#staying at caravan parks on the way up

[fazcinatingblog]

What do you mean there's no big bash on till Tuesday?????

[jolenes-doppelganger]

uuhhhhmm hi!! i was wondering if you’d be up to write a (smutty?) story about rose the hat!!! nothing specific but (i assume) you kind of know how rose is… and maybe incorporate that in the fic? and the whole steam thingy? yeah…

anyway! have a great day!!

[Hi! Thank you for the request! I really leaned into her more sinister qualities that were explored in the book, specifically her fascination with blood. She is a dark character, so this fic is reasonably dark. ]

The Debt

Rose the Hat x f!Reader

NSFW 18+- MINORS WHO INTERACT CAN AND WILL BE BLOCKED.

Summary: Returning to the windy city was always a trip Rose dreaded. Not for the drab blocks of concrete, but for the memories that lingered. A child she’d let get away, a meal that had escaped her. The cost of that lapse. What happens when the familiarity of the city converges with the familiarity of a touch?

Warnings: Dark themes (threat of bodily harm, threat of murder, depictions of post-murder situations, etc), graphic sex (oral R receiving and giving, 69, penetration via fingers R receiving, breast worship giving, near smothering of R, light spanking receiving, blood kink, brief bondage, biting), !! Dub-con/coercion !! [Moments of straight M/F interaction between Rose and Crow, allude to nudity, brief touching, but not any more graphic than the novel itself described these interactions.]

A/N: Once again, this fic is not indicative of my moral code, I would NEVER condone someone pursuing a similar relationship, especially if the themes of dub-con/coercion are in any ways similar or amplified. *To be reasonably true to the characterization of Rose is to understand that she is an evil person and wouldn't show up to your door with a bouquet of flowers and a home-cooked meal.*

Word Count: 3.669k (hehe 69)

Rose hated Chicago. Chicago meant traffic, smog, disorder and weird looks. Traditional caravans sailed right by the town, so driving through it with the True Knot's troop of motorhomes would be both a nightmare coordination-wise, most certainly drawing unnecessary attention. The Knot camped out in a trailer park, using cars to drive into the city while a few stayed back to ensure the safety of their caravan; prime members slept in hotels in the city. Rose and Crow were assigned to a suite, sharing a King bed and a bathroom. Sleeping in a hotel meant access to a shower and larger amenities, but the wide open spaces bothered Rose. She preferred the coziness of her Earth Cruiser over the opportunity to shower at any given moment.

"Rosie, whatcha got on your mind?" Crow asked, chest bare, lounging in the bed after their coital affair.

Rose snorted, tits out and unashamed. Her hat was set off to the side, hair tousled from their passion.

"I hate Chicago, that's what's on my mind."

Her lover nodded, trying to remain considerate, but he was really focusing on the curve of her breasts.

"It's temporary. We'll get the kid by the end of the week. And in the meantime..." he smirked, reaching to bring her in closer.

Rose rolled her eyes, playfully swatting away his advances.

"As if you were hard again." she protested.

"What if I was?"

Rose reached down. He was flaccid, predictably so. They hadn't fed in a while. He was like any man in his mid-50s, capable of lasting one round, needing a little blue pill to sustain an erection for longer than a few minutes.

"We need to eat." Rose grimaced.

She got up from the bed, walking into the large shower. She was tired. One look at herself in the mirror and Rose saw just how weak she was getting. They needed that kid. Her crow's feet were growing more pronounced, her belly sagged, so did her breasts. Cellulite littered her thighs, and her upper chest had that ugly scaly look that developed in older people exposed to the sun. It was unbearable. She turned the light off and showered in the dark.

<------------->

It was done. The little girl with the braided pig tails was limp in front of Rose; the child's body had given up. Normally she'd be feeling extra frisky right now, leaning into Crow's advances as he felt her up under her bloody shirt, but she just felt hollow. Giving out cleanup duty was easy. Crow pressed on the child's chest, pushing the last bit of steam into the metal cannister. Rose cut off the friendship bracelet the child had on, tying it around the cannister. Crow sensed something was off, and he followed her into the Earth Cruiser. She put the cannister away, looking up at him with vacant eyes.

"What's wrong?"

Rose walked into the bathroom, using the reserve water to fill the sink, stripping her clothes off as she washed away the blood.

"The kid. The one we lost ten years ago."

Crow sighed.

"The one that disappeared after we followed her into Joliet?"

Rose nodded, lost in her own thoughts.

"I want to borrow your truck, head into the town. I need a night for myself."

Crow frowned. Rose only ever went out alone in dire circumstances. She was upset, and it perturbed him.

"That can wait 'till morning, let's spend tonight-"

"No." she cut him off. "You have a hallway pass, go fuck someone else tonight."

Now Crow knew something was off. Rose was possessive, unreasonably so. If he so much as looked at another woman, he'd hear about it eventually. But offering a hallway pass unprompted? Something was up.

"Rosie, stop. We're going to talk about this." Crow planted his hands on his hips.

"No, we're not."

Rose pulled on a fresh pair of clothes, jeans and a sweater. The topper came with her, obviously. Crow attempted to block her as she left, but he was only a few inches taller than her. With the top hat she had the odd ability of appearing a head taller than everyone atop of her 6' frame.

"Move."

Rose exited the cruiser, Crow's keys in hand. She jumped into the vehicle, speeding out of the campsite. She had one destination in mind, one person in mind.

"Alright you little snot." Rose fumed, focusing her attention on an energy signal she'd been trying to pinpoint for the last decade. "You want to play games? Don't you know what you cost me?"

For the first time in decades, Rose was speeding. The True Knot never violated traffic laws. It drew attention, but in Rose's current state of mind, pushing 80 on the highway was the only reasonable balm to her anxiety. Through the midst of her anger-fueled aggression, she felt it. A little sensation, a prick of energy so damn familiar it made her stomach flop. She slowed down, pulling into the far right lane, focusing her energy on that little bubble of energy.

"Oh honey, you're still here, huh?" Rose whispered. "(Reader) was your name, wasn't it? But that's not what we called you, little minx. You're a Pandora's box."

Rose drove through the suburbs of Joliet, drawing closer and closer, running Crow's gas tank down to the last quarter. It didn't matter, she was close. The little buzzing in her head continued, until finally it was unbearable. Rose grinned, pulling off to the side of the road in front of a cute little red brick house. She didn't do anything, not yet at least. Instead, Rose adjusted the rings and bangles on her left hand. Left for receiving, various 'lucky' charms she'd collected. The right hand she kept bare. It was her dominant hand, she liked it bare. That and it was the 'giving' hand. She didn't need any sort of energetic enhancements, more likely hindrances upon her.

"You're alone in that little house, Pandora." she smirked.

Creeping toward that house like a wanted visitor, Rose waved to a few neighbors who were walking about. The only malicious element that could even tickle the minds of observers was that hat. Tipped at that weird angle, barely hanging onto the crown of her head, like a poorly perched bird. Rose reached for the knocker; she didn't need to try the doorbell to know it was broken. A soft click as the door opened.

"Well, hi there." Rose smiled.

You didn't have time to fasten the dead bolt before she'd forced herself in, towering over you and pinning you against the nearest flat surface.

<------------->

She'd tied you up. The deranged woman with the most certainly semi-cognizant hat had tied you up on your childhood bed.

"Who the fuck do you-"

"Shut up." Rose demanded, slapping her hand over your mouth. "You're gonna listen, you're gonna stay quiet, and if you scream I will sew your mouth shut."

She moved around the room, closing the curtains, locking and barricading the door. Nothing was going to interrupt this, no one was going to stop her from getting that revenge she'd been dreaming of for a little over a decade.

"Three True died because of you." Rose sighed, settling on the bed in front of you. "They starved. We were all starving, but they couldn't hold off. And you? Look at you." she snorted. "What are you, a teenager? No, you might even be in your twenties. I've forgotten how old you were when we were tracking you."

The heinous monologue ended there. Rose pulled out a pocket knife, focusing on digging out the dried blood she hadn't gotten out underneath her nails.

"Are you a cannibal?" you asked, quiet.

Rose snorted.

"I mean, sort of. We don't eat flesh, but we eat. And you... God, you would have been tasty. Now you're grown up. Age ruins all the goodness of steam, it spoils, tastes rotten."

You swallowed, staring up at the woman with the knife.

"So by not being able to find and eat some part of me... People died."

"Not people, dear. True Knot, my family. The most important people alive."

Rose's personal fable was inherently narcissistic, unyieldingly ignorant of the world around her.

"So you're better than me because you eat... Kids?"

Rose rolled her eyes, grabbing your face.

"I'm better than you because I'll live for centuries. The oldest of us have seen empires rise and fall, we've seen society advance, society crumble, all of it." she whispered. "We are the chosen few, the best. You're... A rube. A stupid, forgettable little tick."

She seemed awfully presumptuous, you thought. But your small judgements were out of place with the extreme fear that clouded most of your higher processing abilities. The animal brain was clawing out from it's cage, and you knew that this meant the odd things would start happening. Ever since you were a kid, it had been the same. You were normal, happy, unbothered, and then once someone put you in a corner, it was like something out of a paranormal movie. The ropes at your wrists got loose. Then the ropes at your feet. They were spinning out, moving with every rapid beat of your heart. But your telepathy was no match for Rose's abilities.

Blinding white pain filled your head as Rose pressed two of her fingers into your left temple. Hands reaching up inside your head, hands clawing and tugging at the animal bit of your brain, shoving it down, pinning it into a corner. It was brutal, and it left you groaning from pain.

"Naughty little thing. But talented, so talented. Telepathy? At your age? God you would have been tasty. Maybe you still are..."

In your state of wooziness caused from Rose's rape-like invasion of your head, you hadn't noticed her reaching for the pin off of her hat. And then that pin was being pressed through the flesh of your clavicle, hitting the hollow skin there. It stung, badly. With a horrid scream, vapor sprung from your lungs. The woman inhaled it readily, her eyes flashing bright blue. And then she sputtered. She removed the pin, coughing and hacking violently.

"You taste... Disgusting." she winced, her face screwed up in disgust.

Blood trickled down from the wound on your collarbone.

"God I need to get that taste out of my mouth, it's like spoiled milk." Rose complained, looking around the room for something to rinse out her mouth with.

Her choices were scarce. Half-stale soda, water, (which wouldn't do a damn thing), or... Now that would do.

"Mnm." Rose smiled, licking the blood from your clavicle away.

Her tongue was revoltingly wet, and it stung where she licked you. Rose's face was screwed up in a light smirk, watching with interest as your body reacted against your ever-rational mind. Her tongue was soothing, and there was a degree of sensuality to her movements, the way she leaned down, rolling her tongue slowly over the wound. She was straddling you, a hand on your shoulder, the other behind your neck. And the tongue continued to work, the papillae of her tongue drawing a light friction over the wound. It was... Arousing.

"Did I tell you that you could touch me?" Rose smirked.

Your hands were resting on her back, drawing unconscious patterns.

"... No."

Rose chuckled at this, nipping lightly at your neck.

"You're enjoying this... Twisted little girl."

The bite went straight downwards, causing your pelvic floor to clench involuntarily.

"I'm not. Well, I am, not because I want to-"

Rose's lips crashed against yours, tongue immediately pressing through your lips as you gasped. Claiming, tasting, exploring. She coaxed your tongue out slowly, her hand cradling your head, massaging gently.

"Give me your tongue." a voice sounded in your head.

It was feminine. You obeyed, sticking it out. Rose's lips enveloped the muscle, sucking wetly. The result was immediate. Your hips twitched, your core clenched, and you let out a desperate moan into her mouth. Rose let out a low hum of approval, continuing to suck your tongue in and out of her lips, imitating oral sex. The suggestion was arousing, and when you pulled away, the look on her face said it all. Rose was pleased. She knew she was sexy, she knew what she was doing was hot, and the fact that you were confused, horny and scared, all against your will, it only served to pad her ego.

"Poor thing... Are you worked up?" Rose crooned, stroking your sides. "Tell you what... I'll make it better, but then afterward you and I are going to brainstorm a way to work off your debt."

Your words caught in your throat. You didn't want to owe her anything, that would be very bad, but you had a feeling that it wouldn't matter what you decided. She'd laugh if you told her you didn't want to fuck her, and probably fuck you anyways. But then again, to make the best out of a bad situation... Who would blame you?

"Mhm, you'll come around." Rose hummed, licking a stripe up your neck. "And it will be reaaaaal good."

Your hands were resting on her back again. She didn't scold you this time. She took the topper off, setting it to the side. Her hair was a little frizzy, but it really didn't matter. She looked like a fallen goddess either way. Her hands reached for the hem of her sweater, pulling it off. Pert, large breasts jiggled with the movement, unencumbered by a bra or other garment. You wondered why you hadn't noticed it before. Rose wondered why she was wasting her best window of performance on a rube.

"You like what you see? Oh I know you do." Rose smiled, resting her elbows on either side of her face. "Kiss them. Give them the attention they deserve."

You obliged, angling your head up to kiss one of her nipples. Tentatively at first, and then a little surer. Rose pulled down your bottom lip, silently beckoning you to open your mouth. She pressed her nipple into your mouth, sighing in delight as you obediently swirled your tongue around the areola.

"Beautiful. A little suction, not too much, I'm not a cow." Rose sighed.

Adding increasing levels of suction, you stopped when Rose let out a low moan, her hips bucking against your stomach. You alternated swirling your tongue and sucking, drawing the sweet noises from Rose's mouth.

"The other side now, my other girl is feeling left out." Rose breathily gasped.

As you swirled and sucked the other nipple, she reached up to pinch the previously worshipped breast. Her hips twitched erratically, and judging by the increasing frequency of her little gasps and moans, she was getting more aroused. Finally she pulled back, her nipple sliding out of your mouth with a wet plop. Rose pulled at her jeans, sliding them down her knees and onto the floor in one swift motion. Whether she took off her panties at the same time or was never wearing any, you couldn't be sure.

"Stay put." Rose ordered.

You leaned back against the bed. She put a knee on either side of your face, lowering herself as she spread her labia open. The sight was both daunting and arousing, her inflamed clit pulsing angrily amidst the pink strip of her inner labia. You opened your mouth as she lowered her entrance over your mouth.

"Lick." she breathily moaned.

You licked a stripe up from entrance to clit, tasting her for the first time. It wasn't anything pungent or otherwise remarkable, but it was good. She fisted her hands in your hair as she rocked against your tongue, pushing her clit into your nose.

"Stick your tongue in, fuck me with your tongue." Rose rasped.

Obeying, you punched your tongue in and out of her hole, catching her secretions with your tongue. Rose moaned emphatically, continuing to grind her clit over your nose.

"That's it, just like that..." Rose praised. "Pull me against you."

Grabbing her thighs for support, you pressed her down into your mouth, alternating between licking stripes up her labia and fucking her with your tongue. Her moans grew louder and more emphatic, pressing her clit into your nose until your nostrils closed, preventing your ability to breathe. She worked faster against you, riding your face with reckless abandon, either unaware or unconcerned with your lack of air. In a last ditch effort to prevent suffocation, you pistoned your tongue in and out of her earnestly until she let out a howl of pleasure, squeezing her thighs over your face.

...

"Hey, wake up!" a voice echoed, muffled and unclear.

A sharp sensation, someone shaking you. Things came into clarity, bit by bit. Rose was over you, shaking you and slapping your face. She came into focus slowly, her face flushed.

"Fucking finally." she swore.

Arms pulled you up, stripping you of the sweaty shirt that clung to your breasts. You weren't wearing a bra, who could blame you? It was midnight on a fucking Tuesday. Or Wednesday, you guessed.

"Are you awake now? I'm not done with you."

You frowned, still adjusting to being awake after nearly suffocating to death between the woman's thighs.

"Naughty thing. Lay over my lap, I'll get you awake again."

You groggily obeyed, breathing steadily. Rose's hands caressed your back gently, pulling your pajama bottoms down. You were still uncomfortable, although your arousal had significantly dulled following you passing out. Her hand caressed your panty clad bottom, squeezing and pulling the flesh expertly. You let out a soft hum of contentment.

"Wouldn't have been a bad way to go, you know." Rose teased, continuing to knead your buttcheeks.

You gave an unconvinced hum in response. Rose let out a low chuckle, giving you a playful smack on the rear.

"Let's try this again. This time you can be on top, huh?"

Rose helped you up, after taking off your panties of course. She laid upon the bed, and you moved to straddle her face.

"Nuh uh. Turn around, the other way."

You obeyed, facing her legs.

"Now lean down. Hold my legs open, that's right, princess."

Princess. The name felt more intimate than the other titles she had given you, most were insulting. You found yourself looking forward to tasting her again. Her clit still remained engorged, and you busied yourself with licking at it as Rose drew her hands back and forth over your thighs.

"Pretty pussy you've got." she crooned.

A sharp bite to your inner thigh. It shocked and aroused you, and your core clenched involuntarily. Rose gave a low chuckle at the sight.

"Is she this wet for me?" Rose cooed. "Might need to have a taste."

Her tongue parted your labia, circling your entrance. Your hips bucked into her mouth, and she smacked your butt in jest.

"Naughty."

To make up for your unintentional disobedience, you leaned down, spreading her labia and exposing her engorged clit to your tongue. You circled it a few times before pulling the hood back, sucking softly. Rose's reaction was immediate. She groaned, kneading your thighs tenderly.

"Mhm. Good girl."

Her tongue returned to your entrance, licking lazily, occasionally rolling over your clit. Enough to stimulate, not enough to really please. It was infuriating, but you doubled your attentions in the hopes she would reward you. Taking her clit in your mouth, you sucked it, drawing it back and forth between your lips like she had done earlier with your tongue. Rose moaned, letting out a few words that you didn't understand, a foreign tongue. Then her mouth was at your clit, her tongue drawing steady circles over the nerve. You felt her thighs clenching, and you held them open as she reacted accordingly. Her mouth abandoned your clit, and she moaned out, her hips thrusting against your mouth. Then her mouth was sucking violently against you, two fingers roughly penetrating you. But just as her orgasm subsided, just as a familiar clenching began in your abdomen, she pulled away.

"No!" you whined.

A harsh smack cracked over your ass.

"Shut it."

She pushed you to the side, sitting up. She used your shirt to wipe the mess off her face.

"If you want to come, you'll crawl over here and ride my fingers."

Much to your utter dismay, (and deep humiliation), you saw the truth in her eyes. Crawling into her lap like a discarded puppy, you winced as the pushed two of her fingers into you once more. But that was were her roughness ended. A hand encircled her waist while her thumb rolled gentle circles over your clit.

"Put your arms around my shoulders, princess."

The soft praise and gentler look returned to her eyes. She smiled softly at your obedience, pressing a gentle kiss to your neck.

"You've been good... I suppose I should reward you."

Her fingers moved gently in and out of you while her thumb moved in that soft pattern. It was good, a gentle stimulation to push you up to a gentle climax. You had the feeling that if she wanted you to squeal in pleasure, she'd do so, but this was an allotment, not a reward. Her kisses on your neck turned into soft, tender bites, matching her tone. A slow build up to climax began, and you wrapped your arms tighter around her.

"I.. I'm gonna-"

"-I know you are. Now moan my name, 'Rose'."

You felt your lower muscles slowly starting to clench, and you let out a soft whimper.

"Rose!" you obeyed, feeling your pelvic floor clench and unclench erratically.

It was fulfilling, but not by much. In truth, you'd been most stimulated when you were pleasing her, a truth that made you aware of a darker truth. Rose was toying with you. She wiped her hand off nonchalantly, putting her hat back on. With that one action, she went from uncommitted lover to sinister debt-collector.

"Now. About that debt."

<------------>

A/N: This is really just a one-shot, I don't see a part two or continuation, but I would be more than happy to write a similar story or use a similar template to create a series. Feedback is always welcome. :)

[cherrycola27]

daylight

Series Warnings: Mature Content 18+. Language, drinking, and allusions to smut. Eventuallyfull smut. Military inaccuracies. Minors DNI. Banner Credit @thedroneranger

Masterlist Next Part

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Chapter 1: I'll Tell You the Truth but Never Goodbye

Loving Bradley Bradshaw was the easiest thing you had ever done in your life.

Leaving him was the hardest.

You hadn't planned for it to go this way, truly. You'd never, in all the years you'd known each other, especially in the three years the two of you had been a couple, thought you would have to leave him.

It wasn't by choice. No, you didn't want to do this. Because who in their right mind would want to break up with Bradley?

He was the perfect boyfriend. Kind, caring, attentive. The two of you were so happy together. All your days together felt happy and warm. Like basking in the glow of the California sunshine.

But fate, and your careers, never failed to roll the storm clouds in.

You still remember the look on his face when your uncle called you into his office to personally deliver the news to you.

"You can't be serious, Uncle Beau!" You almost shouted at him as you tried to hold the tears at bay as you threw the envelope with your new orders back at him.

"Birdie, I'm sorry. You know I wouldn't do this if there was any other way. I promised your mother. But the orders—the came from over my head. I'm sorry, sweetheart. Truly. But you need to get your affairs in order." You uncle sighed as he slumped down in his chair.

You couldn't be angry with him. It wasn't his fault. But the news still hurt coming from him.

You knew that you were a good pilot. But you never dreamed that you'd be good enough to be summoned for a top secret mission. One that would have you spending five years in Asia with no contact from the outside world.

That meant no phone calls to your dad or friends, not even Uncle Beau would know much. But the worst part was, you wouldn't be able to contact Bradley.

A sour feeling settled in the pit of your stomach. You knew what you had to do.

This was one of those missions that you didn't know if you'd ever come back from. It wouldn't be fair to ask Bradley to wait for you for what might be forever. You loved him too much to do that to him. To ask him to hang on. To keep him in the dark.

You drug your feet as you made your way to the parking lot. He was there, next to his Bronco, leaning against your door.

He had his caravans on and a smile so bright it rivaled the sun.

He beamed when he spoke your name. You tried to pretend that everything was okay. You hoped he couldn't see through the charade you were putting on.

Later, when the two of you got home, he asked if you wanted to go out to the Hard Deck that night with everyone. You shook your head before turning to him with a desperate look in your eye.

"Bradley. What if we just stayed in tonight?"

He didn't hesitate to agree with you, knowing exactly what you meant when you said that. He scooped you up in his arms, holding you tightly—unable to shake the feeling that something was off.

You and Bradley had known each other for years. You'd officially been a couple for just over three of them and had lived together for most of that time.

He seemed to know you better than he knew himself. So when you kissed him like you were never going to see him again, the same kind of kisses you gave each other before a deployment, he knew exactly what was going on.

Bradley didn't hold back because of it, though. If this was going to be the last time you were in his bed—in your shared bed—in his arms—he was going to make it count.

He laid you down reverently against the sheets. Taking his time to work you up, gently undressing you like you were a priceless piece of art.

Bradley took you apart little by little, kissing every inch of your skin before tracing over it with his fingertips. He wanted to memorize the way you felt beneath his calloused hands. He wanted to memorize the intoxicating scent that was uniquely you. Salt air like the sea breeze, freshly laundered sheets, and warm vanilla. He wanted to remember how you tasted when you came apart on his mustache or when you pushed your tongue into his mouth.

But most of all, Bradley wanted to remember how you looked at the height of pleasure as the waves of euphoria only he could give you washed over your body.

He wanted to remember how you sounded crying out his name, or how you practically glowed when he pushed you over the edge.

So, every push of his fingers into your hair, every sweep of his tongue over your skin, every thrust of his hips, every pull, tug, and caress was calculated to commit not only you to his memory, but him to yours.

If this was the end, he wanted you to remember how his strong body felt pressed against yours. How he sounded crying out your name. How he begged you to cum for him over and over. Taking until he had nothing left to give.

With every moment he spent with you in the golden glow of your bedroom lamp, Bradley tried to be the best for you one last time.

When the two of you were finished, both sweaty and sated, you didn't cuddle into his side. You turned away from him, unable to face him. He pulled you flush against him, hands absent mindedly drawing patterns on your skin. Your voice failed you as you spoke.

"Bra—Bradley I—"

"I know. I know, and it's okay." He replied softly before you could even finish.

"How?" You stutter out, still facing the wall.

"Birdie, I've known you and loved you for years. I know you probably better than I know myself. You kissed me like it was the last time. You've been on edge all evening. You wanted to stay in. I knew the moment I laid you down that this was going to be breakup sex." Bradley tells you.

"I'm sorry, Bradley. I didn't want it to be like this. I can't even tell you why. This isn't my choice." You start to cry before getting up.

He pulls you back down to him. "Stop, Birdie. If this is the end for us, at least let me hold you one more time." Bradley breathes out.

You don't argue with him. Instead, you curl into his warm embrace. You press yourself so close to him, hoping that you could just melt into him. He tucks you under his chin and kisses your hairline.

"For what it's worth." He beings after a long while. "If I had the chance to go back and do it all over again, I would. Even though I know we break up in the end." Bradley assures you.

"Me too." You whisper before letting his heartbeat lull you to sleep one last time.

It's early when you wake up the next morning, still wrapped in Bradley's strong arms. The sun hasn't even crossed the horizon. Moonlight still fills your bedroom.

You carefully extract yourself from Bradley before grabbing your duffle and packing a few essential things and some things you don't need, but want to keep with you.

Daylight is just breaking through curtains as you look back at Bradley one last time. The sunrise casts a perfect golden halo around him.

You press one final chast kiss to his lips before slipping out the door without telling him goodbye. You couldn't. That meant that this was permanent, and you couldn't accept that. As you pulled out of your driveway, you let the tears you'd been holding fall.

When you go to board the carrier, your uncle is waiting for you.

"Take care of him for me Uncle Beau." You whisper to him as you hug him one last time before climbing on and leaving behind the life you once had.

—————————Five Years Later—————————

You took a deep breath as your shoe made contact with the ground. It had been ages since you smelled the salt air of the west coast or felt the California sunshine on your face.

Fightertown was different since you'd last been there, but then again, so were you. I'm more ways than one.

But that didn't matter now. You were back and home to stay. You'd settled into your uncle's pool house for now until you could afford your own place, even though he and your aunt told you that you could stay as long as you liked. You assured them that it would be a few months, tops.

After unpacking, you inquired about your old squadron and were pleased to find that they were a permanent fixture at Top Gun, where you would be starting on Monday.

After learning that, you asked Uncle Beau if the Hard Deck was still the place to go. He told you it was, and you were glad that some things never changed.

So, you put on a nice outfit and grabbed the colorfully decorated wooden box that had been halfway across the world with you and loaded up into the passenger seat of your car.

You sat down in the driver's seat and traced the neatly painted letters of Bradley's name that ran across the top of it before opening the lid and thumbing over all the letters you wrote to him but never got to send. You saved every one of them.

A smile crossed your face as you pulled onto the highway to go to the Hard Deck.

You were ready to see him again, to love him again. And you hoped that by giving him these letters, he would realize that you never forgot about him.

Tagging those who might be interested: @shanimallina87 @teacupsandtopgun @desert-fern @wkndwlff @roosterforme @daggerspare-standingby @dakotakazansky @startrekfangirl2233 @hecate-steps-on-me @na-ta-sh-aa @katieshook02 @beyondthesefourwalls @je-suis-prest-rachel @soulmates8 @diorrfairy @eli2447 @xoxabs88xox @djs8891 @roosters-girl @rosiahills22 @dempy @callsign-magnolia @alchemxx @gretagerwigsmuse @lt-spork @beccaanne814-blog @bradshawsbaby @seitmai @kmc1989 @bcarolinablr @roosterisdaddy36 @itsdesiree86 @waywardhunter95 @hisredheadedgoddess28 @whatislovevavy @inkandarsenic @mak-32 @tomanybandstolove @jiminie-08 @dingochef @laracrofted @skipchat @princess76179 @schoollover @cheyrenee @angelbabyyy99 @bobfloydsbabe @sunlightmurdock @sebsxphia

[hannahssimblr]

And then I see her every day. We laze on the beach, we swim, we queue for ice creams in the local shop and eat them on the pier. We point at the ships sailing toward France, making up stories about what they are doing, none of which involve carrying cargo, but mystery and scandal and intrigue. She tells me my ideas are stupid, and I agree with her. Most things I say are stupid, but I suspect, somehow, that she likes this part of me. 

In the evenings, we'll play PlayStation games and watch TV with the gang, where, from our spot at the back of the room she will lean into me during the scariest part of the horror flick where the dreaded monster reveals itself, and whisper, “Is that you?”

We will stifle laughter with our sleeves until tears roll down our cheeks, and once the giddiness has subsided, and those who have thrown us filthy looks turn away, I will risk a secret glance. She’ll be wiping her eyes, the room so dark that I can barely see her face, and I’ll know, beyond any doubt, that I would already be kissing her if there was nobody else in the room. 

Late into the night, I will take her home and let my car idle outside her caravan park for an hour, because we keep talking. We can’t stop. There is always more to say about people we’ve known and the things they’ve done to us. Of how it feels to be a particular person, in a particular place at a particular time. The things about our lives that are so different, and the things about the insides of us that are the same. I have never spoken to other people like this.

I am enthralled by the way her stiff awkwardness melts when she lets herself talk, by the movements of her hands in emphasis of her point. When she mentions her mother, she claws a hand over her throat like pulling back a phantom hand, strangling her words, stifling her self expression, and I feel like if I ever drew that motion I would be making art of something so deep, like the core essence of her. It would be more intimate work than if I captured her without any clothes. 

Sometimes she’ll say something offhand that puts so precisely into words, a feeling I’ve suffered, but could never express. I remind myself every time to write these things down, but I never do it. I get home and I forget the words, recalling only the feeling.

I’ll ask questions to keep her talking until it is clear that we’ve sat and talked in my car for longer than what’s acceptable. Then she’ll slip out the passenger door and I’ll watch her go. 

I’ll follow her path all the way through the park until she disappears behind that big mobile home on the corner, and I sit for longer, needing to bathe in the feeling of being around her for a few more minutes. 

I’ll go home and climb into bed. Sometimes Claire stays over, and I have to listen to her having sex with Shane in my sister’s bedroom. At those times, I feel weird and lonely, yearning for something more in my life. I put in my earbuds and block out the thoughts with my iPod until I fall asleep.

And tomorrow, I’ll do it all over again. 

Beginning // Prev // Next

[honeypiehotchner]

Devil's Backbone (Unsub!Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- part seventeen

Listen...if you didn't see this coming then I don't know what to say (also I'm so sorry). There is an epilogue after this! It'll be posted Friday xx

Warnings: major character death xoxo, just so so sad

Seventeen: Don't leave me like this -- "Haunted" by Taylor Swift

It was difficult to really remember what happened next. 

Hotch ran off into the darkness, with no way for you to catch up to him or direct any of the team or officers of where he went. It was a void. He was everywhere and nowhere.

You took off running back toward the parking lot, heaving sobs leaving your lips. Morgan caught you in his arms, nearly knocking himself off his own feet. You sobbed. You punched his vest. You screamed. You kicked. This was unfair. Aaron was going to kill himself. You knew it. You didn’t save him. Why couldn’t you save him?

Morgan managed to calm you down and shoved you in an SUV with JJ to take you back to the precinct. Prentiss, Rossi, and Morgan stayed at the park to search the surroundings, search the park, do anything they thought was helpful. But you knew none of it would work. You knew it was pointless. 

You barreled into the precinct, taking your vest off and throwing it on a nearby table. You snagged some coffee from the finished pot and guzzled it quickly.

Reid watched you with worried eyes. From the computer screen, Garcia frowned.

“Do you know where Philips lives yet?” you asked. You really didn’t want to talk about what happened, but you knew both of them were made aware. “Garcia?”

“Not yet,” she said. “Still digging. How are you?”

“I’m fine,” you said, turning to head back to get more coffee. You needed more than one mug if you were going to make it through the rest of this.

You replayed the events of the last hour in your head. The tears in Hotch’s eyes. The brokenness in his voice. He truly believed he saw Jack. He truly believed he needed to finish this last murder in order to avenge his family. He truly believed it all.

But he didn’t believe you, that you could help him, that he could put this all down and stop. He didn’t believe you.

You drank more coffee. You paced. You waited for answers that never came.

Morgan, Prentiss, and Rossi returned an hour later, exhausted and with no answers about any of it. You were fucked. You were back to square one. Hotch was spiraling.

And there was nothing you could do to stop it.

+++

You were all delirious and drowsy when the call came in. Garcia found Philips. 

“Well, I found a house with his name on it— He’s renting it. It’s ten minutes from you. Sending coordinates now. Go.”

You were already running. You had half a mind to grab your bulletproof vest off the table and swing it over your head. 

You didn’t have keys, but Morgan did, and you slipped into the passenger seat. He didn’t wait for anyone else to get in before he peeled out of the parking lot, flipping the lights and sirens on as he drove.

Rossi, JJ, Prentiss, and Reid piled into the second car and followed close behind. Police cars flew out of the lot one by one, falling into line behind you and Morgan, leading the caravan to the lion’s den.

You had a bad feeling then. Something within you knew. 

When Morgan pulled into the subdivision, gunshots rang out, and he sped up.

“Fuck!” you yelled, worried you had gotten there too late.

Morgan barely had time to park the car before you fled from it, running toward the house, ignoring Morgan’s screams from behind you, pissed that you jumped out before he was ready. From the sound of his voice, you knew he was close at your heels, catching up quickly.

The front door was ajar, and you slammed through it, eyes darting around, your gun raised just in case. 

“Aaron!” you screamed. “Where the fuck are you?”

A strangled scream — not Aaron’s — answered from upstairs. Morgan made it to the staircase before you did, but you took the stairs two at a time, reaching the top at the same time.

Another scream. This one a child’s.

Freezing horror bled into your bones. “Aaron!” you yelled again. “Jack’s not here! Leave the kid alone! That’s not Jack!”

Morgan stilled, turning to look at you. You didn’t have time to explain. You pushed past him, into the master bedroom, desperate to get Aaron away from the kid and away from Philips.

There, in the master bedroom, Aaron had Philips pinned underneath him, his knife at Philips’ throat. The same knife he once used on your back. You felt sick.

Blood was everywhere. You didn’t know how Philips was still alive, but he was, and he was fighting. Aaron wasn’t too fond of that.

On the bed, unharmed, the son wailed. Morgan ran to him, picking him up and hauling him out of there. Aaron didn’t look up from Philips. He barely moved. 

“Aaron! Look at me!” you heard your voice cracking and you forced it to stop. “Hotch. Look at me. That is not Foyet. Foyet is dead. Jack isn’t here. Foyet killed him. They’re both dead.”

Hotch looked up at that, eyes wide. “I saw him.” He looked around the room, frantic. “I saw him. I saw—”

“You didn’t,” you cried. “Put the knife down. Please.”

“I saw him,” Aaron pressed on. His gaze turned red with fury. “You had him!” He focused his attention back on a mutilated Philips beneath him. “Where is he?”

Philips made a garbled noise in response, and that wasn’t good enough. You watched Hotch slice Philips neck with no hesitation, blood pouring from the gash as if Philips’ body had an endless supply of it. He was gone within seconds, head turned to the side. Aaron had a look of pure disgust on his face.

“Get off of him,” you said through gritted teeth, trying to keep yourself in the position of authority. Where the hell is Morgan? “Up. Now. Hands where I can see them.”

Aaron laughed. He fucking laughed at you.

“Ahh,” Hotch sighed, grinning. He picked up the knife, blood and skin dripping off of it. “Remember when we used this?”

“Up!” you ordered, trying to keep your gag reflex at bay. “Get up!”

He slowly stood to his feet, easily towering over you. He was always taller, but like this, in this state of mind, he felt monstrous. He felt eight feet tall.

“Happy?” he asked, knife dangling from his fingers by the blade.

“Put the knife down,” you demanded. 

Footsteps roared on the stairs — backup. Morgan was next to you a second later. Prentiss wasn’t far behind. Hotch was out numbered, but you didn’t feel safe. You had two of your team members with you, but you felt even more on your own than before.

“I knew you wouldn’t be able to leave this alone,” Hotch scoffed, tossing the knife to the ground. He raised an eyebrow. “I warned you.”

“Shut up!” you yelled.

“Hotch,” Morgan said. “I can see the gun on your hip.”

“Good for you.”

“Get rid of it,” you snapped. “You’re gonna use your right hand and take it out and toss it to the ground at Prentiss’ feet. Got it?”

“Crystal, sweetheart,” he grinned, wolfish and terrifying. “Anything else you’d like? A hickey?”

“Fuck you.”

“Mm, we have, remember?”

You white knuckled your gun. He was being a prick and he knew exactly why. His hand moved too quickly toward his hip, sending a jolt of panic through you. You flinched, your body moving backwards. “What are you doing?”

“Taking my gun out, like you asked,” he replied.

You didn’t trust him, and you were right for it. He took his gun out, but he didn’t toss it aside. He held onto it, fingers twitching against the trigger.

“Don’t do it, man,” Morgan hissed, but he sounded desperate. Disbelieving. “Put it down, Hotch. Come on.”

Hotch looked into your eyes, daring you. You shook your head. He stared harder. No. You knew what he was doing. You knew what he was daring you to do. You knew. And you hated him for it.

“Don’t,” you whispered, tears immediately gathering at the corners of your eyes. Your heart felt like a fist was closed around it. I can’t do this. “Don’t make me hurt you, Aaron, please, don’t make me—”

You would never know what went through Hotch’s mind in the next moment. All you knew is that he raised his gun, and you reacted. 

Morgan and Prentiss saw it happen clear as day. Instead of tossing his gun aside, Hotch raised it right at you. And you fired in self-defense, on instinct.

The bullet hit him near his heart. His gun fell from his hands as he fell to his knees, hands clutching his chest, shocked that you actually fired on him. 

The realization of what you did brought you down to your knees. Your ears were ringing, all you heard was your own heartbeat, loud and thunderous. What have I done? What did I just do? You lifted your eyes and met Hotch’s. The fear, the shock, the pain. You shook your head, your resolve breaking. You sobbed.

You reached for him despite it all, and he fell into you.

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered into his hair, holding his body against yours, feeling the rush of his blood as it stained your jeans, your skin, your soul. You kissed the top of his head, sobs shaking your body. “I’m so sorry.”

You held him as he took his last breath. 

Or so Morgan told you. You blacked out. You don’t remember it.

+++

The tape clicks. Across the table of the conference room, Strauss looks at you tiredly. “You don’t remember?”

You shrug. “I don’t.”

“I don’t appreciate you making this more difficult than it needs to be.”

“I’m not trying to,” you mutter. “Can we finish this so I can go home?” You’re exhausted, and she isn’t helping. You want to crawl into bed and not come out for the next week and a half. 

“Yes, fine,” Strauss agrees, leaning over to begin the recording again. 

Click. 

+++

Morgan took you away from Aaron’s body so the paramedics could do their job of pronouncing him dead. You squeezed your eyes shut and willed for it all to be a nightmare that you’d wake up from any moment. But every time you opened your eyes, the blood was still on your hands.

Aaron was still dead.

There wasn’t much else the team could do, so they packed things up, and drove back to Quantico. In silence.

You slept in fits. You kept waking from dreams where Aaron killed you. Or killed Philips’ son. Or killed Morgan and Prentiss. Or killed himself. Or all of the above.

Morgan and Prentiss kept giving you these stupid looks of concern from the front seat. You wanted to puke. You were starving, realizing you hadn’t eaten in almost 12 hours. But if any food came near you, you were sure you’d vomit on it.

The tears came and went. The guilt came and stayed forever. It clawed at your insides until you were blind with the pain.

You weren’t allowed to sleep alone. It wasn’t a choice you were given, but it also wasn’t something you argued against. 

You stayed at Penelope’s place with her — and Derek, most nights — thinking the color and constant laughter would do you good. Then you switched to Emily’s place, wanting the comfort of a cat. You went back to your apartment, but Emily came with you, bringing JJ in tow. Reid showed up with flowers one day and you sobbed in his arms for an hour. You didn’t realize he was crying, too.

The weeks passed and didn’t at the same time. Time kept going and stopped all together.

You knew the FBI was going to extensively investigate the entire case, but it somehow slipped your mind that a day would come when they would need a full, official statement from you. And the rest of the team.

It was the last thing you wanted to do. Aaron was still with you — in your dreams. In your sleep, the two of you were together. In your sleep, it was six months ago, when nothing was wrong, no one had died, and the two of you were happy. Only in your dreams.

[writing-whump]

Silver knife wound

Dylan finds Rip with a stab wound to the stomach that won't heal. Warning for lots of bleeding, talks of death and giving up.

Dylan was worried.

He couldn't find Rip anywhere. He looked at all the usual spots - the old fabric, the parking lot, the garden between the abandoned apartment complexes where street strays did they improved rings every night. Nothing.

Rip wasn't one to hide or lay low. He often circled the building block that he called his territory. Let himself be known. His mere presence often prevented needless fights, wolves rather saving scuffles for the rings than ganging up or going berserk at random.

Dylan thought it was pretty amazing. Rip seemed so detached and tough and like he couldn't care less, but everything he did convinced him otherwise.

If there was any fairness or order to this weird lost world of the street strays, it was because of Rip.

Dylan did another round around the block. He looked with his shadow, his perception of wolf shadows and the scent.

Maybe Rip simply disappeared. He could have jumped on a train and left from one day to the next. There were wolves that preferred such nomadic life. Keeping yourself unpredictable also helped stay safe from Executioners.

A few drops of rain hit his cheek. Dylan looked up. It was warm, but it rained last night all the way to the morning. It was staring again.

He huffed and went back to the ground floor room with broken windows and locks. The couch had a nest of blankets and old jackets that smelled the most like Rip.

At least he could stay over until the rain stopped. The petrichor in the air was heavy. This would be a long and pouring rain. Dylan could tell from all the times he had watched his sister predict, steer or call for a storm like that.

He went more inside the apartment. Broken glass on the floor, a faucet that was dripping - at least that was something - slanted cupboards. No electricity.

It was hard to imagine this was a a place someone could live in. If Rip at least had a caravan or a tent for camping it would seem more dignified than this hole. It reminded Dylan of apocalyptic movies.

He explored further, snooping into the rooms. Bare beds with no sheets. Fungi and water sickering through the walls and climbing up to the ceiling.

The more he looked the more it gave him the creeps.

He opened the small room in the corner that was probably supposed to be a bathroom. It smelled the worst, like canalization not working, sticky and disgusting.

When he opened the room though, the smell of something much more intense and fresh hit his nostrils.

The metallic scent of blood.

Dylan froze in the doorstep, pushing the door completely open with a pounding heart.

Rip was there. Sprawled on the floor against the bathtub, head hanging limply. There was a pool of blood around where he was sitting.

Dylan's breath hitched as he followed the red trail up with his eyes...towards a knife stuck in Rip's side on the left.

Dark blue eyes, glazed over and pained slowly rolled up, meeting his gaze.

That broke the shocked spell.

"Holy shit. Rip!" Dylan was moving immediately, sliding to his knees by Rip's side. "What-what happened to you? What is this?"

"Oh...hey there." Rip blinked at him sleepily. He frowned as if he wasn't sure who Dylan was before the corners of his lips went up. "Dylan, was it?"

"Why isn't this healed?" Dylan hovered his hands over Rip's wound helplessly. "Rip!"

Rip gave him another scarily calm, self-deprecating grin. "Why you think? That's silver, dude. Never seen a silver knife before?"

"But Rip-" Dylan's eyes were wider and wider. This was not the reaction he expected. "How long have you been like this? When did this happen?"

"Hmmmm, not sure." Rip's lopsided grin revealed a row of bloody teeth.

"Have you been like this for hours, minutes? That makes a huge difference." Dylan looked around the broken, dirty and useless bathroom. No towels. He jumped to his feet to try the faucet but even that wasn't working.

"Rip, you need help."

Rip lifted his head sluggishly to focus on him. "There is nothing to do. I can't heal and I have no one to call." He leaned his head back against the tiles, the position looking entirely uncomfortable. "It's fine. It had to happen someday. I expected it sooner, to be honest.

"We need to get you out of here. I heard you shouldn't pull the knife out, so I guess we need to fix it in place so I can carry you-"

"Dylan." It was a quiet word, but rang through the bathroom like a command. "Stop it. It's...okay." Rip swallowed dryly.

"No, it's not! I need to call the hospital-"

"It's useless. This is silver. No chance."

"It doesn't have to be the end! Humans get treatment for things like this and they survive!"

"No ambulance will come here. And they won't treat me. You know I can't be around humans without hurting them. And even if they did, if they found out who I'm....they would kill me on sight. Hunted wolf, you know?" The injured wolf chuckled, the sound bitter and scary with hopelessness. "I can't go to a hospital. No pack will help. It's over."

Dylan was trying to process the new information about being hunted for some mysterious crime and whether it was really true Rip wouldn't get treated.

Everyone got emergency treatement and care, even without an ID or health insurance card or any money. And Austria had better hospitals than Slovakia or Czechia...

Were there other rules for wolves? What did it mean, kill on sight? Why would Rip be on the hunted list?

There were many things he didn't know how to do, how to solve. If he risked it and went into the hospital and they send him away or did Rip in...and he needed to make a decision and fast, cause while the wound was more dripping than seeping, they were running out of time.

Dylan sprinted back to get his backpack he left back at the living room, coming back as quickly as he could. He took the sport tape, self-adhesive one and pulled Rip's shirt out of the way.

The wolf watched him with half-closed eyes, disbelieving and amused. There was a sheen of sweat on his face, his curly black hair plastered to his forehead and neck. "Give it up, city boy. There is no way out of this mess."

"Shut up," Dylan growled, grabbing him by the shoulders so he could lean him forward enough to wrap the tape around Rip's stomach and then carefully as he could around the knife, so it would stick in place.

Rip didn't move, still strangely limp in his hold. Not even hissing at the movement.

"I'm not letting you die," Dylan announced as he fixed the bandage around Rip one more time before tying it up.

"What's the big plan, superman? You don't have a pack either, if I remember."

"My sister got one. And her boyfriend is freaking wolf royalty or whatever. He knows everything. He can fix this." He leaned Rip back against the bathtub, looking him over. "I'm gonna carry you on my back. That way I can run faster. You think the knife will hold?"

"It really doesn't matter," Rip said softly. "I'm gonna die, Dylan. Save yourself the trouble-"

Dylan was done listening. They were wasting time.

He squated down in front of Rip and guided his hands carefully over his shoulders. He pressed Rip's uninjured right side against his back as tightly as possible. The left side with the wound had to stay free, so the knife wouldn't move further.

He adjusted his grip under Rip's thigh, jostling him up a little to get him secured. "I'm sorry. Just hold on to me."

"It's fine," Rip repeated, propping his chin on Dylan's shoulder. "It doesn't hurt."

That scared Dylan more than anything.

He bolted out from the bathroom and out the building, calculating the road in his head. There were no taxis or public transport in the lawless district. But the river wasn't far and beyond the river it was close to Seline's place - Isaiah's place.

If he used his shadow to strengthen his limbs as he ran, he could make it faster than a car.

[pedgito]

Okay, so, after all these moans I had a thot.

Reader is new to the resort, makes friends with Tom and catches him masturbating in the showers. Cue horrible pining and then sloppiest head in that room where they keep all the linens. She knows what happened with Ruth and thought "he's mine now, fuck you Ruth" 💕

author's note: bless you, feeding my tom grant obsession.

cw: 18+ (minors dni), talks of past relationships, friends to lovers, oral (m recieving), lots of cute banter, slight voyerism

word count: 3.4k

“Seen Tom?” You chirp, hauling the load of wood that needed to get to the workshop—it’s usually where Tom ended up around this time, after hours but not off the clock. The lady running the front desk gave you a tired look, nodding her head in a random direction. 

You’ve been here long enough to know that meant, “Fuck off, find out yourself.”

You sigh, turning on your heels and off down the small path that led to the back few buildings that consisted of maintenance and supplies to keep the park stocked as needed, along with other amenities. It had a small building connected to the linen room, a shower room with a few bathroom stalls, still sizable enough that it was comfortable, though it didn’t provide much privacy—half the locks were broken and the curtains were hanging on by a thread and you could count on your hand the few times you’ve shoved your own pride aside to use them, but it was never your first choice.

And Tom almost always spent the end of his days finishing out a few small projects that needed to be fixed, pencil shoved behind his ear as he worked.

You try to remember back to the first time you met Tom, scared out your wits in a new place with a boyfriend that spent too much time away on work—this place was all you could afford and you were lucky enough to get a job there to keep you afloat, but Tom—he navigated into your life seamlessly.

He had always mentioned a girlfriend from the beginning, never raving about her but she was there in passing, referring back to his life before this, whatever it was, a mundane, monotonous routine he’d fallen into—Ruth, she was always there.

His first love, his first everything—she’d always been a positive staple in his life before moving here and that was very obvious. As for you, you never brought up your love life. 

Tom had already pieced it together on his own.

You came from a small town that no one bothered remembering the name of, plucked out by a boy who insisted you move to an even smaller, remote town and stay put while he went away—worked, as he assured you, while you kept the bed warm when he did have a few days out of the month away from work. He called often, but it wasn’t anything you had ever expected after moving away from home, your parents, your friends.

You started new and Tom was nice enough to give you a chance. The boy was too sweet for his own good, unfortunately. It ended up being his ultimate demise in the end, losing his girlfriend to another girl down the way—Jade.

You’ve only spoken to her twice, in passing as she worked, mostly keeping to yourself and getting your duties done for the day before holding yourself hostage in the caravan the rest of the night.

Before Ruth had came, Tom spent most nights at your place, or vice versa. He liked movies and old, cheesy television on weeknights when he’d cook you both dinner, someone to talk about his favorite things to, someone who listened.

Ruth never listened, apparently—or at least, she had stopped somewhere between the first few months after she arrived and those nights you started to spend together, using each other as an outlet to complain. They never breached anything inappropriate, always opposite ends of the couch and constantly aware of that space and making sure to maintain it.

Tom was the type of guy you wished to fall in love with, the type that would give you everything you needed and allow you to return the favor—but he wasn’t for you. Not then, definitely not now. 

When Ruth finally quit and ran off with Jade, Tom ignored you for a month. But, you didn’t take it personally. He left for a week, took some work leave and didn’t elaborate on the details. 

You found out from everyone else, but part of you had suspected it for a while—always catching her leaving Jade’s during the late hours of the night, sneaking into Tom’s dimmed trailer before settling into your bed.

And there was no reason to blame Ruth, not really—she was confused and trying to figure herself out, but it was done horribly, breaking Tom in the process. 

He comes to you eventually, eyes red rimmed and a six pack in hand—you ordered food that night and let Tom talk for hours, eventually ending up with his head in your lap, silently carding your fingers through his short blonde curls, breaching the point of needing a trim.

“She’s got me all fucked up now,” Tom mumbles, picking at the threaded bracelet around his wrist. You’d given it to him as a gift after he commented on your own, it was a simple gesture but Tom never took it off, not once. “Fucking cheating on me—and thinkin’ that it was me the whole time? S’all bullshit.”

Tom reaches for his third beer which is quickly plucked from his grasp, sliding back onto the linoleum table as you tug it away. His eyebrows furrow in annoyance, a soft pout on his face.

“I was tryin’ to ignore it, ya know?” Tom continues, whatever feelings he’d had toward your gesture quickly fading, “I thought she just didn’t like it here—mean, I get it. There’s not loads to do, it’s fuckin’ boring—“

“That doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with you, Tom,” You reassure him, his fingers rubbing against your own, intertwining with the ones buried in your hair.

He’s never tried to hold your hand before, or even sit this close to you, let alone laid out over you—and he must sense it too, eyes widening at the realization despite his buzz. 

But, he doesn’t know you’ve already broken up with your boyfriend. It’s still fresh, only a couple days at the time, but you couldn’t take it any longer.

You were living here alone, supporting yourself, it was all fucked—for both of you. 

“M’sorry for dumpin’ on you,” Tom apologizes, removing his touch slightly with deep regret, itching to sit up, create some space for you, but you don’t let go. “Got everyone else laughing at me, you’re the only one that’s listenin’.”

So, he doesn’t either.

“I can relate, I guess.” You shrug.

Tom notes that, the tense smile that appears on your face.

You unload on him too, tell him everything about your break up, and it brings you that much closer—even if it doesn’t lead anywhere you want.

But, here you are now, creeping into the small warehouse, dropping off the supplies you’d brought along in search for him after you realize he’s nowhere to be seen. 

You’d either find him perched on the bench eating his lunch or taking a quick smoke break out back—you stay silent, listening for any sign of him there, but it leads you toward the showers, hearing the soft thud of water hitting tile, the steam bellowing out as you get closer.

It doesn’t take long for you to realize you’re intruding, the soft groans seeping through the constant stream of water—and you could’ve excused it for anyone else if it weren’t for the fact that you could see Tom in the mirror, standing oppositions the row of sinks and the curtain slightly ajar, bare naked and skin flushed a bright red from the water and the current situation he was mixed up in, hand fisting his cock that was still hidden behind the cloth.

And it didn’t take a genius to figure out what he was doing, but you feel gross, reaching a point of invasiveness you’d never intended. You ignored the quickening in your breath, the way your fingers clenched against your thighs, feeling the dig of your nails through your jeans as you quickly back away, retreating toward the first place that seemed safe.

You still had to deliver the stuff to him, but this way it was more easily explained, shuffling into the linen closet as you busied yourself with whatever you could, desperately trying to seem distracted despite how heavy and loud his sounds grew, audible through the joined walls and the deep echo of the bathroom.

Only a few minutes later you can hear the soft clearing of a throat and a door down the hall being shut—and you can only assume it’s Tom, mumbling something to himself as he exits the bathroom. Your breathing is still, listening for his voice. 

He calls out your name eventually, noticing the pile of wood by the entrance and you being nowhere in sight. There’s an odd sigh, too long to be dismissed and then he’s calling your name again, followed by a hushed, “Fuck, you absolute idiot.”

He’s addressing himself, before he’s approaching the linen closet and twisting the doorknob—it requires a little wiggle room since it sticks nine times out of ten, but it gives you a chance to look less obvious, not that you weren’t already guilty as ever. You weren’t great at hiding your emotions, or expressions even, and it would always be your downfall.

“Probably scared her off,” He continued on softly, finally nudging the door, head peeking through and landing on you immediately, “—oh, you been here long?”

You shake your head slightly, offering a slight smile as you refolded a sheet, resting it on the already neat pile.

“Just dropping off some things before I clock out for the night,” You explain, “long day?”

It slips out of your mouth before you can stop it, but given his tired state, exhaustion on his face and under eyes darker than usual—it seemed like a fair assumption to make. 

Tom laughs awkwardly, scratching at his cheek as he finally moves inside, shutting the door behind him. He’s got a dark color shirt and a pair of sweats that have gone through the wash too many times, tight around his legs and everywhere else. It doesn’t hide the still half-hard cock hiding behind the fabric, but you didn’t let on, turning to face him with your arms crossed over your chest.

“You could say that,” He says with a tinge of annoyance, before he finally blurts it out, “Ruth called.”

“Did she?” You ask, interest peaked.

“Yeah—couldn’t fuckin’ believe it either.” Tom chuckles through the discomfort, leaning against an adjoining shelf, your bodies squeezed between a row, with a few inches of distance between each other as he tells you the details.

He’s watching you skeptically, but it’s subdued—he knows something’s up, but he doesn’t key you in immediately.

“Kinda felt like she was trying to apologize, or—I dunno,” Tom shrugs, picking at his thumb idly, “didn’t seem like she wanted to say the words, a little lousy if you ask me—“

“Did you want an apology?” You ask, interrupting his rambling, his eyes shooting up to you in an instant.

“Doesn’t matter anymore,” Tom admits, “it’s been weeks—and I can’t be bothered to care about it. I’m just tryin’ to move on.”

He had—but the progress was stagnant.

And standing right in front of him.

You nod slowly, dissecting his words.

“So, just the wood and some linens?” Tom asks randomly, pointing toward the stack your hand was still resting on. 

“Uh, yeah—I was in a hurry,” You lie, “wanted to get home.”

“We still on for tonight?” Tom asks hopefully, “Dinner ‘n a movie, like you promised?”

His smile is wide, soft and welcoming. It has your heart clenching in your chest.

“Of course, when have I ever flaked on you?”

“You’re right,” Tom agrees, “—-Oh uh, James came by a couple hours ago with linens, you know?”

You feel your throat close, heart skipping a beat.

“So, unless you’re lyin’ to me,” Tom starts playfully, his eyes driving a stake through your chest, “—I mean, did you—“

“Yes,” You answer quickly, “I’m—it wasn’t on purpose. You weren’t out there, I went lookin’. I really shouldn’t have, but—“

“M’suprised you haven’t caught me before,” Tom says quietly, looking away briefly toward the door, “—still, I’m sorry.”

“Tom, you have a home, a shower there,” You laugh softly, “it really couldn’t wait?”

“Just one of those days,” Tom defends weakly, “Ruth’s got me all wound up and—got this thing on my mind that won’t go away, nothin’ helps.”

You shame your head in dismay, glancing at the floor as you inches closer, only a few centimeters away as you leaned similar as he, “Look, I’m sorry for…intruding, but you really shouldn’t let her bother you that much—she’s gone, she made it clear she didn’t plan on coming back.”

“And what about you,” Tom presses, tilting his chin up in a way to refer toward you, “over your ex, too?”

“For weeks, actually,” You counter, “see how easy that is?”

Tom raises his eyebrows slightly in question, noticing the creeping smile on your face, feeling the air thicken, the tension rise, “M’not stuck on her,” Tom says adamantly, “all her things ‘r gone, all of it—I’m just trying to deal..with everything.”

“Care to elaborate?” You pester him, wondering why he was trying to seem so closed off now, “Or—I can help, actually…”

And it’s bold, even for you—but things were easy with Tom. There wasn’t any pressure or standards to meet, it was always comfort and vulnerability with him. You’d both bared yourselves, at least figuratively, to a point that nothing could scare you away. 

“But, you walked away,” Tom pauses, breath catching as your hands extends toward his slightly wet shirt, having not dried himself completely before pulling it on, “you could’ve—could’ve—“

“Hmm?” You question, fingers playing with the thick waistband of his sweats, cock still pressing hard and heavy against the fabric. 

“The showers,” Tom finally gets out, “I wouldn’t have cared, I’m not like that—“

“Not like—“ You trail off, wondering what his point was.

“Kinda like the idea of you watchin’ me,” He admits, his stomach clenching as your fingers slipped inside, rubbing over the thin material of his boxers, pressing against the small wet patch that was already there, clueing you into just how bad Tom was aching, physically and mentally, “never finished in the shower, heard you come in but I just—I needed to see you first, thought talking to you would help but—god, every time I even look at you now—“

You shush him softly, gently maneuvering him by the hips until he’s pressed against the adjacent shelf, hidden away from the door but giving you enough of a view that if anyone were to come in, you could easily hide yourselves—not that it wouldn't be blatantly apparent what you were doing.

Tom panics for a brief moment, thinking back to how embarrassing it had been for Ruth to go down on him all for naught—at first he did blame himself, hard. But, he realized that a lot of his buried suspicions and doubts were causing most of the disinterest. 

Not that that was the case with you. It was far from it, but still, he’s expecting this to go horrible.

Until it doesn’t.

And you knew about the situation, a little of it, from what Tom had told you. It was in passing, talking about how weird Ruth had been acting and how badly it had turned him off. You wanted him to forget about it, all of it.

“S’been a long time.” Tom adds, brown furrowing as you reached for the band of his sweats and yanked them down, cock springing free from his underwear as they went to, hanging around mid thigh as you peered up at him, hanging on every word—and that sight alone is enough to kill him.

“Just shut up and enjoy it,” You snark at him playfully, relaxing when huffs out a quiet laugh, carding his fingers around the side of your head and through your hair, watching your delicate fingers wrap around him, contrasting the blushing red tinged head, thumb sliding over the slit as you pulled the skin back, “don’t want to hear another word of her from your mouth, Tom.”

He nods jerkily, breathing hard through his nose at the first touch of your lips to his throbbing head, his cock pulsing in your hand from how hard he was, how long he’d been like this—you start with a testing lick over the head, watching as his head thud against the shelves, creaking slightly from the weight of him. “Not—not a word.” He agrees, swallowing tensely as you take him in your mouth in one full motion, tongue flattening against the underside until he’s pressing against the back of your throat before you’re pulling off again and repeating your actions, slower so he doesn’t lose his mind, but he’s teetering there and you can see it.

“Hope s’not for nothing but I thought about this a lot,” Tom confesses in his haze of arousal, “your mouth, your lips—it’s, fuck—you lick them a lot when you talk, it’s why you’re always complaining—about them being chapped,” Tom groans at a particular squeeze of his head near the back of your throat, the fingers, “where the fuck did you learn to suck cock like this?”

Tom slips back into his comfort area easily, rambling on and on above you—but it’s keeping his mind off Ruth and that’s exactly what you want, even if it is letting on a little more than you expect from you friend, however, you were the one with your mouth around his cock, so you weren’t in any position to judge. 

And it’s almost as if Tom can read your mind, “Can’t keeping going on like this as your friend, love—“ His hips are rocking into your mouth now, slow and rhythmic as the shelves creak with every movement, his groans growing longer and louder with every small gurgle or moan that you make, letting him fuck himself into your mouth until he can’t handle it any longer, pulling you away with a small warning, “—fuck, where—where can I—“

You wrap your hand around the one of his that’s holding his cock, pressing it against your parted lips until he gets the idea, nodding as swats your hand away, his eyes squeezing shut as he comes, groaning out a whiney, “Fucking hell.” as the salty, heady taste of him hits your tongue, his hand slowly jerks him through the aftershocks before he’s heaving a long sigh, leaning his full weight against the shelf.

And thank god they were bolted down, because Tom hasn’t looked this spent in a while. He reaches blindly for a linen sheet, motioning for you to stand. 

“God, if I could keep you like this,” He speaks idly, having made a mess over your mouth, cheeks, some of it having spilled down your neck, “you look—“ Tom huffs in disbelief, “can’t fuckin’ believe you.”

Tom shales his head once more, trying to stifle the smile that threatened to slip through as he wiped the remains of his cum away from your face, gingerly as he titled your face up to wipe at your neck before balling the cloth up and tossing it in the dirty laundry bin.  

“Wanna finish that sentence you were in the middle of?” You tease, moving away for a brief moment as Tom redressed before brushing your tousled hair away from your face, warm hands pressing against the side of your neck.

He doesn’t hide his smile this time, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth and chewing, a terrible habit that left it raw and bleeding some days. Your thumb pulls at the soft skin of his lip, rubbing it over the wet spot he’d created there.

“Do you fancy me, Tom?” You say quietly, teasing him further. “Is that why you’re cooking for me all the time? Bringing me breakfast in the mornings?”

“You do the same for me,” He defends, jokingly offended, “why—you wanna cuppa?”

You snort into your hand, pulling away to hide the loud laugh that escapes you.

“What—what did I say?” Tom asks, wide eyed and confused.

“Nothin’—just, I came here to drop off a delivery, now we’re standing here after I had your cock in my mouth and you’re trying to offer me a cup of tea?”

Tom nods slowly, “Yeah—Yeah, seems I am. What—you love my tea.”

“I do, I do.” You quickly agree.

“So, back to my place then?” Tom asks, his thumb rubbing at the line of your jaw, touch still hot against your skin from where he’s holding you. “Unless you have more linens to put away–”

“Oh, fuck off.” You mumble, shoving him away lightly.

It was the last time you ever heard him speak about Ruth–and for Tom’s sake, he’s thankful for that.

[atallephoculary]

—- G o s p e l —

[ @extristitiavenit ]

Hope County was truly a beautiful place; the cascading mountains and rolling hills of fertile farmland seemed to stretch for miles and miles, disappearing into lines of thick spring pines that dotted the horizon. It seemed like it was such an idyllic place; Marion often found herself reminiscing about her childhood home in Baton Rouge, Louisiana whilst on her lunch breaks due to the overwhelming amount of very beautiful but very foreign scenery… A swampy transplant into an arid tundra, a fish out of water. Being sent all over the country was hard enough as it was, but never being able to stay in one place long enough to grow some roots was harder. It was always something- a new job, a boyfriend, loss of income— something- something- something… Deputy Fuller had hoped that a change of scenery into the God fearing farmlands would strike down whatever wandering roots that would grab soil. Maybe this could actually be the place she settled down and called it good. Maybe it was the place where she would live and die quietly after she finished with whatever dumb prospect this job was.

The station was quiet, though as usual there was a gentle chatter over the radio between squad cars and her co-workers idle conversations flowing through the air in a gentle hum while the air conditioning unit whirs quietly overhead. As nice as it was to have such down time, it did put a slight alarm through her. Could it be quiet here for longer than a day? Probably not- there was always something happening over the radio, with those Peggies meandering around the valley and mountains- the ‘Eden’s Gate’ project, or whatever.. She really didn’t care. It didn’t affect her life, (well- it did- it did so much she ended up in Hope County, Montana to fill in a position that was, in fact, permanently vacant); and the ways it did affect her were easily written off with a nice blunt and a cold drink at her small cabin after work. Quitting time was always on her mind- her hazy green hues darting over to the white bubble clock that hung over the dirty front door. 5:15 p.m.- another 15 minutes until she could clock out and head home… Outside, a caravan of white vehicles with that stupid cross painted on the sides of them head down the main thoroughfare- honking and blasting their music loud enough to be heard all the way inside the station offices- “Keep your rifle by our side!” The tune hangs high in the air like a flag, and soon the cacophony of tires and engines and guitars fade into the distance until there was nothing left but the gentle clicking of the clock and the hum of the air conditioner. Marion rolled her eyes, stretched her arms up above her head and let off a loud yawn; hands unceremoniously rubbing her face and pushing back her mess of black curly hair. What a boring day. Nothing but paperwork and emails, two phone calls from the F.A.N.G center and one from the Chief to keep an eye out for a package that may or may not show up. Again. What a thrilling job; (Junior) Deputy Sheriff and she may as well have been a fucking secretary.

Another shift, another day completed; clocking out with an actual time punch was always one of the best parts of the job, one of those ‘little things’ her therapist back in Los Angeles told her when she was in her early years of being on the force.. What a lifetime ago, freshly 18 and just wanting to do the right thing— a road to hell paved with the best of intentions.. The old machine reams the paper with a clunk and Marion is out the door with her bag and glasses in hand, headed out to the old Ford truck in the parking lot.. The sun was setting by now, the sky being painted in brilliant chunks of reds and oranges and pinks.. A nice view for the drive home too, tires whirring down the evenly paved road down into Holland Valley. Farm land, for miles and miles. At least, she thought, it didn’t stink like some parts of the country she had stayed in.. These people out here took good care of their livestock and it showed. When the engine of the trucks begun to rattle and almost scream with uncertainty, it made her flicker back to reality and ease off the road and onto the shoulder; smoke flooding from the hood of the car as the lever under her seat was pressed with trepidation and concern for how she was now going to get home.

Standing over the fried engine, lit cigarette between her lips and flashlight in her southpaw, she felt like a real tool standing out there in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere, nothing but trees and fields and cars that scooted by almost hurriedly as the night settled into the valley. Marion didn’t blame them- things tended to get sketchy at best when night came.

“Aaaah fuckin’… Ya’ piece of shit, perfect fuckin’ timing to die out on me huh. You juss’ loooooove causing me issues.” The bayou woman scoffed and slammed the hood down after settling on a diagnosis: Fried radiator and snapped belt, transmission broken. Absolute destruction. Leaning now with her back to the warmed metal of the hood, she idly flicks through her phone— no signal— no reach. There was nothing out here, and she wasn’t exactly able to take a radio from the station. That was priorly a write up. So with a scoff and a groan and a few more expletives, Marion cleared the cab of her belongings and shoved them unceremoniously into her leather backpack, turned off the lights and slammed the truck door closed with a thud. There was nothing now but the eerie silence and the air current moving through the trees- if she didn’t like the dark at home, she surely hated it when outside. There was a certain fear that comes with walking alone at night, but hopefully, hopefully, the 13 mile walk in almost pitch darkness wouldn’t be that bad.

[cas-backwards-tie]

Chapter One: Hesitations Downfallen

Thomas Hewitt x Reader

The Family Name

Summary: Stuck in traffic in an overheated car with your fellow camp counselors, you're left with a decision that could buy you more time to chill before the kids arrive at camp, or that'll lead to a major scolding from the Head Counselor.

Words: 2.6k

Warnings: Cursing, Impulsive Behavior, Peer Pressure, Racism (if you squint), Assault,

A/N: This is something that's... so random for me, personally, to write. I think it's because I'd been following the beta'ing of TCM game and then watching as it released. So we can thank Delirious for this! Considering this is also out of my usual element, I think it'd be fun to experiment with and write something a little more gruesome, unruly, and dark.

It felt like it went on forever, the endless highway turning into road as you lean your head against the window. “I don’t know why they chose to go this way when there’s a fucking downed bridge! If they just followed the map they’d see it’s much quicker if we hopped off and got back on at the Two-Ninety Junction.”

Eyes shifting to the two yellow buses leading your caravan down to Pedernales State Park, you let your attention flicker back out your window onto the grassy plains that seem to stretch on into the distance. Trees sporadically line the walls of fence that edge the highway, roofs of houses now having lessened in number now that you've passed Austin. The plush green and cream-colored grass swaying in the wind is relaxing juxtaposed to the stagnant piled-up highway that’s been directly in front of the car for the past forty minutes.

“Guess someone didn’t read the papers this morning-“ Connie says, “or they were just too lazy to reroute the trip.” The comment elicits a laugh from the group of friends and colleagues you’d been pushed to travel with. As one of the returning counselors this summer at Camp Cherry Springs, there’d been an initiative to get to know the new recruits that had the pleasure of joining you and the more experienced counselors— Connie, Sonny, Leland, Julie, and Ana—in the cars while the ones who’d taken the short straws wound up joining the kids on the buses for the three-hour drive.

With a jerky stop-and-go, cars begin moving ever so slowly. "There's an opening, Lee!" Julie exclaims with a little bounce in her seat as she points out a dodgy game of cutting people off to get to the nearest exit on the highway. Sonny groans in his seat, sitting back against the sticky warm fabric of the car. He fans himself with one hand as you've all been trapped in the car without air conditioning for the past twenty minutes. The engine had started to compensate when it'd begun to overheat.

"Let's just get on with it! If we can get off, find a bathroom, and maybe get something to drink before getting back on the road and still beating them to camp, then I'm in," Sonny concedes. Ana looks between you and Sonny in the backseat, questioning whether she should encourage Julie and Leland's impulsive behavior or stay with the caravan, as directed by the Head Counselor: AKA the Boss.

"Mm, if Sonny's in then I gotta say go for it! What about you?" Ana turns her attention to you for a moment before eyeing Connie in the back. "Connie?"

"Hit the pedal, Lee!" Connie encourages. With the exit just feet away, Leland turns on his turn signal, giving scarce warning before turning the wheel and cutting across three lanes of traffic to get off the highway. The line at the light is still fairly long, but not nearly as horrifying as the seemingly neverending stall of traffic on the highway. Soon enough the street light turns green and you're able to cut a right turn and head down Julie's supposed shortcut.

With a fifteen-minute ride down a local highway, you wind up eventually taking a left, and then a right, and now the town's shops and homes start to turn into barns and acres of farmland. You don't mind, however, the cows, horses, and occasional sheep are a nice welcome compared to the previous mechanic purgatory everyone seemed to be suffering in considering the air-conditioning had stalled. Now, however, the air is back on, though it's not needed. The sun has passed its peak, windows are down, and cool air is freely flowing through the windows of the car, creating a vacuum of pleasant and exhilarating wind.

The thump of the bass of the music playing on the classic hits channel is something you could easily find yourself bopping to, glad your friends had taken that chance. Hand out the window, you watch as it dances in the wind, making shapes with your fingers and letting the wind drift around it. Sipping on the slushie you got back at the Quik-Trip you'd stopped at a few miles back, you let yourself hum in delight at the cool sugary sweet taste. Ana passes over the corn chips and you pop a few into your mouth, crunching away, a blissful contrast of sweet and salty coating your tongue.

No longer antsy and intent on getting to camp as quickly as humanly possible, you can easily see on the clock that you're well ahead of schedule. Once again you've found yourself admiring the scenery, farmland occasionally now interspersed with factories and a ghost town or two. While not uncommon in this area, you find it intriguing to imagine what the towns must've once been like. Surely, someone at some point built the place and was intent to live there. So what was their story? Distracted and lost in thought, you hardly tune in when Sonny speaks up. It's only when Leland repeats what the former must've said that you realize it's more pertinent than you'd thought.

"Bathroom? Good luck finding one out here, bud!" Leland laughs, shaking his head. "Just go in the cup and chuck it out the window."

"I've... actually gotta go too," you speak up hesitantly. Leland's current attitude toward Sonny isn't the nicest, and while you know that Sonny's the odd one out, you can't help but feel compassion for him. The man releases a quiet groan, fingers tapping against the side of the driver's door as he thinks.

"Well, if you see anywhere we can actually stop, then say somethin'!"

Though you'd needed to pee about ten minutes ago, the urge increases, and you all are running out of stops. "Good Barbecue Ahead!" Ana reads a sign as you pass it on a side road. Though some of the places you've been passing have become more sparse and give an eerie sense of de trop. "Maybe they'll have a bathroom there?" She proposes.

"Good idea," Connie compliments, hands resting on the back of your guys' seat. "Plus we could grab another couple snacks if need be."

Focused on the bouncing of your leg, you try to keep calm. You hadn't thought things through before getting a big slushie at the convenience station back there. Luckily, your friends had your back.

As trees pass and the grassy plains start to look a little more habitable, more wildlife emerging, you know you're getting close. "There it is! Pull over, Leland," Julie commands. Knowing Leland, he'd joke, drive past, and then turn around only to go in. Or make Sonny just go in the cup if you hadn't needed to go. A cruel joke, boys being boys, they'd argue.

As the car comes to a stop, Leland decides he'll top off the gas. Sonny races for the bathroom. Ana debates staying in the car while Connie decides to see what barbecue they have. Of course, you follow after Sonny.

Quick Soda. The name of the service station. Underneath the red Coca-Cola-resembling sign lies another one in darker red reading: We Slaughter BARBECUE. The presentation is nice. Pushing the slated swing doors open, you see a bar to your right while a counter lies on your left. Connie inspects whatever's inside the counter's display case, while Ana seemingly decided to join and look at the little gift shop trinkets. "Can I help you?" A sweet and drawn-out voice causes your attention to drift over to the far right where an older lady stands behind a cashier's stand. You hadn't noticed it at first.

"Oh! Hello- Hi- Yes. Do... you guys have a bathroom by chance, Miss?" You ask. While she'd caught you off-guard, you still want to be polite. Even if the need to pee is becoming increasingly more urgent.

"Same as I told that boy. It's 'round back. Got signs on 'em. One for the men, one for the women... 's open." With an unaffected face, she seems ready to end the conversation before sticking her hand out a little for your attention just as you'd turned. "Tell yer frien' to slow down, why don'tcha?" She chuckles.

"Will do, Ma'am. Thank you," you retort, offering a playful smile and nod before heading back outside and around the back.

While the front may have been trim and proper, the further back you go, the less unruly the grass gets. The outhouse looks fine enough, even if it's a little shabby. Luckily, it's only this once. Well... until you get to camp. But it isn't anything unfazing. Country life is different, after all! There's a long white fence out back behind everything, some boards broken, though overall a nice picture of the country as farmland spans on for miles behind it. A few trees scatter the edge of the property, some wildflowers poking out of bushes and the tall grass.

In the outhouse, it doesn't take long for you to... take care of business. Fortunately, there was toilet paper, even if it was one-ply and not the best, you made do. After all, you're sure the shopkeepers are doing what they can and so far their business strikes you as impressive for what you'd seen of the town so far on the way here. That being, there wasn't much of one, really. Though people out here are probably used to a longer commute, you figure. Upon exiting the outhouse you hear a whimpering that catches your attention, worry emerging.

Interest piqued, you walk over to the source of the noises coming from a spot directly behind the wooden building by the fence. After a moment of pulling the tall grass back, you find your lips parting as a silent cry lingers in your throat.

--------

Like an angel surrounded by white and pink, the color of all things lovely, there's an innate femininity in the way she holds herself. Perhaps it was the jewelry adorning her earlobes, neck, and fingers, or the way her face was painted that day... yet ultimately it was a sight to behold there in the flesh. A swish of her long locks over her shoulders to gracefully tumble down her back, her eyes set upon him.

Lips parting in surprise and shock at the unexpected sight, astonishment is the only word that comes to mind. It's the one that made her hesitate momentarily as she took in his soft-looking curly locks and the intense set of eyes drawing her to the giant before her.

Only a matter of a yard and a half stood between them, yet it didn't take long for reality to set back in. With determined, purposeful long strides, he attempts to close the distance before she even thinks to run. The woman whips her head back toward whatever she'd been looking at before meeting his eye once more.

Putting her hands up in a silent command, she makes a pushing movement twice, a telltale sign for him to 'stop' or 'wait'. He knows that much. Repeating her earlier movement of gauging something in the grass beside her, beautiful light eyes find dark ones again. The man hadn't slowed down from her perception, yet he'd been taken aback for a split-second, causing him to second-guess his familial orders. Finger raised to her lips, she commands him again. It flicks downward till she's pointing at the shielded spot. Whatever lie in the grass, it's not visible to him from the few feet still lingering between them. Her vision shifts again, yet once they meet his, it's over.

Another surprise, a fortuitous omen, perhaps, if one believed in such things. An unforeseen exchange, something he never would have predicted upon waking this morning; a smile graces her lips. Teeth peek out from behind her rosy lips as her hands curl up in front of her, beckoning him over with a tacit motion. Upon first glance, he could admit to himself that his reaction was not one he anticipated, personally. Though the signs and motions elicit a curiosity that one cannot deny has its clutch on humanity. Especially those that are sheltered from much of life's offerings. It doesn't even feel like a decision; at least, not a conscious one, at that. Thomas slows his pace down to a quiet, normal approach. While the woman may not know that her implicit request was unnecessary, being there no current reason to speak, he follows suit, nonetheless.

"Look!" She quietly calls, voice traveling the short distance between them now as he bends her knees slightly, vision returning to that patch of grass once more. "Look."

While it may annoy him to no end that whatever it is certainly has more intrigue than him, the excitement that fills him in anticipation is exhilarating. There's a fear too, no doubt, a worry that she will make a break and run for it once he finally gets close enough. However, the kind regard has left him feeling a multitude of emotions he can't begin to comprehend, nor analyze at this moment in time.

As the giant of a man slowly gets within reaching distance, she points out the object of her focus in hopes of sharing a fond memory with someone. None of her friends had come in search of her, and while the saying of 'stranger danger' is by no means simply a children's tale, she's found there tend to be many more friends than foes in the world. "Look at how cute," she whispers, the smile never leaving her lips as she shifts her vision between the giant and the sight. Within the tall green grass sat behind the rest stop's main building there the woman had heard a quiet 'chittering' upon exiting the outhouse. Being one of a curious nature, she found that in a divet where the grass has clearly been passed over many times, there was an open bundle of kindling, soft fur, twigs, and grass all twined together. That, though, had not been the cause of her smile. Inside, a nest of baby bunnies were wiggling and squirming about as a way of seeking each other and their warmth out.

Hands on her knees, the woman finally looks back at him, this time with a concerned look in her eyes. "Do you think their mom abandoned them?" Thomas' eyes finally detach from the adorable sight before them. He wants to tell her that 'No. It's unlikely,' yet he can't bring himself to. She shakes her head, a smile reappearing on her face once more as her attention returns to the sight before them. "What am I saying? Of course not. She's probably out getting food for them or something. They're fine." Watching the woman straighten her posture, he does the same, however, he still overwhelms her stature by easily over a foot and a half if not more.

A little daunted by his stature, she continues to smile through the uncomfortability of being so close to a stranger, a man, at that. "Right?" She asks, attempting to break the silence between them as he still hasn't said anything. He hadn't even commented on how cute the baby bunnies were! Their fluffy little bodies and tiny ears still pressed to the napes of their necks, eyes not yet opened. Watching him slowly nod his head, eyes having never left hers once they'd both come to a stand, she's finally relieved that she's not talking to a wall. Just as she searches his eyes and goes to say goodbye, he quickly brings his intertwined hands down upon her head. There's a feeling of falling, and then... blackness.

~~~~~~~~

forever taglist: @ohdamnadam , @safarigirlsp , @jynzandtonic , @moonlightsolo

[wheels-of-despair]

Enough | A Make Up Story | Tom Grant x You | Series Masterlist

Chapter 2: Could Be Worse Words: 2.5k

"Had a nice reunion with Jade, did ya?"

He might as well have punched you in the gut. You lean back against your car, still halfway in a ditch, seeing them all over again. You exhale shakily and try to think of a witty response, but your thoughts are too scattered to provide one.

He steps closer and leans on your car next to you; not touching, but close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off of him in the cool night air. You stare off into the distance together, trying to collect yourselves as you watch the moonlight illuminate the blades of grass swaying in the breeze.

"I'm sorry," he says. "That was unkind. The girl… the other girl… she came here to be with me. Or so I thought."

You angle your head toward him, not quite facing him, and see the glimmer of a tear slipping down his cheek.

"Been together for three fuckin' years. Here a week, and Jade steals her away like it's nothing." He rubs his face angrily with his sleeve.

"She has that effect on people," you tell him sympathetically. "Just… consumes your entire fucking life. Don't even think she knows what she's doing."

Tom swipes at his cheeks again.

"I'm sorry," you whisper.

"I don't care."

"I think you do."

"How would you know?" he snaps. You swallow, and proceed gently.

"I know what it's like to love someone who doesn't love you back."

You sigh together and stand in silence, not sure what to do next. This is the worst night of your fucking life. Heart broken, car broken, alone with some random crying guy in the middle of nowhere. Where do you go from here?

"How fuckin' dumb are we?" His bitter laugh comes as a welcome sound, breaking up the deafening silence of the night.

"Could be worse," you smile.

"How?" he challenges.

"I could've run over your stupid ass."

He laughs. "Yeah, I guess that would've been worse. For you, at least."

You lean over and knock him gently with your shoulder, and he loses his balance and stumbles.

"Are you drunk?"

"Maybe," he says cheekily, having turned around to steady himself with his palms on the cool metal of your crooked car. You roll your eyes, even though it's too dark for him to see.

"Well… I'd offer you a ride into town, but I don't think this fucker's coming out by herself." You give the door a smack.

"I'll get the work truck and pull you out in the morning."

"And until then?"

He tilts his head back toward the place you were both running from. Absolutely not.

"I'll sleep in the car."

"No, you won't."

"Don't tell me what to do, Drunk Guy Who Walks in the Middle of the Road."

"We're not going anywhere near them, Girl Who Almost Ran Me Over. There's an unlocked van near the entrance that hasn't been stripped yet. People just left today. We can crash in there tonight, nobody'll even know."

You stay silent.

"I'd offer you your pick of caravans, princess, but I don't have my keys." He pauses. "It's gonna get cold out here tonight. Lots of wild animals out here, too." As if on cue, something screeches in such an unsettling way, your hair stands on end.

"Fine," you grumble. You open your car door and lean in to grab your bag of necessities… and the groceries too. Jade may have lost her chance, but at least somebody would benefit from your signature hangover cure in the morning.

"What's this?" Tom asks when you shove the grocery bag in his hands.

"You'll thank me later," is the only explanation you offer. You really don't feel like having to explain how ready and willing you were to take care of the woman who'd just stolen Tom's girlfriend from him.

You lock your car - which is far enough in the ditch to not block the road - and turn back toward the caravan park. It's not until you begin walking that you realize how drunk Tom is. He didn't slur his words or get giggly or emotional like Jade did when she was hammered, but he was dragging his feet and stumbling. When he trips over nothing for the third time, you sling your bag across your body and slide yourself under his arm.

"Don't get any ideas, Drunk Boy, you're making me sick with all this weaving you're doing." You point ahead. "Ready to try a straight line?"

"Piss off," he mumbles, but there's no anger in his voice. You grin and guide him forward.

He has to stop and get his bearings when you reach the caravans closest to the main road, but eventually finds the one he's searching for. He opens the door and gestures for you to enter. You step inside the dark room and stop, not knowing where the light switch is or what might be waiting for you to trip over. Tom crashes into you with a grunt a second later, then turns on the light.

It hadn't been scrubbed yet, but it wasn't in bad shape.

Tom sets the groceries on the table and stands there awkwardly. You have to give him credit; as uncoordinated as he was, he never dropped it.

"There's sandwich stuff in there," you tell him, pointing to the bag. "Make yourself something to eat, I'm going to change the sheets."

"Not hungry. I'll do it."

"You're gonna want something to soak up all the booze you've got sloshing around in there," you gesture to his stomach with a smirk. It rumbles helpfully to illustrate your point.

"Spares are in the top of the closet," he says, dropping into a chair at the table and starting to pull out the food you'd bought for Jade. You turn to hide your smile. You strip the sheets and put on clean ones, then return to the tiny kitchen.

Tom's made you a sandwich. It's sitting on a paper napkin across from where he's destroying his own. You step past him to look through the cabinets, and find a stack of paper cups. Those will do. You pour two cups of the weird pop Jade likes and slide one toward Tom, taking your seat across from him.

He takes a sip. "The fuck is this?"

"Something Jade likes," you shrug.

"She has horrible taste," he blanches, then takes another bite of his sandwich. He looks up to see your pointed stare.

"…in drinks," he says through a full mouth.

"Nice save," you admonish sarcastically before taking a sip from your own cup. "Good god, is this made from goat urine?"

Tom snorts, causing him to choke on his sandwich. You get up to slap him on the back and dislodge the hunk of bread, and when he recovers, you take your cups to the sink and pour the god-awful liquid down the drain. You rinse and fill them with water, then return to your seat.

"First you try to run me over," he takes a gulp from his cup, "then you try to poison me. What's next? You gonna drown me in the sea?"

"Only if you survive the fall when I push you down the dunes," you wink, taking another bite of your sandwich.

He grins and shoves the last bit of food in his mouth, then begins cleaning up his side of the table. He even sticks your perishables in the tiny fridge for you. No sense in spoiled food and broken hearts, you suppose.

"You take the bed, I'll sleep on the sofa." He'd waited 'til you'd just taken a bite so you couldn't protest. Without waiting for a response, Tom walks into the living room and flops down on the tiny sofa under the window. He yelps, flails, and falls back onto the floor.

You jump up and flick the living room light on. Tom lifts the front of his jumper to his nose, sniffs, then breathes a sigh of relief. "Oh thank fuck, it's only beer. Thought I'd just laid face-down in someone's piss."

You snort and cover your mouth with your hand, body shaking with silent giggles.

"Oh, you think this is funny, do you?"

"No," you lie. Tom glares and picks himself up off the floor, peeling his now-wet jacket off. He hangs it on a wall hook, then turns back to stare at the sofa, looking for a dry spot big enough to lie in.

"C'mon," you tilt your head toward the bedroom. "I solemnly swear not to spoon you."

"You're sure?"

"Unless you really want me to?"

"No, I mean…" You know what he meant.

"After all we've been through? I think we can survive one night together."

[swissboyhisch]

The Aussie Easter Experience

Pairing: Nico Hischier x Reader

Summary: Nico gets to experience an Aussie Easter

Word Count: 1311

Warnings: Alcohol. Oh and kids cause they always should come with warnings

THE MASTERLIST JOIN THE TAGLIST HOCKEY DISCORD

After getting knocked out of the playoffs just before Easter, Nico and yourself decided to just head to Australia to spend the holiday with your family. It was a big deal in your family. With all your nieces and nephews, it was an all day deal. Nico chose to make the best out of the shitty season he and the boys had. To be able to spend the holiday with some family.

You two had flown in the day before the big day. The house was already full with visiting family who were staying with your parents. Caravans were parked in your front yard. Luckily you had grown up on a large property where your parents still lived. Nico and yourself were given your old room which was still pretty much how you left it. 

The Sunday morning came around and the sound of giggling children on the other side of your bedroom door had woken you up. You were quick to nudge Nico awake. 

“If you don’t wake up right now, you’ll have about 5 kids under the age of 7 jump on you and beg you to get up.” Nico groaned, pulling the covers above his head. You were quick to join him as the door was thrown open and the gaggle of kids rushed in. “We’re up, we’re up.”

Nico threw the covers off of you two and over the kids laying on top of you. Trapping them under the blanket. “I’ve got you guys now!”

The giggling quieted down as the kids quickly left the bedroom. The last left was Layla who had chosen to cuddle up to Nico. “Uncle Nico. I missed you.”

“What about me?” You mutter, getting up and pulling out an outfit from your suitcase.

“You too Aunty (Y/N)!”

She goes out of the room allowing you and Nico to change. You two were quick to make your way into the lounge room where the family had all crammed in for breakfast. The adults around the dining table and on the couches with the kid in the lounge room.

“Since our teenagers are up,” Your mother jokes, smiling as the two of you take a seat beside your sibling, Dylan, “We can get started with our Easter. You kids can now pick up your basket. Only the one with your name though.”

The kids sitting on the lounge room floor all cheer. With your 5 older siblings and older cousins, there were a total of 11 kids in the room. Ranging from 4 months old to 8 years old. The perfect ages for a big Easter celebration. The first thing each kid under 18 gets is a basket each that contains a pair of pyjamas , a movie and a chocolate bunny. 

Breakfast was placed on the table. A wide spread of bacon and eggs, pancakes, croissants and fruit was put out. Oh and you couldn’t forget the three different types of hot cross buns, fruit, fruitless and chocolate chip. Everyone piled up their plates and found a seat around the room. Yourself and Nico set yourselves up with your siblings Dylan, Molly and Nick in the lounge room. Dylan was your only younger sibling at 18, just aging out of the Easter traditions. Nick was the next sibling after you at 25 and then Molly was 26. 

“What’s these?” Nico asked, poking your hot cross bun on your plate with his fork. 

“It’s a hot cross bun,” You answer, picking up one of the buttered halves and holding it up to his mouth. “It’s a sweet, spiced bread. There isn’t any fruit in this one.”

He took a bite and grinned, “They taste good!”

“Right? We only have these at Easter.”

Molly rolls her eyes, “Shops start stocking them the day after Christmas these days.”

“Here’s a juice each,” your mum offers, coming over to Nico and you. 

The pair of you take the glasses of orange juice from her. You went straight in for a sip. Enjoying the refreshing beverage. Mid way, one by one the fathers started disappearing from the room, going out back to hide the eggs. Luckily the kids didn’t notice, too enthralled by the pancakes and chocolate chip hot cross buns. Nico did instead, turning to you in curiosity.

“What’s happening?”

You leant in, whispering in his ear, “They’re going to hide the eggs.”

“Uncle Nico!” Your 4 year old nephew Wyatt toddled up to you guys on the couch. He held his arms up, wanting to be sitting with you. “Look, a bunny.”

Nico lifted the blonde boy onto the couch, sitting him on your lap facing Nico. Wyatt held up the chocolate bunny which had its wrapper already peeled back and a bite taken from the ears. You quickly snuck a bite of the bunny making the kid squeal.

“Guys look,” Dylan shouted, running in holding up a small, foil-wrapped egg, “The easter bunny came!”

All the kids raced outside to start the hunt, bringing their baskets with them. You got up, grabbing Charlotte from Kacey and her basket. She was a bit young to understand the whole idea of the hunt. So instead you wandered the yard, avoiding the gaggle of children running around the large yard. The rest of the adults had filed out of the house to watch the joy of the hunt.

“Mummy look!”

Bianca ran up to your older cousin Sarah. Showing her the collection of small eggs she had collected. Nico caught a glimpse of one you had snuck and opened. 

He was confused. He looked at you standing beside him, entertaining Charlotte. “Uh, the eggs are actually chocolate? Not plastic?”

“They’re chocolate, here,” You pass him a handful of the Cadbury eggs. “It’s a mix of flavours. I think there is Turkish delight, mint, cookies and cream and some others.”

Nico tried them one by one as he watched the kids enjoy the morning. Honestly, no-one knew how many eggs were actually hidden by the dads. Knowing your dad, a lot. He loved to spoil you as a kid. 

“You looking forward to the adult hunt?” Kendall asks Nico, not knowing you hadn’t told him.

“The what?”

Dylan laughed, “In our family, we have an adult hunt. Instead of chocolate we find alcohol. 18 plus is the age bracket for the hunt. Mum, Dad, Aunty Julie, Uncle Glenn, Aunt Rose and Uncle Johnno put it on. Everyone has a specific drink to find. Oh and the small bottles of alcohol are free for all.”

“I wasn’t asked…”

You shrug, giving Nico a bashful smile, “I told Mum your favourite was Emu.”

Nico smiled, pressing a kiss to your lips. “And what’s your choice of poison?”

“Cruisers. Specifically citrus ones.”

“Basic,” Dylan joked.

“Says the 18 year old planning to find Ronas.”

Once the kids had found them all, they went inside to watch Rise of the Guardians in the movie theatre. Then it was the adults' turn. You all sat in the lounge drinking the first drink of the day while the parents hid the alcohol. Your father came in, holding the little bottle of tequila.

“Who first?”

This was your time to shine. You got up the quickest and shot back the little bottle of alcohol. Then you got to start first. 30 seconds after you exited the back door, the others filed through. Nico was quick to join the hunt. Some of your older guy cousins were pushing each other around, trying to get to some of the old hiding spots. 

“How many do we have to collect?” Nico asks.

“12,” You reply, adding another to your little esky bag.

“And usually we drink them all today,” Kacey grinned. “Grandparents get to look after the kids while we have a party.”

You and Nico both pop open a bottle, clinking them together, “To Easter I guess.”

TAG LIST

@findapenny @mp0625 @hischierhaze @11zegras @lvrzegras @francesfarhadi @cixrosie @daisysthings @jayrami3

[michealsbiggestfan]

🄾🄽🄴 🄷🄴🄰🄳🄲🄰🄽🄽🄾🄽 - 🄾🄽🄴 🄲🄷🄰🅁🄰🄲🅃🄴🅁

fandom: South Park

characters: team stan, craigs gang, nathan & mimsy, the goths, la resistance

genre: platonic fluff

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stan can be incredibly lazy. he always gets pimples, has greasy hair, and forgets to use deodorant. it’s a very big part of the reason wendy broke up with him in the “raisins” episode, but she didn’t want to be rude.

kyle is one of the most sane tween boys you’ll ever see. he always washes his hands, remembers his manners, and helps his parents with cleaning sometimes. unless it had something to do with cartman’s schemes, he usually doesn’t get into much trouble.

kenny is the most rational out of the whole group. sometimes, he still thinks about what’ll happen when trent boyett gets out of jail. but since he’s still a little bit of an idiot like the rest, he doesn’t worry about it too much.

cartman is much more smart than everyone else. he just doesn’t use it for good. he uses his intelligence and his talent in manipulation to get people into trouble, or to do dirty work for him. he doesn’t feel remorse for what he does, either.

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craig doesn’t show much emotion because he doesn’t really care too much about other people apart from tweek, stripe and himself. if he sees something that he really does care about, he’ll show emotion. but in reality, he just doesn’t give two shits about getting in trouble, people like clyde who just whine about girls, and literally anything else in the world.

clyde isn’t actually that much of a crybaby. cartman people just purposely poke at him and annoy him so he cries, therefore having an excuse to call him a crybaby. although he is emotional, he’s not a crybaby.

jimmy spends a lot of time in the library, reading the blurb on books with people, then making fun of it, which usually makes people laugh. it also helps him to come up with new jokes, which is pretty helpful itself. that way, he’s making people laugh, and also coming up with new jokes to make at the same time.

tolkien originally was only friends with clyde. but then clyde started taking tolkien to hangouts with the rest of craig’s gang, which helped tolkien get into the group and find more friends.

tweek has slightly curly hair. wavy, more like. his hair isnt a birds nest because he doesnt take care of himself, his hair is a birds nest because he doesnt dry his hair after he washes it, which makes it all frizzy, so it looks like hes just been electrocuted.

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nathan is very lonely. notice how he always complains about jimmy getting all the girls? hes a very jealous person, and despite being young, cant help his jealousy towards jimmy, since jimmy "gets all the chicks". although jimmy is also just a child, hes more popular and gets more attention from girls than nathan ever has, likely because of nathans disability.

mimsy and maury, the raisins bodyguard, are siblings, hence the names sounding similar. theyre both opposites in a way, however. mimsy admires maury, but maury doesnt really notice it. mimsy wanted to be more like maury, and have a "job" of some sort, so thats why mimsy "works" for nathan.

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michael's cane belonged to his biological mom. before he was a goth, and his mom left, he begged her to just let him keep one of her things. since she had narcolepsy, she needed a cane to help her stay standing when she became incredibly sleepy during the day. she had gotten a new one just before she was going to leave, and decided to give it to michael. once he became goth, he decided it was a good accessory, so he carries it around daily.

pete has a cat. well, its a cat that usually sits near the caravan he lives in. its one of those hairless cats, but it has black-ish, grey-ish skin. since most people dont like hairless cats, and theyre considered ugly, he likes the cat a lot. he named the cat "licorice", since licorice is black, and also his favourite kind of sweet.

henrietta doesnt actually care much about conformists. she could give two shits and a cigarette about some kids who dont dress the same as her, dont listen to the same music as her, and dont have the same political views as her. she cares more about vamp kids, since theyre total posers trying to copy her if her and the other goths were censored.

firkle is secretly jealous of mike makowskis piercings. mike has an eyebrow piercing and a nose-bridge piercing. although firkle isnt jealous of the eyebrow piercing, he is very much jealous of the nose-bridge piercing, and promised himself to get one when he grew up and became an adult. but then he was like, "well, im already smoking, so why not now?", but then he looked in the mirror and remembered he had a baby face, so he just decided to wait until he was fourteen.

bonuses for pete: he has a sweet tooth, but he wont ever admit it. he likes baking too, but his mom isnt the richest, and his dad isnt around, which is why him and michael get along pretty well, and also why he can't afford ingrediants. pete was the only goth who wasnt born in south park. his mom was a druggie and slept with other guys whilst dating his father, so she grabbed pete and got in their caravan, driving away to south park, but at least he made friends. he didnt really have any friends where he was originally from.

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gregory is a fantastic actor, and that can be used in a both good and bad way. however, sometimes, his true sass can sometimes come through, showing how two faced he really is. his friendship with christophe is kind of two faced as well. in reality, gregory thinks christophe is kinda gross, filthy, and his british tendencies makes him annoyed at christophe's accent too.

christophe likes flowers as much as he liked digging. he doesnt like reading much, but when it comes to books about flowers, he cant help himself. his favourite kind of flowers are lilies. sometimes he puts them on his shirt, which makes gregory a bit confused, but christophe refuses to elaborate on it.

[hannahssimblr]

“Is that everything? Any petrol or diesel?”

“No... Actually, do you’ve something for bug bites?”

“Like, that insect repellent stuff or some kind of topical cream?”

“The repellent, please.”

“I think we have it,” the woman at the till goes to the shelves behind her while I lean across to watch as she rummages through rows of suncream and painkillers. 

“It’s the midges,” I say conversationally, “They eat me alive, see I think I’ve really delicious blood.”

“They’re annoying alright,” she scans a bottle of Jungle Formula and packs it into a plastic bag along with all of the junk food I’ve just bought. “That it?”

I scan the shelves quickly, “oh, actually, can I have a box of those too?”

She glances over her shoulder, “Condoms?”

“Yeah, please.”

She eyes me up, “Are you seventeen?”

“Yep.”

“I’m not sure you are.”

“Do I have a right to buy them?”

“I have a right to refuse if I don’t think that you’re the age of consent.”

“Respectfully I’m going to get them from somewhere whether you refuse or not,” she narrows her eyes to slits but I give her a big smile so that she can’t be angry, “Or if you want I’ll just not use protection and it’ll be your fault my life is ruined.”

“Do you have ID?”

“Why would I have ID? I’m seventeen.”

She snatches and tosses a box across the counter at me, “Fine, there you go, because I know well that you’d stand here all day and hold up the queue just by the look of you, you cheeky bollox. That’ll be Twenty three thirty altogether.”

“Yeah, no issue,” I slot my dad’s credit card into the machine and stab in his digits. I see her watching it, a weighted, black metal platinum visa, and it’s definitely obvious that it isn’t mine, but she doesn’t know my circumstances, and anyway I know that my dad would have given me money if I had felt like talking to him today, but I didn’t. Borrowing from his wallet is the same thing. 

I glance at the shopkeeper one last time before leaving, “What are the chances you’d score me a pack of cigarettes?”

“Get lost.”

I’m checking my text messages on the way out of the shop, so I don’t see the man walking in the opposite direction. We bump shoulders in the doorway and I mutter an apology before looking up and realising who I have just collided with. 

His nostrils flare as he looks me up and down, and as I stand and look cooly back at him I wonder if he gets off, like genuinely gets off on the idea of how threatening he thinks he is. 

“You’re a friend of Clóda?” He says.

“Yeah, and you are?”

“Her father.”

“Oh right, yeah. I guess I never made the connection.” I thought you were just some weirdo glaring over at us in the Boat Club, is what I want to add but I’m not sure I’m feeling entirely suicidal today. 

He stares me down until I feel my skin prickle, and when his eyes find my bag of shopping, including the Durex box pressing label-out through the translucent plastic his face turns a ferocious shade of puce. “How old are you?”

“Sixteen.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah.”

“And who are your parents?”

“Christopher and Colette, who are yours?”

“None of your business,” He splutters, “Are you one of those young fellas who hangs about in the caravan parks?”

“So what if I was?”

“Well my daughter is a hard worker, she’s busy at her job and I’d rather she wasn’t being distracted or having any of her time wasted.”

“Yeah, fine.”

“So if you wouldn’t mind steering clear of the Boat Club when she’s working, I’d rather you not hanging about and causing complaints from the customers.”

“Oh the customers complain about me, do they?”

He wrinkles his nose, “We prefer to uphold a certain standard at the club.”

My skin prickles, “So basically you don’t want anyone who looks like they stay in the caravan parks hanging around and making it look cheap.”

“That’s not an unreasonable request, especially since you don’t exactly dine with us, do you?”

I’m walking away already, “Yeah, fine, whatever.”

“I’m glad you understand.”

“Yep.”

On the shortcut through a holiday park I furiously kick a stone out of my way. Then a piece of rubbish. Then I spot a ceramic flower pot by the entrance to the communal showers and I kick that too, knocking it to the side and splitting it in two, and the soil spills out and the plant slumps to the tarmac. It looks pathetic so I kick it again. 

Suddenly a tennis ball comes from nowhere and whacks me in the back with a thunk. I whirl around, “Hey!”

“Hey yourself!” Kelly grabs another ball and flings it at me, and I duck as it wallops into the wall behind me. I grab and fling it back, “What’s your problem, Kelly?”

“What’s my problem?” She shrieks as she dodges it, “What’s your problem?”

“What is it with you and your brother throwing tennis balls at me, huh? What did I do now?”

She hurls another, “What are you doing here?”

“Ugh! Walking!”

“Well stay out of my caravan park. Go the long way around.”

“Your caravan park? Kelly, if this is about the frog in your hair-”

“The frog? Fuck your frog,” she lets out a tiny squeal as she jumps out of the path of the ball I’ve flung back, “and fuck you, by the way.”

“Fuck me? Fuck you Kelly, I’m not in the mood for this shit.”

“Shut up.”

“You shut up.”

“Suck my dick!” She spins on her heel and stalks away and I watch her for a minute, bewildered, until she disappears between a couple of mobile homes and then, when she’s fully gone and I am alone with the broken flower pot again, I pick up my overturned bag of goodies and shake my head. 

“Little weirdo.”

Beginning // Prev // Next

[aicosu]

Hellcheer Western Prompt

They're basically asleep when the neigh of a horse has them scrambling to their feet.

Eddie has to dive over the desk to shove his elbows down on Dustin's shoulders, both wrestling for a view out the broken shutters.

"People!" Dustin points out the obvious when he's pushed to the floor.

"Hide the guns!" Eddie barks, eyes still on the caravan of three kicking up dust through their two-manned ghost town.

"Which ones and where?"

They both turn to look at the piles of rifles, pistols, dynamite littering the surfaces of the entire building.

"Good point." Eddie palms his hair into his cheeks in thought. Fuck, strangers always meant acting. And that could be fun but lately it's been so stressful with the addition of their bounty posted from here to the north of winter's asshole. "Gimme the deputy badge."

"Nuh Uh!" Dustin scrambles up to protect his tin shield. "I hate being Sheriff!"

"No, I hate being Sheriff! They always want me to do shit for—"

"—last time I was Sheriff I had to change wheels—"

"—killing people constantly like I'm a fucking lawmen—"

"—and no one believes I'm old enough! No!"

"Gimme it!"

Another horse whinnies at the crack of a reign and Eddie tackles Dustin to the ground both scuffing spurs in a pathetic tussle on the jail building floor for less responsibility.

——

"Well, howdy."

"You the Sheriff?"

Eddie sucks his teeth with a cringe against the porch beam, and Dustin chuckles at his side. "Sure am."

"Place abandoned?"

It takes Eddie a second to realize the person he's talking to might be dame wearing a fake mustache. But he realizes it all the same, blinking against the dirt in the air and the sun in the sky. They have brown chopped hair and sharp angles in their face… plus pants on. So maybe a boy but… "Mine accident."

They whistle, unloading themselves from shotgun with shotgun. "Is it still safe for stopping?"

"We don't have hands for the saloon or board." Dustin rushes to say. Eddie pats him with approval. They really don't need stranger blowing their fake town cover.

"We have our own things. Provisions, linen, rafters, entertainment, and drink and most in the back would feel a mightier safer with a couple of lawmen to look out for bandits and wolves instead of me."

Eddie doesn't get a chance to protest.

"I'm the Ringer Robin by the way, should any introductions be made while we park our fares for just a few days. Ringer as in ringleader, leader as in—"

"It's a circus!" Dustin exclaims with a cough of excitement in his kiddy cheeks. He thumbs at the side of the caravan with a huge grin.

Eddie glares, leaning one way to see the painted canvas displayed on the three wagons. Circus. Real low in the laying.

"I don't think—"

"We'd do a show for you, Sheriff!"

God he hated being fucking called that.

"We're staying?" A voice flits from the back.

They all turn, and there in the shafts of sunlight burning gold into red on the edge of the world, forms a girl made from its last wink. A precious coin lost in dust. A delicate dandelion seed adrift in the west.

A lady.

She steps down from the caravan with grace he's not known, with clean hair and cleaner skin.

Adnorned in, uh, uhm, fuck, not much!

"Mm—hrnu-who—hungh-m-m-m—"

"Ma'am." Dustin achieves what he can't and has the decency to tip his hat all the way down to the ground as she quite literally traipses by in nothing but a strap suit that exposes her whole leg and backside, little hip ruffles not at all decent in covering anything more than what modesty she had left.

She chitters to Robin's side dangling finge and gems, great big, very valuable, and possible fence-able rhinestone eyes blinking at him.

At him. At him. At him!

"This is our lady of trapeze, who should very much stay in the wagon until I sa—"

"I'm bloodless in my legs." She whispers back with the shyest dip of her cutest nose. And it's been exactly five months since Eddie's seen anything as beautiful as her. The last being a peek of a sweet family dinner from a window outside the city. And she's immensely more delicious. Her eyes find him with demure excitement. "We heard rumor that the Crow Killer is a town over—"

"Crow Killer! HA! How fun, who, uh—what's, what's that?" Dustin's voice is loud enough in protest that the horse's scamper.

"Nope! Sorry, my deputy forgets the Marshalls visit fortnights ago…" Eddie grabs him by the neck to squeeze him quieter as subtly as possible. "Our, uh, sad little town of grief has no business for the likes of that…. Degenerate! I'm sure!"

"Sheriff Eddie's right, no... no shadow caped killer of hundreds to be found here. Nope. No nightime burgles or larceny... no, no, no."

The trapeze artist has such gall to look disappointed that Eddie has to resist falling to his knees before her and handing her his bounty and screaming, it's me! It's me!

"We're better off, I'm sure," Robin squints. "Come on, Chrissy girl, let's get everyone roped over by the water tower."

"That's empty." Dustin lies. The only two left of them doing his goddamn job. "It's really not the best place to camp."

Chrissy, Chrissy, Chrissy. Not even a Mary Anne or a Harriet type aristocrat name to make him retch. But a little jingle jangle name like tying a Chrissy to a mill for luck! Help him!

"Have you caught many outlaws?" Chrissy distractedly asks him, not moving to help Robin or his sanity.

He stares down at sweet cream skin and caramel spun hair like it's a mirage for a hungry desperado out of luck. "Uh, well, I, I've uh, yes! Of, course! P-part of the job, little… lady. Little... bird. Miss. Ma'am!"

Now he really sounds like every other belt-belly tight police man whose only skil was turning locks.

"Maybe we'll stay awhile and you could tell us Sheriff stories by the fire?" She leans in even as Robin calls for her.

She smells like yarrow in milk and honey.

"You really can't stay." Dustin says urgently at his elbow. Eddie puts a hand on the kid's face to push him backward.

"Yes! I'd be honored, to uh, be at the service of a proper debutante." He grins wide. When she giggles he gets worse. "A proper artist—angel, even! Of the skies! A... sheriff of the cloud themselves! Y-yes."

"Oh, good!" She smiles.

Dustin groans into his palm long and loud.

[illarian-rambling]

Can you tell me about Anarac Fifth-Blood ?

Feel free to info dump :)

Oh boy, you've just opened pandora's box, my friend! My other characters have lore, but Anarac has lore. As in, he's part of Illarian Holy Canon. But let's get to that in a bit >:)

Putting this under a cut because it got hella long lmao

Anarac was born 3500 years before the present day in the city of Dualn, capital of the Araunian Empire. (Fun fact: his surname is Fifth-Blood because his family had lived there for five generations, making his kids' surnames Sixth-Blood). Now, in the current day, Araun is a wasteland of poisonous desert, their empire and people wiped off the map until all that was left is their ruins. However, back in the day, it was the center of Illari civilization. Magic was basically invented there, along with things like written language and agriculture. See, it wasn't a desert back in the day, but we'll get to that.

For all his civilization's greatness, Anarac was kind of just a guy. He married his childhood sweetheart, had two kids basically right out of high school, and then divorced his childhood sweetheart a few years later when she up and left after deciding that she wanted more in life. Anarac was left as the sole guardian of his sons: Finian and Baerdyn. Despite his heartbreak, Anarac did his best to give his sons a happy childhood. He gave up on opening a resteraunt and took a job as a market guard, selling sandwiches out of a cart at night to make a little extra money on the side. Things might’ve been rough sometimes, but he and his sons were happy. Anarac always took the time, no matter how exhausted, to run around the park with Baerdyn or to help Finian study for his school's gifted program.

But all would not stay well. See, the Araunians knew of the dark force that curled around the Illari solar wheel. They built their cities as giant compounds to avoid going outside into the starlight. But your average Araunian wasn't too concerned with this. Anarac went outside at night often to ply his food cart wares to overnight travelers. This never had any impact for decades, but it was only when he got too close an elven caravan that he felt a certain curious pressure. Anarac followed this sensation until he came across a ring of dancing figures, one wild dancer at their center. The pressure in his skull grew until he blacked out. When he came to, his hands were wrapped around the dead dancer's neck, the rest of her companions having fled.

Anarac, though he didn't know these words, was End-Made-Flesh. One of those cursed folk the godkiller End could channel itself through. The elf he killed was a priest of the elven gods. Again though, Anarac didn't know this. All he knew was that he was terrified. He hid the body, knowing that if he was arrested, no one would be there to take care of his sons. He tried to live life as normal, except that pressure wouldn't leave. Not knowing what to do, after several weeks, Anarac went to a priest.

In the chamber of the temple, as the confused priest read out manuscripts describing End, Anarac felt that pressure again as he stepped under a skylight. The Araunians revered the sun, so most of their temples had skylights, but in this case, it only served to let in the stars. In that moment, Anarac was transformed into a true avatar of End. His form grew huge and monstrous, his consciousness locked into the back of his mind as End took control and tore through the temple before the priest could reveal the truth to Anarac.

For the next few years, Anarac lived as a prisoner in a body that was no longer his own. End ripped through temple after temple, hoping to weaken the worship of the gods. Anarac grew desperate for a way out. When they fought at a Skysheerian temple near the shore, he managed to trick End into entering the deep water. The only thing Anarac could control was his body's breathing and he very nearly managed to kill both himself and End. However, End was wilier than that. It also realized that its flesh needed to be punished and broken.

End returned to Dualn. It sought out Anarac's home where his sons still lived, Finian doing his best to take care of Baerdyn so they didn't end up in an orphanage. Wearing the face of their father, End entered even as Anarac screamed internally. It then ripped apart Anarac's sons with his own hands.

After that, Anarac stopped resisting. He couldn't do anything but scream without lungs as End refused to wash off his precious sons' blood. Soon after that, the Chosen were created by the Illarian gods to stop this avatar of End, which is an important moment in Illarian history. They killed Anarac by beheading and both Anarac's soul and the piece of End that inhabited his body were sent back up beyond the sun's light.

End is sort of like a colonial organism. It is made up of many minds, and after he died, Anarac became one of these minds. For thousands of years, he existed within this being. His identity was all but scraped away, the only thing left being his scream for his sons.

It was only when another avatar was created that Anarac was sent down to Illaros again, along with other minds of End, to inhabit her body. "Her" being Izjik of Honor's Outcasts. Through the power of proper socializing, Izjik managed to bring Anarac slightly back into awareness as they were both locked away while End committed atrocities once more. I'm not going to spoil the end of Honor's Outcasts, but suffice to say, Anarac's soul was eventually freed and entrusted to the Illarian god of loyalty, as not even the gods knew where the souls of the rest of the Araunians were. (Some time after Anarac died, the Araunian species went extinct in the same event that destroyed their empire, but we're not gonna get into that).

He stayed for a while in the god of loyalty's heaven, despite it not really being where he belong and despite him still being too terrified to speak to any other dead souls. For the first time in millenia, Anarac wasn't under End's control. He hardly knew what to do with himself.

The Starbreaker gets involved when some scientists and a Chosen decide to send a ship crewed by ghosts through space to break through End's blockade on the solar wheel. They picked several souls they thought might be important: a star sailor, an astronomer, a cartographer, and a smooth talker. But one thing was missing - someone who actually knew anything about End. Anarac was the only soul who could fulfill such a requirement, so he was sent along on his voyage through space, too. That's where the story of Starbreaker picks up, which I haven't written yet.

As he is in Starbreaker, Anarac barely remembers what it's like to be a person. Pretty much any sensation terrifies him. He forgets he can move and talk under his own power. Despite not knowing his role, the rest of the crew of the Starbreaker do their best to take care of him. And although he's deeply scarred, Anarac does try to help his crew in any small way he can. He's prone to silent gestures of kindness, and though he's usually too frightened to leave the hold, he will do so if he thinks his friends are in danger, though usually with a hand over his eyes. Pash especially, he seeks to protect, as the young fae can be exceptionally reckless. One thing that does draw Anarac out of his shell is music and cooking. He has no need to cook on a ship full of dead people, but on music nights, he will nod along to the beat, remembering a distant time when he used to love to dance. Out of all of the crew, he is the only one who know the true danger of their mission. He's terrified, yes, but also determined to finally get one up on the demon that tormented him for so long.

As for his appearance, look no further than my profile pic! He has red skin, blond hair, and orange eyes, and as a ghost, is still dressed in the archaic clothes he died in, with a gash around his neck indicating he was beheaded. I also have this picrew :)

So yeah, that's my most fucked up of fucked up little guys. Starbreaker will see him come out of his shell a bit now that he's around other people who can activate his protective parent instincts with their sheer dumbassery. Sorry for the super long post, but I can't say I didn't warn you lol

Anyways, thanks so much for the ask! I hope you have a bitchin day in return for making mine all the better for letting me info dump <3

[aneurinallday]

The Grey Man

Chapter 11: Home

Holford was blindfolded when the wagon stopped for the last time, and he was led down the steps and onto uneven ground. This time it was different: there were people about. He could only see suggestions of colour through the cloth, but judging by the noise and the sense of bustle, he was in a large camp.

He could hear multiple voices, men’s and women’s, but they spoke in a different language - all he could discern was that they were happy and confused and concerned. Tommy was speaking too, in a tone that suggested he was offering them explanations and reassurance.

Holford’s inability to understand them made him nervous, and he felt relief when Tommy ushered him into a car and took him away from that place. They drove in silence for an indeterminate time.

“You can take that off now,” Tommy said at last.

Holford removed his blindfold to see that night was falling. They were driving through farmland, past wheat and rapeseed fields, dark gold and vivid yellow in the deepening shadows. There were hedgerows and little houses and the occasional cluster of lazily grazing cattle. Civilisation.

“Where are we going?” Holford asked.

“Somewhere with a clean bed. Are you cold?”

“Only a little.”

“Hungry?”

“Yes.”

“Supper’s waiting for us.”

Tommy turned onto a gravel driveway, and parked in front of a modest two-storey house, which stood alone in a pretty patch of green.

“Out,” he ordered, and Holford obeyed.

A maid welcomed them at the door, with a familiarity that suggested she’d worked for the Shelbys in the past. She asked no questions, and seemed to know what was needed. Presumably, this wasn’t the first time Tommy had shown up after an unexplained absence with a strange guest.

Holford stared at her. After everything he’d been through in the past few weeks, being in an ordinary house with an ordinary person felt surreal.

“Food’s on the table, Mister Shelby,” said the maid as she hung up his coat.

“Thank you, Mary. Come on, doctor, let’s get some proper food down you.”

Supper was a humble but hearty affair. Boiled vegetables, buttery mashed potatoes, and a homemade pie filled with beef and gravy. Neither of them spoke, too busy eating - relishing every bite of the crisp pastry and the fluffy mash. Finishing his food, Holford set aside his knife and fork. He looked around at the cheap paintings on the walls, the higgledy-piggledy books on the shelves.

“Is this one of your houses?” he asked, finally breaking the silence.

“No, my sister is renting it on my behalf. I only had one house, and I blew it up with dynamite in preparation for my death. My land’s been requisitioned and turned into housing for the poor.”

“Oh,” said Holford sheepishly. “I’m sorry. That was my fault.”

The awkward silence resumed. The maid bustled about, clearing the table.

“All done, Mister Shelby? I’ve got rice pudding in the cupboard.”

“No, that’s alright, Mary.”

“What about tea before bed? Hot chocolate?”

“We’ll be fine, thank you. You can go home. But before you go, please run a bath for my guest. Oh, and please take the day off tomorrow.”

“Are you sure, Mister Shelby? You won’t need me to cook for you?”

“We’ll manage. Goodnight, Mary.”

“Goodnight, Mister Shelby.”

Tommy watched her leave, then returned his attention to Holford.

“You’ll be gone by the time she comes back,” said Tommy.

“Gone?”

“You heard me. Tomorrow, you can go. I’m letting you leave.”

“Are you certain?”

“Well, I’ve no reason to keep you here.”

“You won’t change your mind? I won’t wake up one morning to see your caravan parked outside my bedroom window?”

“The way I see it, you’re not a threat to me. Not without Mosley pulling your strings.” Tommy shrugged. “In the morning, I’ll arrange a car for you. It’ll take you north as far as Stafford, but you’ll have to find your own way back to your home in Derbyshire. I’ll give you enough money for a train, and for bed-and-board if you need to stay in Staffordshire overnight.”

“Thank you,” Holford said quietly. “You’re a good man, Mister Shelby.”

“Of all the lies you’ve told, that’s the most unbelievable.”

They heard the front door open and close as the maid left for the evening. They were alone now. Holford opened his mouth as if to speak, but then closed it again.

“What is it?” Tommy prompted him. “Say what you have to say.”

“I just wanted to…Mister Shelby, I can’t change anything that’s happened - anything that I’ve done. I can’t take back the lies I told, the harm I caused. But I want you to know, that if I could, I would. I wish we could have had a different life - one where you were just my patient and I was just your doctor.”

“Right.” Tommy cleared his throat awkwardly. “C’mon. Come with me.”

He led Holford upstairs, to a comfortably furnished bedroom with wood-panelled walls, a rug on the floor, and a small en-suite. An unremarkable room, yet it seemed luxurious. After the cramped bunk of the Romani wagon, the wide bed with its clean sheets and soft pillows looked like heaven. Holford couldn’t wait to fall into it. Finally, he could stretch out and get a good night’s sleep.

“This way,” Tommy nudged him towards the en-suite door, which was emanating heat and the tantalising scent of steam. To Holford, the sight of a full bath had never looked so divine.

Tommy sat him on the edge of the tub, and checked the temperature of the water with his hand.

“Do you need help undressing?”

“No, thank you.”

“Alright, I’ll leave you to it.”

Tommy busied himself with preparing the bedroom - turning on the bedside lamp, checking the latch on the window, closing the half-open curtains, making sure there was no gun in the drawer. He listened to the soft rustle of fabric as Holford undressed, dropping his clothes on the tiled floor. Holford carefully eased himself into in the bathtub, sighing as he relaxed in the hot water.

“I won’t tell anyone, you know,” said the doctor. “About you. About what’s happened. If anyone asks, I’ll tell them it was Mosley who kidnapped me. I’ll make up a story…”

“Don’t worry about that. Mosley’s days of influence are numbered. There’s a war coming, and his rhetoric is too dangerous for Churchill’s tastes. I’ll have men guard your estate and your London office, from a distance. If anyone comes for you, they’ll deal with it. Discreetly. You won’t even know anything happened. Just keep your head down. Understand?”

“I understand.”

Tommy left, but his thoughts remained in the room - in the lamplight - in the bathtub where Holford was now naked. He could see it clearly. Wet skin. Dark curls clinging to his temples and the nape of his neck. He wondered if the doctor was thinking of him too.

Chapter 12: Blue Eyes, Green Eyes