asking for their vote. “I wish I had makeup on,” one woman told him. “But yes, you’ve got my vote.”

Even Victor, a Latino factory worker and registered Democrat, was won over, telling Abbott he backed his efforts to create jobs. “You’ve got my support,” he said.

Abbott aides have insisted their boss is focused on his reelection race and not beyond — and that his more immediate goal, in addition to winning a second term, is to expand the GOP’s power in places like the Rio Grande Valley.

A man pats Texas Gov. Greg Abbott’s leg during a get-out-the-vote effort July 15 in McAllen. The voter told Abbott he had never realized he was paralyzed. (Photo: Holly Bailey/Yahoo News)

“I honestly don’t think he has ambitions to go to Washington,” Carney said of Abbott. “I think he believes, and I’ve heard this privately and publicly, he has the best job there is in American politics.”

But Carney acknowledged he also didn’t see his former boss Perry running for president. “You never know, I guess,” he said. “But I just don’t think [Abbott] is driven by personal ambition in that way. He’s extremely ambitious and competitive about what he wants to get done, but it’s not personal ambition.”

By the time Abbott hoisted himself from his wheelchair into the backseat of a black car set to take him to another campaign event, he had gotten pledges from seven people to vote for his campaign, while some had even promised to volunteer. “Not bad,” he told his staff.

_____