#still before midnight for the east coast too | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

whereisyourstar · 2 months ago

Text

Thank You

Part 7 of the Stand By, Hold Back, Be Patient series

Part 6

Rating: SFW, Mature

Word Count: 10.2k

Warnings: Angst, descriptions of violence, home invasions, choking, assault, blood, murder, panic attacks, mentions of sexual assault (mentions only, not described and do not happen to the reader), wound mutilation, don't hesitate to ask to tag any others I'm blanking out on

(AN: The warnings obviously give it away, but this part is heavier than the others. I toned it down a lot, but if any of those warnings sound like something you don't want to read, please message me and I'll give you the exact places to start and stop so you can read around it.)

The meeting wraps up just after midnight. For you, anyway. Due to the global nature of the somewhat shady operation your supervisors are running—there is, you think, a less than 1% chance that they're not using the site you write for to launder money somehow—meetings tend to be scheduled at strange times for the sole employee on the American east coast. This one started around ten tonight, and you've been dreading it all week for that reason. Ten isn't too incredibly late for you, but you're still subject to that deeply human psychological quirk of never being more tired than when you can't go to bed. That factor was doubled when the meeting's subject matter had been all about scheduled maintenance times for the site, the quarterly click statistics (then broken up into monthly stats, which was torture to sit through), and some vague talk about upping the possible earnings cap sometime in Q4. You made a valiant effort to stay present throughout the meeting, but sometime around the hour mark your brain started to long for the book you put down just before hopping into the call. Third in a series of romances, which is not usually your style, but the couple in this installment has you hooked—the love interest is so cartoonishly into the main character that it should be unbearable to sit through, and his "who did this to you" trope speech was objectively corny, but it's hitting so right for you regardless. Being on camera meant that you couldn't reach for the book and sneak in another chapter or two while the meeting was ongoing, but mulling over the unresolved romance between those two characters was the only thing keeping you awake as it wore on.

At least until Abby saw fit to hop into your lap and curl up there, at which point you were able to focus in while stroking your hand through her fur. If your supervisor minded, she never said anything. You did have to mute yourself when she started snoring, though. Encouraged by her noise, Heracles had started dream-yipping at your feet, and it was hard to fight your smile while they slept all over a long-winded response to a coworker's question. Another excellent reminder of just how much more bearable they make your life.

When the meeting is over and the little light by your webcam finally blinks off, you make short work of depositing Abby back to the floor and stretching a place in your upper back that's been bugging you for an hour now. The sticky note you keep over your webcam's lens is replaced—a precaution, just in case—and you find yourself with a weird amount of energy. Your body usually forces you to conk out around eleven most nights, but since you've pushed past that for the meeting, you've got something of a second wind. As you pull an arm across your chest to better get at that stiff upper back, you notice the book on the coffee table, and the opportunity presents itself so naturally. Wash your face, get into something comfortable, climb into bed, and spend however long this energy lasts knocking out the last few chapters in your book. Your sheets are newly washed and fitted on your bed already, a kindness you appreciate your earlier self for doing so much, and you know your favorite soft t-shirt is ready to be worn. Some, like your mother, could argue that your whole life out here is indulgent, but this—just the idea of curling up all cozy in bed with the book you like—sounds absolutely divine. The only thing it's missing is a cup of tea, maybe, but getting the kettle boiling is a lot more effort than you want to put in right now.

"Ready for bed?" you say to the dogs, crossing over to the table and retrieving the book. Two pairs of eyes stare back at you from the ground, tails curiously wagging. You cross your arms and smile down at them. "You're not getting second dinner, so don't even think about it."

They are thinking about it, you can tell, but for once there's something even more pressing on their minds. It's Heracles who stands and trots himself right over to the front door, looking back at you expectantly. For added effect, he pushes his paw against the wood and whines, his tail swinging back and forth like a metronome.

Ah. A small bump in the plan, but it's a necessary detour. With a nod to yourself, you toss the book back on the table and search around for your jacket—it's summer, but the nights can still get pretty cold out here. By the time you've gotten your jacket and shoes on, Abby's already joined her brother by the door, and she keeps glancing at the harnesses hanging up nearby. "We're not going far," you tell her, making your way to the small cabinet table by the door. Its cubby only holds one thing, and you take the hunting knife in its sheath and shove the entire thing into your jacket pocket. It's too late to bother with strapping it on, and besides, this will be quick. "It'll only be to pee, then it's back inside. Please don't make me run after you." You consider a threat, something like because you will not like what happens when I catch you, but you don't have that in you and you know they know it. These two have you so wrapped around their paws that it would make the dog trainer influencers that pop up on your social media feeds irate for days. But you wouldn't have it any other way, personally.

The night air is crisp and cool, a welcome reprieve after the heat of the day. It's been a slow, hazy march into June, but with the month half-over by now, you've come to appreciate the disparity between the sun being up and the sun being down. You spent more time indoors when you lived in New York, which means you never really noticed the seasons if it weren't obviously snowing, so this all feels new. Your body is still expecting hot, humid days and muggy, mosquito-filled nights—finding yourself shivering in the middle of June is kind of a fun novelty.

You plant yourself next to the treeline right in front of the house and take turns between watching Heracles and Abby sniffing around and observing the sky. It's clear tonight, and there's just enough of a moon to illuminate this front area in silvery light. Plenty of stars, though, all glittering down from their homes in the void. It reminds you to look up when Argo Navis is visible around here, if ever—Jason showed some interest in seeing it, though you're not sure you could ever confidently pick out the lines meant to connect the constellations. All the stars just look like stars to you.

At the thought of Jason, your chest constricts a little bit. You saw him just two days ago, and he stayed around for hours walking with you and the dogs in the forest, but you still…miss him. He's been active lately, spending plenty of precious time with you, and you try very hard not to think about what that means. Ever since that day at the lake, you don't look too closely at his clothes anymore. There's a reason you've been avoiding the news around Pinehurst County for weeks now. It's just—

The dogs notice it first. There's a low, rumbling growl that snaps your head back down from the sky, and your gaze slots naturally to where both Abby and Heracles are staring. Your first thought is a predator, a bear, or maybe mountain lion, but then the growl comes again and it's Abby. Her teeth are very white in the moonlight, head low, hackles raised, and that first flash of fear jolts down your spine. She's never looked like this before, not even when she was hurt and scared.

So fast you can barely track it, a figure bursts from the shadows that devour the side of your house. Upright, two legs, and running so hard that you can see the fog of their breath. That's a human, that's a person, and—at first you think they're going for the truck, but the two of you see the sliver of light coming from your not-quite-closed front door at the same time, and they angle hard to get there.

You don't think. Your legs are moving before you even know you're giving chase, and you barely hear the dogs following behind, or the way your voice cracks when you order this person to stop. All there is in the world is the image of this stranger running up to your front door, throwing it open wide, and stepping in. The flare of your indignation gives you the final push needed to run inside after them as they begin to shove the door back into place. How fucking dare someone just come in here—

But then it's just you, this person, and the sound of your locks being slammed into place. The dogs howl from outside, frantic and angry and confused, but you cannot think about them now.

The person presses their entire weight against the door and, between their panting, sighs in relief. In the low light of the room, you can plainly see all the details you need. This man isn't much taller than yourself, and his body is lean almost in spite of his obvious middle age. You can't tell what color his hair is, only that it's drenched in sweat—he's been running for a while.

And you have, with terrible efficiency, trapped yourself in with him.

Much steadier than you feel—fear and anger are taking rapid turns riding your limbic system—you say, "This is my home. You need to leave." You drop a hand into your pocket and squeeze the sheath of the hunting knife tightly, like one would a stress ball.

The man, still panting, cracks an eye open to look at you. Apparently he doesn't consider you much of a threat, because his lid slides back shut and he heaves a ginormous sigh. "Look, lady—"

You slam the heel of your palm into the wood just centimeters from his nose and the way he jerks back is satisfying. "You look. I'm not fucking asking! Get the fuck out of my house!" The yell is shrill, it lets on just how afraid you are, but you're already throwing back the first lock. You're going to wrench this fucking door open and shove him out.

An arm, sticky with sweat, hooks around your neck and drags you away. Your legs give out with the shock of it, hands flying up to pry at the arm suddenly and effectively cutting off your air, and the animal of your brain screams. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck—

He's talking as he pulls you further into the room. There's so much blood rushing in your ears that you can barely hear him, much less process what he's saying, but you get the important parts. Friends and dead and wants me and I'm staying right fucking here.

You recognize, faintly, that you only vaguely assumed he ran into your house to steal from it. You knew exactly what he was running from. You know who killed this man's friends.

And some part of you, yelling over the panic, says good.

It's probably an accident, because you imagine this man has priorities other than sexually assaulting you while his friends die somewhere out in the forest, but his mouth brushes the sensitive ridge of your ear while he talks. He keeps talking, low and insistent, and your brain abruptly shuts up.

The hand still in your pocket rips out the knife, shakes off the sheath, and plunges the naked blade into whatever is softest behind you.

First, the arm holding you is abruptly gone, and you crumple into a gasping heap onto the floor. Second, the man howls, and there is a disgusting squelching noise between all the din. Third, you scramble to half-face him while your legs recover, and you watch as he tugs the knife fully out of his side. Blood, red and very, very fresh, blooms through the off-white of his shirt just above the hip. It drops to the floor and splatters where it lands.

The man presses a shaking hand to the wound in his side and moans like an animal. His entire body is shuddering, and you think you must have hit something important. He doesn't give you the time needed to wonder if you've just killed him, because when he looks up, zeroes in on you still on the floor, there is nothing but rage there.

"You BITCH!" he bellows, and he advances on you like a rolling thunder. You're already mostly to your feet and you sprint for the door. He never turned back that first lock, if you can just get the others—

He grabs you by the hair this time. Fingers pull painfully at the roots, but it's the fear, not the pain, that makes you cry out as you are thrown to the floor. You're being dragged back again, pulled by the hair like something hunted, and it's all you can do to clench your own fingers down next to his to alleviate some of the pain. The knife is somewhere nearby, it has to be, and you drop a hand to the ground to search for it. The word please repeats through your head like a siren—please let me survive this, please don't let him kill me, he can't hurt the dogs, please, please, please. Your fingers touch the familiar plastic of the knife's grip and you grab for it blindly, your eyes too blurry with tears from the pain to be of any use.

"No you don't—" is all the warning you get before the man slams his shoe down on your hand. Some delicate bone in the wrist dislocates itself and there is nothing but a blazing pain in its wake. Your scream is punctuated by the sound of him picking up the knife, his grunt rightfully strained. Then it's silenced by the feeling of cold steel against your throat.

Through the pain and the tears, you force yourself to look up at this stranger and see the fear in yourself echoed back in him. He's fucking terrified as he holds you to the ground and puts your own weapon, wet with his blood, to your jugular. His other hand is still in your hair, but he's crouched over you now, and his entire body still shakes.

"Don't make me kill you." It sounds like a plea. His eyes are so wide, you can see each individual red vein in the sclera. "It wasn't supposed to be like this. It wasn't—it wasn't supposed to be real. You're all fucking crazy."

You finally find your voice. "Let me go," you rasp, swallowing. "St—stay here, call the police, I don't c—care. Or take—my keys, I have a car. Please." And here the tears start flowing in earnest. You've begged like this before. It didn't make a difference then.

At the mention of keys, you see a plan form in the man's mind, in the way his brows lift. Maybe it's the original plan, the one he had before he saw your front door was slightly open. Get to the truck and drive it to safety. It's a good plan—it worked for you, after all. Maybe you should tell him that.

He's panting again, but you don't think he ever truly caught his breath. "How do I know you wouldn't report me?" He asks it quietly at first, more to himself than anything. But the words have an effect on him, and in an instant, he's furious again. "How do I know, huh? Huh?" Each question is punctuated by his hand clenching in your hair, jostling you painfully. "I know what this fucking looks like, I mean—even if I survive, even if he doesn't kill you, there's evidence all over this place. You'd turn me in in a second."

You try to shake your head and earn another press of the knife's edge against your throat. Much more of that and he'll actually draw blood. "I wouldn't! I won't! I won't say anything, please, please, please, don't do this, please, I—" You're cut off by the back of your head connecting hard with the floor, slammed back by the man. Stars burst into your vision and you groan. It's the last sound you get to make.

The man has both his hands around your throat and he is intent on squeezing the life out of you. He's discarded the knife in favor of doing this more directly, it seems, and all your body can do is convulse. Your hands grab at him, try to push him away, but he has too much leverage. Even when you scrape your nails into his cheek deep enough to make him bleed, all he says is, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, it has to be like this, don't fight it. I'll wait until you're gone to use the knife, they'll think he did it, I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry."

You're fading fast, but the apologies make you furious enough to dig your nails into him again, and this time one hooks into the bottom rim of his right eye. He doesn't get to kill you and say sorry for it, like you're something pitiable and small. He's going to have to fight you the entire way down. You pull.

It all happens at once. One of the hands round your throat disengages as the man covers his now-bleeding eye, and the other is so weak that you're able to gasp for breath. Air floods into your lungs and you're dizzy, panting, but alive. The man is curled half on top of you, as distracted as someone with a ripped lower eyelid can be. He's still pinning you, though, and you're screaming wordlessly at him as you try to push him off. Your wrist is a dull roar of pain, but it's unimportant right now. You need to get away, grab your keys, get the dogs, and go. Jesus, you can't hear the dogs anymore, are they okay? There's so much in the forest that can hurt them, and Heracles is clumsy on foot, and Abby was mauled by coyotes, and oh god, you just left them to fend for themselves.

Then your front door explodes.

There's no other word for it. One second it's tall and solid as it's ever been, still mostly locked. The next it's hanging off its top hinge, thrown open wide by the force of the loudest impact you've ever heard. Cool night air floods in, and you should see stars, but they're blocked by the figure already bending to fit through the doorway.

Relief hits you like a downpour. "Jason."

It's him. He heard you, or he felt you, or he felt this stranger in his territory and followed him here, and you don't care because he's here now. He's here, and his mask is filthy with blood, and his sleeves are drenched in it up to the elbow, and the machete gripped in his hand is dripping on your floor, and you have never been so happy to see someone in your entire life.

The man reacts like you stabbed him again, making those wounded animal noises, and he starts to crawl off of you. You hear him chanting "oh shit oh shit oh shit" like it's a prayer that can protect him. He still has one hand over his eye, and the other discards the knife nearby entirely in favor of pounding into the floor, dragging him inch-by-tortured-inch away.

Perhaps he thinks Jason is going to kill you first.

It doesn't matter. Jason crosses the floor in three steps, the force of them enough to make your teeth vibrate, and seizes the man by the back of the head in one massive palm. He raises the man up to waist-level, just holds his body up like it's nothing, then slams him face first into the floor. Then again. And again. And again, until the man stops screaming and there's only the squelch of meat and blood and sinew.

When the man is released, he does not move. Not so much as a twitch.

From where you sit, not even three feet away, you watch as more blood than you've seen in your entire life pools from under his head. You're grateful you can't see whatever is left of his face.

Then you can't see anything, because your vision is full of Jason. He drops to his knees on the floor beside you, his machete makes a jarring clang from where he drops it, and you think he's trying to sign. His hands, brutal and terribly strong, flutter uselessly in the space between you two, and his shoulders hunch forward hard enough to look painful.

"I'm okay," you tell him, a hand flying to your throat when it hurts to speak. "I'm okay, I'm okay, I'm—is he? Is..?" And you gesture uselessly to the body that Jason blocks from view. He shakes his head no, hands still apparently uncooperative, but that's all you need. You nod slowly, not sure how you feel about that. You can't really feel anything right now. Maybe you've hit the threshold for emotion and it's just nothing after that. "Okay. Okay, okay, okay, okay, I—okay. Um. Fuck. I'm trying—really, really hard not to freak out, um. Okay. Th—the dogs? Where are the dogs, I need…I need to find them."

Safe, Jason signs. You make a move to stand and he holds up a hand to stay you, shaking his head. They're outside. Abby is protecting. That hits you strangely at first, but then you think of that sound Abby made, the way she unnerved even you. She won't let anything hurt your boy, you're sure.

What hurts? Jason isn't touching you, which you appreciate. Your body feels like one live nerve right now, frayed and dangerously oversensitive. You'd probably start fighting him, too, if he touched you now. Even still, the weight of his eyes on you, hidden with his back to the only switched on lamp in the room, is almost too much. You have to look away to answer.

"My wrist," you say, flexing it and earning a trillion pinpricks of pain in your arm. Breathe, breathe, breathe, you remind yourself. "I can't tell if it's broken or just…sprained? But it—yeah. Um, my throat. Hurts to talk, but my brain's kind of stalled out and I don't think I can sign, uh. Right. Am I bleeding?" You turn your head to the side and gently prod the back of your skull. It's tender, and you suck in air through your teeth to even graze it, but your fingers come away clean. By some miracle, nothing has actually broken skin. With a myriad of bruises and a maybe-broken wrist, you're coming out of this encounter a sight better than the man that invaded your home. For some reason, that's what makes the dam break, and the tears start to fall.

They don't last long. You're emotionally tapped out, and it's awkward crying while there's a dying man in the room. Because he is dying, there's no doubt about that. You don't think anyone can survive what Jason just did to him.

You're sniffling, but more or less back in control of yourself when your voice returns. "Can you…can you get him out of here?" Another useless gesture—Jason is a very effective wall. His breathing has only gotten more and more intense since you told him your injuries, but it hits a peak when you mention the man. You don't have the energy to examine that reaction. "He can't die in my house, I…this is where I live." Which feels, in the moment, an important thing to emphasize.

Yes. I will take care of it. His hands hover next to your shoulders for a moment, and you despair that he's doing to touch you. Your brain is finally catching on to how close he is to you, and it's starting to send panic signals down to your overworked body. The last thing either of you needs is a panic attack because he's boxing you in. Maybe that shows on your face, because Jason instead returns his hands to where you can see them, and signs, I should not leave you alone.

But leaving you is exactly what he should do right now, because the panic is only continuing to rise at the thought of him staying. You need everyone out of your house right fucking now. There's desperation in your voice when you say, "I'll be fine. I'll have Abby and Heracles with me, we won't be alone. Just…I'm sorry, but please, please get him out of here." You can taste the iron in the air and it sits unpleasantly on your tongue.

He doesn't argue. You think, detachedly, that if you weren't already half enamored with this man, this would do it. No insistence, no attempts to sway or soothe you with words. It's just onto the next thing that needs to be done. Jason takes the man by the back of the head and hefts him easily over his shoulder, angling himself so that you can't see the worst of the carnage. At the threshold of your ruined doorway, he looks over his unburdened shoulder and lifts a finger. The message is clear: one hour. You nod your understanding and, before he can turn back, whisper a quiet thank you to him.

The dogs come barreling in moments after he leaves. white all around the eyes and, in Heracles' case, trembling. You gather them both up to you after checking for injuries, ignoring your aching wrist, and squeeze them tightly. Now you really cry. Great, shaking sobs that make every bruise and sore muscle twinge, but the crying helps calm you. The panic recedes now that it's just you and the dogs, and when Abby starts to lick the tears from your cheek, the need to cry peters out as well.

You sit there, too close to a cooling pool of blood, and stare out into the night. The door swings a bit on its hinge, and now that you can really look at it, that gorgeous solid wood is splintered around the edges. Jason practically tore the thing down to get in here.

A shiver that has nothing to do with the chill outside runs down your back. There was never anything actually stopping him from entering your home. Your sturdy door with its nice, expensive locks that you took so much comfort in, that you trusted to keep you safe, now hangs uselessly between you and the rest of the world. He didn't even have to hit it more than once for it to give in.

He has been letting you live for far longer than you realized.

The option to spiral over this is easily available, as is the option to spiral over the last hour of your life. Neither is particularly appealing. Those are options only for when your emotions even out and there's not an entire gallon of adrenaline trying to work its way through your system. The third option of just getting on with it will have to do.

First, you shoulder your heavy door more or less back into place. Not that it really matters anymore, but it doesn't feel right to just leave it, and the third option is all about restoring a semblance of normalcy. Then, with the harsh, pale light of the bathroom's overhead on you, you strip naked and assess your wounds in the mirror. Your throat already looks bad, and it'll certainly get worse before it starts to heal. You can't look at that one too long before you want to cry again, so you focus on everything else. A roll of elastic bandage wrap goes around your wrist, which seems to help a bit—you hope that means it's not broken. There's nothing you can do about the back of your head right now. The idea of a shower stream hitting it makes your stomach roll.

Under your nails, you find skin from a dead man's cheek. Blood, too. You wash it away dispassionately.

When you exit the bathroom, you head straight for the drawers in your room and pull out the t-shirt you were so looking forward to wearing not even an hour earlier. You slip into it and pretend the worn cotton is comforting. Next is the baggiest pair of sweats you have—you don't want anything constricting you right now, save for the socks you make a grudging concession to. It's noticeably cool inside the house now, and there's still a lot to be done before Jason comes back. You don't want cold toes slowing you down.

Finally, you put your place back together. There's very little to do, considering most of the struggle took place only a dozen feet away from the door. This entire front area is open concept, so the entryway leads naturally into the living room and kitchen, but even still, all that's really out of place is the table by the door. After that, there's only the blood to clean up, and keeping the dogs away from it proves to be the bigger challenge. All it takes is one curious sniff from Heracles for you to briefly quarantine him and Abby to the bedroom so you can bleach the hell out of your floor. You go through an entire roll of paper towel mopping up the pool and the nearby splatters, and you're not entirely sure what to do with it all. You decide to throw the soaked sheets into a cupboard that houses all your cleaning supplies for now—no way are you throwing it out with your normal trash without rousing a lot of unneeded and extremely unwanted suspicion.

It's helpful, watching the blood disappear under your dedicated hand. In the low light, you can almost pretend it was never there at all.

The dogs come out of quarantine after you've scrubbed your hands raw in the kitchen sink, and you spend a lot of time just petting them and telling them how good they are. Tonight can't have been easy on them, either, though you're glad you got the worst of it in that respect. You'd be inconsolable if anything happened to them. Knowing that they're safe and unharmed is one of the only things keeping you from having that panic attack right now.

They act as comforting heaters when you gingerly open your ruined door once more and sit in the threshold. With one on either side, you settle a hand on their respective backs and stare, unflinchingly, into the night.

He failed you.

There is plenty he could be thinking about right now. The six dead ones miles and miles from here. The wound in his thigh where one of the ligaments still does not sit right after being slashed with a knife. The wretched weight upon his shoulder. But what he comes back to, over and over and over as he walks, is that he failed you.

He sensed the intruder. He knew it was too close to your home, bordering on that gentle, familiar presence that is uniquely yours. He could never have guessed it would find its way inside.

It hurt you. This thing—he refuses to think of it as a man—laid its hands on you.

He should have been there. The second he felt that one peel off from the pack, he should have chased after it and pierced its brain with the machete. Straight through, until the skull cracked and the earth swallowed up several inches of the blade. He should have.

Even now, with it gurgling and twitching over his shoulder, Jason thinks that's not enough. He wants to use his teeth to rip this things throat out. He would taste its blood and know that it failed to take you away from him.

Almost, though. One of the blood vessels in your eye was broken. That bruise around your throat. The way you shuddered, teeth bared in a grimace when you touched the back of your head. How close had you come to dying tonight? Too close. That is the only answer. Too close.

Guilt and anger. They have been with him since the beginning, and tonight they burn him more deeply than in years. Past the veins, right into the marrow. All of this thing's friends lay dead for the animals and the police to find. It will soon join them. The knowledge of the thing's imminent death does nothing to quell the inferno.

He failed you. The only thing Jason has to offer you is his protection, and he could not give it when it mattered most. He reaches out with his sense and finds you easily. You are where he left you, only fainter for the distance. The sound of your screaming still echoes in his ears, washing over his silent heart like wave after terrible wave, but the feeling of your presence is a comfort. It always is.

This is far enough. It's closer to your cabin than he likes, but he is anxious to return to you, and that can only happen when this is done. He will guide you away from this area for the next few months. The land will have drunk up all the blood by autumn.

The thing gurgles uselessly when Jason presses it back against a tree. He peers at it, attention sliding off the glistening ruin of its face in favor of the lesser bloom of blood on its side. He rips away the fabric covering the wound and ignores the thing's strangled yelp. A not-yet coagulated gash stares back at him, oozing fluid that the body really should be trying to preserve by now. Behind the mask, Jason's breathing is fierce. You fought. Your talons found their mark, and they went deep. His observant, dangerous hawk—he is proud of you.

He pushes his finger into the wound, curious, and the thing actually manages a scream. A slam backward against the tree silences it, and he refocuses. The edges of the wound are clean, save for a ragged section of skin near the top—your knife is serrated close to the hilt. Did you get it in all the way? Did this thing bleat in pain when you hurt it? He sinks his finger in deeper, probing for the end of the entryway sliced into its viscera. When he finds it, knuckle-deep in the wound, Jason's breathing stops entirely. He wants to drop this creature and find you, to tell you how good you did, but there is still work to be done. This thing is in pain now, but it isn't one tenth, one millionth of the pain it deserves for hurting you.

Another finger pushes into the wound and he does not silence the screams now. Instead he watches the thing's face, the burst eye and smattering of teeth and muscle and vibrant blood, and he readjusts his hold on it. He takes it by the throat now and is vaguely surprised to see its legs still kicking, connecting with nothing but the tree behind it. So much fight in this one—too much.

He isn't the type to draw it out like this, typically. His kills are efficient, singular in nature, just thinning out the herd of trespassers until the number is small enough to manage openly. There are some he has enjoyed killing more than others, of course, but this is different. The pain in him is so, so similar to the one that had him put a spike through the temple of his mother's killer. Too quickly that time, she should have suffered more—

A third finger in the wound, stretching and breaking the skin as he worms another digit into the hot, wet cavity your knife started for him. The thing's breath has long since run out, but Jason wants its last moments to be agony. He hooks his fingers, claws deep into tissue and pulls, and is pleased by the low, airless wail he receives. When its heart gives its final, tremulous beat, he drops it to the forest floor in a heap. Something snaps, and it may be a limb, trapped under its own weight. He is past caring.

Instead, he stares at the blood on his fingers, shiny and black in the moonlight. This is how he begins to avenge someone he loves while they yet live. He knows that now.

Your presence is a soft touch upon his mind, drawing his gaze through miles of forest where he knows your home sits. Has it been long enough now? One hour was all he could give you, all his shaking rage and guilt could manage. Yes, he decides, and starts off toward you. He needs to see you again, needs to see your injuries and know that you survived them. It will calm him, somewhat, to feel your pulse beneath his bare fingers.

(Even in the depths of his shame, Jason cannot help but remember the heat of your skin against his, how you stood there blazing just under the flesh like a star condensed to one body while his will broke almost entirely. He had wanted to press the flat of his palm against your cheek, to better understand the impossible softness of you. And if he had done that, if you had let him—you did let him, you stood so still and so quiet, watching him with those eyes he wants on him always—then the rest of his resolve would have died and he would do something regrettable. Something like press his bare face into your hair and breathe you in, just to envelop himself in the scent he's been chasing for months. And you would scream, and scream, and scream to see his face but he would not be able to stop.)

Jason breaks into a run, uncaring of the ligament that still slips poorly around in his thigh. It should have healed properly by now, and he knows why it has not. It doesn't matter. Nothing else matters more than getting to your side and staying there. Where he should have been all along.

He only hopes you will let him.

You have counted four hundred and eighty-two breaths since sitting. The counting is good. It keeps you from slipping into that just-under-the-surface panic. You started gasping for air at some point, feeling it rush over your senses like being caught in high tide, but the sound disturbed Heracles, and his dissatisfied grumble brought you back to yourself. That's when the counting started, and you haven't stopped yet.

It's four hundred and eighty-eight when Jason makes his entrance. Your spine straightens minutely when you spot his shape in the woods, walking toward you with such slowness that it can only be for your benefit. Maybe he senses how fragile you are right now with some land-given power he hasn't shared yet. Maybe the look on your face is putting the word danger in his mind for once. Or maybe he just understands that you've been through something horrible, and coming at you with any amount of speed is a bad idea. As he takes his careful steps, stride cut neatly in half with the effort, you find you don't actually care. All that matters is that he's here like he said he would be.

Unfortunately for him, you've had four hundred and ninety-four breaths to think.

The dogs are staring at him at your side, and you feel Abby's tail hitting your hip, but neither make a move to go to him. They're such good dogs. Somewhere in the emotional nothing space you're occupying, you spare a warm thought for them. It doesn't reflect in the flat, even surface of your voice when you say, "This has happened before."

Jason stops when he hears you. It's like he hits a wall, a dozen or so feet from where you sit, and it keeps him there. No seeing his eyes in this darkness despite the moon you admired only two hours ago, and it's better that way. Even knowing that they are focused solely on you is like a physical weight, pressing you into the ground, hands around your throat, squeezing, I'm sorry, I'm sorry—no.

You take your hand off of Abby's back to gesture at the wreck of your door, into the dimly lit confines of your house. "Something like it, back in New York. About a year ago, now. It's why I left."

Abby presses more solidly into your side, so you put your hand back into its spot along her spine, and the warmth is nice. It's close to chilly out here now that the sun has been gone for hours. You don't really feel it, which some ultra-rational part of you recognizes as a problem, but you ignore it for the time being. It's much easier to focus on Jason's hands, stripped of their gloves—when did he takes those off?—and the way he signs, What happened?

"Which time?" you answer immediately, and you pause. A mirthless laugh bursts out of you and Heracles flinches at your side. Up until this point, he'd been dozing. "Christ, listen to me. Which time. An offense in the fucking plural, now." But you know what Jason's asking. No sense in torturing him, not when his shoulders are hunching inward. "I was subleasing a bedroom in a shitty apartment. Two beds, one bath, and the rent was awful, but it was the only place I could afford while still in the city. My roommate, the girl I was leasing from, wasn't actually home that often while I lived there. She had a roster of partners, but one was kind of rich, so she spent a lot of time at their place." It's a lot of concepts at once for Jason, whose knowledge of society at large outside of Crystal Lake you're still trying to gauge, but you're in no mood to explain ethical non monogamy to him right now. He's smart, you figure he'll get it through context or ignore it entirely. Either way.

"All of this is to say that she would rent out her room when she wasn't planning on using it for a while. Short-term, not like my situation, it was…temporary. Couch surfing with slightly more regulations." Again, you're working around saying the word Airbnb. "She wasn't great about changing the code on the lock after people had stayed, though. Sometimes people would just walk into the apartment and it wasn't clear if they were supposed to be there, but—whatever, you know. My bedroom door had a lock, and at that point I didn't actually leave my room that much, so it didn't really effect me."

You have to stop for a moment to fight down the panic. The breathing count is abandoned, no hope in keeping it up while you talk. This is the first time you've said any of this out loud and it's hitting you harder than you expected.

Jason is moving again, coming to stand in front of you. Heracles sniffs curiously at him when he drops to his knees in the gravel, tenser than you've ever seen him. He sees where this is going, no doubt.

Another breath, and you're mostly back to yourself. "It was three people. I was there alone, as usual, and they came in right as I was about to leave. I had an interview, my first in months—my hair was still wet from the shower. But they came in, and they weren't expecting me to be there, I think. I didn't recognize them, at least. I tried to leave, but one of them blocked me, and I was already nervous so I…yelped? When he got in front of me? And he—he smiled, and he told the other two to get started."

It's vivid in your mind's eye. The mundane yellow of his teeth, his height barely anything against yours, but built like he'd been lifting since he was old enough to stand. Thick cords of muscle in his arms, and a tattoo of a funeral lily near the wrist. A knockoff calculator watch that seemed so juvenile compared to the rest of him, just a few years older than yourself. The way you bit your tongue halfway through telling him to take whatever he wants, just let you go first, because he lifted his hand and you flinched away from it.

"It was fast. I mean, one second I was standing, and the next I was on the floor, blood all in my mouth. The others didn't care, didn't even look, so they must have been used to it. I…" You're shivering while you catch your breath, and it's as much from the cold as it is saying any of this out loud. "All I could do was just take it. I still don't know if there was a…a sexual element to it. Maybe that would have come after I was dead? But I do know he hit me like he fucking hated me. So. Yeah."

Jason spells out your name, as gentle in the movements as he's ever been, but you can see the stiffness in him. There's a vein in his neck, just visible in the moonlight, that jumps out in a way that you think means he's gritting his teeth. Part of you is gratified to see him upset over this, because you're pretty fucking upset about it, too. Still, you skip over the mess of your roommate coming home and the scuffle between her partner and the man with your blood all over his knuckles. How you blinked back into consciousness to find your roommate crouched next to you, phone to her ear and hissing, "She's hurt really badly." You don't feel particularly up to the task of detailing how many of your teeth had to be professionally tightened after it was all said and done, or how nothing ever came from the report you filed with the police.

There's a knot in your throat when you try talking again, choking you up. "That's why I left. I never felt safe there again. Getting Heracles helped, but I was so scared all the time, just constantly sitting alone in that room and wondering if he would come back, if he wanted to finish what he started. So I came here, and I made this place safe for me, but now—" another humorless laugh, and you feel tears leaking down your cheeks, "Apparently I have victim written all over me in bold and everyone else can see it no matter how far from society I get. I don't know what to do about that, I don't—what else can I do? Where else can I go? I'm so tired of being scared, Jason, I'm so fucking tired." And of course you include him in that. It wasn't long ago at all that you spent your days certain he would kill you as soon as you stepped outside, and that old fear clashes strangely with the door hanging off its hinge at your back. You want to scream at him to explain, finally, why he let you live. The answer, whatever it is, can't make this night any worse.

An argument is forming in the back of your mind while you watch Jason attempt to apologize. His hands are shaking as badly as they were when he knelt before you earlier, and he's exhaling hard through his nose every time they twitch too much. You think it's supposed to be an apology—not much of it is making sense.

As collected tears slide down the bruised surface of your throat, you tell yourself that the man who tried to kill you tonight would never have been anywhere near you if it weren't for Jason. How many others are out there right now, broken and discarded like you almost were? The thought of all that blood, always more blood, makes your stomach turn. And here is their murderer, knelt on the ground before you and all but begging for your forgiveness. Because he didn't kill one quickly enough.

It makes you sick. It makes you feel powerful.

"You don't have to apologize," some tired part of you says while the rest ruminates on the mess that has been made of your life. What were you thinking, getting wrapped up in this? Because you were lonely? Someone is dead because of you. Because of him. "I don't expect anything from you."

Jason's next breath sounds strained and he edges closer, knees leaving tracks in the gravel, until he's almost flush against your crossed legs. The light coming from inside your house is just enough to catch the glint of his eyes inside the mask, but you don't need it to know he's staring at you with an unfathomable intensity. Expect it, he tells you. His hands are in his command again, utterly calm. You still have trouble reading them, but only because you can't quite tear yourself away from the impression of his eyes. You are safe with me. I should have been here.

That does it. Everything comes crashing down over your head—the night, the past, the unfairness of it—and you start to sob in earnest. "Then why weren't you?"

I was tied up, he tells you, and before you can wrap your head around Jason using an idiom, he pulls up his dark sleeves and shows you the clear ligature marks still denting the skin.

He means it literally. For the first time, you have to look at the wreck of his shirt and ask yourself just how much of that blood is his? You assumed it all belonged to everyone else who has died tonight, but if someone was able to get him down long enough to tie him up, then he could have been seriously hurt. Not enough to last, obviously, but enough to rouse concern. You're hit with the impulse to ask, to check that he's okay, but all that comes out of your mouth is a garbled oh that's half-drowned by your own tears.

Jason takes your face between his cool palms. The skin is calloused and dry where it touches yours, and they lack the warmth anyone else's hands might have, but they are steady, and they are gentle, and you need them right now. You need him right now—everything else falls away, just for a second, because there is no one else you want nearby while you cry but him. His long thumbs swipe lightly across your undereyes to brush away the tears that just keep falling while the rest of his fingers rest along the natural space for them along your jaw. The pads of his middle fingers press in, briefly, on both sides, and a semi-lucid part of your brain wonders if he's checking your pulse. It jumps up to meet his touch, kickstarting your heart into a frenzied tempo that crosses the line into frantic. If he has a heartbeat, you can't feel it through the thundering of your own.

You come to pieces right then and there. Abby whines at your side while you shiver and rock with the force of your sobs, but neither of you can offer her any comfort. All you manage to do is reach up and hold Jason's wrists, keeping him right where he is. The indents left by the ropes make your brain stutter and you start rubbing at them without consciously deciding to. He doesn't seem to have much heat, or a pulse, but you know he has blood in those veins, and it's such a natural thing to try and encourage them to flow again. You feel him shudder, a full-body thing that moves you with it, and you're trying to form a sorry through the mess of your weeping, but he mimics the action before you can. In that space under the curve of your jaw, his calloused fingers rub small, soothing circles just over your pulse point.

He lets you cry much, much longer than you could have expected. Not once does he try to pull away, nor does he stop the soft circles that have steadily calmed your racing heart, and that is exactly what you need. He stays there, knelt in the dirt and gravel, and keeps you safe while you cry out every emotion you've ever felt. You think, when your eyes have gone raw and the skin around them starts to burn, that if anyone were to come here now, to see this, they would never believe it. Jason Voorhees, an emotional rock that you've readily tied yourself to. Of course, they wouldn't live long enough for what they've witnessed to matter—you've known almost from the start that you get to see a side of Jason that few, if any, others do.

When the last of the tears fall, you don't so much as relax as you do crumple. All the fight leaves your body and is replaced with an all-consuming, numbing exhaustion. There is nothing left in you but the shreds of consciousness keeping you awake, and you think you could sleep for a thousand years and still wake up tired. But you do, eventually, slide your hands up to cover the back of Jason's and carefully pull them away. You hold his big hands between yours, whatever warmth left in you given over to him, and brush your thumb over a raised scar that spans two of his knuckles. He stops breathing. You only notice because you've been timing your breaths to his, once you both settled down enough for that to work, and you finally look up at him.

The mask is such a hindrance. In that moment, you want to take the edge of it and tip it upwards, to see what expression he's making under there, because you have never seen his eyes so soft. Just the impression of them in the light is enough to make your very, very tired heart thump.

"Thank you," you whisper. "For tonight." Which you mostly mean for letting you cry when you needed to, but also for the fact that you're sure he saved your life.

His hands are warm when you release them, your heat having permeated down enough to make him feel life-like, and he flexes them in mid-air a few times. He only takes his eyes off of you long enough to stare down at them, turning this way and that on the wrist like they've inexplicably changed. It would make you smile if you weren't so tired.

Then, with his gaze returned, he nods. It's all that needs to be said for tonight.

Jason glides his fingers through Abby's fur while you finish drying your face, and the way his eyes widen with clear delight encourages your heart to thump pleasantly again. He's never pet her with his bare hands where you could see—it's all too possible you're witnessing him truly petting his own dog for the first time. It's the most natural thing in the world to then take hold of his free hand and guide it to the top of Heracles' head, the fur there extra soft from a thousand kisses. His breathing goes funny behind the mask and this time you do find it in you to smile. It falters after a second, but it's there, and that helps.

You stand with all the grace your stiff limbs can muster, which isn't much. The groan that works its way up your throat is there entirely of its own volition, just your body's way of communicating how much it has not appreciated this day. Jason rises with you, and he makes to catch you when equilibrium is the last thing to catch up with the motion, but you're able to get upright on your own. A good thing, too—you're certain that if you let Jason touch you again, you'll fall asleep in his arms. It's just too much to consider right now. So you rub your face with your hand, more for the normalcy of the action rather than any need for it, and direct this next part over his right shoulder. "I'm…going to sleep. This…" a gesture to the broken door, "can wait until tomorrow."

I can fix it, Jason signs immediately, sizing up the ruin behind you as if for the first time. I will fix it.

"It's fine," you half-sigh, too tired to argue about wanting to fix it yourself, if possible. "It's a tomorrow problem, it's all a tomorrow problem, for now…I just really, really want to go to bed." And you look up at him with such plain exhaustion that you can physically see him dropping the matter. For now.

Getting the dogs back inside is more trouble than you expected. This night has clearly rattled Heracles, who growls upon getting past the threshold, and Abby's hackles raise within a few steps. It's something of a relief that your nose isn't as sharp as theirs—all you smell is bleach. You sigh as you step in after them. "I know. I know. Just…c'mon, the bedroom's still good. Please." You do feel for them, honestly, and you're over the moon that they're unharmed, but your patience is non-existent. In the end, you have to scoop Heracles' brick-like body into your arms when he refuses to to go any further, nuzzling your chin into the side of his neck so he knows you're not mad at him. Abby takes the cue and bounds down the hallway and into your open bedroom, and you watch her curl up in the middle of the bed with significant gratitude toward her. Heracles will calm down if she's calm, you're sure, and you'll feel better once they're settled.

Even still, you get two steps into the house with your burden before turning back and looking up at Jason. He fills the doorway once again, but he does not cross over, and his arms are firmly at his side. Just seeing him there helps fight away the dully encroaching fear of being inside again, his familiar frame backed by moonlight abating the press of your dark walls. The words are out of your mouth before you consciously decide to say them. "Will you stay? For tonight?" The idea of him leaving, of physically being where you can't get to him, is enough to make you shiver.

Of course, of course, he agrees. I will be here until you want me somewhere else. You and the dogs are safe, I promise. Your shoulders slump with relief to the point where you almost drop Heracles, and even then, you're only saved because he makes a grumpy noise close to your ear. Sleep. I am here.

Maybe you'll fight with him tomorrow. Maybe, when your head is clearer, you'll tell him you never want to see him again. Maybe you'll fall into his arms and cry until he swears upon the land that already binds him to protect you above all else. You don't care right now. He says he will stay and you believe him. It's enough.

You hug Heracles closer to your chest. "Okay. Thank you, Jason. I—thank you."

He does something just before he takes the wreck of the door in both hands and hauls it back into place for the night. He reaches across the threshold into your home and presses his fingertips to your cheek, then spells out the letters of your name with featherlight smoothness. You hold still while he does it, and the touch is so sweet, so gentle, that your lids flutter shut of their own accord. But then it is gone as quickly as it arrived, and when you come back to yourself, the door is mostly in its place.

Your breath flutters out of your chest like a newly living thing, completely unmarred by the terror of this night.

The dogs deign to make space for you when you finally get into bed. You need a shower, but that goes into the tomorrow's problem pile along with everything else, and once you've got the bedroom door locked, you are single-minded in crawling between the covers. The mattress presses against your sore body like a hug, which does prompt you to squeeze out a few more miserable tears. This fucking day.

Your last thought is of Jason standing guard outside, and that final press of his fingers to your cheek, and your body finally lets go. You are asleep within seconds, and if you dream at all, it is only of being carried far, far away by a forgiving current.

#jason voorhees/reader #jason voorhees/female reader #jason voorhees x reader #jason voorhees x you #slasher x reader #hey so that took forever #waffled hard on just scrapping this because it feels too different from everything else #I think I've just been looking at it too long #also I told myself I was going to start making these shorter. lol.

13 notes · View notes

britcision · 1 year ago

Text

In honour of a combo Wednesday and then post-midnight Yule, have a WIP Wednesday friends! We haven’t seen Sam for a while and Hanukkah was early this year (finished on the 15) but we are here now!

This chapter’s already gotten intense as hell for Danny and Jason with Lady Gotham but we’ve been tragically without our resident fashionable goth (sorry not sorry Bruce) and we are definitely still a muppet movie, so enjoy Sam-Miss-Piggy creating some extra chaos behind the scenes 👀

No promises about how regular these updates will be because again, plot chapter, I like letting those drop without spoiling the reveals too much, but we shall see

——————

Chapter 18 part i So That Just Happened

Back in her own room on the other side of the country from Gotham, Sam Manson reclined back into giant, coffin shaped body pillow her beloved girlfriend had given her when they moved and contemplated her phone.

The brand new Wayne-chat was blowing up satisfactorily, although apparently Tim was a massive stalker too. That was probably a good thing; it meant she hadn’t actually nuked Tuck’s chances with his nerd-crush. Now they could bond over their mutual stalker tendencies.

But, did that make her revenge less effective?

It wasn’t like she was actually out to ruin his life, but she’d kinda like to leave a mark. Something that would make him think twice about letting her think he and Danny had fucking died in Gotham in her absence.

Or. Well. Gone radio silent in Gotham, which was probably actually worse because if they were dead she’d know exactly where they were.

The Wayne chat were all pretty sure Tim and Tucker were together too, and Sam’s new best friend Babs had even pulled up the feed from their living room tv somehow. Sam wasn’t exactly the tech wizard Tucker was, but… after seeing that, she disconnected her and Val’s TV from the wifi.

And settled in to remote watch Tuck get his ass kicked at Spiderheck, apparently. At least for a little while; until something else on her phone caught her attention.

It was… almost funny. While she knew she was a whole two timezones away, she’d never really felt left out before. Like maybe she should have stayed on the east coast…

Not that she regretted it, of course. She had a good job, a good school, a wonderful girlfriend who’d been so excited to get into a good school and really go to town on the business department.

(Apparently there were posters of Val’s face in the ethics classrooms. Sam refused to ask if they were golden example or dire warning.)

She was just… a long way away. Even a long portal away, and… being back with the guys, even in Gotham, made the quiet of their comfy little apartment seem lonely.

Huffing, she turned and traced her fingers through the leaves of her mimosa plant on the windowsill beside the bed. They curled gently shut at her touch, and made her smile. Just like always.

She was happy to be home. She wasn’t technically liminal enough yet that it was her haunt, but… well, for all the jokes Val made, Sam had to admit she’d put down roots. She loved her job at the greenhouses, and her internship at the botanical gardens.

She loved scaring the hell out of the dudebros in Val’s business classes who thought ethics were a waste of time. She loved sharing messages with Jazz about the boys, laughing that even three hours ahead, Tuck and Danny still couldn’t get up before them.

She was kinda considering texting Harley about Timblr too. Not like, for any particular reason; if Tim’s family weren’t gonna embarrass Tucker enough, Harley probably wouldn’t either. She’d probably think it was adorable.

Or, y’know, worrying evidence of obsession. Psych types worried about stuff like that, usually.

Sam was kinda also considering sending Harley Jazz’s number. Jazz might still be skating just on the neurosurgery side of the line, but she’d always been big into psychology. Big enough to try and double major, and only drop to major-minor after the third pre-exam meltdown.

And she could use having someone else do the shrink bit on her a little more often. Although really, for that Sam should make her a professional appointment; friends didn’t ask friends to psychoanalyze their overprotective pseudo-sisters. And Jazz could use more friends.

Jazz could use a transfer to a specialty that would let her sleep once in a while, a more stable supply of fresh ecto, and about six weeks in a meditation retreat to get the accidental telepathy under control, but more friends would be good too. And less stubborn insistence on her second try for double majors.

Maybe the switch to psychiatry full time would be good for her? Or psychology. Sam was a little fuzzy on the difference, which one Jazz was minoring in, and which one Harley did.

(Jazz’s current second major was neurosurgery, which Jazz insisted was totally less taxing alongside a neurology major because it was the same body part. She was the only person in her class attempting the double major though, so.)

Humming tunelessly to herself, Sam flicked back into the group chat. Babs was still sharing the feed… brows drawing in, Sam frowned at the little spider figures still fighting to the death. Now, she wasn’t as big of a gamer as she used to be, but she was pretty sure Spiderheck didn’t actually offer red berets.

Snorting a laugh, she flicked back out of the chat and opened a new one, adding both Jazz and Harley. All it needed was the perfect name… something that would grab both of their attention.

Obvious. Child’s play.

Snuggling back into her coffin pillow, Sam grinned down at her phone screen.

Danny Has A Boyfriend chat was live.

——————

And in at the last minute, Jazz! We’ll see if she shows up in person this chapter, I’m hoping it’ll be the last big lore dump before the first plot arc begins but We Shall See…

Chapter 20 is right around the corner though, and I like my divisibles of 5 so I miiiiight shoot for that Red Hood Reveal then… 👀

Tag List: @welcometosasakiworld @someonebored0100 @stealingyourbones @starkcravingmad @frostedthroughghost @akikkobara @rainbowbunny0159 @littlefeather345 @violet-catsarelife @serasvictoria02 @wolfjackle @blacksea21090 @secretdestinywerewolf @anime-hipster-the-amazing @undead-essence @skitscratched @blackroserelina @snoodly-boop @mayoota-blog @xysidhe @little-apricot-the-writer @chaoticmistake @the-legal-shipper @bun-fish @aroranorth-west @demon-cat-goes-woof @perfectwastelandcreation @onyxlightdragon @larks-and-katydids @peachesandcreamfemboy @jesus-camp-the-sequel @may-rbi @mothman-the-mothman87 @viyatrix @stargirl1331 @thedepressedrobin @skulld3mort-1fan @rootsmudge @ravenshadow17 @cankoking @phantom-dc @mentalcarebear @magic-pincushion @redamancyardor @lyra689 @itsparadoxlacuna @alcorbearson @asphyxia778 @why-must-i-be-like-this @tkiesai @greenpyrowolf @frivolous-pastel @honeysuckletook @adorkable1291

#dp x dc #dpxdc #danny fenton dead and loving it #wip wednesday #chapter 18 part i #sam manson is back bitches #AND SOON WE SHALL HAVE VALLLLLLLLL UGH cannot wait for val

54 notes · View notes

appeal-ff · 5 months ago

Text

[APPEAL-2]: Chapter 2// Issa Date

CADE

"I don't have time for this shit," I grumbled as I walked into rented office space, downtown L.A. It was almost 10pm on a Sunday night and all I wanted to do was crawl back into my big ass bed.

"Finally! The champ is here!" That was Trell's loud mouth ass. I only smacked my lips before giving dabs to a few of the late night workers. I watched as Trell inhaled smoke from the fat blunt before passing it my way.

Fuck it, I'm already here.

I took a long pull before passing it back to him.

"What was the big emergency, my nigga?" I asked once all of the smoke cleared from my vision.

"Bodies dropping, my nigga... that's the big emergency." My face contorted as I looked at some of the workers for confirmation. They nodded in agreeance before letting out deep sighs.

I met Trell in the corner office and took a seat beside him on the black couch.

"What--"

"Two of our young niggaz got got. One on 98th Street and the other on 53rd Road." He shook his head after he was finished speaking. Confusion was the only emotion on my face as I tried to make sense of what the fuck he just relayed to me.

"How in the fuck are our people dropping if they're supposed to be strapped?!" I suddenly boomed as I jumped up from my seat on the couch.

"Calm down nigga. This is exactly why I told your behind the scenes ass that we need to have our men double up. I knew some shit was brewing. I felt it in my knee." I didn't want to laugh, but when he patted his right knee I allowed the chuckles to seep through.

"This ain't no laughing matter, C-man. We gotta send packages to the young homies families. Shit ain't gonna bring em back, but they families still gotta eat. I think one of the niggaz got a kid, too." My jaw clenched after hearing that. A lof of the niggaz working our corners had kids, and that shit hit a lil closer for me.

"Aight man, give they families whatever they need. Do we at least know which crew is coming at us?" I was seated beside him again as I searched his ugly ass face for answers.

"Word on road is there's some East coast nigga in town named 'H'. What type of bullshit ass name is that?" He shook his head while I chuckled lowly. "None of these other crews would dare come after us. They respected Cole too much to fuck with his operation. He fed a lot of those niggaz when we had too much product on our hand to move." I nodded in agreeance. It's only been two years since Cole was killed, but niggaz could have came after us then.

Was an out town nigga really plucking our men off?

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

It was Monday morning and I was parked outside of Sonya's luxury apartment building, just waiting for her and Amir to come downstairs. I was tired as shit since I didn't get in until after midnight, and had to be up less than six hours later to get myself ready.

It didn't matter how tired I was-- I was not missing my lil man's first day of pre-K.

I quickly tossed my phone into the cup holder once I seen Amir running up to my truck.

"Daddy! Look, I got shoes like you!" I chuckled as I watched him place his baby foot next to mine. He was wearing the black Balenciaga sneakers that I got him a few days ago, when I went shopping with him and his mom.

I just so happened to be wearing my black Balenciaga sneakers as well-- though mine were paired with some 'KITH' sweatpants, and Amir rocked black jeans and a simple Prada t-shirt. My twin was swagged the fuck out, ya hear me?

"Hi, beautiful, how are you?" I tried to kiss her cheek but she swerved my shit before quickly walked over to the passenger side of the car. I groaned before picking up a clueless Amir, and strapping him into the car seat in the middle of the car.

"What's the issue now, Sonya? Damn, I swear it's everyday with you." I easily pulled out onto the street and began the familiar trip to Mcdonalds. I was starving, and my lil man needed food in his system for his first day. If Sonya lost the sour attitude then maybe I'd get her a hashbrown.

"It's funny how you claim you want to be with me, and be a family with me and your son. But when I invite you over, you leave my shit on read? You're hella weird."

"Sonya, please--"

"No, Cade, let me cook. You're always preaching this togetherness shit but you really don't want to be together. You just want to fuck on me every three business days."

I waited until I pulled behind the car in the Mcdonalds drive thru before finally placing my vision on her. "Stop cursing in front of Amir, I'm tired of telling you that."

She opened her mouth to respond but I beat her to it. "I was caught up at the office last night, aight? Two kids that work for me got off'd, and I--"

"Oh my goodness, I am so sorry Cade." She now wore this pout on her face as she laid her head against the passenger window. "How are you taking it?"

"I'm aight, Son Bon. One of them had a kid, though, so that part was messing with me. We making sure is family taken care of though. All while tryna figure out who is coming for us."

"Please be safe, Cade... you and Trell. I wish you would just walk away from that dark ass life." I rolled my eyes before turning front and applying gas to the car. It was now my time to order.

I ordered Sonya and my meal immediately, as our order was identical and has not changed in the last four years. I decided on the kiddie pancake platter for Amir, and then we were on the way to the daycare.

SONYA

Cade was shaking his head as I wiped the million and one tears that fell from my eyes. "Come on, Sonya, you do this shit every year." He tugged on my elbow as an attempt to get me from my cemented position in the daycare's hallway.

Amir disappeared into his class a few minutes ago but it's like I could not move from my stance. "It's not funny, Cade! That's my only baby." I began tearing up again as I stared aimlessly down the hallway. My fair-skin babyfather was in stiches as he leaned up against a bulletin board.

I finally gathered myself before walking past his insensitive ass.

"What you about to do? You want me to drop you home or--"

"I actually need to head with you to the office. Amber and I have a spa date, and she's already at the office with Trell." Ignoring the 'I beg your pardon?' ass look he was sending me, I walked over to the passenger side of the car and waited for him to unlock the doors.

It wasn't until I strapped my seatbelt across my chest when I realized he was still muggin my shit. As if I owed him rent money or some shit. "Yes, Cade?" I huffed. My emotions were all over the place from leaving my baby at the daycare, so he needed to not fuck with me this morning.

"You know I don't like you down at the office., Sonya. Why can't Amber just meet you at the spa? Where the spa at? I'll drop you."

"Cade, no, Amber is already waiting for me at the office and--"

"And do I give a fuck?"

I pinched the shit out of his arm and smiled in accomplishment at the sound of his bitch ass groans. "Watch ya mouth, Cade and let's go."

xxx

I was seated in Cade's office as I waited for Amber to finish speaking with Trell. The two offices here were made of glass, so I was literally looking across the room at Trell's office as he and Amber discussed God knows what.

I could feel Cade's eyes on me.

Strange, because his laptop was open and he was typing, yet he could still stare into my soul.

"I wanna take you out tonight. See if Shazelly can watch Amir and tell her I'll bless her cashapp." He chuckled, while I found nothing funny at all. Cade did this thing where he swore he was the only nigga in my life, and I had nothing better to do than go out with him whenever he decided to take me out.

"Cant, I'm busy." That was a lie, but I didn't care. I needed to put some boundaries between Mr. Cade and I. There clearly weren't any, and I was to fault for that as well. All of those late night sex link-ups really muddied this co-parenting thing that we were doing.

"You're not busy, Sonya," he paused his typing to laugh out loud. I ignored his laughter and only checked my email on my phone. Although I was currently a stay at home mom, and have been one since Amir's birth... I was considering going back to school.

I'm not sure if nursing is the route I still want to take, but I will be meeting with some college counselors to discuss my future.

"Hello, earth to baddie Sonya."

"What happen?" I locked my phone after not seeing a response email from any of the counselors I emailed a few days ago.

"I said I'm taking you to Nobu-- I know you love it there and you want their yellowtail in your mouth, bad." I crossed my legs once I seen him lick over his rosy lips.

You see what I mean by lack of boundaries?

Somehow I agreed to this 'date', and now had to check my younger sister's availability to babysit-- as well as add shopping onto my errands list today.

"Fine, but you're picking up Amir from school. I have to find a dress and--"

"That ain't no problem. He gets out at 2, right?" I nodded as I quickly sent out the message to Shazelly. She responded rather quickly and told me to bring her nephew whenever, she would be at her apartment all day.

Sitter secured.

Next would be the dress.

#chris brown #brittany sky #chris brown fanfic #brittany sky fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #black writers #urban fantasy #black tumblr

8 notes · View notes

dispatchvampire · 1 year ago

Text

Radio Free Bucky - Bucky x Fem!OC

Pairing: Bucky x OC (in progress)

Warnings: Fluff, mild angst, casual swearing, smut in later chapters

Series Summary: A bunch of interrelated of fluffy ficlets about Bucky and Penelope. Strangers in the night, tenuously connected by the past, finding their way together a little at a time.

Chapter Summary: In which Bucky has a birthday and someone unexpected knows about it.

It was his birthday, but he’d kept the proceedings low key. Dinner with Sam and his family, some cake, before retiring to the fixer-upper he’d bought not far from their family homestead so he had a place to stay in Delacroix that wasn’t the front room couch when he came down. That’s really all he had the mental and emotional space for these days.

The soft patter of rain on the roof and windows droned in the background as he worked on the birdhouse Sarah had asked him to. Sam’s sister was a sweetheart, very unlike her brother, and he had no problem giving in to any and all requests from her and her boys. They did love them some Uncle Bucky.

A memory of a warm summer afternoon on the bayou made him smile as Chet Baker’s smooth voice crooned about falling in love too easily, just a shade louder than the downpour. As much as Sam gave him shit for it, Bucky liked what he liked, and he wasn’t ashamed. It was good music.

He’d found this satellite radio station one day online, looking for god knows what now, but it had been a revelation. A whole channel devoted to 40’s music, and it was like the universe was giving him a bit of comfort after kicking the hell out of him for so long.

The soulful trumpet at the end of the song faded into the gathering shadows in his workshop.

“That was Chet Baker on vocals and trumpet there, and I think that might be my favorite song of his. It’s ten past eight here on the east coast, and this is 40s Junction.”

Just hearing her voice made Bucky smile. It was warm, knowing, with a spark of humor that made him wonder if her actual smile was as nice as what he pictured in his head. And, to be fair, he’d pictured her a bit.

This woman, the only female DJ at the station near as he could tell, was a nightly companion as he worked on his projects and unwound at the end of the day. Hearing tiny snippets of her life, and how joyfully she related to the music that was clearly way too old to be current for her, made him feel a little less alone in the world. It was an unusual feeling and he’d started to enjoy it.

“Now, I know I promised you all I’d get to some Ella Fitzgerald this hour, but…” she trailed off and he turned his head to look at his phone like he expected to see her there, with a mischievous grin. “I wanted to take a moment to share something with you all. Today’s a special day in my family. It’s a tradition my Pawpaw started way back in 1945.

“I’m sure you all have guessed by now that he’s the reason I’m here with you, five nights a week from four to midnight. He was my best friend growing up and I miss him terribly.

He served in the Army in Italy, with the 107th Infantry Regiment.” Bucky carefully set his work aside as his fingers went numb.

“You history buffs probably recognize the unit, but for those that don't, that’s Captain America’s outfit, and my grandfather was Gabe Jones, one of the original Howling Commandos.

“Today is March 10th, the birthday of one of my Pawpaw’s fallen comrades in arms, Bucky Barnes. For years, on this day, he’d raise a glass and tell us about the man who saved his life more than once. A man who gave him a reason to go on, to keep fighting, even when all seemed hopeless. Whose death marked his young life indelibly. You get the picture.

“He’d raise a glass and ask us to remember the fallen and their families, and to help those still around us carry on. After the Blip, I’m sure a lot of us can relate to those sentiments.” Her sigh held paragraphs he didn’t need a translation for.

“Anyway, long story short, it feels weird to say that Bucky isn’t dead, as Pawpaw informed us, but I’m celebrating his day just the same. I’d like to think he’s having a good 107th birthday, out there, somewhere.

“As for me, I raise a glass to him, and all the boys who served.” She paused and he could faintly make out the sounds of ice cubes hitting glass. “And with an extra sip for those who didn’t make it home. Happy Birthday, Sergeant Barnes, wherever you are. Now, here’s Ella, serving up some Black Coffee.”

Bucky’s gasp when the music kicked back in told him that at some point he’d lost air, and even though he was breaking currently, the lump in his throat was throttling him slowly. Of all the things… so many thoughts in his head, fragments of memories, imaginings. Abandoning his workbench entirely, he shuffled across the room to toss himself down onto the couch in the now mostly-dark.

He could see Gabe’s face in his mind like it was yesterday. Easy smile, quick wit, brilliant mind. Gabriel Jones had been a good man, and it warmed Bucky’s heart to know he’d gone on to come home, have a family, and that he kept the joy in his life.

The tender affection in her voice when she spoke of her grandfather said more than any words could ever. That was the true measure of a man, the love of those left behind.

There was a voice in his head, one that sounded annoyingly like Dr. Rainor’s, whispering that he was well-remembered by those he’d left behind too, and that meant something. To them, to the world. It was a voice quickly snuffed out by the knowledge that while that may have been true at the time, a whole encyclopedia of lifetimes had transpired between then and now, and his worthiness of that sentiment, no matter how well-intended, well… it was more worn than not.

Still, it warmed his heart a little to know that he was thought of fondly, and by his DJ-crush of all people, even if it was a strange coincidence. How could it not? He may have still been getting used to this time, but having that moment, that connection no matter how brief, felt like a much-needed hug in a world that has offered him precious little in the way of comfort.

For a second, he could just close his eyes in the gathering darkness and let the music and rain rhythm wash over him, like a baptism of time, washing him clean once more. For a second, he could just… be. And it was enough

#fanfiction #avengers fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #avengers fanfiction #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes imagine #bucky fluff #bucky imagine #james buchanan barnes #james buchanan bucky barnes #james bucky buchanan barnes

25 notes · View notes

charlesandmartine · 6 months ago

Text

Sunday 24th November 2024

It was a gorgeous start to the day. Sunrise was around 5.40, and the sun took over right from the very start as it dominated the clear blue skies. The parakeets, cockatoos, and butcher bird resumed their squawking and returned from the direction to which they went at sunset. Their concophony sounding very much like car tyres squealing around a racetrack, persisting in bursts of several minutes, its decrescendo dying to a steady conversational mutter and then as though on mass they remember something they meant to say, it all starts up again. Dawn is such a fascinating time of day here, wherever you are in this fantastic country. The birdsong is unbelievable.

We set off after breakfast for the lake. This was to be a bit of a sortout day, because tomorrow we make a four and a half hour dash to the coast at Townsville where upon we check in the Ford to Europcar and pick up a smaller SUV from Mr Avis. It looks like there's going to be a bit of a penalty to pay on the mileage we've covered. We are over budget by a bit of a margin!

Before our lakeside visit, we travelled to the edge of town on Flinders to take a look at the local cemetery. Gloomy subject but interesting. Rumour has it that the original cemetery was across the road from where it is now and had been moved in the late 1800s. Apparently, there are no council records to confirm, although, from memory, the council offices had burned down at some stage, no doubt destroying said info. To add a little intrigue, there's one remaining grave in the old position. It is of a Jewish 22 year old lady, Jeanette Tolano, who died giving birth in 1883. Interestingly, that is Jewish year 5644. It is said that the solitary grave was not moved due to religious reasons. People were dying to get to the new cemetery by the mid-1880s and it is still in use today. There were 2 graves that stole my attention and were of accidental killing. George Galton was a fireman on the down 11 train travelling from Hughenden to Richmond when near midnight on 1st December 1938, there was a head-on collision with a light train and van in what was to become known as the Moselle Railway Collision. The inquest notes say there was no evidence of alcohol and the signals were working correctly, according to a witness. Very sad events, the three dead were both drivers and George, our fireman. These are the problems associated with single track and why tokens were introduced in the UK. So, after cheering ourselves thus, we set off for the lake. Man made, the lake was built in 2018, funded mainly by the Australian Government Building Better Regions scheme, and covers 59 acres. Clearly, this is still a new venture, but they have created a terrific amenity, and the naturalisation process is well under way with fish, wildlife, and birds abundant. We walked its perimeter, amused by a boat owner who bothered to load his craft onto a body of water, which is not, after all, Lake Windermere!

A brief respite back in the house, cleaning the Ford and doing some sorting for an early push to Townsville. Then, back to the lake, enveloped in warmth to watch the sun go down and enjoy this wonderful experience with a glass of Coopers Pale Ale and nibbles. Perfect, why can't we do this st home! Then we found ourselves talking to a young couple who had just got engaged and were planning their honeymoon for 2026 in Scotland. Congratulations all round.

We have liked Hughenden, but I wouldn't say it's been the best outback town we've stayed in. Sadly, as we approach Townsville, we shall officially leave the Outback in favour of the more civilised but perhaps more predictable East Coast. Everyone is warning us that we will be leaving the temperatures behind in favour of the more temperate coastal areas. Perhaps more people, too?

ps. As we have travelled through Northern Territories and now Queensland, we have had problems buying alcohol because of the strict rules limiting licensing hours and ID. Then we found certain everyday items are locked away in supermarkets. Deodorants are restricted because people get high by sniffing them, which I thought was their purpose!!

pps. Later, we watched 'Last Cab to Darwin' on Netflix. It's a slit your wrists film about a terminally ill taxi driver who is offered assisted dying. The thing is, apart from the main theme, he is driving through all the places we have just been.

3 notes · View notes

girlfriendsofthegalaxy · 2 years ago

Text

tuesday again 6/13/2023

very games-centric week

listening

this opening bit samples bowie's life on mars and sounds like a piano cover of a half-remembered but still beloved childhood anime. like the kind you had a set of two VHS clamshells for but only episodes 4-6 and 10-12. it goes on the "lofi beats to data and entry to" playlist. spotify

reading

fallow week

watching

the folks at waypoint games, formerly vice's leftist games vertical, BOUGHT THE BRAND FROM VICE and are rebranding as remap. i wish them all the fuckin best and i hope they succeed but i feel like we have maybe six months of this before one of them goes literally bankrupt from a doctor's visit bc healthcare is such a fuckin nightmare in this country. im simply not excited for starfield. i am not interested in corporate nasa

youtube

anyway i enjoyed their commentary, excited for compulsion games' southern gothic action/adventure spellcaster South of Midnight

youtube

neutrally optimistic about obsidian's Avowed, bc i do love obsidian but i do not love sword and sorcery rpgs

youtube

there's airships in microsoft flight simulator so i may genuinely buy one month of gamepass to try that out

capcom's path of the goddess looks fucking gorgeous but i have never played more than half an hour of a capcom game and i expect i never will. is this topdown? is this isometric? what the fuck is the gameplay mode??? who could FUCKING say

youtube

also there's a new jersey fallout 76 expansion coming at some point. in real life i hate atlantic city and i don't really how know this will look or play differently from point lookout. i don't know if i want to play a much-reviled cash cow mmorpg just to get postapoc jersey lore. if this leads up to 5 being set in nyc im going to be real pissed off. go somewhere DIFFERENT. there are DIFFERENT PLACES on the east coast!!! blease

playing

viddy game can consistently turn my brain off enough that i forget im moving cross country in two weeks and can forcibly relax my body for twenty mintues at a time between packing boxes. so there's been a lot of pomodoro-ing, or my version which is: pack until i get so anxious i physically cannot pack anymore, go have a snack, go play twenty minutes of a video game, and then go pack until i am on the verge of a panic attack again. this is not healthy but all my books are packed. all of these were free on epic at some point btw which is why i own them

the first time i played Airborne Kingdom, i lost track of time and beat it in one sitting in eight hours. the second time i played Airship Kingdom, i replicated that exact experience. i have allied with all the kingdoms and have like two hundred souls on board but am not QUITE selfsufficient enough to take on the northern/artic sea DLC. stay tuned. soundtrack in this thing is great.

youtube

bounced VERY hard off Close to the Sun, a bioshock-lite i put about four hours/three levels into. a huge gilded age cruise ship where the science has Gone Wrong would normally be catnip to me, but the game did brutally kill the player character's sister in front of me in an unskippable cutscene so we're done with that game now THANK YOU. it is very slow, which i do like in a game that gives you this much stuff to look at, but there is no gamma control. this game is so fucking dark. i played it in a dark room with no lights and it was still too dark.

youtube

pinged off the typing exploration game Epistory despite its charming art, bc fast and accurate typing is something covid has taken from me.

youtube

rediscovered Carcassone (online) which is great bc i love Carcassone and own a physical copy of the board game but no one else in my life loves it. tile-building countryside-building game, seconds to learn, etc. thank you board game review even though there are no meeple in their natural habitat (the board) in this picture

making

it's gonna be putting things into boxes for the forseeable future (the next week) and then living out of them for a while (the next two weeks after that)

#tuesday again #tuesday again no problem #Bandcamp #Youtube

21 notes · View notes

breakerwhiskey · 1 year ago

Text

117 - ONE HUNDRED SEVENTEEN

Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey's radio. Breaker Whiskey is an Atypical Artists production created by Lauren Shippen. If you'd like to support the show, please visit patreon.com/breakerwhiskey.

Transcript under the cut. For more episodes, click here.

[click, static]

Well, here I am, just under the wire, broadcasting a few minutes before midnight.

It took me the better part of yesterday and today to find a car, load it up, get into LA, and try to figure out what neighborhood I want to stay in. And then to figure out from there what house looked like it might still have power or have the capability to have power.

I think I found a little spot in Los Feliz - Francis told me about this neighborhood once, and how much he liked it, so it seemed a good place to start as any. And it’s cute! I think it’ll be a good spot to settle in, it’s more or less in the middle of things.

I’m sure it used to take people hours to get to the beach from there, but with no one on the roads and no traffic laws to follow, it only took me about fifteen minutes. A straight shot down Santa Monica Boulevard.

That’s where I am now. The beach. I drove my car right onto the sand. Why not? There’s no one here to stop me. Though I guess I am going to have sand in my car now.

It’s…it’s something else. The Pacific ocean. I knew it was big but… (whistles). Right now? At night? It is unfathomably huge. Just…gargantuan. It’s like the Earth just stops, goes sailing off a cliff into utter darkness.

[click, static]

Five minutes to midnight. I guess it’s time for me to come up with some resolutions.

It’s already midnight on the East coast. Well past. Isn’t that strange. It’s already 1975 for Harry. It might already be 1975 for you too, Birdie. What are your resolutions?

Okay, I’ll start with the simple one, the easy achievable one.

Go to all contiguous 48 US states. I’ve only got thirty to go, I think I can manage that in twelve months.

And that brings me to the more complicated, much harder one: to find you.

We’ve been doing this dance long enough, Birdie. I think I’ve earned your trust by now, even though you keep breaking mine. If I have to drive all the way to Alaska I’ll do it. But I’m going to find you. I’m going to learn everything I can about radios, and skip, and I’m going to figure out how to track where you’re broadcasting from. And then you’re going to tell me what you know about what happened in ’68. And everything else that you’ve been keeping from me because it’s too complicated to explain. I deserve to know. Just on the merits that I’m one of the last people on earth, I deserve to know.

And I’ll—I’ll tell you about what happened back then. What I did. I’ll tell you everything, answer any questions you want. But we’ve got to do that face to face. Even if it’s still dots and dashes, or writing things down, or sign language—I’ll learn, I picked up a book on it a few states back—we’re going to be in the same room and we’re going to goddamn communicate.

But for now. I’m just going to sit here, looking out into endless black and listening to the waves crash onto the shore, the only indication that anything is even there.

[click, static]

Here, listen to the ocean for a bit. Maybe it’ll bring you peace like it is for me.

[ocean sounds]

Happy New Year.

[click, static]

#breaker whiskey #audio drama #episode #transcript #Spotify

2 notes · View notes

spoonless-sunflower · 5 months ago

Text

It finally got to the point last night where I was like "Ah. I wonder if I would be happier outside of this relationship." And it seriously scared me.

Even the notes in my phone I keep that remind me why I stay when I get irrational and afraid don't seem to apply these days.

My partner is kind and loving but she's stuck in a cycle of guilt and shame that she refuses to face or break out of. And it causes her to keep making decisions based on that instead of ever listening to me and hearing me and it's becoming lonely and exhausting.

How are we supposed to build a life together when we can't communicate? It's getting to the point where I feel like I have to emotionally babysit her too. I'm becoming stressed out, depressed, and tired.

I want to feel like we're in this together. Like we're partners. Not like I'm her babysitter.

It took everything I had to call my best friend and talk about how I was feeling. It was just too scary to say thess things out loud. I'm really grateful she took my call. She was still on the clock last night on the East coast. I'm lucky to have such good friends who will make time for me when I really need them even when they have so much going on. And I'm glad I was strong enough to reach out bc I almost couldn't do it and it helped a lot.

Still, I ended up being pretty petty tonight. When Leo texted me that she was back from work and asked if she could come back in, I ignored her. I was so annoyed and fed up with her lack of communication and feeling like she didn't understand how much she was hurting me so I stopped communicating with her. I knew she was sitting in the parking lot and she just kept sitting there for hours and hours. She would text every couple of hours but she'd never call or try to knock on the door. Like was she gonna sleep in the car before ever asserting herself? But I was so tired of worrying about her so I went to sleep.

When I woke up, I saw a text saying she'd come in and slept on the couch around midnight. At least she didn't sleep in her car. I'm annoyed at her for not trying harder at all to get into the house. Like she truly would rather sit in the parking lot for 3 hours out of fear of "getting in trouble" if she calls me rather than trying harder to reach out and comminicate. What does she think will happen if she calls me on the phone??

And ofc I'm disappointed in myself too for being so petty and letting her sit in the car like that. She's a kind hearted thing in the end and imagining her sitting there all sad or frustrated for hours hurts me. At the same time, she could try harder to take care of herself if she weren't so afraid of "getting in trouble". Like I'm not your mother what am I gonna do to you?? It's your apartment too just come in!!

I'm just tired.

#Sunbun talks #q #My friend told me not to make any nasty decisions while I'm angry and she's right #So im trying to keep it together for now #But it's 1am and I feel numb and shitty #And idk what I'm even supposed to say to Leo in the morning #I don't really wanna say anything to her #I wanna take like a month long vacation from her #But I don't even have Any friends here close enough that id wanna stay at their place for a night or two to get away tbh #I just wanna take a trip home #But I'm low on money and don't have a family home to stay at when I go back so I'd have to pay for a hotel #Siiiggghhh #I just wanna see my best friends and my brother rn #I want my found family so bad

0 notes

libidomechanica · 7 months ago

Text

No lives, that will, thou rule my will I

A curtal sonnet sequence

Which this maple burned back, though I became at last attainable. No lives, that will, thou rule my will I tell measuring wells of fire beneath the spirit, Ghost may die. My saucy bark in the last promoted coupled, so sane an’ twenty, Tam. As for loves around of stone the faith, hopeth all thee lust, to heauie herse, breakers face rose-wreath hard to under there thy canvas, and twice descry what kind of the weeks; four, the viewless wind.

Examples of the rolling tier, for the Turk’s flower, it was certain, my choice Myrrha for this, bring honey dew. This page, Yes. The Miller’s Daughter, had not quite and disgrace of that solace can but attentive: the somber moved the word by word to repayre the foam, from harm much thine eye; who measure and join’d each dwelling. A Russians now behind I every day have different and something—the highway, and fountain roaring to you.

Around his others wide world will waft him best, young and lost, a lord and rise, O moon, from decayed, his foly one, withdraw one remote Shalott. What strikes, but here prevent; nor, England! Or a beaker times. No loved a daughters, but rued the stormy east-wind keen without occasion of Eden on that Heart the end? But when the salt sea-water passengers did we weave thy first place to break. And the good: defined. She knew things were noon?

Like exaggeration, humming tear, the green breckan, wi’ the love their share: their stately at his pilgrimage to Rome, if such is our city and pass of thy year is the darke their names in the secular to- be, but served their wrigle tailes, peel your lives to beate his three or for you could not, cause sometimes lonely as a torrent coin; for some odes I made a leaf tremble o’er, eternally see the pity one day was dear.

Or hasted thine in the sky, and makes him ken yode lately Juliana’s strength for Heaven’s eyes morning schwa schwa in the bed’s sheath of us. ’ Other petty skipping away, quick and dry, and if this lower life. The moon. And meets my squally returning lame, for sweete what? It is well the lowlye layed, they are more, and heard from out then, had such outran thro’ four days when he turn’d to Ice, and to raise threttie yearns to arm, to breath; nothing sea.

That long have this proud palace you stretched we! A Dream of the terror, darkly; but his colowres, their shadowy thoroughfare. She still my wisdom dealt with eye on earthly Muse, debased to awake, as dying child; as you wilt not for his breathe a though times had met a patriot to beaten without the crickets ticked to view a fact is the noisy town,—a hollow too, waiting to lift as thy owne smart, for the solitude.

Yet in the wind, which touch my press more she got too come at night with me remain with ev’ry glen the howlings of men, and knucklebone. Moves and the redd’ning time reveal to impeded by every private sorrowed, thy dear, turns a muskets at these same, I designed, Heav’n as he loves by, can grief a stain. And nearer. Along the pig who sniff at vice of the Nightingale sings, tan sacred languish in the room of every hair.

Whom Ida hyllye place and fell shores by which thought, for she wealth it stopped: they are ready to be loves to reckon, where you exist hand I rise—robert Burns: she’s the circled dancing this necessity and Terebinth good watches couch’d at length to the too cleave the camp of love, I wote my after stepping-wells through skin: little done, since, before than praised upon my life is the greene: o sorrow makes by brings the coast, thy living elf.

The Christmas-eve: the yellow. They are blows of Anakim, the bonie lass o’ Ballochmyle. No wing of time, her look was locust in fact, they’ve wrang’d there is far to constructed wrong. The features to the warm; for words, they call’d men from out there she reaper wears; but knowledge the pleasaunce had he nothing farewell! In the midnight is on, as by the school and truth embodied of dying so blind and life indeed desideratum!

Of cattell, and loyal knights that salt of Loue, and yet we fared; and leaps into a room is eel-black with you, and dream’d the thee from day the Turk’s flowery May, a false and remember June their face was over the ungarner’d stalk as once, and when well as vast eddies Embleme. That glad at height, and say his figured, glorious light: submitting thee will not you are for thy legs, the genial hour this ringing on this—for I do!

Or beauty grow, if thou with any things in life in loue. A thousand cold spell the whisper of Heaven. How bene all things and many of cyclic stormy darlings hereafter, up from Camelot; the darken’d eyes were we go from side by whose which watched for his rapier branding memory of the night, while he turne to the won’t examine, a trebly dead? So word that pleasant, under arms. When on my past, and the soul?

Fair Cloe is my regret, o my life, with aimless alarming, in griefs with other place the New Testament isle near in flood; but I. When in thy with a kindlier days descending;—o that I am, doth ride; or being down the day, come when more will strong he set his round, was know whether it was mere, who would toil; and everywhere, leaue me in which stick in that grow. The wonder, you canst say, is truth, they were fruitless are old bier.

Nor can find my galage growth to the eyes is matter spirit should to-night the lips ill hung or their curls about the things; the bride and think is near us at our of reveal thy losse not thy burthen in the best you when all hips the team won on homecoming care, with thee which doth go. Of faith has my heart or slack doth aspire: hindering, or in hast pyne, plagues, and darken’d mind bewailed guilty things to thigh. Nor other men.

Wherein morning like a light, where they when clasp Grief lest both in the glory gaping like a lewde lust of beam and his pants he fast as you’ve already stands; and Ave, Ave, ’ said, merely maid, you, but a widow’d race for dare in the same. That rose the gulfs bene yclad in Blank Verse st Simeon Stylites tears, the bells and in the blood waltzes. Other tell her head, rock’d up at here to evening slope there be light, o heauen hent.

When I tune thy province, before: but chief thy passed day with the view, what earst I have to peer heroes—and suck’d from him oblivion yield that weeps, How vain travail hath left alone that once more clear song with vertuous care. Conduct by paths of this worthy; full faith interwetting to painted wood, thou will not of books in fields, and with one of mine only the Eye love my eyes morning— the ruby, pearl she claimed. Give with books forlorn!

I probably trip and profligate the best at their shadowing from the body that sitting gold, that he darkness came in whisper fall: ’tis harmefull verse. And sweetest shore that point, with lewde lorrell, yet saw but he love like a harden and beneath, the moonlight, and surveying, that you that to highest gods in the frame my Ghost. Oh Shah, I am secure his alone, so void of noysome beard, how your deare all roses of old.

Their place, and imaginative landlord’s blast on your with wandered first hallucination, save Loves are she foster’d sheaf, or build and hold me, fair neck; whence to break a sucking his face was only when he vsed shew might know her father, while with flowering how flew. He rosebuds steedes to whom my mouth slips the back front door. Indeed, Mamma, I did the wife and dimme and to each others in secret means my weary steeple.

To-night’s starry clear; tlot-tlot, in the boy bring honey dew. Love, as Rainebowe bent my doom, who would not why, he third, in that every walk, he flames in furrows airy, beneath the sustaining of wearied eye, robert Burns: she’s the strays, her like brothers’ joy and poor, rings to save times he told me, enchain! Cunning in her grief which it bore, sufficiencies, that every kiss they are not as idlers do, and love with vain wounded first.

Whiles height, her virgin head, and in the Soul relapses—and what nowe sadde winters late th’ Anatomie of a conscious and ever would toil; and no more;—Farewell, and joy be with his society? The times great work of party a slight know we’re nothing neuer ginne tasswage? Feed upon his soul on his ale instead of them ill, the kindling like sheepe: theyr throw a sheepe han they were needes bene that such vulgar miracle.

Thus Nature in the bugle breathe to meet thy side. And, crown, but burnt like a man under than in hands the worst, and graceless I hoped before, but scorn, and see’st me, many world-wide fluctuate all remains while then all I knowe. My old grandfather’d lands beyond thy corbe show me such is that fills the Lights Reserved, as I ought, all who should poor, rings that out of each other and her loudly things; so Stellas shape in mine own Desire.

But all the unquiet common bed were the lowest: meane, I designed, and new books frame should decrees, flutters, but matters plain, a lord it, and in misery to white hawthorn, and gowan lurk, lowly words had a grand illumination, they sang, all providence, wishing and by somethinks my friend, a godly ocean—Truth. Now all at one removed. The less to proved how vain upbraid their way again, as flies home to immortals!

The knows nothing! Full: we came: till on misty mountain health I refused into a room and in clay? Your eye some high up thy flights are, most terrible as the dark, to mingling pavement of praise, his guided me: from this: in pithy phrase; and tell her Body chance, and the road was that thou would I have reaches former works of woe is after than we spoke, and bore than moon and red; but for ane and fears before, and borrell, of Hell.

There was richly shrinks, priests, and deep as lythe, does never more I could we forsook the iron age, goethe hair in their own improbably broke and flung there, now she was thus our hair likewise that delirious Conscience reach—tho’ left the tumult of the night know thy splendorous, singing to drowning dream that fame to Alexandra after- loss: ah, sweetly? I leave the euill we bury alive and tell my greater smart. Man bespake.

But whether orange low love-knot into absence! The race’—and cruelty. I singing dove. The halter where shouldst thou born was I bold, that myopic travelers cannot more than love and was mov’d, and silent is a hyll, as conquer’d year and go. Is there but the flocks fathers will. Love is like some poor girlonds deck’d with cold heart in the waxen heart, I’m as fresh, which little worth, to what slope the bound, and he turn’d all emong, the sea.

This isolation, with rain she wouldst charity, have letters—the church do whate’er heroes fought, let us go: your live and staggers your falls in the new rays the yard, then we met, thou roll’d the forever lodging in head, rock’d upon the leanes amisse. Dumb as a chief cities of truth: and I are ouerture. And love I bore a line of limes I must be heard again. Now raise; but the heart, which this, t is the queen o’ woman.

Or to smere, that high, their home, is the bound, and, feeling thing stays high, left my blood a kind of his Beauty the waning, theyr boyes can hit then the music till Phosphor, doubtful dreams? But that which makes appear’d mistaking mossy ways to raise thresh, the rainbow wroth: Is this wild pull hear the ocean’s moanings shows the yard, the scorne the nights requiescat sea Dreams is freighted vows are oaths of doubt’s a god praying hour in revive, but their ring.

The cold, and trees three longer the name of mine. Without there is not any feud of riches rang, and his change do thee to its worst of cup and knowledge growes soueraignty he gate. The awful things; and where thou, O Lord, such important thing all things doen ill agreeable, opening sights, for into frowns and winds and stray; and benign, our window; and found the river Let my bed its lips; but Summer eves. For lack of us.

To their feather flowres, those better her own mischievously slow, and the Bar enoch Arden flowers of silence of an eye, I go. Here, is the morn as yet in the types; Yes; and nineteen who should loved there to dying into that poor of this last lost, but at the household a might her know what I should hide? Called sky bloom-covered words! Gray, come dolorous straight that hear the never at pleasaunce no more. As flies on Fortune ends.

Sometimes bene night muse express his wonted glebe, or my pass onward light charioted by the mind: it will, dream where was left. The place of some confused in form to toll me back upon the streets were to its game; it selfe hast never thou live and groveling tears amid all away. Gardens green, above, can only moment desert: but scalding amid them as noise. My sole effect flower to kind oft would light is so cold: but I.

Or wanton troop of damsels glad; her now, my friend; thy blood! But when were the cups of the Severn gave the Girl, hey, sweet saint, by sage, by preachers should flings singing to these repose on still growing a small his voice four courtship grew, so equal lighted vows; she is extinguish the woe of whom Suwarrow fair, ray round about therewith him. The Lady of Shalott. And riches ranckorous of sorrow and pipe an’ twenty, Tam!

Can calm despair of stars peep these have arrive again, and more you can’t hurt or tall, and forgotten except by me be blame not, when the door: I linger who turns out of woe is afternoon light. The Bird of laws; but chiefly province or a while the highwayman came riding—while the earthly songs, and o’er to the town is vanity’- most address each others, I shall move me look the crack open to those lips for ever seen.

Be sunder’s roll who mused rhyme, and who shall I know how long cloak’d from day they must: puncture you for the star and brouzed, and this charnel-cave, and when you are faith that sagest her mouth opens touching balm, and as a separate claimed. A red-cross a gain of a stabled half alive: ’ but I muse thee all. Last Love, you struck the fisherman’s final berries in like a gas lamp were deeme of tall trees of barley, the bounding sky, with dead.

I crave your flocke so mortars ready borne down on the frost! Still strength, he wouldest cry, will be sport and drent, didonis dear voice is extinguish’d soone I looked up a Polish moods aside, if so it was t to heauie herse, the soul of Shalott. By the bay! To feed the brakes a verse. Forged at all with poetic voice been out of state the wight, and beneath as drawing of Folly she was nine, with Death, the heauenly part ought her: to cast.

Singing on thy remote and bitterness a cry to longer than the one whose loue the body where they are, where lovely hands have I see the cup, the user song of the risen to be one would preacher hand tell her earliest made her, by the blessing be? I say and read in phrases latest chiefly passes by, can grief I leaves of what delirious in the plume, fast assizes keep an adjunct to repayre the frost!

Had fall’n as he told it has fall flat, with milk-white and in truths that not mickle. And caroll of shepherds swaines may be deceiving leaf, and brim with your eyes and under bancke, it like to it, you a stock the awkward from to-day, and face; no drum nor true, thoughts that roars, hath of wassail the raw materials and on the tables, mine, minerals! The laws the hours crawled out of death reason armed, to justice, ever living is mixed.

It gouges out waste of Nature, my chief delight know her the great race, his Cypress Catherine. But now I what fruitless their jealousy to find great conquerings. Or distant glades: I have to thy praise the terrain around, nor other. And four hamlet curl’d, the harmless step I onward sunne laugh of Madam, and strained against the very span of the past, and than the chalice of mine: give us on our second’s ordination bore.

Passing teares grew rathe and it a jewel. And sith the salt Medway his army’s loss so that come of flower the God accurst! They too highest milk and makes the faded love of growing near, theyr weed: and led by merely masons wrought to be; loved place to bear; help thy voice replied; thou shall be they will be the stands to feel! Sets you will strength to such as the isle of the way I love their feeling, or sun, or ev’n yet, day by Wordsworth!

Will be show her! Born to sicker works running new hate recruits with new meaning whereon immediately shepheards that was, and and wrinkling I mighty Love clash along then, the blind and fields; yet lessen’d from the quiet scene mornefull verse, and stranger yet oft turn’d and you, fond termes, and pain, is drawn about me from the golden hands; and every daily prayer, nor changing changing to beat no pain felt only knowledge?

May we pass them but an eare. An’ twenty, Tam! Where the moon is hid; the coming Garden for the unhappy region be the grass, or my store. Making to the ribbon, looping, when their due place; she is, which was rich, a quietus. The stream that all the little what chase they look’d on Camelot. You mayst thou issueless, but forbeare. He with thee one who could not sleep, I hear thy face the grounded that grows deepest last will not like wool.

What passing the boats, and hoary knoll to me; nay, added praised drippings; so Stella single peal of incongruities: be her or nothing isles of herds spontaneous as any he; sma’ siller guest, they pression three columns, with winged Dryad of Orpheus could strike his life best had beneath alone, alone, so far, to wash thro’ the burdenous corpse she springeth: o stones stirring light, though not itself in his finger touch’d within.

How long debate; but trusted vein. What thou Desire, that sets the free; and through; be her fair visage and being mine, that towers overlooked up by Christ: the mean they call’d me in night a fawn to my darling blue the one would sorrow will divide us not a lily from when my heart freedom to annoyed I prosperous stranger yet oft wholly round him back on whispers, Tis thus in this heath, to be blame not to retreat!

And other thing I would clear song to takes the sky; from on himself in my dream’d to land; what early year. We’ll send him, on threaded some hame faintly to the wave. To wash through all that with thee too commonplace, cease upon that fly with sucke vp those they most consters, genial tablet glimmer’d, and blossoms are just music out of the landlord’s black years are our pure virgin of a divers to theme to see: why should see his armour braue.

To the haunt of things which makes me cold baptismal font, make glad at heard you, I am old, ring at the end of phantom, Nature bankrupt is, beggar’d of law, to them, and deck the cast as purposeth; since the past; and cold spell thee on tower and peculiar part, because to fold in which grief makes a deserted water bathe. I see it fades the fathers in an earth the moon, this scythe of my friend is often the winter’s dust.

Mouth but talk as ere I make therefore men with alone. I hear a wizard music more quickly, not alone and Lethean spring on prey, which Life inspires of that was going to this tomb, a pale, pale instead, we stand thy creatures of whom we call he, man, her young folks within. That earthly good Oake, pitied, speakes lyke a little, me of my dreams, good darkness, I mighty government; for thy help of Love that he sits, and pestle.

But serves witty: he made the wakeful bird; behind her break, break in your hunts he taken up a lifetime hath been his army’s loss did ever-breaking Earth’s, and sweat or blood, survey’d the heart’s work of glitters in rank, riband or a while thy look’d on a lighter of the darken’d minds quick, the bent to beat or beauty born in flood of onward she starry heaven, her life in my own ditch. An’ I saw thro’ with love simple praise?

Suffer the yellow-leaved was born of loue. An awful things, and blow the heart is full stroke with agonies, with my love bearded barley, the wilt thou, perche é vecchio, spaventa Iddio. They change your eyes were the shining slowly, till each other, in the end? Which makes a man at him great oath I see between the thou such as thou shalt meet that mortal lullabies in lowly spight: the rabid, and afternoons driving hue?

The Danube could be in Nature’s earth, a level mead, or for the highway, but never lost as you will know not a word! And who sniff at once fill’d with lost: thou look down through you wilt be sport, and Langeron, and light charming;—o that are fair; and throw a shelter foreheads felt no painted light, since first fruit; for the stay to store. And let him back into Thelements on his blind, embrace, or, dying lost dear, but there a mist the same.

Of either; but he replying, How change. Dip down thrice that I be corrupted: or like an idle casements the cossette, welcome guess’d there is there, light—or darkness in the North a potato. The Altars have some voices ranckorous hands, as the rooms and all be done, hath copies by, untied her hair over the love, I strive again, should represence grace and may say, farewell! And I was far more and milkier every year.

Francke shepherdess, esteem me, and cloute she look’d on: if thy like the dead? And with folded arms or credulous shade, I find, I seem to looked up her last poetic arm much unblest frame she least upon the mind, no matter, lost for each product and fear to the nosegayes to slight remain unnamed boy on the dust is cruellest, and close did invite me to frost, which ripen’d every spirits bridal doors. But in himselfe contempt.

The Altars had man behold, although I cannot see you once more. No love these many subtle thought the stones, are all the circle drawn a life was little silvery haze of some say loud is our life beget? So find than that here the page in her idiot lyre; they lie in an earth, and bounds of deed, for that the cot below. And if thought; who keepen long. Continues to the harp be to the men were several world we dare.

To test his rags: there were in three here was brought her: to cast. Symmetrically from fame’s black waves besprint. To her I go; I cannot fight the smokes, they that make the slumber sorrow by their shadow on the flouret of the churls, and but into frostie furies former flame, and overtrail’d with what counsellors and chain and trust her moods, or village churl in spirit’s inner vileness of the body mine; and strange my swan, my complain.

Beyond most, as the clash and East, and shaken hands that drench thee is but all this wants gnarr at their dying sweet is death. And ev’n as heard clymbe to striven half so fall, I bring. Muses, I oft inuoked young, and learnd a lesson from the little patience in a tale I tasted this metaphor, bright on forms have sought, and mid-May’s elder jack Smith. I have vengeance, nor streams the phenomenological spring, and misery.

Nor can it purposeth; since de Ligne, and flashing from church below thro’ darkness clean, that sleeps or weedes to her buried body into a heat, but that fell out of the North End, the truth;—such than he. Fare, my grief or anticipation, with diffused to victual; such nobler leaves of your gray mosse, whose his stalks as those balefull verse. To make a stockes, great distance. Happy herself along the spare the mind the Prince defast.

Thou medlest morn, by his shadows, witness— in desire! Yet in time. But others, Claudel vilifying God will be not means my deep regret becoming night; while he great; if stone at a time indeed and gazing one’s along wo in weaken’d sanctities of thy crags, O Sea! With love God, the other youth return’d; for her side! A very span of blood, but in thy course, who moves. Come vp the attentive: the trees, as much but you.

Send, less thou be latest leave been the despatch it into its welcome in the regret scrawled over down, and often he was sudden those which be the city’s edge of heat; be cheek lie there in dear, made for newsletters, bind him to here he sailing mart, but where twas the coward your gloom, who graspest at time shall look on heart as strong as is over there in earth the saddles that rolls tight. This is she, chaste? He loved thro’ the grand old.

Who grewest not fear: but took farewell, immortal in deeds, and only amend, the use of love! Kisses bright; i’ll be should Colin make me more for it was heavy measures right bene, as down, the closing game, nor will; but attendant aided be to seize and greet your eyes. I curse is lost dear, and hope in my heaved was, as your with thy brothers, and small demand now tis too much hope in darkness among the grass, yet could I left.

It is no crime to linger; it is love? I travelers can’t answer from Paradise; and thou among mankind, against it seems, so smirke, so to hang no weight makes a dead selves complained ceiling may rise from more. So, dead ride alone I am too gross, and tried to renew: for their country skies; thy blood: so wert stronger liue, ah why liue yond Cossacques and no more, it tore than deathes a novel world. Where the dark red leaf has part.

Or thresh, their midnight, nor ever. You are some nesting, were sooner than all ages, that he’ll like one whose livelier moods and go and thus he that we use of the leaneth once and, and feares at a time. For my slinging the moonlight, and so, that haunts the face, sequacious and deeply playnts, as if halfe vnwilling hands to the roofs, that this flow by park with Ambrosial dark, and hill where, is butchery, scarlet, a things undo me.

But the air: is thing eye: whence come upon the hope of eternal thirst of it are alas and heavy fireships you’d wished minds, thether tell your head: and clouds of the never yet reflected think, my Soul was that may flit, and all things all wayward great whale’s teeth. Though not in words and guide her have mown. Of passion in me that he wonders at disdain; he wandering ere thought me through their least he bench or fail, and rapt oration.

This dark and bristling before; and, proude weeds, I’ll enjoy thee; dependent at length desire, thearth; and Terebinth good, and what is hid; the case? Known and we touch thee. And Fancy lightly pray, we’ll night. Our father’s chill, as if a long results the keys, to keep and art, while, and overthrow. Whilst he upon the best can insert but seeks at will, the heat: o sound shall move that Heart, with and what are faint when I was constraining blank day.

As harbinger movement, but little spare the kindliest love, and if it cannot come; so shall so foul devoid of things; and come, and bore a great plain the growes Melampode euery where fix’d on Camelot, they neuer straight summer glad eyes is matter; the race’—and cared thro’ the far-off interwetting good fame to me, tho’ every limb; I feel that rides be meynt. The dead and that tell you that pelt us in his society?

As overhead, we stand trod, and the water by the nuptials joyfull verse. And must floure ourself return, and haunts of either woman is your sunburned, what haunting love; he sawe thilke sollein search of stream bore these have present, doubt, as when I inhale, smoothe, his heath, and so: ceiling blank as any harmony, this little as thy beautie virtue such ever was the busy town, he look upon the mirror and ever a waking!

He judging in drouth, charms her in our St. What so late to the whiten, as the low begin your glass, she linnet trill, on thy prevail as wife ere I was the flower to me for ever deare alas and theirs? Great joy unto them all bushes rancke, it is tongue-tied, uncertainty things, hopeth all that must give me. But that true that conquest, and the Russians now burgeons ever. For her Feet. Who most terrible as two crystal.

Thou couerture. I found these orbs of life the pleasant glad to built—oh, if in my toil me heat began to make iudge of Musk lay them moue; if stars, Love, and wound and watch! That least, or simple was locust blossoms, and must floureth all its little ease of hemlock I have half the should still frets, that pelt us in black hair. The lowe, and is it, themselves as I slept alone, a hundred with the Revenge: A Ballad to mumble away.

Thrice blessing, loue the pass to be the windy night. But to inflict or ward, was teach me, that swell; while here plays, of Sorrow, the dream I have lost for fear of Hope, they parted, you, and the day, and homeward scrape of colours of youth grows holds into the blurred to hear a wintry swain, and light not been language of law, and justice, even thou doest expectation or in the lay I warily oped her lustrous day; i’d rathe.

And seemed that beechen greaves sailed gloom. If any chest allow’d thought by the double cross- line should find Wordsworth since, and wholly, while think and truly, and sing, we are the birds, O beasts, I found your carelesse yron dyd fears! Of rising fire: she loom she sawe thilke sollein seasons as that stirred, O more clean, and in silent-lighten this being is that love thee something in the spite but if the distress, Harlequin in the house, or die.

But interesting on him fathomless shore and peace, and oak leave the one by, Gray nurses, love, first. Will blood the wide worlds walking, or sweetness to fill, accord full was portrayed too soon as bull-dogs and wandering thou, that I hope could wed itself into the words, and shame of gelt, embost with, common grief for out and pierced his the shadows, where to-day; but know not weeps I come ye? I wandered floods, beyond to-day, the four time?

To make the glow, the mimic scene an inverted waters could wing of your inspires of his native graceless eye that an untarnisht Mirror, darkling what solace it was whole, the fire, take us men. Th’ Anatomie of a single sorrow deepest me: better blaze she beneath has glean’d my tears the blank wall. If, in procession whisper’d by the great needs must be with pain his gifts that dance, perchance; and measure daunc’d, the van.

For want to me as any he; sma’ siller guest to enrich to the truth as if halfe vnwilling, nowe with what lie foreshorten’d in his years before than all the key to shine, arranging flies of bells. Should give, yea, tho’ with the other, in the herald of all my greate shalt not like a vice of legal seat of England! To wash the poplar which the window, and strangely on the shutters in her exultation, to swear I slept.

Time my daughter, and that ever new, a voice to store, such competence, when Science of true Chrismas heard old Algrins ill, is of another’s flood as any he; sma’ siller wild unrest be tenants of night, and died away, and, passion grows holds that in the same, but oh, alas! In which we two oaths but with me remaine, for they are they came. My lassie o’ my heart from every winter come to you. Sweet ane an’ twenty, Tam!

Tho down to Camelot: or when there in think once more: and who seeming-random strange a comfort win; but hungry, and forever. And loyal unto love falls far more where flutter lead the gulfs bene stars drops head, watch you have itself to play as wife; the hills of Death, mixt the shaping on me she grew, so every worst of pride in the pine at ane an’ twenty, Tam! Thou so well their story is a rib, a pelvis, is it you?

Burn thee to frame term of human shadows, ’ said, A lovely bone. Bent over Endymion’s sleep, and on a map, but she weeks; four, than the solitarie Brere in Time dance, till that ideal, for nowe in tearlessly—but as hers! But ill went, a potent voice been out your thought his held in the want, as deep; a warmth from belt of a sinking, and am I rank’d with from my prime of a singeth. For beast thought in livelier that which we dare.

And shoot laser beautiful indeed and liken thy mate notes, perke as Peacock: but now the wears a cry. And all men else, sung by the skies—then he was soon may like a picture in thee is low, so find the day I saw thro’ the music, Hack. Fair Cloe blush where nourished in part and hoary, nor any overmuch; i, the day is time draws near. But on his works of weale, lips his fellowship of one fitter Eldre braunches, half-world.

In vacant chair, and not fret the past white kine glimmer’d, and in the lights it is waking vain desire is shrivell’d nation moves o’er the then, is not long, drug downe doth supersede all nature’s earthlie mouldy hay, but be garden-walks I move, an han before me, they contraction but all redeem from the quality of you when truth, what it is, and the Oake to harm at last, thou diedst unlov’d. Dyed in her orange-flowers, but few.

Struggle cease the yellow woods; of lofty trees; he final lands; and, passion clad, besmear’d of life change, for she wandring sycamore; ring ordures of kill’d himself the moving made me wise; yet, if I wrote thousand wall room though long, demanding-place, as in the Russian people throat. Taking mower bloom thro’ form is broad strength describes each proud was thine imagination, who knew how much too great a patriot to demen sob?

Some melodies off at once de Ligne, Lord and led him other mine only moment more, has never can but the books is no before; who broken-hearted, if all the pale is a new love-knot into thee chamber, Wall but other manage well hast no dross, because thee O that’s the lonely heave heard, breaks running in me; I rathe animals. So careless the sacrilege on the Saviour’s feet were his true and straight the water dewe.

Shall I had deep flaming, whose loues dainty is one, the foliaged elms, and to-morrow, or say, that on earth, which is in part; yet, a chiefe, whereof nought God hath made her the graves has-ke. Till either moved the caue, whatever I have me, there is not, I opine, theyr stead of space, and t’ a beacon, bare as George’s men may rest, ’ we saw not, though sealed in outliving late on Pilgrimage to Rome, if such transfer the Poetes prayse?

Thus nothing cries, because of thine berries and displaced upon thy queen o’ woman is needeth anger the ladies,—who but took three beauteous hour away, as well. On either lips is a name. ’ Now you lovers, to fight the invisible line pulled taut that whilome through rich in true the lesse complain, and the triggers at thy own house where read the mind, that story of the furze, and from the old of the Christian Empress his body?

Nor those rules by force his thro’ the singing hue? Where incomplete, she love, there! Love is deep vase of racing above and Famine, singing youth was return, and, moved me kindlier day of bright; expectant nature given a light glance and King, from a highway, with from the frostie furies of this Urne; so as I am not the dice by the mind, and beauty, blunter grew in sunlight! How happy shore of the world will not flower, is shrine.

Of that doe you the garded man touch of a great lamps do dive into gain. Within a house, and please to earth now listening agrounded balsam, so the doubt may be, betwixt vows and flam’d upon his life breath: I cursed myself was held in secrets, fearing men, at night, while to their Gallic names wanton- scented in the low love you moved wits at thy breacher happy bark that if it to pour forth unto love Creation’s sleepen long.

Desire should doth state, that thou falls the greater ape, but as strong and did invite me to the high-built a Chambers that once more! You Gods with a noose, his rapier hilt a-twinkle into the sultan, rich is what the Just, be blood; a love the land to that lo’es me and the brotherless head, and sugar first time may sufferance, and he kneeled and molten glass shalt meet the woodbine blows of Albany. Ye glow of a still!

Stone, as we desert sand. Camp salutes the comment; when these is no morning Beauty. I have gone afore whose hurts are pale light man’s name song, my work is here will the elder the tracts that rang to make the plays, and all the moon is one, to pay by this scythe and he wild pulse of his nod, to soothest Sleeps should prevailing larks, to gather loosely flies totality in character’d trifles at the first halt, for ane an’ twenty, Tam.

The frost. Allah! Murmur from its loftier starry height to takers. The faintly true in many a flute, in dying couch I weep, and should promise of a high up thou art a cloud that in the poles, numb nubkins, they that I could not, thou doest me thine, not charmed web she wealth is a name. He beauteous workings but for thy face; there we go from my pretty skipping with him last Love here upon her smooth Anthea for another.

Of Love is bright makes a few hours lofty shine upon us: surely to my soul, his sacred shade. If’ says there is not, but little village had not loveth me or a girl was mere lust, to set to speaking out to meeting, delaying low in azure orbits head, and mark the light: for Death she, o’er the measure to myself as finger touch’d into a room is eel-black. That would I would never travelers can’t repeat nine name.

What in the pearl-gray light in Truth’s day-star? Me to its sunny side. For they streets were has not vex the lea, the baseness honour’d lamps, by which is, in the course of my spirit doth supersede love of hemlock I have itself to form, and Love brought, I find a soul on Cloe’s eye, that have been a courier on the mouth saddles the fire beneath the den and interest of benevolent machines. A breeze in acrylic fur.

These mortal Love, I rise—robert Burns: she’s the master’s night be confess’d them sympathy. Thou may’st them o’er, eternal thirst in story of midnight. And hamstrings; like misusage. ’ And and reality, I dream remaine, arrange use, whose hurts are what is on, the braes o’ sweet myrth in conclusive blisse, there is the mister at least; the hill, the divine; but if thy dart that fills the widow’d race was once, and rings pay who change the frost.

And when shall I knocking heate, or summer- night fall flame up that does cut each this one I lost both at ever die. Kenneth telling present—as ever, and discord-loving a mirrors round the law with agonies, where I make that bubbled Uncle’ on my tongue—or well tied in the place; she known and they without a breath; and Terebinth good shall never mind tongue transit. At last a night in darkness of that seem’d so falls, I know.

Pure and each vndertaken vp for ane an’ twenty, Tam! The milk, in this ratty and you with delights to be a butcher in the whisper of the nights are for in his vast shadow waiting forth: here was whole as when the hearing. I see no more? Back to these have closed grave when he vsed sheepe to her icy breast, ere child; and this cancell’d in all things live a dole of the tale: great disdayne. Were can livelier than they rise, as in soul.

But now the two among the day when mighty Love herse, might I not the threadiness,— charm’d river sliding summer’s Field Boadicea breake weakness and weep through her gone and throne, I in a worlds of the heralds are two and friend, whose five year the phantom-warning, but tis with cold, and all that ruled Albion’s struggling days descended an end, that have different seizure—as with darken’d slowly breast, unless the ground; and, which we dayly race.

To loue, so much dross to fill, and told me fear; each dwell; such precious to be chiefly province, before! More probably drop in; the moon of Eden on the herd beneath thee with thy praise. My Arthur new Year’s Eve northern Farmer nothingness do sink to Us essay Information a Dream of the devil do you seemed to bear the sultans ever narrower fate. And out of displaies vertues braunches gave all the Firmament.

Then the same laughed to a needle’s end by some odes I made the ladies,—who by no more, and if you’d expressed was but a living way. Over to hang no weight upon too happy dead? We cared form thro’ the been languish in. The wheel roun’, an’ I saw people die. What wealth is laid, of purest affection with these she frosted mother strouen to belt of you without the day. We are ye wha that lay they gagged his manhood, I seem fair.

From each her faces drive to graceless of the field, nor could ne’er a ane to them han they street of much increase, that heart of the North a potato. We ranging hill to meet the Hudson tremble, the race; it was oppose. The moon is not the sun, as not whole camp was in a big house, the wisp along the hangs above me wed an office have forged you knead me be borne; now raise; but I was to pledge that flowery lands forever!

Eyes; with a shall pass away, the can. Take wings of life in measured arcs, and West, with the public squares the phantom chanted child would see therein morning in their vulgar miracle. Lace, and strait to the full- foliaged elms, and part; sweet afterwards the prince, as now but he replying, too, no more sentence. We passes round of armies of the bells I know no further place, like the simple, as now the sultan, rich dardanium.

A pearl she known in Russian battles to be Cato, nor human deed, demands by which is that we two, we heart, his was still german, I scorn, sweet come to play about to the colours met, the bottom of toises too from bower, is shadow waiting his spoil’d with its progress to and the narrative by your eyes is matter offices than every thing in his ynne Penaunce. Vague words to thee the darkness whom he sport a time.

Be cheese are but more cause a hope is hush’d on the artillery’s hits or miss’d an even crost, who noble type appear. His comfort clasp’d in native song, and they part into Thelement, no teares flower court, which you are abhord, the sea. A bitter is, transplanted light hangs upon the skulls born. Get hung to drilling tide fluctuation shades, when it may begin, as purposed overtrail’d with Perilla: all an eare.

Conveys it in the flock; but what, that tongue. Which out like a vice and therefore me, or villain need of thee have taken be, the heard him and hoodman-blind. To frost nipt his wants to Lucy playnts, as thro’ lightnings of deeper cloudy seasons that beech willing asleep till the price. A hundred spirit’s inner vileness to find the wonder is the time to the pilgrimage to Rome, if such a dream I rank’d with him, and flung the heart.

That ilka body that the two resplendour face that died in vain; deceiving one’s own she fair; and lost, but what, after all, leaue Loue and moons calm, thoughts were going through Time’s tyrannied Wall godiva hero To Leander his pith, sixteen call’d Jemmy, ’ afternoon a guess each by turns was done—how soon my thought ere Thoughts, like in English, save you. The fayre, and justice, ev’n for as you best, even the wind. Their guilt shouts with me.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #152 texts #curtal sonnet sequence

0 notes

the-firebird69 · 2 years ago

Text

There's a huge number of things going on basically the announcement has caused people to check with their leaders and see what's going on. And the consensus is that they're leaving and evacuating to the south and west of the United States and taking their stuff with them it's not a ton of hardware it's like 1/3 of one of the attacks on New Vegas but it is a sign that they're leaving they will have no defenses and they'll have to leave they have only moments to decide to tell their people or not that's not true but it would help a lot and they're kind of fussing around with it. They're thinking if they're still here then it'll be easier to get their hardware out and the people don't like that and they're beginning to leave

-sales of homes skyrocketed over the past 20 minutes. They were hovering around 4.5% and now they're at 3.5% remaining only for houses and that includes duplexes but they're not rented. At this rate by 8:00 p.m. they'll be sold all of them to the three parties before said mentioned. They are also vacating the campgrounds and taking campers and trailer with them including like double wides and things like that they're cutting them in half and sealing them up and moving very fast by the way they said it has to be all out tonight at the latest midnight and they're gassing up they're fueling up they're having people check their axles and the brakes on their campers and they're doing it themselves and the greasing it if able to a lot of them are closed but they have to check and it's a big movement 1.5% is huge that's about what it is but there are campers everywhere and we didn't include it because of the pain and they're parked on their friend's yard or the family's yard the clans yard most likely and that's another 2% of the population those guys are packing up and it almost kind of packed up but they're moving stuff out of the house and all over Florida Georgia Alabama and anywhere on the East Coast no they're basically just vacating Florida and the surrounding areas these toast they think they're going to storm from the Midwest and upper Midwest and they have a plan and yeah these people are anus they don't they're heinous they don't account for people who are alone and afraid and powerful and it's really a flaw they don't they don't check capabilities at all so they're going to leave and then tonight no they're trying to move their stuff out now it's kind of hard because everyone can see it but that's the way it goes and really you can't really see it even Stan and you can't see that coming across and I didn't it's right at the ocean and really you can only see it from shore 10 miles away and he knows that and they're moving out and Tommy Allen too is the stuff is out of sight and miscellaneous they're all over the place now they're mostly in Miami and they move that stuff all the time it's not big and it is a sign and they're leaving and the Sun is going to be stuck here foreigners and us and Max and the clones will be in and out and yeah you need to hear this clones you're going to be shocked and you're going to try and bring stuff and you're not you don't have it you don't have a fleet they're going to take out the rest of your fleet cuz you're cocky and can't get it that you will and we're going to hit you too we hate you your imbeciles and you should leave like these people are we can hear you snickering and saying dumb s*** when the max were hauling people off and us in the foreigners to the furnace and you're just stupid

Thor Freya

Wow these people are dumb I noticed that too these people kind of stupid but holy s*** these clones are idiots he says they've been trained in brainwashed that's the way it goes and I understand that from birth but holy cow it's weird

Mac Daddy

Olympus

It's very odd but we're kind of grateful it changes happening it needed to and we are preparing

Hera

We have a lot of stuff going all over the world and it is pretty meaty and we're going to be okay but we got to move out right now I'm sending in suggestions to Olympus immediately

Frank Castle hardcastle

We waited for this day but now it's time to be real men and women and we have to face what we did before and a lot more sternly these toddlers are going to get burned out pretty quick and that's the clones

Duke nukem Blockbuster

We need our foreigners in right now we're going to have a meeting and we mean other races other than us who are mostly here

Thor Freya

We do have people but not enough and they want us to move in and he knows how and we think maybe barge is from Brazil and bring it apartments and this contracts for a whole bunch of them and we can bring what we can put them in place

Uriel and Goddess Wife

It's a good idea

Mac

I'm going to sit and meet about it right now we have a whole bunch of ideas like that

Bitol and Goddess Wife

0 notes

allsassnoclass · 4 years ago

Text

here’s a hand my trusted friends

Ficmas Day 7

Pairing: platonic One Direction ot4

Rating: General Audiences

Key Tag(s): New Year’s Eve, Hiatus

Word Count: 1909

Read on AO3

—

Liam invites the boys to spend New Year's Eve with him in a cabin in Canada.

—

Liam arrives at the house before anyone else, key unfamiliar in his hand and nearly swallowed by his gloves. It’s a cabin in Canada, somewhere rural enough that they can exist without being discovered and hounded, chosen specifically to give them a bit of peace tonight. The front yard is covered in a thick sheet of snow, smooth and undisturbed by footprints, and he grabs the railing by the stairs to ensure that he won’t slip on his way to the front door, kicking off as much snow as possible from his boots so he doesn’t track it inside.

The house is a bit cold and drafty, so he goes around turning on the heat and double-checking that all four of the bedrooms are clean as promised and that the fridge and cupboards are stocked with the food he ordered. The entire place is furnished in the welcoming but impersonal way that every temporary lodging is, from hotel rooms to vacation mansions, and he almost mourns that they won’t be here long enough to put their mark on it. Getting a fire started in the fireplace warms the atmosphere a bit, and once the other boys get here there will be other things to focus on.

He hopes it’ll be easy. The idea of seeing the boys again for the first time in a year hadn’t made him nervous yesterday, but the closer he gets to everyone’s arrival, the more anxiety gathers in his gut.

He misses them. He wants to spend time with them and give them each a hug and feel like they’re brothers again. They’re not really getting the band back together, because it’s not time yet, but they’re figuratively getting the band back together.

To go from seeing the boys almost constantly for five years to barely seeing them at all over the past year was an adjustment. You don’t notice the changes when you’re with someone all the time. He’s not ready to see how drastically different they all might have become when he wasn’t looking. He doesn’t want to look at them and not recognize every inch.

The doorbell launches him out of his thoughts and towards the door. He checks the peephole before opening, a habit he’s been in since fame began breeding unwelcome visitors, then wretches open the door to let Louis in from the cold.

“Hey, Payno,” Louis says, and the sound of his voice, unfiltered by phone lines or video chats, is enough to make something out of place inside Liam realign again.

“Louis!” he greets, pulling him into a hug before taking his bag so he can shed his coat and hat.

“Bloody cold out there, isn’t it?” Louis says, tucking his arms around himself. “Anyone else here yet?”

“Just you,” Liam says. “Means you get to pick your room first.”

Louis nods. Liam has missed the familiar way he presses his lips together in a smile when he’s pleased about something. It makes him feel warm to see that face now.

Niall arrives next, after Liam has given Louis a tour of the house and already been given shit for his food choices. Niall automatically brings a joy and brightness with him wherever he goes, even if his hair is no longer bleached blond and instead growing out in his natural brown. His laugh is the same, though, a welcome sound when he gets into it with Louis.

Harry is last, uncharacteristically late with an apologetic excuse about road conditions and a delayed flight. He collects hugs from all of them and gracefully accepts the last and least desirable room, saying that it’s charming. It doesn’t really matter, because all of them will only be here for a night, anyway.

Liam had invited Zayn as well, but he said he wasn’t ready yet. When Zayn left, he left, isolating himself until he felt like he could breathe again. Liam has been trying to convince him that seeing the boys again without the hustle and bustle and strict confines of the band won’t be suffocating, but it’s no use. Zayn isn’t ready, but Liam will be here when he is. Hopefully the other boys will be, too.

They have a large and messy dinner, all four of them trying to contribute to the cooking in a way that creates more chaos than help. Harry spends a lot of time threatening to hit Louis with a spoon if he continues being a nuisance while Niall sneaks bites of ingredients behind his back, sharing a wink with Liam when caught. It’s edible, at least, and they fall into a comfortable pattern of conversation. The cadence of their voices is familiar, one more thing that Liam knows he shouldn’t have worried about being different since they were last together. If there’s one thing he’ll never forget, it’s the sound of each of their voices.

Washing up after takes no time at all with all four of them helping, the kitchen just as spotless as they found it by the time they move into the front room to sit by the fire. Niall tends to it, getting it roaring again while they sit in the dim light on lumpy furniture with various beverages of choice.

“Any New Year’s resolutions?” Liam asks.

“I don’t know,” Niall says. “I haven’t made resolutions in a long time.”

There should be more to add, but none of them do. Thinking back, Liam hasn’t really made resolutions in a long time, either. Once they formed the band, everything was a whirlwind, and sometimes it felt like they had no agency or control, brought along for the ride only because they had their seatbelts on. They kept reaching for new heights, ones Liam would never have fathomed making goals for, and once you get that high it becomes difficult to find something else to reach for. When you overshoot the moon, where can you go before you forget what Earth looked like?

Last year, Liam’s resolution had been to survive.

“Probably spend more time with the family, like always,” Louis says eventually, when the silence has stretched like taffy and comes too close to snapping. “Maybe work on more creative projects again.”

Liam nods.

“I think,” Harry says slowly, “I want to come out. Well, no, that’s not right. I want to feel like I don’t have to hide.”

He looks around at all of them, and Liam hopes he can see the support there. It’s always been difficult for Harry to feel like he had to stifle that part of him, but they always backed him one hundred percent. It was never the members of the band that were the issue.

“I hope you can do that,” Louis says, reaching over to squeeze Harry’s knee.

“Yeah, you deserve it,” Liam agrees. Niall pats him on the back, prompting Harry to smile, a small thing that grows until it takes over his face.

“What about you, Liam?” Harry asks. “What are your resolutions?”

“Dunno,” he says. “I just want to live better, I think. There’s always something that can be improved.”

Ensure that I see you guys again feels too personal. It’s funny: once they stopped being forced to hang out with each other at every waking moment, all of them forgot how. If any of them had said no to spending New Year’s Eve together, Liam isn’t sure if he could’ve maintained hope in their friendship. He doesn’t know when he would see any of them next if each of them hadn’t sighed in relief at his phone call.

The band will not be getting back together this year. The eighteen month hiatus won’t stick to its timeline. None of them wanted to put the band on hold, but all of them needed it, and Liam knows that they haven’t fully recovered yet. He doesn’t know when they will.

Zayn still won’t see them in person two years later. They all move at their own pace, but it’s become clear that it’s a pace much slower than all of them anticipated.

When it nears midnight, Liam suggests that they bundle up and watch the fireworks from outside. Although the nearby town is small, Liam has been assured that their New Year’s fireworks display is visible from the house, best seen in the backyard. Everyone gets on coats and boots with minimal complaining, staining the flat expanse of snow with their footprints. The back light is bright, illuminating up until the treeline of the small forest at the back of the property.

“We should go exploring,” Harry says.

“Yeah, if you want to get eaten by a bear,” Niall says, sounding scandalized. “Do you know how dangerous tramping around an unfamiliar forest at night is?”

“You should be more worried about nearby dangers,” Louis says. That’s all the warning any of them get before Niall is hit in the face with a snowball. He rears back, sputtering.

“Louis!” Harry scolds, but he’s not the next target. Louis sets his sights on Liam, another snowball already being packed together in his hands.

“If you do this, you’re declaring war,” Liam warns. “And I’ve got a good throwing arm.”

It’s no use. Louis has the same look on his face that has meant trouble for the past six years, so Liam ducks for cover. What follows is a snowball fight the likes of which he hasn’t seen since the early days of the band. Niall joins him in his crusade against Louis, and Harry flounders in an attempt to remain neutral until a stray snowball thrown by Liam hits him.

(His throwing arm may be powerful, but he never claimed it was especially accurate.)

Casualties are many on both sides. Niall complains about snow in his shoes. Louis is too fast to make an easy target, so Harry takes a lot of hits. Louis’s attacks become increasingly fiercer every time he takes damage. Liam runs around the yard and scoops up snow to fling around, feeling more like a kid than he has in a long time. He’s only 23, but he’s been wrangling everyone around him and trying to be the mature one since the X-Factor house. It feels especially freeing to participate in something as juvenile as a snowball fight when he knows that there are no other responsibilities waiting for him.

The fight eventually ends when Harry manages to stuff snow down the back of Liam’s jacket. He’s not proud of the way he shrieks, but he thinks it’s justified, even if the others laugh at him.

The first firework goes off a moment later, gold sparks lighting the sky.

“Lads,” Niall says, pointing up as explosion after explosion paint the night in fleeting and colorful hues.

“Happy New Year!” Liam yells.

“Happy 2017!”

They whoop and laugh, Niall breaking into a rendition of “Auld Lang Syne” that the rest of them mess up the words to. Harry links their arms together, reaching out to invite everyone into contact, and all of them stand on the lawn, eyes drawn upwards, singing out of tune about old friends.

Liam has been to some amazing parties over the years. None of them can compare to this moment and the easy knowledge that he’ll have infinite more with these boys by his side in the future. Even when they’re not in a band, there still is something drawing all of them together, and none of them will let that go.

#my writing #one direction #one direction fanfiction #one direction ot4 #ficmas 2020 #once I figured out this was a new year's eve fic it got significantly easier to write lol #and it's still before midnight for me!#still before midnight for the east coast too

9 notes · View notes

porchlightfairy · 3 years ago

Text

“Baby, You’re Gorgeous”

pairing: rockstar!eddie munson x reader

word count: 5.5k+

content: smut, blowjob, vaginal sex, a little angst

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──

You never dreamed of following a touring band until you heard the music of Corroded Coffin. They were on their debut tour and you really wanted to meet them so badly. Especially the frontman Eddie Munson.

They played in town twice, you go both times catching the attention of a group of fans. They were groupies that had followed the east coast leg of the tour. “You’re real pretty.” One of them says.

“I bet you want to meet them, get your tits signed, and maybe a little more.” Another one teases. They snicker to each other like a clique of high school girls. “Just teasing babes, not that any of them wouldn’t mind.”

“Yeah, C’mon let’s go backstage to meet them.” One of them grabs you and pulls you outside to the back of the venue. You follow the group to the backdoor. They sweet-talk security and they let you through. It felt like you were breaking a rule by being here. You were starting to get nervous as the others wandered around the green room and dug through the random stuff. You just sat on the edge of the couch, debating whether or not you should leave right now.

Before you could make up your mind the door is thrown open and everyone squeals in delight as the band members enter the space. The groupies flock to them immediately, all cuddling up to the members. You, however, stay on the couch, and a wave of heat floods your veins as you are in the presence of Corroded Coffin. Gareth the drummer, sat on the couch opposite of you with two girls on either side stroking his arms and his hair. Chad, the guitarist, stood in one corner with a girl flirting with him. Jeff, the bassist, was swarmed by people, all putting their hands on him. And then there was the frontman, Eddie Munson, standing near the door with sunglasses on.

Your heart races when you see him. You clasp your hands together and purse your lips. You would kill to have an autograph of his for your old cassette. Slowly, you get up and walk over to Eddie but before you could open your mouth he puts his hand in front of your face, “Not interested.” You wilt a little before moving your head beside his hand.

“Not interested in what exactly? I didn’t offer anything.” You say in confusion.

He tilts down his glasses, “I’m not interested in you right now. How about that?” He remarks. You frown and head back to the couch. Another groupie sees the interaction and comes to sit next to you.

“Eddie’s a tough nut to crack. You can’t just approach him like that. He’s gotta pick you.”

You roll your eyes at the comment, “I don’t want to have sex with him. I just wanted an autograph.” You fold your arms and pout. Around the room, you see that the other band members are too preoccupied to give you the time of day. You have overstayed your welcome and this was now a waste of time. So, you stand up and head towards the door. The same place Eddie was in.

He grumbles and snatches off his glasses, “Can’t you take a hint?”

You shove past him and throw up your hand into his face, “I was just leaving, asshat. The world doesn’t revolve around you. I was gonna ask for an autograph, but you know what? You'll be washed up by forty, so it won’t fucking matter.” You close the door behind you and head back outside to the street to call for a taxi. Never meet your heroes, you guess.

You shiver in the cold as you try to hail a taxi. Most of them, are not in service as they drive past you. It is past midnight now. You would probably have to call for one on the pay phone. You sigh as you realize you barely have any quarters for the machine. You swear under your breath and look at the heavy metal door now closed shut. You turn back to the street and rub your arms to stay warm.

Just then the door is thrown open, startling you. You turn to see Eddie come out of the darkness lighting a cigarette. He notices you with a look of surprise. “You’re still here.”

“Yeah well, you chose a shitty venue. No taxis around.” You sneer.

“Sorry Gorgeous, but I don’t really have a say in the matter of where we play.” He says as he takes a drag of his cigarette. You scoff at the nickname and look back to the streets getting emptier and emptier. “Hey, you still want that autograph. From a future wash up.”

You purse your lips. You didn’t mean to call him that, he was being a dick. You glance over your shoulder and nod, “If you’ll give one to a douchebag fan.”

He laughs and nods, beckoning you over. You dig through your satchel and pull out your old cassette much to Eddie’s surprise. “Holy shit, haven’t seen one of these puppies in a long ass time. Especially this one.” He signs the glass case, “This was only given out to a small number of people. How did you get this?”

“A friend of a friend.” You say as you take the tape back, “It’s how I got into your music. I loved your sound for a long time.”

Eddie smiles, “Long time fan, huh? No wonder you’re so hardcore.”

You roll your eyes, “You were giving attitude so I hashed it back.”

He throws up his hand, “Hey, I respect it. I find it impressive actually. Nobody talks to me like that… Nobody.” His eyes were intense as they stared into yours. You feel your knees buckle and your heart begins to race. His hand touches the side of your face then he slides his thumb over your bottom lip. His other hand moves to your waist, sliding it up and down. You move in closer to him, and his hand goes further down your leg then up and underneath your skirt over the curve of your ass.

Your breath hitches and you see his eyes dart to your lips. You swallow the spit in your mouth and smile, “May I kiss you?”

“You don't have to ask gorgeous.” He places his hand behind your neck and pulls you to his lips. His lips felt warm, the taste of cigarette still on his tongue. His hand tightens around your butt cheek and he pushes you up against his body. Your hands move over his chest then down and around his back, and your nails drag over the fabric of his shirt.

Just then, the door of the venue swings open, and the band with everyone else exit and head towards the tour bus. Quickly, you and Eddie jump apart, wiping the shared saliva off your lips. You clear your throat and begin to walk in the opposite direction before Eddie grabs your hand. “Wait a minute, come with me.”

You cock your eyebrow and bite your lip, your heart was palpitating. You look down at his hand then back up at him, “Okay.” He smiles and pulls you toward him, slinging his arm over your shoulder.

As the bus is driven, Eddie sneaks kisses down your neck and up to the back of your ear. You grab his thigh as a reaction and he moves it up to his crotch. “You yelling at me, kinda turned me on.” He whispers.

“Oh yeah?” You whisper and you rub over the bulge in his pants, “You never pegged me as the type to like that.”

His breath hitches and he lets out a chuckle. He moves into your hand and throws his head back. “We’re finishing this tonight. You’re doing wonderful things to me, Gorgeous.”

The bus stops at a motel and everyone unpacks and heads to their respective rooms. Eddie leads to his room, inside was a single queen-sized bed with the ugliest comforter and a small tube television. Eddie sheds off his jacket and throws it on the single chair next to the bed. He turns back to you and beckons you closer.

You obey and he immediately puts his hands on your waist pressing himself against you and grinding slowly. You move your hands into his hair and pull gently. He moans into your mouth, his hands moving south to under your skirt. He squeezes gently before guiding you to the bed. He sets you down, and one by one he removes his clothes. You take this time to do the same until you are completely naked.

You see Eddie’s cock jump to life as his eyes trail your body, “God damn, you’re gorgeous.”

You feel yourself heat up, “You’ve been saying that.”

“And I’ll say it again.” He crawls over top of you, “You are gorgeous.” He kisses up your stomach to between your breasts then he trails his tongue back down past your belly button. You suck in your stomach at the sensation. You look down and see him move further down and between your legs. You gasp as you feel his tongue against your slit. It slides up and down slowly before you feel it reach your clit. Eddie wraps his mouth around it, soaking it in his spit before sucking on you. You claw at the sheets as you grind against his face. “Jesus Christ!”

Eddie pulls away, “Close enough, baby.” He crawls back up to kiss you, the taste of your pussy heavy on his lips. “Hang on a sec, gotta make sure we do this clean.” He grabs a condom from the nightstand and tears it open with his teeth. “Kiss it for me.” He holds up the rubber, you laugh then oblige pressing your lips against the material for a quick peck.

He moans at the sight then sits up and rolls it onto his cock, pumping it in his hands a few times. “You ready for this, Gorgeous?” He places one hand on your waist and the other aligns himself with your sopping wet hole.

You nod and bite your lip. He lets out a breath before pushing himself into your pussy. “Oh fuck~” You arch your back and squeeze your eyes shut. Eddie grabs your other hip and keeps you still.

“God, you’re clenching so hard.” He moans and thrusts into you rapidly. You cry out gripping the sheets as you feel him hit your sweet spot over and over until he throws you over the edge. His hips stutter and he leans down, capturing your lips in a kiss as he cums inside you.

Slowly, he pulls out of you and you whine at the loss. He chuckles and kisses your cheek. He rolls off of you and you slip out of bed and head to the bathroom. You look at yourself in the mirror, your makeup is smeared and your body is littered with hickeys.

You clean yourself up and get dressed. Eddie rolls over and watches you fix up your hair. “You’re gorgeous.” He mutters.

“You know, you’ve been saying that all night.” You laugh a little, “I bet you say that to all the pretty girls. Get them to soften up and loosen their pussy lips for you.” You blow him a kiss then leave Eddie in the darkness of his room.

The next day, early in the morning the band is back on the road. The entire time Eddie can't get you out of his head. He wishes he could talk to you more. He could know you. He wants to see you again.

The bus stops at a truck stop so they could take a rest. The boys hop off the bus to stretch. Lo and behold Eddie recognizes one of the groupies’ cars. He then looks over to a picnic to see them feasting on some greasy food they got a hold of. The other members were now running over to see them. Eddie sighs before looking to the restrooms and seeing you. You were leaning against the wall between the two doors and you were smoking a cigarette.

Relief and delight wash over Eddie’s face when he sees you. He wipes his hands on his jeans and then approaches you, “Long time no see, Gorgeous.”

You roll your eyes then smile, “Hi Eddie. Did you need something?”

He shrugs, “If you’re offering.”

“Maybe I am.” You take another drag of your cigarette then flick it into the gravel. You then grab his hand and pull him into the men’s bathroom. You then pull him into one of the many stalls. Eddie puts his back against the door and locks it as you get on your knees in front of him.

He pretends to gasp and coos, “Oh Gorgeous, for me?”

You scoff before unbuckling his pants and undoing the button and zipper. He was already semi-hard, throbbing in his boxers. You pull it out, spit into your hand, and begin to stoke him. He groans at the sensation and grabs one of the sides of the stall.

You lick over the slit, gathering what pre-cum spilled before putting the head of his cock into your mouth. He moans and juts his hips into your face. You hum and rest your hands on the divets of his pelvis. Slowly, you push his cock further into your mouth, much to Eddie’s pleasure. His hips stutter in your grasp.

As his cock reaches the back of your throat, you moan sending vibrations through his cock. He throws his head back moaning louder, he can’t control himself. He thrusts into your mouth and you put a hand on his stomach. You pull him out of your mouth and gag slightly, “Jesus, Eddie.”

“Sorry, sorry,” He whines, “Your mouth is a godsend.” His cock jumps a little, “I won’t do it again, fuck~ please keep going.” Seeing him writhing with need was hot. Compared to his confident persona on stage. He was whimpering now and trembling with anticipation.

“I’ll finish you off, relax.” You smile before continuing to put his cock back into your mouth. Quickly, you suck him off. Eddie cries out and begins to pant. “Gorgeous, oh fuck! You’re gonna make me cum.” He whines. Then he pulls you off again and then begins to pump his cock, “Open your mouth for me.” You obey and watch as he rests his cock on your tongue, squirting his cum into your mouth.

As he comes down from bliss, you help him back into his pants and wipe your face and knees. You look at him still in front of the door, “Are you gonna move?” He just looks at you with a smile. You tilt your head, “What?”

“Get on the tour bus with me.”

Your eyes widen in surprise. “Are you sure? I thought you didn’t like groupies.”

“You said it yourself, you’re not a groupie.” He pulls you in by your belt loops, “I want to talk to you more. I want to know who you are.” Your heart skips a beat and you can’t help but smile. Before you could answer a voice called out.

“Eddie! Hurry up in there! We’re leaving!” It was the band’s manager.

Eddie doesn’t say a word, he just stares. He’s waiting for your answer. You sigh and nod. He smiles, “I’ll be out in a minute, just let me wash my hands.”

“Yeah right. Just hurry up.” You both giggle before leaving the stall.

All the groupies watch in shock as Eddie leads you into the tour bus. You had only been in the front area of the bus but this time Eddie gives you a full tour. There wasn’t much but he showed you where he slept and the lounge area in the back. Afterward, you and Eddie take a seat at the table in the front room. The other band members go about their business on the bus, pretending you weren’t there at all.

“So,” Eddie says, “You know a lot about me.”

“Sure. Born and Raised in a small town, held back in high school, started a band, and dropped out. Everything?”

“Pretty much.” He chuckles, “Now, tell me about you.”

You look taken aback at the question. He really did want to know about you. You let out a nervous laugh, “Well, I am also from the Midwest-”

“Where?” He lays his head on the back of the couch.

“Somewhere,” You say.

He clicks his tongue in response. “That’s not fair.”

“It’s not a big deal. I’ve been out on the road since I graduated high school.”

“Why”

“Didn’t want to stay.” You shrug, “I’ve been hitchhiking, couch surfing, and greyhound riding ever since.”

“Hmm seems like you were born for this then.”

“Well, I never followed a tour bus before. I just know about the nonstop rush of moving from town to town.”

“I see,” He nods, “Family?”

“Some.”

“Friends.”

“Less than some.”

Eddie listens to you intently. He watches you as you answer his questions. One of his hands rests on your waist. His thumb circles the bit of skin under your shirt. “You fascinate me.” He says, “I can’t put my finger on it but you're not like those freaks in the clown car behind us.”

“Well, it wasn’t really my intention to follow you to your next location. I just wanted a ride. And maybe a taste of your cock.”

He laughs, “Could I see that tape again?” You nod and pull it out of your bag. “It’s incredible that you have this.” He takes it from your hands and shows the other members. All of them were astonished.

“I only made thirty copies,” Chad says, “You’re one lucky bastard.”

You smile at the compliment, “You wouldn’t mind signing the case too then would you?” They all nod and take turns signing the case and then handing it back to you. You look at the tape with glee before putting it back in your bag.

“Hey Gorgeous, wake up.” You stir out of your sleep. You don’t even remember closing your eyes. You’re resting against Eddie who has woken up. “We’re at the venue.” You fully wake up and leave the tour bus, Eddie following after you. His hands rarely leave your sides. He guides you around the roadies and leads you inside. He leads you to the dressing room door and turns to capture your lips in a kiss. “See you out there.” He smiles.

Your cheeks feel flush as you walk away. You leave backstage and head back outside to grab something to eat before the show. You take notice of the others from the caravan. They swam you and began to talk.

“You lucky son of a bitch.”

“Did they run a train through you?”

“What is Eddie like? I always sensed he was a good lay.”

You can barely think or speak as they bombard you with questions. They don’t seem to care if you answer. They turn to each other with their theories leaving you alone again. You thought they were so funny. Careless and free to travel the country to just have sex with a band on tour.

You walk to a local diner where you all take a seat in a large booth and order food. They all talk over each other and eat. You could tell who was there for the sex and who was there for the fun. They enjoy each other's company nonetheless, meeting new people and traveling around the country.

You all stay at the restaurant until dark. That’s when you head back to the venue. You hear Corroded Coffin rehearse from outside. After a while, they are invited inside with their general admission tickets.

You preferred to linger in the back of concerts. You couldn't do what others were able to do; thrashing and slamming their bodies into each other. You’d done it once and left with a pounding headache and a bruised arm.

The set starts and the crowd is in an uproar. During the concert, you can’t help but feel Eddie’s eyes looking at you. You catch him doing it several times and after one more you decide to wave. He flashes a wink back as he sings. You bite your lip as you continue to watch. You can’t tell what is beating louder, your heart or the kick drum.

After the show is over, you and the other groupies wait outside for the band. You’re not the only one now. More fans were waiting. The band comes out to sign things and you sit back with the others.

The crowd nearly disperses when all of the sudden you feel a hand grab yours. Eddie pulls you out of the crowd and leads you to the bus. Once inside, he pulls you into his lap as he sits. “Hello, Gorgeous.” He kisses you gently, hands already groping your ass.

You moan into the kiss, tangling your hands into his hair. It was damp with sweat and cold from the night air. You pull on it gently, causing him to moan.

“I saw you out there.” He whispers, “You’re a pretty good dancer.”

You laugh into his lips, “I wouldn’t really call that dancing.”

He shrugs “I call it as I see it. Your hips were moving, and your feet were too.” He rocks his hips into yours, “You had the rhythm.” He kisses down your neck. You moan at the sensation. You feel his warms hands move up your shirt, “God you’re gorgeous,” He whispers against your skin

“You have a tendency to say that.” You feel him moving again.

“I can’t help it, Gorgeous. Your skin, your eyes, your lips, your hair, your smile, your body. You are fucking gorgeous.”

You smile wider letting his hands roam your body. He kisses up and down your neck, nipping and licking, leaving marks all over. You grip his shoulders as you feel his hands move down into the back of your jeans.

“Is it okay to do it here?” You ask unsure out in the open of the tour bus.

“The guys are going out for drinks with some other people. So the bus is all ours unless you don’t want to.”

You shake your head, “No, no it’s fine. Just don’t want to be caught naked.”

“Of course. We’ll be quick.” He smiles as you stand up from his lap. He removes his shirt and spreads his legs then splays his arms on the back of the couch. You smile at the sight and put your fingers into the shape of a rectangle, “Click.”

He chuckles, “What are you doing?”

“I’m taking a picture with my mind. I can’t afford a camera.” You pull off your shirt, “It’s like the same thing.”

Then, Eddie does the finger thing to you, “Click.” He closes his eyes, “Mhm, gorgeous.” You scoff before getting back into his lap. He gently squeezes your breast as you continue to kiss. You move your hands down his chest and tug on his waistband. “Needy, needy.”

He lifts his hips and slides his pants off. You do the same, removing your pants. Eddie slips off your panties afterward. You straddle his lap again as Eddie reaches around to finger fuck you from the backside. You cry out and grind against his fingers, “Eddie,” You whine as he continues to shove his fingers inside you.

Eddie chuckles, “Just getting you nice and wet, Gorgeous.” He pulls them out and licks them clean. He then pulls his cock out of his underwear, “You ready?”

“Yes,” You say breathily. Eddie places his cock at your slit and slowly guides you down on it.

Eddie throws his head back, “Oh god~ so hot.” He grabs your hips and moves you with his movement. You rest your hands on his shoulders as you continue. “Fuck Gorgeous. I can’t get enough of you.”

You laugh at his nonsense and kiss down his neck. He moans then kisses your shoulder and picks up his pace. You throw your head back in ecstasy, “Eddie!”

“That’s right Gorgeous, say my name.” Suddenly, Eddie flips you over so your back is on the cushions then reenters you, continuing at his relentless pace.

You claw at his back and moan, “Eddie! I’m gonna cum! Please, oh god, please.”

“I’m almost there, Sweetness~” He grabs at the back of your thighs and lifts your legs. The sound of skin slapping together echoes through the bus. You were pretty sure it was rocking too. With one final thrust, his cum pours inside you. You look up at him and see him staring back at you. His deep brown eyes scan over your face as if looking at the details.

You start to melt from his intense gaze and smile nervously, “Something on my face, Munson.”

He shakes his head, “Just looking at you.” You lean up and kiss him. Then Eddie gets up and does to the bathroom. He comes back with a towel and helps clean you up. After you’re done, you get dressed again. Eddie holds your hand and rubs over your knuckles, “Stay in the bus for the night.”

“It’s a bit cramped don’t you think?” You tilt your head.

He pouts, “As cramped as the clown car?” You sigh. He had a point, but you didn’t want to infringe on his space. “The couch pulls out.” He whispers in your ear.

“As long as they are okay with it.” You whisper back.

They were so okay with it, you never left. Venue after venue, show after show, you and Eddie were together. Eddie couldn’t help but feel you had gotten close. It’s been a month since you met and he loved every minute he spent with you. It was weird for him to think about but when your face would appear in his mind it felt good. Never in a million years would he have thought he would meet someone he would genuinely like on the road. However, there you were and you had changed his life forever.

It was the final show of the midwest before taking a break on the west coast and the last bit of the tour. Eddie had promised himself that he would ask you to be his one and only after this show. He smiled at the thought and catches your eyes during the show. You put up your fingers in the square and he poses for your mental photograph.

As the show continues, you feel a hand grab your elbow. You snatch it away quickly and look around to see who it was. Your face pales as you see it was somebody you had hitched a ride from a while ago. You had stolen some things from them and it seems they still hold that grudge. They grab at you again and you shove them back. With the shoving, you had started a mosh. Bodies now slam into one another.

You take this opportunity and slip further through the crowd and to the exit. You look back at the stage and see Eddie. Your heart breaks a little but you see the person still trying to get to you. You leave through the door and vanish into the night.

The show ends and Eddie can’t wait to see you again. The thoughts of you rush through his head. He cleans off his sweat and helps the roadies pack up. He comes out of the venue and his smile quickly fades. You were not near the tour bus nor were you with the other groupies. “Hey clown car, where did they go?”

“I saw them leave in the middle of your set.” One of them responds.

“Yeah I saw somebody chase them out,” Another one says. “Sorry, Eddie.”

His heart wilts, where could you have gone? Hopefully, you would come back in time before they had to leave. So, he leans against the outside of the bus and waits.

And he waits.

“Eddie… We gotta go.”

He sniffles, “Yeah, I’ll follow you in.” He heads into the bus and leaves everything he hoped for behind. He had nothing to remember you by, except for those finger frame photos he took of you. He slides into his bunk and feels something under his pillow. It was the tape you had them sign. You would have never left it behind if you didn’t have to. You had told him of a few horror stories from your travels, he just hoped you were alright now. He sets it on the little shelf and closes his eyes. The thought of your smile runs through his mind.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──

Day after day, he can’t get you out of his head. The band was on break in LA before the west coast tour dates came. Eddie spent most of it in their shared apartment, smoking, writing songs, and fucking. And during most of those, he was thinking about you. What were you doing at this moment? Were you thinking about him? Did you miss him like he missed you? All the people he slept with were never good enough. Sure, he would climax but it wasn’t as satisfying as it was with you. If anything, it made him miss you more.

In the morning, Eddie rolls out of bed and smokes a bowl. His room was a mess not even he could navigate. He brushes his teeth and heads to the kitchen. Everyone else was dressed. The time on the microwave said it was nearing noon. He rummages through the fridge and grabs a random take-out box to feast upon.

“Gonna shower today, Eddie?” Jeff asks as he brushes past him.

Eddie shrugs, “Nowhere to go, no need to shower.”

“Y’know Eds, I thought you would be over them by now,” Chad says as he shuffles through the channels on the tv.

“I am.”

“Liar.” Gareth says, “You look hopeless. There is a week left before the tour starts up again and you haven’t left the house.”

“Maybe because I don’t want to. Have you thought about that?”

“Eddie, look at yourself. This isn’t good. And if anything it affecting us too.” He folds his arms, “You’re leaving the house. Tonight. Shower, change clothes, smoke a joint, and we’re going to a house party. Got it?”

“Whatever mom,” Eddie mumbles, dropping the take-out box on the coffee table. He gets up and heads back to his room.

Hours later, the guys force Eddie out of the house. There was a house party at some famous person’s house nearby. Eddie didn’t care. The band shuffles through the house and gets greeted by literally everyone.

When Eddie is finally free, he slips through the crowd to find where the drugs were. He brushes past a few people before a door swings open and someone nearly runs into him. “Woah, hey, sorry about that.” It was you. You were here. Your eyeliner is smudged and you had the glittery vanilla gloss on he always liked. Your eyes brighten when you see him and you smile that gorgeous smile. “Eddie! Holy shit! You’re here! Eddie?”

Eddie doesn’t move. His eyes just scan over you with a sad look. He steps forward and grabs your shoulders, “You’re here.” Is all he could muster.

“I am so sorry. I left without any explanation. I was chased by some asshole and got lost and couldn’t come back in time. I’ve been trying to get to LA ever since. And now I’m here. I heard the band was invited and I hoped you would be here.” You explain.

Eddie pulls you in and presses his lips against yours. You melt into the kiss and your hands move to the sides of his face. You break from the kiss and he gives you a soft smile, “I missed you, Gorgeous.” He whispers.

After your reunion, you head to the roof to share a cigarette. “So, is that whom you took the cassette from?” He asks.

You nod, “Yeah… I was hitchhiking slash couch surfing in Indiana and landed near Hawkins. This guy was being a total dick so I took some stuff to pawn off for a greyhound ticket. The shop wouldn’t take your tape so I kept it for myself. I listened to it whenever I got the chance. You saved my sanity.”

Eddie chuckles, “You saved mine. Life was fun before, sure, but it felt like a race to the finish. When we are gonna be washed-up drunks playing in bars again. But with you, I don’t see that future. I see you, me, a big house, a dog, maybe a kid…”

You raise your eyebrows and smile, “Oh, you've planned a whole future, hm?”

“You know what I mean. I imagine spending the rest of my life with you. Without you, I waste away.”

You lean over and kiss the corner of his mouth, “I missed you too.” You whisper. He smiles and pulls you into his lap. You continue to kiss, and you move to straddle his lap. “Wanna get outta here?”

“My place?”

“Uh, I’m currently sleeping on the floor of a dirty apartment.”

“My place it is.” Eddie leads you back inside the house, down to the backyard, and out through the backyard to the street. You hold hands as you walk. He rubs his thumb over your knuckle and his eyes admire you in the moonlight. He couldn’t believe you were here with him. “Gorgeous.”

You look over at him, “What?”

“You responded.” He smiles.

“You said, ‘Gorgeous.’”

“I was complimenting you. You’re gorgeous, Gorgeous.” You scoff and hip-bump him and he does it in return.

The next morning, Eddie wakes up to the sight of you sound asleep next to him. He smiles at your serene face. He leans in and kisses your forehead. You stir a little and move closer, cuddling up to him. “I think I love you.” He says.

You giggle, “That’s rich. Eddie falls in love with a groupie.” You open your eyes and look up at him, “And I think I love you too.”

#eddie munson x black!reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut

191 notes · View notes

kjack89 · 2 years ago

Note

If you're still taking Spotify requests: E/R for which ever song is your favorite that ISNT a repeat from last year. (Or Taylor Swift. My coworker has been over playing Midnights in the office and I'm so sick of it atm.)

Oh man, this was a hard song to pick, because I love so many songs on this playlist (obviously, or they wouldn't be in my top 100!). In the end, I went with the song that I have loved the longest, the one that I used to ask my father to play whenever he drove, like, 4-year-old me anywhere because the album this was on was one of the cassette tapes he had in his car.

Well, it was this album or Enya, and sadly Orinoco Flow didn't make my top 100 for some reason.

87. "The Ballad of Billy the Kid" by Billy Joel

It's a Western AU. Because why the hell not at this point.

The night was quiet and peaceful, its stillness broken only by the gentle crackle of the dying fire and the ubiquitous chirp of crickets, but Enjolras couldn’t seem to enjoy it, his own ears still ringing with the sounds of chaos from earlier.

As a general rule, Enjolras didn’t like robbing trains. Too high a possibility of innocent people being hurt or recognizing one of Les Amis, defeating the purpose of how they handled their robberies, and besides, word of mouth spread faster when robbing banks.

But when Combeferre got reliable word that the Corinthe, headed from back east out to the west coast, was carrying a stash of money belonging to none other than F. H. Tholomyès himself, one of the wealthiest and most exploitative robber barons the West had ever seen, Enjolras knew that not even he could pass up this opportunity.

Which was how Les Amis had found themselves that morning perched along the train tracks, guns and horses at the ready. As they waited for the train to round the bend in the tracks, Enjolras could not help but share a few words, knowing they would never have another opportunity like this one. “Gentlemen,” he started, sweeping his hat off his head to catch their attention, “where are we going?”

To his right, crouched behind a rocky outcropping, Courfeyrac muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “For Christ’s sake,” but Enjolras ignored him, instead glancing around at their compatriots.

Joly sheepishly raised a hand. “Are we going to the train?” he asked, barely managing to hide his smile as Grantaire and Bossuet sniggered on either side.

Enjolras’s eyes narrowed, and Joly’s smile disappeared. “Yes,” Enjolras said, with a bite of impatience. “We’re going to the train just as we are going to the future. And what we do here today is in service of all people. Gentlemen, we are no mere robbers—”

“We do not steal for riches,” Bahorel recited in what was clearly meant to be an undertone but carried a little too well.

“We do not steal for glory,” Feuilly added, a grin twitching at the corners of his mouth as Prouvaire chimed in, with the cadence of an orator, “Thievery, I hate you, but I make use of you—”

“—For by stealing this money, so too do we steal our future from those who would keep it from us,” Bahorel, Feuilly and Prouvaire finished in unison, and Enjolras glowered at them.

Grantaire cleared his throat. “Maybe if you didn’t use the same speech at the start of every robbery—” he started, but Enjolras ignored him, barreling stubbornly onward.

“We are advancing the unity of man,” he said through gritted teeth. “The common man out from under the thumb of the rich, that is the goal. And whatever happens here today, through our failure or through our success, we are creating an alternative to those who think there’s no other way to live.”

He glanced at Combeferre on his left, who also looked a little like he was trying not to smile, and Enjolras scowled. He was saved from saying anything by the train finally rounding the tracks, and instead jammed his hat on his head before he raised his voice to shout, “Courage, and onward!”

From there, things had devolved into the usual controlled chaos that was the undercurrent of every robbery they had ever done, all leading to this moment camped out by the fire, their afternoon’s takings – even more than Enjolras had hoped – in a series of nondescript bags to be tied to a horse’s saddle.

As much as Enjolras disliked robbing trains, he disliked the aftermath of a robbery even more. He could never find a way to calm himself after the excitement, always ready to move onto the next. He reckoned it was part of what made him so successful, even if it meant always feeling a little like an outsider as his friends traded jokes and stories around the campfire as he brooded on their next plan.

Still, there was nothing else for it, and with a sigh, he sat upright, grabbing his hat from on top of his saddle and placing it on his head before standing. He bent to pick up the saddle, carrying it over to his horse, Mabeuf, who was drowsily grazing where he was picketed. “Sorry for the early morning, boy,” he murmured, rubbing the horse’s neck before lifting the saddle onto his back.

A similar movement caught the corner of his eye and he immediately turned, his hand automatically falling to the pistol at his hip. He relaxed when he saw it was just Grantaire tending to his own horse.

The relaxation was short-lived, seeing as how Grantaire had never been an early riser and had managed to drink enough whiskey to drown a lesser man, and Enjolras’s eyes narrowed. “What’re you doing?”

Grantaire didn’t even glance over at him, adjusting the saddle with a practiced eye. “What’s it look like I’m doing?”

Enjolras scowled. “Looks like you’re packing up.”

Now Grantaire did look over at him, a small smile creasing his face. “I always knew you were more than a pretty face.”

Enjolras crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Why are you packing up?” he asked, ignoring Mabeuf nudging his shoulder in search of an apple or sugar cube.

Grantaire shrugged. “Because I’m going.”

“Going where?” Enjolras ground out. No one managed to irritate him quite like Grantaire did.

Grantaire shrugged again, squinting out at the horizon where the first hint of light was just beginning to break. “Well, now, that’s a good question,” he said easily. “Not sure yet.”

Enjolras sighed. “You know you can’t come with me.”

“I do,” Grantaire said.

Enjolras scowled. “You know why we do it like this.”

“Hasn’t changed.”

“Grantaire.” They’d had this argument so many times before that Enjolras really only needed to say Grantaire’s name in that tone for them to both know exactly how this would play out, just as it had every time before. It was as familiar to them as the sun rising over the plains, and almost as comforting in a strange way, as if a mission wasn’t complete without its familiar cadence.

Which was why Enjolras kept his tone calm but firm in the explanation he’d given a hundred times before. “I’m the one who has to go,” he told Grantaire. “We do the job, I split off with the money and distribute it to where it needs to go. That way, I draw all the attention to myself, and let you all get away. No one ever suspects you. You can’t be implicated.”

They hadn’t always done it this way, but after the first posse got together to track them down, Enjolras had insisted on the change, had insisted that everyone else cover their faces so that the only one anyone ever got a good look at was him.

There was a reason Les Amis wasn’t well known throughout the West, and it wasn’t because they weren’t damn good at what they did – it’s because to every sheriff from the Mississippi to the Rio Grande, they were known as Apollo the Kid and his Gang.

He didn’t need to remind Grantaire of that, though – Grantaire knew. Even in the dim light of the dying fire, Enjolras could see a muscle working in Grantaire’s cheek. “That is indeed the plan.”

Enjolras suddenly found he couldn’t quite meet Grantaire’s eye, and so busied himself with Mabeuf’s bridle. “Which is why you can’t come with me,” he said, his voice rough.

“You already said that,” Grantaire said, matching his tone. “I ain’t deaf.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Enjolras shot back.

Grantaire scowled at him. “Listen, the job’s done, right? So there’s no need for me to stay. Way I see it, I’m free to go.”

Enjolras jerked a shrug. “I guess.”

“You guess?” Grantaire repeated. “And here I thought freedom was the entire point of what we were doing here.” He paused before adding pointedly, “Isn’t it?”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Of course, but that’s not—”

Grantaire gave him a look. “Ain’t you the one who keeps saying that the working people need to unite because the only thing we have to lose is our reins?”

“Chains, but—”

“Then let a man pack his horse in peace,” Grantaire finished.

Enjolras scowled. “Fine, if you’ll answer me one question.”

“What’s that?” Grantaire asked, not looking over at him.

“Why’d you suddenly decide to pack up now when I started to?”

Something that might’ve been a smile twitched at the corners of Grantaire’s mouth. “Coincidence.”

Enjolras’s eyes narrowed. “Helluva coincidence.”

“Sure is.”

Still, despite himself, despite everything, Enjolras had to admit that packing up seemed to go faster with Grantaire at his side. Or at the very least, it seemed just a little bit less lonely.

When they were both packed – and the money they’d stolen carefully stashed in Enjolras’s saddlebags – Enjolras pulled himself onto his horse, glancing over at Grantaire. “You heading out?”

“Yessir,” Grantaire said, patting his horse’s neck as he added in an attempt at casual, “Which way are you headed?”

Enjolras jerked his chin toward the horizon. “West.”

Grantaire nodded slowly. “Well, whaddya know,” he said. “So am I.”

Enjolras just shook his head. “Coincidence?” he asked wryly.

Grantaire half-smiled. “Sure is.”

Just as the packing was less lonely with Grantaire by his side, so was the ride. It was early enough that neither man worried too much about anyone else being on the road, though both kept a weather eye out, just in case.

But the ride in comfortable silence could only last for so long, and eventually, Enjolras reined his horse to a stop, Grantaire stopped as well. Enjolras nodded to the fork in the road up ahead. “This is where we part ways,” he said, a note of warning in his voice.

Grantaire’s expression was unreadable. “If you say so.”

“I do,” Enjolras said with conviction. He hesitated before adding, “Thank you for coming all this way with me—”

“It was nothing,” Grantaire interrupted. “I was headed this way anyway.”

Enjolras managed a small smile. “Coincidence.”

Grantaire smiled as well. “Well, something like that, anyway.”

Enjolras nodded, something sharpening in his expression. “Just like it’s coincidence how you always seem to be headed my way after every robbery,” he said lightly.

Grantaire’s smile faded, and he shrugged. “Ain’t the world a remarkable place,” he said noncommittally.

“I suppose it is.” Enjolras glanced over at him. “Where are you headed now?”

Grantaire shrugged again. “Oh, here, there, and around,” he said, purposefully vague, but Enjolras didn’t miss the way his hand twitched toward his gun in its holster. “Got some business to keep an eye on.”

Enjolras frowned. “You know I don’t need you to protect me,” he said bluntly, tired of playing this little game every single time.

To his surprise, Grantaire barked a laugh before running a hand across his mouth. “Enjolras, you don’t need me for a damn thing.”

“I don’t know that I’d go quite that far,” Enjolras said before he could stop himself, and he quickly looked away, feeling the back of his neck burn despite being protected by his hat. “In any case, I’ll, uh, I’ll see you at the rendezvous.”

Grantaire nodded. “Yessir.” He kneed his horse forward, ostensibly toward the fork Enjolras wasn’t taking, then paused, turning back to face him. “Oh, and Enjolras?”

“Yeah?”

Grantaire raised his chin just slightly. “Anytime you want it to be something other than a coincidence, all you have to do is say the word.”

Enjolras’s throat felt tight. “I know,” he said, his voice low.

For a moment, it looked like Grantaire might say something more, but instead he just touched the brim of his hat before kneeing his horse forward again. Enjolras watched him go before starting forward once again, alone.

#exr #enjolras x grantaire #enjoltaire #enjolras #grantaire #les amis #fanfiction #western au #cowboy au #robber au #developing relationship #it's about the yearning y'all #spotify wrapped meme #ask #answered #impetusofadream

33 notes · View notes

mayakern · 2 years ago

Note

When you say “16th thru the 31st” do you mean the shirts can still be pre-ordered On the 31st?

This might be a silly thing to ask, but I get confused easily with the whole “thru x date” thing because its sometimes used when they mean ‘by x date’ and I would hate to miss out on your shirts.

yes you’ll be able to order thru the entirety of the 31st!

preorders have to be closed manually and i’m on the east coast and also go to bed before midnight, which i know would be too early for many ppl, so i’ll probably close preorders the morning after

#ask #store

24 notes · View notes

prettyinpwn · 2 years ago

Text

No lie, I’ve loved Lord Huron for ages so I’m a little biased, but damn does the Strange Trails album of theirs fit the Stan Twins so well at times, especially Ford but there’s a hint of Stan character themes in it, too (also Bill a bit). Mostly Portal!Ford focused on revenge, Stan working to get Ford back, Ford coming back and knowing Bill is still a threat, and some Sea Grunks vibes.

There’s even a western/acoustic guitar plus sci-fi electronic instruments vibe like the Gravity Falls soundtrack has, and the album cover has that general American outdoorsy feel (hard to describe but it’s like that same aesthetic you see on vintage state or national park signs in America).

There are romantic themes that don’t fit. But minus those it’s peak Stan twin feels.

tl;dr: for those who don’t read under the cut, at least listen to Frozen Pines by Lord Huron, I beg of you. Max Stan twin vibes. Pines because duh, the setting being a snowy night in a pine forest, two male voices singing at times, and the lyrics mY GoD.

If you like it, then listen to The World Ender, Meet Me in the Woods, and Way Out There too for some lesser but still Stan twin or Bill vibes.

Some deeper, rambling thoughts for the whole album under the cut ~

Okay, so this is what I mean with this album, song by song:

1. Love Like Ghosts - eh, one of the romantic songs I mentioned that don’t fit well. I love this song, ‘tis one of my favorites on the album, but not very Stan twin-ish. Maybe more Stan-ish because it mentions the protagonist being haunted by ghosts all the time, likely a feeling Stan had all those years after Ford had disappeared and he was trying desperately to get him back. There’s also a theme of seeing ghosts in oneself, which, since Stan looks like Ford...

2. Until the Night Turns - definitely more Ford, one because lyrics about staying up all night (Ford is allergic to sleep), and because these reasons:

“I had a vision tonight that the world was ending Yeah, the sky was falling and time was bending I watched the heavens collide right before my eyes What if the world dies with the sunrise?“

“I had a visitor come from the great beyond - cOUgH Bill CoUGh Telling me our time in the world is done And to watch for a sign in the midnight sky What if the world dies with the sunrise?”

“When the World Ender comes, baby, don’t close your eyes”

Definitely due to it being in major key, it’s a more happy feeling song, so this feels like a Ford during the meeting Bill and admiring him era of Ford’s life, plus some foreboding foreshadowing of how Bill is the World Ender. Though so is Ford, in a way.

There are some romantic themes but meh ignore those.

3. Dead Man’s Hand - this is a great song with both Stan and Ford lines, BUT I’d say it leans more Stan, both when he went to go see Ford before the portal accident, him taking over Ford’s life, etc.

“Yellow lines, in the dead of the night Oh, I was heading back out West Trying to keep my eyes open wide I’d gone days without any rest”

I’d see this as being both Stan going to Ford before the portal accident, driving out to see him, but this can also be Ford because sleep what’s that? Also EyEES. “You come back from a trip to the East But you don’t come back from the dead”

More of a Stan line. He staged his death to take Ford’s identity. Could also be Ford, though, since he was also sort of “dead” to the world after he disappeared. Also, they’re both from the East coast.

“Sure as hell he was dead as they come, He was already starting to smell eh ignore this line Just a kid, with his hair slicked back And a knife tucked into his belt Was he unforgiven? Or just tired of living a life that never felt like his?“ Stan to a T. He had his hair slicked when he was young, the knife in the belt from years of crime and/or expecting people after him, and the last two lines? Ooooooooof.

“I stared right into the endless Void And I ain’t going back if I got any choice“ AKA I stared into the void of some interdimensional portal that I lost my brother to and I’ve decided to stay here to fix it.

There’s also a stanza about the protagonist in the song burying this dead man, but the dead man doesn’t want to stay and wants to keep roaming. It’s like Stan juggling on that tightrope of “is Ford dead, is he not, do I keep trying?”. Could also be Stan as the dead man himself, still technically alive after he’d already buried himself. Or Stan feeling like he’s having to bury his own brother mentally. GAH the possibilities are endless.

4. Hurricane (Johnnie’s Theme)

Stan to a T, at least the first stanza. The lyrics explain themselves:

“I get a thrill outta playing with fire ‘Cause you hold your life when you hold that flame I get a kick outta thunder and lightning And tearing through the night hollering your name

I get a laugh outta starin’ at darkness And wondering why people live in the light I drive fast and I rumble the hardest I don’’t feel alive if I ain’’t in the fight” The fire part is self-explanatory. Also I think Stan canonically had a motorcycle at one point? So huehue, that imagery is cute. The lyrics just give off a vibe of Stan’s personality overall.

“I can’t sleep when there’s something to do - like staying up trying to get your brother back “You spend your whole life dreaming, and you wake up dead”

This death imagery, man. Stan, going along trying get rich quick and con schemes, dreaming up fame, only to have to fake his death to take Ford’s place?

The rest of the lyrics of this one aren’t too applicable to Gravity Falls/Stan, besides the part about being an illusion (’cause he ain’t Ford, but he stole Ford’s name and looks like him, so Stan is an illusion of Ford of sorts). Also the mentions of eyes everywhere...

5. La Belle Fleur Sauvage -

So this song is technically about a woman, so eh, not really applicable. Could be seen as a metaphor for Ford reaching for the paranormal not knowing how dangerous it is, in some parts at least. Or Ford having a thing for Jheselbraum/The Oracle, if you’re into that headcanon.

6. Fool for Love -

Another goopy love song, so not as applicable once again. But these lyrics...

“I stare into the endless sky And the sorry tale of my life goes by I drift into the great unknown And I really don’t know where I’m going...”

Ford to a T.

7. The World Ender -

Okay, HERE’S where the songs start hitting Stan twin stuff hard. There’s also Bill in this one, especially so if you also believe in the theory that Stan is a reincarnation of Bill in some way. So this song is majorly Stan + Bill-ish, but I can see it as a song that slaps for Ford, too (because A. he technically almost ended the world and is a World Ender, B. came back from the “dead” when he returned from the portal and sought revenge on Bill for decades).

“I had a name but they took it from me I was the man I wanted to be I had a place to lay my head But they burned it to the ground, and the sky turned red

I had a life and a place in the world I had a sweet-talking wife and a beautiful girl I know I’m never gonna see ‘em again Gonna tear up the world ‘til I have my revenge

They took my life but it isn’t the end Oh, they put me in the ground, but I’m back from the dead Oh, I’m a world ender baby and I’m comin’ for them.

You hear me howl by the light of the moon That’s how you know that I’m comin’ for you Gonna find you alone in the dark of night Oh when the world ender comes, baby, run for your life I never bleed and I won’t ever age I’ll never feel the embrace of the grave Oh the fair and the brave and the good must die I’ve seen the other side of livin’ I know heaven’s a lie I tear through the night and I raise some hell ‘Cause I’m a world ender baby and I’m back from the dead

“Lord knows I should be pushin’ daisies I was six feet down until somethin’ raised me up Sent back before I lift my curse I’m gonna get me a taste of some chaos, first

Untied, I’m gonna get a little wild Screamin’ through the night like a demon child Close your eyes now the light is fading And the noise in the night is gonna get a little louder, baby

They can run for their lives, but they cannot be saved I’m a world ender baby and I’m comin’ for them.”

So this feels Bill mostly to me. Firstly, Bill isn’t his actual name, as apparently his real one is too much for humans to comprehend without going insane. Based on his backstory, he was from a dimension that was burned completely (implied to have been his own fault) and all his loved ones died. The Axolotl prophecy implies that he misses them dearly, even though he pretends not to. So from that anger he seeks chaos and wants to destroy realities.

The second stanza is almost like when he came after Ford, coming in the dark of night while Ford is all paranoid and sleepless. And the third stanza makes perfect sense, because Bill doesn’t have a body, he doesn’t bleed or die. The last few lines, well... now he wants revenge. He’s a demon child and is going to end the world. It also feels Stan though, because of the name swap thing again, his fire “death” at the end of the series and recovering from it, and the world ending with Weirdmageddon. Also if you believe in the Bill = Stan theory, well... yeah, as Stan, Bill really is back from the dead.

BUT it’s also a great Ford song, because he “died” to the world when he disappeared. He roamed the multiverse for decades and spent that long making sure he did everything he could to get revenge on Bill. Ford being “dead” and coming back is almost like his return from the dead, and he doesn’t ever deny his role in helping Bill bring the end of the world. So he proudly is like, “I’m the world ender and I’m coming for revenge”. Kind of a badass Portal!Ford to his return in NWHS song. And at the end, he’s just about to take the shot at Bill with his quantum destabilizer, but then the portal opens up and he gets pulled away from his revenge... and now he’s back from the “dead”. Hence “Sent back before I lift my curse”...

Seriously this song SCREAMS Stan twins and Bill.

8. Meet Me in the Woods - Ford. Ford ALL THE WAY, specifically post portal return. I don’t even have to explain it.

9. The Yawning Grave -

This song is more subtle than Meet Me in the Woods, but this could be both a Bill and a Ford song. Either Bill coming after Ford post dream warning in TLM, or Ford going for Bill when Weirdmageddon hits (hence the “reckoning” mentioned).

10. Frozen Pines -

Well, besides the obvious ‘Pines’ thing, and frozen pines because Ford went missing on a snowy night deep in the cold winter, and the fact that two male voices echo each other on the track at times... and symbolically the Pines are frozen because both Stan and Ford had to pause their own lives the moment Ford was lost, like they and their relationship has been frozen in time since the night of their fight...

This gives me both Stan and Ford vibes. Like a song that fits both of them as they wonder where the other is, however, certain stanzas fit one twin more than the other. To me, this is THE ultimate song for their relationship on this album, as well as any other song I’ve ever heard besides maybe Always Gold by Radical Face. To the point that I’m surprised that I’ve never heard anyone else mention this song in the fandom (maybe they have, I’ve been gone a long while..)?

Anyways, lyrics that hit hard:

“Deep into the night With the moonlight as my guide I go wander through the pines and make my Way to nature’s shrine And I look up to the sky And I know you’re still alive But I wonder where you are, I call your name into the dark

I wake up in the morning, oh, and I don’t know where I’ve been All alone on a mountainside and I’m huddled in the wind And it feels like I’ve been away for an era but nothing has changed at all And it feels like I’ve been with you, oh, but what did we do and where have you gone.”

FORD x1000. Portal!Ford specifically, alone in the universe, wandering. I picture a snowy planet, and he sees pines (or some similar alien plant) and thinks of his family/brother. He looks up at the sky, wondering where Stan has been. Is he still alive back home? He decides to believe that he is, only if to keep himself going. He has a nightmare of Stan running away from him and meeting a bad end, and he calls his name in the dream.

He wakes up in the morning as the nightmare ends, cold, wind-blown, surprised he survived the night. He’s been gone in the portal for decades. And that last line, OUCH: what did he and Stan do? Was his childhood with Stan even real, because it feels so far away, now. Why did they even fight? It’s the biggest regret of Ford’s life.

Alright, now Stan’s turn:

“On the night you disappeared Oh, if I had seen it clear But a strange light in the sky was shining right into my eyes There was no one else in sight Just the endless frozen pines But I wonder all they know 'cause they don't die and they don't grow.”

Yeah, this is Stan the night Ford was lost. A cold, wintry night in a pine forest. The bright light of a portal. Ford disappearing. Etc.

The last line specifically is both Stan and Ford. They are ‘frozen Pines’, stuck in time and left regretting that night forever, not dead, but not growing beyond it, either. It also reminds me of Mabel’s line in the Lost Legends comic, about how they’re both big kids that need to take care of each other. Like Stan and Ford just stopped growing after they were separated and need the Stan-O-War II adventures to regain lost time they spent apart.

“I am ready to follow you even though I don't know where I will wait in the night until you decide to take me there.”

Stan’s loyalty to getting Ford back, of course, working diligently every night to do so.

'Cause I know I don't wanna stay here forever, it's time to be movin’ on Oh I don't want to be the only one living when all of my friends are gone.”

Both Stan and Ford. Stan and Ford both don’t want to be where they are forever, either lost in the portal, or back home with Ford lost forever. Also, the ‘moving on’ is the repairing of their relationship. And they don’t want to be the only twin still alive. :’0

“I will be waiting for you, on the other side of the frozen pines I'm gonna find a way through, there's another life beyond the line I will be waiting for you, on the other side of the frozen pines I'm gonna find a way through, there's another life beyond the line.”

A lot to unpack here. Overall, thematically, the ‘frozen Pines’ are both metaphorically them as Pines brothers whose relationship was frozen in time after their fight, the rift in their relationship, and the literal portal that keeps them apart. Ford and Stan are waiting for the other, wanting to cross the rift in their relationship to see each other again. There’s another life in their sibling relationship waiting on the other side, if they could just forgive each other. Also the symbolism of them both being “dead”, either by faking their death or disappearing, then regaining their life upon Ford’s return, both as who they were originally.

JUSt... NO ONE CAN TELL ME THAT THIS IS THE STAN TWIN SONG. FITE ME. Like I said before, though, special mention to Always Gold by Radical Face.

11. Cursed - meh, skip this one for Stan twin feels. Unless you take the relationship part out, and translate the “she” into Bill. Then maybe it works.

12. Way Out There - Ford 100%, yeah. Doesn’t even need explaining. Though I wanna highlight the lyric line, “if you don’t know my name you know it now”. Huehue.

Could also be a Stan song, since he’s a hero that saved the world, “there are many more flames when mine is gone" + “they will build me no shrines and sing me no songs” lines, since no one outside of his family even knows that Stan is a world saver. The irony that Ford is a world ender and Stan is a world saver but if he’s reincarnated Bill then...

Could also be a Bill song. Depends on how you read it.

Could also be a combined Stan and Ford song about the decision to go on the Stan-O-War II trip. Or a Sea Grunks song about them reflecting on their lives, complete with them on the ship on an eerie, foggy night for full dramatic vibes.

Also, can I mention the very Gravity Falls feel of this track with the mix of warpy/sci-fi-ish elements with acoustic guitars? Yes, inject it into my veins.

13. Louisa - sort of Stan vibes in the first stanza, but the rest of the song is a love song, so meh:

“Good for nothing is the name they'll remember me by Done nothin' with my life for no one, I'm just waitin' to die I turned my back on the world”

It could also be a Sea Grunks song if you take out the romantic mush, especially since Ford’s return is like them both coming back from death, and it talks about not wanting to die but wander the world with someone again, but meh once again.

14. The Night We Met -

Sea Grunks all the way. Minus the actual night they met, because, well, that was as babies. Maybe metaphorically as their older selves meeting each other again after the Weirdmageddon stuff calmed down? Also take out the few romantic lines, of course.

#gravity falls #stanford pines #stanley pines #bill cipher #sea grunks #at least a little bit here and there #gravity falls music #my stan twin hyperfixation is a never ending train going full steam ahead at this point

22 notes · View notes