#teenage Kylee

[itsaninfestation]

📱

Thirteen-year-old Kylee hated sports. She was more of a theatre or slam poetry sort of kid so being dragged to a football game by her dad was akin to torture. Her father did not seem too keen on taking her either, but mom was tired and pregnant, and she needed some much-needed time to herself, so off they went on an eight-hour journey to Illinois to watch her father's high school alma mater play in the finals.

Stupid football. Stupid long drive. Stupid Dunfee High School and their unusually good football team this year.

They arrived at the large stadium over two hours early because her dad was a stickler for time and over-compensated for possible traffic jams on the way, allowing them to be just in time for the tailgating that was happening.

Stupid parking lot party where adults got drunk before football. Kylee snuck off from the partying (not like she really had to try as her father had found some old school friends and was currently three beers in and she was probably the last thing on his mind). She wandered around the other side of the stadium, trying to find an area a little less full of loud, drinking adults.

Instead, she found a bunch of loud teenage boys as they scrambled off the Dunfee school bus, laughing and joking around as they pushed and shoved each other. Kylee slid behind a nearby dumpster, not wanting the catch the eye of their coach, who had begun shouting at some of the rowdier boys. She waited until the noises moved away and died down --presumably now inside -- before she dared to wander out again.

Kylee was pleased to see that the bus was empty. And it was blissfully quiet once again. She walked toward the bus. It was an older, faded yellow school bus with chipping paint and -- Kylee nearly tripped on something on the ground and she fought to regain her balance. She had tripped on a hardcover book; a copy of Atlas Shrugged. With an annoyed huff, she picked it up.

Kylee had never read this book, but her English Professor's mother had a copy of it on her bookshelf that Kylee wasn't allowed to read yet. Had one of the boys dropped it? Kylee made a face: a teenage football player was not the first person she could imagine reading a book meant for adults.

"Excuse me."

Kylee jumped and let out a strangled yelp. She whipped around to see a very large number 10 jersey in her face. Her eyes traveled up to the wearer. The teenager before her was the largest person she had ever seen. It wasn't his height -- which wasn't much taller than her dad -- but the sheer broadness on his shoulders and the impressive bulk of his arms. Kylee was one of the tallest in her seventh-grade class, but next to him, she felt tiny.

She was staring and staring was rude. her cheeks flushed with embarrassment and her mouth went dry, but she managed to reply.

"I…um…you…err…do you know anyone who dropped a book?"

[dangeroustaintedflawed]

[cranberrysuns]

Rahhhh style

[hazyvelvet]

[moxiepoxart]

South Park beach episode

[pfhwrittes]

gaz doesn't understand how you'd not want a moment of peace and quiet when coming home. how can he? when home to him is being fussed over by his mums and sisters endlessly.

when home to gaz is extra servings on his plate and trying to keep up with conversations in between bites.

home to gaz is being smothered with so much well-meaning affection and pulled into hugs that tweak his back, neck and shoulders over and over.

home to gaz is having his sisters shove their phones in his face and taking pictures with heart eyes filters. or having stray hands smooth over his hair and telling him that he needs a trim.

home to gaz is his sister hammering on the door to the bathroom because you've been in there forever kyle! when he just needs a minute to breathe in and out.

[hatsheep]

CALL OF DUTY ; TASKFORCE 141 and DAD TIKTOK TRENDS

Note. these aren’t meant to be serious!! this is gn reader (with only one mention of daughter) and meant to be silly. this also isn’t my writing acc but if u guys have a request for platonic tf 141 content go shoot.

CAPTAIN john price

- you sent him many tiktoks and reels, which he always begrudgingly watched during his deployment (mostly because he did miss you)

- he always sends back questions since he dosent understand some slang

- “yap???” “i’m sorry, what does cap mean?”

- when hes home, he was happy to help video you when you were out or when you wanted to do a trend

- but making HIM do a trend?

- it took you forever to convince your dad to do so…but it was worth it

- he would do trends like the “dad lore trend” with him being videoed in x2 speed as he pretended to talk

- “pov: your dad drops the craziest lore on a random tuesday” because he really genuinely does

- or the home depot one…

- “my dad when he sees someone fixing an airplane when we’re about to board our flight” and it’s just him with his hands behind his back or crossed while he watches the repairmen.

- in the end, he enjoys doing these trends with you. but god, if you keep on trying to prank him, he’s actually going to go crazy.

- everyone thinks he’s hot by the way. you have like 50 single/divorced moms in your comment section commenting about him every tiktok he’s in. sometimes people your age.

- “honey, what does beekeeping age mean?”

LIEUTENANT simon “ghost” riley

- you send him many tiktoks that contain silly puns. he on the other hand, only uses reels. either way, he sends you the dumb ones

- or the ones that are like

- “when your teenager is driving and narrowly avoids a tragic accident” or “me i ask my teenager who they’re going out with and it’s still the same group of people since middle school”

- as a dad, he’s honestly very protective over you, but he’s loosened up a bit over the years. he dosent want to be too strict, nor does he want to be too lax.

- he was terrified of becoming like his father.

- either way, if you thought you had to beg price to let you make tiktoks, you’d have to beg hard for your dad to

- simon won’t let you take tiktoks with his face in it, so he’s always his chest and below….or a mask, sunglasses, and a cap.

- surprisingly sentimental! the one tiktok he agreed to was

- “do i always have to kill spiders in your room?” “ofcourse you do, you’re my dad!”

- he teared up a bit

SERGEANT john “soap” mactavish

- boy, he loves doing tiktoks with you

- he loves sending them too!! a nice way for you guys to bond while he’s away is him sending you the really stupid tiktoks that the people of your generation would more commonly send

- he DOES now some slang! he….does NOT know some others though, skibidi toilet confuses him slightly

- he took the sigma male thing seriously for a bit because he thought it was a positive thing. he loves protecting his family and being strong

- sadly stopped when you broke the news to him that it was in fact, maybe not the best thing in real life.

- either way, such a good dad to do tiktoks with

- you can do those really silly ones with the tiktoks audios

- “when my dad finds out i get offended when people say i have my dads accent” with the regina george soundtrack

- “regina wait i didnt mean for that to happen!!” “do you know what everyone says about you?!?!”

- he loves doing them with you, he wouldn’t trade quality time with you for the world

- “be honest, do you really not like the accent????”

SERGEANT kyle “gaz” garrick

- more of a calm dad, but like simon, surprisingly sentimental

- he’s the one from the 141 who’s has the most morality issues, especially doing his job, so he always felt it was best to teach you important values

- he’s drilled into you to never change your ideals for others

- …which leads to him sending motivational quotes or those hopecore videos

- either way, he actually can be pretty silly and he’s the type of dad to get you watermelon every other day for the rest of your life if you say you like it once

- he can be a little blunt with you sometimes though, bless him

- “pov: my dad if he didn’t have me” (i’ll put my helipad over there…my olympic sized swimming pool, OVER THERE!!)

- you do these tiktoks with him (disregard gender because no matter what, he’d make you help)

- this is how poc parents be, pls understand

- you sent him this reel while he was on deployment and he couldn’t stop smiling

- “love you too, pumpkin. remember to take out the dishes”

- “did u have to remind me”

[gretahayes]

roy in titans 99 is so funny to me because it’s like he got a daughter (lian) a while back then went “wait lowkey i love this parenting shit” then decided to get a teenager to parent (grant) because nobody else was doing it and he felt he could’ve done better by the kid then went “i need someone to look after my little girl” so at the event held to celebrate his newly self-actualized ex/best friend he picked up YET ANOTHER teenager (rose) like that’s the funniest found family known to man, actually. and he fought rose’s dad at least once during that same comic and took out his anger at the cutout of rose’s dad. AND he’s got insane amounts of baby mama drama. nobody is doing it like him. if they’d kept grant around for longer we could have had a great family dinner.

[indigowebz]

need that so badly

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

Talk. || baby daddy!Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

[MASTERLIST]

Rating: M Words: 2.2K~ Pairing: dad!gaz x mother!reader CW: canon-typical violence, events of MW2019 (references), CHILD DEATH (mentioned), pregnancy, underage!! pregnancy, some cultural/religious judgements regarding underage/out-of-wedlock pregnancy, birth (references). Tags: you/your pronouns, (reader implied female because 'mum', 'mama' and other nicknames are used + mentions of pregnant!user), hurt/comfort, fluff?, military inaccuracies I'm sure. Summary: Gaz and the reader are co-parents of a 10-year-old girl (the result of a teen pregnancy). Gaz calls home to talk to his family and he's having a bit of a breakdown after a mission. a/n: This happens in the MW2019 game timeline, somewhere after the Butcher's interrogation. NOT PROOFREAD, NO BETA WE DIE LIKE MEN.

“SIMISOLA RUBY GARRICK, I WILL NOT CALL YOU AGAIN, GET DOWN HERE!” You shout at the top of your lungs, your voice reverberating all the way to the upper floor of your small townhouse.

“IN A MINUTE!” The girl’s voice calls out from upstairs for the… umpteenth time in the last 10 minutes.

“I swear, Kyle, this girl will be the death of me one of these days.” You tell him. “I’m not well-equipped to deal with a teenager.” You grumble as you look at Kyle’s face on the phone screen.

“She’s not a teen yet, lovie.” He retorts with a little smile. “She’s only 10.” He reminds you.

“She’s teenager enough for my taste. Bloody ignoring me whenever I call her!” You reply with a bit of a huff.

“She’s gettin’ older.” He says simply. “You tellin’ me you obeyed your mum every day at her age?” He asks.

“No, but…” You trail off and sigh, dejectedly. “I hate when you make sense, you know that?” You retort, glaring right at him with your best attempt at the ‘mum stare’, but it’s not as effective through the phone.

“Sorry, mama. One of us has to.” She adds with a mischievous smirk on his full lips. He knows how much you like it when he calls you that.

“Shut it, Garrick, I don’t want to hear it.” You retort and you can hear, and see, him giggling on the other side.

From the way the area around him has gotten progressively darker as you spoke for the last 30 minutes, you can tell he’s somewhere out East, somewhere where the sun is starting to set, since in Birmingham it’s only 3 P.M. and still fully bright outside.

“How’s the OP goin’?” You ask despite knowing that he’s not allowed to say anything about it so he simply shoots you a look before raising his fingers to bring a cigarette to his lips, taking a good long drag.

“It’s goin’ fine enough.” He adds and shrugs, before looking off to the distance just off-camera. He’s… lying. You can tell from the way his eyes furrow and his scarred cheek scrunches in frustration.

Turning your head back up, you aim your eyes at the stairs. “BLOODY FUCKIN’ HELL, SIMI, DAD’S ON THE PHONE FOR YOU!” You announce to what, at this point, has to be the ghosts that kidnapped your daughter because she refuses to come downstairs.

Your ears pick up on the sound of her bedroom door flying open and her feet taking her through the carpeted hall and down the steps.

You watch her coming through the vintage, little pass-through window in your kitchen. “Did’ya say dad?!” The dark-skinned girl says as she comes sliding around the corner and into the room.

“Oh, THAT lights a fire under your arse, innit? But not all those other times I told you to come down? What if I was dying, huh?” You scold her and she immediately smiles the same impish smile your baby daddy is sporting on the phone screen. He loves seeing you be maternal.

“Sorry, Mamsie.” She says while showing absolutely no regret at all in her young features. Shaking your head, you pass the phone over to Simi, whose face lights up at the sight of Kyle. “Dad!”

“Oi, kiddo!” You hear Kyle say through the phone as Simisola takes the phone with her down to the sitting room and parks herself on the sofa, talking about all sorts of things with her dad.

You watch her for a moment through the pass-through window. She’s bouncing excitedly, talking about school, her mates, her grades… It’s not often she gets to talk to Gaz, less even that she gets to see him.

Sometimes you wonder if the unpredictability of his job is going to mess her up one day. I mean, her chances of that are already high enough considering the two of you are merely 28 and have been raising her since you were still kids yourselves… But the fact he’s more gone than around in her day-to-day life is bound to mess her up too…

Maybe you should get her into some therapy, just in case.

But then again, she seems surprisingly unaffected by all of this. She’s healthy, smart, sweet… a bit of a smartass (she takes after her dad in that)... And above all else, she seems... happy.

All things considered, of all the blokes that could’ve gotten you knocked up at seventeen, Kyle Garrick was the best option… And your daughter was the best outcome possible.

Sure, you weren’t official or anything back then (nor are you now, really... though you share a bed and a home and you kiss and-), the pregnancy had been an unforeseen consequence of a tryst in the back of a car after drinking at the local pub… But looking back, you got lucky.

Either way, you were both too young, too eager, too needy, too… stupid. Neither of you thought of condoms, hoping the ‘trusty’ pull-out method would suffice.

It didn’t.

You still remember the way you had a panic attack in a toilet stall at school, you and a girlfriend skipping class to pop over to Tesco and buy a box of pregnancy tests… She took one with you, just to ease your worries… And then yours came out positive.

The fear and absolute dread you felt was paralyzing, the way you stayed holed up in the loo while your friend tried to console you and used her fuschia Motorola Razr to text your other friends to come to the toilets after class.

From there, your girlfriends texted his mates, and by the time you noticed, Kyle was elbowing his way into the bathroom, past the group of waiting students, all of them mutual friends of you both. He spotted you sitting on the dirty tile floor in the corner, eyes glued on the pregnancy test in your hand. You were ugly crying, snot all over, and hyperventilating.

Even back then, Kyle was already years ahead of any other teen you knew. He was mature and calm, collected… He sat beside you, rubbed your back, and told you it’d all be okay. You know deep down that he only held it together to calm you down but once he was alone he probably cried like a baby too.

His parents are Nigerian immigrants. In their minds, there was an order of doing things and their only son getting a girl pregnant before marriage (or before hitting maturity, really) was NOT it.

And your parents, well… They weren’t very happy about it either. Not that any parent ever is when their daughter comes home and drops the bomb that she’s expecting.

That was a bad moment for your lives… You both lived with your parents and you had to go back and forth between school and baby appointments… Kyle was by your side the whole time (or as much as he could, considering he had enlisted as soon as he hit 18) and both your parents tried their best to be supportive… But you never quite earned Mr. and Mrs. Garrick’s affection. Not even now, 10 years later.

At first, they didn’t even want to believe the baby was Kyle’s. Your father ended up having some very heated choice words with Mr. Garrick, defending your honor, and almost bringing the house down screaming that you weren’t a slag.

You were on edge and depressed back then. Once the news spread, most of your friends stopped hanging out with you out of pressure put on by their own parents… They still smiled at you and showed encouragement to you whenever you saw each other… But they didn’t come over anymore, barely spoke to you in the halls… 

People stared in the streets… Whenever you went into a baby shop or the diaper aisle at the supermarket… You were stared at. The whispers of “Look at her, such a slag”, “So young and already up the duff…” never came, at least not that you heard them, but you found yourself clutching your mum’s arm particularly hard whenever she managed to drag you out of the flat and to the shops.

You don’t like looking back on the pictures of that year in sixth form. As much as you love your child, seeing the way your face became hollow and sad, your eyes weighed down by dark circles as your belly grew consistently until nothing you wore fit you right… It still stung.

You wonder how you managed to retain enough mental faculties to not earn yourself a post-partum depression diagnosis. Whatever your brain did, it did it well...

With her skin all wrinkly and red and screaming at the top of her lungs, her little fists shaking, eyes all glossy, and a little clump of dark hair on her head slicked back by the amniotic fluid… You fell in love with Simi the moment the nurses set her against your bare chest.

And Kyle did too. You could see it in the way his eyes softened, his lip trembled and his nose and chin scrunched up to contain a wail. As soon as he held her in his arms for the first time, so small against his chest, her little body wrapped in a blanket against his fatigues... you started openly weeping at the sight, blaming the hormones, but the fact of the matter was that she was so small, so tender, so… perfect.

You tune out most of your daughter’s conversation with her father as you go about preparing dinner for the two of you, moving about the kitchen, lost in your own thoughts.

Your ears perk up when you hear Kyle ask Simi if she can pass the phone back to you and let the two of you have a conversation. The girl complains a bit about how much she misses him but ends up acquiescing to him. Daddy’s girl, she is.

She rushes over, her mini twists bouncing with each step as she drops the phone onto your hand and then waves an exaggerated “See you soon, dad!”. You watch her bounce away and trot back up the stairs before you look down at the phone.

Putting on your earpods, you set the phone down on the counter, propped up by the flour container so you can still be in frame as you go about breading some thin chicken cutlets. 

“What is it, Kyle?” You ask him softly and raise your brows at him. His face is a lot more grim and he lights a second cigarette.

“We lost a kid.” He replies softly. “A little boy in Urzikstan.” He adds and sighs loudly. Your whole face twists lightly into sadness. “Some… fuckin’ plonker of a terrorist…” He trails off.

“Did you kill him?” You ask him and he nods his head solemnly. You’ve learned long ago not to give your input too much on these topics… He’s chosen to keep you and your daughter away from it all… 

He once mentioned that asking to be let in would be like 'dipping your pinkie toe in a pond, never knowing if something would be reaching up to pull you in'. You swore he got that quote from a John Wick movie, and then you both laughed… But you knew he meant the sentiment of it.

“I had to stoop down to his level first.” He tells you as he takes another drag os his new cigarette. “Threatened his wife… his son… to get him to talk.” He trails off and sucks in a sharp breath.

Even with the progressive darkness that has set in now, wherever he is, you can still spot the way his nose scrunches as he tries to hold in his crying… His voice is still steady, but his eyes… Always so expressive… You’ve learned to read them in 10 years of co-parenting.

“Every time that bloody barrel even went slightly near that kid’s face I-” Kyle trembles out a breath and rolls his shoulders. Then, he goes quite.

“Anyways…” He says, trying to deflect his feelings away from the things he’s had to do. “I… I miss Simi… And I miss you.” He adds.

“We miss you too, Kyle.” You reply, trying your best to be positive for him. He needs it. “She can’t stop talking about you, counting down the days ‘till you walk through that door and come wrap her in one of those alledgedly ‘annoying’ bear hugs of yours.” You quip and a genuine smirk forms on his lips.

He nods and you notice him through away his cigarette and move somewhere else. As he walks you notice the space is brighter, the camera is facing upwards, and you can see the ceiling and ceiling lights… But above all else, you see his handsome face, the light wisp of a mustache and a goatee, the scar on his left cheek, his tired eyes, and disheveled hair.

He crosses a threshold into another darkened space, but this one is much quieter. You hear some shuffling sounds and even though now you really can’t see shit, you know he’s there, staring at you… And you know he’s lying down.

“Lovie… Can I ask you a favour?” He says as he sighs deeply and slowly.

“Yeah, what is it?” You end up saying as you set aside the breaded cutlets and wash your hands.

“Tell me everything I’m missing. Tell me everything that Simisola did and said… Tell me about your day… about work… share all the gossip you’ve got…” He requests. 

“Just… Just talk my bloody ear off.” He pleads. “I just need to hear your voice.” He adds, his tone a lot more gentler. “Please…”.

[ogenoger]

Blue Velvet (1986)

[dangeroustaintedflawed]

[jenniferchecksbitch]

AHS Coven

[brokenpieces-72]

Railed

Navigation

TW: Character death, exhaustion and some grief, let me know if there is more.

Task Force 141's journey into the island wasn’t one they were unused to, coming in via a rowboat though was a little different. That and wearing bullet-proof vests under more civilian attire. Price was wearing his beanie, with a brown jacket, a sweater underneath. Soap had his dark jacket on, zipped up all the way, room only at the collar. Gaz had on his coat and a grey shirt. Ghost had his hood up, wearing both a hoodie and coat, along with his balaclava. Each of them had basic hunting rifles and packs with standard gear inside. John had been under prepared before but never felt like it. They were going in with minimal knowledge and a guide or two somewhere on the island. This was more blind than any of them wanted. But it was all they had… time to clean up this disaster.

Once they reached the shore the boat was hauled on to the land, and hidden with what they could find. The boat was the only way back, and if it came down to it, they would need someway of getting back and hopefully getting proper evacuation measures. For now though too much commotion would lead to national involvement. Find the girl or the old man, eliminate the threat, and let the rest carry out. That was their mission.

“Where do we start?” Kyle asked his captain.

“Right now we’re four men on a hunting trip. We ask around for the girl.” Price said. If only it could have been that easy.

“Steaming Jesus.” Johnny breathed looking at the old man’s body. He had been taking them to find the girl when they’d witnessed Charles first hand. The monster was a thing of twisted nightmares. Despite their efforts to rid themselves of the thing then and there, taking pot shots and firing with the mounted weapon. Didn’t stop the thing from getting a hold of the man, Eugene and taking a bite before scurrying off to Satan knows where. If any of them had any doubts, they were gone now. The men had reached him as he breathed his last words, telling them to find the eggs, find his son and the girl.

Kyle crouched next to him and shut Eugene’s eyes. The hole in the body was huge. Simon got down on the other side getting Eugene’s arm around his shoulder. “Kyle.”

No more instruction was needed as Kyle assisted the lieutenant with moving Eugene off the tracks. Price and Johnny both keep an eye out weapons posted, ready for the monster if it decided to come storming back for another mouthful. Branches and leaves covered the dead man.

“Laswell’s intel was spot on.” Price said, sounding almost disappointed. “Right let’s go find the girl.”

The men followed their captain back to the train, and surprisingly it still ran. Simon took the controls, moving the train forward. Kyle stuck near the gun at the back with Soap close by and Price sitting on a small bench inside. The reality, if you could even call it that, was sinking in. A reality that shouldn't even be a reality. The question that remained was whether to contact Laswell to get evacuation ready or to try and kill the damn thing. The girl had already sent it to a number of big names, ones that wouldn't hesitate to come in with heavy fire power. Laswell was trying to reduce the damage that could be done.

The four men continue moving in silence, while Simon periodically checks the map to ensure they're headed where Eugene was taking them. The old man had been glad to see them, almost excited. Finally some help had come, and he was more than willing to tell them everything they needed to know, answer their questions, give them names that would help them on the island. Walked and talked like he was a veteran monster hunter or something. Showed them respect. When Charles attacked, he was calling shots.

Death was something the 141 were familiar with but the monster… that fucking monster. It was a death that would stick with them.

They made it to the train shed, stopping it just outside the shut door. There was an old house nearby likely where someone lived. Price got out and pounded on the door of the shed. There was a bit of rustling inside. Probably you, reaching for a weapon. The rest of his men stayed back, hovering around the train. John overheard a gun reloading as he was looking to his men for a moment. He tensed and had his hand on the trigger of his own gun. Then he heard your voice

“Steven King.” He heard you say through the door.

“Dark Tower?” Price replied. It sounded almost like a question. There was quiet, and then the creaking of the door opening a crack. It was chained up on the other side, leaving only a couple inches for him to see some young eyes peering through.

“…who are you?” You asked.

“Captain John Price, SAS.” John answered. The door shut and the chains were removed on the other side while his men came a little closer. The door opened slowly and Price looked down to see a teenager with bandages on her arms and a rifle… pointed at him. Seeing his men behind him, you pointed the rifle towards them, eyes looking startled. Price stepped back out, arms out from his sides. You looked between him and his men. No, you was looking for something, someone.

“Stand down.” He called back. The men lowered their own weapons and you followed suit. After a long breath dropping the gun, you shouldered the rifle. Likely been holding your breath that whole time.

“They sent help.” You said, looking at Price and then the rest of the 141, then back at Price. “Come in.”

The all four filed in, their clothes dotted with rain. The pattering of drops could be heard above them on the old roof. Inside was another train engine, but it was in a repaired state. You shut the door looping the chain around it, but leaving it unlocked. On one of the walls was another series of photos, notes and rough drawings. You came over to them, ready to get started.

“Can’t believe it worked. Won’t lie, it’s was like a 10% chance someone might actually check the videos. Even Eugene wasn’t sure, he wanted to contact an archivist on the mainland. He should be on his way here soon.” You said, the men went very quiet. You had been through some shit, under those long pants they expected was the cause of your limp, and who knows what else.

“He’s dead.” Simon stated. Not an emotional man but there was sympathy in his voice.

“What…” your face plummeted. Never an easy part of the job. Their silence confirmed their truth. You started to wander around the room, as if you might find a different answer. Your fingers picked at your bandages and nails, even your hair. “How?”

“That fuckin nightmare.” Johnny said. There was a hard “fuck” heard from you. You paused and looked between the four men. You wiped your nose with your arm. You straightened your back to attention, focusing on the objective.

“Right. I’m just finishing repairs on this one, you have the one from Eugene, there’s parts and pieces around the islands but unfortunately I’m public enemy number two, so in order to get them it requires running errands. Sorry to say. Uh… some of them may have weapons we could also use, and there is a final plan but it’s flawed so…yeah that’s all I got.” You said ending with a shrug.

“What’s the plan?” Simon asked. You gestured to map on the wall.

“There’s a wooden bridge, I’ve gone over it more than once but Charles never follows, he runs off. He knows it won’t hold his weight, and below is… a tiger trap.”

“Tiger trap?” Kyle asked. This was certainly primitive.

“Yeah like in the most dangerous game, but instead of sticks its broken rails, rocks and some other debris. The plan is to try and get him on the bridge, detonate it, blowing him sky high and let gravity do the rest.” You explained. “The only problem is getting him across. We… I think if we get the eggs and put them in this sort of altar temple thing it might get him enraged and pursue anything moving across that bridge… getting the eggs is a whole other story.”

The sound of your voice wasn’t positive. It sounded defeated throughout the plan. Even with the extra help there were limitations, limitations they were intent on overcoming. But you. You were tired and had lost your friend. By the sounds of it everyone on the island knew how to avoid Charles. That gave them time and less to worry about. There the masked mob but that could be dealt with later. It was pouring and you needed to finish up some repairs.

“How long will the rest of those repairs take?” Price asked.

“…an hour, maybe.” you replied. “If you need somewhere to rest or… something my place is up the way, it’s not locked. I’ll be along shortly.”

“And your name?” He asked.

“Everyone calls me brat…” you answered. Seeing the unwavering expressions of the men you cleared your throat. “Y/N. Call me Y/N.”

Taglist @yourlovely-moon @kaoyamamegami @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @sans-chara @1mommyrose4ever29 @smitten-haematite-quartz @talia-the-gemini @yuki2129 @whitetiger846 @graystorm444 @chibiduck @reaperxxxxzz @danielle143 @sobbingnshtting @cringeycookies @cryingpages @dcnocap207 @reaper-chan666 @bestbookfriends @thriving-n-jiving

[d1or3angel]

[cxndiedvi0lets]

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