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funtimebunnyblog · 3 years

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I'M BACK!!! 🥰😍❤ Did you all miss me? I'm happy to say that I've finally gotten some WiFi where I'm currently living and updates are gonna try to be more steady here in the future but I can't make any promises because I get very busy with my work 😅😇 Please continue to bear with me!

In other words, a while back I wrote the OG version of this little short fic on A03 but I realized that I had never posted it here! 😱 Nevertheless, I decided to write the Part 2 to this and then decided to remaster that first part before posting it here! 🙂🙂🙂 I'm thinking about turning this into a little mini series 🤔🥰

Anyways, I'll stop rambling! Please enjoy! 😚

Pillarroomates (Chapter 1: Roommate wanted)

(This is dedicated to Dagdoth and Sureynot; 2 of the best bad influences I could ever ask for 🥰😍❤)

The steady click-clacking of keys filled the pleasant silence of the little kitchen, Kars typing away on the laptop before him at the table.

It was just a little after noon, a time where he usually put down his work for a brief session to sit back in silence and enjoy a cup of coffee, or maybe a mug of tea depending on his mood, with whatever baked-good had been whipped up recently. Today however, he chose to cut his little break out of schedule completely to get a jump on the deadline of the month that he was currently picking away at.

Hunched over, eyes glued to the screen, one could've swore he was a living statue perched like that so quietly if it weren't for his typing fingers.

The sweet smell hanging in the air came much closer as Wamuu strode over to the table, a soft smile was painted across the mans lips as he placed an oven fresh cookie on a plate down next to the mug of black tea his Master was letting steep at his side.

"Thank you, Wamuu." Kars said quietly, watching the blonde depart in his peripheral vision for only a beat before regaining his sharp focus on the sea of numbers staring back at him.

Kars had his own room with a desk to work in of course but he always found himself enjoying doing work down here this time of day. The heavenly smell of the kitchen when something was being baked and the pleasant background noise of the radio chiming softly, sometimes accompanied by Wamuu humming along, was something sort of relaxing to Kars.

Relaxing around here tended to be something rare too, as there never seemed to be a dull moment in the lives of the Pillarmen these days.

Not in this neighbourhood, no.

The younger man hummed in response, heading back to the stove to finish scraping fresh cookies off the pan to place on a rack to cool. He was sure Santana would make an appearance soon to try one, with the lovely smell filling the air and all.

Santana could never stay asleep (as heavy of a sleeper as he had the tendency to be) holed up in his room when there was something yummy being cooked.

The times where he appeared the quickest was when Kars flicked on the coffee machine first thing in the morning, the red-head manifesting at his side at the very first spew of hot caffeine never failed to nearly give him a heartattack; especially when it was 5 in the morning in a dark kitchen.

Kars' head lifted, cocking an eyebrow as there suddenly came a knock at the front door; three evenly spaced thumps on the wood. The thought of another complaining neighbour was the first thing to cross his mind, making him sigh as he moved to get up from his chair.

"PIZZA'S HERE!!!"

The sounds of heavy footfalls coming at a rapid speed from down the hallway accompanying the cry stopped him in his tracks.

The plum-haired man grimaced, Wamuu glancing over his shoulder with a frown, as none-other-than Esidisi sped by; the one hand clutching the towel around his waist was the only thing keeping it from blowing away completely.

Despite only catching a glimpse of his speedy companion, Kars didn't miss the fact that the other was sopping wet and trailing water.

Esidisi had simply lept out of the shower the second he heard the knock at the door, leaving with only a towel (just barely even) and the foamy suds that were still clinging to his hair and his body.

No doubt about it, he was dripping all over the place.

And all over his clean floor too.

Kars clicked his tongue, more than tempted to sigh again.

"Really, Esidisi?" He called out to the other.

It was hard to tell whether he was more displeased with his state of soapy undress or the fact that the oldest Pillarmen had gone and ordered yet ANOTHER pizza this week with only God-knows-what on it.

Sure, he the others found themselves actually partaking in "Human food" casually these days. Wamuu even went so far as to teach himself how to cook as a hobby to fill time around the house when he wasn't going to the Gym or to work, but Esidisi had become something of a strange enthusiast on the matter.

Some people in this world got a little riled up over something as simple as Pinapple being added as a topping on a pizza but Kars had a feeling those people would have an absolute fit listening to Esidisi's phone order of a multi-fruit pizza (consisting of: oranges, apples, watermelon and strawberries) with cheese, olives and pepperoni.

He was starting to wonder if his longtime companion was simply doing it just to see how far he could push a Pizza place with his barrage of odd orders until they yelled at him or worse, barred him completely from the place.

His question was only met with laughter. "I decided to ask for Mac and Cheese and Jalapeños on it this time!" Esidisi called back, voice echoing off the walls, as he finally reached the front door.

Wamuu's nose crinkled at the very sound of that, choosing wisely to direct his attention to his cookies once more.

Kars decided to follow suit and do the same with his own work.

He supposed it wasn't really his problem, therefore; he shouldn't say anything.

☆☆☆

The advertisment had been a strange one for sure, but really, you had no choice but to at least look into it. It never hurt to try and you were already desperate enough as it was.

Apartments and open housing in the area was becoming a rarity at best these days, this busy time of year didn't help things either, and you had been scouring the internet for every opportunity or opening there was to move in with someone in this portion of the city.

Sadly, you had turned up empty handed quite a few times.

The last one you had looked into had been great; a nice building, nice seeming people, decent budget; but alas, the people who put out the advert took it down just a day later.

They had decided to give the opening to a close friend of theirs who wanted to come across the country and live with them instead.

You had been starting to consider checking the complete other side of the city and trying to squeeze yourself in somewhere there or maybe even just going with the option of moving cities completely! The hassle of finding a place was just becoming too much until... this one happened to pop up.

☆ Roomate requSWIGGITY SWOOMATE, WE NEED A ROOMATE!!11!!!1!

We are Four Men seeking out a Human roomate to live with us in our rented house.

4 bedroom, 1 bath, 1 kitchen; upstairs, downstairs and basement.

Location: Western side of the city, 929 Bizzare av.

Rent and chores are divided equally among us.

Requirements as followed:

• Must be a CLEAN Human.

• Human must not bear the surname of "Joestar" under ANY means necessary.

•Must be actively working and have claims to have the ability to hold their job.

• Must be willing to contribute to the household via chores and yard work when necessary.

• must be CUTE!!!

• Mus

•

• Must like llf6io78fjjl0

•

• Jo9sjw6jnsjej27ebeolu

• Jsjsij wkk d18kkjs lkdjsjsns52jsjjsnend2njsmdv 6272jsndbdhs2672 jd Djjsija bsij eeskdnne9s782728 jd bjejrn rnusjjsj

• the human must not be loud

• It would be most appreciated if the Human was a mannered person, who holds appreciation for similar hobbies we do. -W

•

Ask within to apply! ☆

You couldn't help but wonder if whoever had written this advert had been drunk at the time by looking at the grabbed mess that took up half the page.

Better yet, you could only hope this was a real advertisement and not some sort of stupid prank.

Either way, you were determined to find out today and claim this oppertunity before anyone else got the chance.

Glancing down at the print out you had made of the ad at the Library, you sighed as you kept going down the street. You had been walking all morning and were beginning to wish you had the foresight to pack a snack or a drink for your seemingly endless sojourn for this supposed place.

There was no picture put onto the advertisement, even a proper description of the place would've been nice, and finding a direct address wasn't exactly a piece of cake to you.

Nonetheless, you kept going. Stopping at every house you passed in hopes to spot a matching address; finding nothing but different numbers and barking dogs tethered in yards.

With every different number meeting your eyes, the possibility of this just being a fake ad just kept growing and growing in your mind.

You were even starting to consider just giving up entirely when, at last, there it was. "292" the numbers were bolted to the front porch, the 9 starting to tilt to one side.

It seemed nice enough. The lawn was well kept, the walkway however looked as if it needed to be redone. The building was a sunbleached blue, probably a nice clean periwinkle once upon a time, but now leaning a tad white and staring to flake. The place was definitely in need of a touch up.

This was the place, now if someone was Home to even just talk to you about this ad that would be great.

You gathered up the courage to leave the sidewalk and start up the overgrown walkway, the wood of the porch whined under your feet as you stepped onto it. A couple of chairs, a book carelessly left behind in one, a little cage sat all by its lonesome in the far corner, and a big unmissable stain (probably coffee) caught your eye on the wood.

The word "Pillarmen" was scrawled on the name card over the mail slot of the front door.

A strange surname, you had never heard of it before, but it must've been safe to assume that it belonged to someone here. Presumably one of the men who had made this advertisement in the first place.

With only a moments hesitation, clutching the print-out in hand, you reached out and rapped on the door hard with your knuckles, then stood back and waited.

Silence... You took the opportunity to fix your appearance slightly, suddenly becoming a little self-conscious, smoothing out your shirt before clasping your hands behind your back neatly and putting on your best smile.

First impressions were important, most especially a first impression made at the door after all.

There came the sounds of voices, too muffled for you to hear through the walls, followed closely by the unmistakable thundering of footsteps coming closer and closer from within.

Finally, the door flung open.

You felt your eyes go a little wide, the smile drained from your face as you craned your neck back slightly to meet the gaze of the very tall and very muscular dark-skinned man that now stood before you.

Belatedly, as your eyes followed the droplets of water that were dripping off him, trickling down every inch of his muscular body and pooling at his feet, you realized he was practically naked; clutching only a fluffy white towel around his waist.

The towel didn't look nearly as fluffy and white as his hair, however.

"Uh--" Your tongue swole in your mouth as you both found yourselves staring at one another, seemingly sharing a similar dumbfounded moment.

He blinked owlishly.

"You're not the Pizza delivery." He said matter-of-factly, breaking the tense silence that had fallen between the two of you.

Your head shook violently, broke from your sudden stupor, pulling out the slightly crumpled piece of paper out for him to see.

"Uh-- I--... N-No! I'm not-- I'm uh.... here ab-about the-- the roomate ad...?" You sputtered, the words felt as garbled as alphabet soup falling off your tongue, you felt a nervous sweat beading on your skin under your clothes as it hit you for a second time that wasn't wearing any. "Oh! If uh-- this is a bad time I-- I can come back later!"

His face lit up suddenly, eyes shimmering like sapphires. "Oh!" He cried. "I forgot about that!"

The massive man turned, calling back over his shoulder deeper into the apartment.

"Kars! There's a Human here, they saw our advert!"

You happened to be so gobsmacked, still reeling from the slight shock of the very first of your encounter, you hadn't even noticed he distinctly used the word "Human" there.

"What?!"

You couldn't see past the mans hulking figure but you could very well hear the scraping of a chair in the distance, followed by more thundering footsteps heading towards the door.

You blinked as yet another larger-than-life sized man made his appearance, pushing past the first with a frown. The both of them looked almost comically squashed where they stood taking up the whole doorway.

This man was just as tall and as muscular as the first. His skin was like ivory, framed by dark cloth wrapped from his neck to the top of his head with only a tuft of deep purple hair dangling precariously out over his pointed nose.

More importantly, very much unlike the first, this one was fully clothed.

Clad in a dress shirt that matched his hair, slightly unbuttoned to just give you a peak of the buldging muscles he had underneath and the sleeves rolled up to the elbow, neatly pressed black dress pants and house shoes.

Kars blinked in surprise as he caught sight of you at last, eyes scanning over you. He honestly hadn't expected someone to come to their door about the advertisement they had put out so quickly, they had only put it out less than a day ago.

If anything, by the way it had turned out, he was surprised someone responded to it at all.

"Please, come in." Kars told you, making his best attempt to save this lousy first impression.

His surprised look was short-lived, turning sharp as he directed it onto Esidisi. The other man smiled sheepishly, turning and retreat back to the bathroom to finish his shower without the pizza he had left it for...

☆☆☆

☆Previously...☆

Kars hummed, reading over the advert for a 4th time with pursed lips.

He had listed all the necessary information about them and the living situation and even put down a few requirements to set the bar for any Human who would happen to want to apply.

However, even with the ground rules set, it still just seemed a little too bare to him.

"Hmm," Kars peered over his shoulder towards the living room doorway; he swore he could hear more of the crunching of the flaming hot cheetos Esidisi was enjoying rather than the actual program he was watching. "Is there anything specific you would like to add to this before I post it?"

"Shay they mush be cute!" came the reply though a mouthful of spicy junkfood. Kars could only hope he wasn't getting crumbs all over the couch again, not to mention getting too handsy with the T.V remote eating those things...

"That isn't what qualifies as a 'requirement', Esidisi..." he sighed.

The other swallowed, now blessed with the ability to speak much clearer; the crinkling of the cheeto bag hit Kars' ears next.

"Well excuse me for having standards." He heard his oldest companion grumble, drowned out by the crunch of more food.

Wamuu's head peered out of the kitchen, the pie he was just about to place in the oven cradled in oven-mit hands. He had decided to try his hand at fudge pie this time, having mastered apple so quickly.

"It would be nice if the Human were a Warrior as well," he said, disappearing from Kars' sight again as he went back into the kitchen, carrying the pie to the awaiting oven. "Or perhaps if they were interested in going to the Gym or baking as I do..."

Kars sighed, "Wamuu, I understand you would like someone to train with but this--"

"The Human must not be loud."

The Pillarman practically jumped out of his chair, the tiniest yelp escaping his lips as he swiveled his head to find none other than Santana looming over him. The sheet lines imprinted in the others face indicated he had just arisen from a deep sleep; most likely venturing out of his cave and into the kitchen to see what Wamuu was up to.

Even after thousands of years, he still couldn't get used to the youngest Pillarman sneaking up on him.

It probably didn't even count as "sneaking" anyways as Santana was just so naturally quiet he just happened to go unnoticed until he spoke up.

Kars opened his mouth to make an attempt to speak again, only to be cut off one more time as Esidisi finally made his own appearance; leaning over the purple-haired man to see the advert in the works.

"See, this is all wrong." Esidisi told him, frowning at the screen. "This is too formal! If we're going to get someone at all, we need to grab their attention somehow. Here, I'll fix it!"

The other practically clamored over him, cheeto bag tucked under arm as he reached over to type on the computer, deleting the majority of the title Kars had written out and already replacing it with one of his own creation.

Kars belatedly realized the others' hands were still coated in hot cheeto crumbs, smudging the keys of his pristine computer with imprints of red and orange as he typed away.

"Esidisi, stop this at once!" He commanded, trying to push him at arms length, only to be met with a hand pushing back and smooshing against his face. The smell of spicy cheese flavoring hit his nostrils, only fueling his fire. "This is my work computer! I'm the one writing this advertisement!"

Santana merely stood back, watching the two elder Pillarmen fight over the computer in silence. Esidisi was pushed by Kars into the keyboard a handful of times before their focus was solely on one another and no longer the ad.

"Get your grubby hands off me!" Kars growled as the other straddled him in the chair, his face now smudged like his keyboard. They kept pushing on one another, a clumsy slap war already underway, obscenities and curses getting mangled as they argued back and forth.

"You never let me--"

"I told you that--"

"I wanna do it! Just let me--"

Santana peered down at the computer curiously, uninterested in watching the display before him any longer.

The red-head typed out his own request before picking up the device and carrying it to the kitchen for Wamuu to see and whatever he wished; Santana ignored the sound of two bodies toppeling out of the chair and hitting the floor as he left.

Kars didn't even get to see the ad (or rather; the remainder of what qualified as an advert) before it was posted online by Santana.

#funnybunny #pillarmen #kars #esidisi #wamuu #santana #my writing #pillarroomies

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mothandpidgeon · 3 years

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THE SINS OF THE FATHER - a Molly York story PART 2

(gif by @pajamasecrets)

PROLOGUE - PART 1

MASTERLIST

Characters: Dave York, Molly York (Carol and Alice, too)

Words: 3500

Rating: T

Warnings: character death (canon), loss of a parent, angst, training your daughter to be an assassin?

Summary: After contacting a mysterious acquaintance of her later father's, Molly York learns more about the man. And about his death.

a/n: I'm a little obsessed with this fic right now. I love writing soft!Dave and his daughter. I know this isn't the mean daddy Dave smut we usually love, but I'd love to hear from you if you're enjoying this!

Thanks @purplepascal042 for helping me with this part! Love you, B!

/ / / / /

Dave is exhausted from jet lag, sprawled on the bed, still in his shirt and slacks. The last job took a lot out of him. He needs a shower but his body won’t budge.

“Daddy are you sleeping?” Molly asks from the doorway in a stage whisper.

“What’s going on?”

“Will you help me with my homework?” she asks. She’s clutching a worksheet and a pencil.

“Sure. Come here,” he says and she climbs onto the bed beside him. “What’ve we got?”

“I have to interview a grown up about their job. For Career Day,” she explains.

Dave looks over the page, his tired eyes barely focusing. “Did you ask Mommy to do this?”

“I want you to do it,” Molly insists.

He lets Molly read him each prompt and he answers as simply as possible. She dutifully writes down each answer in scrawling pencil.

“How do you spell ‘investigation?’” she asks.

“Sound it out,” he encourages. He’s so burnt, he’s not sure he can manage to spell it either.

“‘What is your favorite part about your job?’” she reads.

Dave sighs longer than he means to. “Coming home to my family.”

“No, Daddy! It has to be about work!”

The address Capra had given Molly was a boarded up movie theater off the highway about 30 miles outside of DC. Molly told Carol that she was shopping for dorm decor when she’d left the house full of nerves. She’d gotten so good at lying, sometimes she believed her own.

The parking lot was empty, the cracks in its pavement filled in with grass, punctuated by street lights every few yards. Molly had expected to meet at a coffee shop or a restaurant, not some out of the way place. She was sitting on the trunk of her car, her leg bouncing, when a black BMW pulled up. The woman driving it looked to be in her late 40s, her hair pulled back neatly. When she stepped out of her car, she pulled her sunglasses down her nose and eyed Molly up and down.

“How old are you now? 20?”

“18,” Molly told her.

“You’re the older one?”

“Yeah,” Molly said.

Capra approached her and she hopped down from the bumper.

“Didn’t your dad ever teach you not to talk to strangers?” she asked.

Molly hesitated. She had her pepper spray in her back pocket and she was much younger, probably quicker than this woman. But Dad wouldn’t give her Capra’s number if he didn’t trust her. Still, Molly decided to lean against her car and keep her distance.

“You know a lot about me for a stranger,” Molly replied.

Capra grinned. She nodded her head back and said, “Walk with me.”

Molly paced the pavement with her, glancing at the woman beside her. She was slim with sharp features, whispers of frown lines in her face. Capra offered Molly a cigarette which she declined.

“Is Capra your first name?”

“It’s what my friends call me,” she replied.

There was a darkness in her tone that made Molly edgy.

“Did you work with my dad at the agency?” Molly asked.

That would explain some things. But Capra laughed.

“No.” Capra observed Molly and then her lip twitched up into a wistful smile. “Jeez I bet everybody tells you you look just like him.”

Molly’s stomach churned.

“Were you and my dad-”

“No,” Capra said. “God no. Your dad was...a complicated guy but not when it came to his family.”

Molly nodded, not sure if she felt relieved or if that just gave her more questions.

“So how did you know each other?” She asked.

“It’s a long story,” Capra said, scratching her forehead. “We did some freelance work together.”

Capra made some small talk, asking Molly where she was headed for college, what she’d be studying. Molly had so many questions of her own she could only manage short answers. Finally, she had to ask the question that had been nagging at her the loudest.

“Do you know what happened to my dad? How he died?” She’d stopped walking.

“I know the same as you,” Capra said.

“Which is?” Molly asked. She wasn’t going to accept such a vague answer.

Capra gave a wry smile. She flicked her cigarette butt to the ground and twisted it into the pavement under her shoe. Molly’s heart sped up. She’d caught Capra in a lie.

“You’re a clever one,” she said.

“It wasn’t an accident, was it?” Molly asked. She searched Capra’s face for an answer. “Please.”

“I wasn’t there,” she replied.

“But you know. Please. I need to know.”

Molly felt like she was holding her breath. Capra looked away, then back at Molly.

“You don’t want to know,” Capra said.

“I do,” Molly said. She balled her hands into fists so she didn’t shake Capra by her shoulders.

“He wouldn’t want you to know.”

“How do you know that?” Molly spat. “What the hell do you know about him? I’ve never even heard of you. You don’t know.”

“Trust me, there’s plenty about your father you didn’t know,” Capra snapped back.

Molly was so frustrated she wanted to cry. Instead she let out a growl and turned back towards her car.

“Fuck this!” She stomped away.

She’d crossed half of the parking lot when she heard Capra call after her. Molly squared her shoulders, tried to compose herself, and turned around to glare at the woman. Capra was clutching the bridge of her nose, her eyes shut. Finally she dropped her hand with an exasperated sigh and pulled out another cigarette. Capra lit it as she closed the distance between them, blowing smoke out of her mouth and shaking her head. She held the cigarette out to Molly.

“You’re going to want one of these. And you’re going to need to sit down for this.”

Dave parks the car in the driveway. Molly is sitting in the passenger seat, still grinning from her first experience at the shooting range.

“Now remember,” Dave says before he opens the door, “this is our secret. So if Mom asks where we were, just tell her our cover story.”

She nods eagerly but then her lips twist into a thoughtful frown.

“It’s lying,” she says.

Dave feels guilty for a moment. Deceit is practically second nature for him but what kind of father teaches his daughter to be dishonest?

“But it’s a white lie,” she justifies to herself. “Right?”

Dave kisses the crown of her head.

“It’s alright, baby. Everybody has secrets.”

Molly felt dizzy. The story Capra told her made her feel like she’d gone from a tilt-a-whirl into a funhouse. Everything was distorted and she was upside down. Already, she was replaying her memories of Dad with this new context tinging them like a dark filter.

Dad kissing her on the forehead before bed. Hoisting her onto his shoulders on the 4th of July. Singing along to “Baba O’Riley” and drumming on the steering wheel. Dad killing people. Earning blood money. Dying by someone else’s hand.

“It’s a lot,” Capra said. They were sitting in Molly’s parked car, the windows rolled down, the sound of the highway traffic washing through like white noise. “But he did it for you.”

Molly’s eyes flicked to her. She hadn't asked for anybody to die.

“He was trying to take care of his family,” Capra clarified.

She let Molly sit in silence for a while as she sorted out what she’d just heard. Molly felt like she was grieving him all over again. Except this time she mourned the father she knew.

“My mom-"

“She never knew,” Capra said.

Molly nodded weakly.

“It was a secret because he loved you.”

Molly felt a tear slip from her eye. She didn’t want to feel hurt. She didn’t like feeling deceived. She wiped her face and set her jaw.

“What happened to Mac?” she asked.

She remembered meeting the man who had killed her father. Everything that had happened just before he died was so clear in her memory. She could still see Mac’s face, his friendly smile.

He’d seemed like such a nice guy. She remembered asking him a load of questions as he rode with them to school and he’d laughed and told Carol what a bright girl she was.

It sickened her to know he’d been right there. So close. And she was so small and clueless. Had Dad known what was coming?

“He lives up in New England,” Capra said. “Retired.”

Molly turned to Capra, anger burning in her chest.

“He’s still alive?” she asked.

“Afraid so,” Capra said.

Molly looked back out the windshield, took a deep breath. Retired. Dad would never get to retire. Go golfing or build model cars or whatever old men did.

“And you do...what my dad did?” she asked.

Capra didn’t confirm or deny it.

“You can’t discuss this. With anyone,” she informed her.

Molly nodded again. She wouldn’t dream of telling Carol this. She would protect her from the truth just like dad had.

“I’m sorry about this,” Capra said before they parted ways. “You’ve got my number. Give me a call if you ever need anything.”

As Molly drove home, thoughts solidified in her mind.

Dad was a killer. But he’d been a killer before, in the Marines. He’d still loved her. He went to her karate matches and read her bedtime stories. She might have lived her whole life without ever finding out what Dave York really was.

If he hadn’t died.

He could have taught her how to drive. Taken photos before senior prom. Visited colleges with her.

He would have danced with her at her wedding. Helped her fix up her first home. Held her future children in his arms.

If he hadn’t been murdered.

And what about mom? She wouldn’t have worried about calling plumbers and taking her car to the mechanic. Run herself ragged getting Alice to dance class and Molly to archery competitions. She wouldn't have had to sleep alone every night.

If it hadn’t been for Robert McCall.

Molly could absolve her father’s sins. But Mac she would never forgive.

“Young lady, open this door right now,” Dave barks.

“You told me to go to my room! I’m in my room!” Molly snaps through her bedroom door.

She’s given Carol lip all morning and he’s had enough of the attitude. Every day, his sweet little girl is fading more and more into a stubborn teenager.

“You do not slam doors in this house.”

“Leave me alone!” Molly yells. “I hate you!”

Dave knows that she’s angry and she’s got a bad temper. That these outbursts are the first signs of puberty rearing its ugly head. But, still, her words punch him right in the gut.

“If that’s how you’re going to speak to your father, then you’re grounded,” he manages.

“Good!”

Molly had been reserved ever since Dave’s death but, after meeting Capra, she felt her melancholy harden into bitterness. She went through college. She didn’t make a lot of friends or date many people. She studied, she practiced her marksmanship, she trained.

As soon as Molly turned 18, she was back at the gun range. It had been a long time since Dad had taken her for target practice but she was pleasantly surprised by her grouping. She’d had a good teacher.

She liked everything about shooting. Not just because it had been a secret she shared with her father. She liked the ritual– loading the magazine, carefully picking up the gun. She liked the focus– taking a deep breath and looking down the barrel. She liked the power.

Mac’s grin stayed fixed in her mind. She thought about it when she pulled herself from bed at five in the morning to do push ups. She pictured it when she worked herself into a sweat at the gym’s punching bag. She imagined it when she put holes through the head of the target at the shooting range.

She didn’t think she’d have the chance to do that in real life. But she dreamed about it almost every night.

Molly had always stayed close to home but she visited less and less. Alice started college in New York so Carol had an empty nest. Molly could hardly bring herself to visit her mother anymore.

Molly had always been good at keeping secrets but this one was the most difficult. Every time she saw Carol, Molly imagined how devastated she would be if she knew the truth. It had become too painful pretending and so Molly simply avoided most situations where she would have to.

Capra stayed in touch, calling every so often to check in. It was clear to Molly that she felt responsible for this angst but there was no one else to talk to about it.

Some people were driven by ambition or lust or creativity. During college, it felt like Molly ran on anger. It helped her concentrate, to work hard. She graduated at the top of her class and had no trouble landing a job that paid well.

Adulthood was different.

Dave had been wise enough to set up trusts for the girls so Molly hadn’t racked up student debt. But now she had rent and bills and car insurance. She couldn’t stuff herself with fries from the dining hall and call that a meal. She had to work long hours for a demanding boss. She had to take care of herself. She had to go through the monotony of life.

When it came down to it, she just didn’t have the energy to be mad anymore.

Molly still held a flame inside. Mainly, she kicked herself for not getting to the gym more often. She hated that she was moving on. She had dulled as she got older, as she followed the news every day and saw that the world was a shitty place where justice was scarce.

Molly was in her childhood bedroom, going through layers of old school papers, polaroids from her friends’ bat mitzvahs, and certificates from karate tournaments like an archeological dig.

Carol was finally selling the family home. Downsizing. The girls were there to help clean things out, decide what should go to the Salvation Army and what would be going home with them.

It pained Molly to think about the house with another family living inside it. Even now in her late twenties, she still walked in the door and expected Dad to come around the corner from the kitchen, to say, “Hey, kiddo!” the way he used to. Once the house was sold, she would never experience that sensation again.

It was strange, Molly thought, how you could live somewhere for all of your life and then, one day, you’re locked out forever.

Carol was moving to a two bedroom condo closer to the city so she couldn’t take all of this junk with her. Molly packed a bankers box with some trophies and a few of her favorite books and brought it down to the kitchen.

Alice was leaned against the island, lazily sorting through cookbooks. Although the day called for packing boxes and hauling trash bags, she was dressed to the nines. Molly wondered if her sister owned casual clothes anymore. Alice had gotten a job at a fashion magazine and, although it seemed like she was low in the pecking order, she acted as though she was Anna Wintour herself.

“That’s all you’re taking?” Carol asked, eyeing the box.

Molly shrugged. She already had already taken the things that were most precious to her long ago.

“You know, Mom, if you don’t want to move, I can help you with the mortgage,” Molly said.

Molly had been saving up to buy a place of her own but she would happily give that up for her mother. Nowhere would ever feel like home the way this house did.

“It’s time,” Carol said. “I don’t need this much house to myself.”

Mom didn’t look her age but the bags under her eyes had grown more defined. She’d stopped coloring the streak of grey hair that had come in at her temple.

“It’s a good idea,” Alice jumped in. “Mom needs to get out there again. She hasn’t met any guys in the suburbs.”

The idea of Mom dating always made Molly bristle. She didn’t want Carol to be lonely but couldn’t picture her with a man who wasn’t Dad. The same way she couldn’t see her living in a different house.

“I’m going to work on the study,” Molly said and retreated to the home office.

This had been Dad’s room and, even though it had accumulated a mess of things over the years— old workout tapes, discarded hobbies, books about tidying— it still felt like his sanctuary. Molly picked through a shelf and found Dad’s high school yearbook. She hoped Mom wouldn’t mind if she took that home with her. She liked pictures of her father in his youth, skinny and bright eyed with scruffy hair.

Molly sat on the floor in front of the built-ins and fished out a few baskets and shoe boxes from the cabinets. The first one contained family photos. Vacation in the Bahamas, Alice’s 4th birthday party, Molly dressed as a ninja for Halloween. She went through each one with great ceremony. Molly already had a bunch of photos of her and Dad so she tucked these back in their box and put them in the ‘keep’ pile.

The next box was filled with cards. Sympathy cards. Molly sighed as she went into them. One from Carol’s coworkers with a rose on the front. Sending you comfort. A small card that looked like it had come with a floral arrangement from cousin John. He’ll be missed.

There was a card with a painting of a serene beach scene. With deepest sympathy. Molly opened it and read the short message.

So sorry for your loss. It feels like we’ve lost one of the family. Send my love to the girls. - Mac

The cold rage that had burnt out reignited in Molly’s stomach, her entire body so tight she almost shook. She could feel tears sting in her eyes.

That motherfucker. That fucking asshole had the audacity to send a sympathy card. To send his love. That piece of fucking shit. Molly almost crumpled the card in her hands, as if she could wring his neck through it, but just then Alice wandered in. Molly dropped the card into her lap.

“What are these?” her sister asked, crouching down and grabbing a photo. “Aw! You looked so cute!”

Molly swallowed hard and tried to slow her heart rate as Alice sifted through the pictures.

“Christ, why does Mom still have these?” Alice complained, picking up one of the sympathy cards.

“They’re for Dad,” Molly said.

“It’s not like he got to read them,” Alice replied.

She tossed it back onto the floor.

“Why are you always such a bitch about Dad?” Molly asked, the animosity she’d discovered in Mac’s card spilling out of her.

“Sorry I don’t worship him.” Alice rolled her eyes. “It’s not like he was ever around. And when he was, he spent all of his time with you.”

Alice crossed her arms and looked away self-consciously. Molly felt a jab in her heart. She knew Dad loved Alice. He’d done awful things so that she could take dance lessons and go off to a good school where she could study whatever she liked. Things that eventually got him killed. But Molly couldn’t tell her sister any of that so she just stared at Alice with her mouth half open.

“Girls, when you’re finished up there, lunch is ready!” Mom called from the kitchen.

“Call me a bitch…” Alice grumbled as she left the room.

Molly pushed the cards into the ‘Trash’ pile.

“Ow! Daddy! Molly hit me!” Alice whines.

“You hit me first!” Molly growls.

Dave glances at them in the rear view mirror.

“Is that true?” he asks.

“No!” Alice says.

He knows she’s lying. Molly’s sitting there with her arms crossed as Alice clutches her elbow dramatically, lips set in a pout.

He knows what he’s supposed to say. Some bullshit about being the bigger person, two wrongs don’t make a right. And if Carol was in the car maybe he would. But the world doesn’t work like that.

“If you hit somebody,” he warns, “don’t be surprised if they hit you back.”

Molly took Mac’s card with her. It was sitting on her passenger seat when she pulled away, Carol standing on the lawn, waving. Send my love to the girls. Every time she thought about it, she got so pissed off she wanted to puke.

She couldn’t even wait to get home before she was dialing Capra, one hand gripping the steering wheel so hard her knuckles ached.

“What’s up, kid?” Capra asked.

“I need to find Mac.”

/ / / / / part three soon!

@pascalslittlebrat @purplepascal042 @starlightmornings @mouthymandalorian @danniburgh @originallaura @tuskens-mando @221bshrlocked @wyn-dixie @goddessinwolfskin @cheekygeek05 @fangirl-316 @fairytale07 @rosiefridayrogersunday @a-skov @skulliebythesea @oceanablue @rebel-soldat @stevie75 @evyiione @buckwildbarnes @likes-good-reblogs-even-better @silverwolf319 @killermonkeys45 @velia27 @anxiousandboujee @amneris21 @green-socks @pedro4ever @pedrocentric @kesskirata

#dave york #dave york pit #dave york fic #pedro pascal characters #molly york #nothing but respect for my queen carol york

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nadezhda-wexler · 3 years

Text

A Moment In Time, Again and Again

Hello @xoxobuckybarnes, It is I, your Summer Fic Exchange writer for @b99fandomevents. Thank you for all your amazing prompts, but I ended up choosing “The Squad after ten years”. I really hope you enjoy it.

Also a few points:

1) The whole story is non-linear. It’s like a series of snapshots. It’s related, but chronologically the don’t really make sense

2) It is smut adjacent? Implied smut? Idk, It’s just a few lines because honestly, it’s my first time writing anything like that

3) There might be some spelling errors and grammatical error, sorry if they put a damper on your experience

4) Thank you @b99fandomevents for giving this chance

5) MOST IMPORTANTLY: I hope you enjoy it.

There were many reasons Amy thought that might bring the squad together- well, mainly one- Scully dying (the man was already decaying when she was in the precinct), but this was not it. In fact, this was the opposite of it.

She reads the sign again, still wondering if she dreamt it up. But nope. Norm Scully and Cindy Shatz were indeed getting married.

Amy walks into her old turf: Shaw’s Bar. She feels like she stepped into another universe, everything is different, but somehow, the same. It’s the place she came to right after her wedding. The stools are different and the bar more worn, but the place still feels warm like her wedding night. The back door leads right to the alley where she once tried to conceive (that was a low point) and judging by the fact the Hitchcock is standing right outside the bathroom with Scully nowhere in sight, she guesses even the bathroom smells (stinks) the same.

Her eyes sweep over the room, she can see Rosa and Gina huddles together and she already feels bad for their victim, Holt and Kevin are talking to Terry- it never stops amusing her seeing the very passionate Captain Jeffords squared against impassive Retd Captain Holt and Kevin. Charles is haranguing the caterers, when she hears a voice from behind: “Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine.”

They had just gotten into the airport- Jake is bringing all their luggage while she is trying to get her children to calm down. While Maya knows everyone in the squad, Mac has lived with them more. So Mac has decided to fill in the blanks. His stories are wild and absolutely untrue and Maya is hanging onto each word. She was looking to see where her husband was when Maya suddenly tugged her hand and asked in wonder “Did Daddy really catch a thief by sending Mac in undercover?” “No. Your daddy never sent Mac undercover because he isn’t a cop and he is a baby”. “Well, I am not a baby and dad did do that, he just didn’t tell you”

“What didn’t I tell your mom?”Jake joins them, luggage in tow. “That you sent me undercover to catch that thief” “Mac”, Jake says with fake indignation. “You weren’t supposed to tell that. It was our secret” Mac’s eyes has that same mischievous glint she has seen a million times on her husband’s face as he says he told her to maya and launches into his story. They’re loading their luggage into the cart when Jake’s phone buzzes. “That’s Charles and he has already called me 5 times and messaged me a lot. I stopped counting after 10”, Jake says. “Kids, your Uncle Charles is waiting. You know how he gets when you are late!”, he adds.

Mac, without any prompt, holds his sister's hands, so as to not lose her, still continuing with the stories of his feats, she’s sure, without missing a beat. Her heart swells as she watches her kids, Mac being a protective older brother and Maya holding onto his hands and words. Her husband’s hand slips into hers as he asks “You ready to go?” She couldn’t be happier.

"Captain Santiago"

"Captain Holt! Hi!" Apparently even his retirement hasn't made Santiago less flustered. He won't deny there is a part of him that enjoys the reverence. "How was your first year running a precinct, Captain?" He enjoys calling her Captain almost as much as she enjoys hearing it.

"Great! Super cool. Fantastic. Dope. No diggity no doubt" He briefly wonders if she had a stroke.

"Okay, you saw right through me. It's not been easy. Manhattan is completely different from Brooklyn. The squad is also new, they all just transferred about a month or two before me. So they don't even know each other so everyone is walking on tiptoes. And they follow everything I say, but don't really see me as a leader."

"Well, the first precinct I ran, I had a detective who only cared about closing cases, everyone in the squad thought I was a robot, my two best detectives had a bet with each other, my Sargent was chained to the desk and the office administrator was Gina and I had Hitchcock and Scully"

"You are right. I shouldn't complain. I don't have a Hitchcock and Scully"

"No. But that was not what I was trying to say. Once I got closer to all of them, I realised that the detective who did not care, cares not just care about closing cases, the bet made both detectives better, my Sargent saved my life, Gina is still Gina and that being a robot doesn't make me a worse Captain. What you need to do Santiago, is trust your squad. You have a unique opportunity to build this team. But you cannot do that without unflinching trust. So trust them. Help them and let them help you. And if you ever feel the need, please do not hesitate to contact me. I might have retired from the force, but not from being your mentor"

"Wow! Thank you so much Captain. That means the world to me." Some people might call Amy Santiago a teacher's pet in an attempt to mock her, but the truth is she is a teacher's pet because she is a brilliant student. She revels in learning and enjoys implementing her knowledge even more. She is a teacher's pet not just because she is adept at brown nosing- which she admittedly does sometimes, but because she will be the student that teachers can one day be proud of. He might tell her this if it did not make her explode and also because Amy Santiago understands him, so he just smiles.

They had barely reached the terminal before Charles pounced on Jake. Amy and the kids barely had the time to move away from being hit. Genevieve and Amy unload the luggage while the kids catch up. It takes the men one whole minute before they let go.

"Genevieve, thank you so much for taking the kids", Amy says.

"Of course Nikolaj loves hanging out with Mac and Maya. It's my pleasure to watch them."

"Still, thank you! And Jake-"

"NO!", Charles almost pushes her down trying to get between Jake and her. "You get him every other day Amy, you cannot poach him away today."

"Charles, I am not trying to poach him away. I just wanted to tell him to enjoy the night and have fun. Also you visited not three weeks ago and you guys FaceTime constantly."

"FaceTiming is not the same Amy! It has been 28 days, 14 hours aaand three minutes since I have been covered in Jake's musk"

“Ugh! Alright", Jake says. "Charles, why don't you take these two bags and load them into the cab while Amy and I bring the rest?"

"Okay.", Charles says almost defeatedly. "Don't be late."

Jake turns to her. "So what are your plans again?"

"I will go to the hotel, have a long bath after which Rosa and Gina will come pick me up for the bachelorette party after which both will crash with me because according to Gina quote if I am going to stand next to you as a bridesmaid, you need to at least be six and you need help with that unquote"

"I still can't believe Cindy asked you and Gina to be one of the bridesmaids"

"Well, we did help them get together."

"Yeah. And as this goes on, I will be with Charles hoping whatever he made is edible and missing you terribly"

"Stop being a sap Peralta. And have fun tonight"

"It’s Peralta- Santiago, FYI. And I will 100% have fun, but I'm still gonna miss you. I gotta go before Charles comes back. I love you"

"I love you too."

It was a tiring night and Amy just wants to take her makeup off and she really wants to be out of this dress for more than one reason. As much as she loves her kids- and that is a lot- she is glad that they wanted to stay at Holt's place. The kids love their Fauxpas (they are her kids, of course they know what faux pas means and more importantly, when Mac very proudly said it, both Kevin and Holt agreed that "it is a humorous wordplay"). Mac can never get enough of Holt's stories and Maya loves the Classics. She can recite Odyssey from memory. And both of them get away with things that only they (and maybe her husband) can- some stains of orange juice, mud in the house, a few broken glasses- all.of these are forgiven because it's their fauxchildren's doing (it doesn't work as well, but Holt was proud and Maya laughed and so it stuck). And after two days of wedding prep, she really needs a day without being worried about someone breaking something or constantly screaming. And even more than that with the way her husband has been looking at her all night, she really, really needs to be the one screaming.

She is halfway through taking off her makeup when Jake, sans jacket, (but with tie and damn, her husband looks fine) walks in. He puts his hand on her waist. "Babe, do you know how hot you look?"

"Oh is it the running mascara that does it for you?"

He pulls her in closer and from his look she knows that the screaming she was hoping is definitely happening. He says in a low voice into her ear, "No. It's you." It's like each word he says vibrates inside her. "You having been driving me crazy all day. You in that blue dress. You knowing exactly how amazing your butt looks in that dress. You taking control when everything was falling apart. It's you Ames who does it for me."

She turns around and pulls him by the tie and kisses him hard and he's lifting her up onto the counter, kissing every bit of her as he lowers his head between her legs. She thanks the stars that this is her life partner.

(And later she'll counting the same as Jake twists his wrist in the way that he knows will bring over the edge.)

Every time Jake sees his wife, he falls in love with her a little more. Which he wouldn't have believed possible sixteen years ago. She hasn't spotted him, so he takes her in for a minute. Every time he steps into Shaw's Bar, he remembers walking in as a newly wed couple. Sure afterwards the evening did take a turn, but until then it was perfect. Except before that when there was a bomb threat and an actual bomb and Teddy proposing like a thousand times. Wow, his wedding day was a mess. But still it was one of the happiest days of his life because even through all that, he was hitched to the most beautiful woman in the world. Who is now watching everyone waiting for him.

So he walks up to her, drinks in hand and says, “Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine.”

"Ooh , Casablanca", she takes a glass. "Yes. Charles and I watched it yesterday. We didn't even know what was going on half the time because Charles was crying and making noises half the time."

"Oh, just Charles?" "Okay fine I was crying a little too. Okay a lot. Fine I was the one who was crying the most. Happy?"

"Oh babe. It's cute that you think you should say that to me as if you didn't watch it for the first time with me"

"Oh yeah. Well, I tried. Oh before you ask, the kids are all at the Jeffords' house and Cagney and Lacey are keeping an eye on them. And the best part: without a babysitter's fee."

"Wow, I really missed friends' kids doing things for us for free. Remember when we babysat Cagney and Lacey for like three days straight, without even thinking of money?"

"And if we were to go by the amount our babysitters charge, we'd have enough money to buy Orangina for a whole month."

They move to the counter, perched on the barstools. "You know Captain Holt just called me Captain"

"He's been calling you a Captain for a year babe, you know, cause you've been a Captain for a year!"

"I know! Can you believe?!"

"Of course, because you are awesome and amazing"

"Oh, and he also said that he's still my mentor and that I can call him for advice any time."

"Wow, obviously today was a big day for you"

"I know" Her whole face is lit up. Her cheeks are flushed, from the drinks and the running around making things happen, from the many catching up and from the fact that her mentor called her Captain. Once again he's a little bit more in love. His eyes catch Cindy and Scully awkwardly shuffling around trying to dance. Hitchcock is trying to hide the fact that he's disappointed, but doing a pretty bad job of it. He sees Charles and Genevieve almost having sex which apparently is how they dance. The music changes to something familiar and his wife looks amazing and he wants to dance with her very much. "Amy Santiago- Peralta, may I have this dance? And don't worry, it's reinforced shoes so I won't even know if you step on me." "Ha ha Peralta- Santiago. You are my teacher, so if I'm stepping on your toes, it's your own fault"

"Wow, blaming the victim."

They are on the dance floor, her hand in his, hand on his shoulder, his on her waist. He can see every little detail on her face, the mascara running a bit, lipstick that's smudged. Her perfectly set hair, falling around the edges. She's beautiful.

"I wonder why all the greatest love stories are so tragic"

"Because that's what makes them great. The fact that their love is so powerful that it's unattainable."

"Well I think that it's stupid."

"What?"

"That the greatest love of our life is the one we don't have. It's categorically untrue. My favourite love story has a happy ending anyway"

"You mean Morticia and Gomez?"

"That's my second favourite"

"Well, what's your first?"

"Ours, of course" She smiles and that's all he ever wants to see.

Her hand is in his, the other moves to his chest. His are around her waist circling, as he pulls her closer and she rests her cheek on shoulder. He buries his nose in her hair and she nuzzles into his neck. If he'd imagined a perfect life sixteen years ago, not even in his wildest dreams he'd have thought he could feel like this.

#b99fandomevents #b99 fanfic #jake x amy #Okay #listen #it's my first time writing anything smut adjacent and so all I can hope for is that it isn't cringey #Also maybe the love story dialouge is a bit cheesy #and maybe it really doesn't mesh well #but i wanted it.#but honestly #i just hope yall enjoy this #i dont want my tags to be longer than the story #so ill stop.

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bloodfromthethorn · 3 years

Text

PTSD

Los Angeles doesn't get a lot of storms, but when it does, the Phoenix team takes notice.

Part four of the July of Whump 2021 prompt challenge.

Also on AO3.

The whole team was exhausted when they filed into the War Room for debrief. Eight long days of running around Indonesia chasing a covert terrorist cell was not exactly an activity conducive to getting a good night’s rest, and all of them showed it. Of all of them, Jack was probably managing the best, his years on the job getting him comfortably into the habit of grabbing catnaps in moments of quiet, but even he was on the verge of crashing hard. Boze looked like he’d already given up the ghost and had embraced sleepwalking.

Matty eyed them all with a sort of quiet concern she very rarely let them actually see.

“I know you’re tired,” she started carefully, “So let’s keep this short. Do you have any injuries to report?”

There was a general negative hum.

“Anything outside of what I caught on comms that I need to know about?”

Again, a quiet murmur of no.

“Do any of you have any questions or concerns you wish to raise about this mission?”

This time Jack’s hum was a little more non-committal; he had every intention of bitching about the state of their non-existent intel in his report, but that could wait until he’d been unconscious for a solid 20 hours. Getting into it now would only get messy and besides, he’d bitched about it plenty on comms too.

Matty nodded sharply when none of them spoke up. No doubt she’d caught their mild discontentment, but she was smart enough to realise now was not the time to fight that particular battle. Instead, she offered them a rare smile. “I think that’s all we need to cover right now. You’ve all got the rest of the week off – go home and get some rest.”

There was an audible sigh of relief as they turned as one to leave. Of course, that had to be the moment when Matty called after them.

“Oh, Jack, one more thing.”

He barely resisted letting out an audible groan as he swayed back on his heels, glancing over his shoulder. Ahead of him, the team also paused, interested despite their fatigue in whatever else Matty had to say.

“Weather reports indicate there’s a storm front coming in,” she said, apology and concern in her face if not her voice. She was watching Jack closely as she delivered the news. “Should reach the city in a few hours and last at least the night.”

At that, Jack really couldn’t help but groan. His head swivelled to meet Mac’s gaze, who was staring back at him with a resigned sort of distress colouring his face. Of all the possible times for LA to get a rare summer storm, it had to be right when the pair of them were already on their last legs. Of course.

“Copy that,” he said instead of screaming his frustration to the world, because despite what Matty said he did actually know the meaning of professionalism, thank you very much. “My house or yours, hoss?”

Mac considered it, looking tired and wan in the fluorescent lights. He might be the toughest person Jack knew, but right then he didn’t look like he could survive another sleepless night. “That waffle place near me does delivery until 2am now,” he mused after a moment’s thought.

Jack shot him a grin he didn’t really feel. “Sold.”

“But Boze-” Mac started, twisting to look at where the other two members of their team were still lingering in the doorway.

Riley neatly cut him off before he could finish voicing his concerns. “Boze will be perfectly fine spending the night at my place,” she said, casting a quick glance at the man in question to make sure he was fine with the arrangement. “You guys do what you need to do. Have fun with your waffles.”

“Yeah, man,” Bozer chipped in, “I’m all good. Don’t worry about me. Just try to get some rest if you can.” Riley tugged on his arm to get the pair of them moving, but he still twisted round to call over his shoulder, “And save me some waffles!”

With that they were gone, leaving Jack smiling fondly after them and Mac looking like his overworked brain was still trying to catch up with the conversation he’d just had. God, he was about thirty hours past exhausted and Jack could hardly stand knowing it would be some time yet before he could get some proper sleep in him.

“C’mon hoss,” he said softly, nudging at Mac’s elbow to grab his attention. “Let’s get you home. If we hurry, we might get a quick snooze in before the storm gets here.”

Mac did actually manage to catch a brief nap during the car ride home but he woke with a jolt when the engine shut off, much to Jack’s chagrin. Mac had never quite managed to pull off Jack’s habit of falling asleep at the drop of a hat, and it really cost him on long missions. His Overwatch had made it something of a personal mission to get Mac to sleep whenever he feasibly could.

“Anything left in the fridge is probably out of date,” Mac mused as they shambled into the house. His neighbours had learned to put up with a lot in his time living there, so two barely-conscious grown men would hardly even raise an eyebrow, thankfully. “Pizza?”

Jack considered for longer than he reasonably needed to before shaking his head. “Nah, not tonight. Is that Thai place down on the corner still open?”

“Chai Yo? Yes, but it’s closed on Thursdays.”

“Is it Thursday?”

There was a long beat of silence before Mac muttered quietly to himself and tugged out his phone to check. Jack eyed in enviously, his own having taking a swim in the Banda Sea after Mac repurposed it for some kind of SOS beacon. “Yes, it is. Apparently it’s also July? I thought we were still in June.”

Jack offered him a full body shrug, then dropped heavily onto the sofa. “Can’t be expected to keep track when Matty has us crossing timezones every other day.”

“Yeah. Well, Chai Yo’s closed. There’s that other Thai place, on Harris Avenue.”

Jack wrinkled his nose. “No, thanks. That place was awful.”

Not inclined to disagree, Mac tried to convince his brain to stop being mush and actually come up with a decent idea for dinner. “That diner on Northridge does deliveries now too I think,” he said at length. “I could go for a greasy burger.”

His partner mulled that over, then nodded slowly. “Yeah, that sounds good. You wanna call it in?”

Mac’s phone was already in his hand and he really didn’t have the energy to listen to more of Jack’s good-natured griping about losing yet another mobile to one of his builds, so he waved him off and retreated to the kitchen to place the order. That done and with more food on the way than two very athletic adults could conceivably eat, Mac stumbled back into the living room and collapsed face down on the sofa beside Jack’s inelegant sprawl.

“It just had to be tonight, huh,” he muttered petulantly into the pillow, thinking of a hundred previous stormy nights spent huddled up beside Jack on that very sofa.

The first few times it happened, Mac had assumed Jack was just humouring him. Someone as well trained and experienced as his Overwatch surely had no trouble fighting past the instinctive panic that gripped Mac whenever thunder boomed loud enough to shake the windows or lightning flashes lit up his entire house. It was merely another facet of Jack’s kindness that he was willing to spend the night with Mac to help chase away his demons when his brain was filled with nightmares about failed defusals and gunfire.

Then there’d been that flight back from Panama, when their jet had unexpectedly run into a thunderstorm while Jack was peacefully napping on one of the reclining chairs. At the first crack of thunder, he’d been on his feet, skin ashen and with one hand batting helplessly at his thigh for the gun that wasn’t there. It had taken Mac a solid ten minutes to calm him down enough to return to his seat, fighting his own flashbacks the whole way, and even then Jack’s entire body remained rigid for the rest of the flight.

Mac didn’t think he was simply humouring him after that.

Now, after years of dealing with it – and no small number of conversations with the Phoenix’s resident therapist – the pair of them had developed a system of diversions to keep them level-headed through the worst of LA’s inclement weather. The rest of the team was happy to help out, and all of them kept an eye on weather reports when the humidity started getting high. All of them had at one point or another seen Mac and Jack’s reactions to sudden loud noises or bright flashes and they wanted to do everything they could to spare them from it.

Mostly though, it boiled down to nothing more than being together while they – quite literally – weathered the storm. It was much easier to pull Jack from the brink of a nightmare about failing to save Mac when Mac himself was the one doing it, and vice versa. Besides, as much as Bozer and Riley had learned a lot since joining the Phoenix, neither of them knew the hell of the Sandbox and Mac and Jack were happy to keep them in the dark. There were some horrors that just weren’t meant to be spoken of.

“I’ve told you before man, you’re unlucky,” Jack replied, an uncoordinated arm reaching out to pat Mac consolingly on the shoulder. “Got no sense of luck at all.”

“I’m pretty sure the natural weather system of Southern California is beyond the reach of my personal control.”

“If anyone could though, man, it’d be you.”

Mac considered that. “Uh, thanks?”

There was peaceable silence for several long minutes and Mac listened as Jack’s breathing deepened and slowed. He always marvelled at how quickly Jack was able to get to sleep, envious of the apparent ease with which he did it. Mac had struggled with insomnia even before life as a soldier filled his head with more nightmares than anyone should have to deal with and these days he was lucky to get to sleep inside of an hour when he actually made it to his own bed. Of course, when they came home from a mission like the one they’d just had, all bets were off.

He rolled himself over so he wasn’t smothering himself in the cushion and pulled out his phone. The delivery app informed him that their food would be arriving in about ten minutes, so he slowly heaved himself back onto his feet and bustled around the kitchen warming plates and snagging some beers. Long since familiar with the general background noise of Mac’s house, Jack slept right on through.

When Mac’s phone pinged to tell him that their food would be arriving any minute, he crossed back over to his partner and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. The man came awake instantly, blinking twice as he registered the familiar surroundings before relaxing back into the comforting softness of the cushions.

“Food’s almost here,” Mac offered in explanation, though it was proved moot three seconds later when the doorbell chimed.

They ate their dinner close beside each other on the sofa with the TV playing reruns of an old action show from the 80s Jack insisted was a classic but that Mac was barely able to follow through a combination of poor writing, truly objectionable acting choices, and visibly cheap sets. As the night started to draw in, they both kept half an eye on the black rainclouds drifting down off the hills; by the time they polished off the last of the fries, the first few droplets had started splattering against the windows.

The rain steadily built as the pair of them made their way onto films instead, kicking off with Lethal Weapon because Mac had vetoed Jack’s first four suggestions and felt too guilty to do it again. The first few times they’d done this, Boze had questioned their choice of action films when they were so busy trying not to think about all the things such movies entailed. They’d tried to explain themselves, unsuccessfully. In truth, there was no real way of understanding that fake, predictable violence helped to drown out real-life trauma unless you’d experienced it first-hand. Watching Mel Gibson body check some random actor somehow made it easier for Mac’s brain to process that time he’d been tackled clean off a rooftop by the one insurgent Jack hadn’t seen coming, and so on.

It was strange and imperfect, but they found it worked for them. Provided, of course, that they only watched films they already knew by heart, where gunfights and explosions couldn’t creep up on them.

They didn’t even make it until the end of act one before the first rolls of thunder washed over them. Mac shuffled ever so slightly in his seat, only stilling when Jack’s shoulder brushed against his and stayed there.

They stayed like that over the next hour or so as the rain steadily grew in intensity until it started to sound like machine gun fire against the roof tiles, and the thunder grew into a roaring, snarling beast in the air around them. Jack flinched sharply at the first flicker of lightning, and only seemed to breathe again when his fingers strayed to the pulse point on Mac’s wrist. Mac busied himself with the breathing exercises the therapist had taught him, and traded the occasional text with Charlie when the Day of a Thousand IEDs rattled around his skull. On the other side of the country and several hours ahead, Charlie must have been messaging back from his bed, but he dutifully responded all the same – Mac had done it for him too in the past.

“I ever tell you about that time in Sardinia?” Jack asked just as the film was coming to a close. It was clear that the movie alone wasn’t enough to combat their combined exhaustion and PTSD, which left them trading tales instead.

“I didn’t even know you’d been to Sardinia. What on Earth could the CIA have possibly wanted there?”

Jack settled himself back into the sofa, preparing himself for what was evidently going to be a long and involved story. “Well, as for what they wanted, there was a minor off-shoot of the Mafia making a base there. Something about ferrying money into France or something-” He waved a hand, “I don’t remember the details of it. Not important and probably classified.”

“We have the same security clearance Jack.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

“We do. I’ve checked your file. I know.”

Jack pulled on an expression of great offense, touching his free hand to his chest like a swooning damsel. “You’ve been looking at my file? Buy me dinner first.”

“I literally just did.”

“Hmm. Yeah, okay. I guess that makes up for it. But no more snooping in my file! There’s private stuff in there.”

“That time you chased a gun-wielding madman down while entirely naked isn’t exactly private when you write it on an official mission report for the US government,” Mac muttered to himself.

Jack pulled a face at him. “Okay, smartass, you want to hear the story or not?”

He snickered, but waved an obliging hand. “I really do. Please continue.”

The story was predictably embellished, complete with wild hand gestures and a horrendous Italian accent thrown into the mix, but it was precisely what Mac needed to keep his concentration in the here and now. The telling of it seemed to help Jack too – his thoughts couldn’t stray to darker places when he was focused on bright Mediterranean sunshine and a mission that had gone so far belly-up it had wrapped right around into utterly absurd.

They managed to get as far as the part where Jack had to flee his hotel room wearing clothes stolen from the man he thought he’d been trying to rescue before a particularly sharp clap of thunder sent Mac’s face utterly white. His eyes slammed closed and his fists clenched so tight Jack could see where his nails were cutting into the meat of his palms.

Jack’s hands were on him in a moment, one wrapping carefully around his wrist to monitor the jackrabbiting of his heart while the other cupped his jaw, a thumb running soothingly over the stubbly skin.

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” he murmured consolingly, keeping his voice quiet to act as an anchor for pulling Mac back to the present. “You’re at home, in LA, I’m here, Charlie’s fine, everyone’s okay. There’s no danger. You’re safe, Mac. You’re safe.”

“Not-” Mac tried, strangled, “Not me.”

“Ah, kiddo,” Jack breathed, feeling his own heart clench. “Everyone’s okay, I promise. I’m right here. You want me to get Boze and Ri on the phone? Hear their voices?”

Mac shook his head sharply, one hand darting up to curl into the fabric of Jack’s t-shirt like a lifeline. Watery blue eyes opened to latch onto his own.

“There you are,” Jack murmured, trying to keep his expression calm and open. “Stick with me man.”

“Are you- You’re okay?” Mac’s voice was very small. The hand fisted on Jack’s shirt was white with the force of his grip.

“Yeah, Mac. I’m completely fine. Not a scratch on me, see? I’m right here and we’re both safe. At your house, remember?”

He nodded slowly, his heartbeat finally starting to slow down and his breathing settling back into a steady rhythm. Jack released his grip on his chin, letting him look around and reorientate himself, but kept his other hand fixed on his arm. Touch was always the quickest way to settle a panicking Mac, provided Jack was the one doing it. Jack’s hands meant safety, meant protection, and they were the best anchor Mac had to reality when he was lost in a flashback.

“’m okay,” Mac mumbled after a long moment of strained silence, recapturing Jack’s gaze with his own. “I’m back.”

Jack eyed him with poorly disguised scepticism, but he didn’t comment on the reddened eyes or the still laboured breathing. Outside, the storm continued to rumble on like an unwelcome guest.

“It was Paktia again,” Mac said very quietly when Jack didn’t pick up his story. “The apartment building.”

“Aw, hoss. We both got out of there without a scratch. No boom.”

“I know that but… It was so close Jack. If I’d been just a second slower-”

“Ay now, none of that. You stop that right this instant, you hear me? You weren’t a second too slow and even if you had been, it wouldn’t have been on you. We only walked away from that because you were exactly who you needed to be in that moment, right? You did everything you possibly could have done and it paid off, and even if it hadn’t that still would have been true. Don’t kill yourself now over what-ifs, Mac. No one wins that game.”

They’d had the same conversation a hundred times and would no doubt be having it again later that night. Mac had said much the same thing to Jack two weeks ago when he’d come up out of a nightmare swinging. Like everything else they’d done that evening, it was a ritual born of long-held burdens and too many nights haunted by ghosts.

“Yeah,” Mac replied at length, finally releasing his grip on Jack’s shirt and slumping back into the cushions. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“I’m always right.”

“That is highly debatable.”

Jack smiled at Mac’s return to something more like living and silently congratulated himself for helping it happen. His own anxiety had been through the roof since the rain started, but focusing on helping Mac helped to keep his own demons at bay: he didn’t have time to worry about his past horrors when his partner was right there in front of him, needing his support.

“Well, if that’s true, I guess you don’t want any waffles, huh? I was thinking of ordering some myself…”

Mac’s grin was shaky, but it was there all the same. “Ass,” he said fondly, already reaching for his phone. “You can do the ordering this time though.”

Jack snagged the phone and had a quick look through the menu before placing the call. Mac sat quietly beside him all through, his eyes staring blankly out the window as his fingers came to rest against Jack’s pulse. It was a habit he’d picked up from his Overwatch, and he realised very quickly that it was incredibly reassuring to feel the steady thrum and know it meant his partner was safe and healthy and here.

When he was done, Jack dropped the mobile off on the coffee table and returned his attention to their previous conversation. “Now, Sardinia. Where was I?”

Mac huffed out a near-silent laugh and finally relinquished his hold on Jack’s wrist. He busied his fingers with the label of his beer bottle instead, but it was more a force of habit than an anxiety response – baby steps, and all that. “I seem to remember something about you being half-clothed while hanging out of a third story window?”

“Ah, yes!” Jack announced happily, slipping back into his showman persona to chase away the shadows lingering in the corners of the room. “Now, you’ll never guess what happened next.”

“You fell out of a third story window while half-clothed?”

Jack shot him a dry look. “You’ve absolutely no flair for the dramatic Angus.”

He snorted, swaying to the side to bump their shoulders together. “Nah. That’s what I’ve got you for.”

“Damn straight, and don’t you forget it.”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

#MacGyver #angus macgyver #jack dalton #fanfiction #fanfic #my fanfic #whump of july 2021

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cloveroctobers · 4 years

Text

GARY RENNELL —

IG info/bio | @/rennellnotreynolds | 300k followers | currently havin a midlife crisis at thee moment so cheers! 🍻🏋🏼‍♂️🤨

23 (24) years old

Born & raised in Chatham, England there’s no other place like it to him. Sure when he went on holiday to the villa, it was quite nice but nothing ever beats home. He genuinely believes that he’s meant to be in this place since it’s all he’s ever known & doesn’t think he’ll live anywhere else

Raised by his nan & is an only child. Was at risk of being placed in foster care until his paternal nan came forth to raise him

His father and nan did not have the best relationship due to the way he chose to live his life and Gary was kept away from his nan until he was about 10 years of age

Does not like to talk about his birth parents due to the trauma, which is why he feels like his nan is his everything. His savior and why she means so much to him

His nan once told him that he favors his mother, Gail. He never had the chance to really know her, but was aware that she was very unhappy with herself &, “chose to be with the stars” just before his 5th birthday

That’s one of the reasons why he finds himself always looking up at the stars, usually when he’s drunk out at the docks by himself, he’ll try to talk to his mom, to know her better

I feel like he’s either a cancer or a Libra?

Update: Cancer sun + libra moon + Taurus rising

Went to uni for a semester and thought about architecture as a profession but ultimately felt like uni was NOT for him and eventually juggled around with jobs until he landed into the crane operator field which he found himself to be great at

For as long as he and his nan can remember, he always loved playing with cars, ships, building Legos, (I’m American idk if this is a thing there too or it’s something different/similar so my apologies lol) and putting things together. He never cared for reading instructions, Gary’s a hands on type of guy/learner and it’s how he best communicates

He likes heights, so this job wasn’t an issue it was just getting through the program for 2-3 years that was a pain in his ass but he was determined + knew this was what he was good at and stuck with it.

It was tiring working 40 sometimes over 40 hrs a week but he’s passionate about his work so he’d never dare change it

Due to this job being a lot physically, he would use muscle cream to help his pain or pay to see a masseuse whenever he could or wasn’t being cheap about it + often buys epsom salt to bathe in 3 or so times a week

Total penny pincher! I can see him being so, his dad told him all about how to hold onto what he’s got and always look for a bargain but with a gambler for a father, you can only imagine how that worked in his favor

Lives with his nan and doesn’t see an issue with it. His mates definitely tease him about it but know how much the woman means to him but still think it’s a major c*ck block for him but it’s a two for one package deal and anyone who doesn’t understand that doesn’t deserve him

Will probably still live in her house once IF she p*sses

Nan is a big fan of wallpaper and has one room in the flat that has squeaky plastic covering most of her furniture ( she loves furniture shopping) & only takes it off once her lady friends come over with consists of a huge cleaning routine which Gary secretly hates but pushes through it while she plays some old tunes on her jukebox

He finds himself singing those exact songs when he’s getting ready for work and actually enjoys them...but don’t ever tell his mates that!

His nan taught him basic household care & he finds himself scolding his mates for not knowing how to wash their underwear & always taking it to their mum’s or having their girlfriends do it for them

Loves washing clothes on a Sunday in the backyard + hanging them on the clothes line. His nan doesn’t believe in washer machines & makes her own detergent

He’s always down for a rooftop hangout, whether drunk or not. To be up almost as high as the stars is such a feeling or hang out with his mates laughing it up

Occasionally smokes cigarettes when he’s really stressed, he’s not proud of the nasty habit and tries his hardest to hide it from his nan & Lottie but they both know

Is in a on and off again relationship with Lottie. She’s met his nan, they both like each other. And that makes Gary extremely happy

Gary is the laid back one out of the two and Lottie is firey and needs constant reminding from Gary that he wants to be with her whereas Gary feels like that’s something she should already know and he’s told her a couple of times before, he’s sure of it. He doesn’t get why she doesn’t get that

Which results in arguments. Lottie chose to live in England for half of the year and goes back to Australia for the other half. Nan encouraged Lottie to live with the two of them until she decided to get her own place in England, or rather the two of them together. Nan doesn’t believe Gary will leave in fear of her being lonely, which she’s not! By all means, nan keeps busy! But Lottie desperately wants to have her own space with Gary away from nan, even tho she adores the spunky lady.

When they don’t see eye to eye she does what she does best and leaves, which is exhausting to Gary

They’ll go days without speaking until the other cracks. At first it would be Gary but since it’s been a year into their relationship, he’s gotten used to it and let’s her come back to him when she’s ready

He cares for Lottie, he really does. And wants this to work but he just wishes they could be more secure in their relationship.

Was a f*ckboy way back when from 18-20 and rarely there’s his old flings who show up just to cause drama knowing that Gary’s got a new girl in his life that LIVES with him, which Gary dreads that this small town knows his business. He hates confrontation but there’s one thing about Lottie, she’s never going to bite her tongue. So whenever those girls do try it with not only her but Gary she goes off.

Gary is protective too so when those messy girls start shit at the pub, he’s instantly trying to get Lottie away from the issue. Then there’s drinks flying and slap fights happening + hair pulling & they’re getting kicked out of the club/pub or even cops called on them.

“This blows. I thought you said you were trying to be better than this, Lottie.” “Me? What about those slags?! They attack not only me but your character too!” Which adds to a list of the reasons they fight.

Nonetheless they do have their fun moments together, getting drunk by the docks, getting random tattoos, hanging with his friends & their significant others, + going to the theatre

Lottie still thinks this town is very slow-pace, sleepy, cloudy and hardly has sun— which is okay to her some days but other day’s it can be dreadful and much different from her fast-pace life but she finds the little things like spending time with Gary to encourage her to stay

Gary likes playing games when he has his free time, like fortnite, red dead redemption, Final fantasy, & SUPER SMASH BROS & almost always plays with Ibrahim who informs him about new games which makes Lottie want to slam her head against the wall since that can take hours

Keeps in touch with all of the boys in villa and makes sure they have zoom meetings as much as they can because he cares about those boys. Noah tries to schedule them but usually it’s happens at random which annoys him but he gets over it. Gary spent month(s) with them. They’re basically his extended family & that’s saying a lot since he views his home to a high standard and has friends here but they’re nothing like his villa brother’s

Also into woodwork. He didn’t think he’d enjoy it but he likes to do it more when the weather gets crisp and he battles with that over cigarettes to ease his worries in life, then goes and have his daily dose of tea

Finally stopped dying his hair that awful yellow and stuck with it. Marisol was the first to see it, after an accidental FaceTime call which was supposed to be just a regular phone call but whatever? They’d all eventually see it if he EVER decided to post to his IG stories!

She compliments him in Spanish yanking her glasses off leaving him highly confused, “is that good?” “If Lottie doesn’t sit on your— which leaves Gary very wide eyed opposed to his raised brows but Marisol is cut off by Graham clearing his throat

Lottie does indeed like it & shows him how much and later asks his option on what color she should dye her hair next. 3 out of the 13 look the exact same to Gary. But he helps her dye her hair which comes out patchy but there’s no way in hell she’s letting anyone else touch her hair. She’s been doing this all on her own for some time now. Gary’s lucky she even allowed him to help her! So she dyes it back to blonde, all of it, and waits a few weeks to dye it all blue

Gary’s definitely into old boy bands especially LFO & serenades, “girl on tv” to Lottie all the time, likes 98 degrees, Backstreet Boys, *NSYNC, Boys II men, & Dru Hill

As for modern day music, he LOVES to work out to tame impala which never makes sense to his mates but he usually works out the next day after getting shit-faced, he’s also in love with lizzo’s music, laundry day, brockhampton, & rina sawayama

Anthem = mac demarco, “Salad Days”

Celeb crush? Julia Roberts, Salma Hayek, Anne-Marie, Leona Lewis, & Noah Cyrus

#litg #litg s2 #litg2 #litg gary #litg lottie #litg headcanon #litg headcanons #litg au

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longitudinalwaveme · 3 years

Text

A Pipe Dream

The Flash stars in: A Pipe Dream

Dramatis Personae

Wally West, the garrulous, impulsive, and friendly third Flash

Joan Garrick, Jay Garrick’s wife, who is patient, loving, and supportive of everyone

Iris Allen, Barry Allen’s wife, an inquisitive daredevil reporter

The Pied Piper, alias Hartley Rathaway, a Robin Hood-esque thief

The Top, alias Roscoe Dillon, an arrogant, elitist, and top-obsessed criminal

Weather Wizard, alias Mark Mardon, an overconfident, rather stupid robber

Heat Wave, alias Mick Rory, a dim, shockingly gentle pyromaniac

Script

Act I

(Joan and Iris are onstage)

Iris: So, how’s Jay?

Joan: He’s doing well enough, I suppose, but, to be honest, I’m a little worried about him. He keeps claiming that he’s retired from crime fighting, but every time I turn around, he’s wearing that silly hat of his and racing off to fight bank robbers or carjackers or giant, murderous, telepathic gorillas. It was one thing when he was fifty, but now he’s 99 years old, and the doctors say that his heart won’t be able to take much more of his running at super speed.

Iris: What does he say about that?

Joan: That (strikes a heroic pose) “ it will be a pleasure to die in the line of duty.”

Iris: (Laughs) That sounds just like Barry.

Joan: I know, and it’s not funny. Our husbands spend so much time saving everyone else that they never stop to worry about themselves.

Iris: I guess that’s true-but hey, that’s part of what we’re here for, to make sure our husbands take some “me time” occasionally.

Joan: In speaking of husbands, how’s Barry?

Iris: He’s not doing so well. He came down with the flu a few days ago, and I’ve been going crazy trying to keep him from leaving his bed so that he can go fight crime.

Joan: Oh, I’ve had that happen with Jay before. Once, when he had pneumonia, he heard about a shoplifting ring, and I had to call in Ted and Alan-you know them as Wildcat and the original Green Lantern-to physically restrain him so that he wouldn’t leave the house to go stop them.

Iris: Well, I haven’t had to resort to calling the Justice League to restrain Barry yet, so things could be worse.

Joan: You’re right. Things could be worse. We could be having to deal with two sick speedsters each. Or a sick Superman!

Iris: Man, that would be a nightmare. I have no idea how that Lois Lane woman does it.

Joan: Maybe Clark just doesn’t get sick. After all, he isn’t a human, so maybe our diseases don’t affect him and he’s as invulnerable to getting sick as he is to everything else.

Iris: Maybe so.

(Enter Wally)

Wally: Hi, Joan. Hi, Aunt Iris. (Sneezes) How are you?

Iris: Hi, Wally. We’re doing all right. How are you?

Wally: I’m fine, but Linda and the kids all have the flu (Sneezes) and the twins also both have strep. (Sneezes) It sure is lucky that I don’t get sick, or we’d have a real mess on our hands.

Iris: Um, Wally, are you sure you’re not sick?

Wally: Yeah, I’m sure. (Sneezes three times) I never get sick. I had perfect attendance all throughout school, and you can check my records if you don’t believe me.

Joan: Can you at least try to take it easy, Wally?

Wally: I can’t do that! Jay’s retired and Uncle Barry has the flu, and someone has to protect the city! Besides, I can’t deny my adoring fans the chance to see me because I have a few sniffles. (Sneezes) I’ll be fine!

Iris: (To Joan) Is there a single superhero in the entire world who actually rests when they get sick?

Joan: Speaking from experience, I don’t think there is.

Wally: I said that I’m fine! (Sneezes) So, do you want to get lunch? I’m starving!

Iris: Wally, it’s 8:00 in the morning!

Wally: Okay, so let’s get brunch!

Iris: But I just ate breakfast!

Wally: I don’t follow. (Sneezes) I just ate breakfast, too, and I’m already hungry again.

Joan: Wally, dear, you have to consume 980,000 calories per day just to survive, so you have to eat almost constantly. We simply don’t have the appetite or the metabolism to keep up with you.

Wally: Oh, right. I forget that fact a lot-especially (Sneezes) since my kids inherited my metabolism and have to (Sneezes) eat even more than I do.

Iris: It’s all right, Wally.

Wally: So, um, do you want to go to McDonalds with me (Sneezes) and watch me eat? With Linda and the kids all sick, I’ve been cooped up in the house for a week, and I’m going stir-crazy!

Iris: I suppose so. After all, with Barry sick, I haven’t been able to get out much, either.

Joan: I’ll go, too. After all, if you really are sick despite your claims, someone needs to keep an eye on you so that you don’t run yourself into the ground.

Wally: Great! I love you guys so much, and I can’t wait to sink my teeth into (Sneezes) 340 Big Macs! I love McDonalds food!

Iris: (Shakes head) Never change, Wally. Never change.

(Exit All)

Act II

(The Pied Piper is onstage, playing an instrument. Enter the Top)

Top: Top of the morning to you, Piper.

Piper: Oh, good, you were able to make it. Did you have any trouble getting here?

Top: No. There is not a person in this city who would dare inconvenience the Top.

Piper: What about our friends in the red pajamas?

Top: Don’t make me laugh, Piper. The old one is feeble and retired, the young one is impulsive and stupid, and the only one that poses a threat has the flu, and therefore cannot be on top of his game. They could not bother me if they tried. What of you, my friend? Are you still in tip- top shape, or has your life spun out of control?

Piper: I’m as fit as a fiddle, Roscoe. The Flashes have no reason to hunt down a peaceable man who steals money from drug lords and self-absorbed starlets and gives it to the poor. In fact, if I could only make them realize that the real villains are the members of the 1% who enrich themselves at the expense of the poor, we would be good friends.

Top: But I heard you were homeless?

Piper: I am.

Top: How, exactly, did that come to pass?

Piper: Well, after my last heist, I was going to buy an apartment for myself, but while I was on my way to buying it, I saw a very pregnant woman with two small children crying, and when I asked her what was wrong, she told me that she was trying to escape from her abusive boyfriend but that she had no money, and so I gave her the money and told her to use it to make a good life for herself and her children, and so I was unable to buy anything.

Top: You gave all of the money away?

Piper: Of course! They needed it more than I did.

Top: You, sir, are a fool. This is the fifth time that you have given up a permanent home to help some wretch-the fifth time!

Piper: Roscoe, you of all people should understand what it is like to be an outcast. How can you criticize my desire to help others that the world has forgotten?

Top: Because I am a genius, something that decidedly does not apply to the people for whom you constantly risk your freedom and your own safety.

Piper: Roscoe, my early life was spent in scandalous luxury, luxury that my parents took at the expense of the poor who helped build their empire. It’s only fair that I go without to help them now. (Pause) So, do you know if anyone else is coming to our little meeting?

Top: No. I do not concern myself with the behavior of lesser men like them.

(Enter Heat Wave)

Heat Wave: Hi, Piper! Hi, Top! Seeing you two really warms my heart! (Hugs Piper)

Piper: Mick, I love hugs, but…I….can’t….breathe!

Heat Wave: Oh, sorry. (Releases him)

Piper: Hi, Mick. How have you been?

Heat Wave: I’m okay. I was burning up with fever a couple days ago, but I’m all better now.

Piper: I’m glad to hear that. Do you know if any of the others are coming?

Heat Wave: Captain Cold won’t be here. He’s got a bad case of the chills , and besides, he’s still in prison, and so is Mirror Master. They say hi.

Piper: And what about Glider?

Top: My love is on vacation in the Bahamas. She won’t be able to come.

Piper: Wait. I thought you said that you didn’t know if anyone else could come!

Top: Did I? Oh. My apologies.

Piper: (To Heat Wave) Do you know if Digger is coming?

Heat Wave: He won’t be coming. He broke his leg and told me that he didn’t feel like messing with crutches when I brought him chocolate and flowers.

Piper: Okay, and what about Mardon?

Heat Wave: I don’t know. Last I heard, he was feeling a little under the weather.

(Enter Weather Wizard)

Wizard: Nope, I’m as right as rain!

Piper: Hi, Mark!

Wizard: Hi, Piper! Hey, Mick.

Heat Wave: How’ve you been? I heard you were sick.

Wizard: Nope. I’ve just been taking it easy.

Top: What a surprise.

Wizard: What’s that supposed to mean?

Top: It means that you are a lazy fool who hasn’t done a day’s work in his life.

Wizard: Am not! Why, I stole an entire tractor-trailer full of sports cars in an hour once!

Top: Yes, by sitting on your couch and allowing a tornado to detach the trailer from the cab of the truck and deliver the loot to your house.

Wizard: So? You can’t fault me for conserving energy!

Top: “Conserving energy”, my foot.

Wizard: What’s the matter, Top? Are you jealous of my power?

Top: No. I simply think it is wasted on a man who uses it only to commit petty thefts.

Wizard: (Raises weather wand) Petty? (Waves wand) I’ll show you petty! (Thunderclap)

Heat Wave: Whoa there, Mark, let’s not get hasty. I don’t want you to do something in the heat of the moment that you’ll regret-like destroying this building with all of us in it!

Piper: Mick’s right, Mark. It’s too dangerous to get into a fight here.

Wizard: (Lowers weather wand) Fine. But if you expect me to take his stupid comments forever, you’re chasing rainbows, Piper.

Piper: (to Top) Roscoe, please don’t antagonize Mark. You really don’t want him to make you face the music .

Top: I am not afraid of him, Piper.

Wizard: Well, you should be, because if you don’t start respecting me, our little truce will be nothing more than the calm before the storm!

Top: Whatever you say, Mardon. Whatever you say. (Pause) Shall we get down to business?

Heat Wave: Yeah, we should. Who has a plan for our next heist?

Piper: I do, actually, so if you don’t mind, I’ll be calling the tune on this job. You see, some friends of my parents are importing some very fine jewelery, and I think that those jewels will make for a tidy sum for the poor….

Act III

(Wally, Iris, and Joan are sitting at a table)

Wally: Boy, that was delicious! (Sneezes) I don’t care what Uncle Barry says-McDonalds has the best food in the world!

Joan: It isn’t exactly the healthiest food, you know.

Wally: Yeah, I know-but with the way I burn calories (Sneezes) , it isn’t going to hurt me any!

Iris: Um, I’m not sure that’s how it works, Wally.

Wally: Well, even if it isn’t, I’m young and it tastes good, so who cares?

Joan: I do, for one.

Iris: And so do I.

Wally: Good grief! When are you two (Sneezes) going to stop treating me like a little kid?

Iris: Wally, I watched you grow up. It’s going to take awhile for me to adjust-especially when you keep acting like a crazy teenager.

Wally: I don’t act like a crazy teenager! (Sneezes) I act like a crazy adult!

Joan: Wally, there isn’t much difference between a crazy teenager and a crazy adult.

Wally: Oh, yeah? (Sneezes) Prove it!

Joan: The Trickster.

Wally: Yeah, you’ve pretty much got me there. (Sneezes) Sorry I’m so annoying.

Joan: It’s all right. You’re not annoying most of the time, dear.

Iris: Just some of the time.

Wally: I love you guys. (Sneezes) So, what should we do next?

Iris: We could go shoe shopping. I’ve been needing a new pair of heels.

Wally: No! Not shoe shopping! Linda’s taken me on enough shoe shopping trips to last a lifetime! (Sneezes)

Iris: I was only kidding, Wally.

Wally: Good. Oooh, why don’t we get ice cream?

Joan: You can get ice cream. It probably isn’t a good idea for us to get it.

Wally: Yes! (Disappears, then returns with ice cream and cake)

Joan: Where did you get the cake from?

Wally: China. (Sneezes) They make everything there these days.

Iris: (Laughs) You ran all the way to China just to get cake?

Wally: Well, I was aiming for Hungary, but I overshot.

Joan: How did you overshoot Hungry? You have a full-time residency there.

Wally: Huh? (Pauses, then laughs) Oh, I get it! That’s hilarious, Joan!

Joan: Why thank you, Wally. I think you and your aunt are rubbing off on me.

Iris: I’m glad we decided to do this. Barry’s a dear, but when he gets sick, he can be a bit of a nightmare.

Wally: Wait, Uncle Barry can be a nightmare?

Iris: Believe it or not, yes. Now, he’s not rude or whiny, but he keeps trying to leave his bed and stop crimes instead of resting so that he can get well, and it’s very irritating to make him stay put, because he gives me these really sad puppy dog eyes when I tell him to stay at home.

Wally: Hah! I knew he (Sneezes) had a weakness besides punctuality!

Joan: All three of you have that weakness, Wally.

Wally: I do not! (His phone rings) Sorry. I need to take this. (Pulls out phone) Hello, Commissioner? The Rogues? What are they doing? Mmm-hmm. Uh-huh. All right. I’ll be there as soon as possible, Commish! (Sneezes) You’re welcome. Good-bye. (Puts away phone) Sorry, guys, I’ve gotta run! The Rogues are trying to steal some jewelry, and I need to stop them.

Iris: No problem, Wally. Go get them!

Joan: And be careful!

(Exit Wally)

Iris: You know, just once, I would like to have an outing that isn’t interrupted by criminals, the Rogues, telepathic gorillas, or aliens who want to take over the world.

Joan: I fully agree with you, Iris. (Pause) Would you like to go shoe shopping with me while he’s gone?

Iris: That sounds terrific, Joan.

Commercial Break!

Act IV

(Enter the Rogues, running)

Piper: (Yelling over his shoulder) Thank you for your generous donation to the poor, Mr. Englewood!

Top: Oh, that was terrific fun! I’m feeling on top of the world right now!

Heat Wave: You’re right, Top. There’s nothing like a nice heist with all of my bestest friends to give me those nice warm and fuzzy feelings.

Wizard: Tell me about it. I’m on cloud nine!

Top: What are you going to do with your money, Piper? I am going to buy a nice suit and some new tops for my collection.

Heat Wave: I’m going to buy some presents for all of my friends so that I can warm their hearts. I’m sure Captain Cold will love a new parka.

Top: I was not asking you, you imbecile.

Heat Wave: Oh. I’m sorry, Top.

Top: Just be sure it does not happen again.

Wizard: I’m going to buy me a new car so that I can finally get a girlfriend!

Top: That will never happen, Mark, and I was not asking you either.

Wizard: Well gee, thanks for destroying my ray of hope, Roscoe.

Top: Moron. (To Piper) Well, my friend? What are you going to do with your share of the loot?

Piper: I’m going to donate it to a charity for sick children. The cries of joy that will produce will be music to my ears.

Top: You are giving away your money again? (Pause) I do not believe you.

Piper: What’s so wrong about wanting to help people?

(Enter Wally)

Wally: Because you’re going about it all wrong, Piper.

Wizard: By the four seasons! It’s the Flash!

Top: Not to worry, Mardon. This one is a mere child. (To Wally) Spin.

Wally: Whoa! (Stumbles, but keeps his balance) You should become a ride at Disney World or something, Top, because you make me just as dizzy.

Heat Wave: It’s time for you to take the heat, Kid Flash! (Fires at Wally, who narrowly dodges)

Wally: No thanks!

Wizard: (Waves his wand) We’re too powerful for you to stop, Flash. Why don’t you take a rain check?

Wally: No way! Defeating a bunch of clowns like you will be a breeze!

Top: Perhaps. Then again, perhaps not. (Spins out of Wally’s way)

Heat Wave: This situation is too hot for you to handle, Flash! You should leave before you get hurt or something.

Wally: Get hurt by one of you? Yeah, right. (He sneezes, and Top grabs him from behind)

Top: You were saying?

Wizard: Nighty night, Flash. (Raises his wand, and Wally sneezes again, causing the wand to go flying out of his hand) My wand!

Wally: (Breaks free) Nice try, Mardon. (He handcuffs Wizard and Top to one another)

Heat Wave: Hey, nobody hurts my friends like that!

Wally: (Taps him on the shoulder) You need better friends. (Handcuffs him to a lamp)

Piper: Flash, I’m not going to fight you. I abhor violence, as a general rule, and I know as well as anyone that my musical hypnosis doesn’t work well on you. However, before you take me away, I want to ask you something. Mr. Englewood hardly needs more money, and everyone knows that his factories are some of the most hazardous in the country for his workers. Why is it so wrong that I take money from him and give it to children who are dying from preventable diseases because of lack of money? You can’t argue that he deserves it more than they do, and he’s wealthy enough that he won’t even miss the money we took from him. Can’t you at least let me give the money away before you take me to jail? Please?

Wally: Piper, if I’m being honest, part of me wants to let you, but here’s the thing. I can’t let you break the law in order to help people. I’m sorry.

Piper: That’s all right. You’re just doing what you were told is right. I can’t fault you for that.

(Wally handcuffs him)

Wally: A word of advice, Piper? If you really want to help the poor, and I think you do, I think you’ll find it more rewarding if you do it on the right side of the law.

(Exit Wally)

Wizard: Well, that was a bust.

Top: For once, Mardon, we agree about something.

Heat Wave: Hey, guys, look at the bright side! At least we’re all still together.

Wizard: True. Nobody can call us fair-weather friends!

Heat Wave: And you know what’s even better? When we go back to prison, we can see Captain Cold again!

Top: I’m thrilled.

Wizard: Aww, don’t be such a downer, Top. You should learn to see the silver lining.

Top: I hate you both.

Piper: (Aside) All I wanted was to give the poor justice. Why is that a crime? The idea of people like my parents helping the poor is just a pipe dream...isn’t it?

Act V

(Iris and Joan are onstage. Enter Wally)

Wally: Hi, Iris! Hi, Joan! (Sneezes)

Joan: Oh, hi, Wally. Are you all right?

Wally: I’m okay. (Sneezes) But I think you were right about me being sick. I just took my temperature, and I’m 114 degrees. (Sneezes)

Joan: 114? How are you still alive?

Wally: Because the baseline body temperature for speedsters is 107 degrees.

Joan: Oh, that’s right.

Iris: Were you able to stop the Rogues?

Wally: Yep! (Sneezes) They’re being transported back to prison now, and all the jewelry has been returned. (Sneezes)

Iris: So, what do you want to do now, Wally?

Wally: I want to go home and sleep. (Sneezes) Running around sick won’t help anything.

Iris: Yes! A hero finally sees reason!

Wally: (Sneezes) Oh, and one more thing? Would you mind (Sneezes) donating money to the Children’s Health Foundation? I have a certain….friend who would really appreciate it.

Joan: Of course we will, Wally.

Wally: Thanks. You two are the greatest! (Sneezes)

#flash #wally west #flash rogues #dc comics #fanfic

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paraclete0407 · 3 years

Text

IDK why on my life’s last night or plausible last night I keep thinking almost of my own ‘Ah but’ conceit. Over and again opening Bibles to passages about brides; ‘Red Is the Rose,’ superiority / supremacy, or simply settledness like a treaty or accord. I ought to confess like 2-3 months ago I went, ‘Yes! - I was single for like 14 years and wasn’t even really trying; I kept approaching the mat then going back; I was not engaging every target or even tracking most targets and I wasn’t trying to punish or sabotage exes either.’ People in Milwaukee seem 100% out of their minds like, - I am not saying this to gossip or attack people I care about with similar convictions, sentiments, mentality of ‘private war’ concerning chivalry - but guy in the hospital is like, ‘My beautiful Caucasian-Hmong daughters, America left her mountain-people behind - but I can’t stop f---ing hookers all the time.’ Why not? Selling drugs, getting your car shot up - or is this a pathological liar? Mental hospitals are like orgies; I want a turkey-sandwich and these people can’t stop; the turkey-sandwich is not where the nurse is walking; am I am omni-adulterer? I see beauty everywhere; I read ‘The Theology of the Body’ or at least skimmed over it. ‘God created DNA, the nuclear family.’ God created meosis; sexual reproduction; changes; new nuclear families... I’m not even trying to start fights though; I am trying to indicate the radicality of the present era. But sexual reproduction is not the same as sexual chaingunning. I remember my friend ‘Rupert’ in Korea but he was not even a or the problem; these people have made a huge idol of sexual contact or society / socialization and i as if all of Milwaukee has become Rutgers for Life. They wonder why they are schizophrenic; they’re sinning day and night against their own body. IDK and I get more and more anti-Black almost and anti-Caucasian as well b/c they’ll never settle down; they think that believing in settledness is weakness or they’re cashing in on the reward of failure and ‘experience’ by adding more and experience. But, he does have real daughters and a kind-of-wife and I feel like I’m beating myself over the head like a child shaking rattles.

When I was in KR I never once contemplated owning a weapon, studying martial arts, taking up running, hoarding supplies. ROKA is like everybody there, USFK is a tripwire for trillions of dollars of awesome ‘fire and fury,’ why would I ‘diversity,’ I am hagwon-flak + philosopher-king(?). ‘Canadia _’ is talking about how ‘Texas Bill’ would fight the North Koreans - this is N. American I don’t even know. ‘I just wish I used my concealed carry once in my life.’ What about live by sword die by sword?

I am trying to give away everything to the few individuals I feel could ‘husband’ these. I keep going back but it amazed / blew away how Ahn Yujin singing about getting married is brainwashed patriarchy and Cardi singing about wanting to destroy herself along with all others unrestricted war CCP style is heroic - it is mental North Koreanness; Yeonmi Park is softpedaling.

‘Like a Dream’ like the A-Pink song ‘Like a Dream’ from ‘Snow Pink’ which was great years ago. I was at [feminist bookstore in Madison] and as I looked at ‘The Snow Queen’ which is partly liberal eye-rolling I thought, ‘Chorong is sitting out the Iraq War and dropped out of RU b/c it is a _ _; she is talking with her little brother; _ _ has a van and he is helping her. She does leg-presses. She is not wasting her life.’ Later I added D&E’d ‘Growing Pains’ as her brother is leaving BN in an S-550 or so. I like 2-gen b/c they are like my ‘mates.’ Snow falls; walk away from ‘fearful Jewess’ (Baudelaire). Just cleave to what is good and stop trying to be ‘Magic Oreo’ etc.’ I tried to lecture s1 about how the chorus is like a trumpet but no one can hold these appreciations or synaesthesia or whatever; they really want me to be homosexual, get AIDS, pay tribute to life by wasting it and blaming God for making me a permanent child or so (’I never met a real homosexual but I met many pederasts’ - Houllebecq). I’m not even against George W. Bush at all b/c McCain was kind of a principle-monkey and Bob Dole was a ‘bridge to the past(?!)’ but GWB is still trying to ‘broadly benefit humanity’ to this day.

‘TPTX a.k.a. Niles IL.’ f(x) were a bad band in many ways that harmed their members IMO ‘hierogryphics’ and training body in ways it was bad to train. ‘Henry’ the Korean, Brunswick Zone, the girl the brother who disappears to KR. Some kind of house that’s like my cousin’s house in Pomona.

‘fy’ - ‘Sciences great’ - ‘Airplane’ - w/in a few decades of Kitty Hawk they were already bombing and bombing and bombing. ‘Fukuoka Nightclub’ - I didn’t go to Fuku, didn’t go to S’hai, it’s expat trash, it’s experience-gluttons, it’s ‘Farewell My Concubine’ types. I just like the words - ‘forest of buildings, eternity...’ I thought this is like ‘skin, flush, blood.’ But it never evolved or changed b/c that still is just Millennial railing against stuff + reality kept happening; I maintained interest in things outside myself

I decided not to talk about Sulli after her suicide and started nuking my old Tumblr’s. Her passing made me think of Fleetwood Mac’s ‘Songbird’ but that might be fetishistic as well b/c there are better alternatives. I guess I don’t understand how quickly people get totally cornered or have some kind of countdown in their heart or feel the need to maximize their reply ‘End of Evangelion’ (don’t watch it)-style. Mental North Koreanness except the part with ‘Jesus Bleibet’ which I felt was like ‘surfacing’ and also almost as though Shinji is looking in to Asuka’s eyes and Tokyo morning, the thoughtful cat, ‘uriduri modeun.’

I keep coming back to ‘These external regions’ - ‘Totality and Infinity’ - ‘Come Let Us Dream.’ ‘Final Word.’ ‘Final Love.’ ROK’s still not distributing all their money or anything and I’m telling ppl it is because CCP and Lucifer really want to conduct annihilatory siege-warfare against any nation they decide they could get rid of forever. KR have always known it; it is in their national anthem; ‘we expect the end.’ They’ve been talking about it for years - no more of us in 750 years at this rate - that’ important stuff to think about yet they’re growing whle JP is headscratching, retirement-home-robots.

PPL really don’t want to believe communism would do this and obviously it can’t happen but there is truly this ‘no men no problems’ (Stalin) mindset...

The last song I really loved fiercely was the one that says ‘Come closer to me’ - like ‘Draw near to God.’ I took a walk past the improving piano-student and had an image of a house being raised up like an Amish barn-raising. But, baptism of fire, baptism of water..

I listened to some Servants of Christ lately and it meant or did sth for me my own old family doesn’t any longer voice-wise but I feel as though I am making too of myself. I still recall on 9.11 when GWB read the Psalm I started funeral-laughing; I haven’t been manic in a long time; my extreme temperament and rapid metabolism remain but ppl really are held together and the fear of death and the fear of men can abate, giving way to technical questions like how to live, what to do, how not to get stoned for ‘Yellow Fever’ race-betrayal or the time I was going to buy _ _ a Galaxy Note or give better present then gave worse and everyone knows my intentions - why intend anything? I just wish GWB and our current crop of rulers will not become fatalistic or hyper-pedagogical like ‘bomb Germany into a desert so the German people learn sth’ (Churchill). There are little kids and homeless here who are kind of under ‘reign of grace’ - I considered ‘voice and the diamondization of a style or “address”’ but IDK why I worry about museums right now.

‘

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wannabecowpoke · 4 years

Text

The House You Promised Me

TITLE: The House You Promised Me

RATING: Teen

PAIRINGS: minor or background relationships, including Dutch/Molly, Karen/Sean (referenced), and Arthur/Eliza (past)

WARNINGS: vague discussions of sexy times, mild cursing

DESCRIPTION: The Blackwater Ferry Heist was a success, and, stuck in Colter for the time being, Arthur spends a quiet, cold morning with his family.

xX————————————————Xx

Taking a long drag of his cigarette, Arthur combed his fingers absentmindedly through his son’s tussled brown curls, staring out at the snowy valley spread out before them. Isaac snoozed against his chest, the eleven year old exhausted from both their hasty journey up north and from staying up late. waiting for Arthur to get back from amother hunting trip with Charles that lasted longer than they’d intended. The boy had come out to join Arthur for his early morning smoke, falling asleep against his chest, and Arthur had pulled him close, trying to protect him from the cold.

Money in their pockets, Pearson’s wagon stocked, and with plenty of medicine and alcohol for everyone in camp, they were prepared to spend awhile in the mountains waiting for both the snow to melt and for the law to lose their trail. Arthur could tell that everyone was eager to leave regardless, especially after John’s unfortunate incident with the wolves, but he knew how important it was to get themselves well and truly lost before trying to head out west.

The door creaked open behind them, and Arthur turned around to see Eliza, her shawl pulled tightly around her shoulders and a scarf wrapped around her throat and ears. She smiled at him warmly, coming to sit down next to them, although she didn’t try moving Isaac, and he nodded at her, noticing the cup of coffee cradled in her hands. If she was already having it, then he assumed that Hosea was up, too, having his own cup indoors.

“So we’re all finally settling down,” Eliza sighed, sounding pleased. The decision to join the gang had been a difficult one for her, but their recent talks of purchasing land out west had her hoping that she could finally raise their son like she’d originally wanted to. She nudged him in the side with her elbow, looking at him slyly. “Isaac’s really excited, you know.”

“It was hard for him, leaving Nebraska,” Arthur agreed.

“Even if this life is hard, I knew you could protect us better than we could protect ourselves up there,” Eliza said. It’d been with reluctance that she’d agreed to join the gang after a robbery had nearly left them both dead. He’d been happy to have them closer, even if the letter she’d sent him explaining what’d happened had left him a trembling, crying mess over the possibility of losing them both. “Anyways, everything worked out in the end. We’re settling down, and you’re staying with your family.”

Arthur chuckled, taking another puff of his cigarette. Eliza snatched it from between his fingers when he pulled it away from his lips, placing it between her own. “Never thought we’d be homesteaders,” Arthur mused, plucking the coffee from her hands, “although with how large our gang’s becoming, I figured we’d have to put down roots eventually.”

“I could tell that you’ve always yearned for it,” Eliza admitted, smoke spilling from between her lips as she spoke. Arthur sipped at the coffee, the warm liquid almost scalding as he swallowed it down. “You were engaged to marry that Mary Gillis, and you would’ve married me, if we could’ve.”

His loyalty to Dutch had always surpassed everything else, but he’d wanted a family of his own since he’d met Mary. Then she’d rescinded on their engagement, and he’d been careless and gotten Eliza pregnant in the miserable period afterwards. He might have married her, if she hadn’t insisted that it was a bad idea. “Someday real soon,” Arthur promised her, “our boy’s gonna’ have his own bedroom, and we’ll send him to a proper school.”

“I don’t doubt you for a second, Arthur Morgan,” Eliza teased, walking away with his cigarette towards the building that he knew held the other girls and the older members of their gang.

There was that widow, too, the Missus’ Adler they’d picked up from a homestead up north, and an O’Driscoll they’d taken captive and were holding in the barn. Boadicea was still resting after a nasty gunshot wound to the thigh that, while not lethal, would keep her from being ridden for awhile yet, and he’d taken a stallion to use until she was fit for service again. They had more mouths to feed, and it was good that Pearson had enough time to pack all of their provisions, or else they’d be critically low on food supplies.

“We’re almost home, son,” Arthur mumbled, pressing his nose into the crown of his son’s head. Isaac stirred, but didn’t awaken, making a noise of protest in the back of his throat that made Arthur smile wider. He was all gangly limbs and wide, blue eyes, and he could already tell that he was probably going to be as tall as him, with his strong jaw and broad shoulders. “We’ll be there soon.”

The snow was starting up again, so as gently as he could, he placed the empty coffee tin onto the ground and slipped his arms underneath Isaac’s legs and shoulders, lifting him up and keeping him pressed close to his chest. He was easy to carry, but he used to weigh next to nothing, and Arthur knew it’d be only a short time before he’d be unable to lift him anymore. It was easy to forget that his son was growing up quickly.

Shouldering open the door to the wooden shack they were staying in, Hosea winked at him from his place by the hearth, a smile twisting his lips. The door to Dutch and Molly’s bedroom was closed, and Arthur knew they were probably sleeping in after celebrating the successes of the past week. “Eliza wondered where you two wandered off,” Hosea said, laughter in his words. Arthur hadn’t seen him look so relaxed in years. “He has the same restless feet as you do.”

“I suppose,” Arthur said softly, shifting his son in his arms so that his head lolled forwards to rest against his chest. The smile curling Hosea’s lips widened, his eyes softening as he watched them. “These past few days have been hard on him, though. I think he’s missed me while I’ve been running around.”

“You’re his father,” Hosea agreed, shrugging. Bending forwards, he refilled his cup of coffee, and Arthur was left wondering if he should try restricting his intake before he gave himself heart palpitations again. “He was worried that you wouldn’t be coming back.”

Arthur’s heart twisted in guilt, and he huffed to disguise his remorse, shuffling as quietly as he could towards their small, shared bedroom. “The kid’s got nothin’ to worry about.”

Pushing through the door, he stepped past his bedroll to set Isaac down on the bed he that was temporarily stuck sharing with his mother. One of them should probably be sleeping on the floor with Arthur, but even sleeping together in the bed was more comfortable than that, so they’d been huddling together through the cold, snowy nights.

Even though he’d been quiet, Isaac still blinked open his blue eyes, staring up at him as his lips curled upwards into a small grin. “Morning, pa’,” he mumbled, closing his eyes again and tugging his blanket up towards his chin as he shifted onto his stomach. Arthur felt his own lips twitch upwards at the sight, and he kneeled down next to the bed to card his fingers through his hair, rubbing just behind his ear. “Are we leaving, yet?”

“Tomorrow, so long as this good weather holds,” Arthur assured him. If they hadn’t been so successful during their heist in Blackwater, maybe they would’ve tried stealing Colm’s score, but they had enough money that whatever they made doing the train heist would be paltry. “You eager to move somewhere with warmer weather?”

Isaac hummed, nodding. He didn’t say anything else, and Arthur pressed a kiss to the back of his head before standing up, ruffling his hair and leaving the room. Hosea saluted him as he left the building, brown eyes twinkling, and Arthur headed towards the building where the men were sleeping.

“Morgan,” Bill snapped, repeater in hand as he stood guard at the scout fire.

“Hey, Bill,” Arthur said, patting him on the shoulder. The man softened at the warm greeting, always bristly until the other person showed they weren’t going to antagonize him. “You got early morning guard?”

“Drew the short straw,” Bill grumbled.

Chuckling, Arthur shook his head. “At least you’re turning in early tonight. We’ll be traveling for awhile.”

“Sure,” Bill said, “see ya’, Morgan.”

Pushing through the door, the room smelled like cigarettes and Pearson’s signature meat stew, which consistently smelled significantly better than it tasted. Lenny waved in greeting, smiling warmly at him, while Javier and Mac just nodded in acknowledgement.

Micah huffed, rolling his eyes at his appearance. “So the hero of Blackwater returns to gloat.”

“Oh, shaddup!” Sean crowed, throwing up his hands in frustration. Arthur had to bite back the amused smile that tugged at his lips. “You’re just jealous he fixed your mess for ya’, asshole.”

Raising his hands in surrender, Micah looked heavenwards. “There ain’t any jealously here,” he sighed placatingly, tapping the ashes off of the cigar pinched between his fingers. Taking another drag or it, he puffed out the smoke, most of it clouding in Javier’s face. “Just patiently waiting for this snowstorm to end so we can go our separate ways.”

“And whatever happened to your loyalty to Dutch?” Mac asked wryly, raising a red eyebrow. He’d stopped sleeping after Davey had gotten shot, not leaving his bedside, but since he’d awoken, he’d taken to bunking with the other men again. “Used ta’ talk so fondly about him.”

“Hey,” Micah said, “the boss knows I’m not keen to settle down just yet.”

“I know how much you want to earn your noose,” Javier quipped, a smirk twisting his lips. He’d always been a fan of riling people up, even if it was against his own best interest. Bill and Micah were his favorite targets, the former for his idiocy, and the latter because of his generally disagreeable personality.

Micah’s jaw clenched. “We’ll see who’s laughing when I put a bullet in a Colm O’Driscoll’s head.”

“Ya’ see, Morgan,” Sean said amusedly, standing up and gesturing with his hands as he spoke, “Micah here thinks he can become the most infamous gunslinger in the history of the country, ruling over this part of the country with a gang of bloodthirsty outlaws in a manner not unlike Colm O’Driscoll!”

Arthur scoffed, shaking his head. “We’ll see about that.”

Stubbing out his cigar, Micah stood abruptly, stalking outside. The atmosphere got noticeably lighter after he’d left, everyone relaxing once the door had closed behind him. Micah was a man that only Dutch liked, and that was because he sucked up to him. None of them would ever openly question Dutch’s decision in letting him stay, but that didn’t mean they had to like him.

“I’ll be glad when that bastard’s gone for good,” Lenny sighed, and Arthur chuckled, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Well, boys,” Sean said, collapsing back into his chair, “we’ve made it!”

“You finally planning on courting Karen when we settle down?” Lenny asked, tilting his head.

“And when are you planning on making a move on Jenny?” Sean retorted, ignoring the question. When Lenny spluttered, fumbling for an answer, he laughed boisterously, slapping his knee. “Yeah, exactly!”

“If you’re gonna’ keep fuckin’ her,” Mac grumbled, uncorking another bottle of whiskey to add to the growing collection of bottles on the floor, “at least have the decency to do it away from the rest of us. I haven’t gotten decent rest in the two years since she joined.”

“Hey,” Sean protested, “you’re just jealous because you can’t get any action.”

That got a blush to rise up on Mac’s cheeks. “Just have some feckin’ sympathy for the rest of us,” he grumbled, running a hand through his short red hair. The stubble on his chin would be gone as soon as they unpacked the shaving mirror, Arthur knew, and when Mac mused up his hair, it made him look even more uncharacteristically disgruntled. Out of all the boys in camp, he was probably the cleanliest, besides maybe Javier and Dutch.

“It’s hard to believe that soon, we’ll be farmers out west,” Javier sighed, thankfully changing the subject. Moving forwards, he nudged his elbow against Arthur’s side, raising a dark eyebrow. “Most of us haven’t had a day of honest labor in our lives. It’ll be hard to adjust.”

“I’ve worked on a ranch before,” Arthur drawled. His experience was mostly odd jobs for extra cash, and one occasion where Hosea had been running a con that necessitated him to work on one for a few weeks, but he knew most of the basic skills. “It ain’t too difficult.”

“Maybe I’ll get to attend a proper university,” Lenny said dreamily, leaning on his palm. The boy had talked before about how he wanted to pursue a career in law, but besides Hosea, none of them thought he’d ever get the chance to actually get a higher education. “There are some good law schools out west that’ll accept black folks. There’s even one for women, out in Annely.”

“Mary-Beth would like that,” Arthur added. Patting Javier on the back, he waved, stepping towards the door. “I’m gonna’ go check on the others, now. Try not to kill each other while I’m gone.”

“What about Micah?” Sean asked jokingly.

“Well, if you shot him,” Arthur sighed, “I suppose it wouldn’t be entirely your fault.”

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melyaliz · 4 years

Text

Past loves and future babies pt. 3

Masterlist

Fandom: Marvel / MCU

Summary: Dinner, Drinks and what comes after

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OC

Notes: No one really voted... BUT @thespacebuns reblogged with comments and I decided to give her another chapter :P

All Masterlists @melyalizarchive

Connect with me! AO3 / Instagram / Pinterest

DONATE or REQUEST

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

Before the snap Dixie and Mac had been on their own. The two siblings running across the world just getting hired out as muscle men, hackers, grifters, really anything they could do to make some money.

Then the snap happened.

Dixie remembered standing between an open safe and five gun men. Mac screaming in her ear to get out. Fear in his voice making it hard for her to focus. But she knew the drill when she was caught with her back against the wall, do whatever she could to get out of there.

And then four of them men disappear. Crumbled into ash before her very eyes. The other guy freaked out not sure what to do. Calling out to his comrades. His own shocked yells slowly starting to echo more screams throughout the building as both her and the last gunman walked out. People all around them running out yelling. Trying to escape whatever was happening while their fellow coworkers crumbed around them like some horrible nightmare.

Dixie screamed Mac’s name. Her head set filling with static as she raced toward the door. She kept screaming his name so hard she was sure she tasted blood. Bolting from the building rushing toward the van nearly ripping the door off as she opined it.

“Dixie!?! What the hell is going on?” her brother had asked his eyes wide as he stood there in pure shock.

“I don’t know.”

Since that day their dealings just left of the law slowly stopped. Instead becoming like a second defense to the cops. So many people, unsure what to do, had decided now was the time to play Grand Theft Auto IRL. Leaving millions of defenseless people alone with a lack of defense.

Luckily for Dixie and Mac they weren’t the only ones who had shifted toward protecting those who couldn’t. In fact, it felt like whoever was left had really chosen a side.

Those who were in it for themselves and those who were in it for others.

Mac had found many resources during those times while on the web. People giving them tips on where to go and who to help.

One in particular was a former cameraman for NBC news named Logan.

Logan was funny, handsome, and had lost his wife.

Mac had warned her, the moment they had met him. He had known it was Dixie’s type. Just out of reach. But she couldn’t help herself.

It was like Dixie’s heart knew, fall in love with the ones you can never really have. Just another trick deeply ingrained in her subconscious as a way to protect herself. Remind herself that no matter how close they got there would always be something in the way.

Logan joined their team along with a few others. Roaming the country finding people in need. Meeting up with other do-gooders helping those who couldn’t.

And then everyone came back.

And again, it was just Dixie and Mac.

Alone together.

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

Dinner was so much fun, everyone talking and joking while passing around the food. It almost felt like a TV version of a thanksgiving dinner. The way everyone was so comfortable around each other. The history.

Dixie felt a little out of place but the great thing about food was that you could shove your mouth so no one expected you to talk. It wasn’t like Dixie didn’t like chatting with strangers but… she felt a little like a cow at this point.

So she ate keeping her posture as small as possible as a way to minimize her presence and keep conversation away from her.

Or that was what she had thought until Bucky met her gaze from across the table. Before she could shift her gaze he spoke. “How did you like the suite?”

Nodding Dixie quickly swallowed the large bite of chow mein she had been shoving into her mouth. “It’s better than my old shitty apartment.”

Bucky chuckled, “Tony keeps this place amazing.”

“The view is really nice,” Steve added, glancing over at Dixie. For a moment she wondered if he was trying to get her approval the way he was looking at her. Wide blue eyes searching her so intently.

“So where did you live before this?” Bucky asked.

Dixie’s mind raced, where had she lived? Everywhere. Her and Mac moved from city to city pretty often trying to find places that rented for 6 months or less. While she knew she had to be here… you know to save the world. She wasn’t sure how open minded the avengers were to her past days for hire.

“Arizona before this,” she smiled shrugging, “Tacos were amazing.”

“I bet, it’s been a while since I have been in that area,"

Well it's pretty hot this time of year"

More small talk continued. Moving past her to something else. Tony’s house in the cabin or how he and Bucky’s arms matched. Well different arms but still. It was weird getting a glimpse into this side of them. All laughing and talking, trading stories and jokes like they were all highschool friends and not savors of the world. There was so much history Dixie almost felt like she was an outsider looking in.

Which in a way she was.

The conversation went from the dining room to the large main room. There was a fully stocked bar. Tony started mixing drinks. Sam teasing Bucky about some mission they had gone on. Conversation flowed easily as they all laughed and joked around relaxing into the evening..

It was warm. These people were a family. Maybe bigger than Dixie and Mac but a family none the less.She had always believed that you could find family anywhere and these people, the greatest heros, were proof of that.

As the night dragged on she watched curled up on a couch her eyes slowly getting heavier and heavier.

Then a soft hand slowly brushed over hers pulling her awake. Turing she met Steve’s blue eyes.

“You look like your are about to fall asleep”

Smiling gratefully she nodded running her fingers through her hair. Getting up she followed Steve toward their apartment. Most of the team had gone back to their rooms. Bucky still there resting with a glass of scotch relaxing just listening to the music. He had been talking to Steve a few moments earlier, Dixie hadn’t caught the conversation comfortable with her own thoughts.

It could have been the long day, or the alcohol and amazing food but Dixie didn’t really think much about what “going back meant.” Or that had been the case until they were there.

Standing in front of the bedroom.

Oh yeah.

This is why she was here.

Slowly Steve -annoyingly- opened the door for her. For a moment Dixie considered telling him to stop. Stop trying to be so nice and just be himself.

She had seen a glimpse of it tonight with his team. He was so much more laid back and casual.

Maybe someday she would be able to get him to act like that with her. When they were alone. She was good at breaking people down. Especially the uptight ones. She just needed to find the right buttons to push. Mac had always joked she had that little sister quality about her, being able to push buttons.

“Soooo” she said as they both stood in the doorway looking into the bedroom. Still so bare and sterile. A strip of moonlight spanned across the room shining on the bed like some weird silver spot light. Even the universe was laughing at them right now.

Ha ha you have to have sex.

Dixie would have found it funny if the guy next to her wasn’t so tense.

It was so thick she could almost taste it on her tongue. The way he stood, the way his arms seemed to flex under his tight black tee. His hands clenched at his sides. Mouth in a tight line. He was totally unreadable and totally transparent at the same time.

Letting out a long sigh she walked toward the bed slowly pulling off her shirt and shimmying out of her jeans. Behind her she heard Steve take a deep shuddering breath. His nerves getting the best of him.

He wasn’t the only one who was trying to hide his emotions. Dixie’s own emotions were like small bursts of nervous energy as she threw herself onto the bed. Rolling into the center pulling a pillow to herself looking back at her future baby daddy.

“Well at least it’s comfortable.” she flashed him a smile moving a little to get more comfortable. He flashed her a small smile before pulling off his own shirt and then pants. Slowly folding them before putting them on the floor.

Dixie couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow not sure if he was just stalling or if he was really that anal. She would log that away for later.

Steve stood now, shirtless in his boxers just looking at her, arms resting at his sides. His hands were a little more relaxed this time much to Dixie’s relief. She looked up at him through thick lashes as she sat cross legged on the bed. Both of them just staring at the other unsure what to do next.

“Did you… want to… this is a pretty cozy bed.” she faltered patting the mattress next to her. That same anxiety building up in her chest. Crashing like hot waves in her stomach. Building up before dropping fast and rough as the bed dipped with Steve’s weight as he sat down.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked, turning to face her scooting closer before gently pulling her closer.

“You don’t have to ask” she nodded slowly closing her eyes.

He was so gentle when he kissed her. As if she was going to break under his touch. Something about that tender touch hurt deeper than if he had slapped her. It made her dizzy as if she was standing on the edge of a 100 foot drop.

And Dixie hated hights.

Grabbing him she pulled him closer moving forward so she could position herself up and over his legs and get onto his lap. He grunted, moving back slightly, his hands resting behind him to brace himself as Dixie wrapped her own legs around his waist. Pulling away she looked down at him, studying his face. A million dumb commnets ran thought her head but she fought not say them aloud. Trying not to ruin the moment instead choosing to keep her big mouth busy with his lips.

His hands reached around her hips, unsure what to do not really touching her. Reaching down she took them encurling them around her before going back to his hair.

They kept kissing

And kissing

“Ok my lips are getting raw” Dixie giggled pulling away. She could feel his getting a bit hard under her. She wasn’t sure how hard considering she also didn’t know… how big he was. But at least she knew she was doing something. At least he found her attractive.

That was good. Because if he didn’t this whole process would be that much more of a struggle.

Not that she was against wearing a paper bag.

A girl’s got to do what a girl’s got to do when saving the future.

“I’m sorry” a pained expression spread across his face. His hand reaching up gently pushing away her hair, his blue eyes slightly wide his breath coming out slightly short.

She studied him, her fingers going for his face thumbs stroking his cheek.

“I’m not going to bite you” she whispered, “unless you're into that.”

The tension was cut and he chuckled pushing her forward so she was laying on her back. He kissed her again before pulling away “Oh sorry.”

“Shhh stop apologizing” she whispered wrapping her legs around his waist again before rubbing his arm. Pulling herself up she kissed but above his collar bone in the dip of his neck. Much to her pleasure she heard Steve’s breath hitched fingers gripping the blankets on either side of her.

Pulling away she watched as he positioned himself on top of her again kissing her neck this time. Following her example. His fingers fumbling over her totally unsure what to do. His kisses hesitant.

This really wasn’t working.

"Stop stop," she said pushing his very toned chest gently, "we don't have to rush this.”

“I…” he sat back looking perplexed, upset maybe. Mostly just awkward. This whole things was just so damn awkward.

Smiling she laid down beckoning him to lay next to her, “Let’s just cuddle, we don’t need to rush anything.”

“Ok” slowly he laid down next to her, his face only inches from hers.

“No”

“What?” Steve frowned studying her as Dixie shook her head.

“Turn around.”

“I… ok…” he said slowly turning his huge back facing her.

Wrapping her arms around his waist she pulled herself closer spooning him. It was easier this way she could pretend he was a huge pillow. A very muscular pillow. Closing her eyes Dixie buried her nose in his neck taking in his warm scent. He smelled like warm flannels and justice.

Whatever justice smelled like.

She felt his large hand enveloping hers pulling her arms tighter around him. Thumb drawing small circles over her skin. The touch sending small goose bumps up her arm.

“We’re in this together ok.” she said, her warm breath fanning over his neck, “you just have to be open with me, we can go any any pace you want.”

‘Thank you” he whispered so softly she might have missed it. Maybe it was her imagination.

After all, what did THE Captain America have to worry about?

-GET TAGGED!-

Masterlist

Forever tag: @the-shadow-of-atlantis @coffee-randomness @0hmydeku @xx3fsxx @daisyboobear @jason-redhood @hello-i-lovespiderman-blr @pinkwitch21 @tomhncharliep @cdwmtjb8

Story tag:

@itsmeeluciie

#Steve Rogers smut #Steve Rogers fanfic #Steve Rogers romcom #Steve Rogers fluff #Steve Rogers x oc #Steve Rogers x reader #Steve Rogers #Steve Rogers slow burn #mcu fanfiction #mcu smut #marvel fanfic #Marvel smut #my writing #long fic

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turtlepated · 4 years

Text

The Ghost and the She-wolf

Part 7

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Let me preface by saying, sorry for the long wait! It has been super crazy these last several weeks (as I’m sure it has been for, like... everybody.) and I’ve been distracted.

But!

The wait is over!

Thank you all so much for your patience and your feedback and I hope you enjoy!

Tag List

@nikkivfx , @beetlejuicebeadoll , @insomni-snacc , @do-ya-hear-that-sound , @young-erstill , @dilfyjuice @monsterlovinghours

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You kept pace with Zhuk as he and the man he’d introduced as Scarabee strolled amicably down the otherwise deserted street that ran from the fountain near the docks straight through the heart of the seemingly vacant settlement. There were houses, inns and taverns, shops and stables, all completely bereft of life. Zhuk and Scarabee were engaged in pleasant conversation, mostly about their respective illicit trades. You gathered that, unlike the seafaring larceny Zhuk partook of, Scarabee made his way smuggling spirits. Rumrunning, on the surface, may have seemed like the milder of the two crimes, but you knew for a fact that rumrunners could be every bit as nasty and cutthroat as any pirate, and there were many who did both.

“If you’ll excuse my ignorance, gentlemen,” you interjected, both of them fixing you with expectant looks. “Where is everyone? There’s a whole town here with no one residing in it.” The two men exchanged a poignant glance before breaking into laughter. Zhuk was more composed, chuckling warmly deep in his barrel chest while Scarabee made no attempt to stifle his amusement. You frowned darkly at them, pointedly stopping where you were and folding your arms impatiently over your chest, waiting for them to collect themselves. “Apologies, volchista,” Zhuk all but cooed, trying to soothe your ruffled feathers. “It is a fair question, particularly if one does not know any better.”

“We didn’t mean anythin’ by it, cher,” Scarabee assured you, his mismatched eyes still glittering with mirth. “And as an added antidote to our rudeness, allow me to explain.”

He gestured with his walking stick and his free hand to the dark and empty buildings that lined the main street where you all stood. “You’ll find that we all have different names for this place. I myself, as you may recall, like to call it Carrefour. Means “crossroads,” you see. And that’s what this town is, really. The dead come here from all over, but this is not the place where they’re meant to remain. It’s a waiting room of sorts, a stepping off point to whatever comes next.”

You frowned, not understanding, and Zhuk elaborated. “The town has always been here, we think, always exactly as you see it now. The departed arrive, some may linger for a time as you saw when you met your men, but eventually they all go on.” Your frown deepened, guilt twinging in your chest again at the memory of Mathers and your crewmen fading away before your eyes. “Where do they go?” Zhuk smiled sadly. “That we do not know,” he answered, his voice a deep throaty rumble.

“Wherever it is we were meant to go, I suppose,” Scarabee added with a nonchalant shrug. At his words you turned to gape at him, realization striking you suddenly, that he must be… like Zhuk in some way. He grinned his feline grin as he watched you appraising him with a new comprehension, speaking to Zhuk while keeping his eyes on you. “Mon amie, just how much have you shared with your charming companion?” Zhuk only hummed pensively, scratching at his whiskery chin. Scarabee’s grin widened, his green-and-purple eyes narrowing shrewdly at the Russian captain for a moment, reaching his hand into an interior pocket of his opulent black and gold jacket and withdrawing an expensive looking pocket watch, checking the time. If you weren’t mistaken, there appeared to be human finger bones dangling from the chain like charms.

“We’d best adjourn to the house,” he said, closing the watch with a sharp snap and stowing it once more. “The others won’t be long, and I believe we have much to be getting on with.” Zhuk nodded in return and you all set off down the main road again, soon leaving the ghost town behind and finding yourselves in thick jungle. You swallowed, unsettled by the thick shadows between the tightly packed trees, the rustling of leaves as though something were moving just beyond the narrow trail. Almost subconsciously you quickened your pace to keep stride with Zhuk. It felt like things were watching you, unseen, from within the impermeable darkness to either side. The two men appeared utterly unconcerned, so you did your utmost to show no trepidation as a pair of large gates of dark wrought iron loomed ahead.

Raising his walking stick, Scarabee gave the cold iron a resounding tap with the head of his stick and they creaked open of their own accord, swinging shut with a decisive and jarring clang as the three of you passed through them. “Ma petite chérie,” said Scarabee grandly, bowing at the waist and gesturing you forward. “Welcome to our humble abode.” Your breath caught in your lungs as you took in the sight of the domicile before you. An Italian renaissance manse, four floors with twin pairs of chimneys at the front and rear of the structure, a roof of scarlet tiles, the entryway flanked by arches and marble pillars, a raised stone courtyard flanked with creeping plants.

You were vaguely aware of Scarabee snickering to himself at your stunned silence, Zhuk stepping up beside you with a chuckle. “Come along, volchitsa,” he rumbled. “Come and meet the rest of the family.” The next several minutes were a whirl of activity. Zhuk looped his arm around your unresisting hand and led you into the mansion, up the red carpeted stairs of the great hall, down corridors of gleaming marble floors and rich carpets, past rooms with vaulted ceilings and sparkling chandeliers, wood paneled walls and paintings and all the other trappings of nobility or even royalty. Zhuk and Scarabee ushered you into what looked to be some sort of parlor or smoking room, a lavish fireplace at one end of the room already made up and crackling heartily. Most of the walls were taken up by shelves, laden with books in dozens of tongues and a vast array of brick-a-brack from every corner of the world it seemed.

“Make yourself comfortable,” said Zhuk, indicating the number of large armchairs situated in a vague half circle by the hearth. Still somewhat overwhelmed by the grandeur all around you, you sank into the first chair you came to, your head unable to stop from swiveling all around, trying to take everything in. Zhuk crossed to a side table and poured himself a measure of clear liquid that you felt sure was not water, setting the crystal decanter back in place. “Anything for you, Scarabee?” he called to the other man who stood by the hearth, one hand braced on the mantlepiece with the other perched on his hip, his coat swept back as he gazed absently into the crackling flames as though studying them. “No, thank you, I brought my own.” Reaching once more into his coat he produced a flask. “Though our guest might be grateful for something to settle her nerves. She looks anxious as a lamb in a den of wolves.”

Zhuk moved to stand by your chair, fixing you with a concerned look. “I’m perfectly fine,” you insisted, proud of the way your voice didn’t waver despite the unease roiling in your stomach. How had your attempts to capture a pirate led you here? To an island that should not exist, sitting in the smoking room of a mansion owned by men who, by their own admission, were meant to be dead? Zhuk did not seem convinced by your feigned poise, reaching out a hand to sweep a loose lock of hair back over your ear. “There’s no need to be frightened, moye sokrovishche,” he murmured. “No one here will harm you.” He let his fingertips linger on the curve of your jaw, and you turned your head to meet his eyes. He spoke the words with such assuredness; it wasn’t merely an empty statement for your benefit, he would see to it that no harm came to you regardless of what did or did not happen when these “others” arrived.

Scarabee seated himself in one of the adjacent armchairs, crossing his legs and observing the two of you with an inscrutable expression. As one, all three of you turned to face the tall open double doors at the sound of rapid footfalls coming down the marble hallway toward the parlor. A moment later another man strode into the room, heading straight for the side table where the drink service was set.

“Well, lads,” he said aloud in a definite Irish lilt to no one in particular. “We are well and truly fucked.” Zhuk rolled his eyes as Scarabee chuckled, steepling his fingers under his chin. “Always a pleasure, Ciaróg,” he replied, apparently unbothered by the vaguely troubling assertion. Ciaróg hummed, having already splashed what you took to be whiskey into a glass and raised it to his lips, draining it in one go and pouring a second portion. “Didn’ I tell ya that Renard bastard was trouble?” he said, pointing accusingly at the other two. “Told me I was frettin’ over nothin’, said there was no chance he could talk his way out of the noose, but lo an’ behold! They went an’ made him a fuckin captain!”

Zhuk grimaced, still standing somewhat protectively by your chair. “Please, Ciaróg, at least attempt to calm yourself,” he said. “And watch your language, we have a guest.” Ciaróg had already planted himself heavily in one of the vacant seats, the amber liquid in his glass sloshing precariously, looking up at Zhuk with a puzzled expression before his eyes finally landed on you. His brilliantly green eyes widened, brows shooting up toward the bill of the flat cap atop his head.

“Bless my eyes,” he said slowly, his previously harried demeanor dropping away at once. He sat himself up straight, favoring you with a rakish grin. “Beggin’ your pardon, rud álainn. Did’na even see you sittin’ there on account of Fionn mac Cumhaill tryin’ to keep you hid from me.” The playful Irishman thumbed at Zhuk, who rolled his eyes again and sighed through his nose. You could only blink, taken aback by the blatant flirtations, taking in his appearance as he did yours: shoulder length hair, several thin braids decorated with beads and bits of colored thread, the bridge of his nose dusted in freckles.. Seeing the three of them all together you did notice similarities: their pale complexions, in the muted greens and grays like that of a corpse; the unnatural greenish hues to their hair; the decidedly inhuman quickness of their movements, even something as simple as their eyes tracking on another.

“Cia!” called another voice from outside the doors. “Amigo, where did you go?” “In here,” Ciaróg called back, eyes still on you. “Come an’ meet Zhuk’s new friend.” At once yet another figure appeared in the doorframe, a lanky man with a dancer’s frame, a mess of dark green wavy hair swept back from his forehead, and a singularly amorous look on his face. Good Lord, how many of them were there?! “Zhuk, have you been keeping secrets from us?” he purred, crossing the room in a few long strides and gracefully lowering himself by your chair, nonplussed when you recoiled slightly in equal parts embarrassment and surprise. The newcomer caught your hand in both of his, delicately grasping your wrist and the tips of your fingers in his hands as he pressed a kiss to your knuckles. “Estoy tan contenta de conocerte, encantadora dama,” he mumbled against your skin. “Steady on, Bajo, you’ll scare the lass off!” Ciaróg chastised, slumping back in his seat and swirling his glass while the man he’d called Bajo backed off from you with a laugh even as you withdrew your hand from his grasp and bunched it stiffly into your lap with the other hand. Zhuk loudly cleared his throat, glowering at the two like a thoroughly exasperated teacher scolding a pair of rowdy pupils. “Are you two incapable of behaving yourselves?” Cia and Bajo, looking utterly unapologetic, merely grinned back at him but Bajo did at least rise and give you some space, seating himself in the chair between Scarabee and Cia. “Can you blame us, amigo?” he asked, plucking Cia’s half empty glass from his hand while his attention was on you and Zhuk and draining it, earning a scowl and a muttered curse in Gaelic. “It is very unlike you to have a guest. And such a pretty one at that,” Bajo went on, winking and blowing a kiss at you. You blushed, trying to remain stoic and unruffled but you had certainly not expected this. Zhuk was a powerful presence, a feared pirate, you had expected his associates to be like him, but it seemed he was the lone voice of reason amongst lunatics. “Anyway, what’re we waitin’ for?” Cia asked, glancing around the room as if counting heads. “Of course… Where’s the Italian?” he griped. You had also taken note of the one empty chair. Presumably you were seated in Zhuk’s customary spot, while the others had gravitated towards their seats in a way that indicated familiarity. Which left one seat still unoccupied. It was Scarabee who answered, having been silently observing the proceedings since he sat down. “On his way. He sent word.” Cia scoffed, swatting Bajo on the upper arm to get his attention. “Must be at another one o’ his fancy dinner parties,” the Irishman joked, the two of them sharing a laugh at the remark. This time it was Scarabee who interrupted their frivolity, rapping the metal tip of his cane on the dark hardwood floor. “While we’re waiting on Scarfaggio, why don’t you elaborate on your earlier comment, Ciaróg?” Cia’s brows raised again. “What? Y’mean about how we’re all fucked? What didja think I meant? Renard, o’ course! We always knew what a cunt he was, but now he’s a cunt with the Royal Navy at his back!” Zhuk winced, glancing apologetically at you before turning back to Cia. “Radi vsego svyatogo, sledi za svoim yazykom!” he nearly growled. Cia leveled a long suffering expression at him and flipped him off, eliciting snickers from Bajo. “What I’m sayin’ is that the lil bastard is out there now practically with his own private armada!” “What?” you asked, alarmed, four heads turning towards you. “How many ships does he have?” Bajo ticked them off on his fingers, “Colossus was the first iron-side, there’s at least three more; two in the Atlantic and one in the Caribbean.” “There are four more besides Colossus,” Zhuk corrected. “As we had the misfortune of discovering in Java Sea.” Cia was nodding emphatically. “We’ve seen what one of those things can do, y’know what two can do? I saw ‘em do it, they’ll skewer both sides of a ship with their fuckin lances and then steer away from each other. Tear the ship apart!”

You suppressed a shudder as a chill crept down your spine, thinking about how close you had come to witnessing such savagery firsthand. You’d always heard the rumors, of course, about Renard and his pet project, but the idea of his reach extending so far, spanning oceans was distressing to say the least. “So for now, he only has five,” you said, thinking out loud. “Those five will soon be the least of our problems.”

All eyes turned to the back of the room one final time as the fifth man strode into the room. He was impeccably dressed in an officer’s dress uniform, dark hair slicked back with one errant curl resting on his forehead as he approached the assembly, stopping just short of his empty chair but not sitting down.

“It would seem that Ciaróg’s hyperbole was more accurate than even he knew,” the newcomer went on, withdrawing a folded piece of paper from the inside of his tailored coat. “This letter indicates that Renard has some sort of presentation to make before the Board of Admiralty, including the Lord High Admiral himself. No one knows for sure what he plans to bring to them, but most suspect he’s actually petitioning them for the funds to make a fleet of ironclads.”

“Learn about all that at your little soiree?” Cia teased, earning another scowl from Zhuk and Scarabee as well as the sharply dressed new arrival. “Yes, Ciaróg, as a matter of fact I did,” he retorted through gritted teeth, and you got the distinct impression that this was a recurring conversation. “As I have told you again and again, it’s never about the party, the part is merely a device used to display power, wealth, prestige. There are few better places to obtain information than from a gathering of wealthy, prideful revelers looking to brag about their ambitions or achievements. Perhaps one day you may realize that the contents of a ship’s papers can be every bit or even more valuable than the contents of her hold.”

“Yes, of course, Scarafaggio,” said Scarabee, sounding like a referee in a boxing match. “We are all aware of your contributions to our endeavors and continue to appreciate all your efforts. What else did you find out?” Shooting one last scathing look at Cia and Bajo, who were still glancing at one another as though barely able to contain themselves, Scarafaggio schooled his expression once more. “Apparently he plans to make his presentation at the grand masquerade being held at the Lord High Admiral’s estate. They’ll be celebrating his thirty year career, and I shouldn’t doubt there will be some intrigue related to who will fill the post when he retires. We can count on Renard to throw his hat into the ring, and if his ironclad fleet proves as successful as Colossus and her sisters, there is a troubling chance that he may well get it.”

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Yay! First time writing all the boys! It was NERVE. WRACKING. But I like what I ended up with?

Sorry no ETA for part 8 yet, but in the meantime I will make available the Google doc so all the various parts will be in one place together in order to make it easier to re-read! And I’ll also put the tags to the previous chapters below.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

And hopefully this link works, if it doesn’t let me know!

#beetlejuice #mafia au #zhuk #pirate!zhuk #pirate!zhuk x reader #zhuk x reader #gia #bee #cia #bajo #the conglomerate

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wolfpawn · 4 years

Text

I Hate You, I Love You, Chapter 120

Chapter Summary -

And so the alum is released, how will Tom and Danielle act?

Previous Chapter

Rating - Mature (some chapters contain smut)

Triggers - references to Tom Hiddleston’s work with the #MeToo Movement. That chapter will be tagged accordingly.

authors Note - I have been working on this for the last 3 years, it is currently 180+ chapters long. This will be updated daily, so long as I can get time to do so, obviously.

I am not one to dwell on the past and those in it, but when Reputation was released in November, you know it had to be checked and reported to Tom regarding its content.

All image rights belong to their owners

tags: @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog @jessibelle-nerdy-mum @nonsensicalobsessions @damalseer @hiddlesbitch1 @winterisakiller @fairlightswiftly @salempoe @wolfsmom1

‘Hey,’ Danielle walked into the kitchen with a smile on her face, which fell when she looked at the concerned look on Tom’s face. ‘What?’

Tom swallowed slightly as Luke cleared his throat. ‘The new album is out.’

‘And?’ She asked, folding her arms and bracing for the worst.

‘Well, there are a few references.’

‘Are they defamatory?’ Danielle asked.

‘No, but they are not pleasant.’

‘Well, she is hardly going to be pleasant, is she? That’s not her style, “I’m a victim, I am so lovely and the big bad men hurted me” is more her style.’ She put on a pathetic whiny voice as she spoke. ‘I bet Kardashian and the husband got it worse though.’

‘They did, and the press. Apparently, her songs are about no one and the press and people try to make it about her and people she is somewhat connected to.’ Luke scoffed.

‘Give me a line that proves otherwise.’

‘She references men with Jaguars and Range Rovers.’ Luke looked at some of the lyrics on the sheet.

‘What does Harris drive?’ Danielle already knew the answer.

‘A Range Rover.’ Tom confirmed.

‘Wow, shocking. “I reference things but don’t want to be accused of it being about anyone”. She really needs to grow the fuck up. Either say “Yes, I do sing about these things, and?” or actually keep away from it all, she comes across as a fool otherwise when it clear she is lying, but let’s face it, she was caught doing that before.’

‘Have you heard any of the songs?’ Tom asked.

‘No, I didn’t even know this pile of trash was out, why, should I have?’

‘The first song was released today.’

‘Please tell me it’s ridiculous. What is the album even called?’ She looked at the title on the page. “Reputation” Yeah, she’s building one of those alright.’

‘The song is called “Look What You Made Me Do,” Luke informed her.

Danielle paused for a moment, her eyebrows raised. ‘Is there a reason she titled a song after something abusive people say? That gives me the creeps. I have had to deal with a woman that had her jaw broken, her cheekbone broken and her eye swollen shut by a guy who yelled those words at her as he was being dragged away in a police car. She is mental. She is actually implying she’s abusive?’

‘I don’t think so. The lyrics are implying other people making her have to do stuff.’

‘Yeah, abusers do that too, imply the actions of others are why they do the shit they do. Highly narcissistic,’ Danielle growled, taking the groceries out of the bag she brought. ‘Where are the dogs?’

‘Outside, Mac is teaching Bobby in the ways of staring at birds hoping for them to fall out of a tree.’ Tom informed her. Seeing she was annoyed by everything, he walked over and rubbed her arms. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Annoyed, pissed off and angry that someone makes a living out of being an utter cunt to others. So many good songwriters can actually go an album without this shit.’ She growled before shaking her head. ‘I am glad this happened here, I just need to spit about it for a minute and I will go back to normal.’ She sighed before looking at Luke. ‘What’s the worst of it?’

‘Getaway Car.’ He stated getting to the page in question. ‘It’s a song that implies she is in an unhappy relationship and she uses another man to get out of it, but it was only a pitstop relationship, it was only to get rid of the first guy, it was only ever that from the start.’

‘Classy. So much for being a strong independent woman if you cannot even leave a relationship like an adult.’ She looked at Tom. ‘How many more relationships are you going to be accused of ruining?’ She scoffed. ‘I’ll have to keep an eye on you.’

Tom smiled at her attempt at humour, ‘Yes.’

‘How do you feel?’

‘Embarrassed, annoyed, as to be expected. Most of her focus seems to be on others, but it still is hurtful, to me, you Mum, Em and Sarah, we are all facing this now, I brought this on us.’

Danielle rubbed his arm. ‘She chose to do this, you took an adult approach to a break-up, she did not show the same courtesy.’ She then walked over to Luke with her hand extended, the publicist handed her the pages with the song lyrics on them, the parts suspected to be about Tom were highlighted. She scanned them and frowned. ‘She’s losing her touch, her whole chorus is literally “Look What You Made Me Do” no other words. Oasis, U2, Michael Jackson, and Prince she is not.’ She threw it down again. ‘I hope her voice is better autotuned this time. Would anyone else like a cup of tea?’ She asked.

Luke looked at Tom half in concern but seeing the other man smile slightly. Tom realised that Danielle was not overly bothered by it all anymore and was just moving on with the day. ‘Tea for me Darling, Luke is a coffee man.’

‘Okay. There are fresh hobnobs in the bag and I got a duck for dinner.’ She stated as she got the cafetiere out of the press for Luke.

‘Lovely.’ Tom smiled, going over to the bag to retrieve the biscuits. ‘We have been found to be house-hunting as well by the way.’

‘How many weeks pregnant am I?’

‘Not showing yet, but the winter jackets could be hiding it.’ Luke chuckled.

‘Good to know. I feel like almost going and getting a fake bump from a set to fuck with them. Nacelle offered and everything.’

Tom laughed. ‘That would screw with them alright.’

‘Please warn me in advance when you do that.’ Luke pleaded.

‘“When”?’ Danielle asked with a smirk.

‘You have a streak to you that I would imagine would cause you to seriously consider it.’

‘Aw, Luke, I believe you are actually getting to know me.’ Danielle laughed. She passed him a mug and the coffee. ‘Nah, it’s too much bother, it did cross my mind though. So what is the general consensus on that?’

‘That we are looking at a house worth four million belonging to Michael McIntyre.’ Tom grinned and folded his arms as he awaited her reaction.

Danielle stared blankly at him. ‘Four…..Four million? I nearly lost the plot at two million, I’d need to be anointed if you brought me to a place for that, what would you even buy for that, the Darcy house in Pride and Prejudice?’

‘A lot of the manor houses are in terrible condition, so they probably would go for that.’ Luke shrugged.

‘What the absolute fuck made them think that?’ Danielle asked.

‘Well, the “source” is a friend of mine that I apparently told, and they mentioned it.’

‘Did you tell anyone?’

‘Ben, Jeremy and Luke.’

‘Hardly three gossips.’

‘People hear titbits of our conversations and assume the rest.’ Tom dismissed. ‘It doesn’t matter in general, only I thought I ought to tell you.’

‘Well yes, given my current condition, I cannot risk the stress of not knowing and it being dumped on me.’ Danielle rolled her eyes. ‘Are people actually that obsessed with you procreating?’

‘It is my own fault, I mentioned watching Jungle Book with my kids someday in an interview and they all are mad about it since.’ Tom shrugged. ‘No pressure on you.’

‘Clearly not.’ She scoffed. ‘I am going to let you two gentlemen get on with whatever you need to do and I am going to be boring and get some stuff done.’ She smiled going to the back door. ‘Come on you two fuzzbutts, get in and leave that poor chaffinch alone.’ The dogs immediately rushed over to her. ‘Come on, into the living room with me.’ She took her cup of tea that Tom was holding out for her and smiled at him before going into the other room, the two dogs following after her, though Bobby stopped at Tom or a moment and sat, hoping for a rub, on receiving it, he rushed after Danielle and Mac again before Danielle went out of sight.

‘That went as well as can be expected.’ Luke commented.

‘She is fine, once she is allowed a minute to be annoyed, I said as much.’

‘Yes, it is odd she calmed so quickly.’

‘She is not calm, she’s very much annoyed, but she cannot bottle it in, if she did, she would probably be five times angrier later. If she hadn’t already gone running today, she would be gone out now.’ He informed his friend. ‘But she has work to do, so she is going to focus on that now.’

‘How is she doing with work?’

‘Busy as hell, but she is a business partner now, so that is par for the course, right?’ Tom smiled. ‘She insists on doing everything she can from here and is looking into getting a fax machine for here too to minimise what she has to do in the office.’

‘Is she here quite a bit then?’

‘Most days of the week, because of the dogs more than anything.’ Tom smiled. ‘Another reason we need a bigger place, she needs a proper office.’

‘I ended up with a one-bedroom apartment making my second one an office, it does make life easier.’ Luke concurred. ‘See if her company will okay it as an expense, she could get it for nothing then.’

‘I will mention that to her.’ Tom smiled. ‘Now, what was this about a schedule?’

An hour later, Danielle came into the kitchen with paperwork in her hand and went over to preheat the oven. It was only after she got the duck out of the fridge that she realised the two men were still talking. ‘I am not after walking in on private Infinity War stuff, am I?’

‘No, nothing private, just dates and premiers.’ Tom smiled.

‘Okay, nothing too bad so,’ She sighed in relief as she continued to prepare the meat, noting the sheer amount of pages and dates on them. ‘It looks busy.’ She noted.

‘It is, it is utter insanity how much of it there is.’ Tom commented, Luke nodding in agreement.

‘When is the first trailer hitting?’ She enquired

‘Soon enough apparently, again, they are not telling us, but around the end of this month, start of next month.’ Tom smirked.

‘God, this is going to be something else.’ Danielle smiled. ‘How many of ye are without further contracts so far?’

‘We don’t know, we are all not allowed say, even to each other. Chris wants to move on though, as you know, he said that when we were talking to him. The others, I cannot say for sure. Ben is still contracted.’

‘Well, they left the whole situation at the end with Baron Mordo that needs to be addressed in the Strange movie.’ Danielle commented as she cut up an orange. ‘Adding Iron Man to Spiderman would make things interesting too, but it depends on what happens in the next two Avenger Movies. Damn it, I hate waiting.’

Tom chuckled. ‘If it is any consolation, we don’t know what happens other cast members, only ourselves.’

‘And anyone who you witness die.’

‘True actually, yes.’ Tom conceded. ‘But let’s face it, Loki survived how many deaths now, others could do the same.’

‘Yes, we have Black Panther to go to soon as well, that will be great.’

‘I had not realised that you are an actual Marvel fan.’ Luke stated.

‘Yeah, DC and Marvel were huge as cartoons when I was a kid, Spiderman, X-Men, Batman, Superman, it wasn’t Saturday or Sunday morning without the TV on with them on it.’ She smiled.

‘True actually.’ Luke conceded.

‘Elle, how long will that take to cook?’

‘About an hour and a half, I’d say, why? Will you be done?’ The men looked at one another and shook their heads. ‘Have you dinner plans this for evening, Luke?’

‘No,’ He said unsurely.

‘Wonderful, do you like duck?’

‘Yes, he does.’ Tom smiled. ‘You don’t mind?’

‘I am cooking anyway, what’s a few more potatoes or a bit of extra vegetables. What I will do is get my stuff and the dogs out of the living room and you two go in there and that way you can talk more without the sound of me clanging pots and pans.’

‘Elle, thank you, Darling, but it is just dates and other such things.’ Tom dismissed. ‘Work away.’

She said no more and did as required to ready the meal. With only a short time to go before it was ready, Tom went to the bathroom for a moment. ‘You do not mind my being here, do you?’ Luke asked.

‘Not at all, you are more than his publicist, you are his friend.’ Danielle dismissed.

‘But you and I do not know too great a deal about one another.’

‘No, but surely the best way to rectify that is to actually spend time in one another’s company.’

‘That is again, true.’ Luke chuckled as she offered him a wine glass. ‘Red, please.’

‘You’re not driving, are you?’

‘No, Tom drove me here, I will get a taxi back.’

‘I am not going to drink, I can drop you if he decides to.’ Danielle smiled as she got a nice red wine and opened it for him.

‘You are an incredibly healthy mature person, do you know that?’ Luke stated out of the blue, causing Danielle to look at him with her brows raised. ‘I mean that in a good way, I swear. You trust and respect Tom’s space.’

‘He has never given me reason to not trust it. If he says he is going out and will be back soon, he is; if he says he needs space for whatever reason, usually work, he is never far away. He does not stay away overnight when “going out with friends”. He has never come home covered in lipstick and love bites, so I don’t care.’

‘Or perfume.’

‘No, he has come home with a smell of that on him, because people hug him with perfume on, that is just the nature of his work, it does not mean there is anything untoward going on.’

‘Do you know, there are women that all but stick to their partners at premiers and sets. It is fascinating to watch when it does not involve your clients.’

‘I would actually love to watch that.’ Danielle laughed. ‘But that is so incredibly unhealthy. That, I would imagine, does nothing but urge a wandering partner. Plus could you imagine being stuck in each other’s pockets all the time.’

‘Or making scenes at events.’

‘I couldn’t do it to you. You’ve suffered enough.’ Danielle smiled.

‘Thank you. At least you are considerate of my health.’ Luke grinned in return.

#I Hate You I Love You #chapter 120 #Tom hiddleston fic #tom hiddleston

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awriterorsomething · 5 years

Text

Bay Station

The new subway station had been running for about five years after the original one was abandoned in 1966. And it was built right on top of it. Most of the locals don’t even know why it closed down, and they don’t seem to care either way. All anyone cares about is getting to where they want to be. Although, not long after the station was closed off, rumours began to spread. Children would tell stories to their friends at sleepovers; adults would have hushed conversations over drinks.

On a humid summer evening, a twelve-year-old boy named Billy Sage, and his small group of friends, planned on investigating the rumours they’d heard. But they didn’t want to go into the station themselves. Rather, they convinced a scrawny kid they knew from school to do it for them. Austin was the sort of kid other kids picked on even though they didn’t really have a reason to — they just did it because he was an easy target. Billy told him that if he didn’t do this he would tell the whole school about the time Austin peed his pants in third grade. He complied reluctantly. Austin already got enough prodding and beatings in school, he didn’t want more.

The five of them biked down to Bay station. It was just after six o’clock. Most people who took the subway would be home already. They had families to get to and dinners to eat. When the kids arrived, they parked their bikes by the side of the building.

Billy led his friends, and Austin, to a door he had discovered a few days earlier. As they were all walking over, he explained that he saw a bunch of workers going in and out of the station using this door. While he was watching these men, he got the idea to jam something in the door frame so that it wouldn’t lock.

“When the door was propped open, I ran over and stuck a rock in the hole where the bolt thingy is supposed to go into when it closes,” Billy explained.

“Cool!” The twins, Frankie and Freddie, said in unison.

When they got to the mysterious door Billy had told them about, they all stood silently for a moment, just staring at it. There was something eerie about that door; something otherworldly. It was like a passage to a different dimension. Each boy fantasized about what might be behind it. Billy pictured a room full of ghosts; Frankie thought about a ten foot monster while Freddie cringed over the possibility of a giant poisonous spider; Sam, the quiet one, imagined a room full of twisting and knotted snakes. Austin was the only one who didn’t wonder what was behind that door. All he thought about was being at home and watching Underdog reruns with his cat Felix.

“Let’s get this thing open!” Billy said, breaking the momentary silence.

They all looked at each other with the same expression of doubt.

“What? You babies wanna chicken-out?” Billy scoffed.

“Nope, not me,” said Frankie.

“Me neither!” said Freddie.

Sam shrugged and shook his head.

Austin didn’t say anything.

That feeling of doubt and fear silently lingered among them.

Billy rolled his eyes and grabbed the handle of the metal door. It was heavier than he thought. He heaved the door open, revealing a long, dark hallway with a set of stairs at the end, leading downward.

“You’re up, kid,” Billy said to Austin.

Everyone looked at him. Austin stood there with his head down and his hands in his pockets.

“Come on, we don’t got all day!” Billy stomped over to Austin and grabbed his arm. He started pulling him toward the open door, but Austin pulled back.

“Let go! I’ll go, okay? Just let me go,” Austin said, trying not to burst into tears.

Billy put his arms up defensively, “Fine, go then.”

Austin took a deep breath while everyone else watched him. He looked toward the dark opening and the hallway seemed to grow longer. Everything around him tunneled toward the open door.

“Can we speed this up? My mom’s making mac and cheese tonight and I can’t be late,” Sam huffed.

Austin looked at Sam and sighed, then dragged his feet over to the doorway.

He stared into the darkness — his skin crawling with goosebumps. He took one look back at the group of boys, hoping they would see his look of desperation and take pity on him, but no such luck. The four of them stood there looking back at him. Frankie was whispering something to Freddie. They both laughed. Austin turned back toward the dreadfully long hallway.

“Hurry up!” Billy shouted.

The other boys joined in; all of them pleading and yelling for him to just go in already. Austin stepped one foot in the doorway, then the other. As he started walking toward the stairwell the volume of the shouting lowered. They seemed miles away from him now. Austin was almost convinced that the more he walked the further away the stairs became. It reminded him of a dream he once had, or a fun house that ends up not being any fun at all. He wished he was dreaming. That would mean he would wake up at some point.

He finally reached the stairwell and clutched the railing as if his life depended on it. His heart was beating terribly. The stairs looked like they went on forever. But Austin could see the faint shape of another door at the very bottom. The thought of going down each one of those steps made Austin want to cry. He felt his throat seize and his face ache. His tears were crashing up against the floodgates; any minute now they could break through.

Austin took the first step, then the second, and before he knew it he was halfway down the stairwell. Laughter echoed down the hall that led to the outside world — a world that seemed so fictional now. All of a sudden, the door slammed shut. The sound was atomic. Immediately the hall and the stairwell became nothing but darkness. At least before there was a light at the end of the tunnel, so to speak. Now it was pitch black and suffocating.

“Hello?” he yelled from the stairs.

No one replied.

“Guys?”

The loud echo of his voice in the quiet, confined space made his heart weak. It was like the feeling you get when you sneak out of bed for a snack while your parents are asleep, and every sound you make causes internal panic. It was just too quiet.

On the other side of the door, Billy and the boys were laughing their heads off.

Austin ran to the exit and started banging on the door with his fists. He could feel himself drowning in the enclosed and dark space. Tears poured from his eyes. But his pleading and crying only made them laugh harder.

A couple minutes later Billy decided that the joke was over.

“All right, all right, don’t have a cow,” he said, putting his hand on the door handle.

He pulled, but it didn’t open; it didn’t even budge.

He pulled again, harder this time. Nothing happened. Austin was still hitting his fists against the inside of the thick, metal door.

Billy felt himself starting to panic now. He pulled the handle several times before dropping his hands and walking away from the door. The rest of the group all had the same look on their faces: unadulterated fear.

“What are we going to do, Billy?” Sam asked hesitantly.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said, then started toward the direction of their bicycles.

“What about Austin?” Freddie asked.

“Leave him! Let’s go!”

The three boys glanced at each other. Frankie shrugged and followed Billy. Freddie and Sam paused, looked at the screaming door, then back at each other. They shared an expression of willful ignorance, then went after Billy and Frankie, leaving Austin behind the mysterious door.

Snot ran out of Austin’s nose. He used the bottom of his shirt to wipe his face. He could feel his face puffing up and stiffening from crying so hard. And now his shirt felt heavy with tears. He turned around and leaned against the door, then slid down into a fetal position — his head tucked perfectly between his knees.

Moments later, Austin heard something creak open. He lifted his head and saw that it was the door at the bottom of the stairwell. A luminescent light bloomed from the opening. The stairs now looked like they were leading somewhere heavenly, Austin thought. He got up from the floor and walked in the direction of the glowing doorway. He was in somewhat of a daze at this point. Part of him thought this time he really was dreaming. But once he got close enough, he realized the newly discovered room wasn’t heavenly at all. As he got closer to the bottom of the stairs, he saw discoloured, vinyl flooring.

Austin finally reached the bottom and crossed through the door frame. He saw two pillars on each side of the small room, a trench that used to be used as the subway track, and what seemed like never-ending lines of fluorescent lights hanging from the ceiling. There were sets of stairs on either side of the room, that led to nothing but concrete walls; cobwebs dangled from the beams criss-crossing above him; old newspaper was scattered around the floor. It was as if Austin really had stepped into another dimension. None of it felt real.

The open door that welcomed Austin into the station unexpectedly shut behind him. The sound dully bounced off each wall, breaking his momentary stupor. He quickly spun around and tried to open the door back up, but it wasn’t opening. He was getting really tired of this game.

“Billy? Are you doing this?” Austin asked through the door. “If you are, please stop, okay? You can tell people whatever you want, just let me out of here, okay?”

No one answered. But Austin hoped so badly that someone would. The lack of conversation was dreadful.

“Billy! Come on! This isn’t funny—” The lights abruptly shut off. They didn’t flicker. They didn’t turn off in sections. They just went out altogether.

A chill slithered up and down Austin’s body. He felt frozen, so much so that he worried if he moved any part of his body it would snap right off and shatter on the floor. But then the lights turned back on. The hum was unsettling.

He stiffly turned around and saw someone — a woman — standing on the subway platform. She wore a long red dress and white high-heels. The colour of her dress reminded Austin of the time he spilled cranberry juice on the living room carpet. Oh how he wished the wrath of his mother was still the only fear he knew.

The woman was facing away from Austin. Her long, brown hair was beautifully full and motionless.

“Excuse me? Can you please help me?”

She didn’t say anything; she didn’t even acknowledge him.

“Hello?” Austin started walking toward the woman at a cautious speed.

Just as he was about to reach out and touch her, she stepped off the platform and disappeared into the deep trench. Austin stood there feeling surprised, confused, and frightened. He gathered himself and got the courage to peek over the edge of the platform. He saw the woman lying on the track. One of her legs was twisted in a way that was unnatural to Austin; almost sickening. He could also see her face now — it was pale. He thought of the porcelain dolls his grandmother owned. A feeling of sadness washed over him.

“Miss? Are you okay?” Austin called down to her.

He couldn’t see her breathing.

The sound of a subway train suddenly erupted. The screech of metal grinding against more metal pierced Austin’s ears. He threw his hands over them and momentarily forgot about the woman at the bottom of the trench. He shut his eyes and wavered around the platform, trying to rid the sound of the train in his head, but it kept getting louder. Realizing this, Austin ran over to the edge of the platform again and got on his hands and knees. He leaned over the edge tentatively. Without his hands over his ears now the roar of the train was deafening.

“Hey! Get up! It’s coming!” His voice overpowered by the oncoming, monstrous train.

The woman moved this time. Her eyes fluttered open, and she calmly sat up. A second later she was on her feet and facing the tunnel that the train was coming from. Austin noticed that she didn’t have her shoes on anymore. This made him shiver.

“Hurry! It’s coming!” Austin screamed.

The woman stood emotionless. It was as if she couldn’t hear Austin’s calls at all. His body was trembling now and he felt like he was going to be sick.

The train was steps away from her now, and the woman finally belted a horrific scream. It wasn’t like any scream Austin had ever heard, not even in those horror movies his brother made him watch. This scream was the true definition of terror; it was the type of scream you conjure up when you know it will be your last.

Austin turned away and squeezed his eyes shut just as the train met the woman’s body.

The lights in the station went out on impact.

He cried to himself in the darkness; trying to make himself as small as possible he clutched his legs against his small body.

A moment later, the lights came back on. Instinctively, Austin opened his eyes. He proceeded to get off the musty floor and stand up straight.

He saw the woman standing before him. Her head was down and her eyes were shut. She looked dirty — there were different coloured stains all over her red dress and pale skin. And her hair was knotted and ratty. Austin gave her a once-over and noticed something strange when he got to her legs. The woman had no feet. How could she be standing with no feet? He thought, and almost laughed. He looked back up at her head, and it wasn’t down anymore. But her eyes were still closed. Austin examined her face. It looked untouched. His fragile body was ready to collapse from fear. But then he saw a tear pinch itself out of one of the woman’s closed eyes. Her eyelashes became wet and clumped together. He was overwhelmed with sadness again. His heart ached. It felt like someone had reached into his chest, grabbed his heart, and squeezed it like a balloon. He thought he was going to start crying again, but he really didn’t want to and he didn’t think he even had any tears left.

“Miss… ?”

The woman’s eyelids shot open, revealing two empty sockets. They were as black as tar, and the depth seemed infinite. Austin gasped, leaving his jaw slacked open. The queasiness returned, and so did the tunnel vision. The woman opened her own mouth, bent down, and began to scream into the boy’s face. Before Austin could do anything in response, he felt a pair of hands shove his chest hard enough to knock him off balance. He propelled his arms frantically, trying to save himself from falling, but he did not succeed. He felt his foot slip off the edge of the platform, and kicked his other foot in the air. The woman in red stood there watching Austin fall.

Mid-drop, Austin noticed another train heading his way. Everything felt slow, almost serene. He didn’t know a feeling like this existed. The sound of the woman’s painful scream and the tracks of the subway train intertwined in his ears.

Then he didn’t hear anything at all.

---------

*This story is inspired by a real location, with real ghost stories attached to it.* For more information on the haunted side of things, you can visit:

https://coldspot.org/2013/10/10/ttc-lower-bay-subway-station-haunted-ghosts-toronto-ontario-canada/

And you can check out this page for a closer look into the abandoned subway stations of Toronto: https://transit.toronto.on.ca/subway/5006.shtml

---------

Find more of my work here!

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garyofrivia · 5 years

Text

For They Shall Be Satisfied

Arthur Morgan x OC

 Chapter 4

(masterlist in bio)

A/N: boy howdy, it’s been a minute on this one, huh? i’ve decided to not post this on AO3 anymore due to incredible typos and posting issues that i ran into. also, if you want to check out the other chapters, check my bio/page for the masterlist! i’m pretty sure tumblr is still weird with links in posts so this is likely how i’m going to handle chapter postings from now on. thanks to whoever reads, feel free to lmk what you think! i want to keep this one going for as long as i can... hopefully. Annie is a special one. enjoy <3

Warnings/Categories: Violence, Blood; Angst

(WC: 6,037)

“You boys ready to ride tonight?” Dutch boomed as he slung his saddle over The Count’s back. Annie looked up as she combed out Nero’s tail, studying Dutch as he worked.

“Aye, aye, cap’n,” Davey said, raising his hand in a mock salute while Mac giggled at his brother’s antics. Dutch just winked at the pair of them and carried on with his business.

Annie and the rest of the gunmen stood around talking for a while, double and triple checking their guns and ammo as they waited for the sun to sink down over the horizon. The temperature would surely drop once night fell, so she slipped on her dark jacket over a black shirt. Even on a ridge, her dark outfit would help her blend into her surroundings once the sun went down.

They decided to go with the original idea: three groups with three lookouts ready to raise the alarm at any sign of danger. They were to meet Benson and his men at the crossroads and head to the ambush site together. It was strange, being so uneasy about the plan. It was her idea, sure, but it wasn’t a good idea to move on it at all. The sunset caught her eye for a moment, all the orangey-red colors erupting over the Earth as a moment of clarity came over her. She couldn’t be distracted if she wanted this to turn out well. It was a silent promise she made to herself.

“It’s more beautiful that I’ve seen in a while,” Charles said, joining her at her side as she gazed at the horizon.

“Yeah, I haven’t seen it this red in quite some time.” Annie said, glancing at him as she absentmindedly adjusted the buckles on her saddlebags.

“Supposedly that means we’ll be getting good weather soon.”

“Good weather? Here? That’s likely.”

Charles chuckled lightly and returned his attention to oiling his gun. Annie caught Arthur’s eye as he was saddling Boadicea, strapping the girth as tight as he could. He hadn’t said much to her outside of hesitantly discussing details for the job. He glanced at Charles as he stalked away, and then back at Annie with a new look of tension in his eyes. She watched him angrily jam the buckle into place on his saddle and begin to adjust the rest of his gear.

“You good, Morgan?” she called.

He didn’t look up to meet her eyes. “Yep. You?”

“Yep.”

“Great.”

Annie nodded and hid a sly smile. Whatever he was upset about, it was something trivial for sure. He wasn’t one to keep his opinions to himself unless it meant he knew it was about something foolish. Not wanting to jump to conclusions, she bit her tongue as she thought of ways she could eventually confront him about his sour mood as of late.

“What are you laughin’ at, Princess?” Micah drawled, making Annie’s skin crawl.

“I caught a glimpse of your ugly damn face,” she said, eliciting a snicker or two in the background. “Couldn’t quite help myself.”

“Yeah, ha-ha, very funny. You’ll be thinkin’ about my face tonight in your dreams… amongst other things.”

Sean and Charles snapped their heads up in horror to watch what would happen next, but Annie simply chuckled. “You’re right! I’ll be dreamin’ about your face and how twisted it’ll look when I’m skinnin’ you alive.”

Micah laughed. “You’re a little firecracker, ain’t you?”

“Micah,” Dutch warned. “You keep provoking her like that, I’ll be tempted to cut her loose on you.”

Annie tauntingly snapped her teeth at him as he stalked away to finish readying up. Dutch shot her a knowing smile and she just shrugged. Even though he was newer to the gang, it was a common thing for Micah to let his mouth run longer than anyone wanted to hear it, especially if it was directed toward Lenny, Charles or any of the women. Annie enjoyed putting him in his place, though admittedly, he figured out how to push her buttons fairly quickly. It was almost admirable.

By the time the gang had shared cigarettes and a small bite to eat, it was dusk and Dutch called for them to mount up. As they took formation to ride off, Annie nodded to Karen who winked and cocked her shotgun to assume her place guarding camp. “Come back safe, y’all!”

“Men! Let’s ride!” Dutch bellowed and spurred The Count to a gallop and the wild faces of the Van der Linde Gang cheered and took off after him.

The thunder of thirteen horses racing across the plains would have been a fearsome sight to anyone. The ground trembled as they moved swiftly up the road in a tight two-by-two formation with Dutch at the head, Hosea and Arthur just behind him, and John and Annie taking up the rear. The rendezvous point was about a forty-minute ride north, though, it felt longer with the building anxiety in the air, no matter how hard Annie tried to ignore it. Arthur and Dutch began exchanging words up ahead, slowing the pace to a steady jog as they neared the location. She couldn’t make out what they were saying, but

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” John mumbled, low enough for only her to hear.

“Yeah,” she said, glancing over to meet his fickle eyes. “Me too. I… Let’s just get it over with.”

John looked nervous, but he nodded in agreement all the same. For a moment, she swore she saw Jack’s face flash before her. John had to stay safe for his son’s sake, if not his own.

Their posse moved at a steady pace down the road and with a glance around at the surrounding landscape, Annie knew they were getting close. Eventually, she heard a familiar whistle from up front. The riders slowed as Benson and a few of his men came into view just ahead on horseback.

“Hello, gentlemen,” Dutch said, riding up next to them.

“Mister Kilgore, so nice to see you again!” Benson said.

“I believe we can be straight with each other now, Mister Benson,” Dutch said, sliding down from The Count.

Benson sighed, resigning himself to the failure of his ruse. “Yes, I agree, Mister Van der Linde. I trust we can count on each other’s discretion.”

“Glad to see we have an understanding, then.”

“Certainly. Shall we proceed?”

“Of course.”

Annie was surprised to see that he only had three men with him. Though, that’s most likely why his “employer” was seeking the help of outlaws. He tensed when he recognized her, but he managed to smile politely. She tipped her hat and smirked, subtly reminding him that he was outnumbered if he felt the need to try anything.

Dutch confirmed the details of their plan and the diversion with Benson. There was an old abandoned house a few hundred yards off the road from where they would launch the ambush. Benson’s men would blow it up and make sure it caught fire to catch the attention of the escorts that were now all suspected to be lawmen.

“Lawmen?” Dutch asked suspiciously. “All of them?”

“We have scouts along the route,” Benson said. “In Van Horne, they traded their hired guns for deputies. Not to worry, this shouldn’t change a thing. In fact, we can use this to our advantage. Deputies will be more inclined to answer a call for help along their journey. It will work.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that it’ll work,” Dutch said. “I’m sure everything will go according to plan.”

“Indeed, Mister Van der Linde, it shall.”

“What my friend here is too polite to say,” Annie said and cleared her throat, drawing everyone’s attention to her, “is that if it don’t go according to plan, you’ll be the first one we come lookin’ for.”

Dutch turned back to Benson and clapped him on the shoulder. “She’s right, I am too polite to say it. But we have… an understanding. So surely that is not a situation that we will come across.”

Benson avoided her eyes and cleared his throat. “I assure you, I anticipate this to go off without a hitch. I know you all to be true to your word.”

Dutch laughed and mounted his horse. “Yes, that we are, my friend. Let’s get this show on the road, then! Shall we?”

“Alright, everyone split off,” Arthur said. “Mac, Bill, Hosea, Javier you’re with me. John, Lenny, and Davey, you’ll go with Dutch and Charles, Sean, and Micah are with Annie.”

“Cream of the crop,” Micah grumbled to himself but loud enough for everyone to hear. Annie glared at him as he rode over to join her, Sean and Charles not far behind. “Who organized these damn groups, anyways?”

“I did,” Annie deadpanned. She wanted to keep an eye on the loose cannon of the crew and Hosea had been more than happy to let her take that responsibility.

“Aw, you really are sweet on me, ain’t ya?” he winked at her.

Charles groaned and Sean chuckled. “Last person she’d be sweet on is you, ya ol’ sack o’ shit.”

Annie chuckled quietly. She always had a fondness for Sean and his lack of a social filter. Silently, she motioned for her counterparts to follow and started off to the top of the northernmost hill.

“Watch for Hosea’s signal,” Annie said. They could see the silhouettes of the men on the opposite ridge illuminated in the moonlight, one of them waving. She waved back to confirm they were in view.

“This could take a while,” Sean groaned.

“Yes, and you’d do well to keep quiet,” Charles said.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Ambush, or whatever. That Benson fella seems a bit curious, don’t ya think?”

“Shut up, Sean,” Annie said.

“I’m jus’ sayin’.”

“Hmm, I agree,” Charles added. “He was a bit fidgety. This could turn out to be more than it seems.”

“I’m countin’ on it,” Annie mumbled.

“That why it took so damn long for you fools to jump on this thing?” Micah asked.

“Shut your damn mouth and focus, idiot,” she snapped, shooting him a glare that could kill.

They finally fell silent and Annie turned her attention to the horizon where the house was set to blow. Any minute, they would be coming up on the horizon...

There they are. About a mile off, she saw the first of the riders pull into view, illuminated by their lantern lights. She counted six escorts and four wagons. Hosea waved his hat and she returned the gesture and while Lenny was out of view, she prayed he saw him.

“Here we go,” she said. “Masks up.”

“Oh, I’m fuckin’ ready,” Sean said, bouncing in his saddle.

Waiting for them to get in range seemed as if it took forever. Annie’s heart quickened with each passing moment, filling her with anxiety where there’d usually be adrenaline. The seconds ticked by excruciatingly slow, yet so incredibly fast. She could feel the tidal wave of chaos building and building, waiting to crash down into the gully at any second.

Hosea and he gave the first signal to Benson’s men, waving his white handkerchief. Within a few seconds, there was a massive explosion on the ridge behind him. The fire was quick to start, illuminating their silhouettes against the night sky with a haunting orange glow. Annie heard voices, Benson’s men, calling for “help”. The caravan stopped in its tracks and all but one rider took off immediately. She was almost shocked that it worked.

Hosea waved the rag in the air once more. Show time.

Annie sucked in a breath. “You’re up, boys. Get goin’.”

Micah, Sean, and Charles raced down the hill to meet the rest of their Van der Linde counterparts and Annie whipped out her sniper rifle. She’d removed the scope since it would just limit her visibility in the darkness of the new moon - It’s a trick she learned while hunting at night, even though it was far more difficult to hit a shot without the proper sights for most everyone. But she wasn’t most everyone.

The fire in the background illuminated the scene ever so slightly as the horizon glowed like an inferno. She scanned the terrain, alternating between her binoculars and bare eyes, looking for any sign of movement. They were clear for now, so long as they worked fast.

She kept on looking up and down the road and back at the gang. At the hills. Towards the horizon. Nothing. It seemed too good to be true. Surely someone would have heard the blast and would come to investigate. How much time had passed? It felt like it’d been an eternity.

The sound of snapping twigs behind her nearly made her jump out of her own skin. She whipped around, frantically shoving the bolt action of the rifle into place and bringing her grip up to aim.

“Who’s there?” she demanded a bit too loudly.

“Don’t shoot,” a familiar voice said softly.

“What the hell?” Madelyn.

The girl stepped into view from behind a tree. Her hands were raised in surrender and her fingers were trembling in fear. Even though Annie could barely see her face, it was certain that she was terrified out of her mind.

“Give me one goddamn reason I shouldn’t shoot you right here,” Annie threatened in a low voice.

“They’re comin’. The O’Driscolls, t-they know about the job.”

“What?”

“They… took me… and I-I was-. They’re comin’. You gotta get outta here. They wanna kill the lot of ya.”

“Why should I listen to you?”

She seemed exasperated and desperate as she spoke.“Why the hell else would I come up to you like this? I ain’t got no gun. I’m just tryin’a help.”

Annie thought for a split second. She was right, but nevertheless. this could be a ploy. Though, then there’d be no way Colm would ever pass up an opportunity for 10,000 dollars to risk sending someone to warn them as a distraction.

Annie made a split second decision, one that likely saved the lives of everyone in the Van Der Linde gang that night. She barely noticed Madelyn flinch as she swiftly traded her rifle for her revolver. She turned her aim to the sky and fired three times. She turned toward the road to make sure the boys were preparing to make their escape.

When a few moments passed, her stomach started to churn. No one was leaving. She heard someone shout but couldn’t make out who or what they said. She looked up to where Hosea should have been, but he was sprinting down the hill on horseback. She jumped into action, leaving Madelyn in the dust.

“What the hell is going on?” She heard Hosea yell as she rode up. “You heard the signal! We need to move!”

“We’re almost… finished,” Dutch panted as he slung the first saddlebag full of cash onto his shoulder.

“What is it, Annie?” Charles asked uneasily. “Why’d you sound it off?”

“It’s Colm,” she breathed. She could hear her own heart pounding in her ears. “He’s here.”

“Goddamnit!” Arthur cursed, kicking the wheel of a wagon. “That English bastard set us up.” “You seen ‘em yourself?” Micah said.

“That girl from the saloon found us and warned me. We gotta get outta here, now.”

“Annie, you can’t be serious,” Dutch said.

“Dutch, we don’t have time for this,” Annie said. “Why would she risk tellin’ me if it weren’t honest?”

“We stick to the plan,” Hosea declared, before Dutch could protest. “Split up everyone, and meet back at camp. C’mon!” He kicked his horse to a sprint. Lenny immediately followed, while Charles, Davey, and Mac swung up on their horses and chased after them. Javier hesitated, looking between them and Dutch, but eventually decided to take off.

“Damn it! We were so close,” Dutch said. He went to swing the saddlebag over his horse’s back, but a shot suddenly rang out through the pass. The bag exploded next to Dutch’s head, sending cash and coins flying in every direction. The Count reared, neighing loudly. Nero, as steady as he usually was, had also been spooked and started to pace. Annie tried to calm him as she turned and saw a horde indistinguishable silhouettes swarming the road from the west.

“Go, get outta here! Now!” Annie cried.

The remaining members of the gang jumped onto their horse’s back and took off in the opposite direction. She glanced over her shoulder and watched as Boadicea carried Arthur down the dark road. Everyone was in the clear. Wait… Not everyone.

Annie raced back up the hill. She didn’t know what came over her, but she knew she had to help Madelyn. If the O’Driscoll boys found her after she helped them, they’d most definitely kill her. Or worse.

She halted next to Madelyn and reached down with a steady hand. “Get on.”

“What? Why are you helping me?”

“Christ sake, get on the horse or get killed, I don’t rightly care.”

Madelyn nodded and hastily hoisted herself into the saddle behind Annie. She kicked Nero to a gallop and they started to make their retreat.

A shot rang out.

Annie cried out in pain and involuntarily kicked Nero’s side, making him skid into a sharp left turn. She toppled off his back and hit the ground with a thud, rolling clumsily to a stop, face down in the dirt. An indescribable pain overtook her body and her worst fear had been realized.

“Fuck! Fuck, I’m hit!”

Madelyn yelped and struggled to stay stop Nero’s back, but she gripped the reins so he would stop pacing nervously. “Shit! Are you okay?”

Annie ignored her and struggled to her feet, clutching her side where the bullet had torn apart her flesh - in through her back and out the other side. Warm blood was quickly soaking the inside of her shirt and started to pool where it was tucked into her pants. This ain’t good. This ain’t good, at all. She poked a finger through the hole in her jacket and groaned.

“Damn it, this is my favorite one,” she muttered. Her vision narrowed and everything suddenly seemed slower as the adrenaline started to kick in.

“What do we do?”

“You know how to ride a horse?”

“Y-yes.”

“Help me up, then.”

Maddie shifted her position into the saddle and held out a hand for Annie. She sucked in a breath and lifted herself onto her horse’s back, grunting as she held back a scream of agony. Her abdominal muscles were shredded just below her rib cage and she silently prayed that nothing important was harmed.

“Jesus Christ,” she growled through gritted teeth. They were chattering with the tension in the rest of her body, her mind getting blurrier with each wave of adrenaline being pumped through her veins. “Go that way ‘till you hit the river. Don’t stop.”

Doing as she was told, Madelyn urged Nero to a sprint and Annie clutched her side, trying to keep the bleeding to a minimum and to keep her balance on horseback without stirrups.

She took a breath and clenched her jaw. In a flash of urgency, she turned behind her and fired in the direction of the pursuing O’Driscolls, managing to tag one on the shoulder and knock him off balance. Aiming as steadily as she could, she fired again and brought him to the ground. She snapped her sights on the next target like she was aiming down a long tunnel. All she could hear was the sound of her own gun as it went off in her hand again and again.

BANG. BANG. Click. Reload.

Frantically, she grabbed six rounds from her belt and shoved them into the cylinder as fast as her fingers could manage. The pain - or maybe the blood loss - was blinding. Her vision was fading, slowly… and then quickly, in and out. One more shot. One more.

One more… Another rider toppled off their horse as she found her mark.

“Keep goin’,” she grunted as Nero started to slow his pace. They’d been running for a while and he wasn’t used to carrying two passengers.

C’mon boy. You can do it. She started to fire blindly to cover their backs, again and again. Her hands were shaky and slick with blood. Fumbling a bit more with her gun, gasping and grunting through gritted teeth, a few rounds slipped from her fingers as she reloaded. Focus. Focus, focus, focus… Feeling more and more unsteady, she gripped the saddle and tried to regain balance.

“You alright back there? Annie?”

She shook herself to consciousness. “They still chasin’ us?”

“No, they’re gone. I think you scared ‘em off.”

Annie tried opening her eyes, but she couldn’t even lift her forehead off Madelyn’s shoulder. “Keep… goin’.”

Each stride her horse took was a dull stab of agony. The constant movement was ripping apart each attempt her body was making to stop the bleeding. She didn’t even realized she’d fallen until she slammed into the ground like a sack of grain. It was a haze. The stars in the night sky swirled around her as if she was at the bottom of a tornado, looking up into the spiraling whirlwind of chaos.

“Annie! Shit!”

“Bedroll…”

“What-.”

“Bedroll. Get it… and a shirt… in the saddlebag.”

Madelyn did as she was told and retrieved the bedroll and extra shirt. She and spread the roll out and tried to help her move on top of it, but she swatted her hands away. Grunting, Annie took out her hunting knife and managed to cut out a long strip of the padded canvas, slicing it in half, working with her eyes half open and her whole world spinning.

“I can do this,” Madelyn said, trying to take the knife from her.

“No just-,” Annie groaned. “Help me patch it up.”

The blood on her black shirt made it look like an oil slick, as if she was an automobile leaking fuel. Maddie lifted it and there was a flood of red. It stuck to her fingers like tree sap, thickening every time she touched the fresher blood that oozed from the wound. She carefully placed the canvas padding on the dime sized opening in Annie’s abdomen. It was a scary thing that something so small could cause so much trouble.

“I’m going to roll over,” Annie mumbled, “and you need to get the other one on my back.”

Madelyn nodded and gulped, her hands shaking uncontrollably. She inhaled sharply and heaved herself off the ground, crying out as her weight shifted. Maddie helped her shed her jacket and pressed the second square into place, holding them together as if Annie would crumble into pieces if she let go.

“The shirt…” She tried to speak, but Madelyn was already tying the patches in place with by the sleeves. Annie had lost so much blood already, that she was starting to see in distorted colors. Red. So much red. It consumed everything, as if the earth had been swallowed by it. She knew she didn’t have long.

“Go on, get out of here,” Annie breathed. “I can’t…”

“No, no, no, we didn’t spend all that time patchin’ you up just for you to give up.”

“You can’t... lift me.”

“You’re gonna have to help me, then. C’mon.” She put Annie’s arm over her shoulders and snaked her own around her waist, careful to not put pressure on the patches. “One, two, three!”

Annie cried out as she stood, unable to form a coherent, thought let alone see anything beyond a few inches in front of her own face. Another round of adrenaline must have kicked in and she somehow made it onto the saddle, grasping onto the horn for dear life. Madelyn mounted behind her and put her arms around Annie, holding the reins out in front in case she fell again. She put her feet in the stirrups and peered over Annie’s shoulder, getting a clear view of the path ahead.

“Stay awake now, ya hear?”

Annie struggled against entering into a state of delirium. Trying to ground herself in reality, she realized something was missing… My hat! She groaned and let her head fall back against Madelyn’s shoulder. Madelyn… How kind…

“Annie! C’mon, stay with me.”

Annie ignored her panicked voice and said the only thing that came to mind. “Your name ain’t really ‘Madelyn’, is it?”

“No. It ain’t”

“What is it… then?”

“Jenny. Jenny Kirk.”

***

Arthur tapped his foot in anticipation as Dutch paced between the fire and the camp entrance. After everyone had split up, all but Charles, Javier, and Annie had made it back safe. It was risky returning to camp this early after a job gone bad, but they hadn’t been followed. Arthur figured that must have been what was holding up the rest of them.

“Damn it, Dutch, we had a plan,” Hosea said as he massaged his temple. “Why’d you pull that shit back there?”

“Pull what exactly, Hosea?” Dutch said, whipping around to face him. Arthur had been listening to them go at it since they returned. “You need to calm down, my friend. Everyone here is capable of handling themselves.”

“Dutch, he’s right,” Arthur interjected. “We knew Benson wasn’t trustworthy. It ain’t a matter of how well we can handle ourselves, cause that wasn’t no gunfight. It was a setup, plain as day.”

Dutch shook his head. “We needed that money, boys. If you’re not prepared to take a little risk for that, then I don’t know what to tell you!”

“It already was a risk!” Hosea said, exasperated. “That’s why we needed to stick to the plan.”

Dutch threw his arms up in defeat. “Well, it failed anyways, so why are we still arguin’ about this?”

The rest of the camp had gathered outside their tents to see what all the commotion was about. “What happened, Arthur?” Mary-Beth asked, pulling his attention away from the two men arguing.

“Just a job gone bad.”

“So no money?” Karen asked.

“Only a bit. Not nearly as much as we were countin’ on.”

Tilly joined them. “Have y’all seen Charles yet? Or Javier and Annie?”

Arthur looked through the trees and caught a glimpse of the empty road. “Not yet.”

“I hope they’re alright,” Mary-Beth said.

“I’m sure everything’s fine, Mary-Beth,” Tilly assured her, but her voice wavered enough for Arthur to tell she wasn’t entirely sure of her own words.

Just ask she said it, two riders appeared on the road and made their way through the trees. Charles and Javier.

“Boys!” Dutch called. “Good to see you back.”

“Sorry we’re the last ones to the party,” Javier said.

There was a pause and the air grew tense.

“You mean Annie ain’t with you two?” Karen said.

“No,” Charles said. “She’s not back yet?”

“We ain’t seen her, but I’m sure she’ll be fine,” Dutch said.

“That’s it, I’m goin’ after her,” Arthur stated, starting for his horse.

“Are you jokin’?” Dutch said, raising an eyebrow and stopping Arthur in his tracks. “O’Driscolls and lawmen are crawling all over these parts.”

“She’d do it for one of us,” Charles said. He nodded at Arthur. “I’ll go with you.”

“No, no, I need you both here,” Dutch said.

“He’s right, boys,” Hosea said. Arthur glared at him. “We can’t risk any other wild adventures tonight. She’s capable, she’ll make it back in one piece.”

Arthur let out a sharp exhale and eyed the two of them, unable to think through his own rage. Annie was capable, sure, but this didn’t feel right. Dutch had screwed her, screwed them all. He told them to keep on with the robbery when she gave the signal. If they’d just listened to her signal...

The energy of the camp rippled, voices murmuring around Arthur, wondering where Annie had gone. The atmosphere was growing thicker with tension and the anxiety welling in his chest made it so he could hardly breath. He couldn’t take it anymore. Just as he turned away to get some air, he saw something down the hill, across the river. A single black horse with two riders. Holy shit…

“Hello?” a small, female voice called out, just barely over the sound of the rapids upstream.

“Who’s that?” Dutch bellowed as Charles drew his rifle to his shoulder.

“It’s Nero…” Hosea said, his voice flooded with concern.

Arthur ran over to the ridge to get a clearer look. The black stallion was breathing heavily, glistening in sweat as he bowed his head in exhaustion.

“M-my name’s Jenny. Annie’s here with me, but she’s hurt real bad.”

“No, Arthur, wait!” Dutch said, trying to grab Arthur’s shoulder as he rushed forward. He shook the hand off and took off down the hill to the riverbank.

“Can you get him across?” he said, trying his best to hide the dread in his voice as he saw the limp body, slumped against the stranger’s chest.

Nero didn’t hesitate as he crossed the water, even though it was somewhat deep. The horse plowed through the flowing water and onto shore, almost as smoothly as if he was on land.

Annie was unconscious and the blood on her shirt glistened in the dim light of the distant campfire. Her face was white as a sheet and covered in a cold sweat. “Charles! Could use your help here!”

He heard Hosea call Grimshaw for assistance as John and Charles came rushing down the hill. They took in the sight of the wounded woman, speechless.

“Arthur?” Annie murmured, reaching out her hand to touch what she didn’t think could be real. “That you?”

“It’s me, alright.” He took her bloody fingers in his hand and squeezed.

“Damn it, I’ve died and gone to hell,” Annie said, a hint of a mischievous smirk on her face.

He smiled and shook his head. “No, not quite yet, Annie girl.”

Even though she was dressed in black, the slick stain of blood covered most of the right side of her body, from her ribcage to her thighs. Streaks of red matted stray hairs against her forehead, mixed with the tear marks on her cheeks and the sweat on her neck. He wanted to say he’d seen worse, and he probably had. But this, for some reason, shook him to the core.

He lifted her off the back of the horse and cradled her in his arms. She wasn’t light and his front was now soaked in blood, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. “Charles, hitch her horse at the posts, make sure he’s watered.”

“What about her?” John asked, gesturing to Jenny who was covered in blood herself.

“You, Miss Jenny, are with us now,” Dutch said, walking down to join them on the riverbank. “Go wash up, Miss Jones here will help you. You can have Annie’s spot until we find you a place.”

“Thank you, sir,” Jenny said with a breath of relief.

“‘Sir’ was my father,” he said. “You can call me Dutch.”

Arthur brought Annie up the hill as most of the camp watched. She was drifting in and out of consciousness, but at least she was alive. He gently laid her down on his own cot, making sure she was comfortable. She winced and her eyes fluttered open slightly.

“Step back, Arthur,” Grimshaw said, pushing her way into the small area, fresh bandages in hand. She replaced the bedroll patches slowly but securely, cleaning the wounds with what Arthur figured was gin as she worked.

“Ahh!” Annie yelped as the alcohol splashed into the open wound. “Huh. Nice to see you, Susan.”

“You too Annie, you lucky, lucky girl,” Grimshaw said. “Can I use your jacket, Mister Morgan? And will you give us some privacy?”

“Oh, uh, sure.” He said, shedding his coat and handing it over and turning away as Grimshaw carefully removed Annie’s tattered and stained shirt. She covered her so that only she could see as she wiped away the blood from the wounds with a wet cloth.

“Tilly, can you get one of Miss Bolton’s shirts from her things, preferably a light one?”

“Is she gonna be okay, Miss Grimshaw?” Mary-Beth asked with a look of horror on her face.

“Yes, Mary-Beth, she’s gonna be just fine.”

He saw her nod and bring a hand to her mouth, holding back a sob. The rest of camp was watching, but keeping their distance. He saw John say something to Abigail as she tried to walk over to help. She protested for a moment, but he pulled her into a small hug and shuffled her and Jack back into their tent. The suspense had settled since she was back and more or less in one piece, but Arthur’s own fists were clenched with anxiety.

“Arthur,” Dutch called, snapping his attention away from the scene. He and Hosea were standing back, trying to keep everyone from crowding around the lean-to.

Arthur sighed with frustration and walked over. “What is it, Dutch?”

“You alright, son?” Hosea asked.

“Yep.”

“Arthur…” Dutch said, studying him.

“I’m good.”

“She’s gonna pull through.”

“Yeah, I know.” The shakiness of his voice was hard to disguise. “She knew it was a damn trap, too.”

Hosea furrowed his eyebrows, giving him concerned look he hadn’t gotten in a while. “We can get you a bedroll. You can sleep in the-.”

“I’m good,” he said, cutting him off. “I got the chair.”

“Arthur-,” Dutch started.

“I know what my goddamn name is, Dutch, quit sayin’ it,” he snapped.

Dutch sighed and raised an eyebrow. “I was just gonna tell you to keep an eye on her for the night. That’s all. Make sure you get some rest.”

Arthur sighed and ran a hand through his hair, lifting his hat slightly. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

Dutch squeezed his shoulder and sent him back to Annie’s bedside. Grimshaw finished with the buttons on the fresh shirt and stepped back.

“I can keep an eye on her, Miss Grimshaw.”

“Thank you, Arthur. When you can, try to get her on her side, she won’t listen to me. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Of course,” he said. He suddenly recognized the white button up Annie now had on. “Hey, is that my shirt?”

“Yes,” Tilly said as she balled up a few bloodied rags to be washed. “I couldn’t find any clean light ones of hers, I’m sorry.”

He shook his head and forced a small smile. “No, Tilly, it’s fine. Thanks. Get some sleep, I’ll take it from here.”

Tilly nodded and took her leave. Arthur turned back to Annie, hesitantly. Her eyes were closed but she had a slight grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. He reached down to the end of the bed and pulled the thin wool blanket up to her shoulders.

“They put me in your shirt?” she mumbled, eyes still closed. “You’ll have to burn it now, surely.”

“Do you ever stop jokin’?”

“Only when there’s nothin’ to joke about.”

Arthur chuckled. When this had happened before, she almost didn’t make it. It was terrifying to watch her fight against seemingly unbeatable odds. But nevertheless, she fought hard and won. He feared she wouldn’t be so lucky this time around. He felt a sudden urge to take her hand. Like his, it was calloused and rough, but smaller and somehow more delicate. He held it gently and she absentmindedly squeezed one of his fingers.

She met his gaze and for a moment, Arthur saw the same sadness reflected in her cloudy, hazel eyes that had always been in his own. In a strange way, it was comforting to him. To know that he was just as afraid as she was, to know that the path ahead of her could prove to be treacherous. It meant she still was still breathing, her heart still pumping. It meant she had a chance. In that moment, somehow, they both knew everything would be okay.

“Get some rest,” he whispered.

She grinned and her eyes blinked closed. “I’ll rest when I’m dead.”

#rdr2 fic #rdr2 fanfic #red dead redemption fanfic #arthur morgan fic #arthur morgan x oc #rdr oc #my OC #my fics #annie bolton #for they shall be satisfied #ftsbs

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littleliv1 · 5 years

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I Was Born To Love You- Part Two

Hey guys! I’m getting great feed back from my previous posts and thank you all so much for it! I’m taking requests and prompt ideas so just lmk what you’re looking for!

Summary: Leah and Austin are growing further apart, but she meets the guys today, and becomes their assistant as well.

Warning: slight angst, kissing, but that’s about it

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It was weeks later, and Austin started to come home later and later. Always with a different excuse, but backed up by Shelly, and always came home smelling the same. I stared to dread coming home, but I did because I knew I’d get to be with my baby, Lola. Whatever he was going through, I knew it wasn't something I could help with. And it hurt so bad. He stared to get physical. There were marks on my arm from him grabbing me and throwing me against the wall. I started to question who I was truly married to.

I loved work, though. Today was the day that I got to meet the cast. And, from what Mr. Singer has told me, they were excited to meet 'the best assistant that one could have'. It was 5 am. I got up, looking next to me. Austin was passed out. We had a nice night last night, one that was definitely needed. I knew he was getting worse, but I still loved him. I kissed him on the shoulder as I got up to put a shirt on. I grabbed my cloths for the day, my phone, and went to shower.

I wanted to make a good impression on the cast. Being a very hot day in California, I wore navy blue, black, and white shorts, not too short so I didn't look sleazy, but short enough to show off my tan legs. I also wore a low cut, loose fitting tank top with a sports bra, but grabbing a light jacket to cover my arms. I put my hair in a ponytail and let the natural curl do it's thing. I slipped on my tennis shoes and left. It was 7 am. I always left the house at 7 am. I grabbed coffee, the usual, one iced vanilla late for me and one straight black for Mr. Singer. I drank all of mine before I got to the staging area. They hadn't began filming yet, but they were just getting a feel for the vibe of the movie, going over lines, things of that nature. I showed up at 7:45 am. Right on time, like usual. I sped walked into the building, meeting Mr. Singer as he sped walked, handing him his coffee. "What a delight to see you this fine morning, my dearest friend." I smiled at the word friend. Stacy never called me her friend. "You too, Mr. Singer. How was your weekend? You hadn't called or anything on Sunday, I assume you didn't need anything?" I asked him. He laughed a bit. "My darling, why would I have called you on a Sunday?" He asked. "Enough with 'me' talk. Let's talk about the guys." He said, both still speed walking. To where, I weren't sure. I just followed.

"Alright," I said. "I'm asking you this because I trust that you'll be honest with me." He stopped, so I stopped. He turned to face me. "I know you're my assistant. And you're a damn good one, my dear. But there aren't many things I need much help with. So you wouldn't be doing much other than getting food and coffee. How would you feel about also assisting the boys?" He asked. My eyes widened. "As in?" I asked. "As in Gwilym Lee, Ben Hardy, Rami Malek, Joe Mazzelo, as well as Brian May and Roger Taylor. I know it's a lot, they're not high maintenance and they tend to do things for their own, but I'll pay for 6 times the amount we pay you now, one time for each person. I know it sounds like a challenge, but I think you could do it, but only if you want to." He said. I laughed, almost in disbelief. I stuttered at first. "Y-yeah, Yes! Yes! I'd love to! This is amazing, thank you so much, sir!" I said as he pulled you into a hug. "Call me Bryan, love."

I stared walking again. I was staring at the ground, smiling so big. This was amazing. And it was your honor to serve the legends that are Brian May and Roger Taylor. I could only imagine, though, how much of a prick they might be. Wow I'm pretty nervous. He stopped at a door, looking over to me. "Do you need a moment to compose yourself, darling?" He asked, smiling. I kept a straight face, shaking my head. I remembered what Stacy said, that if i didn't remain professional I'd loose everything. "Alrighty, then." He said, opening the door, the six of them stood there.

I had never heard of any of them besides the two. They were all, so, surprisingly handsome. "Good morning once again boys, this is Maleah, your new assistant, also long time queen fan as I've understood." He smirked over, looking at me. My face turned bright red, as I refused to make eye contact. I knew if I did, I'd lose my mind. But there they were. They all shook my hand, introducing themselves. They were all so kind. I noticed a pair of light blue eyes that munched resembled mine. Bryan handed me the clip board, there were a list of things to get done for them, not at the fault of them, of course, but the list was lengthy. I didn't mind, though. "Don't worry about getting everything done today, I want you to spend the next few days getting to know them. You'll find that at the end of the week, you'll have done everything on that list." He said to me, turning to the rest. "As for all of us. Get to know each other. You will all be spending a lot of time together. We start filming next Monday. But, we're flying out to London." That word trailed off in my mind.

'I'm so sorry, Maleah. Your Mum and dad passed in the wreck." I heard the doctor say over the phone. I fell to my knees, crying, as Austin cried with me.

"We are starting at the Live-Aid performance. On your free time, study that performance. Watch it thousands of times. Memorize what your person does, when, and how they do it. Mr. May and Mr. Taylor, please follow me as we will start with our own work" He said to the two older men. I looked up at them smiling slightly. Roger pulled me into a hug. "Welcome, Love. So glad to have you with us." He said, as Brian hugged me as well. "So so glad to have you, dear." He said.

'Holy shit! That just happened!'

I was still in awe until I heard a deep British voice chime in. "Big fan of queen, yeah?" The tall one named Gwilym said. I looked at him, nodding my head, slightly smiling. "Well don't be shy, Maleah, tell us about yourself." The blonde one named Ben said, patting the chair next to him. You sat the clip board on the coffee table, sitting down. "For starters, call me Leah. What do you want to know?" I asked. I wasn't sure of how to respond, it wasn't normal for my bosses to know personal things about me. The one named Joe raised his hand. I giggled slightly as I raised your eyebrows. "Do you have any animals?" He asked. I smiled. "Why yes I do. She's a German Shepherd named Lola." I showed them my lock screen of me, Lola, and Austin. Rami took the phone. "This is too precious. Is this your husband, or brother, or?" He asked. I looked slightly down and slightly shameful. "My, uh, husband." I said. I could feel the tense atmosphere in the room. But Joe broke the tension.

Hours had gone bye and we were cracking up listening to stories of the most embarrassing moments they've had. I started to get slightly hot after laughing for so long, so I decided to take off my jacket, forgetting about the marks on my arm. Ben took notice of it, while the others were laughing at a story Gwilym was telling. Ben and I made eye contact as I slowly pulled my jacket back up. "Well, mates, I'm going to show Leah where all of the important things are, if that's alright with you guys?" He asked, giving a thumbs up for confirmation. I inhaled slowly knowing I'd have to explain to him what happened. They all said it was fine and that they needed a break from laughing so much. Ben and I started walking throughout the studio, walking outside. It was silent for a few minutes.

"So," He started. I looked up at him. "Are you gonna tell me what those are?" He asked, raising an eye brow. I looked down. "I don't know what you're talking about." I said quietly. He stopped me, gently taking off my jacket. "Love, what are these?" He asked, lightly running his fingers over the bruise. It felt nice to be touched in a non-sexual and non-abusive type of way. It made me feel warm inside. Comforted. "I wouldn't suppose you'd believe me if I said birth mark?" I asked, turning my head. "If they were you wouldn't have put your jacket back on. Tell me what happened, if you're in trouble-" "No!" I snapped. He wouldn't understand that my husband is very ill, that there's something wrong with him, and that I can't leave him. I calmed down. "I'm not in trouble, I just-" I trailed off. "I don't know." I said quieter. He sat me down on a near by bench.

"Talk to me. What's going on?" He asked. I knew he cared, which was nice of him, but it raised slight fury in me; it wasn't any of his business what was going on. "Don't worry about it right now, please. If it because an issue, I'll tell someone, maybe, it's just complicated. Please don't say anything." I begged, gripping his arm. He looked down and smiled at the sight. He nodded, looking back up at me. "I won't. But if I see more after these it's going to become an issue and I'd hope you'd tell someone." He replied. I let go, nodding your head understandably.

After the day was over, I went home, not surprisingly, with no one else there. It was about 8 pm, I was pretty late. I was hungry and didn't want to wait on Austin. So I cooked some Mac and cheese, green beans, and left over spaghetti from the night before. After I finished eating, I watched some TV with Lola. She had her own place next to me with her head in my lap. About 15 after 10, I got tired of waiting for him to come home. I wrote a note to my very late husband saying how I fixed him a plate and put it in the microwave, and how with the new job working for all of the guys now I'll probably get home around 8 or 9 every night now. I signed it 'with love' and went to bed.

I woke up around 4 am to Austin climbing into bed. Unbelievable. I faked being asleep. I could feel his eyes staring at me. Instead of cuddling up to me, he just took more blanket and went to sleep.

Once I got home from work that day, Austin was actually home. I smiled at him. "Hello, darling," I said. He was leaning against the table, something was wrong. I grazed my hand over his back. "Everything alright?" I asked. He gently batted my hand away. He nodded his head. After a moment, he turned to me.

"Can I make dinner tonight?" He asked. "Well, sure, if you want, I really don't mind it," I said. "No, you spend all day everyday working for, men, just to come home to work for another. When only one of those men respects you. I'll make your favorite food." I giggled. "My actual favorite food or my favorite dinner?" I replied, smiling. "Your actual favorite. Popcorn, root-beer, and the newest season of 'say yes to the dress'." He replied, sniffling. I could tell he had been crying. I smiled. "You're so sweet, my love."

I cupped his jaw with my hand, giving him a gentle kiss. "I'm thankful to come home to you." I said. He pulled my hand from his face, kissing your palm. He popped the pop corn as I turned on the tv in the living room. Lola got on the couch to join me, sitting right next to my side, like she had been the last few weeks. I saw Austin coming and I motioned her to get down. The show hadn't started yet, so I decided to take this time to talk to him. "Talk to me, love, anything new going on at work?" I asked, muting the TV. He shook his head, drinking a beer. "Any new bands about to start their first tour?" I asked. Again, no verbal response, just a shake of the head. "Well, I have some pretty exciting news to tell you," I said. He looked over at you. "I'm going to London next week, and I think we will be gone for 4-6 weeks." I said. I knew it was a shock, but I was hoping he wouldn't be too mad. "That's nice, dear." He said looking at the TV, unmuting it. He finished the beer he had just opened, just to get a new one. I started to feel a pit of shame forming in my belly from the rejection I felt by my husband.

I hope you are enjoying this serious as much as I enjoy writing it. Again, any requests, shoot me an inbox and I’ll get to it! Thank you loves xx

#ben hardy fanfic #ben hardy x reader #queen fanfiction #ben hardy

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douchebagbrainwaves · 3 years

Text

THE COURAGE OF Y

And this national standardization of wages was so pervasive that its effects could still be seen years after the war ended. So it's kind of misleading to ask whether you'll be at home in grad school, because very few people are quite at home in computer science. And when the Duplo economy was an evolutionary phase. Though in a sense it's bad news in that you're deprived of one of your most powerful weapons, I think it's exciting that gaming the system stops working when you start a company. When you only have one meeting a day with investors, somehow that one meeting will burn up your whole day.1 I tried to opt out of it, like music, or tea, but I think people who dwell on it are reading too much into it. You can't plan when you start a startup in college. The founders sometimes think they know.2 As little as $50k could pay for food and rent for the founders for a year. EBay didn't win by paying less for servers than their competitors. But most startups that die, die because they were living in the future.

Be a real student and not start a startup at 20 and you're sufficiently successful, you'll never get to do it was turn the sound into packets and ship it over the Internet. You'll probably be talking to several investors and you manage to get one over the threshold of saying yes, it will be better for the people who pay the most for it, is not the hope of getting a better one, and actually did.3 I don't expect that to change. And not just those in the corporate world, but in software you want to work on some very engaging project.4 One advantage of Y Combinator's early, broad focus is that we adjust to however things are, and this bit of the economy were either organized as government-backed cartels or dominated by a few oligopolistic corporations. When we launched Viaweb, it seemed laughable to VCs and e-commerce was all about. In particular, I don't think we'll ever reach the point where much of what they're responding to when they lose interest in a startup, or start a real startup. If it is, it will take to become profitable.5 This too seems a technique that should be generally applicable.

But if you were using the software for them. And one of the original nodes, but by making great products. Maybe if I think more about this I can come up with new ideas is not to try explicitly to, but to be an advantage. Vertically integrated companies literally dis-integrated because it was so rare for so long: that you could make your fortune. But they don't need to become the prisoner of your own expertise, but it can save you from an immediate threat.6 A couple million would let them get office space and hire some smart people they know from school. The place to look is where the line ends. Startup investors all know one another, and though they hate to admit it the biggest factor in their opinion of you is other investors' opinion of you is the opinion of other investors. Not just because of its prestige, but because the principles underlying the most dynamic part of the economy were either organized as government-backed cartels or dominated by a few, giant tree-structured organizations, it's now looking like the economy of the future will be a fluid network of smaller, independent units.7

Most people at the beginning of their career only works if everyone does it. Has it been net good or bad? Be conservative.8 They were the kind of thing is out there for anyone to see. At its best, starting a startup is to try.9 And this rule isn't just for the initial stages. My hypothesis is that all you have to worry about—not even Google.10 The more ambitious merely hoped to climb the same ladder faster. There was no Internet then. But I could be wrong.11 And I think that's precisely why people put it off for as long as they want to start it.12

Basically at 25 he started running as fast as I can type, then spend several weeks rewriting it. The amounts invested by different types of investors vary from five thousand dollars to fifty million, but the people who want to work that hard. An optimism shield has to be pierced too. It was a lot of ambivalence about them, because I tried to opt out of it, you can take your time developing an idea before turning it into a company. But the total volume of worry never decreases; if anything it increases.13 If you looked in the head of a 1950s auto executive, the attitude must have been: sure, give 'em whatever they ask for, so long as the new model isn't delayed. How would the government decide who's a startup investor.14 So any Web-based startup get spent on today? I don't mean, of course.15 That's why there are a lot of the serendipity out of his life.16

That was a social step no one with a college education would take if they could avoid it.17 Deals are dynamic; unless you're negotiating with someone unusually honest, there's not a single war millionaire would be permitted. Don't click on Back.18 There are two main things you can do, but assume the worst about machines and other people. That's not a recent trend; change has been accelerating since the paleolithic era. Icio. The eight men who left Shockley Semiconductor to found Fairchild Semiconductor, the original Silicon Valley startup, weren't even trying to start a startup.19 In the late nineties you could get paid huge sums of money for building the most trivial things. Even Microsoft probably couldn't manage 500 development projects in-house. Do not start a startup, you probably shouldn't do it. Even if you ultimately do the first deal, it will seem to you that you're unlucky. Technology tends to get dramatically cheaper, but living expenses don't.

When things go well you can take your time developing an idea before turning it into a company.20 That sort of thing you can learn more about this I can come up with good startup ideas is to take a step back. I've read that the same is true in the military—that the swaggering recruits are no more likely to discover new things, because great startup ideas tend to seem wrong. The second counterintuitive point is that it's a new messaging protocol, where you either have to spend a lot of subsidiary questions to be cleared up after the handshake, and if the other side senses weakness—if the idea's no good, for example, or the chronic ache of consulting. She assumed the problem was with her. If you work on overlooked problems, you're more likely to get money.21 Individualism has gone, never to return.

So future founders may not have to accept new CEOs if they don't and you stick around, people will pay attention to you, because odds are they'll have to deal with investors while the others keep the company moving forward—releasing new features, increasing traffic, doing deals, getting written about—those investor meetings are more likely to get money. So in a hundred years—or even twenty—are people still going to search for information using something like the current Google?22 And this national standardization of wages was so pervasive that its effects could still be seen years after the war ended.23 A good startup idea has to be treated as a threat to a company's survival. But if you had to change something, what would it be? Or more precisely, new protocols that take off are. Investors' power comes from money. The way to become an expert on startups, but as I explained before, this is not what you might think. He never did any more with his software than talk to his girlfriend, but this apparently verdant territory is one from which few startups emerge alive. Partly because the unions were monopolies.24 You can see why people invent gods to explain it.

Notes

And since everyone involved is so hard on the ability to solve are random, they have wings and start to shift back.

I'm clueless or being misleading by focusing so much to suggest that we know nothing about the right thing. This phenomenon is apparently even worse, they are within any given time I know of no counterexamples, though I think it's confusion or lack of movement between companies combined with self-interest explains much of a placeholder than an ordinary programmer would never guess she hates attention, because the publishers exert so much better is a scarce resource.

Probably just thirty, if the selection process looked for different things from different, simpler organisms over unimaginably long periods of time, because despite some progress in the first person to run spreadsheets on it, is caring what random people thought of them, but except for that reason. The best investors rarely care who else is investing, which in startups. There are some whose definition of property without affecting and probably especially those that made a Knight of the living. The point where it sometimes causes investors to founders with established reputations.

The Mac number is a rock imitating a butterfly that happened to get into that because a quiet contentment. One VC who read this essay, but in practice that doesn't exist. So whatever market you're in the sense that if you have two choices and one of them is that they've already made the decision.

But so far done a pretty mediocre job of suppressing the natural human inclination to say.

This technique wouldn't work for the same trick of enriching himself at the same time. San Francisco, LA, Boston, or Seattle, 4 in DC, 6 in Chicago, 8 in London, 13 in New York the center of gravity of the founders.

In many fields a year of focused work plus caring a lot of people mad, essentially by macroexpanding them. If you have to talk about humans being meant or designed to live in a spiral. A round VCs put two partners on your thesis.

The history of the more the aggregate is what you can often do better, because you could only get in the press or a funding round at valuation lower than the don't-be poets were mistaken to be spread out geographically. It might also be argued that kids who went to Europe. Similarly, don't make their money if they do. The second alone yields someone who's stubbornly inert.

The angels had convertible debt with a company doesn't have to make your fortune? Think it's too hard at fixing bugs—which is as straightforward as building a new airport.

What we call metaphysics Aristotle called first philosophy. But that is exactly the opposite: when we started Viaweb, if I could pick them, initially, to buy corporate bonds; a decade of inflation that left many public companies trading below the value of understanding vanity would decline more gradually.

You have to do as a naturalist. Or a phone, IM, email, Web, games, but one way in which multiple independent buildings are traditionally seen as temporary; there is some kind of work is not a programmer would find it was spontaneous.

When that happens.

That name got assigned to it because the broader your holdings, the underlying cause is usually some injustice that is more of a city's potential as a cold email startups.

The Wouldbegoods. All languages are equally powerful in the imprecise half.

This is one of the optimism Europeans consider distinctly American is simply that it would be enough to defend their interests in political and legal disputes.

I'm not trying to sell something bad can be either capped at a 30% lower valuation. Strictly speaking it's impossible to write it all at once, or b to get a definite plan to have, however, and yet managed to get frozen yogurt.

But not all of us in the absence of objective tests. Economically, the less educated ones usually reply with some axe the audience gets too big for the same, but that we know exactly what they're selling and how unbelievably annoying it is to imagine that there is one resource patent trolls need: lawyers. This includes mere conventions, like warehouses.

If anyone wants.

You could feel like a conversation reaches a certain threshold. 5% of Apple now January 2016 would be lost in friction.

I ordered a large pizza and found an open source project, but I took so long.

Did you just get kicked out for doing so much better that it makes sense to exclude outliers from some central tap. Life isn't an expression; how can I count you in?

Norton, 2012.

A significant component of piracy, which is the last thing you changed. Unless we mass produce social customs. Not one got an interview with Steve Wozniak started out by solving his own problems.

The kind of work into a significant cause, and large bribes by the Dutch baas, meaning master. Incidentally, I'm guessing the next Apple, maybe you don't think you need but a lot on how much effort on sales. The disadvantage of expanding a round on the scale that Google does.

#automatically generated text #Markov chains #Paul Graham #Python #Patrick Mooney #LA #day #anything #tests #naturalist #sound

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