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starsofang · 2 months ago

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CALL OF THE SEA / PART TWELVE

pirate poly!141 x f!reader tw: NSFW, MDNI, heavy topics such as death, blood, and past trauma mentioned masterlist a/n: thank you for all your support while i grow through a difficult time!! i appreciate all of you for being so patient and loving. long chapter for u!! <3

When a group of unhinged pirates invade your small village, you're whisked away from your peaceful home and thrown on to a voyage out at sea. Forced to obtain a new role as their medic, you have no choice but to accept your fate as you join their forces and aid them in their treacherous travels.

Ghost didn’t remember much about his childhood. His mind blocked it out for him. But he did remember the pain and suffering he went through at such a young age.

He didn’t deserve that. Seeing his family, massacred in front of him. The blood mixed with the metallic scent that even now seemed to tinge his nose with a nostalgia that made him sick.

He was only a child, yet that was the day Ghost was born within him.

It was like an awakening. He saw how cruel the world could be through a pure lens and it tainted his vision red. Nothing was ever the same that day, and gradually, Simon was forgotten and Ghost was his new muse.

He could recall the nights he spent alone, digging through waste bins and slumping out on the streets like a dead dog. Stealing bread from shop merchants and having to run, barefooted to avoid getting beaten. Freezing to death on the street corner when winter came around and the pure snow covered the ground in a blanket.

It was scary for a boy his age. Dehumanizing. He didn’t deserve that.

He thought he was lucky when a ship crew came along, parading the streets to offer security. A job, a place to sleep, and meals — it seemed perfect for somebody who had absolutely nothing.

He couldn’t have been more wrong.

Ghost never saw Simon again after that day. He was lost somewhere at sea, hidden under the roar of waves. Ghost didn’t know where to look for him until soon enough, Simon had disappeared and Ghost replaced him. Graves made sure of that.

A captain, like hell he was. Ghost knew something wasn’t quite right about Graves the moment he met him, yet as a child, he was desperate. Once he was in, it was too late, and the broken pieces of him became completely irreparable.

Graves held a devilish aura about him, one Ghost could practically see radiating around him. Every step he took was one closer to chaos.

No matter the destination, Ghost was held on by a leash with Graves being the handler. The sights Ghost saw, some being from his doing, was something he’d never get back. It was as if reliving that very day where he lost everything.

Living amongst Graves’ crew was worse than living in hell. He would’ve preferred it. To be banished for his sins, to taste the sweet nectar of death, and live his eternity punished. Anything to stray from Graves and his ship.

When he saw the way you looked—the darkness looming over you, the distress in your eyes—he saw himself. And when he saw Graves, he saw the life that was stolen from him.

That red that clouded his lens when he was a child was all he could see. Pure, angry red.

Now, standing in Price’s quarters, that red only grew angrier. This time, for you—for putting you in the same position he’d been stuck in for years.

You didn’t deserve that.

Your mind was a whirlwind of chaos. It was struggling to digest the information given to you. So much at once and you could barely manage to keep yourself together.

Everybody looked sorry for you. Ghost looked enraged. Price was lost. Soap and Gaz were remorseful. It was too much.

You hated that they looked at you like that. You hated when they didn’t look at you like that more. Having them worry, when for the duration of your stay it was like walking on burning rocks, it felt strange.

Their own worry caused yours as well.

“What is that?” you asked. “The mark of death. I— I don’t know what that is. What does that mean?”

You were becoming more frantic. The panic that ensued was growing, and you could tell it bothered Price. He was quick to grasp your shoulders, settling you.

“It’s complicated,” he explained quietly, hushing you. “That man you saw? His name is Phillip Graves. Some call him the Devil of the Seas. He’s a wicked pirate who feeds off of the innocent, their fear. None of us know what he truly is, not even Ghost, but we believe he’s apart of something sinister.”

“What, like he’s sold his soul? Made amends with the Devil? You are talking madness!” you exclaimed, exasperated.

“We are talkin’ truth,” Price corrected. He was as patient as ever, yet still held the firmness of a leader. “He’s that of a reaper. Souls is what he wants. The mark of death is his contract, you may say.”

“But you are not telling me what the mark does,” you cried.

Your head hurt. The world was spinning. You didn’t understand.

“I think it’s quite obvious what the markin’ is, dove,” the Captain said solemnly. “It is only by miracle it hasn’t happened to Ghost yet.”

“So I am to die? Is that it?” You flickered your gaze between each man. Your eyes told a million stories, and each of them were ones of fear and anguish. “I am going to die?”

“No,” Ghost snapped. You looked at him. He seemed as pain as you were, but the anger was taking over logic. “You ain’t dyin’. Not today, not tomorrow. M’not lettin’ it happen.”

“Ghost,” Soap tried, but he was quickly shut down.

“I said no,” he repeated resentfully. “Price, show her the map.”

Price turned to him, stiffening. It seemed he still didn’t quite want to let you know the full truth. Now, you felt it was to protect you rather than leave you out. It was too late for protection.

The Captain silently walked to his desk, pulling open the old drawer with a slam, shaking the table. He pulled out the map you’d seen so long ago, unrolling it and slapping it on the table.

“Come, dove,” he called, and you listened.

The men surrounded the desk with you, staring down at the map. The ink was still the same as it was before—islands crossed out with an X, while one remained circled.

“Suppose it’s time you knew, hm?” he asked, offering the smallest of smiles. You found that you missed his real one. The one he tried to hide when he found a joke of yours humorous.

Your nerves shot up. Your emotions were at an all-time high. You were scared, scared to find out the truth.

“These islands,” he began, tracing his finger along the map to point at the ones with an X, “are all land marked by Graves. Every single one, we went to in search of a medic. The one in the poem, remember?”

The one who heals the ill and poor

shall be the cure to all demise.

You weren’t sure how it linked to you. You’d never met Graves, nor had you met your pirate crew until they took you away. The connection wasn’t there. It didn’t make sense.

“Yes, I remember,” you confirmed quietly. “What does it have to do with me?”

“We searched for a medic from every village, yet when we arrived, they were famished with death, or on the brink of,” he explained. “All of the villages were all succumbin’ to Graves’ mark of death. We think he was attemptin’ to get rid of all villages as much as he could so we wouldn’t be able to find their medics. We don’t know how, but he knows we have the prophecy, and he doesn’t like it.”

“And how do you know the prophecy is related to Graves?” you questioned. “How do you know it relates to me?”

“Ghost got the prophecy a long time ago when he was still on Graves’ ship,” Soap piped in. His hands rested on the table and he leaned over the map, but his eyes bore into yours. “He was searchin’ for answers even then. This is all he got.”

You couldn’t imagine the desperation Ghost must have felt, knowing Graves had him under his despicable spell. Not knowing whether he was going to live or die.

Your heart ached.

“And me?”

The room went silent, as if your words burned a wound in them.

“Your village had the mark, yet nobody had suffered from it,” Gaz said quietly. His eyes were soft when he looked at you with the unmistakable glimmer of pity in them. “We knew you were the one we were lookin’ for.”

“My village was not cursed,” you denied, shaking your head. “There is simply no possibility. We rarely got outsiders unless they were coming to browse the merchants.”

It clicked in your head how quickly it must’ve happened. Graves, visiting your village under the guise of an innocent shopper, gearing his interest towards the various merchants that littered your small streets.

It would’ve been so easy for him. So terribly easy.

Your people died to Price’s crew, but the true evil was the man who gave the pirates reason to ensure a massacre.

“That’s why you did what you did,” you muttered to yourself in disbelief. “You killed them because of him. You killed Mary because of him.”

“The curse would’ve taken over the moment you left,” Gaz explained. “You were the shield protectin’ them without even knowin’. You’re meant to fulfill the prophecy, grantin’ you immunity until we found you.”

All this talk about a prophecy made you want to scream, cry, yell, anything. Why you? Why were you the one chosen, and why did it have to be you?

You wanted your life back. You didn’t want to be apart of this.

Before you knew it, tears welled up in your eyes. They stung, causing you to blink rapidly. You didn’t want to seem weak, but in this moment, you were.

“Dove?” Gaz called out, concerned.

“I don’t want this,” you cried, shaky hands balling into fists. “You—you knew I was apart of this and never told me. You kept me in the dark for this long, you hid me from the truth, and for why?”

“We don’t have all of the information yet, dove, please—” Price began, but you shut him down.

“Bullshit!” you shouted, and he reeled back in surprise. You had been outspoken before, plenty with the Captain especially, but he had never seen you lash out so fiercely. “You took my life away because you assumed I was the one in your ridiculous prophecy on a whim. You took a guess and went with it. I am hardly a proper medic, let alone worthy enough to be that person for you, so why have you chosen me?”

“You must understand, you were the only medic left alive,” Price defended. “We had no choice. We did what we had to do.”

“At my expense,” you argued.

“At all of our expense,” he retorted. “I did not care for your life when we stole it. I did not care for it when you were locked in the brig. I cared for Simon’s.”

You fell silent, whipping your head to look at Ghost. You’d heard Price call him Simon before, by a slip-up, but now he had said it purposely. Ghost simply looked away, arms crossed over his chest.

All that talk before and now, at your aid, he was as quiet as a street mouse.

“Without you, he will die. We do not know when. Graves hasn’t killed him due to the thrill of holdin’ his life in his hands. It’s a toy to him. He can take his life away at any moment, and I would not allow that, even if it meant ruinin’ yours.”

Price’s cheeks were reddened from the frustration and helplessness he was feeling. He was a Captain trying to save his crew’s life, uncaring of yours—in the beginning, at least.

Now, the mere thought of losing both had him kneeling like a pitiful dog to the Devil of the Seas.

“I do not wish to be here,” you murmured, taking a step back. Soap opened his mouth to retort, but you silenced him. “I need to be alone.”

The Captain gave you a sad smile, nodding his head. He was respecting your wishes.

“As you wish,” he agreed, and you made your way out of the suffocating quarters, returning to your shared one with Gaz and Soap.

“Dove,” a voice called out. It was quiet, like it was whispering, yet to you, it sounded loud. You hated its voice.

It was black. Your eyes couldn’t adjust to the light, no matter how much you shifted them to look around.

Your body felt heavy, as if something was weighing on you. Your lungs were tight, and when you opened your mouth for air, nothing came in. You slapped your hands over your throat, clawing at the skin.

Why couldn’t you breathe? You felt like you were drowning. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t take in an ounce of air, and you could feel your lungs beginning to protest.

A cold panic came over you, like an icy wave consuming you in its dangerous waters. You tried to move your legs, but they were stuck. They were too heavy.

All you could do was helplessly paw at your throat, praying to gasp for a breath, praying that the Gods had mercy on you.

“Dove,” it whispered once more. Where had you heard the voice before? You knew it, but your mind was blanking from the lack of oxygen.

“I’ll be seeing you, dove,” it mocked.

Dove. Dove. Dove.

“Dove!”

You shot awake, a sharp gasp invading your lungs. The burning in your chest was harsh, and it was as if you truly hadn’t been breathing.

Coming to, you blinked the groggy confusion away, lifting a hand to wipe at your eyes.

Soap peered down at you, his eyebrows knitted worriedly. His hands were on each side of your shoulders, as if he’d shaken you awake, and when you realized you had been asleep, you only guessed that’s what he was doing.

“I kept callin’ ye but ye weren’t wakin’,” he said wearily. “Are y’alright?”

You glanced around the room, taking it in. Gaz’s bed. The clothes strewn on the floor. The mess on the small desk that you’d never seen occupied.

You were no longer suffocating in darkness. It was a mere dream—no, a nightmare. A terror.

You were safe.

“I don’t know,” you confessed breathily, still catching air.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you recalled the nightmare. You couldn’t remember the voice, not when you were fearing a death that was merely fake, but you knew now.

“Tell me,” Soap urged gently, taking a seat next to you on the bed. You sat up to join him, frowning at the floor. “It’s okay.”

You risked looking up at him, searching his eyes. They were soft whenever they looked at you, and they’d been like that since the beginning. He was always patient, even when you did things that cost him a scolding from Price.

You felt like you could trust him, more than any of them.

“It was that man,” you explained. “Graves. I think he is messing with my head. I dreamt of dying, like… like I was drowning. I couldn’t breathe. The whole time, I could hear his voice, calling me out. Mocking me.”

Soap listened carefully, taking in every one of your words. He cared, that much you could tell, and the situation weighed heavy on him. The worry lines on his face were proof.

Graves was tormenting with your mind, feeding into your fear. He knew you were terrified, and he enjoyed it. The way he mimicked what he told you, whispering it the same as before, it sent chills down your spine and made your blood run cold.

You understood now why Ghost was always a mystery—because he was scared, too. He just hid it better.

“I am scared,” you confessed shakily. “I do not want to die.”

“And ye won’t,” he assured, but you shook your head.

“You do not know that,” you argued. “None of you do. You have not given me a chance at life. I am stuck in this without a choice, and I am the new target. It’s not fair.”

Soap’s expression dropped into one of guilt. His focus shifted away from you, avoiding your eye, before returning back to you.

“It’s not,” he agreed quietly. “We’ve done to ye what Graves did to Ghost. Treatin’ ye like—like burdening scum, like ye don’t matter. I can’t express to ye how sorry I am for everythin’.”

You didn’t want an apology, but you accepted it nonetheless. It was the first anybody had truly apologized for the mess you were thrown into. Maybe it was something you needed without realizing. You felt a sliver of weight lifted.

“I never had a family,” you told him, staring down at your feet that hung over the side of the bed. The shoes Soap surprised you with stared back at you. “The village did not like my values or my lifestyle. It was hard being an outcast there, but it is even harder here.”

“Yer not an outcast.”

Looking back up at him, you found him smiling, a faint sparkle twinkling back at you.

“Not anymore. We thought ye were a little strange in the beginning, though,” he said, the end of his sentence bordering a tease.

You couldn’t stop your own smile from forming. Despite carrying the crushing weight of the world’s worries, as well as growing a headache with every word spoken from each of them ever since your arrival, you found yourself growing more fond over them the longer you lingered.

It’d been a bumpy road, and there were still miles ahead of you, waiting to unravel. But you couldn’t fully convince yourself that there wasn’t a part of you, yearning to belong with them.

“You are all very strange,” you retorted lightly. “I have never met such people as you before.”

“Thank ye.”

“It was not a compliment.”

Soap snorted, shaking his head at the banter. “The Captain is bitin’ tooth and nail in his quarters, thinkin’ he fucked this all up with ye. Never seen him that worried before, but with Graves bein’ around again, I don’t blame him.”

The statement caught you off guard, and you found yourself curious. “He is worried for me?”

Soap eyed you strangely, as if it had been obvious the whole time. “Ach. ‘Course he is. Cap’s got a good heart, even if it doesn’t seem like it.”

“I did not realize he cared for me after everything,” you confessed.

Soap hummed, looking down at his trousers and picking at a loose thread. “We all do.”

You stared at him dumbly, cocking your head in question when he didn’t elaborate. You had become acquainted with them, surely, you lived with them now after all, but you weren’t aware they truly cared.

When Price had told you they’d grown fond of you, you didn’t quite believe it. You assumed it was his way of convincing you to trust him, but it seemed that wasn’t the truth.

The two of you sat in silence, staring anywhere but at each other. The awkwardness grew, and it felt strange to feel that when the relationships had been too uptight even consider having those moments.

You took the time to weigh out your options. The Captain being worried, especially over messing things up with you, had you in a turmoil.

As much as you wanted to deny the path chosen for you unwillingly, you felt an obligation to please them. Yet, not in the way you initially thought.

You didn’t want to let them down.

Maybe you truly were as strange as Soap thought.

“Is he still in there?” you asked Soap. He perked up, nodding his head.

“Aye. He’ll be rottin’ in there before we know it.”

You pursed your lips, facing that inner battle once more before coming to a conclusion. “Would you like to join me, then?”

Soap raised his eyebrows, watching you stand from the bed. You shot him a warm smile, tilting your head at his confusion.

“For?” he asked.

“You all need a medic,” you said, giving a nonchalant shrug. “And I do not wish to die by the hands of a filthy pirate such as Graves. I am in this now, so I suppose I’ll simply have to deal with it, am I correct?”

Soap’s smile slowly grew at your sudden courage, standing up to join you. He reached out for you, and once you became confused, he looped your arm with his, grinning down at you.

“Sure are, dove. I’ll come with ye.”

The Captain looked a mess when you entered his quarters with Soap. Ghost was beside him where Price sat at his desk, the map and prophecy still scattered on the table. The two of them were speaking hushed to one another, yet when the door opened and you stepped in, they went silent.

“She wanted to be alone, Soap,” Price protested, but you quickly shook your head, taking a step closer to the desk.

“It’s alright,” you assured. “I have had time to think.”

Price’s eyebrows raised and he glanced at Gaz for a brief moment before returning to you. “I see,” he hummed, nodding. “I have as well.”

You cocked your head, eyebrows furrowing. He gestured for Ghost and Soap to step out of the room, requesting privacy, and the sudden realization that you would in fact have to speak after your outburst made your nerves to churn.

Ghost gave your shoulder a light squeeze as he walked behind Soap, catching you off guard. When you looked at him, he stared forward, avoiding your gaze.

The door clicked shut as they left, and you stood uncomfortably in place, shifting on the balls of your feet.

“I owe you an apology,” Price began. “A true one. I may be a Captain, and I know in those regards, I come off rather violent. I can be a brute, I will admit, but I am also a man who knows times when he is right and wrong.”

He stood up from his chair, circling around the desk to face you. He leaned against the old wood, crossing his arms and clearing his throat. Upon quick inspection, you saw the faint smoke of his cigar swirling in its ashtray.

“I should not have treated you so unkindly since the beginning. I should have considered how scared you must have been, how alone it must feel,” he continued, eyes drifting off for a moment as if deep in perplexing thought. “I do not apologize for doin’ what I thought was right in that time to save my own, but I do feel sorrow for what transpired in your time bein’ here.”

You couldn’t help but wonder if Ghost had been the reasoning for this. He wasn’t a man of many words, but you knew the respect him and Price had for one another. It was safe to assume he’d speak with him privately regarding everything.

“I’d like to apologize as well,” you began, but Price stood up straight, quick to raise his hands in protest.

“You have nothin’ to apologize for—”

“I am sorry for lashing out the way I did earlier,” you cut off. Price stopped, lips pressing together. His gaze remained stuck on you, now that you had his attention. “It does not excuse what you have done to me, and I see you have realized that. If this is to be my life, I wish for compromise rather than seclusion.”

Price didn’t say anything at first. His eyes darted over your face, taking in your features. He saw the calmness you held compared to when you were last in his quarters.

You didn’t seem defeated, nor did you seem to simply agree for the sake of him and the others. You wanted this for yourself.

“I will grant you that,” he agreed in a hum, nodding once. “I do not wish for you to feel out of place no longer. You have had enough of that, I believe.”

You took in his words, and they made you smile. It was what you wanted to hear—no angry exchanges, no selfish banter. A simple compromise, one you both wanted.

“Graves came to me in a dream,” you told him. His expression soured. “I believe there will be plenty more instances where he will do that. Based off of what you have told me about him, I do not want to prolong his presence longer than I must. So, I’d like to be of help.”

Just as quickly as Price grew tense at the mention of Graves, he calmed down, shoulders relaxing when he realized your implications.

“Soap has not convinced you, yes?” he asked, uncertain. “This is your call. I may have taken you due to my own selfishness, but I give you the choice now. You do not have to be a part of it if you do not want. You are part of us now, but this is not your battle.”

“It is,” you disagreed, though remained a calm composure. For the first time around Price, you felt at ease in the same room. “If I am to be part of your crew, your family, then your battles are my battles. I may not have had a family, but I am certain that’s how it works. Does it not?”

Price stared at you; expression unreadable. It took mere moments for his lips to slowly curl up, granting you one of his rare smiles that seemed to radiate a certain light you’d never seen before. It caused your heart to pick up, though you were unclear as to why.

“That is how it works with us, dove,” he agreed softly. “Your battles are ours. You can count on it.”

“Wonderful,” you cheered with a smile of your own. “Shall we continue what wasn’t finished before, then?”

Price chuckled low under his breath, his amusement growing the longer you stuck around. He nodded, tapping his desk and calling you to it.

“Come on, dove.”

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lethalchiralium · 2 months ago

Note

hii your bio says that requests are open, so, if you don't mind, can i request a simon x reader where reader is also part of the 141 and got severely hurt, and turns out she's pregnant with simon's baby (they are together) but because of her injuries she lost the child? maybe they didn't know that she's pregnant. thank you love💞

hi!! i LOVE this prompt, so sorry it took so long lol

bring heaven down just for you | simon riley x wife!reader

cw: mentions of injury, blood, miscarriages

The car accident was extreme, even for the 141. They weren’t expecting to get T-boned in a city street, trying to make their escape, but it was short lived. You didn’t remember much, being in the backseat with your seatbelt off, on “follower” duty - pistol in hand, watching if anyone was tailing the escape. Price in the driver’s seat, Gaz in passenger, and Soap and Ghost were already at the safe house.

You remembered the car rolling, throwing you around like a ragdoll. Your head slammed against the roof of the car and then darkness took over, at least until you remembered hearing Price’s yelling. The way the straps on your vest were tugged and the blood curdling scream that left you, the explosion of pain in your leg, your shoulder, your abdomen - it woke you up instantly, and adrenaline seemed to kick in ten fold. Barely a glance down and you could see why pulling you wouldn’t be a good idea - so many glass shards in your body, deep red blood bubbled up and trickled out, you felt your body internally gag. You looked to the sound of gunshots, seeing Gaz firing off round after round, and soon silence followed. A slow blink, you found yourself crying out in pain in the street, Price knelt beside you, administering aid as you heard faint sirens. Soon, your eyes closed then opened again, finding yourself being loaded into an ambulance - Gaz and Price covered in blood. Panic surged through you, but so did the pain. A low rumble of pain escaped your chest, Gaz reached forwards and took your right hand - where did you gun go? - and held it gently, saying something you couldn’t quite hear.

A hand settled on your good shoulder, the one opposite to Gaz, you looked to your captain, now able to hear the siren wailing as he spoke, “Who do we need to call for you?”

A breath filled your lungs, only for you to cough and squeal out in pain. A moment more and you were able to grit out, “My husband.”

“What’s his name-“

The ambulance screeched to a halt, the back doors flung open, and your gurney was taken out. The IV in your elbow that was placed while you had passed out now seemed to prickle with pain, one nurse who walked beside your moving gurney drew a vile of blood before taking off, the rest of the medical crew pushed you into what you assumed was a trauma bay. You wouldn’t know, you’re not a medic. You’re just a sergeant, an infiltration specialist.

A doctor came in, placing a plastic bracelet on your wrist as you looked around with a heavy head. Price was with you, Gaz wasn’t… Where’s Soap and Ghost? Will they be here soon?

It felt like only two second passed when the nurse came back to your gurney, she was the one who took your blood. The other nurses still fluttered about, getting you ready for surgery as your captain stayed by your side. She had a somber look in her eye. There was a gentle hand on your shoulder, the good one, you paid no mind to Price - moving it to get his touch off of you. You didn’t want him there, you wanted-

“I have your test results, Miss.” You heard Price take a step back, the pain in your body began to feel fuzzy as the sedatives kicked in from your IV. The nurse stood beside you, holding onto the bed rail and you felt unease bubble into your lungs. In your adrenaline delirious state, you could still make out the look of the nurse’s face - the bearer of bad news. “Are you aware that you are pregnant?”

“I’m not pregnant.” It escaped like a whine, grabbing the nurse’s wrist with what little strength you had, your stomach twitched. “My husband and I have been- been trying for years. I- I can’t be.”

“You are, test confirms it. But we have to take you into surgery now, and I’m unsure if it will be viable after this.”

A growl emitted from your throat, “Save it. Save it. Save my baby. Please.”

There was a grim look on her face, and the doctor beside her. She stepped in, a calm look in her own eye as she spoke, “We’ll do the best we can, but I can’t guarantee anything.”

A hiccup escaped you, pain leaving you and your consciousness slipping away too, “Please. Save my baby.”

The doctor only nodded before she left, and the nurse gave you a somber look before leaving too. You couldn’t even look at your captain, the man you would have always looked to your guidance. But this… This was something you had to navigate alone and with your husband.

You were only awake for a few more moments, the anesthesiologist saying something about needing Price to leave, that you would be out soon. Your eyes grew heavy, you refused to fight it. Giving in meant not having to worry about losing the chance you’ve wanted.

When you woke up, pain encompassed you. A groan escaped you, your eyes opened and scanned the left side of the room, the light above your bed not being able to flood your room with light. It was dark outside, the stars still perched in the sky, your eyes moved right and you could see the dark mass of someone just entering through the door.

“Simon,” You whined his name, tears escaping your eyes in fat globs, your one good hand reaching for him. He was instantly by your side, hand gently moving from strands from your face. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Whatever for?” He murmured as he pressed his lips to your temple. “You survived. Why would you be-“

Your jaw set, the words spoken like kerosene, meant to burn yourself alive. “I was pregnant.” The raw sob that escaped you made you push your head back, looking your husband in the eye as you sobbed from your injuries and the loss of what could’ve been. “I didn’t- I didn’t know and- and it’s gone.”

Your husband froze, you watched every muscle inside of him contract as he gazed at you. You watched, in such agony, as you husband’s forehead fell to your bandaged one, his warm hands holding your face and his own tears sprung from his face to mix with yours. And all you could hear was what sounded like howling - loud and heavy sobs, ones that would make your body tremble. It was just hard to realize that they were coming from you, you only realized it when Simon’s hand went around to your lower back, trying to move you towards him, trying to hold you in a way that could truly comfort you. It was useless. Useless.

“It’s gonna be okay.” A meaningless saying now. It hasn’t meant a fucking thing since your third miscarriage in your second year of marriage. It hasn’t meant anything since you had to stop counting your losses and began to pretend that your husband wasn’t fucking destroyed that you couldn’t give him the one thing you want to. A family.

How could it be okay when you couldn’t do this one fucking thing that your body was made to do?

“We’ll be okay.” He murmured against your skin, your good hand holding onto his jacket sleeve, your head pounded as the sobs grew louder, turning into wails. As much as it hurt your throat, it hurt more now that after three years since your last one, you had a chance. And it was ripped from you, ripped from your hands before you even had a chance to understand why it had been given to you. A chance to show your husband that you could be good too, that you weren’t like your past either.

“It- It hurt- hurts-“ Was all you could manage, and you felt Simon’s sob shake you, burn you, crucify you. God, this must be Hell for him, because it’s more than Hell for you to think about the pain he’s in.

“I know, my girl, I know it must hurt.”

A zap of pain in your belly and you were crying more, the wails quieting to you begging him for medicine. Tears watered your vision of your Simon as he pressed the call button, brushing your hair back before looking you in the eye again. Even if you couldn’t see too well from the tears and the pain, you could imagine his velvet brown eyes - you could feel his tears as he brushed your hair back over and over, his words rumbled through you like a prayer.

“Our time’ll come soon, baby. And I’m so sorry that it wasn’t now, n’I know that’s gotta hurt so bad.” A kiss and then his cheek was pressed to your hair, you could hear the nurse come in, and more voices enter your room. There was no reason to fight your urge to close your eyes, let the tears fall, and listen to him. “But I’ll be here. I’ll always be here, jus’ like every time before, and any time after. I’ll be here, even if I have to kill a thousand men to get here. I will be here.”

#lethalchiralium #lethal chiralium #simon ghost riley #simon riley #call of duty #might make more of this idk #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x female reader #simon riley x f!reader #simon riley x wife!reader #simon ghost riley x f!reader #simon ghost riley x female reader #simon ghost riley x wife!reader

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palmtreesx3 · 1 year ago

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Deeper for You

Summary: (5.1 k) It's your annual beach trip with the crew from Hawkins, something you've all been doing together your whole adult life after life forced everyone to part ways. You're all close, but this year, an accidental encounter in the outdoor shower makes you get a little closer with one person in particular.

This is self indulgence at its finest. Fresh off my last week at the beach this summer, I needed a little Beach Steve in my life to tide me over.

Steve x Reader, NSFW 18+ Accidental exposure, friends to lovers, breast play, female oral, fingering, dirty talk encouraged, a little orgasm denial, maybe a spank and unprotected intercourse in the shower.

Crystal water. Crystal skies. Beach chairs circled around umbrellas and coolers. Crisp beers slipped in aging koozies and passed around like old times. You and your friends have been doing this for years. Ever since goals and lives and even some wives have taken the group here and there, Nancy started organizing this annual beach trip for the group from Hawkins. Years and miles have nothing on deep seeded trauma, she said once, in a too cheerful voice despite it's truth.

The heat of the sand between your toes and the smell of suntan lotion have become a comfort to you, just knowing you're back there with your closest friends. As you all creep closer to thirty than you'd like, this week never fails to make you feel nostalgic, youthful and forget all of your problems because it never feels like an ounce of time has passed with any of these people.

This year Nancy had to upgrade the rental - more rooms for yet another married couple in the mix, Eddie adding a wife - a little too sweet but just enough sass for him - into the fold. It was your first time meeting her, really meeting her, because no bride has the time for new friendship on their wedding weekend, and you've had such a nice week spending time with her. Chairs in the sand by the waterline together with a book most afternoons, leaving the raucous energy that comes after some morning beers as background noise to your fantasies.

"What are you two ladies reading over here anyway" Steve pokes at your shoulder on his way down to the water to cool off.

"They're fantasy novels, Steve. Naughty books, if you must know." You tease back, Eddies wife blushing beside you at your brazen honestly.

"Naughty books? Like love stories where they kiss and share a bed?"

"No Steve, like '... And then she felt the tips of his finger circle her clit before toying with her folds and the wetness pooling between her thighs. Edging her, pulling her closer but never giving her cunt what she really wants'" you read in an exaggerated and breathy voice direct from your page, picking up right where you left off. "That, Steve, is Naughty Books. "

"Shit. Okay. Well I'll leave you two to it, then. What the fuck." and he trots off into the waves. Sunkissed skin a perfect contrast to the white, foaming waves he's now floating in.

"So, that… you guys have a thing before or something?" Eddie's wife asks softly. So sweet, you can't even be mad at her for it.

"Steve?" You laugh, "No-no no. Just go way back "

"Oh I'm so sorry" she squeaks out, "I just thought… I mean you guys. Nevermind."

"Don't worry about it. We're all a little too close for comfort sometimes. I get it. We just have always gave each other shit as long as I've known him, that's all."

Later that night, the whole group gathers in the back of the house around a huge built in fire pit, all taking turns sharing, giving updates about life and work and families.

Late nights have been happening all week around this pit, but tonight is cool, and the Sangria Robin and Max mixed up is keeping you chilled.

"Hey, honey. You finally quit or do you want to join us over here?" Steve calls over to you, beckoning to the group of smokers over on the bench seat to the left of the fire.

"Every time I try… someone like you offers me a smoke and here I am again." You shrug as you lean over to snag the pack of cigarettes from Steve's outstretched hand before taking a seat. You slide out a slim cigarette and pull the lighter from it's spot in the back, lighting up and passing it back, kicking your feet out on the coffee table in front.

"Someone like Steve, what's that supposed to mean? You hurling insults again?" Johnathan teases.

"No, no. Byers, shut the fuck up. Lemme enjoy this sweet nicotine with my friends in peace, okay?" You roll your eyes, not actually knowing what you meant either, before shooting a look at Max sitting with the group. "Since when did you sit on the smokers bench? Huh?"

"Don't start with me mom. You've tried to quit four times a year for the past 10 years, so I don't even wanna hear it from you." The redhead sasses back.

Such a beautiful, self assured young women she's grown into, despite having such poor eyesight from…everything that happened…you have always had a soft spot for Max, and she for you. The glasses she wears are thick, despite years of corrective surgeries, but they don't take an ounce away from how lovely she's grown to be.

"Yeah yeah, just shut up and enjoy it. I bet Lucas hates it. Doesn't he? Goodie two shoes." You quip back and Max giggles in agreement, both of you taking a long drag as a follow up.

"You two man-eaters are trouble." Steve jabs.

"Excuse me, man-eaters? The one who has been dating the same guy since middle school and me, who goes on what, maybe 4 dates all year? Yeah total man-eaters, Steve."

After finishing your smokes, you all rejoin the group, playing dollar games of cards and dice, laughing the night away at bad luck and bad jokes. El has been banished to watching over participating and when Eddie's wife asks why, the mutters and mumbling of a wide variety of excuses poured out.

"It's uh - against her religion!" straight from Dustin's mouth won out, mostly because it was the loudest. So now you're all pretending El is Muslim, and that's definitely not going to last the rest of the week.

It's nearing two am as you pad up the stairs, pockets 10 dollars deeper, sand still clinging to your feet just barely and Steve's button up on your shoulders from when he passed it to you to quell your chill. Just like every other night of the trip, you sleep like a baby, tucked in a soft mattress with softer sheets and the blanket of a decent buzz still coursing through your bloodstream.

The next day is the last on the shore and after a late start and breakfast cooked up by Nancy and Johnathan to sop up the hangovers the day goes on much like the rest before it. Relaxing in beach chairs and blankets, music softly humming from a boom box in the shade of the umbrella, balls being tossed in a friendly game of touch football in the loose sand by the dunes.

The tide was rough today and swept you and Eddie's girl away on your chairs once before you slipped your books back in your beach bag and decided if you can't beat it, join it. Frolicking in the waves together, the rest of the group is shortly behind you joining in.

It's not five minutes until Eddie is tackling his wife into the crashing waves, rolling her dramatically in the lapping waves and sand. Max and El are jumping through crashing waves, hand in hand trying to make it past the crest and to where it is calm. Some of the boys are sitting in the sand watching and enjoying the cool breeze you catch when you're closer to the sea.

You, well, you were enjoying yourself wholeheartedly. That is until you're making your way back to shore and a huge wave creeps up behind you and slams you to the ground. Water currents tossing you around a bit like a ragdoll, it's a moment before strong arms pull you up and out, wiping your hair out of your face and brushing the wet globs of sand off you as you regroup. It's Steve who's got you and brings you back to shore, where you flop down on the sand together and burst out in laughter after you're both sure that you're alright, making it even harder to catch your breath.

The day at the beach was way more sandy than usual because of it all, sitting in the sand, being thrown around by gritty waves and soupy sand finding it's way intermingling with your bathing suit. You just can't wait till the end of the day to shower and hose off, so you dip away to hop in the rinse shower along the side of the property. Door swung shut, you run the water cold so it's as refreshing as it is a welcome rinse to your body where the sand is sticking and scratches.

Hair slicked back by the cool droplets, you're realizing quickly that a simple rinse won't rid your swimsuit of all of the caked in sand. Maneuvering your emerald green one piece to shake free the grit of the ocean, you're making progress as you drop your wide set straps off your shoulders and start working out the sand from your upper half.

It's just then that Steve must have had the same idea, and he's traipsing through the door of the shower himself, only to find you, strap down, left breast fully exposed, tan lines of your right crisp and leaving nothing to the imagination the way the suit is bunching down, and your hands coaxing the water over them from the low pressure showerhead to work off the sand.

"Holy fuck!" You both yell at the same time.

Yours an exclamation. A "Holy FUCK!" A barked out reaction to the surprise. The admonishment of your friend who doesn't seem to pay a goddamn mind to anything going on around him or he would have heard the shower tap on and running when he approached.

But his… Well, his was a statement. A "Holy. Fuck." Drawn out. A deep and gravely comment made to acknowledge the surprise he's found. More of an interest than an intrusion.

So when you reached to cover yourself and hide from embarrassment as a knee jerk reaction, he didn't make quite as quick a move to leave you be. He lingered, just enough for you to notice and under his breath whispered out again "Holy fuck."

Adequately covered, or at least enough that you can feel functional at this point, you look at him to quip "Are you just gonna stare or what?" And you expect him to snap out of his titty haze and leave you be to shake out the rest of your sand trap, but he doesn't.

Instead he asks, "Well, is that an invitation?"

Your eyes narrow at him, and he shrugs in reaction. "You can't be serious, Steve. Get outta here."

"I save you, and this is the thanks I get?" He teases, and you can't help but see how his eyes, blown out and black, don't move from your body when he says it.

"Steve." You say, quietly.

"Yeah?"

"I can thank you later." comes out just above a whisper.

"I think I'd rather you thanked me now."

When you don't argue back, or say anything for that matter, he takes that as enough of an answer as he needs. He knows you, and he knows that you have no problem telling someone to take a hike, so if you're not yelling at him like he's a small boy who got his hand caught in the cookie jar, he knows you're inviting him to take a bite.

So he's inside the shower quicker than your mind can even catch up to what's happening. He's crowding your space and reaching backwards to do the one thing you forgot to do yourself, hook the damn lock. You're pretty sure this man hasn't moved his eyes from you since the moment the door opened and at this point, you're meeting his gaze.

A sweeping hand, under your ear and landing on the nape of your neck is what shakes you out of your daze and before you know it his lips are on yours. It's a bruising thing, the way he presses them into yours, pulling you closer still by where his hand is cupping your head with his broad hand. You come up for air just a second before he backs off and you find yourself, open mouthed and smiling into his lips, still pressing into you. "Fuck. Honey. I- you okay? With this? I don't wanna… "

"I know I tell you this all the time, but this is different. Steve, you fuckin talk too much. Shut. Up." You say, emphasizing your words with two little tugs to his own hair where your hands have snaked around, too.

And he takes this welcome advance as an opportunity to wrap his other hand around you, up and under your arm, resting at the center of your back. Pressing together, you're so close. Impossibly so, and every little tick of the hip or twitch of the lips can be felt by the other instantaneously. He's testing you out but getting bolder by the second when he experimentally rolls his hips just a bit before coaxing your legs a bit wider to slot his knee in between. You gasp out at the feeling of him against you and involuntarily find yourself rolling your cunt against his thigh.

"Ah-oh fuck. Shit. Steve." You squeak out, as you look down to see that he's tucked up his swim shorts high enough that your grinding on his exposed thigh. Bristly hair on his legs commingling with the scratch of the sand and sea salt on your own thighs.

"C'mon, honey. You came in here to get clean. Me too. Lemme help you, yeah? '

Nodding your permission, he gently slips his fingers under the still loose straps of your suit, coaxing them down further, fingers ghosting over your arms as he works them down.

You've been doing this trip for years, and you swear the last thing you ever thought would happen was having Steve fucking Harrington peeling off your wet swimsuit in the shower. "You sandy all over, huh? Me too. Gotta rinse you off." he says, as he's reaching up for the shower head, detaching it from its base and bringing it down in between the two of your chests. Holding it there for a moment, he seems to consider this whole thing for the first time. "You-your good, right? I mean, I trust you. Do you trust me? "

"Yeah Steve, I do." You say, pressing your forehead to his and blinking away droplets gathering on your eyelashes.

He pulls the rest of your swimsuit away from where it's suctioned on your tummy and works it down your body, dropping heavy and wet on the shower floor. Once it's out of his way, he's back on your lips, sucking in your bottom lip just as you feel the cool water hitting your clit. Steve moves the shower head gently but purposely around your whole cunt, paying attention to your sensitive bud between passes through your folds. "Gotta get you cleaned up, huh? Need you clean for me. For what I'm gonna do next." He teases and you moan at his words.

Not exactly sure what he has planned just yet, you let him keep working your pussy clean and with every second of the pulsing jets of water hitting your clit rhythmically. "Yeah, baby I think you're all set." He states, replacing the shower head where it belongs and reaching his free hand down to rub through your folds, checking to be sure you're comfortable and free of that pesky sand.

When he's met with yet another whimper he's immediately dropping to his knees on the wet planks of the shower floor "Can I please, please taste you. Please."

"I didn't take you as one to beg, Harrington." You whisper out the tease.

"I will for this - for you. God, would you just answer me?"

You look down at him and nod but he wants your words instead, commanding you to speak up. And so you do, you gasp out confirmation just as his lips latch on to your already sensitive clit. He suckles there a little bit, before moving to make his tongue wide and flat coaxing noises from you that he doesn't want to forget the sound of.

He throws your thigh over his shoulder, giving him deeper, more angled access to your cunt, working you, moving it in and left to right. You cry out as his nose nudges at your clit while he slips a finger in up to his second knuckle and the cry turns silent as he keeps up his ministrations. Droplets of water are tickling down your chest and stomach, soaking his hair and face where he stays tucked in between your thighs. He shakes his head back and forth tapping at your clit with his movement and making you see stars.

Adding in another finger, he keeps lapping at your pussy, taking breaks to nip at the place where your thighs meet your sex and back again. He licks off a trail of water along the seam of your leg before making his way back to your center. Scissoring his fingers, he groans right into you and the vibration of it all drives you wild. "God, you fuckin taste like heaven. So good." And he dives back in, running his wide tongue along your entrance, drawing it front and upward toward your clit.

This time he pauses and presses his tongue up into the base of your clit, holding it there just as he presses both long fingers up and into your spongy spot, freeing the most wanton sound yet from deep within your throat. It spurs him on to keep going, pulsing that tongue and stroking that spot within. You're tensing and shaking under his strong grip and soft tongue, leg still hiked high over him, water cascading around the both of you. You're tumbling over the edge quickly after that.

In a bit of a daze and with wobbly knees, you swing your leg back down off his shoulder and bring him up towards you by his ears, wanting to taste yourself on his tongue in ways you never have before, and he looks beautiful like that. Eyes wide and wanton, hair dripping wet down his hair spattered chest, jaw slack in his own lust and pleasure, lips a deep pink and swollen from working you up down there. You bring him up fully to meet your lips and groan into his mouth, your taste heady and salty and beachy.

"I think you're clean" he laughs out as he pulls back just slightly and you can't help but bark out a laugh back. He takes the opportunity to latch on to your neck and bites at the skin under your ear.

In that moment you decide you're not done with him.

Tugging at the ties of his swim trunks, Steve pulls back to look at you. "N-no, we don't have to."

You hear his words but you also feel the hardness underneath those trunks, "Steve, it's - it's no big deal. You started this. Let me… let's finish, yeah?" You eye him teasingly, eyebrows raised, "Something tells me you want to."

"You're a menace, you know that right? Always have been."

"Yeah, but you're into it, apparently." you stand on your tippy toes to whisper in his ear.

"Fuck. Fuck. Yeah." He gets out as you lick the water droplets up "Seeing you here every year. Highlight of my trip. Swear to God."

And as his soaked trunks hit the floor, the pair of you are both fully exposed standing under the running water together. Running your hand along his chest, playing with the tufts of hair there, you hook your finger though the thin chain hanging from his neck and pull him closer. "Steve." You whisper into his mouth.

"Yeah, whaddya need, honey?"

"You. God just, please fuck me. Okay?"

Clutching you close by the waist, he hikes your leg up and around his hip, reaching down along your ass to rub at your pussy from behind, working you up again. Almost teasing. The rock hard length of him is pressed up between your two tummies, begging to be paid attention to, so you break your bodies apart for just a second to angle him down, slipping if wetly between your lower lips - a mix of water and your hot dripping slick letting him slip through your folds.

A whimper slips out of your lips as his head catches your clit and he takes the opportunity to press into you, sounds something like a growl falling from his own lips at the feeling. Your mind is going blank, but the one thing you're sure of is that Steve Harrington's dick is huge. "Ohmigod, you're, bi- oh" you moan as he adds another few inches, moving slowly for you. "Fuck, you're huge. Jesus, Steve."

"Yeah? Biggest you ever had? God, tell me it's the biggest you've ever took."

"Shit" you hiss, as he bottoms out inside you, yelping out as you both finally meet at the base. "Yeah, shit. No one's ever been that fuckin deep, Steve. Holy shit."

"Fuck, yeah. I'm gonna move now, okay? You're good, right?" And you nod, enthusiastically. Almost too enthusiastically.

You've known Steve almost your whole life. You've played on playground swing sets growing up, rolled your eyes at his antics at your friends' parties in high school, cheered him on at basketball games and worked alongside him as lifeguards at the country club pool. You give him shit, he gives it back to you. You share comfortable silences and close friends. He's had your back in the face of monsters and raging fires… But right now, all that's on your mind is how he's pounding into your pussy in this shower and why this has never ever happened before in all these years. Because Jesus Christ, it's feeling euphoric.

The slapping of skin echoes loudly in the wooden and metal enclosure of the shower, bodies slick with water , hands gliding along your back and along your ass, keeping that knee hiked high for him, yours clutching the front of his shoulders and digging crescent moons into his skin. He's making noises, has he thrusts up into you at a bruising pace, hitting your cervix and making you cry out…but he's holding back all the same and all you want is him to let go a little more.

"Fuck, wait. Holy shit. Lemme just… " you drop your leg down and hear his small whine as he slips out of you, but you're quick to flip your body around, leaning forward and bracing yourself on the beams of the wooden door frame, shaking your ass at him in an invitation to get close to you again. "Wait. Wait… " you gasp out as you feel his tip nudge against your entrance from behind.

"What's wrong? Are you .. are you okay? I can stop." He gets out through heaving breaths.

"No. I'm good… but if you wanna finish me off, you gotta do one thing for me." Looking over your shoulder, giving him a playful but serious look.

"What'dya need. Honey. Anything. What do you want?" He holds his cock, pulsing and screaming to be let back inside your warm and velvety walls, dots of precome rinsed off by the droplets of water as fast as they emerge.

"Don't hold back. Just… .let me hear you. I wanna hear you. Talk to me. Don't shut up. And fuck - fuck me harder" you hiccup out.

"Yeah, yeah okay. I'll … I'll - fuck" he pushes in fully in one slide, no resistance from you in the least. "You wanna hear how good you make me feel huh? Always so cocky. Jesus."

His fingers are pressing into the tops of your thighs, purple mottled marks already blooming there under his fingertips as he pulls you backwards, spearing you on his cock, meeting him thrust for thrust. His other hand is wrapped around your waist, reaching for the soft of your belly, snaking up your chest until he finds your tits, nipples peaked with the chill of the air now that you're not directly under the stream of water. He runs his thumb along your nipples, giving them a playful flick back and forth before massaging them and pulling you up to meet him, back to chest.

In this position, you can drop yourself down as you meet his upward thrusts, bouncing on his cock and you feel his tip nudging a particular spot inside you that makes your walls constrict. "Oh honey, yeah? That's it. That's the spot isn't it?" And you can tell that has Steve's mind going off the deep end, making good on his promises to let you hear him, he's babbling, water splashing and raining down on you both, his grunts getting louder, and your name slipping off his lips in a whisper, like it belongs there.

Reaching back and around his neck, you turn so that you can see him and tilt his down to meet your gaze. Mouths both open, panting into one another, lips touching but never connecting because you can't quite sync up with the way you're both grinding on each other. "Jesus Christ, hnng fuck, I'm gonna… honey. Where do you want me? C'mon. Tell me."

You hear his sharp intake of a breath and feel his lips latch on to your throat, leaving sloppy kisses and sucking a bruise into it that you know you'll have to explain to your friends later. "Nnn-no. No. Not yet. I told you, lemme hear you. You're holding back I can tell."

"Oh-okay yeah. Gimme a sec. " He breathes through his nose taking in the scent of whatever vanilla soap you were using before he barreled in, maybe a little coconut still left over from your sunscreen, too. He exhales as his hand drifts down your front, settling over your mound and expertly finding your clit once again. He's rubbing figure eights, before sliding it between his two fingers, giving it pressure and pull from the sides as he continues to thrust into you from behind, bouncing you with very little effort because of how wet and slick you are from the shower.

"You're a fuckin' piece of work, you know that. Shit - taking me like this… fuck. " He growls out as he bends you forward fully now, holding you up by your chest as he rams into you. Leaning over just enough to get close to your ear he whispers in "Ya gonna let me come now? Fuck - ya gonna let me put it on your back? Huh? Your tits? Where do you wanna have it, honey?" He hisses as you grind your hips backwards and clench down hard on his shaft, squeezing on him and making his thrusts slow down, become more meticulous, more purposeful.

You're gasping in air and squeaking out noises of all kinds in time with his thrusts, telling him just how good he's making you feel between breaths. Just how deep he is hitting you. Just how much you wanna hear him when he comes. He's huffing out breaths and promising you things like next time as he's incoherently babbling praises at you as you ride back on his dick.

"You like when I talk about coming for you? You wanna have it, yeah?"

"Y-yeah I wanna. Inside. Do it inside, fuck!" You shout out, water from the showerhead beating on your back as his thrusts are jolting you forward where you're braced against the door. The janky little rusted metal latch holding on for dear life as he continues his pace, chasing his high and praying to God you let go with him.

He's feeling bold now that his brain is only chasing your orgasms. He groans the loudest moan you've heard from him this whole time as you feel him tense behind you, keeping up his movements but, just barely. His hips are stuttering and his hand falls down on your ass in a loud smack. "Ohhh shit. Honey. Yeah. That's what I'm talking about."

Your walls give him one last squeeze and you grip him tight, legs shaking under you as your orgasms rushes over your whole body. He has to hold you up as it rolls through your body, flashes going off behind your eyes as you cry out with pleasure. The pain from the smack to your ass being washed away with the cool of the water trickling over you.

It takes him only three firm thrusts more to fill you up, stuttering sounds falling from his lips. Incoherent blabbers and praises and gasps of your name spurting out along with his come.

You're both absolutely breathless, heaving chests and deep sighs filling the air while still connected to one another. Steve pulls you up slowly as he slips out of you, and spins you around. Still cradling your body and wrapping you into him, he pulls you both under the water to rinse off and come back down from wherever you both are floating off to right now. As you stand there swaying under the cascade, he brings his lips to your temple with a kiss as he mutters "I did mean it. I love seeing you here every year."

You hum along with him, because you do love seeing him too. You just never thought about it like this before. And now that you have, you're pretty sure it's the only way you can from here on out.

"We should probably get back down to the beach. I'm sure at least one of those nosey dipshits have noticed were both missing by now." Steve says against your skin.

"Yeah, yeah, you're right. But you are the one explaining these marks you left on me. I'm not saying a peep."

"Aw, c'mon sweetheart. You had a lot to say when I was in-"

"Stop that right now. If you wanna even think about doing this again, you're gonna stop right now." You roll your eyes at him while wrapping yourself with a towel and unlatching the door. As you back out and start up towards the house to grab a new swimsuit, he sees the grin on your face.

"Yeah, okay honey. Shutting my mouth now...so I'll definitely see ya later, then." He says with a wink, just as the door shuts and your left naked, wrapped up in Steve Harrington's towel with all your friends gathered round the grill out back making lunch watching you as you make your way around the path.

Eddie snarls a wide grin at you as he brings both thumbs up, his wife slapping his chest when she notices. "Hey Nance!" He yells out. "I think Harrington's got himself a new roommate for next trip!"

#joe keery #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #steve harrington imagine #Spotify

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dragonmuse · 1 year ago

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Keep It In The Box : An Essay on OFMD Season 2 and the Failure to Heal

(here in is my season two reaction. It contains many many spoilers. It's also about 3k words long so you know what you're getting into.)

“See, I have a system for dealing with all the terrible things I've seen. There's a box in my mind, and I put the things in the box..” -Frenchie, Season 2 of Our Flag Means Death

…..and then he never opens it. Chekov’s locked box has no key in season two.

On first watch, it seemed clear to me that Frenchie’s declaration was a narrative plant. Clearly the whole season would be about that box of pain and trauma being opened, sorted through and at least the beginning of healing. The show had developed a reputation after season one of being kind and focused on queer narratives of healing from childhood. Ed and Stede’s parallels in their childhood traumas were frequently on display through season one and were repeated in flashback throughout season two. Jim’s season one arc about becoming someone who doesn’t think just of revenge and can now forge meaningful connections was profound, beautiful and often funny. Izzy is an antagonist because he doesn’t want Ed to move on or stop acting like the trauma-response version of himself. The antagonist wants to stop healing. The point is to grow, to change, to learn how to love. It’s one of the things that made season one work for me at the time, despite reservations about pacing and tone.

So naturally season two should follow suit. It’s a kind show! About healing and falling in love!

For the first several episodes, the remaining crew on the Revenge go through a gauntlet of trauma, forced to do and receive violence at Ed’s whims as he careens from self-destructive behavior to self-destructive behavior. This is the wounding setup. It was dark, but it seemed like it would have a payoff and at first it did.

Perhaps one of the most beautiful moments of the season comes in one of the small respites in those early episodes as Jim recounts Pinnochio to Fang to soothe him through his grief. That was the show that I expected. The kindness of that moment struck me very deeply. It gave me some understanding of Archie too, who seems to fall for Jim right at that moment.

That scene is the show season one promised. Season two led with packing Frenchie’s box full to bursting. Here is the fight to the death between lovers, there is a first mate who is mutilated and rotting in the very walls (the rot of the Revenge itself), and there is the storm of Ed’s rage and pain that threatens to consume all of them.

So surely these remaining episodes would concentrate on finding the humor in healing from those moments. That is the setup. Frenchie has a box. The box must eventually open.

Except time and again, all the characters who suffered are told that the only way to deal with what they’ve been through is to stick it in the box and never open it again.

Pete tells Lucius that he’s unable to move on and needs to let it go. Izzy has a story about a shark. Ed’s apology to the crew which doesn’t even contain the words ‘I’m sorry’ is just…accepted. I kept waiting and waiting for a meaningful apology to the people Ed had hurt the worst with his actions, but it seems all we get is Fang saying ‘eh, no problem, I got to hit you back so I feel better’.

The playful theme of ‘pirates are just violent sometimes’ from season one becomes a grinding horror machine in season two when every atrocity visited on someone is forgiven because the narrative needs it to be. Ed and Stede spend more time making amends with each other over the bloodless night on the beach than either of them spend trying to repent for their actions towards anyone else.

And let’s talk about Ed. Arguably this season pivots on his narrative, on his path to healing and growth. A path that starts at a very low point. His moment in the gravy basket, deciding he wants to live because there are still things to live for is so great! So one might assume that what would follow would be him pursuing those things, making amends, making connections. He and Stede have a wonderful moment, talking about being whim prone and how they’ll work to avoid that, build a relationship by going slower.

Yet, at no point do either of them stop following whims. They never heal or learn from what’s happened to them. They both keep running from thing to thing, particularly Ed. It’s a whim to sleep with Stede, it’s a whim to run off to fish, and the finale gives us just more of their whims. Ed drops fishing as fast as he picked it up. He finds those leathers in the ocean, murdering the symbolism of leaving them behind. Even the inn is a whim, one of those things Ed decided he’d be good at without evidence. And Stede joins him in that without a single on screen conversation about it ahead of the moment.

Ed needs to heal himself and to do that he needs to confront what he’s done and do the work to heal the wound. Instead, he doesn’t meaningfully apologize to anyone, besides Stede and Fang. Despite Izzy’s dying words (we’ll get to that), not only do we never see the crew caring about Ed, working to make him family in the same way they do with Fang and even Izzy, he also doesn’t choose to stay with them. So what is the point? Where is the healing? Or does even Ed, beloved main character, have to live with it all stuffed in a box?

He ends the season in the leathers he threw away, in a relationship that’s barely stabilized, going to live in a house which we are told by the narrative (in that they are very very clearly paralleling Anne and Mary with Ed and Stede or why do we even get that whole Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? episode) will only end in them setting fire to each other to stay warm.

But Vee, I hear you cry, it’s a ROM-COM. This is all meant to be ha-ha funny and you are taking it so seriously!

Cool beans. Then why the hell isn’t it funny? Healing is often filled with comedy because people deal with pain with humor. You can heal and laugh at the same time. The finale especially is almost entirely devoid of laughs, almost entirely devoid of joy until the last minute for that matter. The episode that should show off with a flourish how far everyone’s come, mostly serves to show that no one has grown.

Okay that’s Ed. I want to talk about Lucius next. Our former audience surrogate (that’s taken away in season two when he doesn’t get enough screen time to perform that role and no one takes his place) really goes through the wringer. He experiences many many terrible things, including sexual assault (which is made into a grimace-laugh line that doesn’t take away from it’s seriousness because oh hey, that can be done as it turns out). He’s nervous, he’s smoking, it’s clear he’s suffering.

There’s a beautiful moment where Pete tells him ‘hey, I was also in pain. I grieved’ and that’s great. It’s good that Pete sets a boundary about Lucius not obsessing over the past to the point of occluding their future.

We even get our comedic moment where Lucius pushes Ed off the boat (still not apology, but I’d lost hope for that by then) and that doesn’t help enough. So Izzy comes in with a shark and the advice that you just have to move on.

Just…you know. Play pretend. Forget.

Shove it in a box. Ed didn’t take my leg, a shark did. Ed didn’t kill you, a shark did. Live with the person that tried to murder you because it’s your fault you dangled your leg over the side of a boat. That is the show’s message. I thought on first watch, that surely this would also come back up and be explained that you can’t live that way, that that is no way to heal. That it would become clear that this was no way through. You cannot make everything into sharks.

Lucius can move forward and still carry pain. He can still want a meaningful apology and still want to talk to his lover about what he’s dealing with while moving forward toward a brighter future.

And what of the flirtatious promise of relationships and connections being the way to heal? Look to Oluwande and Jim, whose heartfelt romance from season one was relegated to the bins of history in favor of a narrative that made him a brother Jim once had sex with. They could have had Archie AND Oluwande, who in turn could also have Zheng, but that never seems to be an option. With a single short conversation, they are broken up with, despite a brief tease at the birthday that they still ‘dance’ together, it never actually manifests. Jim and Archie never talk about what they went through. It’s swept under the rug as fast as knives are lowered.

Lucius also no longer flirts with other people, the solution to his pain is to propose and get married (but not too married, lest we forget that they’re two men, they don’t even get to be husbands or even the more respectful mates, no. They’re mateys.) This season proposes that the only happy endings are monogamous ones, where no one talks about anything painful that went before.

To ensure that message, beyond assuring the success of Oluwande and Zheng’s relationship, Jim and Archie almost entirely disappear from the narrative. Sorry you guys were given layers of trauma and no growth and not even much to do this season, we need to make sure that everyone remembers Oluwande is the break in Zheng’s day so when he says that to her five minutes later we know exactly what he’s referencing. No time for Archie to learn what an apology is or for Jim to get one line in with Oluwande that isn’t affirming their newfound broship. Must do more flashbacks to things we just did two episodes ago!

The show even dangles the conversation of the Revenge being a safe space. Why would any of them ever feel safe when the man who tortured them is allowed to walk among them and they are expected to forgive and forget? What’s safe about that? The ship is never made safe for any of them, but that’s never addressed.

And Zheng! Amazing, hysterically funny Zheng! She loses her ships, her entire way of life, the kingdom she built for herself and then…she doesn’t even get to captain the Revenge. We don’t know what becomes of her fleet, of her plans, her ambitions. Don’t worry about it, she has a romantic partner and isn’t that what every lady wants in the end?

(But Vee, I hear you cry again, there will be a season three! Maybe it will be All About Zheng! To which I say: then why did they present us with the most series finale feeling episode ever? If there’s more, I have no idea where it’s going. BUT VEE: BUTTONS AS SEAGULL ON THE GR- Fine. It’s time.)

Let’s talk about Izzy Hands.

Izzy manages more healing than anyone else this season. He reaches his lowest point, suicidal in the bowels of a ship that’s become a prison (very much in contrast to Ed’s suicidal low). The person he loves most in the world has shredded him physically and emotionally (and if you’re in the camp that thinks Izzy deserves the abuse that Ed gave to him, I would really like you to sit quietly with yourself and ask why you think there is ever anything anyone can do to deserve that treatment). He’s low, he shoots Ed to protect everyone, and then seems to plan to drink himself to death, mourning his losses.

And then another beautiful moment! The crew move past their own pain to help him. They work together for the first time and it’s to give Izzy mobility back. He treasures it. He cries over it. He uses that kindness extended to him to reach a new understanding of Stede and help him succeed, doing the work to make real amends. He sings in drag, he’s vulnerable and beautiful, celebrating the side of himself that he must’ve loathed in the first season. He’s an elder queer man, coming into himself.

He never gets an apology though. (‘Sorry about your leg’ without eye contact is not an apology. There is no responsibility taking, no acknowledgement of the weeks of torture that came with it.) Izzy also never really has an honest conversation with anyone about what it means that the man he loves punished him so severely for the crime of trying to protect the crew (yes, lest we forget, Izzy lost his leg because he was trying to keep Ed from re-traumatizing the crew and himself).

Izzy does all this work, but even he’s not allowed to take it out of the box. It’s a shark, not Ed. Ed is just ‘complicated’ (the language of abuse here is so upsetting and I think not even intentional).

And then he dies. His last act? To apologize to the man who tortured him and shot at him. To have done all this work, to take on all the blame. And then die.

In a rom com.

This show ends in a profoundly unfunny moment of telling the audience: this is the one character that did the work, that made amends, that tried his hardest to accept the parts of himself that he had a hard time embracing and formerly embittered him. He’s fully accepted his queerness and turned it into beautiful music. He’s disabled, and he worked hard to accept that. The man he loves will never love him back, so he worked hard to make Stede able to meet Ed on an even playing field. The Giving Tree gave up its limbs and its trunk, and it’s not even allowed to be a stump to sit on.

Kill the queer elder, who has managed to figure out how to live and in his own way how to heal. Kill him before he manages to teach anyone else how to meaningfully move forward (he almost gets it with Lucius, almost, but it’s meant to be rule of three, you know. Cigarette..shark…and then…and then fuck it, Lucius doesn’t even get to say a word at his funeral).

The message of this season again and again is that there is no healing, just moving forward. Like a shark. Like a bird that never lands.

That is not a kind show.

Season two is not a kind season.

It splinters people up and jams them back together without purpose or reason. It tells everyone who experiences pain that they should shove it in a box and not deal with it. No one who really needs one gets an apology of any sincerity. No one puts in the work to gain forgiveness. (Ed wearing a onesie is not The Work. Ed fixing a door is not The Work. Ed broke people that the show wants us to care about. Ed never does the work of making those amends. He fires off a Notes app apology at best. After all, it’s what he told himself via Hornigold in the gravy basket: you move on or you blow your brains out! Good thing he took his own advice and therefore had to change nothing to get his just rewards.

I would’ve taken just fifteen minutes of Ed trying to actually make amends. It could’ve been hilarious! Imagine awkward Ed trying to dance around what he’s doing with Jim and the two of them having a knife throwing competition about it. Or him and Frenchie attempting to make music together, writing a song about the raids they went on! It’s not just the crew robbed of their healing because of this, it’s Ed himself. He never meaningfully changes or makes amends. How is he any different at the end of the finale then he is standing on the edge of that cliff with Hornigold? He hasn’t moved on, he hasn’t healed. He tried one thing (fishing) that doesn’t fucking work and then he runs right back.

No one leaves this season better than they went into it. They’ve lost an elder queer, they’ve lost their joyous and queer polyamory, they’ve lost a chance for meaningful reconciliation with Ed and Ed lost any chance of looking like he gave shit if they did. Stede grows enough to accept the crew’s beliefs as important and then leaves them behind without a care.

Izzy gets a beautiful speech about piracy being larger than yourself. Ed and Stede, within twenty minutes of that speech, leave piracy. They are incapable of giving themselves to something bigger, apparently. They haven’t learned to be a part of a community. They haven’t healed from their childhood trauma or their fresher wounds. They are still just following their own whims.

Zheng’s life work is in tatters, but it’s fine, she has love. Oluwande and Jim aren’t together, but it's fine because they both have dedicated monogamous partners. Lucius was deeply scarred by what happened, never recovers much of his first season personality, but hey he got-well it’s not married exactly- but you know good enough!

Frenchie, who has a box forever locked in his head, is captain. Because the key to success is to lock it all in a box and never open it. What a message. What a show. Conceal, don’t feel. Smile because it’s a happy ending. Don’t mourn the dead, don’t try to tell people what happened to you (they will literally run away or cry too hard to listen and really you’re just bumming them out), and any meaningful change you make is only rewarded with death.

Frenchie is now a pirate captain with a box in his head full of trauma that’s never been opened, leading a crew with more wounds than scars. Wonder how that could turn out? Wonder how many years before he might want to retire and then happen to run across a gentleman pirate. As if no one learned anything at all.

#our flag means death #ofmd #ofmd spoilers #the strangest message sent #and no idea if it was on purpose #I kind of think it wasn't somehow #but boy howedy did it come across

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bg-brainrot · 9 months ago

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One thing I, personally, can't relate to when discussing BG3 companions: not loving each and every single one of these little weirdos.

Obviously, Astarion's my favorite (gestures at, well, everything on my blog), but I love all of the companions SO much. They're each so unique, so flawed, so painfully relatable.

Now, a quick disclaimer: by all means, these aren't the only or even the best reasons to appreciate these characters, but they're some of my personal favorites!

Some reasons to love them...

Astarion, even against two centuries of torture and trauma, for breaking that cycle of abuse and learning to become his own man.

Gale, despite her reigns on his past, on his power, for going against his goddess's wishes and living on to rectify his mistakes, rather than dying for them.

Karlach, even after everything she's ever done, after finding no catharsis in the act of revenge, for keeping her head, her ax, and her hopes high.

Lae'zel, despite realizing that her entire reason for living is a lie, for fighting on to find new meaning and build a world she'd be proud to fight for.

Shadowheart, even after finding out that her very existence is a lie, for stumbling forth into a new world, one where her devotion is hers to share.

Wyll, despite his deep, undying love for his father, for learning that he needn't sacrifice everything for the ones he loves, he has those who love him in turn.

Halsin, who for all intents and purposes doesn't need to bother with all of this, for caring enough about people, about you, to do whatever he can to help.

Minthara, after being brainwashed, betrayed, destroyed, for ultimately rising from the ashes of herself to follow and support you in anything and everything.

Jaheira, who had all but given up on passing the torch, who after love and loss decided to go out fighting, for trusting you, a kindred spirit to let her rest.

Minsc, with not a single thought behind those eyes, for understanding friendship and loyalty so deeply, that he joins your crew faithfully on Jaheira's words.

It's been a long time since I loved every single one of my companions in a game like this (maybe DA2?), and I'm so weirdly grateful to them for helping me understand myself better.

Anyway, I just think they're all super neat, interesting characters. You definitely don't need to love them all, but I certainly think it's a blast!

#listen im a sap #and i have plenty of love to go around #(not all romantic love though sorry to the rest but astarion and karlach have my heart)#bg3 #Astarion #gale #karlach #lae'zel #shadowheart #wyll #halsin #minthara #jaheira #minsc

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pix-writes · 2 months ago

Text

Catalogues

Stanley Pines x F!Reader (one shot)

AO3

Tags: mild mentions of sex work, homelessness and implied sexual trauma, angst with comfort, fluff, smutty themes (stan gets a little of the TLC he deserves), newly established relationship, implied age gap (not specified but are both adults)

Rating: Mature | 18+ MDNI

Summary: based on the prompt on this post from lore on thisisnotawebsitedotcom by @razziematazz

Words: <1.6k

Shrugging with the heavy box in your arms to adjust your grip, you called out into the shack. “Hey! Stan! I’ve got a surprise!”

You couldn’t believe your luck when you had found this stack of old-looking comics at the big yard sale, Stan was going to be thrilled.

Now here you were, spreading the contents onto the living room floor.

“So, did I do good or what?!”

“You did great, toots! How much did this cost?”

“Pff! That’s not important!” You grinned, watching as Stan flicked through one of the comics. “How old do you think they are, anyway?”

“Definitely vintage, some of ‘em are probably older than you!” He said with a wicked glint in his eye.

“Shut up!” You laughed, throwing a mock punch. “I’m not that young, you know.”

Stan caught up your wrist easily, motioning like he was about to bite off your fingers he chuckled at your squeal, before placing a kiss to your palm. “Yeah, yeah, whatever you say sweetheart.”

“Don’t know what’s gotten into you.” You muttered reaching into the box to pull out another pile, some of the glossy paper slipped through your hands, landing with a slap on the floor.

Stan snatched up a few just as you registered what you were looking at.

“Oh.” The heat rose to your face.

“"Now this is interesting! Who knew you were the type to buy a load of dirty ol’ mags, huh?”

“I didn’t know they were in there, the guy selling them likely didn’t either.” He was trying to be sly, but you could see he pocketed one of them and you reached to snatch one up. He stretched his arm up, so it was out of your grasp. “Hey! Stan! C’mon, that’s a double standard.”

“Hmm… I’m just gonna take a peek, maybe it’ll give me a few ideas.” He wiggled his eyebrows salaciously.

You both burst into laughter.

“I’m glad the kids aren’t here!”

You dove to reach the ones in your partner’s hand and this time he let you take it.

Sitting on the couch you both glanced at the forbidden material and giggled.

“Oh man, some of this stuff is older than me! And terribly niche!” You were so absorbed in looking at the men in the catalogue, hair and clothing looking so dated now, that you didn’t notice how quiet Stan had gotten. “I mean, hunky drifters, who even buys this stu-”

You had turned the page to an image that was familiar from photos you had seen before, though admittedly, he had more clothes on in those. Swallowing thickly as you realised that the eyes staring back out of the page at you were definitely those of your partner’s.

Stan remembers it clearly, though some of the details are hazy, he remembers the ad, the amount of short-change in his pocket and the duffel bag with the broken strap he kept over his shoulder. The nice lady at the desk had the gift of the gab and reeled off what they wanted, how he fit into it, how much money he could get. The place didn't look too classy, but it was warmer than it was outside.

"That's all part of it, darlin', it's supposed to be real, that's what our customers want!" She'd said with a wink and a squeeze of his arm, after he'd voiced some misgivings about taking off too much. He remembered the beady eyed photographer and his small crew directing him…

The place was a total meat market too, as he glanced around, he’d seen other people there to model all under dismissive eyes or hungry ones. The comments he’d gotten had made him shiver and he’d tried ever since to block them out of his mind.

He'd only left with a fraction of what they'd promised, but it was better than nothing, even if his ears were burning.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away for a few long moments. Stan was lying, no leaning, against the hood of a beaten-up looking car, rough jeans unzipped, cock in his grip red at the tip and dribbling precum. His face held a crooked, almost nonchalant smile - if that was a thing. Like he knew he looked good and he didn’t care who was watching. And yet… the camera had managed to pick up the faint blush over his cheeks. It sent a spark of heat straight down to your groin.

You practically dropped the magazine when you saw the second photo, the younger Stan was in the backseat of the car, legs spread, the camera took the shot from a low angle which meant there was little left to the imagination, since the only thing he was wearing was a loose, open hoodie…

“Oh my, Mr Mystery! I never knew you did this, how scandalous!” You said, trying to laugh to break the tension, though your mouth felt dry.

But Stan didn’t say anything, your smile dropped as he turned away.

"Stanley.” That gave him pause. You only said his full first name when you were being serious or affectionate. "Tell me what’s wrong…. Are you embarrassed?”

“No!”

“Then tell me. I’m sorry, I was just joking around, I didn’t mean to poke fun.”

Stan sighed, turning to look at you once again. “It’s not to do with you, baby. I… you know about my driftin’ days?” You nodded. “I needed some quick cash, I saw this ad, talked to a couple people who told me it was some modelling photoshoot. Hah, well, naively it sounded kind of classy to me then, but it turned out to be… not. But it was okay, I guess. Just didn’t think any of it would still be lying around.”

"What did you, um... Think about, when you...?" You couldn’t help but let the words tumble out of your mouth.

"I don't remember thinking much of anything… 'cept wanting money for a warm bed."

You looked as the man shrugged like it was nothing whilst you felt like your heart, once again, shattered into a million pieces for him. "Oh, honey..."

He cringed at your tone. You couldn't have that.

You took his hands into your warm ones, stroking your thumbs over them. "Stanley. Look at me... Do you honestly think I'd judge you for this?"

He squirmed at your directness. “I... You... I dunno, you're so..."

"So?"

"So... Uhm... Fine! I thought you might, okay?”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m hardly a pinnacle of virtue, baby.”

“Yeah, but, you deserve better than me, ya know?” He smiled weakly.

“I don’t pity you and I’m certainly not going to judge you for surviving. Hell, I wouldn’t judge you if you’d done it for fun, either…In fact, I, uh…”

Stan registered the way you ducked your head, hands clasped together, like you had done on your first date. “You what?”

“Never mind.” You said, getting up to gather some of the magazines together. “L-let’s just-”

"-Hey! Hands off the merchandise, toots." He swiped the damn magazine still open to the pages he featured in from underneath you.

“I’ve told you, now you’ve gotta tell me.” He crooked a finger underneath your chin, so you had to look up at him.

You bit your lip. "I found it, um, attractive."

"Oh yeah?” He leaned in close, that same crooked smile forming, though you could see that the light of it reached his eyes this time. “How attractive?”

“Very.” Stan hummed in response waiting for you to continue. “I-I liked the way you looked, confident and also flustered. You looked good.”

“And what about now, does the real thing live up to it?”

Your hands had started to roam his body, pulling at his shirt, grabbing at his stomach, knowing he was self-conscious about it, despite your insistence that you loved it. You felt almost breathless and he hadn’t even touched you yet. “Let me show you.”

Finally, you were pushed back into the cushions as he kissed you. Feeling the heat of his body on top of yours as you deepened your next kiss. “Touch me.”

He pushed a hand up your shirt teasing and pinching your nipples with his hand. You whined.

“Stanley.”

“I know, doll, I know. So needy.” He rearranged your positions so he could properly grind against you, pulling off your sweater in the process. He moaned into your open mouthed kisses, tongue stroking over his own.

Just when you were starting to unbutton your pants, you heard as someone pulled up onto the gravel outside and a bunch of different voices.

“Shit!”

You don’t know how you managed to untangle yourselves, but soon you ware hastily gathering up the salacious material.

“Sixer's finished his trip with 'em early!”

Taking stairs two at a time, you managed to dump the box in a hidden spot in your room by the time you heard your names being called by Ford.

“Wait a second.” You took the copy of ‘hunky drifters’ out of Stan’s pocket and tucked it under the mattress. “For later.”

A blush creeped up his neck. "You'll be the death of me, doll."

#stanley pines x reader #stanley pines x you #stan pines x reader #gravity falls fanfiction #reader and stan are kinda feral for each other if you haven't guessed that already :P

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tinydefector · 3 months ago

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I LIVE FOR HUMAN EFFECTS IT GENUINELY JUST FEELS LIKE A SITCOM HAHA

humble request to have rung in human effects 🙏 i love rung 🙏

Mental strain - Human effects

Word count: 2.1k

Warnings: none, mention of the Ambassador being desirable

Masterlist

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Rung's office is quite a pretty place, decorated with model ships and collective little models. But the vibe of the place for some reason felt as if sitting under an old willow tree, it was familiar and soothing, soft scented oils burn in the background as the Therapist pads down notes from his human patient.

The ambassador lays across the large couch with an arm over their face, head pressed back into a soft pillow as they breathe in the scent of the room. “I just don't know what to do about this, normally Whirl doesn't cause me issues but my God, that mech and Nadia are conspiring with each other I can just feel it” they huff out. Normally the ambassador wouldn't be put off much, but both Nadia and Whirl were hunting for personal information, and seemingly have in their head the they were involved with either, Rodimus, Megatron or Luna Whistler, and it was starting to frustrate them.

‘ “So…. Boss, you and the captain?” Nadia coos as she walks with the Ambassador. It earns the Moroccan woman a glance. “What about the captains?” They asked with a raised eyebrow. “You've been spending an awful amount of time with them” she teases, which Gets a shake of the liaison's head. “Nadia I don't know what gossip you're hunting for” they hum while continuing to walk with her.

“Hey fleshy getting quite up close and personal with the new seeker huh” Whirl chirped, almost making the ambassador prickle with goose bumps from the fight or flight response to the helimech. “Whirl, I don't think I have to remind You about your probation and not causing issues with crewmates?” They shoot back at the mech. The singular optic seems to focus on the ambassador. “Hmmm, touchy, didn't take you as a Xeno” the heli stated before disappearing into thin air.’

Rung listens thoughtfully as the ambassador vents their frustrations, optics crinkling kindly behind spectacles. After long vorns counselling troubled mechs, he had learned humans seemed to have just as much trauma and issues as most mechs did, but he did enjoy these sessions where the ambassador mainly vented about issues, crew gossip or plans.

"Perhaps Whirl and Nadia have struck up an unlikely friendship, though the results tend toward...chaos, but so far it seems rather harmless, especially for Whirl." he hums with a soft smile his face plate leans against his knuckles as his other servo types away, noting things.

"Rung you don't get it, it feels like Nadia thinks I'm sleeping with Megatron or Rodimus and Whirl, I swear Whirl just pops up out of nowhere makes a snarky comment about Luna whistler." They sigh while their head presses back into the pillow. "Rodimus has been grumpy, avoiding me when I'm trying to help him with his work, it seems like the moment we had Luna Whistler join, the crew has become a little standoffish, God I just want a vacation" they mumble.

His optical ridges lift inquiringly. "Oh my, that is quite a predicament." He chuckles while laying his pad down to look them over. His optics flicker away from them before back to his pad. “I had heard rumours of some of the crew being rather interested but I didn't Think it would escalate to this” he hums which earns him a look from the Ambassador.

They raise an eyebrow at the Therapist. “What rumours?” the ask rather worried over the situation. He removes his spectacles, optics crinkling in shared wistfulness.

"My dear it seems you are rather desirable amongst the crew, quite a few are interested in courting you. and it would not surprise me if quite a few have become slightly bitter over a new mech joining and having your attention on him" Rung explains, he wasn't a daft mech, he had been around a very, very long time. And he knew the face of a smitten young mech.

Their eyes go wide, mouth wide open In shock. “But.. but I'm a human!” They state sitting up in utter shock hearing this revelation. Rung's optics soften as he looks at their stunned form. “Oh I'm aware, quite a few of them have been rather vocal over wanting to know how to properly Court a human, quite a few Web forums and sites have come up since the Cybertron and earth alliance.” He informs, not giving away details of who, or what mechs had confided in him about their interest.

His smile takes on a gently mischievous quirk. "As for Nadia and Whirl's meddling, I'm very sure they have become rather invested in figuring out who the lucky mech is, even though it's very clear there isn't one” he chuckles again watching the way their eyes bulge.

They are speechless, stunned. Not knowing how everyone apparently thought they were involved with multiple mechs. “Oh my fucking god” they groan out loudly while slamming their face into the pillow and letting out a noise. After a moment they sit up " I just want everyone would cut Luna a break, mechs trying to become friends with others and fuck he's a nervous one outside of work, he's a sweet mech just wish everyone would stop giving him the stink eye, and now apparently I'm the reason hes getting the stink eye" they press their head into their hands.

The Ambassador looked tired and stressed. "Plus I'm pretty sure he's very smitten with Traxies" Rung lets out a soft vent as he stands walking towards one of the shelves with the model ships, reaching up he withdraws a small bottle from his cabinets, sympathy visible on his features as he walks towards the liaison. "Here, I believe you may be desperately in need of one of these." He slowly hands a slightly larger glass to the human.

Their eyes widen slightly as Rung hands them the glass, "where did you get Vintage Earth Whiskey!" They ask almost in shock as they look over the bottle. Rung's optics gleam behind spectacles as the ambassador regards their unexpected gift.

"I may have a bit of a collection of human and cybertronian liquor. Ships aren't the only thing I collect” he hums lightly before the Ambassador shoots him a look. “Swerve tends to let me know when he gets his servos on collections” he chuckles as he pours himself a glass, “ human Alcohol is fortunate something I happen to indulge in on occasions”

"I should have known Swerve was bootlegging booze" they state with a shake of their head as they take a sip of the whiskey. They both sit there quietly before Rung finally speaks up again.

"In matters of the sparks, a lot of cybertronians are rather taken by you, most likely the easiest way to go about it is to state your not interested in interspecies relationships, let them down easy. It won't be easy but it would most likely be the easiest way to get the rumours and your admirers to back off." His optics glint roguishly behind spectacles.

"Thing is Rung, it never even occurred to me outside of Nadia making jokes of getting it on with a mech" they hum while leaning back into the chair and sipping their drink. “In truth, now I'm just questioning every nice thing the crew does for me, oh God, is Gift giving a thing that indicates Courting!?” They are worried only for Rung to snort and chuckle.

“in some cases but most times it's only after a Conjunxing request has been accepted, im sure who ever you gave something to hasn't seen it as you showing interest, tho there are a few things which count, such as custom paint jobs, upgrades, or weapons” he states, it soothes their worry over the sweets they had gotten for Megatron.

“OK, ok, so hypothetically, If I was interested in a bot, how would I go about asking them if they were interested” they mumble only for Rung's optics to soften as he watches how they stare into their drink. “ Hmm well it very much depends on the Mech you're interested in, and not just personally wise, different frames have different Courting methods. Tanks and Seekers are very different in their approaches, as are Speedster and Haulers.” He takes a sip of his drink before continuing.

“ seekers tend to do Flight dances with one they are interested in, others can become slightly hostile, it really depends on the mech. Tankers are also collectors, most likely if one gives you something they hold very dearly it means they are trying to initiate an interest, most times it will be ammunition. Haulers are a bit of a strange one because it depends on what kinda hauler, because some will take you to a place which you have never seen before because it reminds them of you” he finishes. It makes the Ambassador fidget lightly.

“There are many more I could go on about but sadly I'm not as well versed in all the different frame types conjunxing rituals” he smiles at them before finishing his drink and placing the cup over on his bench, fixing his optics on the human again.

"You know, you're not what I had expected as a therapist, um, thank you, sorry you had to deal with my breakdown and well this” they make hand movements towards themself which makes Rung laugh in amusement. "We all struggle, in our ways. My role is easing that burden, however it works best." A gentle pulse of reassurance.

"Your well-being matters greatly to this crew. It is a privilege to offer aid, whether counsel or distracting company." He stands from his seat walking over to grab their nose empty cup. “ Ah I don't think I'm ready to head back out, how much longer can I stay?” They inquire.

Rung runs a few calculations over time, a light rumble echoes from his chassis. “ I fortunately don't seem to have another patient for the cycle unless Whirl decides to make a visit for themself” he gives them a soft smile.

“Care for another drink?” He offers which earns him a nod from the Ambassador. “Well outside of this small problem you're having with suitors, have you had a chance to enjoy that hobby of yours you were telling Me about last time?”

“Sadly not yet, having been helping Megatron and Ultra Magnus with Rodimus, turns out that speedster isn't the best with writing. I think he has Dyslexia and most likely ADHD, they tend to go hand in hand a lot. Been trying to find ways to help him focus on work” they take the glass and begin sipping it, relaxing back into the chair and pillow. “Just wish Rodimus would stop with the cold shoulder, well I now know why he's giving me a cold shoulder but it makes it easier to work with him when he's not huffy and pouting” they explain.

Rung shakes his helm in amusement. “He will settle, that or I'll have a word with him during his session about workplace duties, have you brought it up with Megatron or Ultra Magnus?” Rung asked next, which earned him a shake of their head.

“no, he's been good with them, really good actually, Megatron's been really good with helping him with reading, and Magnus is a godsend with fixing any errors. I know it's driving him crazy having to redo it but I think he understands the importance of having Rodimus learning” in truth they had been very helpful and supportive with helping Rodimus learning and finding ways to help with the things he found difficult.

“Well I'm glad to hear that they are helping, that reminds me I have to schedule an appointment with Megatron, his spark forbids him ever coming to see me willingly” he grumbles the last part which earns a laugh from the human. They continue chatting with each other for a while. It's only after they both finish a third glass do they say their goodbyes.

“Thank you again Rung, I'll try and see you for my next session in two Luna cycles but don't hold me to that” they joke, Rungs rolls his optics in amusement before putting away the bottle and placing his pad down on his desk. “Anytime my dear, try not to get yourself too worried over everyone, they will settle down eventually, hot oiled mechs are always a little over the top” he chuckles before sending them off with a wave.

Rung slowly sinks back into his seat and he sighs. It looked like a lot more mechs were interested in the ambassador than he had originally anticipated, and after the holoweb forums he had seen he wasn't surprised he just hoped the crew would settle down soon.

_____________

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toournextadventure · 4 months ago

Text

our little secret pt.vi

Summary: Life has a funny way of coming back around. Maybe, for the first time, it's actually going to come back around for the better.

Word Count: 10.9k Warnings: swearing, homophobia, HIV/Aids crisis, religious trauma, excessive smoking Pairing: Lorraine Day x Fem!Reader (Masterlist)

The sun was just starting to rise by the time you finished letting the cattle into the field. Fall was coming in nicely, and the spring calves had more than come into their own by that point. They were rather mischievous at this age. They reminded you of such as they continued to butt their heads into the back of your legs every chance they got.

Adorable little bastards.

The crops surrounding the small gathering of buildings were looking pretty damn good, if you said so yourself. You let your fingers trail over a few peas as you squatted down to look for pests. They were almost ready to harvest. Not too much longer and it would be market season, and with any luck you would have enough harvest to make a little more to put back.

As you stood up, you picked two pods off the vine. One went straight into your mouth. The crunch was superb. Definitely ready. You tossed the other pod to Hank, who was lying in his spot on the porch, more than ready to start sunbathing. He was a useless cowdog, but you’d be damned if you didn’t love him.

“You’re doin’ great, buddy,” you said softly. He continued to crunch on the pea pod as you scratched behind his ear and walked inside.

Based on the noise echoing through the log cabin, everyone was already in the kitchen. Good, you wouldn’t have to chase them down. Not that you had to do that much anymore, everyone had fallen into a rather comfortable rhythm. A schedule, if you will. A routine fit for the veterans you now called your family.

“Thank god,” Jane sighed as you walked through the doorway into the kitchen. “Roy’s burning breakfast.”

“Course he is,” you mumbled.

“I’m not burning anything,” Roy called back. He still stepped aside without protest when you walked up beside him.

“Yet,” you said with a raised brow.

“Morning,” was all he said in reply before walking back to sit at the long kitchen table.

The whole crew was already up and ready to go while you finished saving breakfast. A wonderful array of eggs, bacon, sausage, and… well, whatever they could get out of a can. For some unknown reason - it wasn’t entirely unknown, just unconfirmed - they made it a habit to steal cans from an old military warehouse not too far away. They’d grab whatever they could carry, come back, and barter them amongst each other until their next run.

You weren’t sure why they didn’t just share, considering they all lived in the same place.

“Are you working today?” Greenback asked from where he was sitting on one of the counters.

“Yes,” you said with a nod. You turned and gave him The Look, as they all dubbed it. “Which means I can’t bail you out today. So unless you want to spend the night in jail,” you look back down, “don’t get arrested again.”

“Yes mom,” he mocked. “You don’t have to remind me every day.”

“Sure she does,” Hippie said. Unlike the others, he was waiting patiently for breakfast. “She didn’t remind you last week. Remember what happened?”

There was an awkward silence. You bit your lip to keep from laughing because you certainly remembered. So had your savings, quite frankly. And he was paying you back for it dollar by dollar, so he remembered too.

“I got arrested,” Greenback finally answered, so quietly it was almost inaudible.

“So maybe she does need to tell you,” Hippie said.

“Now listen here-”

-the noise of their argument died out. It was a skill you had learned after only a year of being there. All of them were wild, constantly arguing and occasionally devolving into screaming. Terrifying at first, considering each of them had killed someone at least once in their lives. Now you knew better.

They just needed someone to care.

“Here.”

Out of the corner of your eye, Roy held out a cigarette. You mouthed a silent “thank you” before taking it, waiting patiently for him to flick his lighter open. Smoking was a nasty habit. Yet, when everyone around you imbibed, it was easy enough to fall into it with them. In a strange twist of fate, Camels were preferred over Marlboros. Peculiar.

Disgusting.

“Going to the hospital this morning?” Roy asked.

You nodded and exhaled the ashy smoke. “Wanna go with me?”

He was already shaking his head. “Those are your people, not mine,” he grumbled before leaning back against the counter and crossing his arms.

“Some are vets,” you said, looking at him with a raised brow. “Just cause you don’t claim ‘em don’t mean they’re not yours.”

“Tell that to our old man,” Roy said, all joking aside.

“Yeah, well.” You exhaled the last cloud of smoke before you put the cigarette out on one of the many trays around the house. “I got a few other things I’d rather say to him.”

“You and me both,” he said, patting your shoulder and pushing away from the counter with his hip.

He was doing better, you thought as you told everyone breakfast was finally ready. He was much better. Maybe it had something to do with being around a bunch of other people who understood. Everyone in the compound - or commune, as Hippie called it - except you had been in Vietnam. They knew each other’s struggles and fears. As much as your daddy hated the term, it was everyone’s safe space.

“Hey Preacher, you’ll bail me out if I get arrested tomorrow, right?”

And unfortunately, you were everyone’s Commune Mother. Who would’ve thought?

—---

“Morning, Richard,” you said once you saw the kind doctor behind the desk.

“Good morning, Preacher,” he said with a smile that hid behind his mustache. “I was hoping to see you this morning.”

You smiled to yourself and gripped your bag tighter. Dr. Richard was a sweet man, not too different from Huck. If Huck was closer to your father’s age than yours, that was. His smile wasn’t as crooked, but you supposed some would find it attractive.

Not you. But someone.

“Who do you have for me this mornin’?” You asked, instinctively leaning over the counter.

You weren’t supposed to, you knew it was against policy. Richard had said it was something against patient privacy or something like that. The first few times, just the thought of violating someone’s privacy was enough to send you home. The last thing you wanted to do was read something they didn’t want you to. You knew that better than most.

Now though? Oh, now they could tell you to your face if they wanted you to back off.

The long list of names was almost as recognisable as the Bible itself. You visited a very specific type of patient. A type that had gotten you ostracised your first few months. You knew every single patient that came in, and every single one that Robert - you adamantly refused to call him daddy anymore - condemned to hell. If they were going to hell, you were going with them.

“Here we go,” Richard said, pulling you out of your thoughts. “Mr. Baker.”

You leaned further across the table, almost touching foreheads with Richard. Mr. Baker was new, if you remembered correctly. In his 50s, grumpy, determined the world was out to get him. Maybe it was, you knew the feeling. Hell, the world had been out to get you. It wasn’t too far-fetched to believe it might be the same for him.

“He gonna throw anything at me?” You asked as you finally dropped back to the floor.

“He’s been advised not to,” Richard said with a sigh.

“Oh thank the lord, he’s been advised.”

“I’m sure he’ll behave,” he said. His smile was always nice. Kind.

“I’ll go see,” you said. You pushed yourself away from the desk but didn’t get very far before you heard Richard call after you.

“Can I buy you dinner tonight?”

You looked at him for a moment, your head tilted. This wasn’t a new question. In fact, he asked nearly every week, if memory served you right. Part of you wanted to tell him yes, just once. Just once to see if you could change. It would certainly make the world a lot easier to deal with.

It wouldn’t be fair to him.

“I have to work,” you said with a soft smile. He kept getting smaller as you walked backwards.

“How about a drink?” He leaned forward on the desk.

Oh, he was charming. And yet, you still felt nothing but a platonic admiration for him. Nothing you did would “fix” you. If you couldn’t fall for someone who was inarguably a perfect match, with the only issue being he was a man? Nothing would work. And for the life of you, you still couldn’t decide if it was because you were broken?

Or perhaps nothing was wrong with you at all.

“Ask me again next week,” you told him.

“Will you say yes?” He asked as he stood up straight. It was the same old song and dance, week after week. A routine. Comfort.

“No,” you said with a cheeky grin. You managed to see Richard shake his head and smile to himself before you turned around and continued your walk through the hospital halls.

As unusual as it sounded, there was something comforting about the hospital. Yes, it was filled with disease and death and despair. An unfortunate consequence of the times. But with all the time you had spent between the walls, you felt at home. No one judged; they didn’t have the time nor capacity. You felt welcome. Wanted.

Mr. Baker’s door wasn’t hard to find; you knew the layout like the back of your hand. Though you would admit, you didn’t think you had been to that particular room before. Not that it mattered, they were all the same. At least it would be easy enough to find for next time.

You knocked on the door three times, gave it a moment, and walked in.

“Good morning, Mr. Baker, I-”

“-Get out of my fucking room,” he said before you could even close the door. “I don’t want some fucking priest in here.”

Your mouth snapped shut. In your mind, you checked off the boxes as you studied him. Grumpy? Judging by the set of his mouth, check. Older? His balding head of grey hair was a check. Sick? Well, he was in the hospital, so check. Scared?

Check.

“Good thing I’m not a priest,” you said slowly. He could hear perfectly well, but you didn’t want to make him more angry. A skill you had learned rather quickly.

“I can see a bible thumper from a mile away,” he continued. “It’s sticking out of your damn bag.”

Slowly, you looked down. Damn. He was right.

“I’m not a bible thumper, Mr. Baker,” you tried to say.

“If you’re not some priest, what are you?”

“Would you like my name?” You asked.

“I don’t give a fuck what your name is.” He shook his head. “I want to know what you are.”

“What do you want me to be?” You asked as you took a step further into the room.

“You some kinda prostitute or something?” He asked. You finally noticed his thick Yankee accent.

“Is that what you want me to be?” You asked again, taking another step.

He opened and shut his mouth twice before looking away from you. The very first few weeks you had started coming to the hospital, you remembered what everyone had told you. They’re like cornered animals. You had initially taken offense at the sentiment. They were scared, and the staff had the nerve to compare them to animals?

Until you remembered when you were cornered. You had been just as angry, just as scared, and just as vicious. Those first few months alone without the three people you knew would have protected you. Those were the most terrifying months of your life. Each time someone looked at you, fear raced through your veins. Did they know? Would they try to kill you too, just for the crime of existing? Were they angels, coming to personally drag you to hell for the sin of love?

Only once you had someone who cared did you feel any sort of comfort in your skin. Roy and his entire gang would fight heaven and hell for you. They didn’t care who you loved, they just cared that you were safe. That you were loved, unconditionally. It wasn’t a feeling you were accustomed to.

Everyone you visited in the hospital just wanted to be loved, not feared or ridiculed.

You took another step closer.

“If you want me to leave, I will,” you said softly. “Just say the word.”

Mr. Baker continued to look out the window. It didn’t feel right to stay if he didn’t want you, and you wouldn’t blame him. You waited a few more seconds in awkward silence before nodding slowly to yourself. He didn’t want you there, and that was okay. You backed up and turned to face the door. It was alright, you could always try again next-

“-you can stay.” You smiled to yourself while still facing the door. “Since you’re already here.”

It was a lovely visit with Mr. Baker. He had been a lawyer, back before the epidemic scandal. Hell, he had been a lawyer less than a week ago. All until he had gotten too sick, and got fired for being gay. He complained about his wife leaving him, but he didn’t seem all that upset by it. You could understand.

“If you’re not a priest,” Mr. Baker said, “why carry that damn book?”

“Cause it used to bring me comfort,” you said as you flipped aimlessly through the Bible. “It’s the last thing I have of home.”

“You get excommunicated?” He asked.

You turned and gave him a sad smile. “Somethin’ like that.”

“Do you feel free yet?”

No. Not entirely, at least. That feeling of guilt that had weighed on you throughout your entire adult life had eased, but you weren’t free. Free would be living with Lorraine, and Beau and Huck. Not a care in the world, just living off together and doing whatever you all wished. Yeah. Yeah, that was freedom.

“Not yet,” you finally answered.

Mr. Baker chuckled humourlessly. “That’s what I thought.”

You didn’t stay much longer. He made you promise to come back next week. Well, he didn’t so much make you promise, it was more like you can come back, if you want. But you had been around enough people to know what that meant, so you said you’d come back.

Without your bible, of course, that was what he emphasised.

“Hey Mama.”

You smiled at the words. “Hey baby.” Quietly, you closed the door behind you. “How are you today?”

Eric smiled back at you. “Better and better each day.”

You both knew it was a lie. From what Richard had patiently described to you, Eric was at most a few months away from dying. No more than a boy at only 19, he was going to die without any of his family around. All because they thought he was gay. Perhaps that was why he had attached himself to you as quickly as he had; there was no time to be picky.

“Come sit with me,” he said as he patted the spot beside him.

Without hesitation, you placed your bag at the end of the bed and crawled in with him. The television was situated directly in front of the bed, on a rolling cart that you often found yourself moving. It was some western, but you couldn’t be bothered to know which one. All knowledge of westerns had been forcibly shoved out of your mind the moment you had been displaced.

If anyone from home would have seen you at that moment, they would have keeled over. Not only were you in bed with a suspected gay boy, but one with AIDS? The devil’s disease? The thought of their disgust alone was enough to warm your soul. You hoped they would find out, and you hoped it killed them.

You wouldn’t bother going to their funerals.

“You bring the goods?” Eric asked.

You were already nodding your head as you leaned forward to grab your bag. “If you tell anyone I got these for you, I’ll never buy them again.”

“My mouth is shut,” he said.

He watched with hungry eyes as you pulled out the contraband. The first was a pack of cigarettes; Lucky Strikes. Eric claimed he liked them for the flavour. You knew it was because his grandfather had smoked them during the second world war. Second was a pack of baseball cards, unopened, directly from the corner store a few blocks away. Rumour had it they carried the best cards around.

Third was a Playboy, which you quickly handed over so you wouldn’t have to touch it anymore.

“Oh, you’re the best,” he mumbled to himself as he ripped open the pack of baseball cards with his teeth. “Bet there’s something special in here.”

“I hope there is,” you said with a barely concealed laugh.

While he pulled the cards out, he handed the pack of smokes to you. As much as you knew better, it had become a nice little routine of yours. You would open the smokes and get one started for both you and him. He would look through the cards and show you the “good ones,” going on about every little detail. Once your cigarettes were nothing more than a filter, you would sit back, enjoy a bit of company, and watch whatever you could find on the television.

“Oh this is amazing, wanna hear about it?” He asked, but he didn’t wait for an answer before starting talking.

You slipped the light cigarette into his mouth while he talked. His enthusiasm was contagious. You had not the slightest idea who he was even talking about, but even you were impressed with the person’s statistics. Not enough to remember any of it, but that didn’t really matter.

Eric carried on, and you just sat there and watched him. He reminded you of Jimmy. Young, eager, excited about the little things. It was good to be young. Good to be excited about things that others would consider silly or inconsequential. Maybe that was why you had such a soft spot for him. You might not have had Jimmy, but you had someone that gave you hope in the world.

It wasn’t enough. But it would do.

“Oh shit,” Eric said in a hushed voice. You looked down to see the Playboy in his hands. “They’ve got Miss Minx in here.”

Your brows pulled together as you looked down at the magazine. Admittedly, you couldn’t have cared less about the issue. Your small window into the world of smut had closed that night Lorraine had left. It didn’t have anything to do with you anymore and, quite frankly, perhaps it was all for the better.

But nothing could have prepared you to see a full print of Maxine in a Playboy.

“She made it,” you whispered to yourself with a small smile. “The crazy bitch made it.”

“What do you mean?” Eric asked. His eyes grew wide as he looked up at you. “Wait, did you know her?”

“Yeah,” you said softly. “Her and her whole crew.”

“You knew her early stuff?” He asked excitedly. His body turned to face you.

You nodded.

“Like Bobby-Lynne?”

Another nod.

“And Jackson Hole?”

And another.

“And-”

“-Yes, I knew them all,” you interrupted.

You couldn’t hear her name coming from someone else’s lips. It would have been sinful to speak of the woman you would have worshipped day and night. Something about hearing someone else talk about her felt wrong. Blasphemous even. It was better to let sleeping dogs lie.

At least out loud.

“Think you can get me an autograph?” Eric asked, still as enthusiastic as ever. “It can be my, uh,” he exhaled harshly. “What’s it called,” he mumbled. His eyes lit up before he looked at you again. “That Make A Wish thing.”

“Ain’t that for kids with cancer?” You asked.

“Maybe,” he said with a shrug. “But I’m a kid with AIDS, so I think I count.”

“Don’t think it works that way, baby,” you chuckled.

“Just one autograph,” he begged. “I won’t ever shoot up again, I promise.”

“You already can’t shoot up again,” you said not unkindly. “That’s what got you here in the first place.”

“Oh come on, please?”

You sighed and shook your head. You always had been a sucker for big brown eyes.

“I’ll see what I can do,” you said dejectedly.

The rest of the visit went exactly as it always did. Eric talked non stop about everything that crossed his mind, and you listened. From what he had been “forced” to eat last night, to what he was looking forward to you bringing next week. He very much wanted a burger from your bar. You couldn’t argue; it was the most sensible thing he had asked for in months.

“Don’t get in trouble before I come back,” you told him as you walked to the door. It was past time for work.

“I promise on my life,” he said with a smile that showed off the purple lesions on his gums. “Love you, Mama!”

“Love you too, baby,” you called out, shooting him one last smile before leaving the room.

The first tear fell before the door clicked shut.

With a shake of your head, you made your way out of the hospital. Richard gave you a quick goodbye, and you were off to work. It was some sleazy gay bar on the outside of town. You knew better than to try and take a cab out there. If Roy or Jane couldn’t grab you from the hospital, you would just walk the 30 minutes to get there. Safety first.

Unfortunately, it was far too hot for the walk. It was nothing you weren’t used to, but that didn’t make it enjoyable. Sweat was dripping into your eyes and keeping your shirt stuck to your back by the time you finally walked through the doors of the bar. Thankfully you kept a change of clothes in the back.

“Thank god,” Jessie groaned when you came back to the bar in much cleaner clothes. “I was about to panic.”

“Don’t be a dick,” you whispered in his direction as you smiled at the man on the other side of the bar.

“Is your doctor coming in tonight?” He asked with far too much excitement.

“Go serve your drinks, pretty boy,” you told him before turning back around to start working.

There was something surprisingly enjoyable about working at a bar. Or perhaps it was technically called a club, you weren’t entirely sure. Regardless, you loved it. It was freeing in a way. No one expected you to act a certain way, or pretend to be something you weren’t. You could just laugh, have fun, and genuinely thrive.

“Can I buy you that drink now?”

You smiled to yourself before sitting on the other side of the table. Richard had made himself at home - as he usually did when you worked - and was still nursing his singular drink. His usual doctor’s coat had long been abandoned, instead replaced by a flowery shirt and some cargo shorts. Something that made him stick out tremendously among the group of gay men and women.

“Not on my break,” you told him.

“How about a smoke?” He asked, pulling out a fresh pack of Camels out of his shirt pocket. With skilled fingers, he opened it and pulled a single cigarette out.

“Oh, you’re my hero,” you mumbled, leaning forward to wrap your lips around what he had dubbed the “cancer stick.”

“Those are bad for you, you know,” he said even as he lit it for you and slid the pack and lighter across the table.

“I stopped caring about that a long time ago, Rich,” you said.

As the patrons continued to mill about and enjoy their night, you sat quietly with Richard. He really was a good man, and a part of you wished you could love him. Hell, he had helped you through a lot, the least you could do was give him the one thing he wanted. If you had any belief that you were capable of it, you would have taken him up on his offer long ago.

But you couldn’t in good conscience marry a man that you couldn’t properly appreciate. It wouldn’t have been fair to him. You had watched Lorraine go down that road with RJ, and it hadn’t gone well. She was miserable, doubtless, he had picked up on it as well, and neither one ended up being happy. That was no way to live.

You put out the smouldering cigarette on the ashtray and immediately lit another. That train of thought was not going to end well. You hadn’t painstakingly forced yourself to keep going just to end up thinking too hard one night at work. No, you simply needed to feel the sticky burn at the back of your throat a few more times.

“Is Roy taking you home tonight?” Richard asked.

You hummed affirmative. “No need to play taxi cab,” you teased.

“Will you be back in the hospital soon?” You nodded again. “The men love you.”

“How ironic,” you said with a humourless laugh. “If we had loved each other to begin with, all our lives would’ve been different.”

“Don’t be cynical,” Richard said. He reached out and placed his hand on top of yours. It was warm. Soft. So very different from Beau’s.

You thought for a second before answering. “What do you want me to be?”

“Don’t start that,” he said, quickly pulling his hand back. You couldn’t help smiling at him. “That trick doesn’t work on me, sweetheart.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” you said. Another inhale, another ache in the back of your throat, another satisfying cloud of smoke. “Jessie said I need to quit usin’ humour to cope.”

“He’s not wrong,” Richard said. His voice was soft over the sound of the music playing in the bar. “Do you need to talk about it?”

He really was sweet, you thought. Truly a shame.

“I’m alright, Rich,” you said. “Really.”

“I know, just,” he sighed. “I know we aren’t compatible, but I do care for you.” He, too, had irresistible big brown eyes. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You didn’t know what to say. It was all entirely too much, and you were still feeling emotional from hanging out with Eric earlier. The last thing you needed was for Richard to get emotional on you. If you were being honest with yourself, you needed him to mind his own business.

“You need to go home,” you said with a smile. It was a poor attempt at teasing. “Jessie works tonight.”

“Oh shit,” Richard mumbled. His back straightened and he looked around frantically. “Yeah, I had better go.”

“You should say yes sometime,” you said as you both stood up from the table. “You’d make his year.”

His eyes got big before he undoubtedly noticed the crinkle by your eyes. “I couldn’t dare lead him on like that.”

“Go home, Rich,” you laughed.

You leaned up on your toes to press a quick kiss to his cheek. It was scratchy; he needed to shave again. Roy had told you not to give the man hope, but you weren’t. From the beginning, you had been very clear with him where you stood, and he had never pushed you for a different answer. A kiss on the cheek was nothing more than kindness.

“Get home safe, sweetheart,” he said. “I’ll see you later.”

You bid him goodbye and walked back to the bar. If you put all your attention into work, it wouldn’t be long before you closed and you could go home. Tomorrow would be calm until you had to go back to work later that evening. There should be plenty of time to start harvesting crops and getting everyone set up for the next few weeks.

“I’ll get that man to love me one day,” Jessie said. You followed his line of sight to see Richard walking out the door.

“Sorry, Jess,” you said with a shrug, “but I don’t think he’ll budge.”

“Then he can tell me no himself,” he said. “I can wait.”

“You’re gonna get you in trouble one day,” you said as you started preparing a drink for one of the usuals that had just walked in the door.

“So are you,” he said from his spot beside you. “Someone was asking for you while you were with Doctor Handsome.”

You slid the drink across the bar. “And what did you say?”

“We don’t give out that information,” he repeated like he had so many times before. “I know the rules, I’m no amateur.”

You hummed in acknowledgment as you continued working. Who could have come asking for you? Perhaps it was one of the Vets; Jessie didn’t know all of them. Vulture was quite the intimidating character, maybe it had been him. He was the least likely of the crew to remember your work schedule. Yeah, it was probably him.

The rest of the night was reasonably quiet. Those were some of your favourite nights. There were fewer expectations and interactions. You could simply do your job, get paid, and go home. No stress, no need to overthink, nothing. It was wonderful.

Like clockwork, Roy walked into the bar after everyone had left and you were finishing cleaning. He sat down at the bar, resting his arms on the cool wood. Without stopping your movements, you slid the pristine pack of cigarettes over to him, which he swiftly opened and lit.

“How was the hospital?” Roy asked.

You leaned forward so he could place a smoke between your lips. “Same as always,” you said. “Eric’s magazine had Maxine in it.”

An exceptionally tough stain captured your attention. Having something to focus on was nice, you didn’t want to think about seeing Maxine. In fact, you already regretted bringing it up. You knew Roy had liked her too, even though he had only met her once or twice. It wasn’t fair to either one of you for you to have brought it up.

“Well hello, Roy,” Jessie said as he sidled up next to you.

“Hello, Jessie,” Roy said politely. And nothing more than polite.

“You ever going to party with us?” Jessie asked. He was not helping you clean. “I think you would be good for business.”

“It ain’t really my scene,” Roy said with an unsure smile.

“It could be,” Jessie said. The flirt.

You quickly shoved your hand towel into Jessie’s hands. “Think you can finish closin’ on your own?”

Roy took that as his sign to head out, telling Jessie a short “good night” before heading to the truck waiting on the street. You loved Jessie to death, you really did, but he was going to get himself into a world of hurt if he didn’t stop. Roy wasn’t homophobic by any means, but the man still wasn’t consistently stable. He was not the one to play with.

“Quit flirtin’ with my brother,” you hissed as you grabbed your Camels, lighter, and cash tips. “And my doctor.”

“Quit bringing handsome men to the bar,” Jessie called after you. “It’s not fair, you know.”

“Night Jessie,” you shouted. He answered as the doors swung closed behind you.

If there was one thing you could say about Roy’s truck, it was that the interior was as pristine as a farmer’s truck could get. Everything was in its place, and everything had a place. The car lighter was always ready, and he kept one pack each of three different smokes in the center bucket. In the glovebox was his pistol and a few spare rounds in an unmarked cardboard box.

“You didn’t share a cigarette with that boy earlier, did you?” Roy asked once he pulled off onto the main road to get back out to the compound.

“No, Roy, I ain’t stupid,” you huffed. “I lit his, then got my own.”

“Don’t get testy,” he defended quickly, “I just don’t want you gettin’ sick too.”

“Oh I’m fine,” you mumbled more to yourself before looking out the window.

It was because he cared, you reminded yourself. Maybe a bit too much, but he did. Even though you both considered the other Vets your family, you still only had each other. No one understood you like he did, and vice versa. You wouldn’t be who you were without him, and he was protective to a fault.

That did not mean you had to enjoy his line of questioning.

“Make any new friends?” He asked after a bit of awkward silence.

You told him all about Mr. Baker; not that there was much to say yet. He listened intently, nodding along with your tale and mumbling encouragement when appropriate. It was a pretty one-sided conversation, but that didn’t matter. He listened, and you got to say a bit. Hell, he even laughed when you complained that Mr. Baker had called you a priest.

“Hey Roy.” You waited until he grunted for you to continue. “Did you ever think maybe Robert was wrong? With his preachin’?”

He laughed. A big laugh, one that would put anyone else to shame. It caught you off guard and you frowned at him even though he was focused on the road. He didn’t need to be so rude.

“I knew he was wrong the day I was drafted,” he said after calming down. “Why d’you ask?”

You looked down at the pieces of paper you were slowly picking off the pack of Marlboros in your hand.

“I’ve just been thinkin’ about it lately,” you said with a shrug.

“What exactly have you been thinkin’ about?” He probed.

“You think God is ashamed of us?” You asked.

When Roy was silent, your fingers pulled at one of the cigarettes in the pack. Maybe Richard was right, you needed to slow down. But with all the thoughts running through your head day and night, the last thing you were worried about was a smoke. That sounded like a problem for the future, if you ever got to it.

You exhaled smoke before continuing. “Think He saw us and decided it was easier to turn his back?” Roy was silent. “Cause He don’t talk to me anymore.” You turned to face Roy, who was still looking straight ahead. “Did I do somethin’ wrong?”

“You did nothin’ wrong,” he said quickly. If you looked closely, his knuckles were paling from his grip on the wheel.

“Just what I’ve been thinkin’ about,” you said quietly. “Sometimes I feel like I did somethin’ wrong.”

The truck pulled up to the front of the house you shared. The lights were on downstairs and in the kitchen. Hopefully Moose wasn’t drunk again. The last thing you wanted to do was deal with his nonsense so late at night. Honestly, you just wanted to go get in bed and start a new day.

“Guess we should head inside,” you mumbled.

You put the cigarette out on the heel of your boot before putting the now-cool butt in your pocket. Everyone knew better than to leave trash in Roy’s truck. But when you went to open the door, Roy’s arm reached in front of you and pushed down the lock.

“Why’d you do that?” You asked with a small laugh. “We’re already parked.”

Both of his hands stayed on the wheel. He still wasn’t looking at you. You knew the look on his face. It had never led to anything good.

“Remember when we first got here?” He asked quietly.

“What?” You asked. He didn’t move. You sighed and shook your head. “Yeah, I remember.”

“You didn’t get out of bed for two months,” he continued.

“Why are you askin’?”

He exhaled slowly. “I wrote a letter back home not long after we arrived.”

“What?” You asked incredulously.

“I didn’t leave a return address, but I wrote to Ma that we were safe,” he said.

“You never told me that,” you said.

“I didn’t want them to hear from Mr. Dylan first and think badly of you,” he said.

Finally, he turned to face you. He wore a troubled look, one you so often saw when he was having a hard day. It usually accompanied a bit of crying, perhaps some yelling, and a lot of nightmares before that look of his went away. You didn’t like that he had it again.

“A few weeks ago, I got a letter from someone,” he said. “Through the circuit.”

You vaguely remembered him explaining that to you. Some backroot way Vets were talking with each other. A system they had all created with a bunch of different towns. If you sent a letter through the circuit, some way somehow, eventually it would find who it was supposed to. You didn’t question it much since none of your Vets used it.

But only other Vets knew about it.

“Who sent you a letter?” You asked.

Roy looked at you with pathetic puppy dog eyes.

“Roy,” you said, more stern, “who sent it?”

“Jackson.”

You looked back at the house. And the silhouette of someone now standing in the window. Perhaps they were looking out, you didn’t know. You didn’t care. You knew that silhouette. Knew it like the back of your hand; better than that, actually.

With shaking hands, you put another cigarette between your lips. It took far too many tries to start the lighter, and even longer to keep it still long enough to catch a light. The smoke and ash didn’t hurt enough. It didn’t quell whatever was going on inside your chest.

“Unlock the truck, please,” you said softly.

Roy didn’t move.

“Unlock the fuckin’ truck,” you said more forcefully.

The moment you heard the lock click, you threw the door open. Heavy boots hit the hard ground, and you gripped the door handle until you were sure you could stand on your own. The ground tilted beneath you, like a ship on the sea. Back and forth in front of your very eyes. Or maybe it was still.

You started walking away from the house. It would be a decent walk, but that was okay. Long enough for you to clear your head, get a grip on reality, and rest. You knew where to find a warm bed, and no one would do anything to you. Everyone knew not to mess with you, you had friends in high places.

“Where are you goin’?” Roy called out to you.

You took a drag of the cigarette. “I’ll stay the night at Richard’s,” you called back. You sounded pathetic. Weak. Broken.

“You ain’t just walkin’ away-”

“-why not?” You interrupted as you spun on your heels to face him. “Why can’t I just walk away?” He looked at you intensely. “That’s what we did four years ago. Why is this any different?”

“Because you could’ve died,” Roy said quickly. “When I walked in, you were about to be fuckin’ executed.”

“Better than bein’ lynched,” you said. “At least it would’ve been quick.”

“Don't act like you weren't scared.”

“I've been scared every day of my adult life,” you admitted. There was a lump in your throat. “How would you even know how I feel anyway?”

“Because,” he laughed, “none of us are stupid. You're not as good at hidin’ your feelings as you think”

You scoffed and crossed your arms over your chest. “You're full of shit.”

“Oh yeah?” He asked, standing taller. “Then how come everyone always saw you as a bigger suicide risk than me?”

You froze.

“Yeah, now you're listening,” he continued. “You think no one talked behind your back? Even Ma would ask me if you were alright, if you and Beau were good.” He shook his head. “Everyone was worried as all get out about you.”

“If y'all were so concerned, you sure knew how to hide it,” you argued.

“What were we gonna do, Y/N?” Roy asked. “Potentially out you to the whole town? You're right, they would've lynched you outside the church.”

“I already told you, I wasn't scared of dyin’,” you said as you walked closer.

“Don't act like you gave up in that church because you weren't scared,” he said harshly. “You gave up to protect Lorraine.” His finger jabbed into your chest harshly. “If you died, no one would've ever known about her and she could've lived happily ever after. You gave up because you love her,” he practically hissed.

You took a step back. The burn of a lit cigarette inched closer to your knuckles. It was a feeling you could live with because at least it was a feeling. A better feeling than whatever Roy’s words had done to you. They were carving out your insides, scraping you off the edges until you wanted to cry and scream and hike into the woods until you couldn’t remember your own name.

“We missed Gramma’s funeral.” You shook your head. “We missed our baby brother’s wedding.” It wasn’t true. “I ain’t lettin’ you miss anything else.”

It was too much. Everything was just too much. What did he mean? Gramma had been in perfect health when you had left. Hell, you all swore she would live forever. And what about Jimmy getting married? Sure, you had expected it sooner or later, but without you?

He got married without you?

“I’ve spent four years workin’ on movin’ on, Roy,” you said. The lump in your throat only grew bigger. “I’ve worked day and night to try and live without her.”

“And look where you are, darlin’,” he said. “You still have nightmares from that damn church. And Jessie told me how many women you’ve turned down.” The cigarette butt fell from your fingers. “Think someone who’s moved on would do that?”

Damn Jessie. Damn him for talking with Roy. Though, he wasn’t wrong. Over the course of working at the bar, more than your fair share of women had asked you to dinner or to buy you a drink. They were all nice, and attractive. But you told them no time and time again because of one flaw that wasn’t their fault.

They weren’t Lorraine.

“You’ve been through some shit,” Roy said softly, and you looked up to meet his eyes. “Don’t go throwin’ away your shot at happiness.”

You wrapped your arms around your body and looked at the house. The silhouette was still in one of the windows of the living room. If you looked closer, you could see the scene you had always wished for. Holding Lorraine close, in a house you called your own, drinking coffee and watching the sunrise. No fears, no shame, just love.

It was what you wanted more than anything.

“I don’t wanna lose her again,” you whispered.

For the first time in a while, Roy smiled at you. “I promise you won’t.”

His hand rested on the small of your back before gently pushing you forward. Right, you needed to move. Okay, you could do that, you could move. All you needed to do was get to the house, right? Get to the house and get the girl. That’s what Jimmy would’ve told you. It’s what Beau and Huck would’ve told you.

Each step closer to the house forced your heart to beat harder and harder. Roy had seemed pretty confident, but what if he was wrong? What if Lorraine was there to officially end it? After all, she had been engaged to RJ. Not happily, but she had been. Without you around, what need would she have to break it off?

Oh, that wasn’t a good train of thought. Not good at all. Maybe you didn’t want to see her again. You didn’t think your heart could handle rejection, not after everything it had already been through. It would be less painful than jumping in front of the train that ran through the outskirts of town.

But what if she said yes?

Now that. That would be worth the risk.

Roy’s footsteps could be heard around the porch. There was a side door that lead to the second half of the house, the one that had originally been its own building. After everyone had knocked the middle wall down to make one house, they had still treated it as separate. That’s where the Vets stayed more often than not.

Which left you alone.

You couldn’t stay outside the door forever. Well, you could. Maybe you should. Would that really be so bad? Just sleep outside for the night, you could go find Hank’s dog house and rest. Moose had built it big enough to fit, well, a moose. Yeah, you could fit, it might be a good idea just to stay in there.

Someone shuffled around inside, and you couldn’t take it. You needed to know if it was her. You needed to know for sure, and you needed to give your heart a break. Whatever the outcome, it would bring some sort of closure. Anything was better than the limbo you had been living in.

The door creaked as you pushed it open. It pierced your heart like the splinters outside. Your palms could not have been more clammy. The floor was solid beneath you. It swayed beneath you, but at least it didn’t feel like it was falling out under your feet. That was always nice.

You faced the door as you closed it. The shuffling behind you - it was in the kitchen - came to an abrupt stop. The wooden door was rough beneath your fingers. If you scratched it, you could flake off the paint. Some scratched paint was the least of everyone’s worries in that house.

Turn around. If you could just turn around, it would be okay. Roy said it would be okay, and you trusted him. He wouldn’t lie to you, not about this. With a sigh, you let your forehead rest against the door. Come on, you just needed to turn around. Right. Something weighed heavy in your stomach. You felt sick.

One slow breath in.

Slow breath out.

A splinter pricked your finger as you pushed yourself back and turned around. You focused on that, looking down at the sliver of wood. Tired fingers picked at it, and you used it as a distraction. Work at the splinter, and get your breathing under control. Once you were ready, you could look up.

But you couldn’t wait. You had waited so long already. Within your chest, your heart was aching. Reaching out for its other half. Scratching at the confines of bones and flesh to escape and relish in its freedom once again. To drown itself in the love that it so desperately desires.

You just needed to look up.

The moment you saw those brown eyes again, you knew it was over. All the pain and suffering and rejection. The fear of being found out, or being ostracised for a love that was no different than anyone else’s. It was over once you locked eyes with her.

She looked tired. The bags underneath her eyes rivaled your own; no small feat. If she had lost weight, you wouldn’t have faulted her. You had certainly lost your fair share. It was difficult to keep yourself well fed when you didn’t see the point in continuing. You knew that well.

Should you say something to her? She was looking at you like it was expected, but what could you possibly say? A simple hello wouldn’t suffice, not after everything you had both been through. Not after you had nearly been killed. What could you say to the woman you loved? What could make up for those years apart? Those years spent denying something serious was taking place within your hearts for the sake of peace?

Turned out, all you had to do was breathe.

One inhale was all it took. Lorraine’s body slammed into you before you could do anything else, knocking all the breath out of you in one fell swoop. Her momentum carried you, and before you could steady yourself, the floor rushed up to meet your back. It should have hurt, should have stolen the breath from your lungs and ached for days to come.

But you didn’t feel anything besides her body against yours. You had forgotten how well she fit in your arms. Like you were supposed to be together, two halves of the same mould. She was warm, and soft, and her heart beat rapidly against your chest. If you listened closely, your heart was in sync with hers. Like it should have been. Like it always had been.

With your back to the floor, she couldn’t properly wrap her arms around you. But you could. Your arms wrapped around her shoulders and pulled her tighter. Her breath tickled against the hollow at the base of your neck. When you inhaled, she smelled of spring. She always smelled of spring.

“I knew I’d find you again,” Lorraine mumbled against your skin. Her lips were soft.

You didn’t know what to say, so you said nothing at all. You just pulled her tighter against you. If you could keep her where she was, it would be impossible for her to disappear. No running off to go on some film shoot, no leaving to save face with RJ. She would stay right there in your arms where she belonged.

Where she was supposed to be.

“Baby?” She whispered. You hummed in acknowledgment. “This is getting uncomfortable.”

An ache shot through your hips when you tried to move. Clearly, she was right. Your girl was always right. But you weren’t going to let her go, not so soon. Instead, you kept your arms wrapped around her and struggled into a sitting position. It was like instinct for her to maneuver herself so she could sit in your lap and rest her head between your collar and jaw.

“They said you and Roy ran off,” Lorraine said softly. Small fingers played with the buttons of your shirt. “First it was a vacation, then he kidnapped you, then y’all were dead.”

A low rumble cleared your throat. “Weren’t no vacation, that’s for sure.”

“Missing the fourth of July gave that away,” she said.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered into her hair.

“Beau lost his mind,” she continued. “Huck couldn’t even keep him calm.”

“Are they-”

“-they’re still good,” she said quickly. “Just worried about you.”

“And you?”

You knew she cared. God, you knew. But you needed to hear her say it. All your feelings had been put aside day after day because you couldn’t ruin whatever pretend lives you had on display for everyone. She needed to say it, to confirm that yes, she does love you, she did miss you, you weren’t imagining everything.

“Every day, I prayed to find you,” she said softly. “And if that wasn’t possible, then I prayed for God to just kill me.” Her breath tickled your neck. “When every beat of your heart hurts because it longs for something it can’t have, you start to wish for the worst.”

You didn’t have any sort of reply for her. What would you say? If they had all been that concerned without even knowing what had happened that night, you couldn’t in good conscience tell her the truth. I’m sorry you were worried, baby, but we left because I was almost murdered. How would that help anything? Besides, you were more than content to try and forget the whole night anyway.

In your lap, Lorraine shifted until her back was pressed against you and your hands rested in her lap. Naturally, your chin rested on her shoulder as you looked down. Her warm hands played with your own, twisting them this way and that. Gently, of course. It was then you noticed something different, and you rubbed your finger across her bare ring finger.

“I broke it off,” she said.

Hell, she didn’t need to say more. Those four words were enough to have your stomach rolling. Those shackles you had both been bound by were gone. No need to pretend you were nothing more than best friends. Friends. The word left an ashy taste in your mouth. No, you would never be her friend again.

“Was he upset?” You asked.

She was silent for a moment. “I think he saw it comin’.”

“Damn,” you said. “I was hopin’ he was devastated.”

Lorraine laughed. A big laugh. God, it was beautiful. The sound of her laugh warmed your chest from the inside, spreading down to every nerve in your body. Only she could make you feel like that. You had always known it, but this just proved it even further.

“I missed you,” she said softly. Her fingers continued to gently pick at yours. “Missed just bein’ with you.”

“I missed you too,” you answered.

Hesitantly, you turned your head to place a ghost of a kiss on her cheek. If you thought about it for too long, you believed you felt her shiver. It could’ve been a figment of your imagination, but you didn’t think so. She leaned back with what little space she had left, leaving no room between the two of you.

“I think you need a new ring,” you said as you ran your thumb over her ring finger again.

“Buy me dinner first,” Lorraine said without hesitation. Her voice sounded sleepy. “I’m still recovering from a failed engagement, remember?”

“Oh yeah,” you said. “I bet you’re devastated.”

“Heartbroken, really,” she said as she turned around, placing her legs on either side of your hips, keeping you trapped. You were done when her arms wrapped themselves around your neck.

“You have my condolences,” you said. Her eyes were mesmerising.

“Thank you.” Her fingers played with the hair on the back of your neck. It tickled. “I think I just need some comfort.”

“Well lucky for you, that’s my job,” you said. “I can bring you all the comfort you need.”

Her smile was contagious. God, it was so pretty. She was so pretty, scars and all. You had missed her, in every way you could imagine. Being able to sit with her, tease, joke, enjoy just being with her? You had missed it all. And when she leaned forward to rest her forehead against yours? You were in heaven.

“I think I just want-”

“-oh shit.”

The voice forced your body to tense up. Lorraine’s hands gripped the back of your shirt tighter before she hid her head in the crook of your neck. Across from where you were sitting, at the bottom of the stairs by the kitchen, was Bull. A monster of a man if ever you saw one.

If you ignored his Garfield sleep shirt.

“Sorry, Mama,” he said with a smirk. “Just came down for a snack.”

Of course he did. Out of everyone, Moose and Bull were the ones who snacked in the middle of the night. None of the other Vets came down. They would wander, sure, but they wouldn’t get the munchies. For Moose, it was from the weed. Bull? Well, he was just a big guy.

“Cookies are in the cupboard,” you said with a gesture of your head.

Lorraine gripped you tighter.

“Chocolate chip?” He asked even though he was already digging for them.

“Shortbread,” you answered.

“Fuck yes,” he mumbled once he found them. “Thanks, Mama.” He froze at the bottom of the stairs and looked back at you. “Night, you two.”

“Night, Bull,” you called back.

The two of you must have been quite the sight to see in the middle of the night. Sitting on the floor, not moving, holding each other like your lives depended on it. Which maybe they did, you couldn’t be sure. It certainly felt like they did. Like Lorraine would disappear if you gave her any sort of space. You had lost her too many times, you wouldn’t risk it again.

“Sorry,” you mumbled into her hair. “The guys get restless.”

“Mama?” She asked. You could feel her smile against your skin.

“Someone’s gotta mother them,” you defended. “It ain’t like they’re grown or nothin’.”

Lorraine giggled. “I like it, it’s cute.”

Your fingers traced every inch of her skin they could find. When they ran out? They trailed under her shirt. Nothing scandalous, you just wanted to touch her. To feel her and confirm that yes, she was with you. She wasn’t gone, she wasn’t someone else’s, she was yours. Only yours. Your girl, your Rainey.

“Don’t they care?” She asked, pulling back to look into your eyes.“About…” she trailed off. You knew who she was talking about.

“No,” you said with a soft smile, “not at all.”

“Can we-” she stopped mid-sentence. Her eyes drifted down.

You stayed silent to give her time to focus on her words. This whole situation was… difficult, to say the least. Disappearing for years, lying to everyone for years before that. The years had flown by, and who knew how many you had left. But you could give her a few more minutes to get her thoughts in order.

“Can we stay here?” She asked, finally looking back up at you. “All of us? Together?”

That was all you had ever wanted to hear. All you had ever desired from the moment you had realised your feelings for her. To be able to be with her forever, in any capacity, as long as you could call her yours. Lorraine was the only one your heart and body and soul yearned for.

And to have your guys with you? The ones who had been with you both through thick and thin, who had supported you even when things were tough? They were as much your loved ones as Lorraine. Your happily ever after included them too, and you knew Lorraine felt the same.

You leaned forward to capture her lips in a kiss. Soft, gentle, slow. But no less passionate. It was a kiss to make up for the years apart. To make up for all the secrecy, and hiding, and shame. A single kiss to confess your devotion to her and her only. It was enough to have your heart beating so fast you swore it would explode.

Even though she chased after you, you pulled away until you could look into her eyes again.

“Buy me dinner first,” you said, repeating what she had told you earlier.

“You’re lucky I love you,” she said with a smile that stretched across her face in the most delectable way.

“You’re lucky I love you too,” you said, leaning forward to give her another kiss. One that held no shame. It tasted of freedom.

“I need to hold you,” she whispered against your lips. “Take me to bed?”

Well that. Now that you could do.

“I’m your Huckleberry.”

—---

The sun was hot on your back, scorching whatever piece of skin it could find. If you didn’t quit soon, you’d be burned to hell and back. And if you were sunburned, you knew there was an entire compound full of people that would make it a point to hit it. A bunch of sorry bastards is what they were.

The joints in your knees ached as you stood up straight and stretched. A pop here or there released some of the tension. Enough, at least, to start walking back to the house. With a towel in hand, you started scrubbing the dirt off your ring. The last thing you wanted was Lorraine to see you had dirtied it all up.

“Your wife is making cookies,” Huck said when you stepped onto the porch. “Something about you havin’ a sweet tooth?”

“Legally she’s yours,” you said with a raised brow that intimidated no one. “And I don’t have a sweet tooth, that’s Tack.”

“Can’t be, he’s out at the barn with Beau,” he said.

He held out a beer, nice and cold, and you took it with a mumbled “thanks.” His lazy ass was in the same spot it had been all day; on the rocking chair beside Hank’s little dog bed. The moment he had seen Hank, you knew it was love. If it had been up to him, the dog would’ve been sleeping in the bed with him and Beau every night.

Beau shut that down real quick.

“Beau and I got competition in two weeks,” Huck said as you quickly sat down on the porch in front of him. “Think we can harvest in time?”

You took a swig of your beer and pulled out the pack of cigarettes from your shirt pocket.

“Probably not,” you said before inhaling the smoke. “But Greenback’s arrest last week means he owes me.” A slow exhale. “We’ll get it done while you’re gone.”

“I think Hippie wanted to travel with us,” he continued. “Said he was curious.”

“He’s been curious for years,” you chuckled. “At least he’s finally askin’ instead of mopin’ while y’all are gone.”

“Be nice to him,” he said. “At least he likes hangin’ around.”

“Course he likes hangin’ around, the four of us do everything for ‘em,” you teased.

Huck laughed, and you couldn’t help but smile with him. “Ain’t that the truth. Where would they be without us?”

“Gettin’ arrested,” Beau said, appearing beside you. Tack was nowhere to be seen.

“Speak of the devil,” Huck mumbled.

“You only show up when we’re gossipin’,” you claimed.

“I heard your wife’s makin’ cookies,” he said. You smiled to yourself and took another drag of your cigarette as Beau fell gracefully into Huck’s lap. You also ignored the sound of him kissing him.

“Know how you only call Beau my husband when he’s in trouble?” You asked, turning back to look at the both of them. “You do the same with Lorraine, so what’d she do now?”

“We just think you should be the one to test her cookies first,” Beau said.

“Make sure she don’t poison any of us, again” Huck continued.

“Y’all better hush before she hears,” you whispered as you reached out to slap one of the four legs that you could reach. You didn’t know who it belonged to, and you didn’t really care.

“Her cobbler the other day poisoned Roy,” Beau claimed. “Said so himself.”

“Roy don’t even like peaches,” you said, “so he’s full of shit.”

“He said he- oh hey, Rainey.”

Beau changed his tune quickly when Lorraine walked out onto the porch. Judging by the look on her face, she had heard the gossip. Damn her and her good hearing. You certainly didn’t have it, you would have been ignorant to everything if it had happened outside the door. And that was just fine by you.

“Jane helped with the cookies,” she defended, “so no one is gettin’ poisoned.”

“Told you it was fine,” you called back to them.

Lorraine sat down beside you and pulled you into a quick kiss. You didn’t think you would ever get used to the feeling. Every time she even looked at you, your stomach twisted and turned into knots in the best way. Let her ring be in sight? Oh god, it drives you crazy. She was your wife. And everyone knew it.

“You goin’ to work tonight?” She asked.

“Nah,” you shook your head. “I’m free till tomorrow night. Why?”

“Max and the crew are comin’ by later,” Lorraine said as she rested her head on your shoulder. “Wanted to make sure we’d be home.”

“Course we will be,” you said as you pressed another kiss to the top of her head. “There’s nowhere better.”

The four of you sat on the porch and continued to look out at the home you had all built. A full barn, trailers, and bales of hay waiting to be moved. Across the way were the fields full of more crops than you could reasonably harvest, but that was alright. You would just prepare better for next year. Out to the left was a field you had claimed as your own. It housed the crosses for all the patients you met at the hospital. In the very front was Eric’s. You kept some Lucky Strikes and a pack of baseball cards by it.

Never in your wildest dreams had you ever imagined you would have everyone together and actually living the lives you had all hoped for. To think, it had all started off messy. Now, you all had lives, and hopes and dreams that you didn’t fear would be squashed just for existing. You could love. You could be loved. Out there in the East coast where your dreams had always led you.

With Lorraine’s fingers intertwined with your own, you exhaled another cloud of smoke and looked out.

There was something relaxing about spending a day outdoors on your and your loved ones’ farm.

#lorraine day x reader #lorraine x reader #lorraine day #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega

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jazziejax · 5 months ago

Text

𝐀𝐛𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐭 𝐄𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐲

𝐌𝐬.𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥

Pairings- Black!OC x Abbott Elementary Cast, later Black!OC x Manny (Can be read as x Reader though!)

Summary- Pilot Episode Experience with Naoya Lovel

Warnings- Swearing, kids, mixed race reader( those aren’t warnings really, just what to expect)

Jazzie’sNotes!- let me know what you guys think!! I’ve been really obsessed with Abbott Elementary recently and I’m contemplating if I want to write S1&S2 just to get to the Manny season. I want to get there fast but I know what won’t be possible with two seasons worth of writing. Let me know what you guys think I should do.

Word Count- 6,358

“Okay, so you wouldn't put the number on the bottom because that's what?” The older woman asked, drawing out her words as she stood in front of her fourth-grade class, pointing at the whiteboard behind her with her yardstick.

“The denominator.” The class answered.

“Correct, and what do we call the one on top?”

“The numerator.”

“Yes! You guys are killing this lesson.” She smiled as she placed her hands on her hips. She caught the camera crew in the corner of her eyes and then turned to them. “Or should I say I’m killing this lesson?” She smirked, flipping her hair over her shoulder as she posed. It was silent for a moment as they all watched her just smile.

“Wouldn’t you agree?” She’s asked, looking at one of the guys behind the camera. He nodded, moving the camera along with him, causing her to smile and adjust her glasses. “Why, thank you.”

“Hello! My name is Naoya Lovel. Pronounced Now-Ya, it’s Japanese because I’m half Japanese. Don’t ask why I’m half Japanese in Philly, it’s a long story.” She sighed as she shook her head.

“Well, actually, let me tell you the story because it’s actually kind of crazy.” She chuckled, starting to explain, but it then cut to another clip of her in the class.

“Ms.Lovel, we ran out of paper towels.” A student said, standing in front of her desk with paint on the palms of his hands. Noaya looked up, at him, a slight frown on her face. “Ohh, okay, well I have some in my desk.” She started, pulling open her desk drawer. The camera angled down to catch the empty towel box staring back at her. She smirked up at them awkwardly and shrugged her shoulders. “What, I have a constant runny nose.”

“As a teacher, you teach kids how to solve problems while solving your own. In your personal life and at school. And in this school, there are a lot.”

“Ms.Lovel, I need paper towels too.” Another student said, showing her blue and pink palms to her teacher. Noaya then stood from her seat, looking around her room. “Okay, okay class. Give me one sec.” She said, nervously looking around her room to solve her paper towel problem. She the. Saw a stray beach towel near the window on her small bookshelf. “Oh! Here we are, guys.” She said, rushing over to the towel and snatching it up.

“This could be a lesson too.” She smiled excitedly and grabbed a pair of large scissors from her desk. “I probably shouldn’t have these just sitting out.” She mumbled to herself, giving the camera a sideways glance. “So class, this is going to be a hands-on moment. If there are almost thirty of you, how many pieces would I need to cut this into for you guys to share?” She asked, looking at all of them. There was a moment before anyone said anything, the kids thinking over their answer. Then, some of their hands shot up. Naoya flashed the cameras behind her a quick smile before turning back to the kids.

“Noaya, Jacob, and I came in last year with 20 other teachers. We’re three of the four left so…trauma bonding, I guess?” Janine said, in regards to the other girl.

“Yeah, I taught for two years before I got here, I transferred from Addington to here because those people are a bunch of stuck-up freaks who are just in it for a little extra on their check.” She said with a smirk. “And that’s not what I’m here for, I’m here to change lives.” She boated, folding her arms.

“Hey, Melissa, can you please tell “Ta-Nehisi Quotes” here that “white boy” is a term of endearment from the corner store people?” Janie said as she walked into the break room on the second floor.

“Ooh, cheese steaks?” Naoya questioned as she looked up from her papers, knowing the full situation after only hearing the words ‘white boy’ and ‘corner store’.”

“For Zach Ertz, yeah.” Melissa started, turning around with a fresh cup of coffee in her hands. “For him. It’s an insult.” She smirked, then paused at the sight of the cameras in her face.

“Well, you guys, I need a new rug. Mine is officially done.” Janie said.” Coming take a seat right next to the working woman.

“Mhmm! Me too.” Jacob started, taking a seat on the other side of her. “I shook mine out and all the asthma kids had to go to the nurse's office.” This conversation caused her to raise her head, placing her work aside and adjusting her glasses as she listened.

“Yeah, mine’s busted.” Melissa started. “And you can’t class up a rug like you can a couch with a nice coat of plastic.”

“You guys have rugs? All we have is a little mat.” Naoya started, looking between all of them. They all cringed at her words, but couldn’t say more before someone’s loud voice cut through the air.

“Hey-yo! What it does, baby-boo?” Ava yelled as she walked into the break room and over to where they were sitting. “What yall think about this little film crew I bought in here.”

“Distracting makes our jobs harder,” Melissa said disinterestedly, shooting the crew a glare.

“I wish I would have known this was going to be a video thing, I would have made myself look better,” Naoya mumbled, causing the camera to turn her way. She smiled, making her face appear happier than usual.

“But exciting. We about to be on TV.” Ava said, looking between them all.

“Because they are covering underfunded, loosely managed, public schools in America.” Barbra interrupted in a matter-of-fact tone.

“No press is bad press, Barb.” Ava practically disregarded the woman’s claim, continuing to smile at the camera. “Look at Mel Gibson. Still thriving.” She laughed. “ “Daddy’s Home 2”? Hilarious!” She looked around the room, either expecting people to laugh with or or just so confined in her large ego that she didn’t care if they laughed or not.

“Ava’s the worst person I know,” Noaya stated. “I’ve never seen her show an ounce of care about anything other than money. Which is a terrible mindset to have as a principal because you’re literally in the brokeest position of power.”

“There you are.” Ms.Schwartz sighed as she rushed into the room, spotting Ava. “Ava, can I talk to you?” The woman was out of breath as she stood before the principal, and her attire was disheveled. “I-I need an aid. I’m outnumbered there. The kids are crazy.” She ranted this wild look in her eyes. “One of the kids told me to ‘mind my six’ this morning, I don’t know what that means! I need help!” She ranted. Ava placed and hand on her shoulder.

“Calm down.” The darker woman said, cutting Ms. Schwartz off. “They’re just kids. And, besides, aids cost money, and we don’t have that.” She said before flashing a quick smile at the cameras. “Right, but I just—” Ms. Schwartz started again.

“Do you want to split your salary with somebody else?” Ava asked, leaning closer and angling both of them away from the cameras.

“No.” The other woman said dejected.

“No!” Ava cut her off before she could continue to rant. “No, I didn’t think so.”

“Well, if we can’t get aides, maybe we can get new rugs?” Janine chimed up, standing from her seat.

“All I’m hearing is “new, new, new, need, need, need,” Ava answered. “And yet, Barb, one of our best and most senior teachers here.” She continued, walking over to the older woman who sat at the table with Melissa and drank her coffee. “She never complains. What is your secret, Barb?”

“Knowing there’s not much you can do, Ava.” The woman said with a sarcastic smile. But Ava didn’t care to hear her condescending tone.

“So understanding.” The principal smiled, looking around the room. “Be like Ms.Howard, people.” That was all she said before she left the room.

Noaya shook her head as she started to collect her things, knowing the bell would be ringing anytime soon.

“But, I’m not Ms.Howard.” Ms.Schwartz cried from where she stood.

“Ohh, Tina, look.” Janine started, walking over to the stressed woman. “Try some counting exercises, between one and forty the kids start to quiet down.” The other woman gave a slight nod before she exited the room, still in obvious distress. “You, know, a little support might help make things happen, ladies,” Janie said, turning around to face the older two women in the room.

“My support was gonna do about as much as that five-year-old bra you’ve got on right there,” Barbra said as she pushed in her chair. The camera then cuts to Naoya staring at the camera, her jaw clenched. Janine looked down at her chest for a slip second, before covering it up with her sweater and deciding to ignore the woman’s bra statement. “Hey, it’s not impossible to get things. Melissa asked for those new toy cash registers for her classroom and got them.”

“Yeah, those aren’t toys.” The Italian woman stared as she put on her coat. “I know a guy who wired a Walmart demolition. I got a guy for everything. I know a guy right now working on the stadium build. Need rebar?” She asked, looking around the room.

Noya just shook her head.

“No,” Janine answered.

“Melissa is resourceful, capable.” Ms. Howard started, looking between all the younger teachers. Naoya’shead jerked back at what she was insinuating but before she could say anything, Janine placed a hand on her shoulder and started talking.

“Well, I think the younger teachers are capable.”

“Really? Then why is it that Ms.Schwartz’s hair is falling out? Why does Jacob here need a smoking break every five minutes?” The woman sassed, gesturing over to the male beside her.

“I switched to an herbal vape.” He tried to defend himself.

“And why can’t any of you stick it out longer than two years? More turnovers than a bakery.” She hissed before her and Melissa walked out of the door. Once it shut behind them, Naoya turned to her friends beside her.

“I almost lose my job every day dealing with the people here.” She shook her head, resting her butt on the table behind her, the other two following suit.

“You know what? Hell, I think we should still try for rugs.” Jacob’s said.

“Yeah.” Janine agreed.

“You know, before I taught here, I was in Zimbabwe.” Jacob started, causing Noaya to stand up completely and begin to walk to the door. “I was going Teachers Without Boarders, and what I learned—.”

“Jacob.” Noaya cut in, turning to face the two of them. “What did we say you about, like, not talking about your time in Africa?” She said, gesturing between her and Janine. The boy stuttered, trying to come up with an appropriate answer.

“We told you to stop. Yeah, it’s weird.” Janine finished, looking over at the male.

“I have an immense amount of respect for my elders, including the ones I work with.” Naoya smiled at the cameras. “But Mrs.Howard has a smart mouth on her. A mouth that has never been directed at me.” She continued to smile, although strained, and raised her hands in mock defense. “But the day it is the day I got to prison.” And although she was finished, she was cut off by the sound of quick hurried footsteps making their way around the corner. She turned around just in time to catch Janine with a student.

“Noaya, come quick, there’s a fight.” The older woman got out as best as she could, although out of breath. Naoya ran around the corner, practically leaving the child and shirt woman in the dust.

“Damn, she’s fast,” Janine said, briefing glancing at the kids next to her before rushing to follow the running woman.

“What the hell is going on here?” Naoya yelled as she entered the hectic scene with a bat in her hands. She saw the crazed look the teachers were giving her and she shrugged. “I heard there was a fight, I brought it just in case.”

“Where did you get that? I was right behind you.” Janie asked, out of breath with her hands on her knees.

“I didn’t know she had it in her like that.” Melissa nodded a proud smirk on her lips. “I like her.”

“That’s beside the point, what happened?” Naoya asked, looking at the older white woman standing in front of a child. “He hit me first!” Ms.Schwartz said, pointing at the boy across from her.

“Liar!” The boy yelled back at her, being held back by Ms.Howard.

“I’m a liar? I'M A LIAR?” Ms.Schwartz asked a crazed look in her eyes, her gaze solely trained on the little boy.

“I can’t believe she hit a kid,” Noaya said, shock written all over her face as she folded her arms. “I mean, I threaten that I will but I never actually do it.” She shrugged.

“Okay!” Ava yelled, interrupting the conversation between the small group of teachers. “So, not good. Ms.Schwartz was out of line and clearly didn’t know how to handle her class.” The woman sighed.

“You hired her.” Melissa spat back.

“And fired her,” Ava responded. “They give me a lot of power around here. It’s crazy.” The woman smirked.

Melissa and Noaya both gave the camera a look of disbelief.

“In the meantime, Mr.Johnson will be watching her class.” Ava finished.

“Mr.Johnson the janitor?” Naoya spoke up. “Our conspiracy theorist janitor? Teaching social studies? Do we not see the problem with this?” She asked, looking around at the group.

“I think maybe we should alert the school district to this,” Jacob spoke up, getting spins of approval from the rest. “I mean, a child was harmed.” He tried to finish before Ava cut in.

“Hey! Harmed?” She questioned. “I handled this. No need to let them know that a child was harmed on my wa—” She stopped, remembering that she was being recorded, and looked towards the camera. “On the school's watch, to be clear.” She clarified.

“Ava, this is not handled,” Janine spoke up. “There is a 70-year-old custodian who voted for Kanye teaching social studies right now.” The woman stressed, pointing down the hall. “We need help. Look, I know we don’t have any money—“

“Okay!” Ava cut her off. “Alright. I’ll make a small emergency budget request to the district, and then you guys can get pencils and hire aides or whatever else you need.”

“So, even rugs?” Janine asked her entire demeanor from earlier changing at the woman’s words.

“Sure! Just email a request.” Ava replied.

“Okay! I can- I can write an email.” Janine smiled excitedly.”

“Another day in principal life.” Ava smiled at the cameras before walking away, horribly singing some old song. “I believe the children are our future.”

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“Um…Hello?” An unfamiliar voice called out as she came into the school building, making their way to stand in front of the desk. “I’m looking for Ms.Coleman.” The man said. Melissa looked up at him. “Oh, yeah she’s—“ She was cut off by Ava rushing up next to her.

“Hello.” Again said flirtatiously, looking the man up and down.

“Hi, I’m Gregory Eddie. I’m the sun for the teacher who, uh…” He trailed off, looking down at the papers he pulled from his briefcase. “Pinter a student.” The man said worriedly, looking back up at her.

“Oh! You’re the sub.” Ava said. “Forgive me, I thought one of my colleagues here hired a stripper for me.” Ava laughed off, dismissing the looks Melissa and Barbra gave her. “Okay.” That was all Gregory could say to that, giving the woman obvious judgmental looks.

“Nice to meet you, young man.” Barbra offered him a kind smile.

“Yeah, nice to meet you, Ryan,” Melissa said, staring at the together papers.

“It’s Gregory.”

“Eh, let’s see how long you’ll be here.” She said, only flexing up after she was done stapling. “Then I’ll remember your name. Okay, Tim?”

Gregory didn’t even have time to fully digest the interactions he just had with the women before him before Jacob came around the corner. “Yes!” He smiled, stalking up to the man. “My dude.” He said, arms open for some sort of hug but was cut short by Gregory putting his hand out. “Oh, yeah,” Jacob said, placing his hand on the one offered out to him. “Keeping it profesh. I like that.” He smiled, leaning against the counter. “I’m Jacob. It’s nice to see another male teacher in here. It’s not a lot of us. Hey, now I got somebody to talk sports with. You like women’s tennis?” The paler man asked, before shooting the camera a sideways glance. “Or, as I call it, you know, regular tennis.”

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Naoya was walking the halls, whistling a tune with her bad over her shoulders when she came across a tall, good-looking man in a gray sweater. Hearing her, the man turned around to see a tall, light-skinned woman with a large, light brown puff ponytail at the back of her head. She had on specs that covered most of her face, enlarging her eyes. She was dressed in a slightly baggy pair of dark wash denim jeans with brown shoes that matched the brown in her green sweater, paired with a white shirt underneath. Seeing the mysterious man, she furrowed her brows at him from down the hall.

“Uh, hello.” The man waved awkwardly from down the hall.

Naoya waved back as she made her way closer to the man. “Uh, hi. Are you lost?” She asked, slowing down when she got in front of him. “In a school building?…And smelling like pee and/or vomit. I’m calling security.” She started to back up and pull out her phone, or even yell before she stopped and frowned. “Oh wait, I am security.” She said, moving her bat to her good hand getting ready to swing.

“Wait!” The man yelled, sticking out his hands in defense. “I’m a sub! I’m here to fill in for the woman who kicked the kid.” He defended.

Naoya visibly relaxed as she looked the man up and down, taking in his formal attire. “Okay.” She said, dropping her defensive pose. “That still doesn’t explain the smell.” She said, giving the man a disgusted once over. Gregory stuttered to get an answer, embarrassed by the cameras and such an awkward situation in front of another beautiful woman.

“It’s a long story. A broken toilet, a student wet his pants, another one threw up.” The man shrugged, a look of disgust crossing his face as he thought it all over. At his words, Noaya nodded with a look of understanding.

“No, yeah. I get it. Well, um, congratulations on being here considering…” She trailed off, gesturing around the school and then to him. “If you need anything at all, I’m at the very end of the hall. I'm Naoya Lovel, and I teach fourth grade. I’ll be here to help any way I can, I am known for having everything anyone might ever need, so.” She shrugged and began walking away, pat him, and to her class. The man nodded, a sliver of a smile on his face as his eyes stayed trained on the spot she just left. Catching the camera out of the corner of his eye, she quickly straightened up and then turned the opposite way to face her. “May I ask why you’re carrying a bat?” He asked.

Naoya stopped walking, the bad still in her hand as she angled her body slightly to look back at him. “No, you may not.” She said with a smile before continuing to walk away and into her classroom. Gregory just nodded and walked into his room as well.

“Today was utterly disgusting, but she and Janine seem nice.” He smiled slightly.

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“I got a good feeling about this,” Jacob smirked at Naoya and Janine as they and the rest of the teachers gathered outside at the entrance of the school. It had something to do with Ava needing them to see the improvements she made to the school. “Right? Me too!” Janine said excitedly. Naoya rolled her eyes, stuffing her hands in her pockets due to the cold weather.

“I wish I could live in the blissful ignorance you guys call optimism.” She said, looking between her two friends. They only rolled their eyes at the girl, who was usually a pessimistic person, so they didn’t take her words too seriously.

“Good morning!” Ava said to all the teachers before her, who were obviously in no good mood. “Good Morning!” Janine was the only one to respond.

“Gregory.” Ava finished, giving the man a look. Noaya furrowed her brows slightly, throwing the man a sideways glance.

“The district was so moved by my plea that they approved the emergency budget and sent us the money right away,” Ava said to the group. The crowd started clapping, Jacob and Janine were genuinely happy while most were in shock that the district pulled through.

“Okay, we could have hired aides, we could have got rugs.” Ava continued as the clapping died down. “But then I thought, “No. We need something more immediate.” She said, her words causing Naoya to nod her head as she began slowly making her way away from the group. She knew this wasn’t going to end well, and this was her stopping herself from throwing her loafers at Ava’s head.

“Oh, no, no. The rugs are immediate.” Janie spoke up. “They’re like instant Xanax for kids. I explained it all in my email.” She told the group as she made her way to extract her phone from her purse.

“Girl, who told you to send an email?” Ava asked, looking down the steps at the shorter woman. Jannie stopped what she was doing and glared at Ava. “You did.” She hissed, looking at her confused.

“Anyways, I always feel better when I get my hair done.” Ava continued, not caring for what Janine had to say, as she showed off her new blonde number. “Thus, I do better work, like I’m doing now.” She smiled at them. “You know, fix the outside, the inside takes care of itself.” She then gestured up to the giant tarp over the building, the man pulling it down to show a sign.

It was a giant Willard R. Abbott Elementary sign with Ava on it, leaning onto the letters. The teachers just stood there and looked up at the sign, no words were said between any of them. But they all had the same thought.

What the fuck?

“Yall seeing this?” Ava asked, copying her pose that was on the sign.

“A plastic sign?” Janine asked, looking between the woman and the sign.

“Thank God for the school district, because they gave us $3,000 and I had to spend all of it.” Ava said as if she didn’t care about the severity of the words she just said.

“You spent all of the money on this?!” Janie asked in disbelief.

“Rush job, can you believe this quality?” The terrible principal continued.

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“This is fucking ridiculous, she has gone too far,” Naoya said as she, Jacob, Janine, and Gregory rushed back into the school.

“Somebody needs to do something before I get my bat back out. Actually, Forget the bat, I’m gonna go get a gu—.”

“Okay! Yes.” Jacob cut her off, trying to ignore the scared look Noaya received from Janine and Gregory, while she just continued to sit in her anger, not even seeing them. “Somebody, anybody but you, should do something.” The man said to the angry woman.

“You know what. I’m gonna do something.” Janine said, as stored up and Naoya. Well, maybe not as much but still fired up.

“Okay, alright. Whatever you do, I will co-sign it.” Jacob encouraged. “Yes!” Janine said. “That is how change works. Someone does something and somebody co-signs it.” He finished.

“I want Jannie to succeed in what her plan is because Ava needs to be out in her place, “professionally”, or whatever Jacob said,” Naoya stated, rolling her eyes. “But I also want her to prove something to Barb. For her sake. Because Janine really needs a mother figure in her life and the constant groveling for Barb’s praise is starting to make me want to choke.” She finished with a shrug. “That’s my girl though, I love her.”

“Hey, you two, wait up! I’m going out to lunch too.” Janie called out to Melissa and Bard as they walked down the hall. The camera caught Naoya, who rolled her eyes at the situation she was just talking about making an appearance as she walked after Janine.

“Oh yeah, where are you going for lunch pip-squeak? Bird feeder?” Melissa joked, putting her purse over her shoulder.

“Thought you’d be working on your next miracle from Saint Ava.” Barbra pushed.

“Ha ha, No.” The shorter woman defended herself. “I don’t think I’ll need anything from Ava ever again.” Janine smiled, her words causing the other three women to look confused.

“What does that mean?” Naoya chimed in from behind them, ready to go out for lunch as well.

“Well, I emailed the superintendent and told him everything Ava has done today. No way she doesn’t get fired.” Janie bragged.

“Oh, for the lives of God.” Melissa groaned.

“Janine,” Noaya said in disappointment. “This is why I told you to tell me.”

“What?” She asked, looking between the three women.

“The superintendent never sees our emails,” Barbra told her. “He has them bounced back to the person in charge of where they came from.”

“Wait, I’m sorry.” Janie stared. “Person in charge? That means the emails go back to…” She trailed off, the dots connecting. Just in time for said person to come in the intercom with an announcement.

“Teachers, it’s come to my attention that some of you—one of you—.” Ava clarified, looking through the glass of her office at the group of women standing at the door, her eyes trained on one in particular. “Think it’s okay to go over my head. So, during lunch break—this lunch break—we’ll be having a trait workshop so that we can learn how to become a woke family.” The woman was clearly pissed off, glaring at Janine from where she sat. “It’s gonna be fun!”

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“We are at a crossroads, this is a crisis,” Ava stressed as she stood before the hired group of teachers.

“No, a crisis is eating the cafeteria pizza for lunch.” Naoya chimed in from where she sat in the back.

“Uh, why are we here, exactly?” Gregory asked his seat right in front of hers.

“Well, chocolate drop.” Ava started, causing Naoya to snicker at the name. “I learned that someone here doesn’t respect me. But it’s not about me. Because if you don’t respect me, how can you respect this school?” She continued, causing them all to look at her confused as such a stupid correlation. But, it looks like Ava took that as a look of confusion due to her question.

“You can’t. It’s mathematically impossible.” She finished.

“W-Whoa. Who doesn’t respect you, Ava—I mean, the school?” Jacob asked.

“Me,” Naoya said but seemed to be completely ignored.

“It’s not important. We’re gonna make this a group matter so as too not to single any one person out.” The woman answered him. “Let’s try an excuse where we say whatever we want out loud to each other, no matter how critical. It’ll be fun, let’s start with Janine.” She said, looking over at the short woman who was practically shrinking in on herself.

“Janine?” She asked, smirking evilly.

“Yes?” Janine asked dejectedly, knowing that this whole situation was her fault and knowing that Ava did the exact thing she said she didn’t want to. Single her out.

“You’re pushy, squeaky and annoying,” Ava stated.

Collective disagreement was heated around the room.

“Excuse me?” Melissa piped up.

“Thaya just…” Gregory said.

“When is it my turn?” Naoya asked, starting to take her earring out of her ear.

“No, it’s not bad. No.” Ava defended. “We’re shaking to make us all better. Constructive. Hershey kiss, why don’t you try, start with Janine.” She pushed.

“I don’t want to.” The man sighed.

“You’re right, it should be someone who knows her better. Noaya, Jacob, Barbra?” She asked, looking between the two.

“When is it your turn? I wanna go when it’s your turn.” Naoya stated, folding her arms to keep herself at bay. Gregory glanced back, seeing the look of pure hatred on her face.

“Well, her hair is—“ Jacob started before getting cut off.

“Not!” Noaya and Barba said at the same time, the younger more so talking to her friend next to Janine, who gave the man next to her a look of disbelief.

“Ava, no one’s doing this to anyone.” Melissa started, looking at the woman before her.

“Hold on, I came prepared for this. Sheena, come on in.” Ava said, looking behind her to a student who was sitting behind the library desk.

“Ava, that is my student, she should be at lunch right now,” Janine complained, as everyone in the room looked at the little girl, trying to see what Ava's plan was.

“I am kinda hungry.” The little girl sighed, begrudgingly walking closer to the woman.

“Sheena, remember what we talked about? What was the thing that you wished was different about Ms.Teagues?” Ava asked the little girl. She just stood there, not knowing what to say as the whole room waited on her.

“She got some big feet.” Mr.Johnson chimed in from the very back of the children’s library where he was sweeping.

“Okay.” Janine sighed before standing from her seat. “Everyone, that’s enough. I am the person who disrespected Ava. I emailed the superintendent to tell him that she spent the school's money on a sign.”

“And got her hair done,” Naoya said, Janine, gesturing over to her in agreement.

“I’m sorry, Ava.” She continued. “And I’m sorry everyone missed lunch, especially you, Sheena. But I didn’t it because I care about the kids in this school, and that shouldn’t be a bad thing.” She ranted. “I—Okay. You know what.” She sighed, done talking. She felt as if no one was listening anyway and just wanted to leave. She was on her way out before turning back around. “Sheena, you should have this. I’m sorry.” She said, handing the school pizza over to the girl.

“Uh, no thank you.” The girl said, shaking her head. Janine just sighed again and turned to leave.

Ava chuckled as she watched the girl walk off, shaking her head. “Not a compelling speaker.” She smirked as she shook her head. “Charisma vacuum, am I right?”

Noaya cracked her neck as she stood up. The teachers in front of her filmed a little at the sound and her sudden movements. But she ignored that. “You know what, Ava? I was going to whoop your ass in the parking lot, and as much satisfaction as that would bring me, I don’t want to lose my job. Because I care about these kids. Just like Janine. And she may be a lot of things, like naive, a bit clingy and too cheerful—.”

“Ooh, this is good stuff, let me call her back in here,” Ava smirked as if she didn’t hear the first part of the girls’ speech.

“But she is also right.” Barba cut in, standing up with Naoya. “You know, actually wanting to help the children at this school shouldn’t be a bag thing.” The older woman finished for her. Afterwards, both her and Naoya walked out, letting Ava sit with their words.

They walked out to find the girl in front of her classroom, looking through the window. “Janine, ignore Ava. Big feet are a sign of fertility.” Barbra stated.

“I’m telling you to just give me the signal, I can have her framed for mur—something.” The light skinned girl said, catching herself in front of the cameras.

“Every lunch period, guys.” Was all Janine said before stepping out of their way to show the inside of her class. They both looked in seeing a little boy napping on his jacket, as the library door sounded again. “Every single one, Amir comes and naps in the rug.” She said, informing the whole group as Melissa, Jacob and Gregory joined.

“Mm-hmm. He was in my class.” Barbra said with a fond smile on her face. Mom’s got a lot of kids. Dad’s not around and when she is, the parents fight.”

“Right, so he doesn’t get much sleep. I told him to sleep at his desk, but she says that rug is softer—.” The shirt woman paused, trying to get emotional over the whole situation. “Softer than his bed at home.” There was a moment of silence as all the adults sat with her words. It’s hard hearing about the life of the kids you see everyday, knowing they live lives no one should. And knowing it’s on you to create a better life for them at school.

“You know what? I don’t care I you think I’m good at this or not anymore. I care about whether or not I can make a change.” Janine told Barbra as sternly as she could, which wasn’t a lot.

“Janine.” The woman started. “Teachers at a school like Abbott— we have to be able to do it all. We are admin, we are social workers, we are therapists, we are second parents. Hell, sometimes we’re even first.”

“Mm-hmm.” Melissa agreed.

“Why?” Barbra continued. “It sure ain’t the money.”

“Yup. I can make more working the street, easy.” Melissa chimed in. Causing Jacob and Naoya to look at each other in concern.

“Prostitution?” She mouthed over to the man, who shrugged.

“Look, we do this ‘cause we’re supposed to.” Melissa said to Janine. “It’s a calling. You answered.”

They all looked at eachother fondly, before Jacob started.

“I believe it was Brother Cornel West—“

“No.”

“Don’t.”

“Not right now, white boy.”

They all told him, causing the man to retreat back to his corner.

“You want to know my secret?” Barbra asked, ringing the subject back to where it was. “Do everything you can for your kids.” She smiled. “We’ll help. Hey, I suggest we put our money together and buy Janine the rug.” The older woman encouraged. “What yall think?”

“Absolutely.” Melissa said, pulling out her wallet.

“Guys, you can’t.” Janine started, looking between them. “You don’t have it. I know because I have the same salary as you and I overdrafted on a doughnut hole this morning.”

“Don’t tell me how much money I have.” Noaya stated, holding her hand out as a halt to the girl's words. “I do not claim that broke energy.”

“Well, why are you gonna do?” Barbra asked. “Steal a rug?”

“Not me, but I know a guy who knows a guy?” Janie trailed off, looking between Noaya and Melissa. The light skinned girl raised her hands. “I don’t know a cute guy that can steal that many carpets that fast.” She shrugged, a hopeless look on her face as she glanced at Melissa.

“Way ahead of you.” The woman said as she started typing into her phone. “I’m gonna have to bake a ziti.” She said, holding the phone up to her ear. “Hey, Tony, ya big strung, listen, you still working that stabiuk build?” She said into the device as she walked away from the group.

Sometime later, a guys pulled up in a truck around back with a bunch of rugs for them. They all celebrated, going one by one to grab a rug. “Yay! I finally have one! My room was so depressing.” Naoya said as she waked down the hall with her rug.

“You’re on a mission.” Gregory stated, looking at the shorter girl in between him and Noaya. “It’s cool to see.”

“Thank you. Just a day in the life of being a teacher here. You get used to it.” Janine smiled.

“And that smell in the walls?” He asked, pointing.

“Oh no, you’re never gonna get used to that. Sometimes I wish I had a bad nose like Naoya.” She joked, elbowing the girl next to her. The taller woman lightly groaned. “Janine, you know that’s a big insecurity of mine. I have a fear of smelling bad.” The half Japanese girl tried to clarify to the male. “You’re subbing to go full time right?” She asked, wanting to change the subject.

“Um, we’ll see.” He said as they all briefly stopped in the hallway. “This job definitely surprises me.”

“Well, I hope you stay.” Janine said. “For the kids.” She clarified. Naoya shot a quick glacé to the camera, a small smirk on her face. She then decided to walk away. The camera caught Gregory’s eyes jumping from both women walking away, a small smile on his face. He then looked in the camera and dropped his expression.

“I’ll stick around for a while.” He said. “You know, for the kids.”

“Look guys!” Naoya said as she rolled out her shakes rug for her students. They all celebrated, clapping excitedly at the fact that they had a rug now.

“Ms.Lovel, I hate the egales.” One student said, standing next to the woman.

“Yeah, me too, kid. But don’t tell anyone I said that.” She said, patting the top of their head as Ava walked past her door. She paused at the sight of the rugs. Naoya placed her hands on her hips and cocked her neck, making Ava glare at the woman for a quick second before walking away.

“And that kids, is how you get rid of the enemy without fighting.” She said, pointing around the room to make sure they were watching. “Now that we have a rug, let’s watch that nature documentary!” She said excitedly, causing all the students to yell with excitement well.

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