#clutching the index card with her life | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

eldritch-thrumming · 11 months

Text

and i wouldn’t marry me either, pt. 1

have u guys seen that movie plus one on hulu with jack quaid and maya erskine? ok well here’s this thing. also, tw for steve puking.

Steve is drunk. Like, really, embarrassingly drunk.

And that would be fine, really, if he wasn’t at someone’s actual, real-life wedding.

Somewhere between the ceremony and the cocktail hour, the father-of-the-bride speech that had made him cry and the cutting of the cake, he’d started thinking about Nancy Wheeler and thinking about Nancy Wheeler had led to him practically funding the open bar with the spare change he’d been sure to bring in his pockets for tips.

And the thing about it is, Steve normally loves weddings. He loves the flowers and the vows and watching the bride walk down the aisle. He loves the DJ announcing the new couple, loves throwing confetti outside the church, loves the look on the groom’s face when he sees his almost-wife in her dress for the first time. But—

“Harrington!” Tommy Hagan yells from across the room, gesturing for Steve to make his way over. Steve racks his brain for an explanation as to why Tommy H would be at this wedding; he doesn’t remember Gareth and Tommy being particularly close back in their college days. Steve stumbles his way over to Tommy’s table, keeping a secure hand around his gin & tonic, trying his best not to spill.

“Stevie!” Tommy’s fiancée, Carol, practically crows as she leans over Tommy’s lap. “Where’s Nancy?”

“Yeah, man, kinda thought you’d be the first one marching down the aisle,” Tommy laughs and Carol swats him on the arm.

Steve downs his practically full drink before slamming the heavy glass back down on the table.

“We broke up actually,” Steve grimaces. “Last week.”

Carol gives him an exaggerated pout while Tommy cringes. “Aw, baby, I’m so sorry,” Carol slurs. Steve has to hold himself back from rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, well.” Steve runs a hand through his hair. “We wanted different things.”

They offer him a few more words of sympathy before Steve finally flees, making excuses about finding the bathroom. He’s too drunk for this.

He leaves the table in search of another drink.

~*~

Eddie’s just outside the reception hall, out on the venue’s terrace, sparkling with fairy lights. He’s got a stack of index cards in his hands, trying to make out his own scrawled handwriting, when someone stumbles directly into his back. He feels something wet through the fabric of his dress shirt.

“Fuck, shit, sorry, fuck,” someone says, their hands patting at the wetness.

Eddie finally turns to see a disheveled Steve Harrington, a half-empty glass clutched in his fist. His hair’s a mess, his tie’s undone, and he’s clearly drunk. Eddie had seen him stumbling around the dance floor earlier.

“Dude, you good?” Eddie asks, genuinely concerned. He can’t remember the last time he’d seen Harrington drunk. It had to be way back in college, when he’d only known Steve as that annoying frat dude that Gareth and Dustin always brought around. He’d spent a full year trying to figure out what those two saw in him and doing everything in his power to avoid group hang outs.

They’d gotten closer over the years, once they’d graduated and become, like, real, fully-formed human beings. Harrington was actually a pretty chill dude, funny and sweet and able to give as good as he got whenever Eddie was in a particularly teasing mood. Eddie’s ego wasn’t so big that he couldn’t admit he’d been wrong about Harrington, at least in the privacy of his own head.

“Yeah, man, all good,” Steve slurs, barely coherent. He raises his empty hand limply in an attempt at a thumbs up.

“Man, you don’t look so good.” Steve’s eyes are practically vacant and Eddie is feeling genuinely concerned. And he’s proven right when Steve stumbles over to one of the concrete planters lining the terrace and pukes his guts out. It’s loud and disgusting and Eddie can feel the grimace on his own face. But Steve is his friend, so he reaches his hand out to rub Steve’s back, even as he keeps his distance.

“Hey, Eddie,” he hears Jeff call from the French doors that lead into the reception hall.

“Yeah?” Eddie spares a quick glance over his shoulder before returning his attention to where Steve is groaning into the dirt of some exotic-looking tree.

“‘Bout ready to cut the cake,” Jeff tells him. “Need you in a few.”

Right. Eddie’s best man speech. The reason he was out here in the first place. He’s not nervous or anything. He’s a natural showman and entertainer, loves being in front of a crowd. And he loves Gareth and Chrissy. He has plenty of good things to say about them, plenty of embarrassing stories from when he and Gareth were kids, and plenty of sweet ones from when they’d finally met Chrissy in college. Nah, Eddie’s pretty much got this in the bag. He’s just not used to the idea of his friends being actually, real-life married. They’re only 27; Chrissy’s practically a child bride for god’s sake!

Eddie glances down at Steve, whose face is red and sweaty. Eddie’s not blind or stupid; he knows Steve’s an attractive dude. He’s a little too preppy and heterosexual (even though Eddie knows on a theoretical level that Steve does sometimes sleep with other guys) for Eddie’s tastes, but the man is hot. Except for right now. He actually looks pretty bad, possibly the worst Eddie’s ever seen him. And that’s really saying something, considering Steve had actually had his stomach pumped during Greek Week their senior year. At least Steve seems to have cleared the contents of his stomach, at this point.

“Hey, man, you good?” Eddie asks him, his hand still rubbing slow circles on Steve’s back.

Steve groans before looking up at him. “Eddie?” Steve squint. “You’re pretty. Like Nancy.” And Steve sounds so sad when he says it that even Eddie’s heart gives a little squeeze.

“Uh, thank you,” Eddie glances toward the open doors again. The cake is being wheeled out into the middle of the dance floor. “Listen, I don’t wanna leave you out here, but I gotta go give a speech. Can you, uh, stand up for me?”

“Yeah, man, totally,” Steve slurs out, barely comprehensible. He drags the back of his hand over his lips and chin, which should be kind of disgusting, but Eddie just feels sorry for him. Steve makes it one step before he’s slouching into Eddie’s shoulder, all his weight falling into Eddie’s chest. Eddie grunts and fits his hands around Steve’s waist.

“Fuck, dude, how much do you weigh?” Eddie’s voice comes out a little breathless.

“175, baby. Pure muscle,” Steve slurs back.

“Yeah, I believe it,” Eddie mutters, fingertips digging hard into the firmness of Steve’s lower back. “Okay, come on, let’s get you a chair.”

It takes some maneuvering but Eddie finally gets Steve inside and seats him at the closest table. It’s empty, since most people had been dancing and are currently crowded around the cake. Chrissy’s sister, the maid of honor, is holding a microphone, finishing her speech.

“We love you, Chrissy,” she’s saying, looking at the bride with tears in her eyes. “We know that Gareth will do everything in his power to make you happy. To Gareth and Chrissy!” She raises her glass of champagne, smiling, and everyone around her does the same, echoing her toast. “Okay, now where’s the best man?” She says, scanning the crowd.

Eddie smiles and makes his way over, taking the microphone from her.

“When I met Gareth, we were five years old. We’ve been through a lot together, from Gareth’s bug eating phase, to his wetting the bed phase, to that phase he had where he used to Naruto run to class in middle school, to his Hitchcock phase where he tried to talk in that transatlantic accent for literal months, to his bleach blonde phase, to his—”

“Alright, alright, we get it,” Gareth cuts in, rolling his eyes with an easy smile. The crowd laughs.

“Okay, okay. All I’m saying is I’ve seen a lot of versions of my best friend. But the best Gareth by far is the one he is with Chrissy. I remember when Gareth first met her, in their art history seminar. He came back to the dorm after that first week and told me he’d met an angel. ‘I’m in love, dude,’ he told me. ‘I’m marrying this girl.’ I, of course, was skeptical, especially when he pointed her out later that month in the dining hall. ‘Sorry, man, but no way. She’s way outta your league,’ I told him. But to my surprise, Chrissy Cunningham came marching up to us right then and there and asked Gareth if he’d started studying for their midterm. Gareth stumbled through that whole interaction making an absolute fool of himself. I’m pretty sure he put his elbow in my mashed potatoes,” Gareth and Chrissy laugh, “but that didn’t stop Chrissy from asking him to study that weekend. And the rest is, as they say, history.” Eddie raises his own glass of champagne in the direction of the happy couple. “When Gareth told me he was marrying Chrissy, all I could say was ‘it’s about fucking time.’ Chrissy is the smartest, sweetest woman I’ve ever had the pleasure to meet and she somehow makes my best friend an even better dude. So thank you, Chrissy, and congratulations to you both.” Everyone raises their glasses. Over the sounds of the room toasting, Eddie can hear Steve at his table in the back corner drunkenly cheering.

“Woo-hoo!” Steve claps. “Yeah!” Thankfully, no else really seems to notice and Eddie watches over Chrissy’s shoulder as Steve tries to stand from his seat but falls back into it on his ass, looking dazed.

“Thanks, Eddie,” Chrissy whispers as they pull away from their hug. “I love you.”

“Love you, too, babe,” Eddie tells her, squeezing her hands in his. He glances back over at Steve. “I’m gonna take Harrington up to my room, let him sleep some of the alcohol off.”

Chrissy’s eyes widen. “Oh, good idea. I was a little worried about him when I saw him stumbling around the dance floor before.” Eddie gives her hands one final squeeze before wandering off to collect Steve.

~*~

Getting Steve into the elevator is a struggle. He doesn’t want to leave, keeps saying he didn’t even get to eat a piece of cake yet. He only lets Eddie shove him through the metal doors when Eddie promises to bring him a piece when he comes back up later.

They make it to Eddie’s room without further incident and once they’re safely inside, Steve starts ripping off his suit without a care in the world. His hands and arms are flying everywhere. He almost takes Eddie out with an elbow to the temple.

“Dude, calm down,” Eddie tells him, hands on Steve’s arms. “Let me help you.” He unbuttons what’s left of Steve’s shirt and hangs it over the closet doorknob before reaching for Steve’s waistband and undoing his fly. His suit pants fall around his ankles. “Okay, step out.”

Steve braces his hands on Eddie’s shoulders and lifts one leg and then the other, until he’s standing there in only his briefs and his dress socks.

“Thought about this a lot in college,” Steve mutters, still slurring his words.

And that—huh? What? Thought about what a lot? Eddie undressing him?

Eddie does his best not to react. Steve’s drunk. He doesn’t know what he’s saying.

Eddie brings his own hands up to curl around Steve’s wrists and pull his hands away from his shoulders. He bends down and picks up Steve’s pants, folding them and placing them on the dresser. He folds back the bed’s comforter.

“Okay, big boy, in ya go.” He gestures toward the bed, encouraging Steve to lay down. Steve suddenly looks exhausted as he slides under the covers.

His eyes are half-closed before his head even hits the pillow.

Before Eddie shuts off the light and leaves to head back downstairs, he hears Steve call out softly, “sorry if I ruined it.” He shifts sleepily on the bed. “I always ruin it.”

Eddie feels like he’s swallowed glass as he slowly shuts the door behind him.

~*~

Steve wakes up to sunshine streaming in through the curtains of an unfamiliar bedroom. His head is killing him and his mouth feels like he’s swallowed 87 cotton balls. He groans, rolling away from the window, only to be met with the image of Eddie Munson’s shirtless, sleeping form.

Fuck. How drunk had he been last night? He vaguely remembers puking outside somewhere and Eddie rubbing his back, but he definitely doesn’t remember leaving the wedding. He doesn’t remember leaving the wedding with Eddie.

Steve spares a quick glance under the covers and is relieved to see that he’s still wearing his underwear and Eddie’s got on a pair of pajama pants. Surely he wouldn’t have sex and then put his underwear back on; that seems like something only a serial killer would do.

It’s not like he hasn’t thought about it. There was that one year, just after they’d graduated, that Steve had thought maybe there was something between them, something a little more than friendship.

But then he’d met Nancy Wheeler at his new job and she’d asked him out and he’d started imagining their lives together and thoughts of anyone else had just floated away.

So, yeah, Steve’s thought about it. Eddie’s gorgeous and funny and smart. It’s not like Steve would regret it. He could certainly do a lot worse.

But if he’s gonna sleep with one of his closest friends, he’d like to actually remember it.

In between Steve’s spiraling thoughts, Eddie must have woken up, because when Steve spares another glance toward his face, Eddie’s staring right back at him, making him jump slightly.

“Fuck, dude, make a noise,” Steve breathes out before running a hand through his sleep-tousled hair. “We didn’t—uh, nothing like… happened or whatever, right? We didn’t, like… you know… did we?”

Eddie stares at him for a long moment before putting Steve out of his misery. “No offense, Stevie, but I’m not really into guys that can barely string together a coherent thought.”

“Oh, thank god,” Steve sighs with relief, body sagging against the mattress. He sees Eddie’s mouth twitch. “Not that I… you know, you’re hot or whatever, but like…”

“Dude, relax,” Eddie laughs, moving to sit on the edge of the mattress. “You were black out drunk. I just brought you up here so you didn’t hurt yourself.”

Steve winces. “I didn’t, like, embarrass myself, did I? Or, like, ruin the wedding?”

Eddie looks at him with something like pity and Steve has to swallow nervously.

“No, Steve, you were fine. I just found you throwing up outside and though you’d had enough.”

Steve stares down at his hands. “Thanks, man,” he says softly.

“No worries, you’d do the same for me.” He sounds so totally sure that Steve would. “Weddings are tough. Can you believe I have, like, four more to go to, just this summer? I’ll probably black out at at least one of them. Anyway, I’m gonna take a shower and then you should probably also shower. You stink.” Eddie stands from the bed and claps his hands together. “And then we’re taking full advantage of the free hotel breakfast bar.”

~*~

After they’ve showered and Eddie’s gone back to the breakfast buffet for seconds and thirds, he offers to drive Steve home and Steve gratefully accepts. He’s really not in the mood for an Uber or, even worse, the subway.

Steve keeps thinking about what Eddie had said back in the hotel room. That he had four more weddings to go to this summer alone. Steve has five of his own and the thought of going through all that alone makes his stomach clench and his throat tighten. He knows he’s going to see Nancy at at least one of them and that thought alone has Steve desperate.

“Hey, you know how you said you have four more weddings to go to this summer?” Steve asks from the passengers seat. Eddie hums an affirmative response. “I have five.”

“No shit, that sucks, man. I actually fuckin’ hate weddings, to tell you the truth.” Eddie doesn’t take his eyes off the road.

“I used to love them, actually. But, I don’t know. They’ve kind of lost their charm,” Steve doesn’t mean to sound super mega fucking depressed about it, but he knows he does.

“Fuck, dude. Sorry,” Eddie glances at him, a worried look in his eye.

“But, uh, I was thinking,” Steve powers on. “Maybe we should, like, help each other out?”

Eddie’s brow furrows in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Like, you know.” Steve gestures vaguely with his hand. “Make it less unbearable. Like, we could go together or something.”

“You want to be each other’s plus ones?” Eddie asks incredulously.

“Yeah, man, think about it. You’d always have someone to chill with, even if the party’s fucking lame. We could make fun of the bridesmaids’ dresses together and shit. It wouldn’t be as god fucking awful if we were together.”

They’re stopped at a red light and Eddie has turned to stare directly at him.

“You do realize that would mean we’d be going to ten weddings, like, collectively, right? Why would I want to go to more weddings then I actually have to?”

“Well, nine, since Chrissy and Gareth’s is over,” Steve tells him, matter-of-factly. “Come on, Eddie, this summer is fucking torture for me. You know Nancy, like, crushed me or whatever. It would really help me out, to have you there. Just think about it.”

And, Steve thinks, that’s kind of what does it. Eddie has a savior complex about a mile wide and Steve has never been above using that to his advantage.

Eddie sighs and shifts his gaze back to the road as the light turns green.

“Fine, Harrington,” he finally says. “But you are paying for all my suit rentals and buying all the gifts.”

Steve smiles. “Deal.”

#steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie fanfic #steddie fanfiction #steddie ficlet #steddie fic recs #steddie au #steddie modern au #steddie rom com au

529 notes · View notes

witchywomanrunningupthathill · 2 years

Text

Burn the Witch - The King (2019)

Pairing: Hal/Henry V x Female!OC

Word count: 2k

Warnings: None

Blurb: Okay so this one has been spinning around in my head for a while, and now it’s finally on the page! For the sake of creativity, we’re just gonna embellish history a little and replace Catherine of Valois with the reader as queen, Gascoigne as a traitor, and a few other nobility tings. Not quite sure how I feel about this one, but it was more of a rust-buster than anything else.

After Agincourt, Hal took a peculiar liking to the palace gardens. The space itself was tranquil and provided a brief respite from the demands of court, from being King Henry V. He paces steadily through the greenery, past grandiose shrubs and plots of lilies and roses, then rounds a corner as the familiar words of the Hail Mary are uttered by a dulcet-toned voice.

“Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners…”

Hal stops and takes in the view of the woman who remains unaware of his presence before her. A demure vision sat in one of the garden’s alcoves. She wears her long hair down, pieces of it falling at the front of her bowed head. Her feet are crossed under her and she clutches a rosary in her hands, constantly running the final bead in between her thumb and index finger. His Queen of England.

“…Now, and at the hour of our death.”

She finishes the prayer with the sign of the cross.

“If I do recall, I am quite certain that I ordered your ladies-in-waiting to follow you around the palace.”

She gasps, eyes snapping open and dropping the hand that was suspended in front of her shoulder just a moment ago.

“Your Majesty—”

She stops fiddling with the rosary in her lap. Hal looks around at the landscape for a moment before he begins pacing around the woman.

“You gave me a fright,” she starts.

“I, too, enjoy walking these gardens,” Hal offers.

“They remind me of my home.”

“Which?”

“Bath.”

“Hm,” he retorts pensively. “You do not miss Agincourt?”

“It served its purposes, but I am afraid I did not form any attachment to it…”

He’s been easy on her. It’s no easy feat to be a spoil of war, a political transaction – to be married off to a stranger, come to a new place, and make a life with a king. At the same time, though, France had been her birthplace and her place of residence for only three years of her life, while England had been her home for twelve years. She knew Somerset like the back of her hand, having grown up living with the Hungerford family. In fact, the young man she thought of as a brother, Sir Walter Hungerford, had fought alongside the man she now calls her king.

“It is a bit strange – not being from here nor there,” Hal posits.

“In some ways, I suppose…” she says. Hal nods and stops once more in front of her. “But I have brought a piece of my life in Bath with me.”

“Your chambermaids?”

“Not only my chambermaids, Your Majesty. My cards – le tarot.” Henry offers a look of both confusion and interest.

“Will you show me?”

She nods and Henry holds out his hand to help her up from the stone bench.

The queen leads Hal up a large flight of stairs and down a long corridor. At the end of the corridor lies a dark passageway with a narrow, stone spiral staircase, its steps worn from the many footsteps taken over the centuries. At the top of the stairs, she lets Hal pass in front of her through the doorway and into a chamber lit with sunlight.

Hal looks around. He hasn’t been in here before, not as a child and certainly not while he traipsed around Eastcheap. It’s small, cozy. A large Persian rug sits at the center. There’s an open book laid on top of it. A chair is pushed into one corner, clearly out of commission. There’s a long mahogany table running along the back wall, with quite the assortment of flowers and other, more leafy plants laid atop it. Along with the plants are many candles. Bound books sit along a wall.

“This is where I usually come to do my practice.”

“It is beautiful.”

She steps over to the table, running her fingers along the leaves of a basil plant, before reaching for the deck of tarot cards laying in a neat stack.

“What do you know about divination?”

“Erm…very little. It is magick, is it not?”

“In some ways, yes. It is used to determine the future. I mostly use it to pass the time, but I do believe there is some truth to it.” Hal chuckles, but it comes out more like a puff of air than a true laugh. The queen hands her king the tarot deck. “Hungerford gifted these to me when he returned from one of his trips to Italy,” she adds.

“Well, let us hope its magic is not black and unholy.” He examines the cards, flipping through the first few one-by-one. It’s a set of Visconti Sforza tarot cards, ornately decorated, cryptic, and mysterious.

“I could read for you, Your Majesty. If you would like.”

“You may speak plainly. Call me Henry. Or Hal. Whichever you prefer.”

Hal moves to sit at the table as the queen does the same. She holds out her hand expectantly. He hands the deck back to her.

“Now that the cards have your essence on them, we may begin. Draw three cards and lay them on the table.”

Hal follows her instruction. William Gascoigne, chief justice of England and advisor to the king, peeks through the door that was left ajar, eyebrows furrowed. He watches as Hal lays the second card down. The Queen reaches to flip it over. William gets a glimpse of the King of Pentacles card, his eyes widening slightly. He weighs staying and watching the king and queen as they divine or returning to the king’s other advisors. William stays put. Hal draws his final card and the queen turns it over, revealing an emaciated figure, not quite a skeleton and not quite flesh, riding atop a horse and carrying a long staff. William’s eyes go wide. What a cursed image! This cannot be the work of the Lord. No, this woman is cavorting with evil!

“Ah, Death,” the queen remarks. Hal silently sucks in a breath and glances quizzically at the card before shifting his eyes back to his wife. “Do not worry, it is hardly literal, Hal.” The king sighs, relieved.

William is now seeing red. He storms away from the chamber. His footsteps echo in the staircase vestibule, causing both the king and queen to turn their heads toward the noise coming from the open door.

“Is someone there?” Hal calls out. There’s no response, save the wind whistling through the trees outside the window.

“We may continue later if you have other obligations—”

“No, let us continue,” Hal urges, placing his hand on top of the queen’s.

A group of men sit around the king, all offering their advice and conjecture on what shall be the fate of France. Hal has his arms crossed, displeased with the orders masked as suggestions that his men offer. He looks over to John Falstaff who is also silent. Hal raises his eyebrows at the man. Falstaff returns the king’s look with little more than a smirk. He never liked council meetings anyway. As Hal starts speaking, the councilmen’s voices lull to silence.

“Perhaps we shall adjourn this meeting for the day, gentlemen.” Hal rises and his councilmen follow before exiting the chamber. William stays put, standing not too far from Hal. Falstaff is one of the last out of the door. Almost.

“Sir John,” Hal calls. Falstaff whips around. “I would like if you stayed back a moment.”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” John obeys, offering a nod.

Hal turns his attention to William.

“William…Is there something you need?”

“Yes, Your Majesty. There is a matter I would like to bring up with you.” He pauses before moving his eyes over to Falstaff. “In private.”

“Anything you wish to say to me may be said in front of Sir John,” Hal challenges. William exhales loudly, perhaps gathering the courage to continue.

“I am afraid there may be…witches…among us.”

“There may be? That is a serious accusation, William.”

“And I concur.”

“What makes you say this?”

“Your Majesty…it is…our queen.”

“I would choose your next words wisely.”

“I saw it with my own eyes, Your Majesty. Just the other day, in her bedchamber – I was looking for you and assumed you may be there, but I was mistaken. She was there sitting with her ladies-in-waiting…sliding her hands across their palms.” He recalls the memory, the queen sits at a small round table holding one of the girls’ hands, examining it intently. “Voici ta ligne de coeur…et ici c’est…” she explains to them. “She read cards for the other girl. Telling her about her past, present, and future, ha!” William exclaims. “It must have been those girls who started this and pulled your dear queen into their witchcraft!”

“That is enough.”

“You must do something about this, Your Majesty! With your permission, I could speak to the archbishop on your behalf—”

“That won’t be necessary. I will confer with the archbishop myself. You may leave now.”

“But this is a most urgent matter! Your Majesty, I would not advise seeking…erm…wisdom through these means. Your Highness, this is the work of the devil!”

Falstaff lets out a large yawn, drawing it out comically. He cannot have William outdoing him for dramatics, can he?

“And what would you advise, William? Shall we stroll to the chapel, peruse the Scriptures for a while?” Hal suggests ironically.

“She has gotten to you too—used her sorcery on you. How dare she compromise a king in such a way! Burn the witch!”

“Enough!” Hal shouts as he bangs his fist on the wooden council table. William flinches at the king’s exclamation, but rage and desperation burn behind his eyes. Falstaff stares at Hal. Hal steps away from William and walks over to the fire place before turning to face the men once again. “Who am I, William?”

“King Henry V...Your Highness,” William answers shakily.

“And tell me, what does that mean to you?”

“Erm…You are the Sovereign—”

“That is correct,” Hal interrupts. “I lead men. I rule men.” He steps away from the fireplace, closer to William. “I’ve fought a war for men.” William breaks Hal’s gaze, looking at the floor, a brief reprieve from the King’s penetrating stare. “I have trusted your counsel, confided in you.”

Hal steps even closer to William, only footsteps away from him now. “I once thought of you as my friend…Now you not only question me, but disrespect my queen. I put my life in all of your hands for the sake of this kingdom!”

Hal raises his hand, pointing his finger into William’s chest. “I AM ENGLAND! And it is I who will decide whose head to have, whose body to burn!” Falstaff looks at the pair of men in front of him, eyebrows raised, clearly impressed by his young friend.

“Your Majesty—”

“I did not give you permission to speak. The queen…she knows this country…this land…this realm. I respect that. She is my true advisor, apart from God, of course. I will not let my participation in a silly divination rite or your allegations that I misjudge which direction to lead this country have any impact on my rule. You are my counsel. But I am king. I have the last word in this council chamber. And God has the last word in all that is. Are you willing to doubt Him? Do you doubt me?”

“Of course not!”

“Well then let us consider this matter settled,” Hal steps away from William and places one hand in his pocket. “The queen is no witch. She is a woman passing her time in one of the few ways that she may.” He runs his hand over the queen’s rosary beads laid inside. “You may leave.”

#the king 2019 #prince hal x reader #the king #the king netflix #henry v x reader #henry v x oc #henry v x ofc #timothee chalamet #iz writes

303 notes · View notes

datingtip4men · 4 months

Text

Tips on Calling Single Women on the Telephone for the First Time

So, you have finally worked up the courage to call the woman you met last night, have you. Why, then, does your hand tremble when you reach for the phone? Don't clutch that handset any tighter, or it just might shatter. Does the icy grip of the sweat running down your brow weaken your resolve just a bit? Rejoice, my good fellow, this can be a uplifting experience, a fearful delight, an opportunity to begin a exalted relationship, a chance to make a fool of yourself. If, indeed, heaven and hell can coexist in the exact same moment, and they can, it is right here, here and now.

There is a rhythm and flow to a good telephone conversation. A rhythm and flow. As in any contact between people, a connection must be made, a rapport established. It is akin to climbing a perpendicular rock wall, to catching the rising tide and taming the howling winds, to walking barefoot over broken glass. Once the initial resistance (pain) is overcome, everything goes easier. It flows. Plunge in, immerse yourself and set free your voice, let it express your feelings, let it sing for you, let the telephone wires carry your message, and at some point (perhaps) there will be a "click". That is the resonance point, the place where things fit together. The channel will be open, and the words will come, they will come of their own accord, and flow, smoothly they will flow, as though destiny itself had written them in fire.

Making Preparations for That First Call

Practice the simple techniques that strip a first call of most of its terrors. Take a blank notebook (this will become your "phone project" book) and begin outlining how you want the conversation to go. What would you talk about? What do you know about the woman -- her life story, her personality, her likes and dislikes, her beliefs and passions? What do you feel comfortable revealing about your own self? What is most important for her to know about you? What can you say that will purposefully lead to finding things you have in common, interests you share, activities you could do together...

Hopefully, you will have by now filled up the first several pages of the project book. At this point, transfer the information to a format that will better suit your purpose. Consider making a wall chart, a more or less elaborate diagram on poster board that will prompt you, guide and direct your conversation, when required. This will function as a sort of "talisman", or lucky charm, to boost your confidence as needed.

Another item in your "tool box" is a set of index cards, that can likewise serve as a reminder and memory aid. This will remedy the "I should have said that" and "if I had only thought of..." syndrome. The cards can be used to take notes while you talk, and, at the very least, they will occupy your your hands and keep you from biting your nails.

Maintain a scrapbook of interesting facts, meticulously gathered and culled out from the newspapers and publications you read. This can help spark the conversation. During those dreadful moments of awkward silence, when neither of you can think of anything to say, you can discreetly leaf through the scrapbook and -- Aha! "Did you know that...?"

Finally, you might want to try a "dry run", or rehearsal. Call a sympathetic family member or a good friend who will not laugh at you, and have this person play the part of the woman you will be speaking to. Practice your varying "opening lines" and responses, and ask for feedback. A little gentle criticism can do wonders for your phone technique. On the other hand, if there is no one you wish to share your little project with, you can always do this by yourself, tape recording the session if you like. Repeat the procedure until you are confident you can handle "the real thing".

Make yourself comfortable. Put on some of your favorite music in the background. Soft music, music with a romantic undertone, as you prefer. Dim the lights (but not so low that you are unable to read your project book, wall chart, or index cards). Have a glass of water within reach. Take a deep breath and punch those numbers.

"Hello, I'm John Smith. No, I'm not peddling insurance, just my own sweet self. I'm the fellow who asked you for your phone number last night at the art gallery. Time to let her talk. Keep enough presence of mind to make the appropriate noises and grunts at the right times to let her know you're still there. Laugh at her funnies. Encourage her. Administer verbal strokes and smiles, as necessary.

Speak in your natural voice... you need not strain. Take care not to dwell overly much on yourself. I, I, I, I... talking about I and me constantly is boring, boring. Ask her about herself, question her *gently*. Let her talk. Listen. Listen. Respond. Pepper the conversation with humor, genuine good humor. Humor is the saving grace of human discourse.

There is an abundance, a veritable universe to talk about, to share:

Tell her about the time you almost skidded off the overpass because you were trying to juggle a soft drink and a baloney sandwich.

Share your most embarrassing moments growing up.

Explain why the sky gets dark at night (Olber's Paradox).

Discuss the implications of not helping the refugees of Kosovo.

Discuss whether cats make better pets than dogs, or vice versa.

Give her your favorite exotic scrambled egg recipe.

Play her a song from your favorite album.

Avoid like the plague politics, religion, and conspiracy theories. There will be plenty of time to argue about these later in the relationship. Iffy topics include demonic possession and the occult, UFO's, and the weather. Subject that tend to arouse strong negative feelings or conversely, that evoke no feelings at all, are best left alone.

When the conversation starts to wind down, when you both run out of things to say - this is a signal to sign off. Tell her how much you enjoyed speaking with her, that her company, even at a distance, has enlivened your evening. Ask her, gently, if she would care to repeat the experience (assuming it has not been too painful for either of you). Hang the phone up and have a cold beer or glass of wine to celebrate.

Be sure and visit: http://www.getgirls.com/manchap.htm - for four FREE chapters from our best-seller called, "A Man's Guide to Women." This is probably the best book ever written on understanding women and how to deal with them.

More dating tips at: www.getgirls.com

#datingadvice #datingtipsformen #datingadviceformen #dating #datingtips #relationship advice #howtodatewomen #howtoattractwomen #howtotalktowomen

0 notes

thedeathdeelers · 3 years

Text

last names and fake IDs

It’s a Saturday afternoon and Luke & Julie are lounging on the couch in the Molina living room, idly flicking through TV channels to find something interesting enough to watch. Julie’s mostly content just sitting sideways on Luke’s lap, her legs extended onto the length of the sofa. Her head’s resting against his shoulder, her forehead pressed against his neck as she plays with the chain hanging there.

She watches Luke as he keeps flicking through channels faster than she can keep up, soaking up the warm feeling of his free hand resting on her hip.

It’s a quiet and uneventful afternoon, but it’s a happy one.

As Julie shifts to get more comfortable in an attempt to try and keep up with the flickering channels on the TV screen, she feels something digging into her thigh. Reaching over to move it, she notices the faded fabric of Luke’s ever present wallet hanging off the painfully obvious 90s accessory he refuses to part with.

And while her hand hovers in the air above it, Julie realises she’s never actually seen it up close, never thought to open it and see what might be inside. She has always wanted to know more about his life before her, but never wanted to press him for information he wasn’t willing to freely give her. Would he let her go through any of the personal items he might have in his wallet?

Mind tentatively made up, Julie tugs at the wallet to free up more of the chain, bringing it up towards her ready to slowly pry it open, savouring in the strange yet satisfying sound of velcro.

She chances a glance at Luke’s face, and although his eyes are still glued to the TV she sees the corners of his lips twitch, the only sign that he’s aware of what she’s up to.

Happy to consider this his way of giving her the go-ahead, Julie pulls the wallet open the rest of the way, the scratchy fabric beneath her fingers reminding her that this relic belongs to a previous century.

She opens her mouth to let slip a teasing comment about Luke’s taste in fashion accessories, but stops short the second her eyes spot the picture slid under the small clear plastic film. Her index finger hovers over it as she traces her own features, a silly smile spreading over her face.

Technically she knew he had a picture of her in his wallet - he had asked her for it after all - but it was still different seeing it firsthand as opposed to just knowing of its existence.

On impulse, with the bubbly feeling of happiness filling up her chest, Julie turns her head towards Luke’s face and presses her lips against his cheek. When she pulls away she finds him looking at her, his own smile taking over his features.

“What was that for?”

“Nothing. Just felt like it,” she shrugs innocently, pressing another quick kiss to the corner of his smiling lips before she diverts her attention back to the wallet in her hands.

She goes through each pocket, making sure to check every single one just in case she might miss one. And although most of them are empty, Julie does find a few interesting items. The first thing she comes across is a bunch of expired coupons from a local supermarket that no longer exists. It’s still surreal to her when in moments like these, she’s reminded of the reality of their situation.

Quickly pushing aside any complicated thoughts, Julie moves onto the pocket underneath the previous one, pulling out an old arcade membership card. She shakes her head at her find, thinking it’s ridiculous yet pretty on brand for Luke to have this in his wallet. Tucking it back in, Julie’s fingers slide down to the last item in Luke’s wallet.

She traces her fingers over the top of the card before tugging it out to reveal a slightly washed out, very badly made, fake ID. It takes her a little by surprise, but then quickly remembers the boys about all the clubs in they used to play in. They would have definitely needed fake IDs for most if not all of the clubs they had mentioned.

Bringing the faded card closer to her face for a better look, Julie scans the information in front of her, her eyes lingering on a youthful looking Luke staring back at her.

How anyone could have believed the boy in the picture was over 21 is beyond her.

She chuckles at the styling of his hair, the way it’s combed making it obvious that someone had tried and failed to take it into something that might have resembled a presentable style right before the picture was taken. She takes in his boyish smile, a dimple peeking out of his left cheek, a swell of affection warming her heart.

Her gaze lingers on his eyes for a moment longer before her attention shifts onto the name on the ID, laughter bursting out of her the second she spots his last name.

“Luke- Luke- Luke Lastname?” Julie barely manages to get the words out, laughter fighting its way out of her as she clutches at her stomach, pressing her face into Luke’s neck in an attempt to smother the sound spilling out of her.

She feels Luke shake a little underneath her, joining in on her laughter.

“Yeah well. Turns out asking a bunch of 15 year olds to decide on a last name may not be the smartest thing to do.” She feels him shrug, her head moving up and down with his shoulder. “I couldn’t decide so the guy just...went with that.”

Julie’s tries to rein in her laughter, spurts of giggles still managing to escape her.

“You’re- you’re telling me bouncers let you in with- with this?”

“Uh, so most of the time we only ever went into these clubs when we were playing, and they never really seemed that bothered about checking too carefully...” Luke trails off, watching as Julie loses it once more.

Luke Lastname.

It takes her a while to compose herself, but as soon as she manages to control her breathing, Julie loses it all over again the second her eyes lock onto the stated height.

——

LASTNAME

LUKE

15 SEX: M 17 WGT: 120 lb

16 HGT: 6’-01” 18 EYES: GRE

——

#jatp #juke #julie and the phantoms #jatp fics #my fics #i just wanted julie to look at luke’a wallet and then it turned into a 1k drabble idk man #thedeathdeelers fics

156 notes · View notes

lifeofkaze · 3 years

Note

Hi love!

Sorry for bothering you, but could you do something like really cute and fluffy between Charlie Weasley and reader where he's all shy and delicate maybe teaching her about dragons and their characteristics pls? Like, something that feels really intimate, you know?

I absolutely love your writing and I believe that you could make justice to the character.

Take care darling,

-A

Thank you for the request, loveliest anon! This is actually the first fic request I’ve ever gotten and I’m so happy you like my stuff so much, this makes me very very soft.

This fluff piece was just what I needed to get my mojo back hopefully. Please let me know if this is like what you had in mind - I for one had a lot of fun with it! <3

***

Favourites

Charlie Weasley x Reader

Word Count: ~ 2.800

As a Care of Magical Creatures test covering dragons of all things is imminent and you were too distracted in class to pay proper attention, you know just who to turn to for help.

“You want me to do what?”

Charlie Weasley blinked at you in confusion. He could feel his blood rushing in his ears as he looked at you standing in front of him, clutching you Care for Magical Creatures book to your chest as you raised your eyebrows at him.

“I asked if you could help me studying for the test next week?” you repeated your question, brow slightly furrowed. “I can’t keep track of all these dragon traits and who would know them better than you?”

Charlie felt the heat creeping up on his face. Of course, the test. It was all he had been able to think about ever since Professor Kettleburn had announced the topic; all except you of course.

He tried to formulate a coherent answer that wouldn’t make him look like a blabbering fool in front of you, but the way the dappled sunlight that broke through the trees reflected in your hair distracted him more than he cared to admit.

So he resorted to a weak nod. “Uhm, sure, I’d love to. See you at six in the library?” he managed to stammer out eventually.

A beautiful smile formed on your face as you nodded in enthusiasm. “Sounds great, see you there!”

Charlie watched as you swished around and walked back to your friends, who greeted you with giggles and whispers as they glanced in his direction. You gave one of them a playful swat on the arm, before your clear laugh carried over to him onto the warm summer air and made his heart clench.

He knew all of his dragons by heart, of course he did; this test was the first he hadn’t bothered studying for at all. But now, he suddenly felt the overwhelming urge to prepare himself.

The light of the sun had already started to turn into the beautiful golden shade that heralded the end of a warm autumn day as you skittered into the library. You were a little bit late for your study session with Charlie, and the exertion from running all the way from your Common Room flushed your cheeks slightly red. Your friends just hadn’t let you go, all of them just as excited for what they called ‘your dragon date’ as you were. Not that you’d ever tell them that.

You found Charlie sitting at a table near the windows and your breath caught for a moment as you took in the warm light that washed around his frame; it was making his ginger hair glow like fire, the only vibrant speck of colour in this dusty old room full of books.

He had his nose buried in a big, leather-bound tome, his eyes darting over the pages frantically; you noticed how the tip of his tongue stuck out between his lips in concentration. He was so immersed in his reading, that he only noticed you approaching as you sat down next to him. Jumping in shock at your sudden appearance, he almost knocked over his ink bottle, only catching it at the last second before its dark, inky content could wash over the thin pages of his book.

“Oh, you’re here already, I didn’t even notice you until now.” His freckled face had flushed a shade darker than usual as he put his ink bottle back into its position and made room for you on the table.

“I’d rather say I’m here finally,” you responded, feeling a little bit guilty at making Charlie wait. “But I see that you started without me.”

He hurriedly closed the book. “No, I was just reading up on some facts about Welsh Greens so I have them sharp in my mind,” he explained, “in case you have questions, you know?”

It was only now that your eyes took in the numerous heaps of books piled up on your table. “First question,” you said as you ran your fingers over the backs of the tomes stacked on top of each other. “I thought the test was about dragons native to Europe and not every single one in existence,” you pulled out a particularly old looking book containing myths and fables, “and beyond.”

You silently counted the numbers of books Charlie had amassed and your eyes went wide. “Charlie, these must be all the books about dragons in the whole library,” you laughed, giggling at the flustered expression of the boy beside you.

“Well, not all the books,” he clarified sheepishly. “There are quite a few in the Restricted Section and then there’s the two I have up in my dorm but forgot to bring and- “

You cut off his rambling by gently touching his arm; he shut up almost instantly, glancing nervously down to where your hand was lying. “It’s alright, it was just a joke.”

“Of course,” Charlie muttered slightly embarrassed. What was wrong with him?

He watched as you pulled your notes from your bag; they were rather sparse compared to the almost three scrolls of parchment he had scribbled down himself.

“Where do you want to start?”

You hummed to yourself as you considered your choices. A warm, fuzzy feeling spread inside Charlie’s chest as you drew your lips into a pensive pout and tapped your index finger against it.

Finally, a neat stack of white flashcards, that lay hidden behind a book on Sea Serpents, caught your attention. You reached over Charlie and pulled them towards you.

Your mouth dropped open as you flicked through them; on every one of the laminated cards was an extensive profile of every kind of dragon imaginable. The descriptions were written out in a neat, accurate hand that looked nothing like the careless scrawl you’d seen on Charlie’s class notes.

But what took your breath away were the detailed drawings below the text. They were done by pencil and although they didn’t move like magical pictures often did, they were so lively as if they only waited to pounce off the paper and take into the air.

Charlie watched you apprehensively as your fingers traced the outline of what appeared to be a Swedish Short-snout. He felt his heart beat faster at the soft, admiring look in your eyes as you turned towards him.

“Did you do these yourself?”

He nodded in response. “It’s hard to find decent descriptions all in one place,” he explained quietly. “I don’t know how accurate the sketches are though; I’ve never seen a dragon in real life.”

You flashed him a radiant smile that had his heart rate pick up considerably. “I don’t care if they’re realistic; they’re brilliant!”

Encouraged by your excitement, he took the flashcards out of your hands and fanned them out, their blank backs facing you. “Then I’d suggest we start with them; pick one!”

Running the fingers along the cards twice, you finally settled on one and drew it out of his grasp. Charlie’s freckled face lit up as he saw which one you had chosen.

“The Ukrainian Ironbelly,” he exclaimed, “my favourite!”

All of his former shyness was suddenly forgotten; this was his prime discipline.

“The Ironbelly is native to the Ukraine, as its name suggests, obviously. It’s considered the largest dragon species in existence with an immense wingspan, long talons and scales that are said to be harder to pierce than steel. It’s name stems from the metallic grey colour of his underside and ever since one particular large specimen carried off a whole sailing ship in the late 18th century, they are under strict observation by wizarding authorities.”

You did your best to jot down the information Charlie dumped on you with impressive speed but there was no way you could keep up with his excited ramblings. So you resorted to listening to him as he lectured you about feeding habits, hunting methods and the average temperature of the flames an Ironbelly could produce.

He sighed wistfully as he paused for breath. “They’re amazing.”

You couldn’t hide your smile at his dreamy expression as you picked out your next card from the stack. “Okay, how about this one?”

The dragon it showed had ridges running along its back, ending in a nasty, arrow-shaped spike at the tip of its tail. It barred its teeth at you in a vicious snarl.

“That’s my favourite, the Hebridean Black,” he repeated his words from before, positively bouncing with energy this time around.

You glanced at the card you two had just worked your way through. “I thought the Ukrainian Ironbelly was your favourite?” you teased him.

Charlie’s bouncing stopped instantly as he blushed bright red; you hadn’t meant to bring him down and felt sorry all of a sudden. So you propped the card against one of the book piles and turned to him.

“So, tell me more about it.”

Relieved to be able to tread on secure ground again, Charlie immediately recounted all the facts about one of the two dragon breeds native to the British Isles to you.

You continued in this fashion; your pulled a random card from the stash and Charlie would tell you everything he knew about it. He grew more animated with every new flashcard; as it turned out, every dragon you talked about was his favourite.

Seeing him so caught up in his favourite subject had a warmth spread in your chest and the smile on your lips never vanished even once. You had given up on writing Charlie’s words down about four cards ago and were merely staring at him explaining to you everything about these fantastic beasts that made up all of his dreams and musings.

His excitement quickly spread to you and you found yourself hanging onto his every word. But the more you were listening to him, the more you found your concentration shift from the dragons you were discussing to the boy beside you.

Your head propped on your hand, you admired how recounting scale colours and preferred environments of Romanian Longhorns brought a twinkle to his blue eyes and how his contagious laugh had you chuckle at the idea that people would confuse a Hungarian Horntail with a Norwegian Ridgeback.

The dimples forming in his freckled cheeks as he smiled at you were the exact reason why you had needed help with studying for this test in the first place. When you had talked about dragons in class, the eager smile and the slight scrunch of his nose as he scribbled down every single word Professor Kettleburn had to spare had left you breathless and unable to concentrate on anything but the butterflies dancing in your stomach.

The pile of flash cards had dwindled down until only a few more were left. Your breath caught in your throat as you turned around your next pick; the pictured showed a slender dragon directly from the front. It’s wings were outstretched and it seemed to be staring directly at you out of wide, pupil-less eyes. It was the only drawing so far that was coloured.

Your finger traced the subtle colour gradient rippling over its pearly scales as Charlie looked over to see which one was next.

“The Antipodean Opaleye,” he murmured, taking in your fascinated expression, “it’s singularly coloured scales and eyes are the stuff of legends.”

“It’s beautiful,” you whispered, trying to imagine how the scales of a real life Opaleye might shimmer in the sunlight.

“Not as beautiful as you,” Charlie suddenly blurted out. The words had fallen from his lips before he’d even had a chance to stop them.

Both of you froze as what he had said sank into your consciousness. You couldn’t believe your ears and were half sure that your mind must have played a trick on you.

You carefully glanced over to Charlie out of the side of your eyes; he looked incredulous and you could watch the colour of his face turning from ghostly white to a deep, vivid scarlet that clashed with his ginger hair in a matter of seconds.

Feeling your own cheeks starting to blush at the unexpected compliment, you desperately were looking for something to say to take the shock out of his widened eyes. But your mind wasn’t working properly anymore, so all you managed was a meek “Wow, uhm, thank you Charlie, that’s really sweet.”

It was apparent your words didn’t help his flustered situation as he covered his face with his hands and groaned “I can’t believe I said that out loud; I’m such an idiot.”

You didn’t know what to do to help him; you felt utterly flattered and confused at the same time. You thought about putting your hand on his arm to reassure him what he had said actually made you happy, but paused halfway, not quite daring to touch him again.

Still unsure of what to do, you got up and picked up one of the books he had used to illustrate the facts on his flashcards.

“I’d better get going, I guess,” you stammered without looking at the wretched boy sitting at the table next to you, “thank you so much for helping me, I think I’ll manage the rest on my own. Can I borrow that book though?”

He didn’t raise his face from his hands, but nodded anyways. You felt bad for leaving him like that, but your head was spinning and you desperately needed to sort out your thoughts.

But seeing Charlie’s slumped frame sitting at the table, all the bubbly excitement from before completely drained from him, tugged at your heartstrings so hard it almost hurt. So instead of turning around and leaving, you drew a deep breath, gathered your courage and stepped behind him, placing a light kiss on his cheek.

You could feel his shoulders tense and his breath hitch as your hair tickled his jaw and were glad he couldn’t see the deep blush on your cheeks as you straightened up, picked up your bag and his book and hurried out of the library with a racing heart, too afraid to turn around once more.

Charlie and you hadn’t spoken again after what had happened in the library. It had taken him quite some time to be able to think properly again after you had left; he had just sat at his table, hand on his cheek where you had kissed him, staring into nothingness, the peachy smell of your hair still hanging in the air.

Even though the thought of how soft your lips had felt on your cheek had been the most prominent thing in his mind, he had passed his test with flying colours; some things just couldn’t be erased from his mind, no matter what was happening around him.

He had just returned to his dorm after a particularly tiring Quidditch practise when he saw it lying on his bed, propped up against his head bord; the book you had borrowed from him to finish studying on your own.

For a brief moment, he wondered how you had managed to get it up here, when he noticed something white sticking out of the pages. Curious, he picked up the book and flicked it open.

Even without looking, he knew what chapter it was you had marked with whatever you had put in there; he had read this book more times than he could remember. It was the chapter on the Antipodean Opaleye; he grimaced at the memory of when he had last thought about this particular dragon.

A white flashcard was stuck between the pages, its laminated surface flashing as Charlie turned it around to read it.

A big smile stole onto his face as he saw the photograph of you laughing and waving at him that you had stuck on the front side. His eyes swept over the lines written in your feminine hand and his smile grew even wider as he read the ‘special characteristics’ section:

It has to be remarked, that this particular specimen was able to pass her test with full marks.

He was glad to hear his blurted out compliment hadn’t affected your marks in the end. He sighed wistfully, when he noticed the very small, scribbled note at the very end of the card; it wasn’t as neatly written as the rest, almost as if your hands had shaken while writing it down.

Greatest weakness: While not many weaknesses are recorded of this specimen, it is said that it can be easily tamed by ginger-haired dragon trainers in the making. Whether these rumours are true, remains to be determined.

Charlie’s mouth dropped open as he read the last section over and over again, not daring to believe what he thought they said. But after the tenth time, he finally allowed the butterflies that had been fluttering in his stomach to spread into the rest of his body, his smile growing into the widest grin as he tucked the flashcard carefully into the book again.

This time, he was sure; this one was his favourite.

Tagging: @weasleysandwheezes

#harry potter #hphm #hogwarts mystery #charlie weasley #charlie weasley x reader #L writes #by request

215 notes · View notes

whaleofatjme1920 · 3 years

Text

Feeling Warmth Through Doused Fires (Masky X F!Reader)

Feeling Warmth Through Doused Fires

[Masky/Tim Wright X F!Reader]

[Warnings: murder, language, angst, mentions of death and actual death. Mostly the angst.]

[AN: Another brilliant request from Eris! This was also a Ko-Fi commission! ALSO ALSO this thing is 13K words! This is my longest fic yet! buckle in.]

When are there not stars in your eyes? It’s hard to dim them even when the sun comes up, which is such an odd thing to even admit due to the mud life has made you trudge through.

You are the product of a proxy father and a human mother. To be the Slender Man’s child is your birthright, and so far, you’ve been living up to that birthright with flying colors. As a young one, she had woven you stories of the culture and society your father was a part of and everything he had been up to.

Visions of murder, deals gone sour, and morally grey acts have been threaded into your soul. You grew up thinking that was normal, and by twelve, you had knowledge on things that no child should have ever opened their ears to.

“And then what happened?” You ask your mother, urging her to continue the story.

She giggles like a butterfly ready to take flight and holds your tiny six year old body closer to her. She smells of honey and vanilla. “That group had messed with the wrong people,” she continues, her voice falling deceptively low. “The tall man in the woods-”

“You mean the faerie?” You ask as your eyes sparkle. “The Slender Man?”

Your mother nods, her index finger reaching up to tap your nose. “Yes, exactly that,” she hums. “He sent another group of proxies to handle the mess.”

“Ooooooo they’re in troubleeeeee,” you giggle, still hooked around your mother.

She laughs. “He initiated what is called a ‘proxy hunt’. It’s something only the bad proxies are subject to,” she explains. “It’s important you don’t make mistakes like that, Reader. Do you understand?” She questions with a warm hum as she secures you in her arms, bringing your tired form to your bedroom.

“Got it,” you say in the most serious tone a six year old can muster. “No making the faerie mad.”

“That’s my girl.” Her lips pull up in a grin that rivals the Cheshire cat.

Your father is a proxy. He is tall, unstable, but loves you like the moon loves the tide and the sun loves the earth. To be a proxy is to be closed off and untouchable, but the sound of you running to greet him on the blue moon he visits you and your mother has always been enough to humanize him, if even for a moment. He loves you, his special little girl, with all the grains of sand there are on the earth.

He comes around sparsely, and as you grow older, rarely. It’s not that he doesn’t love you, it’s just that he’s busy and the Slender Man enjoys making his favorites suffer. Every time he sees you, he remarks how much bigger you’ve gotten. He’s more than upset that he can’t be there to watch you grow into a fine young lady.

“You’re late,” you say, eyes narrowed as you look up at the tall, bulky man who stands before you. You take your hand off the doorknob and stand tall as you cross your arms.

“I know, sweetheart, I know,” the man apologizes, crouching down to your eye level. “I brought you a present.”

You eye your father carefully, arms relaxing for a moment before noticing the wrapped gift in his hands. “Is…”

“It’s something you’ll like,” he answers, holding the gift out to you. “I promise.”

You narrow your eyes again but take the wrapped present from his hands, shaking it slightly. You hear something rattling around. “Can I open it?” You ask as you attempt to hide your smile.

Your father chuckles. “I don’t think your mother would appreciate it, but yes. Go ahead, open it.”

You relent in the angry front and plop down on the floor, opening the present without any grace as a ‘proper lady’ as your mother would put it. You peel back the brightly colored wrapping paper and then tear into the box. “Oh my gods,” you whisper to yourself in surprise as the stars once again light up in your eyes. It’s an entire art set of fine materials. “Where did you get these?”

Your father shrugs. “That’s for me to know and you to never find out,” he says in a teasing tone.

You push at him before placing the box of expensive art supplies to the side. You can’t help but lunge into your father’s waiting arms.

“I heard you were getting seriously into art from your mother. Doing art for friends? I’m so proud of you!” He laughs and hugs you, his lips pressing to the crown of your head. “Happy twelvth, sweetheart,” he mumbles into your hair. “I love you so, so much.”

You can’t help but cry and hug your father tighter.

For a person who was supposed to be brutal, uncaring, uncouth and simply inhuman, your father had the whole dad thing down when he was around. He never raised his voice to you, was kind and thoughtful in his responses, and you adored how he treated your mother with nothing but love and understanding.

You know that if he wasn’t shackled to a life he had no choice of entering, he would have been one hell of a father.

Your mother, a mentally fragile woman who loves a damn near unattainable man, brings you the news one overcast morning. Her eyes are red and puffy and it looks like she hasn’t been able to stop crying for hours. Her posture is broken but her heart even more so. It’s probably irreparable.

You were sitting at your desk, doing your homework. Tomorrow was Monday, starting the final week of school. It was one of the final essays before you were out for summer break, and then you’d be gearing up for your first year of high school once autumn came.

Earbuds in, you didn’t even hear your mother slink into the doorway of your room. When you finally get the inkling that someone is watching you, you take out one of your earbuds and turn your head. “Mom?” You sound genuinely confused, especially after seeing her rough appearance. “What’s wrong?” You slowly push back in your chair, ready to stand and meet her in the doorway.

“Your-your,” her breath hitches as she leans helplessly in the doorway. “It’s your father,” she manages to rasp out as she begins to slink downwards, her knees buckling.

Your eyes go wide, tears welling in them and blurring your vision as you jump out of your seat and collapse on the floor with your mother. You wrap your arms around her, burying your face into her shoulder as she cradles you in her arms.

“I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so, so sorry,” she wails like a mantra, clutching onto you like she’s afraid to lose you too.

You don’t know how to feel in that direct moment. You loved your father, more a shadow than a real man, but his loss cuts deep and hard. He wanted to show you things “when you’re older” and tell you of the world you were born in. You wanted so badly to learn it all by his hand and his knowledge.

When your mother has finally come to a grounding point where she is no longer choking over her words, she leads you to her bedroom. She moves slowly, as if she’s trying not to remember anything about the man she loved and lost. Her steps are quiet, almost like she’s floating.

You follow her just as quietly. It’s as if you don’t want to disturb the silence that has settled over the two of you. It’s heavy and suffocating, but it’s a blanket shielding you from the reality that someone is gone and never coming back.

Your mother opens her bedroom door and shifts around in her drawers.

Unsure of where you should be and if you’re allowed into the sanctuary that is her room and her space, you wait in the doorway, much like she did when she brought you the bad news. You’re still wiping away tears with the bottoms of your hands and by extension, rubbing your skin raw. Your vision is still bleary, but when your mother finally resurfaces, you don’t even need to be told what it is she’s holding.

In her hands is a mask. It’s dark brown and has a simple face almost reminiscent of a dragon. It’s simple, but elegant. It’s simple, but horrifying. You feel drawn to it.

Your mother weakly smiles and sits down on her bed, patting the open spot for you to sit down.

You do so without question and take your spot next to her, almost on instinct leaning yourself onto her side. You smile softly as she wraps her arm around you, pulling you close.

“It was your father’s,” she says quietly, fingertips gently tracing the mask's face. She then gingerly shifts it onto your lap. “Now it is yours.”

You feel more tears cascade from your eyes as you gaze longingly down at the mask on your lap. “Are you sure?” You shakily question, wondering why she’d want to pass such a beautiful memento down to you so soon.

“It’s your birthright,” she replies, her lips pressing to the side of your head that gives you a love only a devoted mother could.

You didn’t understand what she meant at that moment.

You never saw your first year of high school.

When the summer came, you had bounced back like any child could. Children are plastic. They can bounce back from almost anything, just give them enough time, space, and care. You were no exception.

In truth, after losing your father, you hadn’t found any desire to go to college. Your heart was telling you that a life that was so cookie cutter and parallel to everyone else’s was never in the cards for you. Your blood sung for something different.

Proxies always return to him.

Your mother knew it too. She saw it in your longing gaze as she drove the two of you back home from grocery runs, how your eyes would follow the breeze in the backyard to the woods, how your hands naturally found their way to knives, and how your thoughts transcended what should be humanly possible.

But you’re not human. You never have been. Never will be.

Your mother knew that best. It was only natural that she found contact with the tall man of the woods halfway through the summer of losing your father.

“She’s different, my little girl,” she explained as she gazed up at the imposing, almost immaculate figure. “I don’t think I could ever give her what is expected or needed.” She hates to admit that she’s not good enough for you, but that is the curse of being a born, not turned proxy. Proxies always return to their master, regardless of age, creed, or background.

‘I know,’ he said. ‘What would you have me do?’ He’s only asking as a formality. He knows that you belong to him. Your father had been attempting to gear you up to join. The Slender Man is only finishing what one of his most beloved proxies started.

Your mother shifts uncomfortably, crossing her arms over her chest as a defensive maneuver. She absentmindedly tucks some strands of her hair behind her ear. “I think she needs to be with you,” she mumbles, still not wanting to admit she’s not good enough because she’s human. “I think she needs to be fully immersed in… Whatever it is my husband says you do.”

The Slender Man chuckles deeply. He knows your mother knows what his beloved proxy does, but he lets her feign her ignorance. ‘That’s rich coming from a woman who loves her child more than the land loves the sea,’ he taunts coldly. In truth, it is nothing against her as an individual, but it is everything against her as a human being.

Your mother scoffs and holds her ground. “Will you take her in or not?”

He raises his hand to convey a truce. ‘My apologies.’ He doesn’t mean it. ‘I will. She is my child, afterall-’

“She is NOT your child,” your mother snarls, fully aware she is in the presence of a very temperamental being who could smite her just for thinking wrong.

The Slender Man, in all his mercy, once again holds his hand up as a sign of truce. ‘I understand the loss is still heavy on your heart,’ he begins, voice heavy and almost exhausted to be dealing with human emotional flare ups. ‘I will take her as soon as you are ready to let her go.’

Your mother’s shoulders drop slightly as she comes to the realization that yes, that was a decision she was making. She feels tears well in her eyes, but refuses to blink them away. “Thank you.” She nods to the tall man, then turns on her heels and heads back home, where you lay asleep waiting for her.

The Slender Man watches her leave with curiosity in his gaze. He already knows where he’s going to be placing you. You are not the youngest to fall under his influence, but you are the first in a while. He tends to pluck young adults, not children. And if he did choose children, consider it target practice.

Nothing more.

When your mother tells you that you are leaving her side, you are once again thrown into a plethora of emotions, a maelstrom .A part of you can’t believe she’d just willingly give up on you like that, but another says this is the direction you’re meant to go.

“This isn’t a decision I make lightly, Reader!” She exclaims in budding frustration, her fingers raking through her hair like a tick. “Really, I have no say in the matter!”

“Yes you do!” You cry back. “You’re my mother! How could you just abandon me?” You fight back. You ball your hands in fists. You’re not backing down from her.

Your mother sighs deeply and shakes her head. “I am not prepared for this,” she mumbles. “I do not have the right knowledge to allow you to grow into the person you could be,” she finishes, plopping back onto the wall in the kitchen. She’s exhausted on every facet. Her heart hurts with just how much she loves you.

“What could you not be prepared for?” You seethe. “What on this hunk of rock are you not prepared for?”

Your mother honestly doesn’t know how to answer that. Your father had always been oddly tight lipped about certain aspects of the proxy lifestyle, perhaps out of safety reasons for the two of you. She doesn’t know what you’re going to be thrown into. “I know that it’s rough-”

“Just like that?” You retort, a fire in your eyes that reminds her much too much of her departed husband. “You don’t want me? Is that it?” You finally relent, a crack interrupting your once strong tone.

Your mother falters and comes to your side, holding you in her arms once more. “Of course not,” she murmurs. “Of course not.”

“Then why?” You prod softly with a small sting.

“You are a proxy by blood, that’s all,” she offers as advice, swaying you.

You feel your heart begin to slow from its racing pace. You don’t want to accept that as an answer, but you do just to bring her peace.

You leave your mother’s side near the end of July. Just twelve years old and on the precipice of something no ordinary human could ever even begin to understand.

Your final dinner with her was uncomfortable, but bittersweet at the same time. You and your mother had shared stories, laughs, tears, everything and anything. You know that after this, you probably won’t ever be able to see her again.

Your mother brings you to the woods herself. She holds your hand, a knot in her stomach over seeing you holding your father’s mask followed by a backpack strapped to your still small body as you are about to venture into the unknown. She never thought she’d be losing you so soon.

The Slender Man is never tardy. He pops into your view once you are a safe distance into the forest with splendor - it’s probably to impress you to some degree. He really hasn’t worked with a child in a very long time.

You feel your head go dizzy with static. Your breath hitches and your heart stops. It’s almost intoxicating that you are in the presence of the man who will now have control of your entire life. You look up at him and the stars return to your eyes. Still, as a child-like crutch, you grip onto your mother’s side and hide yourself with her form, terrified of the imposing man that stands tall in front of you.

“It’s okay,” your mother says softly, gently urging you to the man you will now consider your god. “He’s here to help you.”

The Slender Man hums deeply. His voice invades your head like a virus, infecting every thought and feeling until it overtakes you and makes itself home. Curiously, he bends down. He is lit up by the light of the full moon.

You peek out from your mother’s form and gradually find the stones to leave her side - still hesitantly. You take in a deep breath, reminding yourself to be brave, and approach the now bent down figure who sits at eye-level with you. “It’s… It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sir,” you say quietly, a childlike innocence making the Slender Man mentally smile. You look at him with fear and curiosity in your eyes.

He chuckles deeply - the sound sends chills down your spine - before holding out a flower to you. It’s small, much like you, and pretty. The petals are free of any damage the bugs might have caused, and the color is absolutely spellbinding. It’s your father’s favorite color, red, though it’s not a rose. ‘For you, my dear.’

You allow a sheepish smile to spread onto your lips before you take the flower from his waiting hand, and sniff it. It’s so sweet and familiar. You recognize the scent as something your father carried on his person. The thought makes you tear up.

His large, clawed hand comes up to your face before his thumb gently wipes the tears away. ‘It’s time to go. Say goodbye, dear.’ He nods for you to bid a farewell to your mother, who is trying her hardest to not break in front of you.

You don’t hesitate in turning around and running into her open arms, face crashing into her chest as you take in her familiar scent for a final time.

“I love you,” she whispers, peppering your face and crown with kisses. “Never ever forget that.” She holds you tighter, and you hold back just as tight.

When it’s time to go, you leave her warmth to a cold that burns bright.

It wraps around your hand, and takes you to a diner.

“Where are we?” You ask as you take a gander at your surroundings. You see that you’re still largely obscured in darkness, but the artificial lights of a lit up IHOP grant you that soft, almost annoying light that disturbs the night.

He lets go of your hand. ‘Head inside and you will meet your group.’

You look up at the Slender Man curiosity. “My group?” You quizzically ask, still looking up at the tall man.

He nods and then puts his hand on your back, gently nudging you to cross the parking lot, almost as if he’s nonverbally telling you that they are waiting for you. “Like a family. A new family.”

You feel a little nervous, but nod your head and decide to be strong - or whatever you think your father might have done in a similar situation. “Thank you for your time,” you say, remembering your mother and father both stressing how important it was to show reverence to those in higher positions than you.

The Slender Man’s wolfish smile floods your mind’s eye, gently, and warmly before he nods once more for you to go. Like a proud father, he watches you take tentative first steps into an entirely new future. Only when you open the doors of the establishment does he mentally tell his proxies that wait inside of the newest member’s arrival, and then zip out of existence as you know it.

Tim waits at the diner with a small frown on his face. He’s not entirely pleased with the news his boss has given him and it shows. He's drinking far too often from his coffee cup for his group’s liking.

“Ease up,” Brian huffs as he pushes Tim’s coffee cup back to the table and away from his lips. “You’re gonna be bouncing off the walls.”

Tim rolls his eyes and picks up his coffee cup much to his right hand’s chagrin. “I’m handling it how I want to,” he mumbles into the lip of the coffee cup.

“Come on, it’s not the end of the world-”

“It’s a child,” Tim cuts him off. “The youngest person we had prior to us was Toby, and he’s-”

“I’m w-what?” Toby hums as he comes back to the table, sliding comfortably back into his seat.

“He’s bitching about the kid we’re getting,” Brian answers as he absentmindedly stirs his drink with his straw.

“Is he n-now?” Toby chuckles. “I’m s-surprised you’re n-not more w-w-w-worried, to b-be completely h-h-honest,” he breathes out in a teasing tone, lightly elbowing Brian who smiles for a moment in response.

“I fought my demons on this issue and won,” Brian smirks. “Masky here clearly hasn’t.”

Tim rolls his chocolate colored eyes once more and leans back into his seat, looking at the fourth and empty chair that will eventually be filled by you. “I honestly don’t think you two are worried enough,” he grumbles under his breath before he crosses his arms over his chest.

Snickers ring out from his two companions. Clearly, they find amusement in his worry. Tim almost hates to admit how worried he is.

You’re not just a runt, you’re a child. A literal child. Something about having you in this life feels morally and ethically wrong, and he knows that. A part of him is scared you’ll just… Fold.

Brian has had his reservations about the situation, but overall, he has made peace with it - for now. He’s not too thrilled over the Slender Man putting a child in his group, but at the same time, he’s nowhere near as frazzled as Tim is.

Toby finds the entire situation amusing. He was the youngest of the group. In some ways, Toby has never quite grown up. That’s not a bad thing though, it just means it’s easier for him to relate to you. And honestly, you aren’t his entire responsibility, so he’s able to be the fun guardian.

That’s what the Slender Man called the three of them, your actual guardians. No questions asked, you were now theirs as much as you are his.

You push through the doors and look around the IHOP, looking for anyone who might have any inkling of what you should be doing. Your eyes dart around and the palace is relatively empty. There’s a few groups interspersed and lost in their own worlds, and you have no idea which one you should be heading towards.

Your thoughts are answered when you hear steps approaching followed by the heavy smell of cigarettes that hang in the air thickly. You look up to see a man in a black t-shirt, with dark and tired eyes. He gives you a faint smile as you look up at him.

“Are you hungry?” He asks suddenly, almost throwing you entirely off guard.

You blink a few times. “Uh, I wouldn’t mind anything else,” you answer a tad awkwardly. You don’t why, but you get the overwhelming feeling to not disrespect him. It’s almost stronger than the feeling to respect your mother and father.

“Come with me then,” he says.

You watch as he begins to walk towards a table and squeak in response before picking up the pace and following him.

Tim weaves you through the sea of tables and sets your sights on a table that has two men sitting across from each other, talking. You look at the two with slight curiosity before the man leading you puts his hands on the back of a brown haired boy’s chair.

There’s a minute pause between the two before the boy silently gets up and joins the blond haired man’s side.

You take a seat next to the man who led you in, a little quiet due to being shy and in the presence of imposing figures (though nowhere near as imposing as the Slender Man) and focus on the table. Remembering to be polite, you keep your eyes trained on the table and open your mouth to greet them. “Hello.”

The blond haired man’s lips curl upwards into a smile. “So she does speak,” he says more as a joke to the other two men rather than directly to you.

The man who led you in kicks his right hand’s shin under the table. “Be nice,” he hisses quietly. “Sorry,” he apologizes, eyes darting to look at you. “Why don’t we uh, go around the table and say our name and a fun thing about ourselves?” He suggests tiredly.

“What are we, five?” The blond haired man chuckles. He winces when Tim kicks his shin again. “Alright, fine,” he mutters under his breath before finally turning to you. “Hi, my name is Hoodie. I really like photography,” he states, an amused twinkle coming to his hazel eyes.

You perk up slightly.

“M-Me next?” Toby asks before deciding to go up himself. “Hi, I-I’m Toby. I c-can’t feel pain.”

You raise your eyebrows and look over at the pale, vaguely grey skinned boy. “You can’t feel pain?” You inquire, voice raising slightly to convey your budding curiosity.

“Mhm,” he hums, a smile slowly coming onto his lips. “You c-c-can slap m-me, I won’t f-f-feel it.”

You glance at the other two men who both nod out of unison, sly grins curling the corners of their mouth upwards. Almost shyly, you lean over the table and open your hand. You look at Toby for confirmation and close your eyes, hitting him across the face as hard as a twelve year old can muster. When you open your eyes after your hand made impact, you see that he’s unmoved.

There’s nothing in Toby’s eyes that tells you he’s masking the pain either. He’s genuinely unbothered. “S-See what I m-mean, Princess?” He chuckles as you sit back in your seat, dumbfounded.

“Yeah, yeah, Toby is special,” the man who brought you in chuckles tiredly before waving Toby off. “Anyways, my name is Masky and I’m your group leader,” he tells you in passing.

Brian rolls his eyes and lightly kicks Tim’s shin from under the table. “That’s not a fun fact.”

“D-Ditto,” Toby agrees as he crosses his arms over his chest. “T-Tell her a r-r-real fun fact.”

Tim pauses for a moment before he finally sees the stars in your eyes. He finds it hard to not indulge you. “Hoodie and I used to go to the same college together,” he finally states, earning an approving smile from both Brian and Toby.

You want to press the topic when the waitress finally makes her grand appearance.

“Hi, hon! Apologies for not getting here any sooner. Did you want something?” She asks with a warm smile on her dark lips. “I can get you some juice to start off with if you don’t know what you’d like yet?” She continues in a semi-speculative tone.

You think it over for a second before looking up at her. “I would like some apple juice and a small thing of chocolate chip pancakes if that’s okay with you?” You’re both asking her and the men at your table.

“Sure thing,” she hums. “Anything for you boys?”

“We’re fine, just stuff for the little lady,” Tim replies. “Though uh, I would like another pot of coffee,” he trails off.

The waitress takes the empty pot of coffee and then walks back to the kitchen to get what you asked for.

“Alright, what about you?” Brian asks as he rests his elbows on the table, hands under his chin as he turns his attention back to you. “Name and fun fact.”

“I’m Reader,” you begin, not noticing how their expressions shift slightly. “And a fun fact about me?” You take a moment to consider what you’re going to tell them before divulging into one of your hobbies, drawing. You mention the alcohol markers your father gave to you on your last birthday, your twelvth.

The three men listen to you attentively all the while holding a conversation in their heads.

‘Holy shit, you never mentioned that this was the Wraith’s kid-’ Toby’s voice hurriedly exclaims through the mental connection he shares with his teammates.

‘She can’t be right,’ Brian tacks on. ‘This can’t be his kid, the man didn’t have any kids,’ Brian jumbles out. On the inside, he is screaming, but outwardly, he shows he’s happy to be listening to you.

Tim mentally scoffs. ‘Now you know why I’m so horrified,’ he grumbles in a very lightly annoyed tone. He knew the Wraith, your father. He was a good man by proxy standards, and flawed by human ones.

When Tim first received the news from the Slender Man that he was taking in the Wraith’s child, he almost passed out. The responsibility of taking care of not only a child, but a legend’s child? He saw the light and it was NOT as beautiful as people make it out to be. You are his responsibility first and foremost, whether he wants this or not. He watches you with furrowed brows, only to find that during the

The night begins to dwindle on, and it’s clear that you’re getting sleepier. Besides, the table knows that you’ve probably never stayed up until midnight and it’s nearing that odd hour. The IHOP is almost completely empty, but every now and then stragglers come in to have a cup of coffee and hashbrowns. It’s a slow night.

“You’re looking tired,” Brian says softly as he watches your eyes lid.

You fling them open and shake your head. “I’m not tired at all,” you pout. You cross your arms over your chest, but the position proves to be too comfortable and you’re already nodding off again.

“Yeah, we’re calling it a night,” Tim says as he begins to get out of his seat. “Hood, cover the money. I’ll bring her to the car. Toby’s driving.”

“May the gods have mercy on our souls,” Brian wheezes under his breath as he reaches into his pocket to find his wallet and pay.

Toby lightly slaps his teammate’s shoulder before pushing in his seat and stretching slightly.

You watch with weary, tired eyes and slowly begin to drift off in your seat, barely even noticing how Tim carefully scoops you into his arms.

He’s able to pick you up like you weigh nothing, and really, you don’t. At least, not to him. He holds you as gently as he can and begins moving to exit the IHOP as softly as possible, not wanting to wake you. He doesn’t doubt that you’ve had a rough time leading up to this paired with the fact your father is dead too.

Toby opens the IHOP’s door for Tim who is still carrying you and then clicks open the car as well. “W-Why don’t you h-hang out with h-her in the backseat? We h-have quite the d-d-drive until we make it t-t-to Alabama,” he suggests as he opens the back doors of the car behind the driver’s side. He then moves to allow Tim to do his work before slipping into the driver’s seat.

Tim hums thoughtfully before nodding. He gingerly sits you into the car before carefully prying your backpack off before dropping it softly to the floor of the car. After that, he puts your seatbelt on and closes the door gently, once again, to not startle you awake.

He then walks around the back of the car and gets into the passenger side’s back seat and puts his own seatbelt on, exhausted and wanting to take a nap himself. He absentmindedly watches the doors of the IHOP to see Brian waving good night to the staff in the building before he heads over to the car where Toby brings it to life.

“She asleep?” Brian asks as he takes his spot in the passenger seat.

“Yeah,” Tim replies quietly. “Quiet from here on out and head talk,” he finishes just as softly before Toby begins to drive out of the parking lot.

You stir a bit as the car moves, mostly staying in a sitting up position until Toby finally enters the expressway heading down south to the temp house that the Slender Man wishes for them to essentially ‘raise’ you in. Your body falls as he turns onto the long stretch off road and you remain sleeping, head now resting on Tim’s lap.

Instead of moving you, he chuckles quietly to himself and then reaches in the back, groping around for his jacket until he finally finds it. Once in his hand, he drapes it over your small form. He watches you for a moment or more before relaxing back in the seat himself, quietly succumbing to sleep alongside you.

Toby and Brian watch him from the rear view mirror, ghosts of smiles on their faces.

You wake up late the next day. A groggy glance at the car’s clock shows that it’s almost past 2 in the afternoon. Goodness, you’ve never really slept in like that before! You shoot up, clearly startled.

“Nice to see you’re up,” Tim says in a slightly teasing tone as he stops gazing from out the window. “Really tired, huh?”

You nod slightly and allow your body the time to wake up. “I guess so?” You reply in a slightly embarrassed tone, still rubbing the sleep from your eyes. “Where are we going?”

“Alabama,” Brian answers as he glances at you from the rearview mirror. “Gonna be living there for a little while.”

“Why’s that?”

“The Operator wants us to be closer to him while you grow,” Tim says before he turns his attention back out the window.

When you give him a confused look, Tim relents, drops his shoulders and takes in a deep breath. “Alright, listen up, this is gonna be a lot.”

You look at him with stars in your eyes.

Tim begins to weave to you a story of the culture and society you are now expected to integrate into. He tells you of the Slender Man, or as you are now expected to call him the Operator's origins. He tells you of a similar being named Zalgo, and it is with him that the Operator tirelessly fights against. It’s an eternal battle that he, and everyone else in the car, doubts will be won or lost in your lifetime.

Tim tells you of proxies, those who serve directly under the Operator and what their purpose is. They are the ones who are held dearest and nearest to his heart and have the privilege of being on the top in this society. Proxies are cold, calculated, and tend to not have free will because they are so blinded by the Operator’s light. Still, there are some instances in which proxies retain their humanity - and that is what makes them simultaneously and strongest and weakest lengths in the hierarchy.

Then there’s the independents. Those that are, as the name implies, independent. While they can come and go as they please, but are still considered the Operator’s children because of how often they work with him. They also benefit from the Operator’s presence and protection, so they too are part of the hierarchy, they have not devoted themselves entirely to him and are considered lesser than proxies. In the Operator’s vision, they are more expendable than his direct children, but more than outliers.

Outliers are the beings that have little to no business with the Operator and do not directly benefit from his influence and protection. They are the blacksheep and scapegoats of the culture you are just learning to swim in. A good chunk of outliers are removed from the society all together on account of them not having exact higher thought, feelings and mentality. They are monsters, cryptids, the things who cause harm but do not think. There are some outliers that are exceptions to the common stereotype of what an outlier is, but they retain that status due to being stripped of an independent title. They aren’t even allowed most times in proxy spaces, but independents tend to welcome them with open arms.

Afterall, both independents and outliers know what it is like to be on the losing side of a classist divide.

Tim also tells you what he knew about your father. Known as the Wraith, he moved like a ghost and struck fear in his victims to the point of spellbinding paranoia that could land them under hospitalization. He made them lose their minds, slowly, painfully, until they were but a shell of what they used to be - a mockery of whatever came before. Your father was a damn good proxy, revered and respected. To hear of his loss was mourned across all three classes, as he was surprisingly fair and just in his treatment of those of lower social standing than him, even going so far as to attempt friendlier outlier contact between the other two, more cognitive groups.

Time and time again on the trip to Alabama, you are reminded that your father was a good man by proxy standards, and flawed in the eyes of humans.

And you can’t help but agree even though what you’ve seen from your father thus far has been minimal at most. You love him in the way any child would love their shadow.

“I only ever really saw him for special occasions,” you begin to explain, eyes focused on the passing trees, hand out the window as you guide it like an airplane as Tim drives the car. They’ve been shifting drivers every other hour now. “He was so kind and warm,” you continue, voice soft and fragile, fluttering like a butterfly’s wings. “I wish I could have known more of him.”

You get the sense that your teammates agree.

“Y’know,” Tim begins. “He would be pleased to see you’re taking up this mantle of his.” He throws you a supportive glance from the rearview mirror. “I remember him being worried he’d thrown you into a life where you’d come out the other end hating him. But, from what I’ve heard, you accepted your blood with relative grace.”

You feel a heat rise to your face as you focus on how the air glides over your hand, lifting it like a bird. “Yeah…” You trail off with a semi-awkward chuckle.

Tim throws you a knowing glance, smiling softly before turning back to the road.

You arrive in Alabama sometime during the night. The car, which was being driven by Toby once again, pulls into a house somewhere off the beaten path and mumbles about the foliage before he turns on his brights. The place looks relatively spooky, but in a very picturesque way. He continues driving on the uneven terrain before finally reaching the front porch of the house.

There, two men are sitting and talking. The one in the white hoodie looks up from his conversation with the blue masked man and waves, stepping down the first two steps to meet your group halfway.

Toby breathes out with a chuckle and turns the car off. “W-Were you g-guys waiting here a-all day for u-us?” He asks as he exits the car, twirling the car keys in his fingers before tossing them over to Tim, who catches them like second nature.

“Anything to see our favorite cannibal and hurricane of a being,” Brian lightly ribs, making the man in the white hoodie grin and the blue masked man chuckle.

Quietly, you get out the car and round it so you’re near Tim, mostly eyeing the two men with adrenaline coursing in your veins. The appearance of the man who is paler than the moon frightens you just a bit.

“Who’s this little sunflower?” He asks as he turns his attention from almost play fighting with Brian and Toby to waltz over to you. He’s just as imposing as everyone else and leans down slightly to match eye level with you.

“She’s W-Wraith’s k-kid,” Toby hums as he crosses his arms over his chest, head turned slightly to gauge how you’re feeling.

You look up at the clad in white man and attempt to smile. “Hi, I’m Reader, who are you?” You ask softly, still not entirely comfortable in his presence.

A grin begins to light up on his face. “Jeff. Jeff the Killer.” He crouches down and holds out his hand to you.

You grip onto Tim’s forearm, hiding behind him like you did with your mother when he nods that it’s okay for you to say hello.

“He won’t bite, not while I’m here,” he says in a reassuring tone. “You can say hi,” he gently encourages.

You shyly hold your hand out to the man you now know as Jeff and shake it, amazed that he feels like a still smouldering fire. “Killer?”

Jeff suppresses a giggle and nods. “That’s right. Your father was a good one too,” he compliments before letting your hand go. He then turns his head over his shoulder. “EJ, stop being a wet blanket and come say hello to the sunflower.”

The man on the porch scoffs before slowly getting up from the stairs. He stretches slightly as he walks over. His mask startles you as he comes up to you. He does not crouch down to meet you like Jeff did. “I’m EJ.” There’s no warmth in his tone, but he holds his hand out regardless.

Jeff rolls his blue eyes and elbows Eyeless Jack’s ribs. “It’s a kid you dickhead, not a patient,” he hisses before elbowing him again. “Try that again.”

Your group laughs slightly in response, but Eyeless Jack obliges his friend.

“Hi, I’m EJ.”

“What does that stand for?” You ask as you take his hand into yours, shaking it. Your other hand remains firmly planted to Tim’s forearm. He’s just really comforting for you in such an uneasy situation.

You notice Eyeless Jack give Tim a slight look, almost asking if he could do so before getting a very reluctant nod.

“Eyeless Jack.”

“You have all the grace of a drunken sloth” Tim sighs.

“What? You said I could be real.”

“No lead up? You just?”

“Masky, you know I respect you more than most proxies, but you’re literally going to train her for this stuff. There’s no use in beating around the bush. Look,” the grey skinned man pauses for a moment and begins to slip his mask off.

You watch in deep curiosity as you look upwards, wondering what he looks like. When you get your answer, your curiosity grows. Though, it shows up as a shocked fear despite that not being what you feel.

“You okay, Reader?” Tim asks softly as he looks down at you.

“You b-b-broke the kid,” Toby says with an eyebrow raised, leaning in the doorway of the temp house before Brian shakes his head with a stupid grin, heading into the house to set things up and properly accommodate everyone’s move in.

“Yeah, because he’s so ugly-”Jeff is barely able to say before you cut him off.

“You are so cool!” You suddenly exclaim, small hands reaching upwards to Eyeless Jack’s face and to signal him to come down so you can see him better.

Eyeless Jack’s stoic face blooms into a smile as he crouches down almost instantly, a heat rising to his cheeks over the compliment.

You immediately leave Tim’s side to look over the grey skinned man’s face, fingers gently brushing over his cheeks. “What is this?” You ask excitedly, clearly referring to the inky black tears that waterfall from his eyes.

“Some goop that comes from my eyes when my body decides I need to eat the food most of you don’t,” he explains, holding back his amused laughter at how gently you touch him with all the wonder a child can. Normally, Eyeless Jack would not let anyone touch him, nor would he let a stranger get remotely this close to him, but he’s admittedly charmed with you.

“Jeeze, Masky, you never told us Wraith’s kid wasn’t a psychopath,” Jeff teases slightly as he rests his forearm on Tim’s shoulder.

“To be fair, I didn’t know either - we really haven’t spent too much time with her,” he chuckles warmly as he watches you brush your fingers through Jack’s hair, amazed that the texture is so soft despite it looking scratchy and a little dry. “Okay, Reader, that’s enough petting EJ,” Tim says as he rests his hand on your shoulder. “I think our uh, meat eating friend needs to get some food in his stomach judging by how many tears he’s producing right now.”

“Do I have to?” You ask as you step back from Eyeless Jack, allowing the tall man to stand up and recompose himself.

“Yup,” Tim replies, popping the ‘p’. “Besides, it’s late and I’m not messing your sleep schedule up anymore,” he finishes as he nods for you to head into the house.

“Will we see these two again?”

“Of course you will,” Tim says as he begins leading you into the house, waving goodbye to the two men who are about to head out into the woods. “You have all the time in the world,” he hums, pleased you made a good impression on some of his society's most prominent figures at the moment.

You turn over briefly and smile widely. “Bye! I hope to see you soon!” You bid before finally being ushered into the house by Tim.

Both Eyeless Jack and Jeff wave back, smiles on their faces.

“See you soon, sunflower,” Jeff murmurs to himself.

A pregnant pause comes between the two best friends.

“You see what she’s doing to him?” Jeff absentmindedly chuckles as he and Eyeless Jack begin to travel into the darkness of the woods.

“What a softie,” Eyeless Jack agrees.

“Takes one to know one,” Jeff retorts.

The two laugh.

Tim spends most of his time teaching you and that’s only because the Operator keeps sending out his teammates over him. It’s probably just how the tall man wanted it. You soak up information like a sponge. Everyone can see it.

He teaches you everything he can. For instance, the proxy hierarchical role is strict and considered one of the most respected of rules. Group leaders are leaders because the Operator says they are, but it can also be taken by force. That normally doesn’t happen though. Group leaders hold the responsibility of ensuring their proxies are taken care of, and if they are new, properly integrated into the society. That’s what he’s currently doing with you.

Next up comes the right hand. Not every group has a right hand because some group leaders are paranoid or jerks and cannot learn to trust, but it is highly recommended group leaders have a right hand. This group’s right hand is Brian, or as you know him, Hoodie. Right hands provide guidance when group leaders are conflicted, and can step in on behalf of their leader depending on the situation. They are to be just as respected and revered and can be the stand in should a group leader be missing. This role is not given, it is asked.

Then come what Tim lovingly refers to as ‘the middle children’. Those are the proxies that aren’t group leaders, right hands, or runts. They are the ones who just exist as part of the group unit. They have no significant power but are allowed to participate in the hazing process. ‘Middle children’ tend to pop up when runts outgrow their runt status or a new runt takes their place. It is possible to have multiple ‘middle children’.

Runts are the lowest in the unit. They are the newest in their group, but not always the newest or least inexperienced. If you are traded amongst groups, you become a runt, but in such cases as this, the hazing process is nowhere near as brutal as it would be for those who are inexperienced and coming into the proxy life for the first time. Because runts are usually in an initiatory stage and still learning, they must be bent and broken until the group leader says there is no further need. Runts are often the lapdogs of the group and tend to do everything the rest of the group does not want to do. They are considered the most expendable.

The hazing process is something that you are exempt from. Tim told you it was because you are a child, and he is not a child abuser. Still, after learning of the hazing process, you admit that you feel sick to your stomach. The hazing process is brutal in every sense and can sap the life out of the proxies it affects. Everything goes when a runt is in the process, from mental, emotional and physical torture. Depending on the group leader, the process will last anywhere from a few weeks, months, to even years.

You are thankful you are exempt.

Tim teaches you more and more as the months go on, and still, with stars in your eyes, you soak up information like a sponge. Technique is something he’s always testing on you, and it plays like a fun game.

“I’m going to wait upstairs and read,” he says one morning. “Maybe get some other work done. Wait down here for however long you need, and tap my shoulder without me hearing you. Stay silent as possible. If I hear you, you lose.” He then gets up from the kitchen table and heads upstairs, coffee cup in hand before he heads into the study.

You watch Tim leave and furrow your brows, your heart racing. So far, he’s drilled stamina into you, basic self defense, and other things young proxies might need but this is the task that makes your heart palpitate. You hear him open the study door and half way close it before he settles in and begins reading.

You don’t want to rush into this. So, you take your time, just silently moving from the kitchen to the bottom of the stairs, that task in itself taking until the afternoon. You don’t want to mess this up.

You hold your breath as you make it to the bottom of the stairs. Even though it’s carpeted, you don't want any part of you betraying your stealth. You wait at the bottom of the stairs, inching up step by step until you finally reach the top.

The sun has set by the time you wait outside the wall in front of the study door.

You hold your breath as you quietly step into the doorway - and you see it - Tim has flinched. Hopped up on adrenaline, you take your time and slink your way behind him before finally tapping him on the shoulder.

He doesn’t jolt, but he turns around and smiles widely. “Good job!” He compliments, standing up and stretching his limbs. He’s been sitting an entire day, after all. “I’m really proud of you.” He pats the top of your head and you see it in his eyes- he’s actually super proud of you.

But he flinched when you waited in the doorway.

He knew.

Still, you accept this victory with grace, wondering what else he might teach you.

Tim teaches you so much as you grow older under his care. Though one of the most monumental lessons was after you took a life for the first time at fourteen. He had wanted to wait until you were sixteen, but the Operator demanded it.

You’ve learned so much knife skills from him, weaponry in general, but nothing he could have taught you would have prepared you for what it means to take a life.

The two of you had just gotten through interrogating a man who really did not deserve to live. He had been blubbering for the past few hours, and Tim was exhausted from trying to weasel information out from him.

“Ghost,” he addresses, his masked face looking at you with budding amusement. “Finish this for me.”

“What?” You say. You know what he means, you just don’t want to actually admit it.

“Finish him for me,” he shrugs. “It’s about time.”

“I don’t know how?”

“Sure you do,” he hums. “You have your knife and I know your skills are more than good,” he says as he rests his hand on his hips. “You could also shoot him. We’re in an area where no one would even care about a gun going off. Or, you could brutalize him,” he trails off as he lists off the ways you could end a life like items on a grocery list. “I don’t know if you have enough power for actually brutalizing him though,” he jokes slightly, lightly slapping the man’s face to keep him up. “Y’hear that, bud? You got lucky. If it were up to me, I’d break off your limbs one by one and tear open your chest letting you see your beating heart.”

The man’s eyes go wide as he squirms helplessly.

He’s not getting out of this one alive.

You awkwardly look at Tim. “What… What do you suggest?” You ask quietly.

Tim’s eyes dart to your gun. “For your first time? Clean and fast.”

Obliging your group leader’s words, you take out your gun and flick off safety. The hardest part is looking them in the eye. You raise it and point it at the man’s forehead, eyes narrowed from behind your mask.

The man is pleading with you, tears streaming down his face.

“Always pull the trigger..?” You begin, attempting to buy some time.

“On empty lungs,” Tim finishes.

You pull.

It’s almost a little sinful to admit how easy murder has become after that moment. For the next two years, you and your group began going out on more missions as a unit. Your power had grown immensely, and the Operator’s point was beginning to show through.

The younger the proxy, the more efficient they become as they grow. He knows children are plastic, and you are his living proof that success must start young. Still, he watches you grow carefully, and Tim keeps his boss in the loop with every little milestone you hit.

First it was ten confirmed kills, then twenty five, and before you knew it, fifty. Fifty confirmed kills before you were sixteen.

Tim himself has grown rather fond of you in ways that no one else has - though, you are easy to get along with. Besides your group regularly spending time with you and falling deeper and deeper in love with you as their little one, Tim has become what you always envisioned the shadow of your father to be.

He’s the first to greet you in the morning and the last to wish you good night. He spends most of his waking hours with you, and it’s a good memory every single time. He trusts you immensely, and in turn, you trust him. Admittedly, he’s always had a soft spot for you and that much is apparent and always has been.

Tim has always been there for you when it all feels like too much.

“It’s nothing,” you mumble as you curl deeper onto your bed, sheets over your head.

“What happened?” He asks in a serious tone, clearly not wanting to play games.

“I said that I’m fine-”

“Bullshit,” he says as he marches into your room, ready to tear off your blankets. He knows teenagers are prone to giving the adults in their life hell, but you’ve never done this until, well, now.

You’re clawing to keep your blankets on but your strength pales in comparison to Tim’s. You screech as he finally tears the blankets from you, expecting full anger but instead, a look of horror.

“What the-what happened to you?” He asks in shock as he looks at the large red claw marks on your midsection and legs. It looks like you fought off a bear. “How long have you been like this- this is dangerous, you could get infected!” His tone is only loud because he’s scared. He wastes no time in scooping you up into his arms and rushing to the bathroom to tend to your injuries.

You hiss in pain but keep your lips tight, not wanting to admit what happened.

You let Tim work on you and disinfect your wounds as his emotions finally come down to a normal place. You realize it’s because he cares about you, but you’re still worried that he’s going to flare up again.

“Are you ever going to tell me what caused this? Or am I to believe some poltergeist waltzed in here and cut you up?”

You avert your gaze from the only solid father figure you’ve ever had. “I… I snuck out late at night and got attacked by the notdeer,” you mumble.

“What?” He sounds genuinely confused, as if he didn’t hear you correctly.

“I snuck out late at night and got attacked by the notdeer,” you speed out again, face burning with embarrassment.

You see a plethora of emotions pass over Tim’s face as he applies another bandaid to one of the more minor cuts on your leg before he settles on relief. “Holy shit,” he breathes out as he drops the products he had been working with. “I’m so glad you’re safe,” he breathes out as he takes you into his arms, squeezing you as tight as he can without causing any pain to your body that is still healing.

You feel tears well in your eyes as you hug him back.

Your skill grows so immensely, that your group and the Operator trust you with going on one of the most high stakes missions he’s ever sent modern proxies on. He hasn’t sent you a group on something like this since… Goodness, the 1700s? It’s been a while.

The Operator asked you to hunt down Zalgo’s favored son and kill him. It sounds easy in words, but in practice, near impossible.

“He’s sending us on a death match,” mumbles Brian. “I-What do you guys think? Are we ready?”

You and the other two shrug, not knowing what to say. You just know that you will be following Tim’s lead, as he is your group leader and the man who matters most in your life.

“I’m a-a-apprehensive,” Toby hums. “But, I t-t-think with our collective t-talents, we m-might have a shot.”

Tim looks at you, wanting to know your input when you hesitantly nod. “Guess we’re going.”

Finding Zalgo’s son was easy, but pinning him down was anything but. Everything had gone so smoothly up until it was time to face off with him, the man of the hour.

Toby and Brian were preoccupied with fending off Zalgo’s proxies who were placed in the house to keep his favored, most beloved son safe, and you and Tim had managed to slip in.

It was just the two of you with Zalgo’s son, and he was beating the two of you close to death.

“I’ll ask again,” his smooth, velvety voice growled. “Who do you consider the most expendable in your group?”

When neither you nor Tim answer, the child of Zalgo screams in frustration and rage before barrelling towards you, grabbing your weakened body and throwing you into the large stained glass windows.

Due to the sheer force of how hard he had thrown you, you tumbled out onto the grassy lawn, air stolen from your lungs. You laid on the ground gasping like a fish out of water before slowly attempting to crawl back in and help Tim.

Your fingers hoisted you up through the broken windows, allowing you to see what was going on inside. And it horrified you.

Zalgo’s son was holding Tim up by his neck, choking the life out of him.

“Who is the most expendable?” He demands again.

“I’m… not..!”

“TELL ME-”

“Fuck you-” he barely manages to wheeze out.

You’re panicking, wondering what you can do to help him when the son leans in exceptionally close.

“Say it.” He tosses Tim’s body to the ground, watching as he weakly attempts to get back up.

“R...Reader,” he admits. “She’s the most… She’s the most expendable,” he coughs out, blood and other things being released from his damaged system. “You already threw her out-”

“So you wouldn’t mind if I ended her now?” The son taunts, eyes shifting to the stained glass windows where he hurled you out.

Tim shakes his head. “That’s not what I’m saying-” he cuts himself off by coughing more. “I’m just saying she’s not prepared, she’s still weak-”

You feel your heart stop. You listen into his thoughts, he’s emotionally vulnerable, and see that he’s telling the truth. There isn’t any second thought that’s telling you he’s fibbing to buy time.

“You don’t trust her?” He inquires, bending low, ready to choke the life out of Tim again.

“I don’t,” he weakly says. “In fact, she’s due to be transferred from us soon-” he’s cut off by the son laughing and lifting him up again by his throat.

The son looks over his shoulder to see tears streaming down your cheeks. “And you call me a monster,” he cruelly laughs.

It’s cut short by Toby and Brian breaking down the door, shooting the son with his father’s favorite gun.

Tim is once again dropped to the floor, and Brian rushes to help him.

Toby leaves their side and sprints to the window to help you. He sees you're crying. “W-What’s wrong? W-Where does it h-h-hurt?” He asks, worry lacing his expression as he helps you back over.

You shake your head and refuse to say anything.

The car ride back to your temp house is awkward at best and downright uncomfortable at worst. You are sitting in the passenger seat because you refuse to sit next to Tim who had admitted something you weren’t really supposed to find out.

And the other two men, both Toby and Brian know it too.

‘Is it true?’ You ask the right hand, looking emptily out the window. The lights that pass overhead are counted as mental busy work.

‘Reader,’ Brian’s voice sighs. ‘I… I’m really sorry,’ he says. ‘I fought him on this, but… But being a proxy isn’t easy-’

‘So you’re abandoning me?’ You ask, tears threatening to fall from your eyes again. ‘You’re gonna leave me in the hands of some strangers because I’m not good enough?’

Brian sighs deeply and glances at you briefly as he continues to drive. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘I don’t accept it.’ You shift in your seat and curl up, not wanting to even look at your group. They’ve basically broken your trust, but hearing it from Tim? The man you viewed as most important in your life? The man would talk to you over cups of coffee on the rooftop before the sun came up? The same man who had once said you were the child he was never allowed to have?

He called you weak. Expendable. He has said you are not worthy of his trust.

The first time your anger boiled over was a few days after downing Zalgo’s son. It was just the two of you in the living room, your other two teammates out on other errands. Every day felt like a ticking time bomb of when you will be released to another group.

“We need to talk,” Tim says.

“About?”

“What… What I said back then.” He still has marks on his neck from the son attempting to choke him to death.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

He sighs deeply. You have every right to be mad at him. “It’s not that simple,” he starts. “I never meant for it to come out like that,” he says with a frown, eyes not entirely meeting you. He attempts to explain further, but you don’t want to hear it.

You get up, waving him off. “Shut up.”

“Reader-”

“Shut. Up.” You storm upstairs.

The fights do not get any lighter. They say time heals all wounds, but in your case, it exacerbates them. It becomes a nearly every day affair now.

Words are shot like bullets into the house that used to be built by the loving relationship you had with Tim. But, ever since he uttered those words and dug his heels in deeper over the fact you were actively challenging him, you drifted further and further from him.

Toby and Brian try to stay out of those conversations. They both care about you, but at the same time, they understand that being a proxy really isn’t easy. You get jumbled around, shaken up, and sometimes, traded. While no one is replacing you, the fact Tim agreed to let you go was what hurt the most.

According to Toby, he never even fought for you.

You leave them at the same diner you met them at. Sixteen years old and ready to be in the hands of another group. You sit in the passenger seat of the car, eyes empty, and heart torn.

“Do you want us to come in with you?” Brian asks with a small smile.

You shake your head. “No.”

He sighs and drops his shoulders. “I…” He pauses, and when words fail him, he leans over in the driver’s seat and wraps his arms around you. You hug back, realizing your beef isn’t with the right hand and allow tears to well in your eyes. He presses a kiss to the side of your head. “It’s going to be quiet without you,” he mumbles. He looks at you with all the adoration an older sibling might as he lets you go.

Toby, has gotten out of the car at this point and walked around the front, opens your door and leans down.

“No, let me,” you say softly as you unbuckle, grabbing your backpack and whatever else you may need before stepping out. Once you’re standing, you find yourself tangled in Toby’s arms.

“I h-hate goodbyes,” he admits as he sways the two of you.

You hug him back and smile softly. “I’ll be seeing you, yeah?” You mumble as he squeezes you tighter.

He nods. “Y-You better!” He laughs, not allowing his thinly veiled choked up tears to enter his voice as he lets you go. Toby checks you over once more, nothing but love in his eyes as he reluctantly takes your place in the passenger seat. You can tell he’s bitter over finally having it back.

Tim is in the back seat, passenger side. He looks at you through the window of the car, eyes red and puffy. He wants to say so much to you and nothing at all.

You share in the sentiment, nod slightly and fight cursing him out again, then head into the same place you met them in. Ready to be a part of a new group. One that hopefully, will not doubt your abilities as a growing proxy.

When you head in and walk out of their lives, Tim’s mask falls, and tears begin to roll down his cheeks. He feels like he can’t breathe, like he’s suffocating and can’t even think clearly.

“Fucking drive,” he coldly hisses as he takes in deep, labored breaths.

Brian, not wanting to fight his leader and understanding the man hasn’t been this emotionally broken since Jay’s death, obliges him.

Tim watches you greet your new team, and his heart breaks all over again.

You’re now twenty years old. My how the time flies. You are more than an established proxy now, and your new group treats you as such.

There’s four of them, your new family.

A group leader named Wallace, who is fair but kind. A right hand named Theo, who is a nightmare in proxy form. A ‘middle child’ named Ruth, who vaguely reminds you of your mother. And finally, an independent by the name of Nyein.

They’ve been good to you over the years you’ve known them, and you can tell they genuinely love you in their own way. You feel like you can tell them almost anything and everything, but everyone has skeletons in their closet and you are no exception.

It’s Wallace’s job as your group leader to understand his proxies and be able to understand them at all costs. He doesn’t mean to pry while it’s still fresh.

“So, how are you doing this fine evening?” The deep voiced proxy asks as he joins you on the balcony of the hotel the five of you are currently staying in.

“I could always be better,” you answer. When you sigh, he gives a knowing hum. “What?” He shrugs. “Pardon my reach,” he begins. “But, Timothy…”

“Too early,” you cut him off.

“Right, my bad,” he apologizes. “We can always come back to this later.”

You huff.

Ruth inquires about it next. She’s gentle in her approach, and you almost spill it all to her, but the pain of what happened ices you back over.

“I understand that you and your previous group went up against Zalgo’s son?”

“Yeah.”

She gently moves some of your hair behind your ear. “How did that go?” She sees your expression fall, and she frowns. “So that’s what happened,” she hums, not even needing you to say what happened directly. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you say. “Not like you contributed,” you mumble. “He didn’t want me.”

Her hand rests on your back, silently telling you that you can always find comfort in her.

Theo asks in the most brash manner he can. He doesn’t really care about feelings or making people uncomfortable, but he does respect you.

“So, Masky traded you like pokemon cards huh?”

You throw a decidedly hard punch at him.

“Take that as a yes.”

“Are you fucking with me?” You groan in an exasperated tone.

“If it fires you up so your punches stop feeling like taps, sure,” he grins. “Come on, let it out. What did that bastard do to you?”

You answer him with harder punches.

Theo doesn’t respect Tim, but it’s not like he ever respected him to begin with.

Nyein honesty doesn’t ask. They don’t want to make you uncomfortable and they refuse to push your boundaries. They know something hurtful happened, and they understand that pain is carefully guarded for a reason. The only time they ask anything in regards to what hurt you from before was when you were preparing to meet up with your old group for what was ‘lovingly’ dubbed a collaboration.

‘You’re sure you’re okay?’ They ask, cocking their head to the side.

“I’ll be fine-”

‘I know you’re lying,’ they sign with a frown. ‘I can smell that on you, y’know?’

You chuckle and push lightly at them. “If anything isn’t to my liking, you can always eat Masky.”

Their face lights up.

The news that you and your previous team were going to be working together was hell on the ears. In fact, you heard it, and found yourself panicking over the fact you might need to see Tim again. According to Wallace, yes. Tim was still alive and well.

“He looks older though and more depressing,” the blond haired man chuckled. “Fuckin’ hate Timothy.”

Theo rolls his eyes but turns to you anyway. “He’s right on the old and depressing thing.”

You take that thought in and sigh.

Time to face him again.

You and your group decide to meet Tim’s on the edge of the town you all will be invading. Something about mass recruitment and taking out multiple targets. You all know it’s busy work and the Slender Man likes to make you suffer, but it gives you some time to talk until the sun sets.

Ruth and Nyein immediately overtake some time waiting by swarming around Toby and sharing giggles. Wallace and Theo (who may or may not have been talking to Tim prior to this) have run off with Brian to also just talk.

They’re not always at each other’s throats.

That leaves you with Tim.

You’re currently sitting in a grassy field, plucking flowers from the earth and taking in the sweet scent as the sun slowly makes its way to bed. You’ve spent a good portion of time alone, and when Tim finally makes his appearance, you do not stir. You do not acknowledge him.

It’s uncomfortably silent when he takes a seat near you, but not close to you.

“How have you been?” He asks quietly, almost as if he’s scared you’ll take flight again.

It’s been four years, you can reply without anger overtaking your system.

“Decent, like any proxy,” you answer, eyes still honed in on the flowers and how the remaining golden shafts of light filter through the leaves and change the color to something delicate and pure. “And you?” You’re just asking as a formality, not because you actually care.

“The same as you, I suppose,” he answers back, his voice still soft.

Another silence passes until you finally get the urge to look over at the man you once viewed as a parental figure.

Your eyes almost water when seeing him. He’s older now, much older. Still has that kind of youth that comes with being the Operator’s play thing, but he’s sad. His eyes are dark, devoid of light, and soft as if he’s barely holding it together. He still smells like cigarettes.

Tim is the first to speak, a sorrowful smile on his face as he takes in a deep breath and looks at you with an adoration that never truly left. “You look older,” he notes, taking note of how you grew into your looks. You don’t look like that scrawny little preteen anymore. He knows that you’re a young lady now, and he only wishes he was there to see it. “I like it.”

You bristle on instinct. “I don’t need your approval-”

“I know,” he sighs as he turns his gaze up to the clouds that pass overhead. The skies are the faintest of pink and purple. He thinks it’s pretty.

“You look… Older too,” you finally say, feeling awkward and at home all at once.

Tim chuckles quietly under his breath. “Yeah,” he hums. “I’m in my thirties.”

For some reason, it makes you giggle.

He lights up at the sound of your laugh.

When it dies down, the two of you remain in silence, just letting the world pass by as the sun sinks lower and lower. It’s peaceful, nowhere near as hostile as you were originally expecting it to be, and you find that you enjoy the overall experience.

Still, there is a nagging thought in the back of your head. One that reminds you of everything that has happened, and it still stings. It is the wound that will never heal.

As if he was reading your thoughts, Tim breathes out again and continues looking up at the slowly darkening sky. “I really am sorry for what happened,” he apologizes once more. “I was sorry back then, and I’m still sorry now.”

You frown and knit your brows together in confusion. “You… You just let me go, like I didn’t matter.”

“I know.”

“Tim-”

“I can’t undo that,” he says. “But… But I can try that now-”

“Please no-”

“I have better credit in the Operator’s eyes, maybe we could-”

“No-”

“I could ask for you back-”

“That’s enough.”

Your eyes are dark and you can feel something unpleasant bubbling in your chest and throat. When you had first been placed in Wallace’s group, some part of you had some naive childish dream that Tim would come back, take you in his arms and prove that he wanted you and was truly the right sort of man to have as a role model in your life. That dream never came true, so you stopped having it. You let it die and get returned to the earth. You let it drift away.

But at the same time, you wonder what would be different now - if you could even accept being taken back into his group. Would that even be healthy? It took Wallace and the others months just to get you to stop waking up in tears, nearly on the verge of losing your guts through your mouth and to stop you from panicking when one of them said they had to go out. It took them months to get you to even remotely let down your guard on your abandonment issues.

They’d been so patient with you. They watched you grow.

But here was Tim. Sitting next to you in the world’s most beautiful flower field extending an olive branch, wondering if he could ever atone for his sins by asking for you back and making you a part of his group again.

And that makes you wonder, is he doing this because he misses you, or because he feels bad?

The sun sinks below the horizon, and the moon begins to rise in the sky.

An uncomfortable silence falls between the two of you.

You have a job to do, and some things?

Well, they’re better left unsaid.

#masky x reader #masky #marble hornets #tim wright #mh #creepypasta #creepypasta masky #angst #eyeless jack #jeff the killer #hoodie #brian thomas #slender man #the operator #creepypasta x reader #marble hornets x reader

94 notes · View notes

plethora-of-words · 3 years

Text

Courage

A little something I wrote for my dad on Father’s Day back in June. We haven’t always had the best relationship, but he still played a huge role in the person I am today.

i) An enormous body of water rolled in front of the horizon, blue waves glinting under the setting sun. The sky was an amalgamation of pastel hues- pink, yellow, and light blue melting together, casting a gorgeous shade onto the ocean. In the midst of the scene stood a duo- a little girl and a man- the waves lapping against their sandy feet. The girl was dark hair and dark eyes, with skin the color of chocolate; the resemblance between her and the man was undeniable. She clutched his hand fearfully, wide eyes constantly glancing down to make sure she wouldn't be swept away with the currents. After mere seconds, a sentence escaped her lips. "I'm too scared, daddy," she cried meekly. "What if a shark bites me? Or what if I drown?" The ghost of a smile played on his lips, equal parts amused and endearing. "If you are always scared of everything, when will you ever be able to try anything new?" She pondered for a moment, and then sighed. It seemed like she understood. Silently, they continued to stand. To an outsider, it would appear that nothing had changed. After all, they remained in the same position, unmoving and never faltering. But both the girl and her father knew that they were each standing a little taller.

ii) White wheels screeched on the hot pavement in the neighborhood as the girl came to an abrupt stop. She was a little bit older now, and had grown nearly 8 inches taller- but her liveliness and curiosity was the same, her dark eyes always alight with happiness. Her father raced behind her, panting as he caught up. "Why did you stop so suddenly?" He inquired, noticing the marks her bike had left on the sidewalk. She chewed her lip, debating whether or not to admit the cowardly truth. "I'm scared of the slope," she answered fretfully. "I'm scared that if I go down it, I'll fall off and get hurt." Her father's eyes raked the tiny slope in front of them as he spoke. "When you're learning something new, if you want to master it, you have to take risks." She did want to master riding a two-wheeler. All her friends could confidently ride one, yet she was always cowering in the back on her training wheels. She was tired of being afraid. "Alright, I'll do it." She said the words quickly, before she could take them back, and rode down the hill without another moment of hesitation. iii) A multitude of faces swarmed before her in the audience as she stood at the podium, clutching her index cards in her shaking fingers. Years had passed, and at long last, she'd made it to high school. She took a deep breath as she stared out at the crowd, mentally running her lines before her cue. "It's just a speech," she repeated mentally. She knew she was prepared. She knew that this was something she had to do. Everyone had to give their first speech of the year at some point. Yet, the knot of dread in her stomach refused to untie. Her eyes scanned the crowd frantically, until they finally found her parents. Her father. His words rushed into her mind, and despite being said years ago, they felt as fresh and new as ever, almost like reading a treasured book for the hundredth time. Her fingers internally brushed over the worn pages, the words touching her fingertips and sinking back into her being. If you want to master something, you have to take risks. If you're scared of everything, when will you ever be able to try something new? Comfort washed over her as the courage her father had instilled in her roared to life. Chin up and head held high, she strolled onto the stage.

#writing #writers on tumblr #prose #father #father's day #parents #courage #spilled ink #spilled thoughts #appreciation #memories #spilled feelings #my writing #my words

16 notes · View notes

rivertoasty · 3 years

Text

Star Wars: Revelations Wolffe x Roso

TCW FanFic: Wolffe x Roso

(Rosomak in full, meaning Wolverine in Polish)

Norslyr Language translations

Neuk/Neuken means fuck in Dutch

This is the first sexual encounter between these two characters in a series I am writing based on the aftermath of TCW.

WARNINGS: Explicit through and through. Unprotected sex, cursing, rough and wild, religious mentions, the taking of the Male V-Card.

4.1K Words

Star Wars: Revelations: Wolffe x Roso

Wolffe takes a sharp breath as Roso pulls on his skin between her teeth. She sucks on the skin below the neckline of his blacks. Her hands roam his body, his skin burns under her touch. His hands timidly begin to explore her body. Roso breaks from him with a fierce smile.

“You taste good soldier.” She says and kisses his lips. His face flushes red. Wolffe has never experienced this before, he feels drunk.

“You feel good ma’am.” He lets out as she trails down his chest to the hem of his shirt and takes it off him. Her legs tighten around his waist to bring her body closer to his bare torso. Goosebumps rise on his skin and she bites his ear lobe. Her hands comb through his hair and feel the expanse of his back. His hands hold her close to his body, unable to know what he can do to her in return. Roso slips back and removes her compression top. His eyes widen at the sight of her stretching up and her breasts exposed. He has never seen such beauty in his whole life until now.

How cruel.

She tosses her shirt to the side and cups his face. “Please touch me.” She whispers with a kiss. His hands run up her stomach to cup her breasts. The skin feels so delicate, taut, and firm. The air within the LATT Walker is still with a slight chill from the outside weather. Making both of their nipples ridged. He takes a nipple between his thumb and index and lightly rolls it around. She giggles in response and bites his neck.

Wolffe instinctually places his hands down at her thighs and positions her apex to rest atop his raging boner. Roso hums in approval and begins to roll her hips against him. Moans escape his mouth as she rolls. He’s never experienced this kind of friction before. He is utterly helpless underneath her. He feels as though he may cum already. Roso can see it in his eyes.

“Cum for me Wolffe, let it out it’s alright.” She coos in his ear.

So breathy, needy, all for him.

He wraps his arms around her and takes what he needs from her to get off. The release comes hard, his cock twitches between her legs. The sheer strength of his rig is impressive like the rest of his frame. She brings her hands to his hair while whispering sweet praises in his ear and giving small kisses to his cheek and neck. He feels this praise is unearned, he’s done nothing for her.

“Do you have more to give Trooper?” She asks taking his chin in her hand.

“Yes. Much more.” He asserts and stands up with her still wrapped around his waist.

She lets out a surprised,” Oh.” With an eager smile as he walks forward and places her on the holo desk in the center of the hull.

“May I undress you?” He asks as his hands fall to her waist band. He’s on his knees looking at her like a young pup begging for a treat.

How fitting.

“You may.” She says and her back meets the table as he slides her pants off. She wants her panties off too, but his hands stop hers to leave them on.

“I uh- want to take these off with my teeth if that’s alright.” He says and his face burns a bright red, but he doesn’t break from eye contact.

“Ja, go for it, Wolffe.” She answers with an impressed smile. He slips her socks off so all that Roso is wearing is a bright white thong. The color matches the facilities of Kamino, how endearing.

“You hear about this from a brother?” She asks with a curious smile. He doesn’t bother to hide his cracked grin.

“Yeah, and he’s right. It is just as hot as he described.” He finishes talking and kisses her inner thighs. His hands roam over the scarred and tattooed skin. Maker, she is the softest thing he’s ever had the opportunity to ever feel in his life. He wants to take her in a bed, not a bunk or sleeping pod, a bed with real sheets and pillows. A mattress bigger than he is so he can sprawl out, bury himself inside of her. These thoughts muster an urge from within him as Wolffe stops kissing her thighs and pushes himself up to steal a kiss from her for once.

Wolffe is not a boy anymore, not for much longer at least. He’s a man and needs to start taking charge of this situation as a man should. Wolffe cups the back of her head and brings her to him. The kiss is eager and deep. Her hands come to his face to hold onto him. She introduces her tongue to his mouth. He intended to just kiss her briefly, but now he wants to explore her mouth.

“Heh, give me that tongue somewhere else, Trooper.” She breaks from him and releases his face to lay out on the desk. He trails kisses down her body until he reaches the band of her panties. His hands feel her breasts. His warm breath brushes against her skin and a shiver runs down Roso’s spine. His teeth grip the fabric from a hip, and he pulls it down a leg. She lets out a soft mewl as he takes in the sight of her wet quim. She tidied up down there. The skin is tender, and a delicate pink color towards the center.

Wolffe’s mouth waters at the bare sight of Roso’s pussy.

“Tell me what to do.” He rasps lowly. Not embarrassed but more so wanting to please her the best he can. To earn praise for his work.

“Focus on this little part. The clit.” Her hand comes down and presses a little pink button at the crest of her folds. He replaces her finger with his own to start exploring her terrain. It’s soft and slippery. Her hand covers his as he wiggles his finger on the clit. Mesmerized by the way her legs prop up on the desk and the noises that she lets out into the still air.

Wolffe takes his finger away and he can’t help but smell it, it’s bitter as the slick begins to dry. Then he puts it in his mouth to taste it.

- “I need more to get a real taste of her.”- He thinks to himself and puts his whole index finger in his mouth to slick it up for her to take it with more ease. He inserts his finger slowly. He traces the opening carefully to inspect the durability. This is where children are meant to come from, surely it can take a finger or two.

As his finger slips in, Roso lets out a wonderful sound that Wolffe needs to hear more of. She’s so wet, her moans, her hands come to her breasts to play with her soft nipples. His tan skin entering her fair pink warmth has him throbbing below.

Wolffe slides his finger in and out a few times and adds his middle finger. She brings a hand down to meet his, not to stop him, but just to touch him. He brings his tongue to her clit as his fingers work to open her up for his pulsing mass. The hull begins to ring with her moans and mewls. The air is growing warm with their bodies. Her hand leaves his to grip his hair, which he finds turns him on even more.

“Oh Wolffe...you’re so good! You’re doing so good!” She lets out with pleasure. Roso can feel his fingers dig deep inside, stretching her in a blissful manner.

She needs more.

Roso’s hands comb through his thick hair, touching his shoulders to the back of his neck as his tongue laps at her clit. She pulls the back of his hair to angle his eyes to look up at her as his tongue flicks at her clit. She can feel that hot coil building in her core, her legs open wider, she leans back on her elbows. To then just collapse on the table as her back arches. He can feel her intensity, her need for release.

Her moans grow louder and louder to a concerning level. He almost stops to make her pipe down, but how can he do that to her? Deny her a release as she had bestowed upon him moments before...or maybe he could stop now? See if she would beg him, ask for him to continue, maybe she’d order him to make her cum. The thought alone makes him hum with excitement which transfers onto Roso.

“Move your fingers faster please!” She sounds completely out of control, just focused on one goal. Wolffe breaks his face from her pussy and cranes up to silence her with a kiss. He hooks an arm around her neck to cradle her up with his fingers working away below. His tongue invades her mouth. Roso tastes herself on his tongue and just melts on his hand. He takes his fingers out but before she can protest, he switches to his middle and ring fingers and buries them to the last knuckle. As he does this, he can feel a patch of rubbery skin inside her walls.

“That spot...”. She stifles her moan in his shoulder. “Yes, yes yes! Ja!” Wolffe inserts his fingers repeatedly and rubbing that patch until her walls quiver and what he thinks is piss that sprays him and drips onto the floor. Her arms lock around his neck, he keeps fingering her until her hand comes down to clutch him still. Her breath is ragged, and her grip is tight, her nails dig deliciously into his skin. Wolffe hopes the marks she leaves do not heal too quickly. He hopes they last to serve as a reminder of his accomplishment on this night. Making a woman cum with just his fingers.

Wolffe finds himself rubbing against her thighs for friction. So caught up in her excitement forgetting about his own erection.

“By Odin…” She lets out softly into his neck. Having her cling to him like this is beyond arousing. Catching her breath, she reaches up and pulls her hair band out to let her bright blonde hair fall. Roso looks up into Wolffe’s eyes from his chest with her beautiful sky-blue pools. Tears of pleasure in the corners with flushed cheeks. “That was amazing.” She speaks with a sex drunk smile and kisses his plump lips. Their tongues dance.

Wolffe is reluctant to part from her but he needs to straighten up from his position. Roso follows suit, the surface of the desk isn’t flat. It has raised borders along the edge and center, which have been digging into her sides and back. When she gets to her feet she nearly drops, the attentive soldier supports her. She can no longer ignore his erection. He has been rather patient and respectful with her. Nothing like a petulant teenager poking and prodding for his own release with little care for her needs.

Roso wraps her arms around his neck as they stood there and kisses Wolffe deeply. Her hands slowly making their way down his broad chest down to his abdomen. Her hands reach his waist band and pull them down to free his throbbing stalk. She lowers to her knees. She takes his cock in hand, while looking up at him she purposefully has his cock over her face to show him just how big his male equipment is in comparison to her female anatomy.

He revels in this display. He kicks his blacks off from his feet to be completely naked with her. She licks a heated stripe up from his base to the tip. Moved by this action he finds himself looking for something to lean against.

“Sit down Wolffe.” She says and he looks behind himself to see the chair they were in earlier. He sits down and watches as she crawls on all fours to snake between his legs and pump his cock. Locks of hair cover her left eye, both of which are swimming with lust. Groans leave him as she plays with the head with her tongue. She laps at the opening of his cock, digging her tongue into the divot. His hands grip the arm rests, he doesn’t know what else to do with his hands. Can he touch her? Play with her hair? Push her head down onto it? His hips buck at the idea of just taking her skull and stuffing his rod down her gullet. But seeing how large his mass is, he doesn’t want to choke her, at least not with his cock, his hands maybe…

Roso can read him like an instruction manual. She ‘pops’ off his head and takes his right hand and places it to the back of her head to grip her hair. “I can’t deep throat. But I’ll do my best sir.” She says in a sultry voice before taking more of him in her mouth. She cleans his cock from all the dried release he let out earlier.

- “Glad he cares to groom himself.”- Roso thinks to herself, appreciating the shaved pubes above his shaft.

The light from the viewport captures the raised veins that rage within his cock. His balls are tight, even with the recent release he is ready to deploy another battalion of his own soldiers for her. The lewd noises that come from her mouth as she swallows him down makes him open his legs more. Relaxing whilst enjoying the view and the pleasure. But he doesn’t have another round in him if he cums again, she knows this. Roso hollows her cheeks and sucks him deeply. The heat of her mouth mixed with her precise tongue and saliva mix around his shaft. With a few more bobs his head falls back with a sinful moan. His grip loosens from her hair and falls to grip her throat.

“I want your quim woman, please.” His voice is at a dangerously low tone that makes Roso squirm with delight. She responds with taking his cock from her mouth with another loud and erotic ‘pop’. Then she climbs onto him once again. She leans forward to get his mass lined up with her aching opening. Wolffe doesn’t think he can fit all the way inside her, he’s clearly much too big for her entrance. But he’d be damned if he didn’t try and push for it.

Wolffe’s hands come to her sides to support her as she rises, the head rests at the opening. Roso watches Wolffe’s eyes narrow in anticipation, he takes a sharp inhale, his Nero’s Crown bobs in his throat with a gulp. A devilish glint appears in Roso’s eyes as she sinks down onto him. Her hands come from his chest to his throat, she needs both hands to assert her grip around him. His hands tighten their grip on her hips in response. She gets him halfway inside. Her walls are so tight around him, he doesn’t know which tightness to focus on.

Her tight grip around his throat or her pulsing pussy.

“Roso…” He sighs. Heated tears of ecstasy form in the corners of his eyes. She feels too good. Her beautiful tattooed and scarred sculpted body on top of his own. His toes curl at the overwhelming pleasure. She moves up a ways, he can feel the drag of their connections. Then she sinks back down swallowing even more of him until she buries his whole cock inside herself. Her walls pulse around him.

“Shhh now. Let the experienced do her job, soldier.” She lifts a finger to his lips. With the release of that hand, he can breathe more, but this leaves him to dive into the euphoria of her insides. He can feel ridges inside her, it’s soft and yet resilient. It feels like a muscle and reacts like one.

It is truly divine.

Wolffe’s jaw goes slack, and his head falls back as she bounces on his meat. She feels the burn of her opening from the stretch of his girth. Her forehead falls into the crook of his neck as she rides him. His hands gripping tightly on her hips. Her nails scrape his scalp and shoulders.

“So tight…” He whimpers into the open air. His head becomes dizzy. Roso begins panting, her tongue slides along the column of his neck. “So good…so wet…oh kriff!” He pants into her ear as his hands wrap around her holding her close and reaching down to cup her ass.

“You’re so big Wolffe! Ah! Neuk me door Odin!” She hisses through her teeth as she bites into his shoulder to stifle her scream.

“Kriff…bite me harder.” He seethes through his teeth, taking the pain and begins to thrust up into Roso. He wants more. She follows his request and picks a new spot closer to his neck. She bites him again and again, her nails dig into his back, the chair begins to rock about as she slams down onto him.

Her warmth envelopes him, not just her physical anatomy; but her entire presence.

Dominating yet displays refreshing feminine grace. A determined and kind smile. Her vocabulary is creative and endearing as Arubesh is not her first language. She treats the men as human beings, inspires individuality, and evokes independent thinking. All things his engineering should refuse right? Especially being intimate with a female, it should not be a desire. But when Roso tore Bric a new one on Kamino after he disrespected Jedi Knight Shaak Ti behind her back in front of the battalions; he could not deny his ingrained human male desire.

Wolffe must fuck Roso, she catches wind of his need. Now here she is answering the demand of this Alpha male.

“Neuken Thor!” She keeps saying the name of other men. Wolffe will no longer subject himself to hear her scream the name of other men whilst she is riding him.

“That. Is. Not. My. Name. Woman!” He snaps up with his arms under her legs as his words are punctuated with every thrust. Each thrust he pulls out to the head and stuffs himself back inside with a newfound ferocity. Each thrust pushes the air from her lungs as he fills her insides to reshape her quim to the shape of his thick stalk. A thin sheen of sweat breaks across the both of them as the heat of their sex fills the walker’s hull.

“Ah! Wolffe! Oh Wolffe! Ah! Ah! Alpha!”

“Just my damn name!” He pounds away, he slams her to the holo desk and keeps her legs spread with his hands gripping each ankle. Her breasts bounce in rhythm to the force of his hips smashing into hers. As her mind goes blank, she realizes that the word Alpha is also a name given to more distinguished Clones.

His force is so great it makes Roso think that he’ll saw her in half. His cock is buried to the hilt. With no sign of stopping unless she makes amends. He was right to punish her for screaming the names of other men while he is the one delivering this pleasure onto her. To make amends for her error she looks up at him with apology dripping from her eyes. Her hands reach up to signal for him to lean down over her so she can cling to him, to take his brutal onslaught of prurience.

“Wolffe…” She mewls. He cannot punish her, for she is not…his.

His pace lessens but does not halt. He is close now. He leans down to accept her embrace. His hands slide down to grasp her and pull her to his chest. Her legs wrap around his waist as her nails dig into his back once more. His cock pumping inside, her warmth squelches with every thrust echoing in the hull with their pants and moans. She returns her teeth to his unmarked shoulder.

“Where should-should I- cum?” He lets out between grunts.

“Wherever you want…Wolffe!” She whines in his ear followed by inserting her tongue into it. Her breasts press against his chest, her quim clenches, and squirms. The slapping of their flesh is erotic. His girth fulfills her needy ache.

As Wolffe nears release, every cell in his body screams to cum inside. He focuses on what he physically can feel on his member. Roso’s pitch becomes higher, her whines are drawing out. He hammers down into her as if he were Thor and she the Anvil. Roso clutches a fistful of his hair and the words Wolffe has longed to hear finally spill from her mouth.

“Wolffe I’m cumming! I’m cumming on your cock! Right now, ah!” A white-hot flash blinds Roso. Her coiling ache releases around Wolffe’s cock which constricts his member in a way he has never fathomed. He drops to his knees with her in his arms and he does the only thing a soldier knows how, he presses onward. He continues to rut into her with unsteady thrusts but remains buried to the hilt inside her, trying to feel her snug pussy for all its worth while she comes undone on him.

Wolffe cums inside her. It is abrupt. It is hard. It takes their breath away.

He cups the back of her head as he falls forward, his body needs to be as deep inside her as possible.

As he cums, Wolffe howls.

His rig releases a very generous load. An amount he has never released on his own before. His blistering ropes can be felt filling up her womb. She is going to be feeling him for the remainder of the week she can just tell. He collapses on top of her. His breath brushes across her neck. He buries his face in her shiny hair and removes himself from her spent apex. They remain there in a loose embrace of tired and heaving limbs.

His seed spills from her pot.

Wolffe props himself up with one arm to look down at Roso. An arm is raised to her forehead, she regains her breath and looks up at him. She brings a hand to his cheek and they share a deep kiss. He has marks all over his upper body and back, almost matching the same number of scars on her own body. But she knows he will wear them proudly. Her fair skin is glistening in their sweat. He sits up to give her space, he looks between her legs to see his cum spill from her engorged opening. His cock twitches but doesn’t have the strength to rise once more.

But the sight of this…what it signifies…

“Thank you…” He says to break the lingering silence in the hull.

“Heh, ja, thank you Trooper.” She says and sits up and leans back against the holo desk. “Honored to show you a good time for your first time.” She winks at him. Her legs close him off from the sight between them.

“It was magnificent. Aside from the use of others’ names. Could’ve done without that.” He smirks.

She closes her eyes and her head dips forward for a moment, then returns her gaze to meet his. “Odin is the All Father of my Gods. Thor is one of his mightiest Sons. Alpha was only to refer to you as the ‘Alpha Wolf’.” She clears the air. “You were fucking me with the spirit of Gods Wolffe.” Her eyes light up in the darkness of the hull. A foot drags up the side of his leg affectionately. He feels pride in his chest, he has earned this praise.

He moves over to sit next to her and leans against the bottom of the holo desk. Her hand finds his and their fingers entangle. Her head rests on his shoulder, both still panting slightly, coming down together from their highs. For as right as this all feels, Wolffe knows all too well that this isn’t a real relationship. It never can be, it could exist however if he were not a Clone. Secondary property of the Republic, firstly to his Kaminoan creators. Both entities forbidding any sort of intimate relationship.

He is property, nothing more and nothing less. Roso understands the purpose of his creation and yet here they both are. Being intimate as nature intends for men and women. And no one from either side came in and busted them. This is a conclusion that these men need to realize on their own terms; and they will in due time. But this isn’t a time for an angsty speech. They enjoy the moment together.

“Wolffe?” Roso asks softly. He says nothing but looks down at her with a gentle gaze.

“I’d love to have you again sometime in the future.” She says and plants a thoughtful kiss to his lips. He reciprocates her feelings with a warm smile and a brightness within his eyes. She knows in that very instant; the next time she finds him within the Void, that brightness will no longer be present within both his eyes.

“I look forward to it, Roso.”

#tcw fanfic #tcw smut #commander wolffe #star wars smut #commander wolffe smut #commander wolffe x reader #commander wolffe fanfic

23 notes · View notes

sheerfreesia007 · 3 years

Text

Halloween Costumes Headcannons **Thirsty**

Mitch - Cop His shock is visible from across the room. He's leaning against the wall as if his sole job was to hold it up and when he sees you walk into the party his posture straightens almost immediately. You smirk to yourself as you greet people you know making your way around the party towards the open bar. You pour yourself a drink in a red solo cup and move to turn around and see if he'd left his spot. But before you could move you felt a body pressed up against your back and smelt Mitch's subtle cologne. "So how much jail time would I get for assaulting a police officer, officer?" He husks out into your ear making you shiver against him. You grinned at his approval of your halloween costume that you had agonized over which one to get, finally choosing on the tight revealing police officer costume. "Minimum 5 years but if you're good we'll let you out early." You purr to him and feel his erection twitch against your ass. "It'd so be worth it. The things I wanna do to you baby girl." He growled out into your ear before nipping at your lobe. "Show me Rapp." You gasp out as you lean back into him resting your head back on his shoulder. "But you just got here." He says softly. "Don't care lets go." You say quickly before grabbing his hand and dragging him out of the party and towards your apartment.

Marcus - Witch He tries his damned hardest to keep his gaze above your shoulders. But fuck is it hard. A witch's costume should not be that revealing. His eyes dart around the office and he can see that most of the other ladies in the office had opted for costumes similar to yours. Sarah was dressed as nurse with too short white dress, Diane was dressed as firefighter with a bright red crop top and suspenders attached to cut off jean shorts, and Leigh was dressed as a zombie with ripped and torn clothing that left nothing to the imagination. But while the other ladies all wore revealing clothing it was only your costume that had seemed to entrance Marcus. Your low cut dress revealed far more skin of your chest than Marcus had ever seen on you and he had seen you go undercover as a prostitute back in your earlier force days. And the hem of the dress was pulled up high to the middle of your thighs before it fell longer in the back revealing more of your shapely legs. Who knew he would find calf muscles attractive. Just then he felt a presence next to him and he turned to face your beaming smile. "Isnt this great?! Everyone's able to let loose for once." You said happily as you stood close to him. Marcus stifled his groan when his eyes fell to the tops of breasts that were on display and framed by pretty purple fabric. You cleared your throat and Marcus' eyes darted to yours to only see the satisfied smirk and dancing eyes of yours. "Like something you see Pike?" You purred softly to him and Marcus gulped watching as you stepped impossibly closer. "I-I don't what you're talking about." He answered quickly. "Shame, I guess I'll have to find another victim to put under my spell." You teased before looking around the room as if searching for a victim. Marcus gripped your elbow firmly in his hand making you look up at him shocked. "Don't you dare." He hissed out and you smirked up at him. "I've put a spell on you." You sung softly to him and you began to slowly and unnoticeably lead him out the room.

Francisco - Dia De Los Muertos “Mi Vida (my life), you look so fucking hot.” he grunted out softly as his hands gripped and bunched up the long black lace skirt of your dress. The material slid slowly up your legs and over your hips to bunch at your waist making you shiver. “Fuck you look so hot.” You gasp loudly as you feel his fingers swipe across your covered core and your body just melts underneath his attention. “You can thank Santiago later, he’s the one who said you’d appreciate this costume more than the other ones I had picked out.” you gasped out as your hands that were painted like bones came up to grip his shoulders. “Fuck that little shit. He knew it’d get me worked up at the party that I would have to do something.” Frankie grunted out as buried his face against the side of your neck trying to be mindful of the paint on your neck. “Mi vida I need to taste you while you’re in this costume. Por favor.” he pleads with you softly as he sinks to his knees in front of you. You gasp softly at the sight of him on his knees for you as your fingers card through his hair, your nails scrape along his scalp and he moans loudly as he buries his face against your cover core. Slipping a hand up the outer side of your leg he moves it to hook over his shoulder and your back leans back to press against the wall. “Fuck Frankie, please don’t tease.” you cry softly to him as your head falls back to thud against the wall. His fingers pull your panties to the side and his tongue flicks out against your folds making you groan loudly. “You’ve got to be quiet mi Vida.” he instructs you. You nod your head quickly and gasp as he once again buries his face in your core. Mewling softly your fingers resume their track through his hair as he works his mouth and tongue against you. Not long after you find yourself gasping for air and clutching at your skirt to keep it away from his face as you tumble over the edge of bliss. Frankie helps you come down from your high slowly and when he stands up he cups your face in his hands and presses a heated kiss to your lips before licking into your mouth. When the two of you go back out to the party Santiago calls out. “Oi! Couldn’t keep your hands off her could ya?” You frown over at him before looking at Frankie and chuckling softly. “What is it mi vida?” he asks and you lean up brushing your thumb against his lips. “You got some black lipstick on you.” you answer with a soft smirk.

Stiles - Inmate “You gonna cuff me officer? I’ve been a bad girl lately.” you husked into Stiles’ ear and felt him stiffen next to you as you leaned into him. He jerked around to look at you as well did Scott who had heard your words. The two of them stared at you in silent shock as they spotted the short tight orange jumpsuit you wore as your costume. Scott’s smirk was devious as he looked at first you and then turned to his best friend. Stiles just stood there with his mouth hanging open as he stared at you. Reaching forward you pressed your index finger to the underside of Stiles’ chin and closed it for him. Smirking sultrily at him you crossed your wrists in front of you and held them out to him. “Well officer?” you questioned. “Fuck me.” Stiles gasped out and his eyes widened before darting up to your face where he saw the wicked grin forming on your face. “That’s the plan Stilinski.” you teased around that wicked grin of yours. Stiles suddenly growled and grabbed the back of your head dragging you forward until his lips slanted across yours. You mewled against his mouth and pressed forward into him gripping onto his biceps for stability. Stiles backed you up against the wall and when you thought your head would connect with the wall his hand was there protecting you. “I’ll uh, I’ll just be over there Stiles.” Scott said quickly as he watched his best friend devouring you up against the wall. When Stiles pulled away he rested his forehead against yours. “I thought you were going to dress up as a cop like me?” he asked softly. You shrugged your shoulders and grinned up at him. “Lydia found this costume for me. Said it’d get a better reaction out of you.” you answered him just as breathless. “Fucking Lydia.” he grunted out as his hands came to grip tightly onto your hips and tugged you forward into him before he pressed you back into the wall. “No fucking Lydia. Fuck me.” you moaned out to him softly and he growled lowly in response. “Remind me to thank her for this.” he said and his finger came up and pulled at the collar of your costume.

Tequila - Cow (he’s bull) You grinned as you looked at yourself in the mirror. This was your last ditch effort to get Tequila to take you seriously when you flirt with him. If this didn’t work you were giving up on the clueless rodeo clown. Leaning forward you shifted the headband with your cow ears so that they sat correctly on your head. Champ had wanted to do a group halloween costume and had suggested Old McDonald’s Farm as the theme. He would of course be old McDonald and the rest of the field agents and Ginger would dress up as various animals and farm hands. You had thought Tequila would’ve chosen a farm hand like Whiskey had but when you had heard him going on and on about being a bull for his costume you had laughed because it was so fitting given his previous career. So you had conspired with Ginger to find you a costume that compliment his and imply you were a couple. Your main goal to clue Tequila in since he hadn’t picked up on any of the hints you had been giving him. When you walked into the bar that Champ had rented out for the Halloween party you grinned as you spotted Ginger dressed up at a horse before your eyes landed on Tequila standing next to her dressed up like a bull. He had done a really good job with finding black clothing but also the horns, and the large noticeable fake nose ring made you grin. Sidling up to him you watched as he turned and silently eyed your costume. You were dressed in a white shirt that you had painted with black large spots, as well as a short white tennis skirt that you had painted with black spots and black kitten heels. You had even fashioned a short white tail to the back of the skirt. “Well don’t you look moo-varlous!” Tequila said with a wide grin. Turning to him you smiled and flicked the fake nose ring and he jerked back slightly. “You’re just bull-tiful.” you teased back and watched as his eyes lit up in delight. He leaned closer to you and you felt your breath catch in your throat. “I know what this is.” he said softly to you and you tilted your head in curiosity. “What is it?” you asked hoping he would finally understand. “You’re trying to steal my title of best costume.” he said as he turned back to the bartender ordering another beer. You hung your head and knew you would have to be more direct with the clueless man. Reaching up you grabbing his chin between your thumb and index finger dragging it to face you. “No, I want to take the bull by the horns and show him how much I wanna be mounted.” you husked out to him before pressing your lips to his. Tequila didn’t move for a good few seconds and you began to feel unsure and as you pulled away he lunged at you nearly toppling the two of you to the ground. “You mean it?” he asked softly when he pulled away. “Of course I do idiot.” you scoffed at him and he pressed his lips to yours again. “Then let’s get outta here.” he begged you. “What about your title?” you teased him and he shook his head. “Don’t matter anymore.” he rushed out and began leading you out of the bar quickly.

Whiskey - Nurse “Well heeelllloooo nurse.” came the soft drawl of the field agent who had been tailing you ever since he almost barrelled into you in the hallway three weeks ago. You rolled your eyes and turned to face him on your bar stool. The little straw in your drink was clasped between your teeth and you silently surveyed him. He wasn’t dressed up in a costume for the halloween party that Statesman was throwing. “Did you wait all night to come here and say that?” you asked incredulously. His grin faltered a little bit and you smirked knowing you had tripped him up yet again. Running over the back of his neck he grimaced softly. “I might have.” he responded sheepishly and you couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for him. Smiling up at him you watched as his eyes focus on your fingers playing with the fake stethoscope hung around your neck. You watched as his eyes slowly trailed down to the deep v neck of your costume and he gulped silently. “Need me to take your temperature agent?” you asked sultrily and his eyes darted back up to yours. “Or do you have an ailment that needs attending?” you asked with a wicked grin spreading over your lips. “Hmmm, there’s something on me that needs attending honey.” he husked out as he stepped closer to you. Your hand fell from your neck and landed at his hip, your fingers curled into his belt loops and tugged him closer to you with a jerk of your hand. “I can take you back to my place and do a full check.” you suggested sultrily to him and he smirked down at you. “I’d like that very much nurse. Can never be too cautious with your health.” he rasped at you and you shifted upwards pressing your lips to his. You hummed when you tasted the whiskey on his lips before he pressed in closer to you and caged you up against the bar. “Let’s get outta here agent.” you gasped out to him once you pulled away for air.

Isaac - Little Red Riding Hood “Well if it isn’t little Red Riding Hood. What are you doing out and about? Don’t you know the big bad wolf is on the prowl tonight?” Isaac asked with a wicked smirk on his face as he leaned in close to you. You scoffed at him and rolled your eyes as you took a sip of your drink. “You know I’m not dressed like this for your benefit right? It’s only because Scott wanted to do a stupid group costume.” you bit out to the werewolf. You had to admit he looked hot in his fake werewolf costume and it didn’t help that you had always found yourself attracted to him even before the bite. But now that he had been bitten and his new cocky attitude had emerged it had been easy to curb your feelings, slightly. “Oh c’mon red we both know that you dressed up just for me since I’m your rival.” he said into your ear and you tried your hardest to stop the shiver running down your spine. “You mean villain?” you scoffed at him and he grinned at you again. “Now how could I be the villain when I’ll want to do is eat you up?” he asked in a low tone and your eyes darted over to his and saw the heated look of desire in them. “Scarf boy! Lay off Little Red!” came Stiles’ shout from across the room and you felt as if you could kiss the lanky young man for saving you from Isaac. Isaac growled lowly and you watched him shoot a glare at Stiles. “Maybe some other time wolfie.” you said sarcastically and Isaac turned back to you with another grin. “Oh there’ll definitely be another time Little Red.” he said sultrily and you stepped back slightly before he grinned and walked away from you.

Raymond - Mechanic “And what is it you’re supposed to be?” you hear in his raspy British accent. Rolling your eyes as you turn you throw your arms out to your sides to show him your full costume. “Seriously Ray?” you asked on a scoff. His eyebrow quirks up as his eyes dance up and down your body clad in a pair of overalls with a red bandana tied around your hair and a pair of large gloves on your hands while a wrench, or what you think is a wrench sticks out of your pocket. When he doesn’t respond you huff at him and watch the smirk slip onto his face. “I’m a mechanic.” you said discouraged, you wondered if he was just teasing you once again or if he honestly didn’t get your costume. “Oh now I see it. A bit out of your scope of practice though isn’t it?” he asked softly and you furrow your eyebrows at him. “What do you mean? I work for Ros’ garage. I'm literally in that scope of practice.” you said confused and feeling exasperated by his teasing tone. “Well you’re an assistant to the boss of a garage. I’m pretty sure you have no clue what that tool in your pocket actually does.” he teased further as he stepped closer to you still with that insufferable smirk on his face. “Oh and like you do?” you asked huffily as your arms crossed over your chest in aggravation. “I know what that tool does. And better yet I know how to use another tool that you might be interested in.” he rasps out huskily to you and you feel the blush consume your cheeks as desire shoots straight down your spine. Leaning in closer to him you know you’re taking his bait but you can’t help it after so long you’ve wanted to act on these emotions and feelings that had developed ever since you met the Brit. “Hmmm, I might be interested. But that’s a big might.” you respond to him and he grins wolfishly at you making your breath catch in your throat. Feeling a surge of confidence you press your front to his and lean up into his face. “Gonna check under my hood for me huh Ray?” you whisper to him and suddenly his arms are around you caging you against his body and his lips are slanted against your own as he groans into your mouth. Your hands comes up to cup his cheeks and you whimper softly against him. “Jesus Ray! Why don’t you take her home before you give us all a show?!” calls out Mickey and you’re jerking away from Ray gasping for air to only see everyone eyeing you and your counterpart with gleeful expressions on their faces. Ray grabs a hold of your hand and nods his head at Mickey before dragging you from the room hurriedly. Once outside in the hall you press Ray up against the wall and lean up on tiptoe to press another heated chaste kiss to his lips. “You’re right I have no idea how to use the tool in my pocket.” you start to explain and one of your hands trails down from his chest to cup his erection against his pants. “But I do know how to use the one in your pocket.” you pur to him and he groans low in his throat before he’s pulling you out of Mickey’s house and towards his car.

Forrest - Not a costume but a newer dress The air is growing crisp and cool as you walk out of the general store. Autumn was quickly falling over Franklin County and you eagerly await for the leaves to begin changing and falling from the trees. Pulling your shawl further up your shoulders you smile as you pass Mr. Henry as you make your way down to the end of the line of shops. “Well look who we have here Forrest.” comes a familiar call and you look up to spot Howard and Forrest Bondurant stepping out of their car. Smiling kindly to them you stop not far from where Forrest leans against the side of the car watching you. “Hello boys. How are you this morning?” you ask politely. “Doing mighty fine now that we’ve seen you, aren’t we Forrest?” Howard replies teasing you and you shake your head at him. “That’s enough Howard, go get the supplies.” Forrest says gruffly and Howard wiggles his eyebrows at you before leaving to go to the shop. You shake your head at him as he passes you and you turn back to Forrest smiling softly at him. “Don’t let him get to you Forrest, he's only just teasing.” you say kindly before you step off the walkway in front of the shops. You don’t move much closer to him knowing that he’s not one for affection or any type of emotion really. “Is that a new dress?” he asks through a grunt and you feel your eyes widen slightly surprised by his attention to detail about you. You look down at your dress and your hand slides down the front of it smoothing the fabric. “Why yes it is. Thank you for noticing.” you say kindly as a blush spreads over your cheeks. You watch him step a little closer to you and you take in breath and hold it wondering what he would do. “You look nice.” he grunts out and you can’t stop the wide happy smile that spreads over your lips. The blush that had formed over your cheeks grows in intensity at his words and you watch as he falters at your reaction to his words. “Thank you Forrest.” you breathe out softly and take a brave step closer to him resting a hand on his forearm gently. “That’s very kind of you.” you say warmly as your smile turns softer. “Will I see you at the gathering tonight?” you ask boldly and watch as his eyes widen a little. He grumbles softly and tilts his head down to the ground and fiddles with his hat. Smiling down at the ground in front of you you take a step back from him giving him the space he needed. “I’ll be seeing you Forrest.” you say softly before moving along down the road towards where you lived grinning softly to yourself.

#headcannons #mitch rapp x reader #mitch rapp #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike #francisco catfish morales #francisco catfish morales x reader #agent whiskey #agent whiskey x reader #agent tequila #agent tequila x reader #stiles stilinski x reader #stiles stilinski #isaac lahey x reader #isaac lahey #raymond smith x reader #raymond smith #forrest bondurant #forrest bondurant x reader

134 notes · View notes