#bacon cruelty | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cellophaine · 1 year

Note

hi, happy new year! first & foremost i love all your work, highlight of my 2021; it always got me giggling & kicking my feet LMFAO i was wondering if you could do a slow burn (the reader could be a vigilante working alongside daredevil), & it’s the enemies to lovers trope, with the italicized oh/ah for realization, angry love confession & all, if you know what i’m talking about. & one of them goes “please-“ in a breath of a whisper & the other just slams their lips into theirs. sorry if this is a lengthy request LMAO do what you want with it!

I'm very sorry for the 10-and-a-half-month-long wait! This was a long request, so I did try to put everything together in a way that makes sense. I hope you'll enjoy it!

Futile Devices

Pairing: Matt Murdock x GN!Reader

Word Count: 8222.

Warnings: Violence. Light angst. Enemies to lovers. A tiny mention of decapitation. Blood. Injuries.

Author's Note: I wrote this with a female reader in mind, but there's no mention or indication of Reader's gender.

Holy shit, this is the longest thing I've ever written. I hope you guys won't be bored to death lol.

*The events in this fic took place after Daredevil season 3*

GIF Credit

The familiar click of the coffee pot registered somewhere in his keen hearing, but he didn't seem to notice. Matt was going through a series of motions, scrambling his eggs, flipping his bacon, getting his plate and mug ready for his breakfast, all while his mind walked on a frenzied march he couldn't keep up in the recollections of that night. That night was long gone, five days into the past, but it was still fresh and present to Matt, no matter the logic he came up with. He tried, and failed. Again and again. It haunted him in his few hours at nights of lying awake, and his days of paperwork and court affairs. Matt had to admit this could be something worse than he initially thought.

The last thing he needed was a new assassin in town.

Thin as a hair thread. That was how close Matt was to failing to save another's life. A criminal's life, but a life regardless. He almost lost it to the hands much more brutal than him. Much more merciless. Even more so than when Matt lost himself, haunted by his mistakes and Elektra's death, tormented by his own malice, of what he would be capable of had he let his pain consume him whole. The fact that someone was out there with such force and cruelty was alarming. It wasn't your ruthlessness that confounded Matt; he was no stranger to it, but everything about you.

You evaded his sweeps and blows as if they were nothing, as if he was only a martial arts enthusiast and not the Devil of Hell's Kitchen. The gracefulness in your moves made you look like a ballerina to his enhanced senses. The sharp gusts of air from your movement cut his skin like a dull blade, and Matt suspected the purpose was not to hurt him, but to warn. You rendered him almost helpless, meeting him for every strike. A good match in all the wrong ways, for all the wrong reasons.

You had the agility and deadliness of the Hand's lifeless soldier, which made Matt think you were one of them. Still, the steady rhythm of your heart said otherwise. It was as real as the sharpness of your dagger when it slid across his forearm. Your mercilessness was not the most fatal part of you. The precise delivery of your weapon almost took a life, and even though Matt prevented that from happening, he felt as if letting your victim live was your decision, not his. He was only a witness who was at the right place, at the right time. Your escape was silent and swift, leaving no trace for him to follow. No matter how hard he tried, he could only detect a subtle scent of wet earth in the air, and nothing else. Since then, Matt had spread himself thin, patrolling the Manhattan area, even as far as Brooklyn, asking for his friends' help in places he couldn't reach, like a confused hound dog on a blind chase. The clues he picked up were only fragments of a bigger picture you were a part of. Days passed, and the seed sprouted from his curiosity of you kept growing, yet his search gave him nothing to attach you to.

Not until tonight, when your ruthlessness struck again.

You took hold of the man's collar, tugging on his tie, making sure that it sat tightly at the base of his throat. His face turned a dangerous shade of red, blending in with the crimson liquid and purple bruises all over his skin. His mouth opened to take in desperate gulps of air as you wrapped the remaining blue-striped tie around his neck, making a noose.

"Pl-please … don't do this. I have a wife an-and … a daughter. I have a family. Please!"

You sighed, bored and fed up with what he told you. In the face of great danger and near death, they always said the same thing. You would know since you had lost count of the men and women who had told you they had families. Unfortunately, none of them was alive to testify that.

"I know you do, Eddie. I had one too, at one point. But they're all gone now …."

You tugged hard on his tie, making him choke on the restricted and precious breaths. His face, stained with tears, only stroked your confidence. You almost had him. Just a little more, and you would have your next victim. Or victims, if he was so generous as to inform you.

"Tell me names. Better yet, point me in their direction, and I just might spare you."

Eddie shook his head, whimpering pathetically.

"I can't. They'll know it's me. They'll kill me."

You ran your beloved weapon along the side of his torso, hinting at the possible chance of you cutting him up at any moment like he was a rag doll. You rested the edge of your blade against his bloated stomach while he tried to stay away from it as much as possible with his legs and hands bound. There was no use in doing that, but he desperately tried, wriggling and struggling against the confines.

"It's either me or them that will end your life. So choose."

You dipped the blade into his side. It wasn't too deep, just enough to draw blood. The metal parted his flesh with little resistance, smooth and easy as if cutting through a leaf. The man before you cried out in pain; his prayers were half screams, half cries and all the agony. He sputtered, choking on the words he desperately tried to get out.

"Imani! Imani Campbell! She's the head of security f-for the Stromwyns. She and h-her team have access to everything!"

You pulled the blade free, patting his face softly as you cooed at him.

"There we go. Wasn't that easy?"

The man sobbed uncontrollably. Blood seeped out from his dress shirt, staining the fabric a dark red. You registered a soft thud from behind; the sound, accompanied by a low voice, made its presence known.

"Let him go."

The deep timbre in his tone was familiar, even though you barely exchanged a word that night. Only grunts of exertion. Twirling the dagger in your hand playfully, you took hold of the hilt once more before slamming it into Eddie's temple, knocking him unconscious. What you might have to say to the man behind you might fall on Eddie's deaf ears since he was only a thin thread away from passing out, but you preferred not to leave that up to chance.

You turned around to face him, fastening your bloody dagger to the strap on your thigh. Your gaze assessed him as you took a few steps forward. The man from the night before returned with a fresh bandage on his forearm, courtesy of your blade.

"I'm sorry. Who are you?"

Your voice was light but alert. You pushed your tongue against the roof of your mouth, keeping the smile off your tone. You wondered what he had to say.

"I should be the one who asks you that."

You chuckled to yourself. An expected answer, but different from what you anticipated from him. You figured as much.

"I thought you should know who I am already, considering what you've been up to lately, Matt Murdock."

The muscles in his body were pulled taut in his straightened posture, locked up in alarm, and you didn't miss that.

"How do you know my name?"

You tsked, shaking your head in mock disappointment.

"Don't feign innocent now. You were looking for me, trying to sniff me out like a dog."

His hands balled tightly to the sides, and you could see the tension in his jaw, even from a safe distance away.

"How do you know that?"

"By doing the same thing as you did. I like to be five steps ahead of everything, you know? That's how I stayed out of your radar."

You were prepared and well-versed to the point it felt like a game. A game of hide-and-seek, catch-and-release. Just simple as that. You spoke over your shoulder as you turned on your heels, returning to the unconscious man.

"Now excuse me, I was in the middle of something."

He was silent and fast. Before you could give Eddie the second slap to his cheek, Matt seized you with his arms around your torso and dominant arm, dragging you away from Eddie. He backed you into the cement railing; the hard and rough texture dug into your back. He pinned your arms back, spiking pain and discomfort along your body. Nothing you could handle. Your heart rattled in your chest as you looked up at him; his laboured breathing reverberated and mirrored your own. You stayed like that for a few moments, studying each other. You felt no fear, yet your heart thundered, your blood pumping for something else.

To your surprise, he smirked as if he had caught onto your wandering thoughts and foreign feelings.

"You're not scared. You're not even frustrated. You're… excited."

You held your tongue, waiting for him to continue his assessment.

"Perhaps this has something to do with me. Having someone on your level."

You huffed a biting chuckle, your eyes trained on the part of his face exposed to you. Plump lips accentuated by light stubble, adding softness to his rugged intricacy. A strong jawline that you wouldn't mind caressing, stroking the scruffy hair on your fingertips. And putting your dagger to it. You would place your fingers on the delicate pulse on his neck while you did that, feeling the panic coursing underneath his skin. But you suspected your foe wouldn't be scared off by a sharp blade that easily.

"Maybe I do like a challenge. At last."

Fearless to the point of arrogance. Matt was dumbfounded, then it clicked: you didn't know who he was. You might be new to this city, its politics and underground scenes. Maybe you were here on a chase for something, someone dangerous, following the trail of blood, corruption and murders. It led you to his territory, which he had slowly but steadily returned to protect. When Matt told you as such, a skip in your heart told him he was right. You went still against him, and goosebumps rose along your skin. Still and rigid, a stark contrast to your confidence and playful manner just moments ago.

Either way, whether you were familiar with the area or not, Matt had to clarify one thing.

"You must stop what you're doing."

"Which is …?"

You dragged your sentence, feigning innocence. The slight lilt in your voice should irk Matt, but to his surprise, it didn't. It glided on his eardrums, soft and soothing, which had started to distract him. Just a little bit, Matt assured himself. He lied some more when he told himself that your body, pressing snugly against his, was not the reason for his slipping focus. Not at all. Your body was warm; Matt could feel it even through your suit. The unconscious man's blood on your gloves enveloped his acute sense of smell, steering him back to the conversation he was having with you.

"Killing those criminals. Taking lives that aren't yours to take."

You fell silent, and Matt could hear the grind of your teeth. The muscles in your jaw grew taut, and he had no doubt that he had struck a nerve. Matt paid extra attention to another scent entering his olfaction. Subtle, yet refreshing, like wet earth … after the rain. And all of a sudden, it made sense to him. Perhaps you used a scent like that to blend into the element around you, becoming one with your surrounding. Leaving no trace. Just like that night when he first met you. The more Matt learned about you, the more fascinated he became. But he wouldn't have known that yet. Not at that moment.

You pushed yourself up, pressing your chest flush with his. Your voice was low in contrast to your guards, which were high and tall, and you hoped they wouldn't topple over.

"Just like you said, they were criminals. I don't kill anyone that doesn't deserve it."

Your answer didn't satisfy him by the way his jaw clenched, his lips curved downward in disapproval.

"What they do is wrong, but that doesn't mean they deserve death. Two wrongs don't make one right."

Your hands tugged on the skin and bone shackles he had on you, but he wouldn't let up. Your skin prickled in frustration.

"I'm weeding the bad out. You should thank me since I'm doing you a favour."

He tightened the hold on you, making an imprint on your wrists.

"They deserve second chances for redemption. How can they change for the better if they're not given a chance to do so?"

Okay, now you were beyond annoyed. Who the hell did he think he was? To walk all over you, to jeopardize your mission. To act as if he was the one with authority.

"Stop with the fucking lectures! Not all of them deserve that."

You thrashed with all you might, desperate to escape his hold. But Matt held on.

"They're humans. They make mistakes, just like you and me."

That snapped something inside you, something that had always been there. You tipped your head back and slammed your head to his face. Matt let you go as he held a hand to his nose. You delivered a sharp blow to the base of his throat, right below his Adam's apple, effectively choking him. He sputtered, taking a few steps back, holding his throat while you followed him like a predator. Anger and grief took over, like a storm waiting to be unleashed.

"Spare me that bullshit!"

You grabbed his shirt, gripping it and pulling him back to you before throwing him against the brick chimney.

"If you know so much about the way this …"

Matt held a hand to his nose, swiping the runny liquid onto his hand. From the feel of it, a small part of his nose was splintered, but other than that, no serious and long-lasting damage. You took hold of him again, throwing him against the bricks.

"… thing works, then tell me. Tell me how it feels to have my entire life stolen from me. To have my family taken away, to have those barbaric so-called human beings abuse me, torture me, put drugs and chips inside of me like I'm no less than a toy? I'm nothing more but a weapon, a tool for their profit. And when I finally escaped and tried to have a normal life with a normal guy, they found me and took that away too?"

You leaned closer, and Matt could sense something other than his own blood. The salt of your tears, the blood rushing in your veins, fueling the rattling rhythm of your pulse.

"Tell me, Murdock. Tell me how it feels like to come home one day, and find your love's decapitated head on the bed you shared, in the only home you've ever known?"

And then there was nothing, only your heavy breathing and his; the wind died down, and the city carried on. Matt thought about the accident years ago, losing his sight, then his father. Stick came as abruptly as he left, and that was how he spent most of his teenage years alone and aloof. Matt couldn't shut out the clamour of crimes happening around him; he was helpless to it. When he decided to do something, to take charge, Matt lost more than he gained. Still, there was Foggy, who brought so much joy to his life. Foggy's presence was a blessing. Then came Elektra, who made him feel heard and understood when no one else could. Being with her was an ever-changing mesh of euphoria and affliction that stuck with him, before and after. The fights he had fought for the better only brought more pain to his life, full of losses.

The words manifested on his tongue, but he didn't say any of them. Your pain was your own, and it was immeasurable. Matt held both hands out in a gesture of peace. And when he spoke, the words were ripped right from his heart.

"I am sorry for everything that happened to you. I won't say that I understand everything what you went through. But I do understand why you're doing this. Trust me, revenge is not everything."

"No, you don't know anything about me."

Your tone was sharp. Final.

"Let me guess, you have some sob stories too?"

He swallowed hard, and you knew you were right.

"I guess that's why we turn out like this, huh? Inflicting pain on others because we can't bear our own."

It hurt more than the healing wound on his arm, than the forming bruise on his throat. It was as if your dagger had sunk into his chest and twisted until his heart was nothing but a mangle of tissues and vessels. He protected Hell's Kitchen; he had kept it safe with his violence. Deep under the overlapping layers of his good conscience, he knew it was another way for Matt not to face his own pain. The past year was the embodiment of that. No matter how much time passed, he knew that time would always stay with him, reminding him of the destruction he had made.

"Stay out of my way if you know what's good for you."

You turned on your heels, stepped onto the ledge and jumped. Your gracefulness landed you on the fire escape as you descended, blending in with the surroundings once more. Matt tipped his head back onto the warm bricks and caught his breath, deep in thoughts and the scent of you lingering behind.

Wet earth. Fresh rain. The saltiness of your tears.

Matt came home to his empty apartment; frustration and pain burned his skin, grating his insides. His throat hurt, the wound on his arm throbbed, and his nose stung, but at least it had stopped bleeding. Matt knew he would have to take it easy for the next few nights. Matt peeled off the dirty suit, undoing the hand wraps quickly. Standing in his boxers, he went to the kitchen and turned on the kettle. The small machine hummed as it heated the water inside as Matt prepared his tea. While waiting for the water, he went to the bedroom and grabbed a zip-up hoodie and sweats before gingerly them on, careful of his injuries. Matt went through the motion automatically because he didn't allow himself to stop and think. Not yet. The kettle whistled a high-pitched note, dragging him to the kitchen. Water was poured, tea steeped, and honey added. Matt settled down at the kitchen table with his mug, hissing softly as his aching muscles voiced their discomfort. Matt closed his eyes, letting the steam of chamomile soothe his eyelids before diving into everything he knew about you. Which was not much at all. But he had more now than he knew of you six nights ago.

Rubbing his throat, Matt took a sip of his honeyed tea. He recalled the sound of your voice, the inflection of it when you were angry. The piercing rawness of it when you cried. He got to learn another part of you that he had tried to reach. You were in the position to knock him out swiftly, to kill him even, but you didn't. You spared him of your own volition. He might not know your name, but he knew your pattern now. You struck precisely, seizing someone on the weaker links and climbing up. However, singling out one of the lawyers on the retainer for one of the most notorious crime families gave him a clue of what you came to New York for. Even though it was out of character for you, it gave him a hint of where you could go next, and Matt wasn't going to pass out on this chance. The crime family you targeted was someone he had an interest in himself. The Stromwyns. They were a force to be reckoned with, and from what he knew of you, you acted alone. It was personal from your history with them, and he suspected you wanted to take them down yourself. Matt would admire your bravery if it wasn't so reckless and incredibly foolish. But on what ground could he judge you, considering that he did the same thing?

Your fist curled tightly, your knuckles drenched in blood and mangled flesh of your own and your victims. But you wouldn't stop, not until you got what you wanted. A swift punch followed another on Imani's broken face. Her bodyguards and associates laid unconscious a few feet away, leaving only your ragged breaths and the woman's pained whimpers echoed in the destroyed meeting room. You usually wouldn't strike them at their base, where they could easily call for backup, which they did, but you felt particularly reckless tonight. You were up for a challenge, and you almost paid for it. The searing pain on your side was the throbbing proof. You wanted to speed your investigation along, too impatient to wait. You had done enough of that. Still, this stubborn woman before you wouldn't give in. You could feel your temper rising, and soon, you wouldn't be able to control it. Imani was a delicate knot in an elaborate scheme that you couldn't solve by cutting her string short. You didn't take out her whole team for nothing, especially when your venture for revenge ended up being something bigger, something more sinister than you thought.

You gave Imani's face a slap. She came to before you, despite her drooping eyelids.

"I know the Stromwyns are planning something big. Tell me what it is."

She gave a bloody smirk, her teeth stained red. She tried to keep her head straight, her eyes bored into you.

"No."

"Should have saved that energy telling me what I want."

Another jab, and she fell to the floor. You propped her up against the table, pulling out the blade concealed on your thigh.

"One last chance. I won't be so lenient this time."

The thumps of his boots made it to your ears, and you felt the air change slightly. Maybe it was just you. His footsteps drew closer on the once pristine marble floor behind you, entering the crime scene. You closed your eyes, already knowing what he would say.

"Don't do this."

You didn't bother standing up to greet him this time.

"I've killed before. This will change nothing."

"Believe me. It will."

His tone was the same. Kind, soft, imploring for the part of you that no longer existed. Yet, he still searched for it, drawing it out. You would lie if you said you couldn't feel the tug of his kindness and patience on your heartstring. It was just that you couldn't afford to follow his call.

"Why are you still trying? Why waste time on me?"

You had to know whether it was his Catholic guilt, and you were his charity case, or it was something else entirely. It wasn't like New York's shady marketplace lacked assassins for hire. You knew that as much.

"I was you before. You think you're irredeemable. But you're not. You still have a chance to turn around …"

Your real name on his tongue sounded foreign to your ears. It affected you in a way you didn't think possible. The sound triggered the alarm going off in your head, screeching in your ears. You slowly rose on your feet, exhaling an unsteady breath. You had isolated yourself and made acquaintance with no one. The shock of Matt finding out shot unnerving prickles along your skin. You used his name in vain to gain an advantage, while he used yours in the hope of steering you back to yourself with such an intricate tenderness. And that made you angrier than ever.

You closed the distance between you, wielding the dagger between your skilled fingers.

"Who do you think you are? Waltzing in here with your talks, when you're doing the same thing as I am–"

"I don't kill–"

"Same - fucking - shit! Just because you don't kill doesn't make you better than me."

Your words were punctuated with each swipe of your weapon, which he easily dodged. You were blinded with rage, with a wave of anger so potent that you could only release it when your blade had sunk into his flesh. You knew deep down if you stopped, your weaker emotions would get the better of you. Your fury consumed you whole, fueling every step as you advanced toward the infuriating figure that seemed to have so much trust in you.

"Stop it! I know you have it in you to stop. I know it feels good to get revenge, but it will ruin you."

Matt only dodged your blows and not once fought back. It only fueled your boiling rampage.

"Shut up! Just … shut up and fight back!"

It was harder to ignore his voice and what he said now. His words were like vines, slipping through the cracks of your control, taking root quickly. But you were broken; no one could mend you. You had long accepted that you would never be someone you once wished to be. This was your life. Full of rage, violence and loneliness. That was how you would die. Your demons would always follow you, then, now, and when it was your time to depart this world. You were beyond saving.

The quiet click of a gun made you whip your head toward the sound. You couldn't see clearly through the veil of tears that had started trailing down your cheeks. That was when you realized that you had been crying. It was such an appalling recognition that you didn't register the bullet leaving its chamber. Everything that happened after that was so fast your mind couldn't catch up. You could only feel. You felt the rough contact of his body against yours when he tackled you, the hard marble floor on your back when you crashed. Matt continued to shield you with his body over yours as a few more shots rang out. He cried out suddenly as a bullet hit him; his body jolted but didn't move an inch. You tried to push him off you so the two of you could run for cover, but he wouldn't budge. Suddenly, it became eerily quiet except for some empty clicks, followed by a sharp cry of pain as Imani got up and took off toward the exit. You pushed Matt off, getting yourself ready to run after her, but you ceased acting on your instinct. Matt tried to rise with one hand braced on the littered floor, his lips parted to expel a pained groan. Your foggy mind replayed the feeling of him lunging for you, saving you from the bullets' line. You blinked, watching as your whole body trembled, the bloody blade unsteady in your hand. Your target had escaped, but that was the least of your concern right now. You looked to your saviour, fixed on the ghastly look on his almost unmasked face. His eyes stared straight ahead, his mouth opened agape, and his movements shaky before he dropped to the floor with a sickening thud.

Matt woke to the unfamiliar surrounding, with strange air and the companion of another's presence. He found himself almost naked, saved for his boxers, nestled between the warm sheets that definitely weren't the silk he used to. Despite its roughness, it was just as nice as his own, as it possessed your scent, earthy and soothing. Matt had grown to like it. A pleasant mix of you and his own blood, which he could sense as he moved to set his feet on the floor. Matt ran a hand through his face, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and felt no resistance. He seemed to only recognize the missing safety of his mask now, and for a brief moment, he panicked. It was soon washed away when the gentle breeze carried something else in from the open window. A scent of moss, morning dews, and vines seemed to attach themselves to the brick exterior of the building, like soil after the rain. It reminded him of how you always blended in with your environment. And the thought eased his concerns. If you wanted him dead, he wouldn't be alive right now. But Matt was here, in your home. Hurt but alive, the rough gauze on his thigh reminded him.

Matt took a few unsteady steps as he oriented himself, getting familiar with the surroundings. The search for the door was a success, and he opened it to step into a different world. A different feel. The space was warm and pleasant, with sunlight coming from the right side, and the aroma that hung in the air felt homey. Upon further inspection, Matt could smell freshly chopped parsley, rice, and chicken. In the midst of everything were you and your ever-steady heartbeat.

Without turning around, you directed him.

"Take a seat. Food is almost ready."

As soon as the words left your mouth, you bit onto your bottom lip, feeling a little out of place. There was something strangely domestic about the way you told him to make himself comfortable. Even though you did try to kill him just a few hours before.

Matt searched for the seating and sat down, his back resting nicely against the cushion. He closed his eyes, soaking in the warm sun. You let yourself look at him from where you were standing, taking in how peaceful he seemed. How at ease. He seemed different, yet still the same as the person who had followed you, matching your violence with his own just to urge you to turn the other way. Realizing that you had been staring at him for perhaps too long, you whirled around to tend to the steaming food. With the porridge done, you turned the stove off before pouring a good portion of the hot dish into two bowls and sprinkling some parsley on top.

You put the bowl in front of him with a soft thump, and his eyes lazily slid open. The spoon made a small clang on the wooden table as you set it down on his right before going to your seat. Matt picked up the spoon, taking in the dish before him. It was steaming hot with a savoury aroma of rice, chicken, herb and seasonings.

"I didn't poison it, don't worry."

Matt huffed a soft chuckle.

"I trust you."

"You're way too trusting considering what you do."

That made him smile. Matt took a spoonful of the food, blowing it for good measure before giving it a taste. A pleasant and hot feeling engulfed his tongue before it smoothly chased down his throat. The taste was delectable, flavourful and wholesome. It warmed him inside out.

"Seasonings are on your right. Just reach your hand out a little."

That made Matt pause for a moment, but he didn't say anything. You continued your meal in silence, and the air between didn't feel tense or forced. Outside of the enclosed space, New York was a bustle of sounds.

Your spoon made a small clang on the side of the bowl, and it seemed like you decided it was more than enough to start a new conversation.

"I'm guessing from the way you are not panicking or overwhelmed or freaking out, you've been blind for a long time?"

No beating around the bush. He liked that. People walked on eggshells around him, around his disadvantage, for a good reason. But Matt didn't need coddling. He definitely didn't need protecting, either.

"Since I was nine. Freak accident."

"Freaky indeed."

Those two words marked the end of your conversation. Matt occasionally felt your intense gaze, watching him carefully as he cleaned the bowl. Once his and your hunger were satiated, you put the dishes away in the empty sink. Matt stood up to help, but his good intention was quickly forgotten as he hissed lowly in pain. He touched the area around the wound, feeling its mouth crack, allowing the blood to seep into the gauze. Matt winced, and it didn't escape your watchful eyes.

Rummaging around your kitchen, you poured him a glass of water and set two pills in his palm.

"Take these. Or don't. I don't care."

Your halfhearted concern warmed his heart. He knew your intention behind it, and the little spike in your heart never lied. Matt took the pills as you walked away, fetching the medical kit.

"Can I see your wound?"

He nodded after a brief moment. You dragged your chair to settle beside him, and your thighs exchanged accidental brushes. Your touch was careful and tender as your hands worked on his broad thigh to unwrap the bloodied bandage. Matt's jaw clenched, holding back a pained groan as you pressed gently around the tender area. You cleaned up the blood with a clean cloth, precise and swiftly. Not a word passed between you as you secured the wound with a sterile bandage until you asked if you could see the injury on his side. There was something serene, tender and peaceful about the way you took care of him, as if you had done this many, many times before. As if you had known each other for a lifetime.

Once finished, you pulled away with a gentle squeeze on his knee before working on your injured hands. You sighed in exasperation as you undid the hand wraps. The torn skin on your knuckles was red and angry, staring back at you as they throbbed a warning melody, giving you no choice but to listen. You would have to take it easy for the time being.

Lost in your thoughts, your hands pulled on another roll of gauze when Matt's warm hand on your wrist startled you, sending a pleasant prickle to your skin. Your eyes widened as Matt extended an open palm, wordlessly offering to help you dress your wound. You stared at him, your eyes flicked at the upward motion of his brow. Tentatively, you passed the white fabric to him. Matt held you in his hands and quickly assessed your knuckles. Your hands were colder than his, calloused and scarred, like a written memoir of your past that you carried all the time. He tried not to think about the smaller, barely-there scars you probably obtained from your younger years. You were older now, yet, your fight hadn't ended. The path you walked on only led you further into the woods like a prisoner who still fought even though their chains were broken, their prison door unlocked. He wanted to focus on the now, where you were safe, alive and with him.

Judging by the echo of your apartment, it was spacious, cozy and most likely expensive. It was a bold move, living in the heart of Manhattan. You were almost fearless, that much he knew. Matt had no doubt that you knew what you were doing, considering your profession. Maybe your name on the lease was fake, or someone owed you a favour. A very big one.

"How do you afford this apartment?"

Matt kept his voice light, distracting you from the sting of disinfectant.

"How do you?"

You asked him with just as much airiness, if not more. He chuckled softly, shaking his head as you found yourself smiling with him. You continued as the crinkles around his eyes deepened in amusement, remembering that you probably knew where he lived.

"I kill for a living. Sometimes. I'm pretty good at my job, remember?"

Matt took a deep and sharp breath, and you bit your tongue. It was too much, and you felt stupid for making that joke.

"I only take on jobs that target the Stromwyn. Nothing beyond that. Anyone with mutual interest benefits me."

"I know."

"Do you now, smartass?"

Matt could hear a slight smirk in your voice. It was refreshing to see you so relaxed, so … different from what he had known of you. But then, you were full of surprises. Silence fell over you like a thin veil; the only sound left was his movements, wrapping the bandage around your hand.

"Don't you get tired of it?"

The strokes of his hands were soft, certain as he wrapped himself around you. His warmth spread to your hands, making you shiver. Just slightly. You took a long moment to yourself, mulling over what he said.

"I do. But I can't stop. They're still doing it to children, to little kids like … like I once was. I'm a result of them, and I won't be the last."

His grip on your hands tightened, careful of your injuries. Matt brought your intertwined fingers closer to his chest, urging you to look into his unsighted eyes. Upon the near distance, you noticed the hazel gleaming in the bright light of your kitchen, holding more than just your attention.

"What they did to you is not who you are. They don't get to make you into someone you don't want to be."

His words were kind, his touch was soft, and they suffocated you. You jerked your hands out of his as if his touch burned you. A reflection of hurt took shape on his furrowed brows and curved lips, and you felt sorry for pulling away. When did you turn so soft for a man you barely knew?

"My firm can bring attention to their organization. With a big case like this, it can't stay under wraps forever. I have connections, and I can assure you that there will be people looking into this. We can work together. I can help you. Let me. Please."

You swallowed hard, feeling queasy in your seat. You stood up, and Matt followed, but he gave you space when you started pacing. You had known for a long time that you wouldn't be able to do this by yourself. The Stromwyns' influence ran deep. It would take more than an assassin with a want for vengeance infused in her blood to uproot that. To completely dismantle their organization, you would need a miracle. And Matt just might be that miracle you need. You sighed heavily, bringing your nervous pacing to a stop. You held his unseeing gaze, more for your sake than his, as if to seal your fate.

"Fine."

Matt offered a hand to you, initiating a physical agreement. After a brief moment of fleeting contemplation, you held his offering hand and shook. He pulled you closer to him by your skin-on-skin attachment, making you take a sharp breath as the sudden movement grazed your wounded skin.

"No killing."

You tugged on his firm clasp, and he wouldn't let go.

"Fine. No killing."

Matt only released you then, and you were all too eager not to have his hands on you again. That was what you told yourself, even though your heart thrashed unhappily at the traitorous thought. The tingling feeling on your fingers was back, and your mind raced with the possibilities of an uncertain future and foreign feelings.

Matt delivered on his promise. It was a long fight, stretched over two years, but the outcome was victorious and sweet. Nelson, Murdock and Page investigated and gathered evidence with witnesses, bringing the case to New York's district attorney. The ordeal was blown up, which brought in law enforcement from the higher-up. The news of the Stromwyns controlling important assets throughout New York, infesting neighbourhoods with gangs and criminals to secretly collect "protection money" from the residents, was brought to the media, pulling the attention of the whole country. When things began to come to light, the Stromwyns issued a bomb threat in an attempt to bury the whispers. It backfired as the warning was proven real by you and Matt on your investigation at night. The FBI quickly acted on the lead, making arrests for the whole family. The Stromwyns were forced to liquify their assets, and their accounts in foreign countries were seized and frozen by the CIA. Unfortunately, before law enforcement could put all of them in cuffs, some members of the family had already fled to Europe, according to the intel you obtained illegally.

It amazed you how a team of three managed to make such an impact, how relentlessly and tirelessly they worked to get people involved. You were also a part of that team; Matt told you no matter how hard you denied it. He introduced you to his friends and partners, Foggy and Karen. Even though they were skeptical of your relationship with Matt, they took your intel seriously and worked with you. You kept your distance, knowing they weren't comfortable being in the same room with an experienced assassin as in Matt's past, and you were fine with that. You had a working association with them, striving for the same outcome. You weren't there to make friends.

You weren't sure what to make of your relationship with Matt. Something had changed, but you didn't want to acknowledge it. You couldn't. It wouldn't be fair to him when you had to leave eventually. You had each other's back when you scouted for new information, when you infiltrated the Stromwyn's warehouses. Those fights didn't often result in grave injuries; when they did, you took care of each other. Small and big damages. Matt ensured that you looked after yourself and wouldn't agonize over your past. He was there to soothe you in his secure embrace when you had a nightmare. It was almost as if his arms and hands had morphed around your frame, embracing you, making you feel at ease when your grief was too much. You would wake up thrashing in his arms when the needles were too close; the stiffness paralyzing your body felt too real. Eventually, your place or his wasn't a matter since you would always end up in the same bed at the end of everything, whether due to exhaustion or nightmare-filled nights into early mornings. Whenever you woke with a headache, he would have his special tea readied, along with medicine at your request. You were afraid that he would spoil you rotten, and if you got used to his affection and care, you would never be able to leave. You couldn't stay, couldn't allow yourself that one thing. You had shared too much of yourself with him, and you were afraid you would be left with nothing if you kept on giving. You knew you didn't deserve him. So you packed your stuff up and booked a flight to Germany, following the trail of the scattered Stromwyns. You decided to leave without a word, but Matt had another idea.

"Don't do this to me."

Call you sentimental, but you had come to the rooftop of your building one last time to soak in the sound, the feel, and the air of this city. There was nowhere else quite like it, and the reason wasn't entirely due to the man standing behind you. You didn't have to turn around to know it was Matt. Your apartment was empty now, doused in the warm late afternoon light. Matt stood before you, his dress shirt creased, his tie crooked, his hair ruffled, and his face flushed from exertion. He must have run from his office in Hell's Kitchen to your apartment in Midtown Manhattan. You extended your gratitude to Karen and Foggy in person for helping you with the case before Matt got there, nothing else. You guessed they were suspicious of that and told him, even though you didn't show anything out of place. You wanted to get this over with.

"Do what?"

"Leave. Leave New York. Leave me."

The wounded edge in his plea twisted the knife that was already embedded in your heart.

"I told you. I can't rest when they're still out there."

"Let the authority take care of that. Don't be reckless."

The tone in his last sentence was stern, reprimanding as if you were a child out of line.

"Me? Reckless?"

You turned to face him, appalled at his audacity.

"I followed your 'no killing' rule. These bastards are still free because of it."

Your hands helped enunciate each word you threw at him, even though it was fruitless. You were making a point for yourself. An excuse to leave.

"They can't run forever. You've done your part. You've suffered enough."

Matt erased the distance between you, getting close enough that you didn't want to step back. You would miss his warmth.

"Stay. You have friends here."

His tender intention thrummed on your nerves, coaxing your guard like the sweet honey he always put in your tea. His words were so convincing that you felt like you could be fooled.

"No, I don't. I don't have anyone."

You stubbornly turned your head away, unable to look at him.

"You have me. Foggy and Karen, too. They don't say it but they do care about you. And I do, too."

"You don't mean that."

"Yes, I do."

He said it with so much conviction. You wanted to believe him.

"I can't, Matt. I don't know who I am without this."

The constant running, following, chasing. The continuous shutout from people, shielding yourself until you were isolated and all alone. In a way, your violence, pain, and loneliness were a way for you to punish and protect yourself. That was how you stayed anchored to reality, never strayed too far from your cruel fate, and never looked at what you could have been.

"You're still you. The strongest, most stubborn person I know. Even when you don't know yourself, you'll get there eventually. Stop running and allow yourself a chance to live the life that you deserve. To be who you want to be."

"I'm still a murderer. That's all I am and all I'll ever be. I'm only capable of that, and I will only bring you down with me by merely being in your life."

He shook his head.

"Yes, I will, Matt. Nothing good comes with me. Why don't you just let me go?"

Your throat hurt with the stricken cry that was torn from your chest. Your eyes were wide, watching Matt through the thin veil of your tears.

"I love you."

"What?"

"I love you. Everything about you."

Matt inched even closer, and you let him step into your space, knocking down your crumbling barrier. You weren't strong enough to back away. To run. You were exhausted from it.

"Please …"

You had always been careful, five steps ahead of most things. But not everything. You didn't expect to fall for Matt, yet, you did. This was his desperate plea for you to stay, to live your life instead of hiding in the shadows, being a ghost of who you truly were. He had whittled away your defence wall, brick by brick, over the span of time you knew each other. He taught you there was safety in letting go. And you did.

In a swift and clumsy motion, you slammed your lips against Matt's, accepting his promises, love, and everything in between. His full lips were soft and addictive, parting easily to deepen the kiss. Your tongues tangled in a fiery dance, and you felt like you could get drunk on his taste alone. Like the barest hint of salt, a touch of cinnamon spice, and something else that only belonged to him. His hand tangled in your hair, bringing you closer as if it was possible. When he was finally satisfied with the absence of space in between, his hand trailed down to the column of your throat in a soft caress, before stopping at the coursing, delicate pulse. Matt pressed in with his fingertips, acting on the overwhelming need to feel you, to feel the proof as if your woven bodies and intertwined tongues weren't enough. That you were real, and you were here with him. You only parted when you felt like your body could slip away from your consciousness. You heaved hard, feeling the gasps of air on your lips as Matt touched his forehead to yours. He whispered against your lips.

"Please. Stay with me."

You closed your eyes. You were tired of running, of letting your rage consume you. You and Matt were two flames. Similar to a fault, but he brought balance to you in his own way. He soothed that anger inside you and showed you that there was more to you than your past, the deadly intents you carried in the company of your wrath. You had a chance to start over with a future that wouldn't end in solitude, with the man who had so much trust in your potential when you didn't. At last, you weren't afraid to take it for yourself, as long as Matt was with you. You nodded; your face bore joyous tears and a genuine smile.

"I'm all yours."

*Likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated!*

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makima-s-most-smile · 1 month

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I saw this post today and thought about it (I also didn't want to rant on a post that is a year old... so... separate post)

The soul talk is from Conrad in Stampede, if I remember it right, and it is mostly basis for him to justify his eugenist views and his inhumane experimentations.

All plants are sentient and sapient. While they are individuals, they are also existing in a state of psychic linked hivemind, not quite dissimilar to Zazie the Beast (though they are one person with many bodies, while plants are many people with many bodies connected through another dimension).

Plants feel joy, hurt, fear. And humans who work with them seem to be aware of it, as seen in flashbacks in the manga. A plant engineer is shown at a last run and seen praying as the plant is killed. They know and they feel guilt.

Though, does the regular human know it? Or does the general public see them as generic producers? Kinda like people today forget that the bacon they get in the supermarket is from a once living being, a pig, that lived, breathed and oinked. And that disconnect invites greed, dehumanisation of the plants and the overusage of them. That disconnect invites waste, greed and cruelty towards plants.

A big difficulty in the coexistence between humans is -besides the dependency of humanity on plants as producers - that plants and humans cannot directly communicate. A plant cannot just say: No! She cannot decide to not produce. And that puts her in a position that is easily exploited.

Her wellbeing is in the hands of her caretakers. And the actions of those are dependent on their power (Are they independent or can someone pressure them for more food, more materials, more anything?), their education (were they taught by other plant engineers? If not, how do they avoid critical malfunctions killing more plants which worsens the pressure to produce on other plants) and environmental factors (98 put it pretty good. By destroying July without killing anyone, the people needed shelter elsewhere. The refugees put pressure on the system in place, which let to more plants dying and more humans dying as a result. No Man's Land/Gunsmoke is a system barely held in balance, if at all. Even a tiny shift in higher birthrates, a bad sandstorm, a malfunction, can topple everything.)

That's were independent plants like Knives, Vash, Tesla, Chronica and Domina come in. They are born from their sisters, who need their bulbs to live, as beings that can walk the surface and talk like the humans. Additionally to that, they need a caretaker like every baby does. That way, Independent plants are in the role of a bridge between the two species.

Independents are not only able to communicate with humans, they are also able to do the same with their sisters. Sadly… Knives and Vash SUCK at communicating. Finding the remains (are they just remains? That remains to be seen… (In Stampede)) of Tesla, traumatised the boys and their following path, while diverging radically from each other, is not one of peaceful, intertwined living.

Knives is scared as fuck that he will be murdered the same way as Tesla was. While he cares about his brother, this is mostly about himself. Knives does not listen. He does not listen to Vash and he really does not listen to his sisters. Knives does as Knives does and everyone else is in for the ride.

And by stranding humanity onto a planet without any ressources like he did, Knives also made it extremely difficult for humanity to be good. They are as desperate and as vicious as Knives is (thank you @duncanor for pointing that out). Knives put humanity into a situation that makes it easy for him to point at them and say: 'Look, they are all rabid beasts, killing and maiming each other. They need to die faster.'

Vash is grieving and feels guilty. He does listen, he smiles and then keeps on going the same way he was on before. Vash is put in a situation of having to listen to his sisters being overworked and dying, but he also sees humans desperatedly fighting for ressources and trying to live. So he does nothing to change the status quo, only barely patching one grievance to rush to the next one, while trying to find his brother. Because Vash needs everyone to live. His sisters AND humanity for which Rem died. And changing the system could destroy everything. So he focuses on patching things up and stopping his brother.

Tesla is dead, Domina and Chronica are still on Earth. I am sure the latter two would be entirely overwhelmed, too, in Vash' situation. How do you fix that massive ball of mismanagement, when humanity is barely scratching by? Yes, the Independent Plants exist, they are in a unique place to overcome the crack of communication between the species.

But how? No one gave Vash or Knives any instruction in how to do their part in this. We got from one line that the independents went through a similar uprising on earth, too. But we do not know how they overcame it to coexist.

So, NO ONE is in a position to truly fix this situation, since there are not many ressources beyond the plants and there are so many more humans just existing than the planet and plants could provide for. There… there is no answer.

THIS is no trolley problem… If you save the plants, humanity dies, but plants need humanity, too. This is a last ditch effort of two species to not die out. It is their extinction. Many dinosaurs survived the meteor and then died off in the next years, decades due to starvation, thirst or just not finding a mate.

And then there is the last important part. What do the plants want? Knives does only what Knives wants, he has no idea what his sisters want. Humans also have no idea. And Vash… doesn't dare to disturb the status quo, because he wants to keep everyone alive.

From what we can gather in Trimax and interviews, plants like humans and they like producing things. And it is one of the few positive parts of Trimax' ending, plants and humans communicate. The plants share all the good and bad memories of humans with humanity and receive help from humanity. Plants see their future with humanity interlinked. They want humanity to survive, too, together.

#zard rant #trigun #trigun plants #knives millions #Vash the Stampede #and I didn't even start on the part that there are still good humans even though Knives created a dog eat dog world #niceness survived #as did arseholes

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dearorpheus · 1 year

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“I love you, Constance,” I said. “And I love you, my Merricat,” Constance said.

“Constance has succumbed to Merricat entirely: the “good” sister has yielded to the “evil” sister. Constance even berates herself for being “wicked”—“I should never have reminded you of why they all died”—in this way acknowledging her complicity in the deaths. Now we understand why Constance never accused Merricat of the poisonings or made any attempt to defend herself against accusations that she was the murderer for, in her heart, she was and is the Blackwoods’ murderer, and not Merricat; that is, not only Merricat. Her acknowledgement tacitly guarantees the sisters’ permanent expulsion from the world of normal people—a world in which the psychologically damaged Merricat could not survive. We Have Always Lived in the Castle ends on an unexpectedly idyllic note like a fairy-tale romance in which lovers have found each other and even the villagers, repentant of their cruelty, pay the Blackwood sisters homage by bringing food offerings to them, left at the ruins of their doorstep: “Sometimes they brought bacon, home-cured, or fruit, or their own preserves... Mostly they brought roasted chicken; sometimes a cake or a pie, frequently cookies, sometimes a potato salad or coleslaw... Sometimes pots of baked beans or macaroni...” Here is the very Eros of food, an astonishing wish-fulfilment fantasy in which the agoraphobic is not pitied but revered, idolized...”

— Joyce Carol Oates in her afterword for Shirley Jackson’s We Have Always Lived in the Castle

#phantom thread for sisters truly!#and amanita phalloides the deathcup mushroom #2023 reading #my upload

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vegandude72 · 1 year

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Bacon lovers think bacon is life. Bacon is not life. Bacon was life. Bacon is death for billions of innocent beings.

This post is from my blog. Click, tap, or touch this link for more VeganVoices.

#bacon #bacon lovers #bacon is life #animal torture #animal suffering #animal violence #animal abuse #animal cruelty #animal death #vegan for the animals #vegan for the voiceless #vegan for the innocent #go vegan for the animals

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magnuscomedybracket · 5 months

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Quarterfinals Match 1

087 Uncanny Valley vs. 103 Cruelty Free

Propaganda under the cut!

087 Uncanny Valley

Guy cleans out flesh from a drain without a blink and nikola has to invite him back again with Jude because he wasn’t scared enough the first time because of obliviousness

Besides the obvious bit of Guy who Doesn’t Realize He’s In A Horror Story, imagine this from Nikolas perspective. Like “oh shit lol this guys name is “skinner” I’m gonna mess with him for shits and giggles… Ok he didn’t notice any of my spooky bullshit, wild! I threatened to butcher him and he was Not Paying Attention! Jude! Hey! Come check out this idiot man!”. Also implication that Jude and nikola hang out being shitty together. I support women’s wrongs.

"Megan" tries to expose this guy to The Horrors and he's so focused on his job that he just doesn't notice. She's so shocked by this that she calls him back and still has to literally force him to notice

The world's most oblivious plumber somehow doesn't notice all the creepy stuff going on and just does his job like normal. It only gets funnier when you consider it from the Stranger avatar's point of view.

Nikola Orsinov trying so hard to scare the least observant man you've ever seen. Whispering in his ear about flencing while he hums noncommittally and pulls a wad of meat from the drain of her spooky factory in the middle of fuck-all nowhere and then he just gives her the invoice and walks out??? Like it's a normal job? And when she calls him to come back the next day she has to dress up in a clown costume to get his attention and grab his head to make him look at The Atrocities that he just entirely missed the day before. I love Sebastian Skinner so much and I wish only the best for him

#I really just want to point out that they're trying to scare a plumber. #A plumber!! #do you think this is the first time this man has had to clean skin and hair out of a drain? #do you think he's never seen blood before? #like yeah it's objectively funny from the Horror's point of views but for him? It's a tuesday #Like that isn't even the weirdest thing he's seen that week #'oh they threatened to butcher him' yeah? what makes them special? #this guy probably deals with 20 different avatars a week by necessity #no amount of 'his name is skinner let's fuck with him' is going to be worse than service work in people's homes (via @/childoferebus)

#the only reason we know what's happening for half the episode is taht we know this is an horror story #and how things usually go. #dude spends half the episode going 'just a normal job. #house in the middle of nwohere. weird smells and textures #*shrugs* just anotehr day on the job* (via @/monstersqueen)

103 Cruelty Free

murder pig

#'murder pig' is so underselling cruelty free #'cruelty free' is funny bc after a whole episode that works through paralleling #the statement giver relationship with meat and his pigs to #the relationship of the murder pig with him and meat #The last thing he says is that he still eats bacon! #Also the murder pig is dealt with by encasing it in cement (via @/monstersqueen)

#tma #the magnus archives #magpod #magnuspod #polls #tournament #quarterfinals

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gvfgal · 3 months

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4. Star-Crossed Strangers

Barbarian. Biker!Jake

*18+, Minors DNI!

A/N: Here’s chapter four! As always, enjoy, & leave me your thoughts, comments make me really happy (:

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist!

Chapter Warnings: Mentions of death, violence, parental altercations, explicit language, mentions of sex, Jake dancing (it needs a warning)

Jake stood outside of Rex’s front door with the key clutched tightly in his hand, his breathing heavy and labored.All he could do was stare.

It was going on noon. You both had woken up around nine that morning, sharing a small breakfast of toast, eggs, bacon, and coffee before you left into town for a while. It took from that point up until now for him to muster enough courage to go over there, and now, he couldn’t manage to muster enough to go inside.

He thought briefly about turning around and forgetting about the whole thing. Nothing in there was probably worth shit anyways, he could have the whole place demoed and the lot cleared out by the weekend.

It was a solid idea.

Yet, he stuck the key in the knob anyways, remembering you had to jiggle the lock a bit before turning it. The door swung open, and the muggy heat from inside hit Jake so hard he had to turn away briefly. After a few moments he stepped inside, but only a couple steps, leaving the door open behind him.

Dust particles waltzed in the light streaming in from outside, casting an eerie glow upon the dismal space that held a trove of memories for Jake. Beer bottles adorned the coffee table, keeping company with abandoned cigarettes and an ashtray that had long surpassed its capacity. The worn-out couch and recliner, now cloaked in a thin layer of dust, seemed frozen in time, remnants of a life that had ceased to thrive. Jake had a pretty good feeling that the dust had settled long before Rex's departure.

The hum of the refrigerator drew his attention to the kitchen, where dishes mingled with scattered mail and miscellaneous items, mirroring the disorder on the dining room table. This chaotic scene wasn't new; the absence of a dining room table had been a constant in their lives. His survey continued, revealing old Barbarian memorabilia and pictures adorning the walls, while Rex's helmet, oddly pristine amidst the disarray, occupied the recliner.

As Jake moved toward the helmet, he halted, catching sight of the sizable hole in the wall next to the front door that was left there the night Jaxon died. Time had done nothing to mend it, and clearly Rex was in no rush to patch it up either. A wave of dizziness washed over Jake as he recalled the night that gaping wound had been inflicted, another indelible scar etched into the trailer's history.

10 years earlier…

In a daze, Jake traversed the living room, the weight of disbelief clinging to him like an unseen shadow. The earlier events, so surreal, danced on the periphery of his consciousness. The harsh reality of his best friend's demise, a violent echo in the vastness of the Nevada desert, refused to weave itself into the fabric of his understanding. Even as he accompanied Jaxon's lifeless form to the mortuary, the profound gravity of the situation lingered, yet to fully take root in Jake's shattered sense of reality.

Amidst the muffled voices of Rex and other Barbarians outside the trailer, Jake couldn't decipher the exact words exchanged. Yet, he didn't need clarity; the weight of unspoken truths hung thick in the air. As he paced, the events of that fateful day replayed in his mind, unfurling from the moments preceding their journey to the unforgiving desert.

The memory of Rex's insistence that Jake take a different post gnawed at him. Back then, it seemed a peculiar demand, but now, understanding had become of him, the beacon of light in the abysmal pit of reality.

Refusing to accept what his intuition already grasped, Jake resisted the belief that his father harbored such cruelty. Yet, the inevitable truth loomed over him.

The roar of bikes outside interrupted his contemplation. As Rex entered the trailer, shutting the door behind him, the air thickened, and Jake felt the walls closing in. Eyes locked with his father's, he sought a hint of remorse, a trace of regret in those weathered features.

Regret was there, but it carried an undercurrent Jake couldn't place—a deeper lament, perhaps.

When the distant echoes of engines faded, Jake's voice, heavy with pain, pierced the silence. "You knew, didn't you?"

Rex remained silent, the unspoken confirmation lingering between them like an unbridgeable gap.

"You knew Jaxon and Nicky were walking right into danger. That's why you assigned me as a spotter instead of on post with them."

His father's gaze briefly locked with his, a fleeting expression passing over his face before vanishing into the depths of resolve.

"Jake, there's a code of honor—"

"No bullshit!" Jake erupted, crossing the room with a flash, jabbing a accusatory finger into his father's chest. "You sacrificed my best friend for this damn motorcycle club without giving him a choice!"

Torn between remorse and unyielding pride, Rex swiftly defended his actions. "You want someone to blame? Blame Nicky. He's the dumbass who false-fired and fled!"

"I blame both of you!" Jake thundered, his face flushing with escalating anger.

"All I did was fulfill my duty and lead this club to the best of my ability," Rex asserted firmly, his demeanor holding a defiant edge. "That's all I've ever done."

Jake scoffed, so infuriated that calm had now taken over his body, “leader. Yeah, right. You’re no fucking leader, Rex, you’re a fucking coward. You’re a shit leader just like you’re a shit father.”

Rex's anger reached a boiling point, and in the fevered intensity, he lunged toward Jake. Anticipating the move, Jake retaliated. The two men clashed in a chaotic tussle, more a collision of forces than a refined fist fight. They grappled fiercely, leaving a trail of destruction in their wake. Finally gaining hold of Jake's shirt, Rex, fueled by his anger, propelled them both into a violent collision with the wall, causing it to crumble behind Jake.

“You watch your mouth talking to me boy,” Rex huffed as he held Jake firmly into the hole behind him, “you remember regardless what you think, I am your leader.”

Everything Jake already knew clicked in that moment. Rex was so caught up in the Barbarian life that he would never be able to see Jake’s pain as his son.

‘I am your leader.’

Not ‘I am your father.’

Jake shrugged himself out of Rex’s hold, to bothered in that moment to grab any of his belongings. With only his wallet in his pocket, he went and grabbed his helmet of the table, along with the keys for his bike.

Rex watched silently as Jake made his way to the door. He knew, for whatever reason, that his son wasn’t just going for a ride to clear his head. He had a feeling he wouldn’t be seeing Jake for a long time after that, but decided he’d grapple with that later.

Instead, on his way out, Rex called behind him, “yeah that’s right, run away when things get rough. Just like your fucking mother.”

Jake slammed the door behind him, and Rex thought that was the end of it. But before he heard the sound of Jake’s bike, he heard the sound of his front window crashing, a large rock tumbling through the opening and rolling to his feet.

“Fuck you!” Jake shouted from outside.

After the shock wore off, Rex ran and opened the front door of his trailer just in time to watch Jake speed out of Cactus Creek for the last time.

That, was one of the very last interactions Jake had with his father. And now he was dead. In that moment something ticked in Jake that set him off completely. He didn’t know if he was more sad, or angry, but he knew he had to let it out.

He lurched forward with a closed fist, placing another hole in the wall next to the one that was left there that fateful day. When he didnt feel any better, he did it again.

He walked over to the coffee table and kicked it, sending its contents flying into the air and scattering about the living room.

“Fuck!” He shouted, “Fuck, fuck fuck, fuck!”

The pictures that once hung on the wall went crashing to the floor as Jake pulled them down one by one, curses flying from his mouth all the while.

He shouted for Jaxon, he shouted for Rex, he shouted for leaving, he shouted for coming back. His rampage continued until he’d exerted all of his energy, falling into one of the dining room chairs out of breath.

He didn’t know how long he was sitting there before you entered the trailer. You looked around cautiously, taking small steps over broken glass and crumbled pieces of dry wall.

“Jake,” you called out softly, making your way over to where he was sat and kneeling in front of him. His head was in his hands, his elbows resting on his lap, “Jake what happened?”

“I’m sorry,” his voice was mumbled, and from the way it sounded he might have been crying. “There’s too many memories here and I- I can’t-”

“Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay,” you reassured him as you rubbed soothingly along his back, “you dont have to apologize.”

He looked at you then, remnants of tears in his eyes, his face beet red. He then turned to assess the damage he’d done. If the place weren’t already a shithole, he’d probably feel a bit of remorse.

This is what ten years of running from your problems looked like.

You continued rubbing his back in attempts to soothe him, the two of you sitting quietly for a full three minutes, the door of the trailer still hanging wide open.

“Hey,” you said calmly, causing Jake to peer over at you, “why don’t we go home?”

Home.

You stared into his eyes with genuine concern, and you were surprised that he held your gaze for as long as he did.

Slowly, he nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

He stood from the chair and began shuffling towards the door, glancing one more time at the now three holes left in the wall. He was out of the house before you, and you picked up the keys from the floor to lock the door behind you.

There was still a lot you didn’t know about Jake. You didn’t know how deep the pain went when it came to his father, to the Barbarians. But seeing the destruction he’d left in Rex’s house gave you a pretty good idea of how troubled he was in his mind.

Jake was pretty much back to normal by the next day after a night of drinking at the Tavern and a few rounds of mind-blowing sex with you. The two of you never talked about what happened that day, but every time you went outside, you found yourself eyeballing Rex’s trailer, thinking about the mess that laid behind the door.

That Friday morning, you sat outside in a lounge chair, catching early morning rays of sunlight while Jake inspected your beat down car. One of the Barbarians, who conveniently owned a tow truck, lugged it back to your house last night, and now Jake was assessing the damage.

You’d steal glances at him every so often, shamelessly turned on by how sexy Jake looked covered in a bit of sweat and motor oil.

“I don’t know Cherry,” he warned, standing up straight and wiping his hands on a spare rag, “I think this old thing is more trouble than it’s worth.”

“Shit,” you sighed, dropping you head in your hands, “how the fuck am I supposed to get to work? I can’t keep depending on Angela for a ride.”

Getting to work was the least of your worries. Having to get a new car was going to set you back months. You couldn’t afford months.

Jake looked empathetic before a light bulb went off. He glanced across the street to Rex’s house. His bike, covered in tarp, and the chocolate brown 2000 Chevy Silverado that Rex hardly ever used.

“That old Chevy in my dad’s driveway,” he pointed it out to you, “I think it just needs a new battery and it should run just fine.”

“You’re just gonna give it to me?”

Jake shrugged, “well, yeah. You know, until you can get something of your own. But it’s no rush or anything.”

You weren’t used to generosity, and definitely not on this scale, a car was no small thing. But you were in no position to turn the offer down, so instead you smiled graciously.

“You’re the best, you know that?”

Jake smiled back at you before lowering the car’s hood, sitting on top of it so that he was positioned directly in front of you.

You stared at one another for a moment before he broke the intensity.

“I wanna take you out, Cherry.”

Your brows drew together causing Jake to chuckle. You weren’t opposed to the idea in the slightest, just simply surprised.

“Not many places to go ‘out’ here.”

Jake reached forward to squeeze your bare ankle, “I’ll figure it out. Just be ready by seven and wear something pretty.” He stood and kissed your forehead again, something he was doing quite often lately, before smoothing a hand over your head, “I gotta go meet with the guys. I’ll be back later, okay?”

You looked up at him, the sun haloing around his head, inspecting the scar on his eyebrow that was finally beginning to fade.

“Okay.”

Jake slid into an empty chair beside Steeljaw just as Ace was calling the meeting into order.

Steeljaw reached down and retrieved an ice cold beer from the cooler by his feet, using the handy bottle opener on the side to remove the lid before handing it to Jake.

“Thanks,” he raised the bottle before taking a sip and focusing on Ace at the front.

“Alright Fellas, I’ll keep this as short as possible so we can all get on with our days. I spoke with some of the men from the EDS and we’ve got a meeting set up with them for tomorrow in Corona. We’ll need to head out pretty early to make it in time.”

There were a few murmurs amongst the crowd, but no one seemed opposed.

“Now there’s no need for all of us to make that trip, so only Sector Ones and Sector Twos will be going. Sectors Three and Four will stay here, hold down the fort till we get back.”

Sectors, for the Barbarians, ranked the level of your membership. Sector One was usually leadership positions, Sector Twos being other long standing members of the club. Sectors Three and Four were the probes and other guys who have yet to really prove themselves.

Jake was a Sector Two, as was Steeljaw, and Madcap, and Ski Ball, and a few other guys Jake was pretty close with. But so was Nicky, unfortunately.

He looked across the room to where Nicky was standing, hardly surprised that Nicky was already scowling over at him. Jake scoffed, shaking his head and facing the front of the room again.

“We should only be gone a couple of days, so make sure you tell your ladies so we have no problems. If I have one more of them coming and bitching at me I don’t know what the hell I’ll do.”

Laughter sounded off in the room, “alright, next order of business…”

The rest of the meeting carried on for only another five minutes before Ace was dismissing them. The men poured out into the Tavern, but Ace caught Jake before he could leave the room.

“You ready?” He asked him.

Jake response was delayed, “don’t know why I wouldn’t be.”

Ace nodded, though his face held a look of uncertainty. He hesitated, “If it’s too soon I can-”

“Ace,” Jake interjected, his voice clipped, “it’s cool. I’ll be cool. I’ve done it a dozen times before.”

“Okay, okay,” Ace conceded, “I hear ya.”

Silence lingered between them before a smirk crept up on Ace’s face.

“You got time for a few rounds of pool, or do you need to get back to your Cherry Bomb.”

Jake nudged him playfully, shaking his head at his school boy antics, “come on, I’ve been waiting to whoop an old man’s ass in pool all day.”

“Two years living in Genoa and this is my first time coming here.”

Geno’s was Genoa’s only Italian restaurant, and it was just about as fancy as the people in that town could get. It was located in central downtown, situated between a dive bar and a recently closed furniture warehouse. The warm glow of string lights adorning the ceiling casted a warm and inviting ambiance over the modest yet charming space.

Jake grinned at you from across the table, admiring the way the candle flickering on the table lit up your face.

“Yeah, it’s a hidden gem. My mom used to bring me here whenever she was around. Not exactly fancy, but it’s our kind of fancy.”

You returned his smile, noting the way his face seemed to brighten with the memory. Jake seldom delved into discussions about his mother or any personal aspects of his life. It didn't faze you, though; that’d be hypocritical. After all, you had shared very little about your own life with him.

But it was nice to hear the little things.

“That’s really sweet.”

Jake picked up his menu, and you hesitated briefly before offering your own memory to him, “my mom’s favorite restaurant was Applebees.”

He looked up at you with an amused look, followed by a hearty laugh. You liked his laugh, you liked making him laugh. You wanted to do it again.

“She used to make me tell the waiters I was twelve up until I was like fifteen. I think at a certain point they knew but kinda didn’t give a shit anymore.”

His laugh grew louder, but luckily, the place was close to empty.

“That’s good stuff, Cherry,” he sighed, taking a sip from his water to collect himself, “you look beautiful tonight by the way.”

You weren’t one to blush often, but in that moment you did, even if it was only momentarily.

“Thanks. Not so bad yourself,” you played it cool, lifting your chin while Jake smirked at you.

Finally, you picked up the menu and scanned it, “so, what’s good here? Any family favorites?”

“Wellll,” he answered, “Vicky always swore by their lasagna. She said it’s ‘like a warm hug on a plate’. And you can’t go wrong with their garlic knots.”

Your eyes lit up with amusement. “Warm hug on a plate, huh? I’ll take Vicky’s word for it. Lasagna it is.”

The waitress brought out the bottle of Pinot that Jake ordered, pouring you both a glass before setting the bottle on the table. She quickly scribbled down your order and walked away.

Jake raised his glass in your direction, “to you, Cherry.” You raised your glass in return, cocking an eyebrow, “to you, Barbarian Prince.”

Yes, Jake hated that nickname, but coming from you, it wasn’t so bad, he rather liked it.

In the simplicity of that Italian restaurant, with its rustic charm and timeless appeal, Jake and you made room to savor the present while honoring the echoes of the past.

Once dinner and a bottle and a half of wine were finished, you and Jake walked along the streets of downtown Genoa, by no means crowded but still active nonetheless. You were hand in hand, as if you’d been a couple for a long time. Not like two broken strangers who met barely a week ago and some how sort of lived together.

But it was comfortable, it felt right.

As you neared the end of the street, you could hear the sounds of upbeat country music pouring out from a juke joint on the corner. Jake stopped and looked at you, his eyes twinkling with mischief, “you wanna go dancing?”

Your eyes went wide in shock, “really? You don’t strike me as the dancing type.”

Jake feigned fake offense, “Cherry you wound me,” he began dragging you across the street in the direction of the music, “now I have no choice but to show you just how much of the dancing type I am.”

You resisted his tug, but it was no match to his adamancy, “Jake, that place is full of nothing but old people.”

He looked back at you and sent you a goofy wink, “all the better. Come on Cherry, the night is young.”

The first place you stopped was the bar, ordering two double shots of whiskey each, knocking them back before hitting the dance floor.

You were right, it was nothing but old people, and Jake was right too; all the better. They seemed to be a lively bunch, everyone hitting the dance floor at some point during the night. Couples glided and twirled around, dancing close to one another and never slowing down. You and Jake blended right in, laughing and joking the entire time as you guys tore up the dance floor right along with them.

Jake was indeed a pretty good dancer. He led with ease, and every so often he’d roll his hips into yours, and the old ladies around you seemed to be more affected by it than you were. Of course the alcohol in his system was making him a little more confident than normal, but that’s what made it more entertaining.

Though you loved dancing, you weren’t the greatest at it, but that night you couldn’t care less. This was the most fun you’d had in a long time, and in that rundown juke joint surrounded by people twice your senior, you felt like you could let go.

Spending time with Jake had a way of making you feel like that, you were starting to enjoy it.

As you continued to dance, Jake broke away from you and began dancing on his own, shimmying to the music. Once again, all of the woman in the room were distracted, some of them cat-calling him from across the bar. You were doubled over with laughter in the middle of the dance floor as people continued to shuffle around you.

“Don’t you ever,” Jake shouted to you over the music, “say I’m not the dancing type every again.”

He pulled you back into his arms as you continued to laugh, feeling the alcohol’s full effects.

“Come on,” Jake chuckled, “it’s getting late, let’s head out.”

You checked your phone and were surprised to see that you guys had been there for over two hours.

“Okay,” you purred as you hugged him close, “let’s go home. I want you to show m some of those moves again.”

You and Jake went at it for hours when you got home, both of you trying to fuck the alcohol out of you system. It pretty much worked, but it left you both feeling drained, your sweat-slick bodies tangled between one another and the sheets.

Mötley Crüe droned lowly in the background as Jake ran his hands through your tousled hair.

“I have to go to New Mexico in the morning with the club.”

You didn’t answer right away, letting his words sink in before turning to gaze at him.

“How long are you gonna be gone?”

“No more than a couple days. It’s quick business.”

Nodding, you began tracing along one of his tattoos as silence lingered again.

“We haven’t spent a day apart since you got here,” you teased a bit, causing Jake to chortle. But you looked back up at him then, more serious in your expression, “why do I feel like I’m gonna miss you?”

As he did often, Jake leaned down and kissed your forehead, “I know, Cherry. I think I’m gonna miss you too.”

You nestled closer too him, and he welcomed you in, giving you a squeeze, “I’ll bring you something back, how does that sound? Something to let you know I was thinking about you.”

A smile crept up on your face then, and you didn’t bother trying to hide it. It was true, that after everything that’s taken place over the past week, you still didn’t really know Jake, nor did he, you.

But for some reason, there seemed to be an understanding that neither of you cared about that. What you had right now worked for the both of you. You were wounded in your own ways, and you brought each other comfort, it was as simple as that.

So you decided not to argue, instead you leaned into the bliss of it, “alright.”

Jake grinned at you, “alright Cherry.”

Taglist: @edgingthedarkness @earthgrlsreasy

#greta van fleet #gvf #greta van fic #greta van fleet smut #jake gvf #greta van smut #greta van fleet fic #jake kiszka #jake kiszka fic #greta van fleet fan fiction #jake kiszka smut #jake greta van fleet #greta van angst #greta van fluff #gvf fanfiction

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assortedseaglass · 1 year

Text

The Seamstress & The Sailor - Chapter Twelve

[Masterlist]

Warnings: Language, World on Fire spoilers

Word Count: 3.4K

Notes: Just a little chapter as the next one is gonna be a hefty mamma.

May 1940

Bess woke up before her alarm and withdrew the blackouts from her windows. Had she her own way, the blackouts would never be up and each morning she’d rise with the sun. Laundry was strung between the windows of the old mills, and she could see Mrs Russo wrestling with some bedsheets. 7 o’clock. The warmth of spring had finally settled, and Bess took her morning cup of tea by the kitchen window, letting open the sash and welcoming the fresh air.

Despite the war, and her part in it, Bess’ life in Manchester was small and she welcomed it. She glanced around her little flat. The tiny kitchenette with its table at the centre, the adjoining bedroom and en suite; a toilet, sitting bath and sink. The metal frame of the small double bed was tied with silk scarves and she had used tape to put up pictures. Cut outs from magazines mostly, but a few photographs. The bedside table was adorned with a lamp she found in a skip, a few books from home, and Tom’s photograph. She’d read a feature in one of her fashion magazines about bohemian apartments in Paris and had attempted to decorate the old flat in its likeness. Bess thought on how many of those beautiful Parisian buildings may be just rubble now and suddenly felt thankful for her peeling wallpaper and cold floors.

While her bacon and eggs cooked on the hob, she reread Tom’s last letter. It had sat on the kitchen table for two weeks, awaiting a reply. Torn between delight and anger, Bess had no idea what to say.

“I could easily understand if you never wanted to talk to me again, but this? These horrible half-given accounts of your day with no substance? I want to know you, Bess”

She remembered how frustrated she got when all Tom sent was tales of shore leave and crass attempts at humour. Really, he deserved more from her. She may not have been his girl, but she was his friend.

“Queenie Warren doesn’t deserve your cruelty just because she likes the company of men”

Never did she think she’d be scolded by Tom. Not when he was so right. Queenie had faults, certainly. Many. She was an obnoxious, selfish gossip. But enjoying men was not one of them. If Bess had the daring and the patience, perhaps she would enjoy them as much as Queenie.

“Please believe me. She asked me about the battle at the dance and it really was just one letter”

Did she believe him? She thought of all the times they had laughed at Queenie, of how many times she had annoyed him. But Tom was all about his reputation. It wouldn’t be the first lie he’d told her, nor would she be the last secret he kept. He’d apologised, yes, but it wasn’t enough for the heartbreak left in his wake. Once upon a time he was her defender, and with supposedly one letter, he had undone Bess’ years of overcoming her insecurities and doubts.

“I loved seeing myself through your eyes”

She resolved to tell him more, and tell Douglas too; his son needed to know he was loved.

“And if anything happened to me out here, I thought it would be easier for you if no-one knew”

Had Bess ever really considered what would happen if he didn’t come home? A violent shiver rocked her body. In the months before the war, Tom Bennett had become her primary source of comfort and joy. Could she content herself to a life looking after an alcoholic father and making clothes for people who scarcely knew her name? A life without Tom?

“I miss you”

Bess kissed the place he had signed his name and tucked the letter into her purse. She would reply that night.

An hour later, Bess stepped through the main doors of Manchester Royal Infirmary with Helen and Joan, her fellow trainees from Carver Mills. Helen was a posh girl a year or two older than Bess. When women were conscripted for war work, she had come to the Infirmary. This was her first job. Joan was from Bolton and had a similar upbringing to Bess. Both were bright, kind women of the world. They enjoyed Bess’ quiet assuredness and never wanted more from her and, in turn, Bess wanted to give them everything. Together, they formed a found family.

Their morning was spent practicing their stitches. Watch one, do one, teach one, as the saying goes. Bess, naturally, was best. Her nimble fingers made quick and neat work of wounds, and she left early to attend to soldiers whose eyes had been damaged by gas. When Helen and Joan finished their lessons with the matron, they met Bess in the canteen.

“Stern by name, stern by nature,” Joan said as she slumped into the seat next to Bess.

“If I never see a needle again it’ll be too soon.” Helen added.

“You’re in the wrong professional, Hels.” Bess smiled over the lip of her cup, and the three settled into an amicable, if exhausted, silence. Helen, sat primly in her seat, broke the silence.

“When’s your next date with James?” Her voice was soft and inquisitive, and Bess couldn’t help but smile at her, even if she hated the question.

“Tomorrow evening, but it’s not a date-”

“She’s too hung up on sailor boy,” Joan cut in. Bess gave her a look that was returned by a coy smile. Late at night, when the girls were missing their families or tired from a day at the hospital, they piled onto Bess’ bed a chattered the night away. They knew everything about each other, from Helen’s troubled relationship with her distant mother to Joan’s scandalous time as a nightclub hostess, and the ongoing saga of Bess Vaughn and Tom Bennett.

“Date or not, he’s a good-looking distraction.” Helen winked and Joan laughed at her.

“And with that, ladies,” Bess stood from her seat. “I shall be off.”

“Hang on, we’ve got about a hundred beds to make this afternoon!” Joan was incredulous.

“Not me. I’m off to job number two.” Bess waved her friends goodbye and stepped into the bright afternoon. A bus ride later and she was walking that familiar gravel path to the grey mansion. It had been months since she had seen Robina Chase, but money was tight and so her mending and sewing had resumed. With fabric now rationed, her clientele were calling upon her services to alter garments from years passed, maintaining to their friends an air of stoicism, normalcy, “keep calm and carry on”.

Half expecting it to open as she approached, Bess made to knock the bolted wooden door when she heard a laugh from the garden. It pealed like bells, tinkling gaily over the hedgerow, and Bess realised that it belonged to a child. Following the sound, she passed a bike leant beneath a window and her curiosity grew. What bizarre gathering had Mrs Chase assembled here this afternoon? A conscientious objector, a seamstress-cum-nurse and…

A little boy. Bess entered the garden through a gap in the hedge and found Douglas Bennett engaged in a game of football with the child. The little boy kicked the ball and it rolled into the makeshift goal post.

“Right between my legs!” Douglas laughed, and Bess noted that it was the first time she had seen him smile, really smile, in years. The man turned to retrieve the ball and saw Bess smiling at him. “Hello, love. Robina said you were coming,” he was a little out of breath, his usually worn face had softened and life shone in his eyes. He looked ten years younger.

Bess indicated to the little boy. “Who’s this then?” she said with a smile. Douglas, ball in hand, put his hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“This is Jan. Harry brought him home from Poland.” The boy, Jan, smiled up at Douglas then looked to Bess. She held out her hand.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Jan. I’m Bess.”

He tentatively shook her hand. “Hello,” his voice was quiet but Bess sensed his timidity was due to the language and not, she thought, his natural character. Jan’s hair was shorn and his clothes looked a little threadbare. For a moment, she observed him. The brightness of his eyes dimmed a little and he looked away. Damn, I’ve made him uncomfortable.

“You’ll get used to Bess, Jan. She’s a quiet one, but kind.” Douglas winked at Bess softly and she blushed. Despite both of their insistence to the contrary, Douglas and Tom were awfully similar.

There was a seconds’ pause. Then, Bess grabbed the ball from Douglas’ arms and sprinted to the end of the garden. “Come on, Jan!” The little boy laughed and ran after her. Dropping the ball on the ground, she kicked it to the him and he shot past Douglas towards the goal. Just as Jan swung his leg to score, Douglas picked him up round the middle and Jan squealed with delight.

“Bess.” A cold, clipped voice cut over the merriment causing Douglas and Jan to still. Robina Chase was stood at the door to the lounge, indicating with her arm that Bess should come inside. Bess looked at Jan and rolled her eyes. The boy laughed and watched her disappear into the house.

“I see you’ve met Jan,” Robina said, a pinched, somewhat pained look on her face.

“Yes, sweet boy.” Bess replied as she began assembling her tailor’s stand.

“Harry brought him back from Poland. Left him for me to look after.” Bess reflected on how Douglas was outside playing with him while Robina lurked inside. She said nothing. Since her outburst at Mrs Chase in August, and Robina’s altercation with Tom, Bess had exchanged very few words with the woman on her visits. Today seemed to be no exception. Aside from asking her to move so she might tailor her clothes, they said very little until Robina called for Jan to come inside.

“He came with barely any clothes. I wondered if you might alter some of Harry’s old things?”

“Of course,”

“It shouldn’t be too hard. Harry was just as wiry at his age. I’ll pay, of course.”

At that moment, Douglas entered the lounge. Seeing Mrs Chase upon the tailor’s stand and Bess on her knees at her feet, he coughed and mumbled something about waiting outside.

“No need, Douglas,” Robina stepped down. “We’re finished here I think.” Bess nodded and began packing away.

“I’ll see myself out, Mrs Chase.” Robina and Douglas were talking lowly in armchairs when Bess had finished tidying her things, and she didn’t want to disturb their bizarre tête-à- tête. She called a goodbye up the stairs to Jan and hurried from the house. The world of Mrs Chase was not the same one that Bess inhabited, and the moment she stepped into the sunlight Bess relaxed, as though every sinew had been pulled taut.

“Bess,” Douglas appeared at the side of the house and reached for his bike. “Need a lift?”

Bess beamed. “As a matter of fact, I do. Off home for dinner, seeing as I’m out this way.”

“Hop on then,” Douglas laughed as Bess eagerly climbed onto the handlebars of his racing bike and they sped down the drive. From an upstairs window, Mrs Chase steered Jan away.

✼　　✼　　✼　　✼　　✼　　✼

They were back in Longsight within the hour. The journey was quiet yet contented; Bess had missed the comfort of Douglas’ broad shoulders and, though he hated to admit it, he had missed the feeling of Bess resting against his chest. When Bess had disembarked outside her father’s house, she invited Douglas inside for a cup of tea.

“You’re alright, got things to be getting on with.” The world-worn man had returned, quiet and reserved. For some reason, Bess didn’t want to let him go just yet.

“How’s Lois getting on?”

“Ah, well,” he removed his cap and rubbed his face. “I suppose you’ll have heard.”

Bess nodded. Cora had told her of Lois’ pregnancy by Harry. “If she ever needs any help, just ask. You know, with the labour and everything.”

“Thanks, love. She’s just so angry at everything and I don’t know how to make it better for her.”

“You can’t make it better Douglas. Just be there for her.” Bess thought of her secret promise to Tom. “And what about Tom? Have you heard from him?”

Douglas sighed. “Not for a little while. No-” He trailed off, thoughts of his son obvious across his face. Bess took his hand in hers.

“Write to him. I know it takes a while what with the auxiliaries getting out there, but he needs to know that your worried for him. I know he worries about you.” Douglas gave her a quizzical look and opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted when a shrill voice carried along the street.

Queenie Warren was hurrying along the road. She was overdressed as usual, hair haphazardly curled and lipstick far too bright for the spring day. Bess had to admit though, her dress was pretty.

“Hiya Douglas, Bess.” She wobbled past them as fast as her high heels would carry her. “Can’t stop, visiting Frank’s mam.” She blew them a kiss and went on her way. Bess watched her go. No matter how hard she tried, she just couldn’t like Queenie.

“Bess?” She turned at Douglas’ voice. “Everything alright?” He asked, for Bess’ face had grown stormy as she glowered at the other woman. She simply gave Douglas a small nod. He touched his cap once more, and the two unlikely friends went silently about their business.

The house was quiet when she unlocked the door, apart from the ticking of the clock and the chatter of children playing out in the ginnel. Potatoes were sat in the filled sink, next to them a small note.

Bess. In case you’re here early, would you mind peeling the spuds? The cold ham is in the fridge. We should be back by 6. Cora x

Bess looked to the clock. Half past four. She made herself a pot of tea and settled at the table. The potatoes could wait, for the letter in her purse had waited long enough to be answered.

Dear Tom,

It’s taken me a little while to reply. Your letter arrived a few weeks ago, and what with Albie going back and my nursing work, I found that my mind has never been in the right place to reply. As it stands, I am sitting down to write to you at dad’s kitchen table. Cora has tasked me with peeling potatoes while they’re at work, but I’d rather write to you.

As you addressed some of the offences I accused you of, I’ll attempt to do the same. Namely, giving you a letter that isn’t “shit”.

I had work at the infirmary this morning, practicing our surgical stitches with Ms. Stern, our matron. She’s an austere woman, incredibly bony, and Joan says she looks like a heron. After that I escaped to Robina Chase’s. You remember her, the woman you aggravated last time we saw each other? I was going across to alter some clothes for her and you’ll never guess what awaited me. Your dad and a little Polish boy playing football in her garden! Harry came back from Poland with him, Jan he’s called. Your dad looked happier than I’ve seen him in ages. I think he was pretending it was you. He misses you so much, Tom. I can see the worry in his eyes anytime he speaks of you. I’ve asked him to write to you. Told him to, really. There was a moment when he was playing football with Jan that he looked so much like you. It almost took my breath away, it was like you were there. You’re so alike and he loves you. I wish you’d tell each other more. He gave me a lift home after Robina’s (the less said about her the better). I’ve missed our bike rides together. Saw Queenie on the way home, can’t give you any updates there because, being at the Royal, I never see her thank God.

Why had she let Queenie taint the letter? Bess could feel her anger start to quicken.

She was off to see Frank’s mam. You were right, by the way, about everyone coupling up. Jude has a man, another farmer from the Land Army. She and Hattie are working so hard now that summer is approaching. Roberta has been spending more and more time with that teacher from the primary (please don’t tell anyone), and tomorrow I have a date with a solider from the infirmary. Got his eyes injured by gas. He can see now, but insisted on taking me on a date as a thank you for looking after him.

Bess knew full well what she was doing. Let’s see how you like it, Tom Bennett.

He’s called James. I think we’re going to the Palais but I’m not sure, he’s picking me up after my shift. How are you managing with only men aboard ship? Any French girls taken your fancy? We both know you have a reputation to maintain.

She paused her writing and took a deep breath. That’s enough. She looked over his last letter, trying to find something to write about. The apology.

I can’t pretend that I’m not still hurt by what you did, Tom. I wonder, have you told Douglas and Lois about me? All those years you looked out for me and protected me from Walter and the others. They thought me a freak and a witch. Did you really want to keep me secret just so you had something good all to yourself? Or was it because deep down, you agree with them and only see me as an outcast? Or someone to say you got you leg over? If the former, then please know that you don’t need me to discover that you are a good person. You broke my heart, Tom, but I know that deep down you are good, and kind. I wish you’d find it in yourself.

Maybe too much has changed for us to be anything other than acquaintances now, but I’d like to be your friend, if you want me. Stay safe.

Yours,

Bess.

There. It was done. She sealed the envelope and thought about it no more. That was until a knock on the door distracted her from potato peeling. Opening it, she saw the ratty face of the postman, Dennis Warley. She detested the man, but a postman was a postman.

“Dennis,” she nodded at him.

“Bess, is-”

She cut across him. “I have a letter here, could you take it for me.” She pressed it into his hands and he stared at it before looking at her. His eyes were wide, worried, and his hand shook as he placed the letter for Tom in his bag and retrieved another. He cleared his throat.

“Is your father here, Bess?” His voice quavered, and Bess’ eyes narrowed.

“He’s still at work.”

Dennis coughed again. “And Cora?”

“They’re all out.” The man swallowed nervously, and a trickle of panic gripped at Bess’ neck. “Dennis?” Her voice was but a whisper. “What is it?”

The postman handed the letter to Bess. It was a telegram. She didn’t take it. Dennis removed his cap and said solemnly, “Bess. I’m so sorry.”

Notes: I’m sorry too! This is a war drama, the angst levels are gonna be through the roof, but know that I will reward you in a few chapters time!

We’re with Tom for the next chapter, you know what’s coming…

Tags: @aemonds-wifey @multiple-fandoms-girl @jessssica1234 @babyblue711 @anditsmywholeheart @allthefandomtherapy @valerie977 @bookwyrmsblog @phantomontheinternet @chainsawsangel @greenowlfactif @thelittleswanao3 @yentroucnagol @beiigegalx @skikikikiikhhjuuh @just-emmaaaa @mefools @aquakaris @its-actually-minicika @whoknows333 @arcielee @honeymaltgelato @girlwith-thepearlearring

#ewan mitchell #tom bennett #tom bennett x ofc #world on fire #the seamstress & the sailor #tom bennett x reader

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fr3sh-tragedies · 3 months

Text

Headcanons

[BATIM/BATDR] Allison Angel x Female Reader x Alice Angel

Summary: General and romantic headcanons I have about the two main angels in the franchise.

Word Count: 3.54k Content Warnings: Soft mentions of insecurity Category: Fluff + Slight angst

[A/N]: Only a few more characters left, then I'll post my master list and rules for requests. Thank you to everyone who has sent in a request so far!

Enjoy!

Allison

General

Generally one of the kindest, most patient people you’re ever going to meet, especially down in the studio

Her temper hardly ever flares up, but there are moments where she’ll act out of pure fear or anger

Even so, it’ll still be hard to tell how furious she is, considering she hardly ever raises her voice outside of battle

It’s just much harder to see the impatient side of her

She tends to be more logical, wanting to think things all the way through, and she is sure to get others to share their perspective of a situation before she makes a plan

After all she’s witnessed throughout her time at the studio, it’s understandable that she’s cautious of every lurking shadow and newcomer

She’ll welcome others if she feels they aren’t a threat, but still tends to keep an escape route pinned in the back of her mind in case things take a turn (as they have in the past)

She and Tom will both head out together most of the time to gather supplies that they can bring to their safehouse

While together, she feels a bit calmer knowing they have each other’s backs

Whenever she’s wandering around alone, however, she constantly feels on edge about whether or not the Ink Demon will come stampeding toward her

On top of this, she worries that Tom won’t be there when she gets back, or that he won’t be in one piece if he is

Helps whoever she can, even if that means putting herself at risk to save them from the cruelty of the studio, such as the Ink Demon, Alice, and the Projectionist

She’ll only put herself at risk for others if she deems them more important than herself, meaning a loved one (such as Tom or someone she took under her wing)

In the darker spaces of the studio, she’ll find blank spaces on the walls or floors and write messages for the Lost Ones who roam around, hoping to provide some sense of hope for them

Tinkers around with any gadget or scraps she can find, typically to create artificial limbs for those she trusts–an example being the animatronic arm she repurposed for Tom to use after he lost his own

Plays off any injury she gets as minor, no matter how severe it actually is, because she doesn’t want to worry others

She doesn’t mind getting help for what she’s endured, but she wants to ensure everyone else is safe first before she tries to scavenge for what she needs

On constant alert when outside of the safehouse, even if she has reinforcements

Sleep doesn’t come easy in the studio, especially to those who know what dangers threaten each wrong turn, so when she isn’t able to rest, Allison will try to find a way to make herself useful

Generally uses this time to count the stock in their storage, feed the fish, scribble out quick lists of plans she has for material, etc.

Always makes sure to let Tom know where she’s headed before she leaves

Actively searches out Lost Ones who need some sort of aid, making sure to keep a can of bacon soup nearby at all times in case it’s needed

Although there are more people in the studio that she trusts aside from Tom, she still is very strict about who she’ll let into the safehouse

The last thing she wants is to be responsible for the death of Tom or herself simply because she was too trusting toward a stranger

Overall, she’s a patient, kindhearted woman who wants to help others in any way she can, but her years in the studio have hardened her into a survivor, leaving her wary of every deadly possibility that may come her way

Romantic

It takes a while for Allison to trust you, considering all that she’s been through. However, the moment she sees you helping someone escape a situation, or she sees you patching a stranger up and handing them provisions, the tension in her body starts to ease up

Once she trusts you enough, she’ll start noticing your interests and hobbies, and she’ll partake in some of them herself if she can

After a while of growing closer to you and learning that she can trust you fully, she’ll either find that she fancies you, or she’ll notice that you like her first with ease

Either way, she’ll most likely take initiative when it comes to confessing and asking the other out

She likes being upfront and honest, especially with those she loves, so she’ll be relatively blunt about how she feels

She’ll take you somewhere that’s special to the both of you, reveal a small setup she made beforehand, and spend time talking with you before she finally confesses

Compared to most, she’s alright with being rejected–things don’t come easy (or at all), and she’s willing to accept that

As she expresses how she feels, there’s a small sense of anxiety creeping in through her words. She hadn’t confessed to anyone since being rebirthed. She stays calm and confident however, so it’s hard to even pick up on the fact that her hands are trembling and there are small beads of sweat forming on the back of her neck

When you tell her you feel the same way and agree to be her girlfriend, she’s relieved more than anything

She’ll spend more time with you in that space for a while before she walks you back to the safehouse to crash for the night

After the relationship had been established, Allison finally got more bold with a few of her motions

With a little bit of patience, she starts growing more comfortable and confident with being your partner, often finding herself resorting to coming to you for comfort and advice instead of Tom

She’ll, of course, be there for you in all of those ways as well

Dates are sometimes hard to initiate in the studio due to the danger, so she’ll make do with what she has

By this, it means she’ll wait until she knows Tom will be out of the safehouse for a while on a supply run. When he’s gone, she’ll bring out a couple of candles, a radio, and gather a few plates with food she had found–thankful that she managed to find something other than bacon soup

You’ll spend the day together at the table, eating what she prepared, playing cards, and just chatting away about whatever comes to mind

After peace finally settled over the studio (after Audrey helped rewrite what happens during the cycle), dates become more frequent and are out in better spaces in the studio, no longer having to worry about the Ink Demon appearing and ruining everything

Although the small city in the middle of the studio is abandoned, Allison will take you there often, carrying a radio with her to set up

She had–with the help of Tom–pushed a few of the cars to the sides of the street, providing an open space in the middle

There, she’ll place down the radio she brings and tune it to a slower song. She’ll then pull you into the large opening and slow dance with you for a while, complimenting you left and right as she leads

She enjoys doing anything and everything with you that she can

Any hobbies that you’ve shown interest in become a pair-hobby

She’ll sit / stand beside you as you paint, sculpt, read, play an instrument, etc., and she’ll be doing the same, essentially mirroring you peacefully at your side

If she can’t participate in your hobbies somehow, she’ll at least show that she takes interest in it, never making you feel dumb for what you enjoy

When settling down for the night, she’s not opposed to bundling up together in bed, surprised at herself for finding any cuddling position comfortable

Regardless of how you sleep, she’ll ensure that she’s holding you in some way

This stems from trauma and experience before the Ink Demon was tamed, though now it’s more of a comfort thing than a protection thing

If you don’t feel like being touched too much, she’ll hold your hand or keep her hand on your shoulder as you sleep

If you’re the opposite, she’ll let you latch onto her like a koala, or she’ll even do it herself if the day had been particularly demanding for her

She just wants to be close to you, regardless of the fact the studio is much safer now

A way for her to be close to you is by giving you some sort of jewelry

After a while of her experimenting with necklaces and bracelets made of scraps she polished and welded, she finally takes a few measurements and brings you to the place she confessed to you at

There, you’ll find a similar setup to before, and things will run smoothly

After a while of dancing together and talking about what the future will look like, she’ll segway into her speech and drop onto her knee, pulling out a ring from her satchel

When you say yes to marrying her, she doesn’t hesitate to slip the ring on your finger and pull you in for a kiss, overjoyed of the outcome

A small wedding, if you’re comfortable with it, is held shortly after, and her vows are heartwarming: she expresses her constant admiration and appreciation for you walking into her life, promising to always be there for you no matter what, slightly whispering by the time she gets to her statement of how she hopes she’s been half the girlfriend to you that you’ve been to her. Her voice manages to crack slightly at the end, and she’s fighting back the tears, wanting to save them for after the kiss

After the wedding, she somehow finds herself growing even closer to you than before, and things finally seem to fall into place for her

Overall, she’s a loving, understanding, patient partner who wants to be there for you in every possible way. She’ll show interest in your own hobbies, partaking in them herself most of the time, and she’s constantly trying to find a way to make time spent alone together more special. Dates, even before the Ink Demon has been disposed of as a threat, are heartfelt and meaningful, each small act one of intimacy and adoration. She makes time for you, and she always takes your opinions into consideration before making a final decision. With her, you’ll feel safe, understood, and never judged for who you are

Malice

General

Contrary to Allison, Malice–or Susie–tends to be more hotheaded

It’s not hard to upset her, though if she trusts you enough, it’ll sort of be easier to calm her back down

Extremely paranoid of newcomers, and even of those she’s known for decades

Terrified of stumbling across the Ink Demon, so she’ll end up sending any poor soul she’s fortunate to come across on an errand run, promising to send them home as a thank you when they’re done

It’s hard to gain her trust. In her mind, everyone in the studio is out to get her, and she’ll do whatever she can to keep herself safe

When she does have to scavenge for supplies on her own, she keeps a weapon handy at all times, whether it be her tommy gun or a Gent pipe

In what she calls her sanctuary, any mirror that can be found has either been shattered or covered with a thick cloth

The only place a still in-tact mirror can be found is her workshop, where she uses her twisted devices to torture and experiment on the corrupted members of the Butcher Gang

She keeps the mirror there to check how the experiments of harvesting and digesting organs is affecting her physical form

Each time she sees the tattered side of her face, still ripped open and taunting her, she has to will everything in herself not to smash everything in her sight, instead trying to focus on repairing her equipment and scanning across the monitors for the cameras she has set up around the studio

Tends to target creatures that come out “perfect,” meaning she’ll spare the Lost Ones and Searchers if they don’t get in her way

In her room, she keeps a record of her experiments and studies on the anatomy of whatever she can get her hands on

Emptied out the bookshelf closest to the sofa she sleeps on to store her journals and notes

Selfish beyond belief–she refuses to actively help others on her own volition, even if they’re at her feet begging

In order to keep herself safe, she went on a rampage during her first few years after being rebirthed, making a point to others that she’s one to be feared

This worked well, allowing her to isolate herself and focus on perfecting her injections, though it also caused issues with her sanity

Can often be heard shrieking at herself, almost like she’s arguing with herself about whatever has crawled under her skin in the moment

Although she appreciates feeling safe in her solitude, she aches for someone to help her with her dream of one day becoming beautiful again–someone who won’t look at her with terror or hatred

Self-sabotages any kind of trust she has with someone, too worried they’ll double-cross her and she’ll wind up at the mercy of the Ink Demon again

Ultimately, a very paranoid, insecure woman who longs to find herself again. She buries herself in work to distract herself from the reality of what would haunt her mind if she acknowledged it, specifically the abominations that meander through the levels of the studio

Romantic

It takes forever to fully gain her trust enough for her to actually fall for you

After all she had bared witness to in her time down in the studio, it’s hard to blame her for being paranoid about new people around the area

If you somehow manage to stay on her good side and gain her trust, however, she’ll cling to you

In her eyes, you’re the only light left in her dull life down in the inky depths of the very place that made her the way she is

For a while, she’ll keep you hidden in the furthest corner of her safety zone on Level Nine, terrified she’s going to lose the one good thing still left in her life

With a lot of convincing (and the promise made to always carry around a weapon), Malice will finally let you wander around more and more. It’ll start off with her attached at your hip and walking with you everywhere, then slowly shift to her watching you from her cameras

Even when she knows you’ll be safe out in the places you choose to go, she’ll still keep an eye on her monitors here and there to make sure there isn’t anything weird lurking nearby

One way to make her trust you is to promise to help her on her journey to recover her beauty (and sanity)

More often than not, you’ll find her hidden away somewhere in her sanctuary, sobbing and curled up on the ground as she desperately tries to hide her face from you

You’ll have to comfort her when she gets that way

One thing that makes her melt during her swings of insecurity is when you hold her close and caress her face, especially if you cup the tattered side just as tenderly as the part that’s still in-tact

Gaze at her without any sense of fear or discomfort, and she’ll break, weeping against you after she drops her head against one of your shoulders, her hands clutching at your shirt to try and pull you closer

If you work with her enough, she’ll start to grow a little more comfortable with how she looks. She’ll still have breakdowns and moments where she wants to be alone, but she’ll come around to you sooner or later

Will absolutely gawk at you with hearts in her eyes if you protect her from the creatures threatening to attack when you both go out to scavenge for supplies. Bonus points if you help her in her lab with dissecting the Butcher Gang’s organs

Since she’s managed to keep Level Nine relatively safe from the Ink Demon, there’s a wider amount of space for her to bring you for dates

During these moments alone in random parts of her sanctuary, she’ll feel safe enough to show her vulnerabilities, showing you the torn part of her face without trying to hide behind her hair or turn away

She’ll express that she’s worried about the future, wondering if she’ll ever manage to perfect her experiments and fix her face

Comfort her when she talks about those insecurities, and she’ll practically swoon, melting under your touch and leaning into it as she scoots closer

One of the main things about being with her is she needs constant reassurance that you love her and aren’t afraid of her

It’s hard for her to trust anyone, and when she finally fully trusts you, she wants to do everything she can to keep you in her life, even if it means resorting to selfish means. It’s not necessarily her fault for being so possessive, but you’ll eventually have to convince her to work on it when it gets to be too much

Even after things settle down when Audrey shows up, she’s still be worried about you leaving certain parts of the studio that she can’t access with her cameras, and she’ll come with you for a while

Eventually, she’ll realize she isn’t in constant danger anymore and will let you wander off on your own, so long as you promise you’ll be back soon

She may not participate in your hobbies the way Allison would, but she’ll certainly show curiosity and interest in them. If they’re more on the scientific side, she may join you here and there to learn more about them

At home at night, she almost always needs to be holding you when asleep. More likely than not, she’ll spoon you from behind or just hold you against her chest, keeping one hand next to yours at all times

It’s hard for her to sleep half of the time, so even if you manage to get her to crash for a bit, it won’t be long before you feel her toying with your hair or shirt to keep herself distracted after waking up

She doesn’t want to wake you up just because she’s getting antsy, which is why she does this

When she does manage to sleep throughout a whole night, it’s ridiculously hard to get her out of bed until the early evening. She’ll cling to you and keep you in the bed with her until she’s ready to wake up and get ready for the day, so make sure you have a book or something nearby to keep yourself occupied

Marriage with her is a strange subject, considering she hardly ever speaks to anyone else aside from you (meaning she has no one but you to go to for advice on it). By the time she proposes with a ring she made using the metal from a few of her older tools, you’re already aware of what she has planned, but manage to pretend to be surprised anyway

She’s overwhelmed after you say yes, already worrying about how she’s going to make the wedding perfect, frantically asking you what you want to add to the ceremony and the decorations by the time you head back to the sanctuary

During the wedding, which is held in the Heavenly Toys lobby, her vows start off a little rocky, but just as quickly grow as meaningful as you’ve learned she can secretly be. She talks about how odd she found it that you trusted her so quickly at the beginning of the relationship, but adds that, after looking back on it, she’s grateful you did. She expresses how inspired you’ve made her over the years, and how you always help her work through any issue she has, never looking at her as a burden. She stresses the fact that she loves you more than anything or anyone else, and how she wants to always protect you and keep you happy.

After the wedding, she finally starts to let herself relax. She starts to open up more, and if you strike the right chord with her, she’ll start studying more humane ways to run her experiments

Ultimately, she starts off as a very paranoid partner, terrified you’re going to leave her or be mercilessly slaughtered out in the halls out of her reach. She keeps you close, essentially growing possessive over you within a short amount of time. However, after a while of gaining her trust and promising you’re there to stay, she’ll loosen up and provide more freedom. She wants to keep you safe, even if it means she comes across as selfish, but she knows you can hold your own in most situations, and she’ll learn to have more faith in you. After all, you’re now her wife. There’s nothing her wife can’t handle

#fluff #x reader #female reader #slight angst #batim #batdr #alice angel #alice angel x reader #alice angel x female reader #allison angel #allison angel x reader #twisted alice angel x reader #batim x reader #batdr x reader

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