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anjelicawrites · 1 year

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It’s always the quiet ones, isn’t it?

Paring: modern!EMT!Osferth x nurse!reader Summary: During a snowstorm you realize it’s always the quiet ones you have to look out for. Warnings: NSFW and 18+ only. Cunnilingus. Dirty talking. Over the clothes handjob.

Of all the EMT crews that come to your A&E, there are two that hold a special place in your heart: Uhtred and Sihtric and Finan and Osferth. They work in couples and are in permanent night shifts, like the group of nurses you work with. They are probably the best paramedics you have worked with: fast, smart, they give a chef's kiss handover and are good looking. If you were one of their patients, you'd get a heart attack just by waking up and seeing their faces. On top of that, they feed your crew: after those night shifts where it feels like yours is the only A&E in the whole bloody county where they can bring patients, they either bring breakfast or treat your crew to one. Each and every colleague of yours has their personal favorite, yours is baby Osferth.

You developed a soft spot for him when he was still in training under Finan and Sihtric, who worked him hard and taught him everything they knew. It was in your A&E where Osferth had seen his first patient die and was distraught about it. You had found him hiding behind the ambulance, crying: he broke your heart. You had approached him making enough noises not to startle him and he had tried to hide his tears

“Don’t kid, it’s better to cry it out now than being upset for the rest of your shift”.

You had given him a couple of tissues and had et him put his head against your shoulder. He had cried like a child, with big sobs that rattled his whole body and you had hugged him, caressing his back to soothe him. Once he had calmed down, he didn’t have the courage to stare into your eyes

“I’m sorry” he had said, head hanging low “What for kid?” “I feel like I haven’t done enough”.

Legally he could’t really do much since he was still in training, but you had understood the feeling

“Sometimes you provide all the care possible and the person dies. It’s not your fault or your team’s, it just happens. People are not machines you put care and drugs in and they become better, sometimes they are just at the end of their tether and the best thing is to let them go”. “You make it seem so effortless” he had sounded so jaded you had wanted to hug him again “It’s not, but I’ve been in this game longer than you did. I can’t say I’ve gotten used to it, but I’ve learnt to compartmentalize the best I can. This doesn’t mean that sometimes I have to stop myself from crying in front of the patients and their families or that I am not going to have a cuppa now and smoke a cigarette. You'll learn what helps you, I promise".

Osferth has grown as a professional and while he still is the baby of the group, you can see how confident he has become and that adds on the hotness scale, putting him in first place.

It's a snowy day before Christmas when you finally manage to go for a cup of tea

"Now what the hell are you all doing in my kitchen?" You ask your two favorite EMT teams.

They are sprawled on the sofas, mugs in hand, chewing on food while outside the storm howls. They should be looking miserable since outside looks like Antarctica, but they are just owning the place

“There’s a snow bank, babygirl” Finan is the only one who can call you that without risking a scalpel in an eye “A what?” in you defense, you have been with a sickly patient for almost four hours and have just returned from accompanying him to the haemodynamics, you have no idea of what has been happening in the real world “Big snowbank at the end of the driveway, we are basically trapped here until the city sends someone to release us”.

Ah yes, some genius has the city council had thought smart to build the hospital at the end of a steep slope, in a part of the Country where winters are extremely cold and snowstorms are common. In the end an investigation had discovered that some bribes had been paid to place the building in that spot, too bad the hospital had already been completed and it wasn’t possible to build a new one. Fun, right? Even better is that an architect specialized in hotels was tasked to do the interior design and the spaces are all fucked up, just because it wouldn’t cost as much as another with years of experience under their belt.

“Sihtric, please tell me you are joking” you say as Hild enters, talking animated on the phone.

Sister Hild is your boss and is an actual nun. She is the most badass woman you have ever met and the best nurse you have ever walked with: she can be an angel with the patients and chew the head off management to protect her patients and her crew. She is the embodiment of the TikTok with the young doctor tries to diss the experienced nurse and everyone going “uuuh”. You want to be her when you grow up, minus the chastity wow, you love sex too damn much. Whomever she is talking to is probably shitting their pants right now and just by listening to her you know the guys are not joking. You go to the triage area to check on the waiting room and it’s absolutely empty; four hours ago it was full of people but you think that the danger of being stuck in the hospital for hours was bigger than whatever illness was ailing them. Once you are back to the kitchen you get the full story from Hild: the two ambulances are trapped here and the hospital is virtually unreachable until someone decides to clean the slope, too bad all snow plows are frantically trying to clean the streets

“Shouldn’t the hospital be a priority?” “That’s was I was trying to convey” she is fuming and you think the better strategy is to hide somewhere so that you wouldn’t incur in her wrath “Hild, you are too god a woman for this administration - Uhtred saunters to her with a big piece of nougat in his hand - eat and enjoy our company” “Will you ever change Uhtred?” “Nope” he grins, but Hild is already eating the confectionery “What are you doing here?” she asks you “Having a cuppa after seeing Mr. Richards off to the haemodynamics and then the ICU. I think I deserve it” “How is he?” “Well, on top of the pulmonary embolism, he might have a nasty fucking heart attack which our genius of a cardiologist might have recognised after four bloody hours. If the poor sod survives it’s going to be a fucking miracle. Merry fucking Christams to him and his family, I guess” “The swearing isn’t part of the standard handover” “But it adds flavor Hild” you say sprawling yourself on the last free couch, you are already tired and the shift it’s just started.

You feel your arm being touched and Osferth is there, a steamy cup in his big hands. You have no idea how, but he knows how you like your tea

“Thank you love” you smile and he reciprocates; he is so fucking cute you can feel your glucose levels getting higher.

Yes, he is stupidly good looking, but he made first place because of his kindness with patients and with you. Many times he had driven you home when your car didn’t work, he always made sure that you were sitting in the warmest place when having breakfast with them during winter, he brought you sweets when you were on triage duty and it was a bad night. You can probably name many more examples but the bottom line is: Osferth is a lovely, lovely young man with a big heart; that’s a huge win for you.

After a quick cup of tea you set on keeping abreast of the situation. You have no idea of which patients are still in the A&E and whether your colleagues need your help or not. You disappear for more than one hour, busy with reading the remaining patient’s charts and with checking the expiring dates of the equipment. By the time you are back, the guys are fidgeting in their seats, ready to hit the road again and you are stuck with the knowledge of how much of two separate species you are. They can’t wait to be out and about, even though it’s below freezing out there and you can’t fathom yourself working somewhere without walls: the mere thought of having to stabilize a patient in the middle of a street gives you a panic attack and the boys cannot fathom why you don’t like to be creative in your nursing. Your remaining crew joins you and the kitchen is so unbearably full you start itching yourself. You manage to get to Hild and ask her if there's anything you can do, otherwise you are going to hide somewhere until something happens, she tells you there's a big pharmacy delivery day shift didn't have the chance to put away. You jump at the chance to be alone in the big storage room; as much as you like your crew and the EMTs, there's too many people in the cramped room for your liking. You are halfway down the corridor when you hear footsteps approaching and you turn around to see Osferth trying to join you; he breaks into a half run which is super cute and you want to ruffle his hairs, the moment he gets to you

"Do you need a hand?" "Shouldn't you be chilling? The moment the snowbank is cleared, it is going to be hell out there".

He shrugs his shoulders

"I've sat still long enough. I need something to do or I'll drive myself crazy" "You truly are a different breed than us nurses" "You asked for work yourself" he says, the cheeky monkey "I didn't want to disappear on Hild but I hoped there was nothing to do left - he laughs with you - let's go love".

The pharmacy is actually a huge room full of shelving units and two big fridges. Osferth's eyes widen in surprise, which is the standard reaction of any single person who has never seen it. Two big plastic boxes sit in the middle of it and you snort in annoyance

"Ok so, there's no good news. Those boxes contain our stockpile for Christmas, obviously the drugs are going to be mixed up in there. Are you sure you don't want to run for the hills? I won't rat you out, I promise" you say with a smile and you see something pass very fast in his eyes, but it's probably just him dreading the work ahead and being too polite to back off now.

You take one box each and you direct him on where each type of medication is supposed to be stored. It is a job that should take no longer than an hour, considering the sheer amount of drugs, the chit chat between you two and Osferth's ignorance of the organization your unit uses. How you manage to find yourself in the most hidden corner, between a shelf and a fridge, with Osferth's head between your legs, it's beyond your scope of comprehension. He has unzipped his jacket and his face is buried in your pussy, his hands on your hips to guide your movements; your hands are buried in his short hairs and you are keening like a wounded animal just because his tongue feels like heaven buried inside of you and his nose moves just right against your clit, massaging it the way that is hurling you in the throes of a violent orgasm. You try to push his head away when it feels he is overwhelming you and he just snarls, a sound that makes you bang your head against the wall and he redoubles his efforts in making you come, plastering his face with more vigor against your pussy and just moving your hips in a way you know will make you come in no time. You hear desperate, moaning sounds and you realize it's you, coming all over his face, your legs turned into jelly as he licks you clean

"Where are you, baby monk?" You hear Finan's Irish accent in the distance and try to disentangle yourself from Osferth, who just finishes cleaning you with his tongue leisurely, as if his partner is not getting closer to where you are hidden. When he finally stands up, he looks proud of himself, his face shining with your come. With infinite care he pushes your underwear and pants up your trembling legs and you use the proximity to snag his small cross to move his face closer to yours

"You didn't even kiss me" you pout "I'm sorry my lovely lady, I should rectify that mistake immediately".

Gods can the boy kiss, all tongue and teeth, pushing his lean body against yours, making you feel his hard on through the thick layers of his uniform pants. He makes your head spin again when he releases your lips, his tongue brushing against your palate with purpose, as if you don't already know how proficient he is with it. The magic is broken by Finan's voice getting closer, you both laugh and you clean Osferth's face with a tissue. Unfortunately there's little you can do with how red his cheeks are

"You're still hard" "Good, I'll be thinking about you for the rest of the shift. Not that I need an erection to do so" you can feel warmth expands everywhere in your body "Weren't you supposed to have almost made it into priesthood? That’s where your nickname comes from?" "Yeah, so?" "You fit the stereotype then. As soon as the clergy is away, you let go of all inhibitions".

Osferth plasters himself against your body again, caging you where you are

"Are you free for Christmas?" "We have the same shifts, I am free up the 27th night" "Good, I'll make sure to show you how much of a stereotype I can be" and he grounds his hips against yours, you moan.

Two can play this game, though and you palm his erection through the thick pants and squeeze delicately, he has to grab the shelving to keep his stance

"Want to come to my place, love?" You ask still massaging him through the thick material "Yeah" he is breathless and keeping it together by sheer force of will "How do you want me? Naked with a bow in my head? Or you'd rather like some skimpy outfit?"

He groans desperate pleadings but you are on a roll now and his hips are just following your hand's movements

"Will you let me eat a good Christmas dinner or will I be the one stuffed for three days?" Corny but it works, he comes in his own underwear with a shout and needs a minute to gain his breath again.

He smashes his lips against yours and you are struck by the thought that the only reason Finan hasn't found you yet, is that the pharmacy is in a secluded area, but you might run out of luck. This doesn't stop you from kissing him, stating your claim on him, tasting yourself on his lips

"You are going to pay for this - his eyes burn so bright and blue you feel the heat on your skin - text me your address…" you don't let him finish "Promises, promises - you murmur against his lips - and what? Buy a full box of condoms? Don't promise what you can't deliver".

Why are you taunting him? Maybe because it's fun and the cute and compassionate baby EMT whom you have seen grow into a great professional, is far less of a cutie pie that you have previously thought and more of an unhinged sex god; in the end you have to look out for the quiet ones, that's very true.

"Buy two boxes" he says and then grabs your hand to guide you to the door, as if you don't know the way.

You find Finan and hope he doesn't realize anything, the guy has a sixth sense for these kinds of things. Luckily for you, the Irishman is way too stocked that the snowbank has been finally cleaned and he and Osferth can hit the road again.

On Christmas Eve you open your door wearing only a skimpy red outfit and a red bow on your head and Osferth is speechless, mouth hanging open and you can't help yourself to tell him he should close it or he'll get flies in there. That seems to wake him from his reverie; it's not even 10 a.m. and the two of you have already christened your sofa and the front door. Around 12 a.m. he has made you pay deliciously for having made him come in his pants. By 4 p.m. you start getting the memo that yes, you're going to be stuffed for three days straight and yes, he has the big cock you imagined him to have. You two don't finish the two big boxes of condom you have bought but that gives Osferth the assist to invite himself over the next days off you two share. He asks it while he is deep inside of you

"Pray tell, what makes you think I might want you here again?" "The way your pussy clenched the moment I proposed it" he says sassy and oozing male pride, he is so going to pay for this, you’ll make sure of that.

On the morning of the 27th, you kiss him on your doorstep, both of you are wearing more hickeys and bruises than when he had stepped through your door. He needs to go home and sleep, you need to sleep as well and the two of you know that you need to be separated to get that, otherwise you’ll fuck for the whole day and be too tired to work.

As you drive to the hospital you wonder if you haven’t made a mistake. If he doesn’t keep his mouth shut, everyone will know in no time what happened between the two of you and you don’t think you’ll ever be able to bear the jokes and the chit chat behind your back. A wave of anxiety drowns you and you have to stop on the side of the road to breathe and collect your wandering thoughts: you cannot control his actions, only your own and if he has pulled the asshole move, you are smart enough to know how to get your revenge.

In the end Osferth isn’t into kiss and tell, but makes sure a huge bouquet of red roses is waiting for you in the kitchen of the ward; his name is not on the small card but you know they are from him and you keep your mouth shut, even after a whole night of teasing from your colleagues. Obviously you invite him back to finish that box of condoms and to take your small revenge on him for his cockiness. No one is really surprised that Finan is your best man at your wedding.

#osferth x reader #osferth x y/n #osferth

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jacobsfat8inchc0ck · 2 years

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Lord forgive me—

#far cry 5 #fc5 #jacob seed #fc5 fanart #far cry 5 jacob seed #wip #current wip #I am never seeing the pearly white gates of heaven #Jacob seeds big mommy milkers #i want this man’s kids in me #you can’t lie this man has big milkers #he can feed the whole county with those babies #faith seed is jealous of Jacob #sketch

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jetaime-jespere · 3 years

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The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year

This is for the lovely @sequinsmile-x on her birthday. I started reading her stories back in December and was a huge fan from the beginning. Fast forward a few months, and I am somehow lucky enough to call you my friend. For all the pep talks, the inspiration, and the laughs- you have been a bright spot of 2021. But I stand true to my word if harm ever comes to Theo Hotchner, you know what’s coming your way ; ) Happiest of birthdays, my friend! Enjoy every moment and all the cocktails.

The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year

The Day After Thanksgiving

The fragrant aromas of hazelnut and vanilla waft through the air as Aaron precariously grips two full mugs of coffee in his hands. He sidesteps a few toys and a pair of shoes that were somehow missed in last night’s cleanup as he carefully ascends the stairs. The coffee threatens to slosh over the edge of the mugs and stain the hardwood floors; he slows his steps and tiptoes past closed bedroom doors. He avoids the squeaky floorboards - he knows exactly where they are by now - and kicks another stray toy against the wall in his haste to get to Emily before she wakes up.

Coffee in bed is a sacred routine for them, one they haven’t abandoned even balancing the demands of three children and two grueling careers. It’s one of Emily’s little pleasures, an act so simple Aaron can’t deny her whenever he gets the chance. That alone is how he found himself awake before the sun rises, rearranging the various pyrex containers of Thanksgiving leftovers to locate the coveted bottle of Emily’s favorite creamer in the fridge. It was wedged behind the cranberry sauce and macaroni and cheese they made for Nora, who vehemently refused to eat turkey. Of course, she’d eaten maybe five bites of her specially prepared dinner before she’d crawled into Emily’s lap in the middle of dinner. Yet it still brings a smile to his face; it’s their first holiday season as a family of five - something they never expected, something they’ll never take for granted.

Read the rest here or on ao3

When he shoulders the door open, Aaron finds her awake, feeding Leo. She holds him at her breast, her head tipped back and her eyes closed. She senses his presence innately, attuned to the softness of his steps as he steps over the threshold of the sanctuary of their bedroom. Emily’s face stretches into a brilliant smile when she sees him, but it doesn’t hide the exhaustion that paints her features.

“He’s awake again?” Aaron sets the mug on the nightstand and kisses her cheek then the top of Leo’s head. “I thought you’d at least get another hour of sleep.”

“He had other plans,” Emily murmurs, lovingly shifting their son in her arms. “He’s almost done.” She reaches for the coffee with her free hand, lifts the mug to her lips. “Thank you for this.”

“You don’t have to thank me.” Aaron watches her finish Leo’s feed with unabashed awe. There’s nothing but adoration in his eyes, amazement at how she handles motherhood with an abundance of patience and grace. There have been ups and downs, tears. arguments and fights, her nerves stretched thin and his worn down. But these moments make it worth it, ones he wouldn’t trade. He leans down to take Leo to give her a break. The little boy’s eyes are already closed, contentedly asleep once again.

“You’re spoiling me.” Emily says with a grateful smile. She rests back against the pillows, eyes closing again. “What was I thinking when I agreed to go Black Friday shopping with JJ and Garcia?”

“Might be good to get out of the house. Away from the chaos.”

“Into a whole new kind of chaos. Garcia means business. I’m afraid of her ambition.” Emily rolls her eyes at the thought of the shared document Garcia had sent to her and JJ - essentially a shopping itinerary, with all the best deals and discounts clearly marked.

“You say it like you’re surprised.” Aaron gently places Leo into the bassinet before crawling back into bed with his wife. “It is Garcia we’re talking about.”

“Maybe I’ll learn my lesson next year.” She snuggles against him, seeking a few extra moments of peace.

Christmas Tree Shopping

It’s scarcely a week after Thanksgiving when Aaron caves to the persistent demands from Nora and Jack, unable to hold them off any longer. Less than an hour later, as the sun starts to go down in the early December sky, the Hotchners find themselves at an idyllic Christmas tree farm in Loudoun County. They’re not the only ones, as families make their way through the maize of evergreen, the air thick with the cloying, yet not unpleasant, scent of pine needles.

“We’re becoming those people,” Aaron grumbles good naturedly, Leo strapped to his chest in a baby carrier. “Jack, please watch your sister!” A few feet ahead, Nora runs excitedly through the trees, clapping her tiny mitten covered hands with joy. But Jack looks just as excited and takes off behind her as they search for the perfect one. It’s a tradition he never had growing up; one he’d only ever heard stories about from his classmates as he swallowed an emotion he only identified many years later as jealousy.

“What kind of people?” Emily carefully picks her way through the grass, her hand enclosed in his. Her head falls onto his shoulder every few feet; they quietly murmur to each other in broken sentences, interrupted every few seconds by one of the kids, yet it’s a language they’ve mastered over the last few years. Glances and smiles, words that speak volumes, little touches here and there.

“Those Christmas crazed people. Pretty soon we’re going to have an inflatable Santa on the lawn or something.”

“Don’t say that too loudly.” Emily gives him a quick kiss, stopping for a moment to adjust Leo’s hat to cover his tiny head. “Nora said one of her classmates has one. She’s already talking about it.”

“Great.” Aaron rolls his eyes. “I bet Garcia has one we could borrow. Probably more than one.”

Emily laughs, lightly smacking him on the shoulder as Nora grabs her hand. “Mommy, Jack and I like this one!” They all stop in front of a tree on a corner. It’s bigger than Aaron anticipated - he has visions of vacuuming pine needles for the next four weeks - and slightly lopsided, with uneven branches and a few gaps in between. Certainly not what you might see in a magazine, and in no way picture perfect, but Nora and Jack are beaming, their cheeks flushed pink in the chilly early evening air.

“Oh, you mean you two finally agree on something?” Emily quips, letting Nora drag her around the base of the tree, listening as their daughter explains where she wants to put her collection of superhero ornaments. “Who would have ever thought?” But when her eyes meet Aaron’s, it’s clear they’re thinking the same thing too.

It’s perfect.

A Lesson In Gift Wrapping

“Damnit,” Emily swears under her breath as the wrapping paper seemingly shreds in her hands. How does Aaron make this look so easy? With her bottom lip between her teeth, she folds another piece of paper around the box, trying to mimic the process she’s seen him do so effortlessly time and time again. It’s not quite enough paper to wrap around the box, and she shakes her head in defeat.

“Of all the places I looked, I didn’t think I’d find you here.” Aaron’s baritone voice shakes her from her trance. He’s leaning in the doorway of the guest room, an amused but loving smirk on his face. The remnants of the day are there - a hint of shadow on his chin, tie loosened and sleeves rolled to his elbows.

“Thought I might get some of this done.” She looks up at him briefly before her attention goes back to the mess of wrapping paper, twisted balls of tape, and gift bows. “There’s a lot still left to do.”

“Did the North Pole finally accept your elf application?” Aaron teases lovingly, pushing the door open and side-stepping a large pile of gifts that still have yet to be wrapped. “Looks like we’re a little behind schedule this year.”

With a roll of her eyes, Emily pushes a piece of hair out of her face. “You’re home earlier than I expected.” She glances at the mess around her with a sigh, and her voice softens. “Leo needs to be fed when he gets up. I need to pick up Nora from school and Jack will be home in an hour.”

He immediately catches the tension in her voice. As the early days of December melted into weeks, the never ending hustle was clearly starting to get to her, especially since cases took Aaron out of town most of the workweek. Evenings were full of obligations - practices and errands, weekends packed with as much family time as they could manage. All the rest was pushed to the side, a never ending list of chores that was only added to, never subtracted from.

The team had spent almost a week in Bethlehem Pennsylvania, ironically called the Christmas City, searching for an arsonist that had the entire city on edge. Perhaps the nickname was an eerie coincidence yet nonetheless it was a grueling case. Since he’d gotten home he could sense the stress emanating from her, curling like fog around her. She couldn’t hide it from him; she couldn’t hide anything from him. And while he didn’t ask, he somehow already knew. “I asked Garcia to pick Nora up to give you a break.”

“What about dinner?”

“It’s already been ordered.” Aaron says easily, settling beside her on the floor. “Pizza sounded good.”

Relief floods her face. “Pizza always sounds good.” She kicks the abandoned box out of the way to wedge herself against him, lacing her fingers through his. “We’ve missed you around here.” It’s honest, an understated relief that only years of intimacy can bring. Her head finds its way to his shoulder; she leans against him.

“We’re finished until after New Years.” Aaron holds their hands up to the light, staring at the bouncing reflection of their wedding rings. “You have me here until January.”

“Lucky me,” Emily says dryly.

Aaron picks up a stray ball of abandoned wrapping paper and chucks it at her. “What do you say we finish wrapping these together?”

“I say,” she begins slowly, eyes darting between the neatly made bed and his own. “We take advantage of having the house to ourselves.”

He makes her come three times before they hear Garcia’s car in the driveway, and twice more after the kids are in bed, for good measure.

A Deal With The Devil

The name that appears on the screen of his ringing phone is one Aaron can’t ignore. It’s terrible timing, but he’s not at all surprised. His mother in law had an uncanny knack for calling at the most inopportune moments.

“Hi, Elizabeth,” Aaron says hastily, pressing the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he wedges the final plate into the dishwasher. He barely got to the phone in time before it went to voicemail, and something tells him she’s only a little miffed about that fact. Elizabeth Prentiss has an abundance of patience for her grandchildren, but not much for anyone else, he’s come to learn.

“Good evening, Aaron,” she says crisply yet not unkindly. In the background he can hear the mellow crooning of Bing Crosby. He imagines Elizabeth with a glass of wine in one hand, a thick book in her lap. “Is Emily around? I tried to reach her earlier. She didn’t answer my call.”

“She’s giving Nora a bath.” He glances upward, the muffled squeals and giggles coming from the bathroom just loud enough to hear from downstairs. At least things have calmed down since dinner . He decides not to mention it’s already been quite an evening around their house, thanks to unfamiliar vegetables and a long day in preschool. “Is there something you’d like me to pass along?” Of course Elizabeth would call on the one night this week he isn’t away on a case.

“Actually, Aaron, maybe you can help me,” Elizabeth presses, and he knows whatever she’s about to say is something that’s already caused a disagreement between her and Emily.

“I can try,” he offers tentatively, choosing words carefully. The very last thing he wants to do is get caught between their fires. It’s never ended well for him.

“You sound tired, Aaron. Are you not sleeping well?”

“We have three kids, Elizabeth,” he counters back. “I haven’t slept well in years.”

He hears a soft laugh on the other line; for a moment he has to remind himself he’s not talking to his wife. Sometimes the similarities between them are uncanny, much to Emily’s chagrin.

He’s wrapping up the call, assuring Elizabeth they’ll figure out a plan that works for everyone yet doesn’t add any additional stress, while simultaneously cleaning the rest of the kitchen when he hears soft footsteps on the stairs.

“You’re on bedtime duty.” Emily appears behind him, leaning against the counter with an exasperated huff. “She’s in a mood tonight.”

Aaron comes to stand behind her, circling both arms around her waist. Her hips fit snugly against the cradle of his own; he rests his chin over her shoulder to nip at her ear. “I just made a deal with your mother.” He doesn’t miss how she tenses against him, a combination of frustration, annoyance, and exhaustion seeping through her body. It’s the first time they’ve been alone all day. He presses a palm against her chest, feeling the beat of her heart under the warmth of his hand.

“She called again? I let it go to voicemail earlier.”

“Just now. She wanted to talk to you. Luckily, you’re off the hook, because I talked to her.” He kisses her neck. He swipes at a few stray bath bubbles that have somehow found their way into her hair. Of all the versions of Emily he’s loved over the years, this Emily might just be his favorite.

“Let me guess. She wants us to come to her for Christmas Eve dinner instead of her coming here.”

“Something like that.”

“Does she not understand we have three children?” Emily grumbles. “I’ve been over this with her. She’s not the one who has to put them to bed on Christmas Eve, you know. It’s a whole different kind of chaos.”

“I think we can figure it out, Em.” Aaron chuckles. He holds her a little closer, voice reassuring and calm. “I made her a deal.” She noticeably relaxes, her body melding against his. Proximity is one of their love languages, the subtle touches an endless source of comfort for them both.

“ Mommy!” Nora’s voice is an insistent, urgent interruption, one they can’t ignore. “Mommy!”

Emily sighs in defeat, the moment of peaceful bliss abruptly over.

“I’ll go,” Aaron says immediately, leaving a trail of kisses down Emily’s neck. “I haven’t seen you sit down all day.”

“Have I told you lately how much I love you?” She presses her hips into his teasingly and turns her head to kiss him. It’s a promise of later, another little luxury they still manage to make time for.

“No, but you can show me once the kids are asleep.” He reluctantly lets her go as he heads in the direction of the upstairs.

“Only if I don’t fall asleep first.”

Visiting Santa

“This is not the smartest idea we’ve ever had, clearly,” Emily mutters under her breath as the crowd around them seems to thicken before their eyes. The mall is packed, full of shoppers and families lined elbow to elbow around a colorful, elaborate display to meet Santa. There’s fake snow everywhere, teenagers dressed up as elves supervising the line and a kids’ rendition of a Christmas song blasting from speakers. “What were we thinking?”

“The same as everyone else in Northern Virginia, apparently.” Aaron finds the small of her back through her coat, rests his hand there gently as Emily pushes the stroller a little to soothe Leo. “Not like we had much of a choice, sweetheart. I’ve been gone all week. When else were we supposed to do this?”

“I could have taken them myself one night.” She looks annoyed and rightfully so, as one of the elves announces it’s time for Santa to take a fifteen minute break.

“And miss all this fun?” Aaron jokes. He’s doing his best to hide his own annoyance, yet the flex of his jaw is a tell-tale sign that Emily spots immediately. “Not a chance.”

They’ve been in line for over a half an hour, and will be for at least another half hour. Beside Aaron, Jack grumbles under his breath and rolls his eyes without even looking up from his Nintendo Switch. He’d obliged reluctantly, partly because Aaron had promised him a new video game if he didn't complain. And from where Nora is nestled in the safety of her mother’s arms, she presses her cheek against Emily’s shoulder. “What if we miss Santa, Mommy?”

“We won’t, honey,” Emily soothes, catching Aaron’s eyes over their daughter’s head of dark hair. It’s the third time she’s asked the question, her dark eyes widening as Santa waves to the crowd before disappearing. “He’s just taking a break.”

“I can’t imagine why,” Aaron mutters under his breath. “Even Santa is over it.”

When they finally emerge from the mall almost an hour later, with three cranky children in tow, Emily passes over the photograph to Aaron. “This is an awful picture,” she snickers behind her gloved fist. It’s true. It was taken at the worst possible moment - seconds after Leo started screaming, Nora’s attention anywhere but the camera, and Jack’s eyes closed. “This is even worse than last year’s picture. We can’t actually display this anywhere, you know.”

“We can give it to Dave. He’ll love it,” Aaron jokes as he tucks the envelope under his arm. “Trust me.”

Twas the Night before Christmas

“Move over, Nora!” Jack elbows his sister squarely in the stomach in an attempt to crawl over his sister to get closer to Aaron. “You’re taking up too much space.”

“Ouch, Jack! Daddy, Jack is being mean!”

“There’s more than enough room for everyone,” Aaron says neutrally and cheerfully. It’s clear he won’t pick a side. “Santa doesn’t want to hear the two of you fighting on Christmas Eve. Last time we checked the radar, he was headed to the United States, wasn’t he?”

From where she cradles a milk-drunk Leo in her arms, Emily stifles a laugh in her fist. She makes a mental note to thank Garcia for showing it to the kids earlier that evening. It’s been the only thing to keep them from completely losing their minds with excitement ever since.

“Nora, why don’t you come sit over here next to Mommy and Leo?” He pats the sliver of space between his thigh and Emily’s, covered in matching flannel pajamas as Emily shifts over.

“Okay, Daddy,” she beams, scrambling off the couch and making a point to stick her tongue out at Jack along the way.

“Nora, apologize to Jack,” Emily cuts in smoothly with a sharp look at her daughter.

The little girl pouts even as guilt spreads across her face. “Sorry, Jack.” She breaks off a piece of the frosted cookie in her hand - the one she isn’t supposed to have on the new couch - and hands it to Jack. “Here.”

“Is everyone ready?” Aaron asks once Nora is settled and Jack has stopped kicking his feet underneath one of the many blankets flung around the couch. “No one needs anything?” He grins at the insistent pleas of both kids, hushes them quietly to avoid waking the sleeping baby on Emily’s chest. “Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house…” He begins, as a silence falls over them all.

Emily watches him read, transfixed by the sight of Jack and Nora completely engrossed in the story they’ve heard dozens of times, as if they never have before. Sometimes it still doesn’t seem real that this is their life now. She would have laughed ten years ago if someone predicted her future.

“A happy Christmas to all, and to all a goodnight.” Aaron closes the book in his hands, looking between Nora and Jack. “I think it’s bedtime, what do you think?”

There are grumbles from them both as they trip over each other on their way towards the stairs, not without frequent peeks over the shoulder to see if in fact Santa somehow materialized behind them.

“Maybe Santa will bring us a puppy, Jack!"

Christmas Eve

“You think they’ll be disappointed when none of these presents bark?” Emily jokes once they’ve finished setting up the pile of gifts. There’s a bottle of wine between them, and It’s A Wonderful Life plays in the background on low.

“I told them Santa doesn’t carry pets on the sleigh.” Aaron tucks his arm around her and brings her into his chest, dropping a kiss on the crown of her head. “Said it was too dangerous.”

“Did they buy that?”

“Seemed to.” He shrugs. “We might have some explaining to do if Allison and Shane end up getting Jude a puppy, but we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.” In the easy silence the movie stretches on; they share sips of wine and leftover cookies and murmur soft whispers over the final few minutes.

“I love this part,” Emily murmurs as George Bailey reunites with his family in a joyous, tearful reunion and the opening measures of Auld Lang Syne begin to play. She doesn't look away from the screen.

“You love this whole movie,” he teases gently. “You always have.”

“You don’t?”

“I have other favorites. But I’ll always watch it with you.”Outside, the snow has started to accumulate; it’s already formed a blanket of white across the grass, and is covering the trees. It doesn’t look like it’ll be stopping anytime soon.

“This never gets old,” Emily says from where they’re snuggled together on the couch, staring at the Christmas tree and the falling snow out the window. It’s been their tradition to do this since having Nora - set up presents and watch the movie.

They watch the falling snow in silence once again, their fingers linked, heads bent together, enjoying the few extra moments of peace. It’s only when Emily’s eyes drift shut does she realize just how exhausted she really is.

“Don’t fall asleep on me,” Aaron murmurs as she opens them. “There’s one thing left to do.”

“We did everything. We even answered the note they wrote for Santa. We forgot that last year.” Emily stretches as she stands, her limbs aching. “It’s time for bed, Aaron. I’m so tired.”

“Not quite yet, sweetheart.” Aaron is reaching behind the decorations on the mantle for the small hidden speakers, flicking a button. “I think you’re forgetting something.”

“What?” She yawns, not even bothering to hide it. “It’s so late.”

“You remember,” he says, holding out his hand as the music starts.

Emily rolls her eyes good naturedly, remembering just what he means. “Really, Aaron?”

“One dance, sweetheart. Please?”

“I'm tired.”

He rolls his eyes. It’s a line she’s used many times, yet for some reason, she always gives in. In fact, she’s stepping into his arms before she even stops talking.

“That’s what you always say.” He takes her hand and wraps his other arm around her back, drawing her in close. “Yet you always end up right here.”

“Because I love you,” she whispers, following his steps as he takes the lead.

Some soft Christmas jazz starts to play, a sultry sounding medley that might just lull her to sleep. “This is the song you picked?” Emily rests her head on his shoulder as he sways them in time to the music. “You couldn’t have picked anything more lively?”

“Shhhh,” he murmurs, his hand bracing against the small of her back as he dips her down and brings her back up. “Just go with it.”

So she does, letting him move them both around the living room in a series of smooth, even steps. When the music stops, they still for a few blissful, silent moments. Still wrapped in each other’s arms, they’re close enough together to feel the other’s heart beating in sync. “Merry Christmas, Emily. I love you.”

“I love you too, Aaron. Merry Christmas.”

#hotchniss #domestic hotchniss #happy hotchners #wsne universe #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #aaron x emily #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #birthday fics and Christmas fluff #Christmas in July #for you my dear friend sequinsmile_x #I hope you enjoy

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ms-rampage · 3 years

Text

Eden’s Gate: Aftermath Chapter 7 - Now That The World Is Ending

Warnings: Cuteness, Gabriel holding baby/toddler Daenerys

Word count: 2.4k

Summary: In the final chapter of Aftermath, as the bombs drop down to Earth above their heads. The Winchesters have a surprise guest living with them.

Guest OCs: Just the usuals.

Guest Characters: Archangel Gabriel [Supernatural], John Seed [mentioned]

Note: Next is NEW DAWN: NEW HORIZONS. Taking place 15-17 years later in the year 2035. THANK YOU FOR READING MY CRAP!!!!

Far Cry New Dawn x Supernatural [crossover with OCs]

********

“Gabriel?!?” Kate mutters in confusion, and also in surprise. He looks up at the two sisters, with a soft smile on his face and weakly mutters “Surprise to see me?”. That question was directed towards Kate, and she smiles back in return.

Surprised and also happy to see her Archangel.

“How did you g-” Paige asks, before stopping herself when she realizes it was a stupid question, “That was a stupid question”.

They help him up, and take him to the main room. Sitting him down on the living room couch.

“Gabriel?!?” Mandy mutters as she walks into the room. In shock and surprised to see the wounded celestial, bleeding a little through his shirt.

Paige leaves her mom, sister and the Archangel by themselves to go get Kenny and the others. Mandy then stands up, and goes to grab a first aid kit, or something that can heal an Archangel. Leaving Kate and Gabriel alone. She takes a seat in front of him. They look at each other for a few seconds.

“What happened?!” she asks, opening his shirt, and cleaning his wound on his stomach.

He shrugs, and softly groans in pain “I’ve sorta lost my powers”.

She furrows her eyebrows at him, “Sorta?!?”.

He sighs, “I’ve lost some of my powers when I was cast out”.

She looks at him, confused, “Cast out?. What do you mean cast out?”

He looks at her, “I’m sure you saw the giant mushroom cloud in the sky”. She nods, “Yeah, we all saw it”.

He shifts in his spot on the couch, “Did you see what else appeared in the sky shortly after?".

Shaking her head, “No, we all ran down here. What else happened?”.

He looks her in the eyes, and says in the most dramatic way possible, “All Angels were cast out of Heaven”.

Her eyes widened, “What?!?. All of them? Everyone?". He nods his head slowly, she stands up from her spot, and paces. Worried about her boyfriend, her friends and everyone she got to know in Hope County. Playing with the bracelet Wheaty gave her. Her thoughts are interrupted by the wounded Archangel on the couch in front of her.

“A boyfriend huh?” he asks, chuckling and looking up at her.

She looks at him confused, “What?!?”.

“You got a boyfriend?" he asks, "Or had one".

She tries to hold back her tears, biting her lip “Not helpful Gabe” she mutters softly. Standing there in front of him, her hands resting on her cheeks, looking at the floor. Her anxiety builds up, and her hands become shaky.

Gabriel stares at her stomach, just something about it looks different to him. It looks slightly bigger, like she put on some weight. He can’t seem to put his finger on it, but whatever it is he can feel some strange essence, or some sort of energy coming from it, coming from her body. She has a slight glow on her face, but it could be sweat.

Kate notices him staring at her stomach. “Why are you staring at my stomach?!?” she asks, glaring over at him. Breaking his focus on her slightly bigger stomach.

He looks up at her, anticipating for her to slap him for asking the question, “Don't hit me for asking this but, did you gain weight??”.

She scoffs at him, rolling her eyes, and crosses her arms. Taking a few steps away from him, “You never ask those types of questions to a human Gabe”.

He tilts his head, curiosity getting the best of him, and motions her to come towards him, “Come towards me”. She heeds, and walks towards him, standing in arms reach. He places his hand on her 7 and a half week baby bump, and feels why his curiosity is concerned about her belly.

His eyes widened, he looks up at her with his eyebrows raised “You’re pregnant?!”.

Feeling somewhat hurt that his special human is pregnant with another man's child.

For a moment she forgets that she’s carrying another tiny human being inside her, she nods her head, “Yeah. I am”.

"And it's not mine?!" he jokes, totally not hurt that his human is pregnant. Moving his hand away.

She scoffs again, "We both know the outcome for that". Taking a seat next to him.

"You were there, you knew I'm pregnant" she tells him. He looks at her confused.

"I was where??" he asks, very confused. She looks at him in disbelief, thinking this Trickster is messing with her. "In my hallucination trip. A few months ago" she tells him.

He looks at her like he has no idea what she's talking about. Shrugging, "What are you talking about??".

She shakes her head, "It's nothing. Forget it". She drops the hold thing, she knows what she saw in her bliss hallucination a few months ago.

A few moments later, Paige walks back into the living room with Kenneth, Cody, Martin, Mark, Nate and Adrian.

"Gabriel?!?" the 6 men say in unison.

The Archangel chuckles, "Did you all rehearse that?!".

He catches them all up on what was happening in the world. Angels, all of them were all cast out of Heaven, God tried to wipe out all of humanity with a nuclear explosion. The Collapse. The Reckoning. The Apocalypse. The End. The whole world is up in flames. Literally. Heaven is shut down with no one but God up in cloud city.

*****

May 2019. 7 months later

It’s been 7 months since the bombs were dropped. After several hours the bombs stopped falling, and you'd think everything would be safe to go back out. Nope, knowing that you're gonna have to live underground in a bunker with 20 other people for the next 6 and a half years. After 2 and a half months the world has now ended but it's only just begun.

No other bombs, or explosions have been dropped by The Man upstairs. The World was going through the route of regrowing, and being reborned. Starting over again.

On May 2nd, Kate gave birth to a healthy baby girl. A few weeks earlier on April 16th, Paige had a C-section giving birth to triplets, 2 boys and 1 girl with the help of Cody, his wife and Adrian’s wife Amanda delivered all 4 of them. Having all the right equipment in the bunker infirmary, stored away.

Jeffrey Dean Winchester-Smith named after her cousin, Dean. Weighing 7 pounds, and 5 ounces.

Thomas Sam Winchester-Smith also named after her cousin, Sam. Weighing 7 pounds, and 5 ounces.

Bianca Rhea Winchester-Smith because she's always liked the name Bianca. Weighing 7 pounds, and 4 ounces.

Daenerys Arya Brienne Winchester named after Daenerys Targaryen, Arya Stark and Brienne of Tarth all female characters from Game of Thrones. Being the smallest of the 4 infants, weighing 6 pounds, and 5 ounces.

Cristina is over a year old. 1 year, and 6 months old. She is now walking, she has almost all of her teeth, and can say 7 to 10 words. She is able to comprehend language, and know from right from wrong. From good from bad.

The triplets are a little over a month old now, Daenerys is 2 in a half weeks old.

During her pregnancy, Gabriel was very protective of Kate, even though they were all living underground in a huge bunker, and couldn't leave for another 6 in a half years.

Cradling her 20 day old daughter in her arms, Kate feeds her a bottle of formula. Gabriel was very cautious around her, afraid that he'll somehow hurt the tiny infant. Even though he has very little to no powers left in him.

He tried to keep a safe distance from her, Kate constantly reminded him that he didn’t need to worry about hurting the infant. That he and Daenerys will be fine. He is very fond of humans, of course, unlike most celestial beings. That was his one fear, hurting her.

"You wanna hold her?!" she asks him. He looks up at her, stammering. "Uhh, do-do you want me to?".

She smiles at him, "It's fine with me" she responds. She hands him the tiny infant. He holds her, cradling her and she starts to fuss in his arms. Making her typical baby sounds.

He groans uncomfortably, holding her away from him, stammering “Uhhh w-what is happening?!?”.

“She’s fine” she reassures him, fixing her baby blanket, “It’s a normal infant reaction”.

She starts to calm down, yawning and falling asleep in Gabriel’s arms with her finger in her mouth.

“What’s happening?!?” he nervously asks, “Is she dead?!?”.

She looks at him, chuckling, “She’s not dead. She’s asleep”. She takes the infant from his arms and puts her in her old bassinet.

Paige comes in holding one of her triplets. “Hey” she says, looking down at the one month old infant in her arms.

“Hey” Kate responds, “Which triplet is that?”.

She groans unsurely, and checks the diaper, “Thomas, and/or Jeffrey”.

“It’s Thomas!” Kenneth calls out from the next room over, “You’re holding Thomas!”.

She points in the direction where her husband's voice came from “The 2nd one. Thomas Sam”.

“How’s the scar?” she asks, referring to her C-section scar.

She groans uncomfortably, “It’s healing. Slowly, but it’s healing”.

*****

Later that night, Everyone is in their own bunker rooms. Kate is in hers, changing Daenerys into her night onesie.

Talking to the infant in a soft voice. Gabriel, who is a few rooms over, can hear Kate and the tiny human with the very little powers he has. Leaning against the headboard of his bed, listening to her conversation.

He knows he’s Kate’s Guardian Angel, he saved her several times, he gripped her tight, and raised her from perdition when she was a somewhat innocent teenager. He’s her soulmate as well. He has had these feelings for her since forever. He knows she would be better off with her boyfriend before God dropped the bombs on humanity, but he’s most likely dead. John? He’s dead as well, and he knows damn well that Daenerys is his kid. He knows Kate is ashamed that she’s his kid, regardless she loves her.

He couldn't possibly imagine how Daenerys would've turned out if John Seed had lived. How he would've treated Kate, how that demented, psycho family would've treated a pregnant Kate. A premarital baby. How that sadist psychopath would somehow ruin Kate and their baby.

He gets up, and goes to her room. Walks down the hall and knocks on the door.

“Yeah?” she responds her voice muffled from behind the closed door. He opens the door and steps inside her bedroom.

“Hey” he sighs, “How she doin’?”.

“She’s doing great” she answers, taking a seat on her bed. Gabriel takes the leap of faith, not holding back.

“I just wanted to get us over with” he tells her. Kate looks at him confused, “What are you talking about?!?”.

He lays down on her bed, laying on his side with his hand prompt up against his cheek. Looking up at her.

He lifts up his free hand from behind him, and holds a diamond ring between his index and middle fingers. Her eyes light up, and gasps softly.

“You already know where I’m going with this” he chuckles, “Will you marry me? Blah, blah, blah. I love you. Blah, blah, blah. You could do so much more better than that idiot Yes man John Seed”.

She laughs softly at his comments, “So. In all seriousness” he continues, “Will you marry me?”.

She looks at him, “You already know the answer” she whispers to him before passionately kissing him on the lips.

Katella Evyanna Winchester is set to marry an Archangel. Archangel Gabriel. She always thought of herself as the human he had to protect. That’s all she thought she was to him. His human.

*****

A few years later, November 2022, the children are all 3 years old, Cristina turned 5 years old that same month.

Daenerys, the youngest of all the children, wakes up at 6:00am, which is unusual for a child at her age to get up at, and feel energetic.

Her and the other 4 Winchester children share the same bedroom, across the hall from their parents rooms. She stumbles to Kate and Gabriel’s room, pushes the door open and climbs onto their bed.

“Mommy! Daddy!” she says loudly, waking them up.

Kate groans, as her daughter steps on her with her tiny feet. She sits on Gabriel’s chest and playfully slaps his cheeks. Waking him up.

“What?” he asks, half asleep. She giggles softly, “Wakey wakey”. He chuckles softly, slowly sitting up.

He looks over at the clock, “It’s 6 in the morning, how are you so energetic?!” he asks the 3 year old child.

She lets out a playful giggle, and jumps up and down on their bed.

She looks up at the child bouncing on the bed, having the same exact eyes as John. Those baby blue eyes that she got from him, a reminder that this little bundle of joy and happiness is also John Seed's daughter.

He gets up out of bed and carries the 3 year old child down the bunker hallway towards the kitchen.

Despite him being an Archangel with very little of his powers. He manages to get 3-6 hours of sleep, and eat solid foods. Not wanting to use his very little powers in fear that he’ll hurt any of the children living in the bunker, he manages to get by without using them, he knows the world above them is going through some change, a huge massive change that'll change everyone's lives.

But finally being able to marry the human he fell in love with, and fathering her child, he was more than happy to be a part of their lives.

Paige and Kenneth walk into the kitchen shortly after, her holding Jeffrey and Thomas in each of her arms. Kenneth holding Bianca, and Cristina following behind him.

"Here you go" Paige mutters, sitting the two toddlers in their seats at the kitchdn table. Everyone else wakes up half an hour later. Adrian, and his wife Amanda. Mark, his wife Dana and 2 kids. Nate, his wife Ellen and 3 kids, Martin and his fiancée Megan, Cody and his wife Brandy. Mandy, Barbara, Kenneth, Gabriel, Paige, Kate and their kids.

One bunker with 20+ people, and 1 Archangel living in it. 16 adults, and 10 kids. Having to spend another 2-4 years underground while the Earth regrows, and the radiation goes away. Its only a matter of time, and they can go back to their normal lives, or at least they think its their normal lives.

Hopefully, a new hope. A New Dawn. New Horizons will come their way.

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curlymantis · 3 years

Note

aaaa pls tell me stuff abt your ocs they're all so cool!! 🥺💚

Omg I finally finished answering this!!!!! 👀👀

Farcry 5: Zoë Seed!!

Omg that’s me 😏 she was an entomologist checking out the cool insects of Hope county and unfortunately for her she doesn’t believe in private property when it comes to discovering nature. One day chosen find her trespassing on John seeds property. They think she’s a spy for the resistance as she has a camera, binoculars etc. They take her to the main church (conveniently was a Sunday) once service is over shes handed over to the father and himself and John go through her camera. They only find insect pictures and omg wow she’s not a spy. She’s indoctrinated into the cult and ends up eventually becoming John’s right hand of god 😌🙏 sinners who happen to be an extra annoyance go to her where she makes them confess in whatever way possible. Or they die in the process, whoops 💅🏻 She’s polyamorous with all of the seed siblings including Faith cos like come on now let’s be real they all crave and need loving. However she’s married to John Seed because that baby boy is everything 😤❤️ She also likes to do cult posters and help write songs and sing them cos it’s fun as hell. She is closest with John and Faith Seed specifically out of the 4 Seeds. Other cultists are scared of her, or is it respect? Hmm who knows 😌 She also tortures sinners for fun and chases them around the forest making them as shit scared as possible. Oops 😏

The Magnus Archives: is my oc who is an Avatar of the eye and Rayn Porter is my oc who a avatar of the corruption. They both have the same last name as they are both the same person just if they had gone down different entity routes in their life. I’ll talk about Rose first! (I also have an avatar of the flesh and the vast but I haven’t worked on them yet or got them ‘fully fleshed out’ 😏

Rose Porter: avatar of the Eye, marked by the stranger, the spiral and the vast.

From an early age Rose always felt the need to watch people, to know, to understand. As she got older these feelings only became stronger and she begins to stalk people, not because she finds that person special for any particular reason they just happened to look to long at her and she saw them doing so. That just sets something off In her so now they must be followed, acknowledged, understood and scrutinised (me self projecting right into my ocs 😌). She found the Magnus institute one day as she started stalking Rosie. when she had seen the woman walking into a large glorious building she knew something was off, like the itching feeling you get, the feeling in your gut, the sensation of something important. She did not know what had over come her to walk in the building so quickly as that would ruin her chances of learning further about this person who dared make her feel so uncomfortable. But there she was. She was hired immediately of course as a librarian, then moving on the be an archival assistant, shocking to her. But obviously not to Elias Bouchard who knew just how useful her alignment to his almighty beholder. To say she had a crush on him would be an understatement. She can’t explain it. Some would call infatuation, some would call it chemistry, but smart ones say it’s because they are both devotees to the eye and she is in so much deeper than she has ever anticipated or even realises 👀

Rayn Porter: avatar of the corruption, marked by the flesh, the lonely and the stranger.

Rayn despises people (same queen 🙄) they put animals on a higher level of respect than humans. The corruption took ahold of them as a young child, they would always follow and play with cockroaches as a child. However their mother was to say the least an unempathetic, transphobic and cruel woman to say the least. Rayn was raised in a household full of scrutiny, hate and fear. Because of this had very little friends as the only social interaction they knew was their bitch ass mother they turned to the ‘pests’ of their home. Whether these were the slugs and snails in the basement of their home, or they were the cockroaches, house centipedes and rats that dwelled in their attic. They loved and appreciated them all, but their was still something deeper to it. A deep rot had started to form in Rayn and they hated their mother and family. They hated them for how they had cast them aside for not being female, they hated them for all the mistreatment they had faced as a child. The rot started small, a odd old smell that started to lurk around Rayn. Eventually others would notice the smell but would shrug it off as the smell would soon be covered by the smell of Rayns chain smoking. Then one day Rayn was staring in mirror poking at their face and squeezing. They found a sore on her face and squeezed it, pus comes out but something moves underneath. They squeeze harder and something wriggles forth, it’s a very small, juvenile cockroach, streaked slightly in something slimey. As you can imagine that fucked them up a bit, but they learnt to embrace it. Learnt to love that crawling away just underneath their skin are thousands of little legs connected to cockroach’s of many sizes. Sometimes if not managed roaches will find themselves sneaking out of nostrils, mouth and ears. Sometimes even out from behind her eyes. One way they feed the corruption is they set forth the filth at a selected location. All it takes is for them to place a cockroach down in a building and within a week there will be a infestation so strong causing the people in said building to be taken down with it. The Cockroaches will feed on those that they can over power and The Corruption always needs feeding... (Also just want to add cockroaches themselves aren’t actually dirty, they’re actually obsessive cleaners. the locations they live in are dirty)

Telltale Batman- Roz Traegers:

first encounter with John Doe (the eventually to be known Joker) was at the bar he frequented. They had never once seen him drink a drop of alcohol. He would order beer constantly for his alcoholic sure but never consume it himself. Aside from his alabaster white skin nothing about him seemed out of the ordinary to them. Well except the fact he liked to stare, a lot. You would constantly worry it’s because he was just judging you based on your appearance (a lot of people do) however John just likes to stare at people and found you interesting for some reason (cliches I know, but me and John Doe are basically the same person and I like to think he’d think I’m interesting). Roz has a great dislike towards the people John works with, they don’t appreciate how badly they treat him. Especially Harley. John is so obsessed with Harley and she treats him like absolute shit. Roz had a plan to get Harley arrested, however John found out and threatened to never speak to Roz again. Roz has a soft spot for Mr Freeze specifically from the gang also.

Vampyr: Rose Pine

works as an assistant to Camellia at the florist. Rose isn’t a very chatty person and has had quite a traumatic up bringing. Her mother, sister and father are all unfortunately deceased. Her father killed her mother, then sister, then Rose, then turned the knife on himself. Rose survived her injuries (hence the scar on her throat) and was put out into the adoption system. Roses father believed he had been doing his family a service by taking their lives before they could be claimed by Ekons. Roses father had been a vampire believer long before they had even breeched the city. Rose always waves hello to Jonathan Reid when she sees him galavanting around. He always waves back and occasionally they will exchange a conversation. One evening they exchange more than just brief chit chat when Jonathan is required to save her from a group of feral Skals. Rose is very badly injured from her encounter and Jonathan ends up having to change the sweet little florist he sees most evenings into a Ekon. Rose is also good friends with Charlotte Ashbury and Charlottes mother Elisabeth. I haven’t played Vampyr in a wee while, I want to get back into it soon so plan on adding more to her story.

Outlast: Rosie Porter

Rosie worked as a live in psychiatrist for those at mount massive asylum. She lives on the premises that way patient can be attended to at any time. Her experiences throughout life gives her empathy for those that are locked up, that the other guards and majority of other staff just don’t have. Rosie has always been able to empathise with those who would be considered ‘evil’ whether she empathised out of her own sick fascination or because of her heart hurting too much is another question. Rosies favourite patients are Eddie Gluskin and Chris Walker. She was hired after Jeremy Blaire forcibly admitted Chris Walker. Rosie is enamoured with Eddie and he knows it. Knows he has his little psychologist wrapped around his finger. However Eddie would be a hypocrite if he said he also wasn’t wrapped around her finger. Rosie is forcibly committed to the asylum by Jeremy Blaire they start Project Walrider on the patients. Rosie was against it and threatened to blow the whistle on the whole thing (dumb idea) and Jeremy uses her as the first female Walrider test subject. Rosie has engaged in an affair with her boss Jeremy Blaire when she first started working there. Due to their past ‘hands on’ relationship, Rosie is allowed more time with her patients and allowed to be alone with her patients. This has allowed for her to further her work with her patients, as they’re quite open when the know they aren’t being openly judged by the security staff.

Hannibal: Jessi Trees

is a forensic entomologist who works alongside Beverly, Jimmy and Brian analysing dead people n shit. Jessi first met Will Graham on the scene of a crime when they had both been called out. It was the mushroom killer from memory as the soil was packed with invertebrates filled with evidence. Will has just finished doing his whole ‘this is my design’ when Jessi walks up to him and stands quietly beside him, where they say: “These fuckers are filled with worms and I don’t know shit about worms” Will Graham turns and looks at them like what the fuck? Those are dead people. Jessi merely shrugs, smirks and walks off. Jessi can be described by a lot of people as ‘a cold person’ or ‘indifferent’ but passionate. They dehumanise the corpses they’re working with at that’s the only way they can get justice for them. If they get too caught up in all the sadness of it, they can’t move forward from it. Jessi has a crush on Will Graham and Beverly Katz. Jessi questions Will and Hannibals relationship quietly from the background but never really comments.

Bonus character!! Stardew Valley: Zoë

This bad ass came all the way from Zuzu city in need of a better and different life. They inherit their grandfathers old farm and get it up and running. The town is filled with wonderful, amazing people. But of course Zoë has to want to become close friends with the person who hates me everyone: Shane (they’re kindred spirits, Shane isn’t aware of this however because he seems to think he’s the only person who can suffer from substance abuse and sever depression haha.) Shane hates them of course until they keep harassing him and he reasilizes she’s a lot more screwed up than he was aware. Zoë is close friends with Shane (ends up marrying him one day), Linus (I would fucking die for him and anyone who’s cruel to him gets my foot in the butthole), Leah (they hang out frequently and like to paint in the forest together), Emily (I have a massive crush on Emily haha, she’s so similar to me it’s great), is also friends with Sam’s dad and Jodis husband Kent (Kent suffers from PTSD and I’ve developed a lot of my own techniques to help with my own PTSD so we help each other out. Also Jodi I’m stealing your husband, just kidding, unless). Zoë’s favourite animals on her farm are her blue chickens (raised by Shane) and her horse Aaron. Zoë’s favourite yearly event is the moonlight jellies festival!

#farcry 5 #the Magnus archives #telltale Batman #Vampyr #Hannibal #outlast #stardewvalley #stardew #own character

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dragonleesupporter · 3 years

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Incomplete Without You (Part 1)

Hey guys! Sorry I’ve been dead for so long. I wanted to make this for a loong time but lost motivation multiple times and nearly lost the whole damn file.

WARNING: Triggers for disablement, depression, talk of a suicide attempt, and panic attacks.

He grumbled as he was pushed along the sidewalk. He had every reason to complain, every reason to be upset, especially when a jogger moved past them. He was always told to be thankful to still be alive with his strange condition. Well, at least he could move his head and face muscles.

“C’mon man, you said a view of the lake would make you feel better!” Remy prodded his cheek. “Where’s that smile?”

“Dead. Long dead. Like the rest of my soul.” Virgil growled.

“Ugh. This job’s sooo boring!” The sunglass-wearing punk complained.

“Then forfeit your salary so the rest of me can die in peace.”

Virgil was paralyzed from the shoulders, down. He couldn’t feel his body and needed constant assistance from those willing to put up with his acidic, pessimist attitude to help him do… pretty much everything. He couldn’t even hold his goddamn diploma when he graduated high school. Remy had to hold it for him. He had to give the coffee lover credit where credit was due. He was the one who had lasted the longest as his caretaker. Taking him on “walks” as to not make him feel helplessly alone. Thankfully, his parents did everything else, like dress him and clean him and lay him down to sleep.

Even though he didn’t feel as alone with Remy keeping up gossipy conversations, he did feel piercing envy for anyone he saw around him. Laughing with their friends, running, swimming, riding bicycles, dancing… Not to mention the people that made fun of him, and yet he was supposed to be more positive that he wasn’t dead? Death would merciful to someone in Virgil’s position. He couldn’t even kill himself. Not to say he didn’t try. The closest he had gotten was when he had annoyed someone enough to shove him into the lake, who was unaware of his condition, while Remy was in the bathroom. Little did he know that the sassy teen was a fast pisser and was able to rescue him.

Why couldn’t he just be fucking normal? Even for a day?

“Oh hey, that man child texted you again.” Remy’s naturally condescending voice interrupted his thoughts. But he couldn’t help but smile just a little. “Puppylover99? What did he say?”

“Work is super fun today! Got to hug a lot of people! Every time I hugged someone, I thought of you, kiddo!” Remy put on a high-pitched feminine-like voice, which made Virgil laugh, no matter how much he hated it.

“You ass!” He would’ve hit him playfully if he could.

“Is that what you want me to say?” Remy gave a cocky smirk, opening up messages.

“No no no!” He shook his head madly, making his caretaker laugh even harder than Virgil did.

“So… what- oh! He sent another.” Virgil’s smile widened as a small blush made its way onto his face, even though he was trying his best to fight it. “Anyway, I was wondering when I’d be able to hug you in person! I know we both live in Purble County.”

Virgil’s smile was gone instantly. He had never physically met with any of his online friends before… What would he think? That he… wouldn’t be able to hug him back? Tears filled his eyes, and he couldn’t even wipe them away.

Remy quickly pulled onto an alleyway so no one would see him like this. The caretaker quickly wiped his face and massaged the base of his neck to calm him. “I’m sorry, I should’ve read it and warned you first.”

“It’s fine, Remy…” He sniffled.

He was just about calmed down when he saw two people cheering just outside the alley, diving into each other’s arms.

“It’s you!”

“I can’t believe I found you!”

Soulmates were a natural part of life in this world. Usually in the form of blanked out tattoos on someone’s skin that gets filled in when they meet their soulmate. There are other soulmates whose signs are a bit different, however. There was a case ten years ago where two people, one blind in the right eye, and the other blind in the left that magically gained full sight upon meeting each other. They were pronounced soulmates and are still together to this day. There were other cases where individuals didn’t have tattoos or anything of the sort, and lived their whole life out without a lover, claiming it was meant to be that way. Others have multiple soulmates. The subject is so complex, Virgil had to take multiple classes on it in high school.

Virgil had been told by scientists and priests alike that he most likely wouldn’t have a soulmate based on the religious belief that cripples couldn’t contribute enough to a relationship, (welcome to Virgil’s church-hell) and the scientific data doctors collected from him on a weekly basis. Most of the population that was physically disabled in a 2018 case study found that they never found soulmates. Since Virgil was such a rare case, the doctors demanded data be collected from him every week to see if they couldn’t figure out what had caused it and if a cure couldn’t be found. His parents greatly profited from this, and so did he to an extent, but it just made him feel like a specimen instead of a living person.

And seeing two people unite in the soulmate tradition only made him break down more. It wasn’t fair… it wasn’t fair…

Remy did his best trying to distract him and take his mind away from it, wiping his tears and hugging him around his neck, where he could feel the comfort of it. After the whole meltdown finally was over, Remy suggested going to a food attraction place for lunch, and Virgil reluctantly agreed, eyes bloodshot from all his crying.

Afternoon Benedict was a place he had never gone before, but since Remy said he knew people who worked there, he didn’t feel as anxious going. Plus, some afternoon breakfast didn’t sound half bad.

He was wheeled in and saw a very friendly person up front with a pink apron on, saying “free hugs!” on it. He greeted them warmly, bright blue eyes, blondish-brown hair, milky white baby skin, with so many freckles dancing across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, his face looked like a sprinkled birthday cake. Virgil had to resist the smile that was tugging at his lips.

“Hi! Where would you like to be seated?” His voice was so sugary sweet, the emo could feel his teeth rotting.

“Anyplace with chairs that pull out. He can’t leave this one.” Remy gestured to his friend.

Internal sigh.

“Okay! Coming right up!” He dashed away and got a nice table ready before beckoning them over.

Virgil got wheeled over and situated. “Now, what can I get for you two?” His honey-dripped voice asked them.

“I guess… some scrambled eggs with toast? And apple juice with a long straw if you can manage?” Virgil kept the quiver of anxiety out of his voice well enough.

“I’ll have my usual, bud.” Remy winked at the friendly employee.

“Okay! It’ll be out soon!” He danced away to Virgil’s humor.

Now came the part he dreaded about eating out. Remy took a couple bites of his food when it arrived, then started feeding Virgil. The coffee lover had quickly learned not to tease Virgil about having to be fed like an infant, as he’d either get a bite on his finger, or he’d have to help him calm from another meltdown.

Virgil was thankful that no odd glares had been sent his way yet. Maybe Remy had set this whole thing up so he didn’t have to worry about anybody judging. No matter how tough the sunglass-wearing nerd acted, Virgil knew he had a soft side. A love for kittens, an admiration for children pop star singers, a small addiction to baby sugar sticks… he knew it was there.

As the cooks were preparing the meal, the cheerful waiter was told to take his last 10-minute break. He skipped to the back and checked his phone excitedly. He was a little saddened that MCR10150 hadn’t responded to him yet, but he kept his hopes high and ate a quick snack while listening to music.

Even if he couldn’t taste anything, the happy music made the food go down better, like a spoon full of sugar.

Virgil was just about full when the bubbly waiter came over again. “Are you two ready for the bill? Or would you like to see our dessert menu?” He looked over at Virgil, who was being fed another forkful of scrambled eggs.

“Luckyyy!” He squealed.

The emo nearly spit his food out at that, but managed to swallow it.

“Excuse me?”

“I’d kill to be in your seat! Being fed without a worry in the word! You must feel like royalty! Nonono-wait!” He suddenly bowed. “My highness.”

Virgil couldn’t help it. He bursted out laughing. Just the sheer ridiculousness and confusion-not to mention the irony- of the whole situation made him utterly crack up.

Remy sighed with relief. He knew Patton could be overbearing at times. Yesterday, when he had told the staff and usual visitors about Virgil and how to act around him when he brought him in, Patton wasn’t there, but he was glad Virgil wasn’t offended or distraught over his behavior. It was hard to predict that kid.

“Well… he doesn’t have much of a choice.” He explained after Virgil started to calm from his laughter. “He can’t feel any of his body other than his head and neck.”

“Oh! I’m so sorr-“

“No! Please don’t pity me…” Virgil growled out, interrupting the poor employee.

Patton gave a quiet whimper, his smile becoming forced. “S-so, will that be bill or dessert?”

Virgil felt bad now. Even though he hardly knew this living cartoon, seeing his bright cute face darken with sadness made him feel even more dead inside.

God dammit, he thought to himself.

“Virgil? It’s up to you.” Remy murmured. He tried to give Virgil a choice whenever he had the chance. He was indifferent to having dessert or not, but he wanted Virgil to feel like he was in control, even if it was for little things.

“What kind of dessert menu comes out of a breakfast place?”

To be continued…

@cefsticklestoo @thestarswelcomemewithopenarms @my-anxiety-hasanxiety

@poptartsaysurloved @leedrop-angel @lavenders-loveforthings @ I’m sorry I forgot everyone else. O.o

#sanders sides #moxiety #soulmates #fic

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deathvalleyqueen · 4 years

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John’s Children VS Joseph Seed - FCND -

“You three don’t remember what the Project was like, you two were just babies.” Lily snapped pointed towards Rose and Grace. “You weren’t even born!” She screamed as she gestured wildly towards Finn. “We remember, Sam and I... we remember Joseph breaking our Grandfather’s neck because he DARE question the project.” The three younger Seeds looked over at Lily blankly. They had rarely seen her get so angry. “This is not just about the Highwaymen... Ethan... you two want to make it about them. FINE.”

“Lily..” Sam started softly reaching over to his sister trying to calm her but it was to no avail.

“Don’t ‘Lily’ me like Dad does...” She snarled pushing Sam’s hand away. “We are going to end Joseph, the control he still has over our father, our mother, Aunt Rachel. He has to die for them to be free. You know it!”

“Mom got him to leave... it’s done.” Sam noted softly.

“It’s done, when he takes his last breath.” The fury in Lily’s voice echoed through the dark forest where they had set up camp.

Grace stood up and crossed her arms in front of her chest and shook her head. “How do you expect we get to him? The gates of New Eden are locked to us, that masked fucker..”

“He’s our uncle..” Sam muttered softly. “the ‘masked fucker’ was Colin MacKenna. Our mother’s brother...”

Finn took a step forward. “It doesn’t matter if he is your Uncle or not. He isn’t going to be letting us in and if we can’t get in... we can’t find Joseph.” They had a fair point and Grace reach over and rubbed their arm. “I know I am right, this one time.”

“Then we prove we are worthy, we are ready to repent our sins.” Rose added lowly as she looked at her feet. “We find a copy of the Book of Joseph, prove we are who we say we are... the children of the Heralds... that we have as much right to be there, more even, than anyone else.” Everyone looked at Rose as her hand lifted to play with the leather cord and key around her neck. “We don’t know if the people of New Eden even remember John Seed... Jacob Seed... those names could mean nothing to them.”

“How?” Lily asked bitterly. “There are people who were part of The Project, who knew our parents...”

“The winners are the ones the write history.” Finn noted looking at Lily befor glancing over at Grace. “That’s what our Dad always taught us.” Grace gave Finn a weak smile as she silently nodded agreeing. “So, Joseph thinks he won, our parents barely escaped but they did, so what makes you think he ever mentioned he had brothers that betrayed him to protect their families?”

Sam let out a long sigh as he nodded his head. “Finn made an excellent point.” He looked directly at Rose. “If, that’s a massive if, Rose. We can even find an intact copy of the Book of Joseph, we could be walking into a trap. Joseph could have deemed our families the snakes in the garden of Eden, he could a declared our line to be akin to carrying the blood of Judas... we are the children of betrayers coming to destroy what The Father has built for his people.” In that moment Sam sounded less like he was speaking to his sister and more like he was given a serman. “We must see that is what they will view us as and no matter how much we want to prove, the gates of New Eden may always be bared to us.”

“Then we rip the gates down.” Lily replied slowly. “We rip them off the hinges, burn them down if we have to, but Joseph is not living through this.”

“HE COULD BE DEAD ALREADY!” Rose snapped as she stood up from the log she was seated upon. “You want to base our whole plans on taking down an old man who probably is dead already or wishes he was.” Rose’s voice shook. “While is shit stain of a son is the thorn in our side while we try to stop these twins who want to over take the whole damn county for themselves. Priorities Lilith!” Rose was furious, Grace turned and tried to calm her elder sister down but it was useless. Once Rose was started, it was hard to stop her. “Let time take him! If he has a conscious, it will do him in if it hasn’t already. You want us to take revenge for things I don’t remember... Grace doesn’t remember...Finn doesn’t remember! THIS ISN’T OUR FIGHT!”

“IT IS!” Lily screamed. “THIS IS OUR FAMILY!” Lily’s hands were shaking as she ran them through her long dark locks. “You don’t remember because you were a baby, you were lucky... you didn’t have to hide in a closet while the Whitetails kidnapped our mother! Hearing her scream or the look on our father’s face when he pulled me out of that closet all covered in blood. You weren’t even born when Joseph snapped Papa’s neck! You didn’t see Uncle Bobby begging for his life before the Deputy and her little friends put a dozen holes in him while he was trying to protect US!” Tears of anger started to roll down Lily’s cheeks. “Just because you don’t remember doesn’t mean it didn’t happen! It just means you were LUCKY.” Rose turned away knowing this was not a battle she was going to win as Lily took a few steps around the fire and crossed to stand in front of Grace. “You would have stayed with us... your family... if it wasn’t for him..”

Lily was trying to sway Grace to her side but there was little point. Grace shook her head as she locked eyes with her eldest sister. “You think I would want any other life than what I had? I love my parents.” Grace’s voice was eerily calm, only Finn knew the truth that her voice only took such a flat tone when Grace was ready to snap. “MY PARENTS, Jacob and Ellie, raised me just fine. I am who I am today because of MY PARENTS.” Her voice began to rise as she closed the gap between herself and Lily. “I have saved your fucking ass, because of MY PARENTS. So don’t you dare assume that I would have ever wanted anything else.”

“Gracie... come on...” Finn started trying to coax their sister down from what they knew was going to end up in a brawl. “It’s not worth it, we should just go back home, to Mom and Dad and just let these idiots sort their own shit out.” Finn was trying their best to get through to Grace but it was in moments like this that in the past Jacob would be the only one able to talk her down from the fight. “We tried to fix the shit mom and dad did and guess what. It’s FUBARed dude. There absoutly no fucking fixing this. The Project at Eden’s Gate... it’s the fucking plague, it infects every part of this county and maybe we should just let those twins fucking take it all over. The people who smart will leave and the stupid will stay and fight.” Finn paused and their eyes locked onto Grace’s. “Are we smart or stupid?”

Grace took a long deep breath and contemplated their options. She took her time weighing ever possible scenario she could think of in a five minutes it took for her to finally answer Finn. “We are Seeds... of course we fucking stupid.” Grace sighed as she brought her hands to her face. With another long deep breath in she looked up at Lily. “You want to us to fight Joseph, fine. We will but you do the recon, the leg work. Find me away in, come up with a solid plan of attack and I’ll carry it out but you have to admit this isn’t to help anyone but yourself.” Lily looked shocked at Grace’s words. “So, if it’s deal.. you two. Who ‘remember’ can do the work on Joseph to tame what ever demons of your past you have to, but the three of us, Carmina and the rest. We are going after those twins and their ‘Highwaymen’, then Ethan... we are going to prove that our family, The Seeds, can do more than just destroy Hope County.”

“Who the fuck do you think you are bossing me around?” Lily snapped.

Grace scoffed as she crossed her arms in front of her chest. “I am the only one with the balls to lead us.” There was almost a tone of humor in a voice as she spoke leaning forward. “You can’t lead, you are to driven by your emotions and that gets people we don’t want killed...killed.” Grace’s eyes lifted as she nodded her head towards Sam. “He could lead, but she doesn’t want to. Rose as the same problem as you and Finn... well Finn has always been my second in command. So fall in line, doy your work, and you’ll your little revenge ... or try to do it your way, and die a horrible death but at least you will be out of my way.” Grace wouldn’t wait for a reply she turned to Finn and gave them a nod towards where their pets had been resting just along the tree line. “Let’s go feed the animals.” Finn nodded and the pair walked off into darkness leaving the three oldest siblings left by the fire.

Lily bit the inside of her cheek as Sam walked up behind and placed his hand on her shoulder. “Grace is right... really. Her plan is...”

“She is our baby sister, you are just going to let her boss us around?” Lily’s voice cracked and Sam looked over at Rose who shook her head as she sat down not wanting any part of this.

Sam squeezed his twin’s shoulder as he looked her in the eyes. “Grace is not our baby sister, not since things went sideways. Mom and Dad can’t accept that, but we should.” Lily shook her head defiantly. “Lily, I know you want her to be the little sister you got to play with like a living doll, that pulled your hair, that made mom smile again... but she isn’t that. That girl is dead. Okay. The Grace we have is all we ever will have, I accept. Rose accepts it.” Lily looked up long enough to see Rose nodding. “Wouldn’t you rather have her back in her life as a cousin, helping us clean up this fucking mess, rising up to be the leader we need though you know she doesn’t want to do it, she is. All because I am too scared of what I could become in that position. But because you remember someone who is really dead, you would rather still hold on to her being your ‘sister’ and have her and Finn just walk out of our lives again?”

Lily slowly shook her head. “I don’t want them to leave.”

“Then accept we have to fall in line..” Rose interjected. “Grace isn’t cruel, she isn’t out to hurt people who don’t deserve it. She really just wants to help people, as stupid and noble as that is.” Lily said nothing only looked to Sam who gestured to Rose who seemed to have the situation handled. “Listen, Grace cares about other people, she puts others before herself all the time. You heard what she did just get her damn dog back... a dog...”

“I would have burned that place down too to get Boomer.”

“Exactly.” Rose said with a laugh. “We all would have. That’s the point... we aren’t this family or that family. We are all one family. So she calls Jacob her Dad. Who gives a fuck?” Lily shook her head once more. “Listen, you want Joseph to suffer... show her why. I know why. Sam remembers for fucks sake. Do the recon like said and show her who The Father really is. She’ll be just as angry and out for blood in the end like you are.” Rose smirked as she settled back onto the log.

“How are you so sure?” Lily asked.

Rose cracked a smirk that reminded the twins so much of their father’s it made both of them a tad nervous. “Because we all have the same evil tainting our souls, that wrath that comes with being born a Seed.” Her eyes fixed upon the fire. “The Sins of our father, our father’s father and so on... it’s always there looking for a new way to come out.” The twins watched Rose carefully and were unnerved by how sure of herself she sounded. “The sin... the curse... it’s just waiting for us all to just say yes and give in...” Rose’s eyes lifted and they look vacant like there was nothing there behind them, just darkness. “I said yes... you did... Sam has... Grace will too, we all will just...say yes...because that’s what we do.” Rose slowly stood and walked off to go join Grace and Finn as they cared for the animals.

This left the Twins alone, both equally unnerved. “What the fuck?” Sam questioned softly.

“She is losing it.” Lily muttered. “This all is breaking her...”

Sam shook his head. “No, I think being away from Mom and Dad for the first time... it’s the first time we are seeing who Rose really is. I think she just stopped trying to act normal...”

“She sounded just like towards end of everything..” Lily whispered the fear in her voice only noticeable to Sam.

“I know... Mom stopped him. We’ll stop her.” Sam pulled his sister into a tight hug. “I promise...we won’t let her become him...”

#farcry new dawn ocs #grace seed #lily seed #samuel seed #rosalie 'rose' seed #my edits #what really was going to be a drabble turned into like a oneshot #worldbuilding things

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brokenbuttonsmusic · 3 years

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Howard Tate: A Philadelphia Soul Resurrection

This post is a near- transcript of the Broken Buttons: Buried Treasure Music podcast (episode 1, side B). Here you’ll find the narration from the segment featuring the great Philadelphia soul singer Howard Tate, along with links, videos, photos and references for the episode.

Listen to the full episode on Spotify, Anchor or Mixcloud.

Music history is packed with bands and artists that had the talent, the songs and even the fully realized recordings to make it big, only to be passed over. Some miss their window, or worse, some get their big break, but somehow self-destruct or fail to capitalize on it. It’s the reason why I decided to do this show. There is so much overlooked and under appreciated music out there to be found and enjoyed.

This next artist doesn’t quite hit any of those scenarios exactly though. Howard Tate got his break and made it happen. Howard Tate hit big and he hit fast. Tate said he came home from work one day and a big limousine was sitting in front of his door.

“You gotta get in here right away. You gotta get a suit. You’re playing with Marvin Gaye tomorrow night.”

Between 1966 and 1970 Howard Tate had six top 40 R&B singles. And then he disappeared. Plunging into obscurity, almost as quickly as he soared within sight of the summit. Tate never completely crossed over. While he regularly appeared on the R&B charts, the highest he ever placed on the Pop charts was #63.

Let’s start our dive into Tate, by hearing his highest charting single. One of three top 20 R&B hits in his catalog. This is Ain’t Nobody Home by Howard Tate.

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Ain’t Nobody Home by Howard Tate.

Here’s what the Rough Guide to Soul & R&B has to say about that recording and the chemistry of the whole crew who made it happen.

“With a groove laid down by keyboardist Richard Tee, guitarist Cornell Dupree, bassist Chuck Rainey and drummer Herb Lovell, the production of Ain’t Nobody Home by Jerry Ragovoy both borrowed from and influenced the music coming from Memphis and Muscle Shoals, and set the precedent for Atlantic’s first recordings with Aretha Franklin. While the music was great, however, it was Tate’s vocals that made the record. Sounding like a less overwrought Percy Sledge, Tate’s simultaneously Northern and Southern phrasing was impeccable, and economical use of his falsetto made it all the more effective.”

Tate had the voice, which many compared to Sam Cooke and Marvin Gaye. He also had a distinctive gospel-blues delivery that sticks with you for days. But the tunes came from somewhere else.

Before his quick ascent, Tate was singing in a group with Garnet Mimms. Mimms was the original singer of the Janis Joplin hit, Cry Baby. He also introduced Howard to record producer Jerry Ragovoy, who co-wrote Cry Baby. Ragovoy is known for writing Time is On My Side for the Rolling Stones and another Joplin hit, Piece of My Heart. Clearly Janis liked the songwriting of Jerry Ragovoy. In fact, she also performed this Ragovoy composition that you’ve probably come across at one time or another.

That’s Janis Joplin singing Get It While You Can from her massive second album Pearl in 1971. What you might not know is that Get it While you Can was originally performed by Howard Tate, five years earlier in 1966.

Ragovoy was taken with Tate’s voice and began recording him as a solo artist for Verve Records. Ragovoy’s memorable, punchy Northern soul production paired with Tate’s soulful blues phrasing was a perfect match.

Here’s Howard Tate’s version, the original version, of the Jerry Ragovoy penned Get It While You Can.

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That was Howard Tate with Get It While You Can from the 1966 album of the same name.

American rock critic Robert Christgau had this to say about Tate and his collaboration with Jerry Ragovoy.

“Tate is a blues-drenched Macon native who had the desire to head north and sounds it every time he gooses a lament with one of the trademark keens that signify the escape he never achieved. He brought out the best in soul pro Jerry Ragovoy, who made Tate's records jump instead of arranging them into submission, and gave him lyrics with some wit to them besides. In return, Ragovoy brought out the best in Tate.”

Despite the magical team up on early singles and a debut album, Tate recorded his second album without Ragovoy, instead working with Lloyd Price and Johnny Nash. Released in 1969, Howard Tate’s Reaction is more uptown soul than the grittier southern soul of its predecessor, but it’s another recognition worthy collection of performances.

Ragovoy and Tate reunited for 1972’s eponymous Howard Tate. This time an Atlantic release. Critics knock this album as being a notch below Ragovoy’s best songwriting, but I think it’s a worthy piece of Tate’s catalog. Tate sounds great, as always, and there are a couple of really explosive, interesting covers. The Band’s Jemima Surrender and this one.

Bob Dylan’s Girl From the North Country. Listen to this voice.

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Howard Tate covering Bob Dylan’s Girl From the North County from 1972.

After recording a handful of additional songs��one single for Epic and a few for his own label—Tate retired from the music business. Frustrated with his lack of crossover, but downright bitter about how little he was paid for his successes, which again, included 3 top 20 R&B hits—he quit. Disappeared, really.

But not everyone was ready to forget. And while his name would fade from memories over the coming decades, Howard Tate’s impact was undeniable.

One of Tate’s heroes, BB King, covered Ain’t Nobody Home. So did Bonnie Raitt.

Ry Cooder and Grand Funk covered Look At Granny Run Run

Jimi Hendrix covered Stop

Foghat covered Eight Days on the Road and so did the one and only queen if soul.

And not everyone forgot. Tate’s old partner, record producer and chief songwriter Jerry Ragovoy made many attempts to track down his old friend over the years. He contacted old business associates and got them in on the search. They all came up empty.

A New Jersey DJ named Phil Casden had developed somewhat of an obsession with Tate’s whereabouts. Casden hosted a weekly radio show, spinning soul, blues and R&B and had taken to asking his listeners for any information about the missing (by this time) cult soul legend.

Even Verve, Tate’s old record company, had given up trying to track down the long retired crooner. The 1995 CD reissue of Tate’s Verve sessions included liner notes that flat out said: Howard Tate is probably dead.

''It wasn't sufficient to leave a story like that open-ended,'' Mr. Casden said. ''I had to find out: 'Is the guy alive? Is he dead?' There had to be something more than, 'He just rode off into the sunset.' ''

In 2001 the mystery was solved. Ron Kennedy, singer of Harold Melvin and the Blue Notes recognized Tate at a grocery store and the old pals played catch up after nearly 30 years. They exchanged numbers. Kennedy put the New Jersey DJ, Casden, in touch with Tate. Casden enthusiastically announced the good news to his listeners and the soul fanatics across the internet. Howard Tate was alive! He even put Tate in touch with a lawyer to help him recoup past royalties from his reissues.

Apparently Tate had quite a loyal following overseas. Eventually, a British journalist reached out to Tate’s old partner-producer Jerry Ragovoy for a reaction. The only problem was, Ragovoy didn’t have a reaction to give because he didn’t know Tate had been found. Ragovoy was elated at the news. After reconnecting with his long lost friend and confirming he was doing well, the next thing on his mind: could Howard Tate still sing?

Before we answer that, let’s answer this: where had Tate been all those years after walking away from the music?

After becoming resentful and disheartened by his missing paydays, Tate decided to go missing himself. He didn’t intentionally go into hiding, he just bailed on the industry that he felt wronged had him.

He worked as a securities dealer with Prudential for a while and then darkness hit. He lost his 13-year-old daughter in a house fire. In 1981, after 20 years, his marriage fell apart. Soon after, Tate unraveled too. He tumbled into drug addiction and lost everything. He lived on the streets for years, struggling to get by and feed his habit. Finally, in the mid 90s, he started to climb out of the hole. He cleaned up and found god. He became a minister and dedicated his life to helping the poor and homeless.

And that brings us up to the moment of his big reunion with Jerry Ragovoy and loyal fans awareness that Howard Tate was alive and well after all those years. But now more than your die hard R&B/soul enthusiasts were interested.

But did he still have that voice? Could Howard still sing?

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Uh, yeah. Jerry Ragovoy was stunned at how strong Tate sounded after decades of being out of the game. And he was REALLY out of the game. Howard claims he never sang a note all those years. Not until Jerry approached him about recording a comeback album and got him into the studio. Tate also says he had no clue that Janis, B.B., Jimi, Ry or any of the others had ever covered his songs or took an interest in his music.

Howard and Jerry recorded a new album in 2003. It’s called Rediscovered. And remember that Elvis Costello quote from the intro to this episode? Elvis called Tate the missing link between Jackie Wilson and Al Green. Tate asked Costello to write a song for his new album and he agreed.

Let’s here that now. From his comeback album, Rediscovered, more than 3 decades in the making, here’s Howard Tate with Either Side of the Same Town, written by Elvis Costello.

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That was Either Side of the Same Town from Howard Tate’s first album after 30 hears away from the music business. But not his last.

Tate had quite the victory lap. He made numerous tv, radio and festival appearances in the ten years after his reemergence. He recorded two more studio full lengths and a live album. On December 2nd, 2011, Tate passed away of complications of multiple myeloma and leukemia.

With a superb first act and a spectacular resurrection that led to the near doubling of his recorded output, there’s plenty of Tate music to check out and enjoy.

Other sources for this segment are listed below.

I referenced several NPR features in this episode, including the obituary they did for Tate.

Deep Southern Soul - This blog did a great post on Howard Tate. Lots of other good stuff here, but they recently announced they are closing up.

Gadfly Online - Another nice write up on Tate and his back story.

New Jersey new feature - The clip of Howard talking is from this segment. They did a feature on Tate’s rediscovery.

Trunkworthy - Post about Tate and his comeback. This site digs into music, movies and TV you might have missed. They also did a post about the Elvis Costello song featured in this episode. Elvis’ version is on The Delivery Man album.

New York Times Obituary for Howard Tate

The Guardian Obituary for Howard Tate

Billboard Magazine, July 26, 2003 - Article about Howard’s return after 30 years.

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themxlodyofmiidnight · 3 years

Text

Sunny's bio

** A note ahead of time. She was named by people who couldn’t spell - I CAN spell, and am fully aware her name is spelled wrong. That’s a part of her story and is on purpose! (Blame her cousins, and Howard for not naming her.)**

FC: May vary, but this particular picture is Lara Robinson.

Fandom: Marvel.

Note: I am still working some things out on Sunny, so I am more than willing to bend her story as needed to fit with thread ideas! Also, as needed, some of her information may just be thread-dependant.

More information on her will come later on. <3

*******

Base information

Family:

Biological Father: Howard Stark.

Biological Mother: Maria Stark.

Biological elder brother: Anthony “Tony” Stark.

Elder half-sister: Samantha Ascher. { Written by a good friend of mine, go check her blog out too! }

Eldest Niece: Carter Stark. { Written by a new friend of mine! Please go see! }

Youngest Niece: Morgan Stark.

Sister-in-law: Pepper Potts.

Distant Cousins on Howard’s side & Sunny’s adopted parents: Hannah and George Henton.

Adopted elder sister: Daisy-Anne Henton.

Adopted elder brother: Samuel “Sammy” Lee Henton.

Her purpose intended by Howard: Obsessed with finding Steve, Howard decided to take his own child and try to replicate the super-soldier serum; to make ‘an improved replacement’ for the hero that they lost…starting from birth.

Original/former name: N.C.A.R.-23*

Why?: Howard saw Sunny as a scientific project rather than a daughter, and did not plan to name her until he was sure if his project was a success or not.

What it means?: “New Captain America Replacement.” The 23 comes from the day she was born.

Name given to her later on: Sunshyne Amarillys Stark.

Pronunciation: ( Sun-shine Ah-MARY-liss St-arr-k )

Who gave it to her: She had no name originally, so her name was given to her by her cousin, who named her after the sunshine gold her hair was when she was little. However..he could not spell, so he only got to pick her first name.

Her nicknames: County Mouse, Kid Genius, Sunny. (Her preferred name.)

Gender: Female.

Age: “Are we speaking chronologically, biologically, how long I have been out of cryogenisis - or, are you inquiring about my mental or emotional growth?” *Her age is explained through her backstory.*

*******

Backstory

Pre-childhood:

Born when Tony was still pretty young, Sunny’s birth was kept a secret from the world. Written off and lied about as being a miscarriage, Sunny was actually taken from her mother in her father’s plans to make a back-up for Captain America - the man that he never truly gave up searching for, but eventually began making plans to replace.

During Maria’s pregnancy with Sunny, Howard had began his work on trying to duplicate the serum given to Steve. He had yet to finish or perfect it, however, when it came time for Maria to have her.

Coincidentally, she was born early. Further cramping the timeframe of which Howard had to work with. Planning for the “greater good” of society and the world as a whole, Howard took it upon himself to put Sunny in a cryogenic chamber for safe-keeping. Leaving her there with a computer hooked up to it to systematically feed her knowledge about the world as it was gained, and to give her what he had managed to put together of the super-soldier serum that had been given to Steve before most of the remaining few records of it even existing were mysteriously ‘lost,’ never to be recovered again.

Thinking that the cryogenisis chamber would aid in slowing the absorption of both the information and the serum down until it could actually be completed all the way, Howard left Sunny in the chamber to be raised at a later time.

Never revealing to Tony that he had a little sister that he was using as a lab rat - or that he even had another sibling to begin with. All memories and questions about his mother’s second pregnancy were shut down with frustration and anger - depending on how Howard was doing at the time with his pet project.

Unbeknownst to her father when he placed her in the chamber, Sunny had been born with mutant genes. Dormant genes that had yet to come to develop her powers; ones that would not only be influenced by his actions regarding her, but forever changed by them.

After Howard and Maria’s deaths, the records of Sunny and the project were shut down and put away for good. No one knew what to do with her; subsequently, she was left in the chamber and forgotten, where she was not found until much later, when a suspiciously caused power failure led to the malfunctioning and shutting down of her chamber. A curious janitor found her days afterwards, dehydrated and alone in the old area.

When her identity was discovered through analysis of her DNA - which showed only abnormalities in the infant child’s blood at the time, not what she truly was or had within her - and all attempts to reach Tony Stark himself about the baby were a bust, Sunny was given to another relative to be raised. A very distant cousin on Howard’s side, living out on an old ranch in the country.

Sunny was not discovered until the mid-to late summertime of 2002, after an aftershock from an earthquake shook up the oldest parts of the building where she was being kept, and the lower to the entire structure had to be rebooted. Found by a janitor who was looking for injured people and who had heard her crying, the search for who she was and where she belonged began.

***

Known childhood:

After the subsequent care had been taken of her and her blood had been drawn for a DNA analysis (though the results were odd and only her parentage could be discerned at the time) the hunt for her family began. Before placing her with anyone outside of their family, multiple attempts to contact her elder brother Tony were made. When this failed, other relatives were tried and exhausted. Many were ruled out to begin with because it was thought that they were not suitable, making the search for placement that much harder. Finally, right when they were about to seek a different kind of homing placement for her, a letter back was received.

Sunny was taken in by Howard’s very distant cousin Hannah, and her husband George. It took them awhile to settle on a name for her, or even to agree to take her in when they already had children of their own to take care of. But when the men in black suits (which raised quite a stir in their rural little community) came from SHIELD to bring her to them, they knew that they had to keep her.

The first few years of raising her, went by at a pace that Hannah and George did not expect. Since Sunny was so different from their own two children, they had a larger learning curve than most parents of an adopted cousin would.

At the age of two, Sunny was already talking better than the other two had. She got around without nearly as much trouble, and always seemed to either want to be starting at the window to watch stars at night, or at whatever screens were available to her. By the age of three, going on four, she had developed more of an interest in taking her toys apart and putting them back together again, than actually playing with them. Her free time, mostly spent in finding things she wasn’t supposed to be in and fixing them up nearly as good as new.

It was not until the age of six, however, that Sunny really got a lot more attention from anywhere outside of their little country haven. Since she only seemed to want to fix or build things when she was supposed to play outside, eventually the other kids got tired of having to watch her and they decided to take her back inside. Having meant to get her in trouble so that she would have to stay inside instead, the other kids waited until Sadie-May wasn’t around and took Sunny up to the attic to let her play with the old computer. Not thinking that she’d be able to do much with it, but knowing that none of them were supposed to be in the attic regardless, Sunny got left up there a lot in hopes that she’d get caught.

This was, however, not what got her noticed by the outside world. It was her ability to fix the computer up, to hotwire the internet for them by toying with cables, and what she did afterwards that truly earned her the unwanted attention that the two SHIELD agents had warned them about letting be on her.

At about six years old, the computer had to be moved downstairs so that the other kids, her cousins and those from nearby families, would stop leaving her upstairs. It was also around this time, that she found out for herself and made connections to things that she wasn’t supposed to be able to. With an abnormally high IQ that was only amplified by the testing done on her and the information being fed into her, Sunny continued on like this - not acting like any other child in the area. Or that any of them had ever heard of, either.

*******

Her approximate age(s) through the movie timelines: **Which would be after she is taken out of the cryogenic chamber, because she didn't start biologically aging until then.**

Iron Man 1 - 2010, she's 8.

Iron Man 2 - 2011, she's 9.

Avengers 1 - 2012, she's 10.

Iron Man 3 - 2012, six months after Avengers 1. Still 10?

Avengers 2, Age of Ultron - 2015, she's 13.

Captain America: Civil War / Spider-Man: Homecoming - 2016, she's 14.

Avengers: Infinity War - 2017, she's 15.

Avengers Endgame - 2017 to 2022, she is 15 through 20.

#{ Muse bio: Sunny }#{ For mobile }#{ for mobile }#{ also her backstory is here because tumblr wouldn't let me put the whole thing on her page...}

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punkandsnacks · 4 years

Text

Between Wolves & Doves, Chapter Thirteen; Delirium.

Author: @punk-in-docs & @adamsnackdriver

Also on AO3-

Masterlist-

Trigger Warnings: !!! illness and swooning again in this chapter !!! Fever type dreams that get spooky and deathy

Synopsis: Vampire!Kylo x OC love story. Inspired by BBC’s Dracula. Also inspired by Austen’s Pride & Prejudice.

He’s been stalking this earth long since civilizations can possibly fathom. Before records even began. He sneers at the fact that this pitiful young world has only just begun to see his reign of it.

He’s dined with moguls, emperors, princes. He’s consorted with bloodthirsty ruthless Queens in their courts, and whispered into the ears of powerful King’s, whose names still echo through millennia.

In his myriad of centuries gifted to his immortal self he’s been many many things. He’s been a lowly pauper. A crusading knight. An assassin. A sell sword. A soldier. A wanderer. A simpering suitor and a voracious unyielding lover. Aimlessly lost in time- besieging this earth. Ripping it apart and drinking what’s left.

He was made in the hinterland between snow and dirt and pine trees. Crusted with ash and blood and gouged from battle. Born anew. Sired from the hell-mouth of war. He was made in 789 AD.

He’ll come undone, one bitter winter night, in England, in 1816.

~ ~ 🥀 ~ ~

Kylo was losing his mind.

It’s been known to happen to vampires of certain ages. Possibly ones even older than him, if any such do exist. Alive so long they start to rot and fester in their own bodies.

Brains blown and shattered apart from all the violence of things they’d done. Drifting and flaking apart like much too dried clay. The horror of the acts some vampires committed to feed. Not everyone could face or stomach it for so long. Drove them cackling into the worst sort of madness.

He’s seen men fall apart too. Mortal men. He’s seen entire armies and countries of men perish. Losing their heads to the last breath, infected with illness, or pox or the plague.

Deformed and rotting away already, before death had even come to them. Life clung on to them like some leeching disease. Decaying their bodies before their spirit had left their flesh.

He’d seen scores of roguish men who’d dallied with pox ridden girls. Perishing with no control nor use of their bodies and no eyesight to help them. He’d seen many many men succumb to it for some cheap penny’s worth of indulgence with some infested whore up against a tavern or brothel wall. Those men end up as dribbling and demented fools. Turned into deformed madmen.

It was hell. It was as close to any hell as he’d seen. The Black Death. He can remember that aswell. That rot.

How it bittered the air of every rust red Italian street. He’d been in Italy, in when it first struck. The hacking wet of sloppy coughs until blood comes frothing up.

Bloated bodies of peasants - men, women, children and infants - swelled green with festering flesh, dumped in the river, clogging up the Arno. Crows pecking at the bobbing corpses, ripping off flesh and eyeballs like wet peeling paper.

So many bodies-

Worse than ever, Kylo remembers the stench of plague. Rotting meat writhing with maggots, but candied with something of the human flesh, somehow. He’ll remember it for eternity. That cursed stench of putrefaction cloying the rivers and streets. It would stay seared into him for all his time still to come.

He recalls how some walled themselves into their own homes. They stayed inside to fester. Or drink themselves to death. Or pray. The illness took all of them before too long - faith or no faith. He could hear the wails of the nearly dead bleed through the thick red walls.

Blackened fingers, the fever and the boils, the salty sweat of rot and the reeking decay of death in every house. Everything the sick body excreted, be it sweat, spittle or breath, exuded an overpowering stench that he will never forget.

Whole towns emptied. Abandoned. Their population now lay rotting in the swallowing of the soil.

The doctore de la peste roamed the streets with their unseeing round glassy-eyes. In their beaks packed with sweet dried roses, mint leaf and carnation petals. The sickle of it trailed behind them like smoke cutting through the gloom. The ripe perfumery of plague.

By the end. The river was overrun with corpses. Couldn’t see the water for the rotting swill of flesh and bones. Rats scampering over them feeding. Gnawing. Birds plucking out what they liked to feed on.

It’s enough of a sight to make a man want to put out his own eyes with a red hot poker after seeing such illness, pestilence and misery.

It’s happening to him right as of now; in fact. Losing his mind. He’s certain.

They could mark this, 1816, as the year that he relaxed his firm hold on his sanity. It only took a thousand and twenty seven years.

It only took the sight of his sweet dove, in his bed, writhing and sweating with fever. Delirious and dangerously ill.

She collapsed after dinner and he swept her upstairs right away. Mrs Jones sent a note for the local doctor. Sent their bravest rider out on Erland, into the storm by the safest road. Jomar fetches her a cold cloth from the anteroom. Kylo can’t leave her side. He won’t.

He sits on the bed and watches over her diligently. When Jomar returns with a bowl of icy cold water, stands it on the bedside and wrings out the cloth. Kylo takes it from his offered hand without even casting an eye in his direction. He takes the sopping linen and pastes it across her clammy brow.

She’s splayed back in his bed, weak and insensate. To hell with liberties. He took the gown and shawl off her himself, and bundled the white cotton and red velvet sheets over her. She sank back onto his pillows. Sprawled limp.

Her lovely pale face sheened in sweat. Whole body shivering and her breathing was shallow. Brow creased and wrinkled up in pain.

Kylo’s sitting near. Pulling sticky strands of hair off her cheeks. Hating the sight of her like this. He’s banked the fire and had extra blankets put on the bed. But he’s unsure. He’s never sat at a sick bed for a mortal before. Well- not like this. He’s attended a death bed. But here? He doesn’t know what to do. How to act.

Her eyes are open but she doesn’t see him. He’s certain she can’t see him or anyone else in the room. She’s dazed. Lost to sense.

And he’s frantic. He’s mopping her brow but he doesn’t know what good that might do. She keeps twisting her head away from him. Fingers twining into the sheets, fisting them in her hands. Gasping and shuddering breath. Her chest is moving up and down so fast it hurts him to see this.

Mrs Jones timidly knocks on his bedchamber door. Kylo’s voice is strained when he answers the knock. She comes in. Her face pinched and the very sight of it hurts Kylo’s nonexistent heart.

“The doctor can’t attend her, my Lord. He’s trapped a county over delivering a baby.” She says breathless and pink from running up the stairs. Her skirts still picked up in her hands.

That was Kylo’s last hope. He dismisses her with a curt nod. Not ill tempered at her news. Merely overshadowed by this whole room. All this grave pressing silence and illness.

The very air in here feels tense. Made dry and hot by the fire. Stale with human exertion. And Still. So still with anticipation and uncertainty.

Jomar returns with another icy bowl of water, a fresh cool cloth. Kylo reaches and swaps it for the clammy warm one. She groans and tries to twist away.

Kylo soothes her. “Dove. It’s alright it’s alright.” He hushes her as she fidgets and tosses around. Knees tugging under the blankets. Hands still fisting in the sheets. She’s whining. She’s pleading with him. The hysteria has gripped its nasty hold tight.

“No... no. Ugh. Please. No.” She gasps. Head looming far back. Neck stretched out. Dewy, and by the darkened light of his room, her long supple neck and throat is now shimmering amber. Kylo’s hand take the cloth away and she sighs a lungful of a groan in response.

“She’s not talking to you My Lord.” Jomar insists. “It is the fever.” He assures Kylo.

His butler is now washing his hands in the water jug across on the dresser. Scrubbing soap and his nails with a harsh scratching brush that sizzles at his skin. He dunks his hands under the cloudy milk of the water and washes away the soap suds.

“What do I do?” Kylo’s pleading to them both. To Jomar and Mrs Jones. He looks like a little dark haired boy. An infant. Helpless and terrified.

Sat there, teetering on the edge of his bed, starry silver tears in his eyes. It might be the only time they’ve seen him truly weak or scared. Wracked with agony with something even he can’t control.

Powerless to help the woman he loves.

Mrs Jones knows of that look. She sees the russet sparkle in his Lordships eyes. And it aches her. Sees the pain in his creased brow and displayed in the openness of his face. He is used to having power over so many things - this is not part of his influence. It does not share in being intimidated by him as most things and people usually do.

This vampires one weakness; terror for the frailty of mortality. That she could and might slip away to a place beyond his mighty reach.

Jomar crosses back to the bed, takes her wrist and feels for her pulse. His clever kind hands were cool on her feverish skin. Still she shivers in his grasp. He fixes his gaze downwards as he holds her frail arm. Returning it gently to her side when he’s done.

“Her heart rate is very fast.” He says with veiled emphasis. He then leans up and peers over her face, gently cupping it to see her eyes. “Her eyes are unfixed also.”

“I think it may be an affliction on her lungs. A chill caught from the rainstorm.” He suggests to Kylo.

“How do we treat her?” Kylo’s demanding with every note of his voice laced with hope.

Jomar shares an anxious look with Mrs Jones. “We don’t. Your lordship.” Jomar tells him gravely.

“We can only wait now for the fever to break. But we can do everything within our power to make her comfortable.” He insists to his Master and friend. Laying a kind hand on his shoulder.

Lord Ren looks up at him. Lost in his gaze. His silver bangle catches the light. A darting glimmer. Like a silver scaled fish swimming in dark inky waters. His butlers hope and goodness always shone great through the darkest of times.

Jomars bronzed eyes melt for him like crushing gold honey and warm cocoa. Tries to bolster him kindly for this devastating news.

“Is there truly nothing I can do?” Kylo chokes out. His voice hadn’t the bravery to rise beyond a whisper. He just had to watch her suffer like this? Twisting and delirious and unconscious with fever.

“I’m afraid so M’lord. In the meantime-“ Mrs Jones says. Crossing the wide dark room to the window. Batting away the crimson drapes. The battle axe she was is on the warpath. She’ll see this right. Kylo wouldn’t trust anyone else.

“We might try to keep her cool. Fever burns you up something wicked. So I won’t have her stifled. Loose blankets are best. And we are to mop her brow and her neck every hour. On the hour.” She commands. Jomar nods in agreement.

“I’ll see to some laudanum for her relief, from the medicine cupboard.” He insists. Bowing his head to Kylo before slipping away.

Off out the door. Picks up the lit candle holder in his hand from the side. The long ivory taper of it flickers a warm marmalade in the dark of his Lordships crimson room. Kylo watches the glow of it, and him, disappear down the dark hall. Swallowed up into the blackness of the house.

The treads of his boots crushed silent and dead on the rug in the corridor. The hazy fog of champagne yellow coated the walls of Hellford like thick gold dust. Shining off every polished wood door and dark floorboard. Grows fainter and fainter as he moves away.

Kylo turns back to his dove. Takes the cloth away. Re-wets it. Puts it back on her brow. He takes it away again once the cool is gone. Replaces the cloth with his own cold hand. All of his fingers dwarfing most of her head. He slips around and cups the nape of her neck and she rolls her solid head onto the arch of his arm.

She’s so warm it almost burns his hand. His chest aches to feel her that way.

She protests at the cold. “Leave me.” She sobs. “Leave me alone...” She cries. Eyes shut. Denying him the alluring cloudy grey gaze of those eyes he admires so much.

“I will do no such thing...” Kylo says lowly. Stroking wet tamped hair off her forehead. Looking at her flushed cheeks which burn hot. He presses the back of his hand to them. To soothe them. The crinkle in her brow lessens a little at his icy touch. The only time his coldness has ever come in handy.

Mrs Jones grabs the bowl of water from next to him but before she scurries downstairs to replace it she offers. “Your Lordship, I can send for a maid to sit with her. If you need some rest.”

“I will stay.” Kylo presses. “I won’t leave her side until this wretched thing breaks.” He insists with stony determination.

He looks back to Iris. Cupping her cheek in his hand. Watching her breathing pant rapid. She leans into his touch.

With no clear action before him, other than to comfort her. His mind, denied of a task, emptied of all things, now fear began to fill it.

Mrs Jones says nothing. But she gives him a trembling look of affection that attempts at bolstering him. She takes the bowl and she too pads softly out the room. The creaking whine of the door being softly shut was the final announcement to their being availed of company.

Kylo turns back to her. A terrible weight squeezing down on his chest. He’s sat at a fair number of deathbeds in his life. He’d watched some human friends fade away. But that was certain. War or disease took them from him.

This is not certain and it’s killing him all over again.

It’s that night on the battefield in the snow again and again again. Draegan finding him. Coming across Kylo as he lay dying. The burning dripping searing blood leaking down his side. His wound was by the abdomen. The worst way to die. It could take days. The white hot agony searing his bones in acid all over again. Scarlet snow. Scarlet wet snow everywhere.

He can remember cool slender fingers cupping his neck. The whisper across his cheek like a kiss of the icy north wind. “You know you will not survive this.” He explained. Unsticking Kylo’s leather gloved hand from the wound that ran along the entire side of his stomach. Silver eyes, like precious moonstones, looking at the blood laying black and thick on his palm.

To the very last. Kylo fought like a warrior. When he often had resolved, as a Viking soldier, of pondering his own death. He had envisioned a glorious end. Sword in hand cutting down his enemies until his very last breath.

He never imagined in his wildest dream that death would smile handsomely at him first. Never believed he’d be side by side with the devil - and that he would love him with the passion of a thousand burning suns.

Never thought he’d love again - until he laid eyes on this beautiful creature. He lusted for her first of all. That instant carnal attraction. But that had masked how she truly made Kylo’s soulless body ache to love her.

She brought him to his knees. And now he’s choking on his grief.

“Please don’t leave me, Little Dove.” He begs in a whisper as she writhes and sweats into his bedsheets. Gasping and dulled.

“Don’t go to the one place I can’t follow.” He begs. Laying his big hand over where hers was limp and stretched out atop the velvet covers. His hand dwarfed hers utterly. But his touch was so gentle. Unsure.

“I told you if anything happened to you. It would kill me.” He says. Looking at her earnest face. So dewy and flushed.

“I meant my words. Iris, If I have to spend an eternity without loving you then, I-“ His throat claws up. Suffocating his words. He shakes his head.

He brings her limp arm up. Back of her clammy hand pressed to his mouth. Nuzzles a kiss to her skin. Tastes the salt of her sweat. Tastes her agony. He’s certain it reflects his own.

“I won’t leave you.” He vows solemnly. A silky whisper that he speaks into her skin. He always takes his vows seriously.

Treads rattle louder in the hallway. Coming back to the room. Jomar enters again with the bottle of laudanum and a spoon to hand.

Kylo will be the one to feed it to her. He gently cups her face and slips the silver spoon to her lips. An oddly intimate act. He feeds the opiate into her mouth, she twists her head and some of it runs down her chin. Kylo wipes it away with the cloth. Taking up the task of the lowliest maid. Seeing so tenderly to her in her illness.

He’s calmed a little by the fact of the laudanum taking away any pain she might be feeling. Her breathing settles. As does his worry.

He retires to the chair by the fireside across the room. The same deep wine red velvet as covers his bed. He pulls it close to the end of his huge four postered bed. Drapes hanging heavy down all four mahogany posts. Protecting the pale infirm form of her within. He’ll watch over her from his bedside. Cradled in the comfort of the chair.

Some ineffectual matronly mama of the ton may argue that this was most improper. A single man watching over the bedside of an unmarried girl. Worst still- an unmarried girl on the brink of an engagement.

Kylo snorts to himself. Wondering if the deuced snotty boy of a Sergeant would even care that his intended was gravely ill. Probably only cared that she had fallen ill in Kylo’s manor.

It didn’t matter that she was unconscious and insensate. She was in the very room with a man who compromised her honour, and Hux’s. Making a fool of him. In in Lord Ren’s very own bed, no less.

Well. Not that either of them were in any fit state to be compromising the hell out of each other. But he doubts strict society will see it that way. This was enough impropriety just being within touching distance.

One thing that does prevail upon him a tiny shred of bright happiness in all this darkness. Is the fact that he knows how desperately fuming this whole situation would make Iris’s mother.

Him protecting her. Rescuing her. Keeping her safe. He’s sure the old harpy would be frothing at the mouth like a rabid dog knowing where her daughter was. She’d likely spout out nastiness, how it was all a concoction for the dashing dark Lord Ren to seduce and spoil her eldest daughter. To ruin their hope of an advantageous marriage.

Little did that termagant know, but it was far too late for that.

Iris was worked her sweet steady way under his skin from every outing they’ve shared. Every look across a crowded ballroom. Every touch of their hands, gloved or not. Their dance. Their kiss. It was the inferno that brought their affection and regard for each other to a fever pitch.

She trembles whenever he comes close. When their eyes meet he always feels the delighted shiver that runs the full length of her spine. The blush that prettily decorates her cheeks. Finer than any jewellery he could bestow on her gorgeous body.

Funny how such a thing as her blush made him think of so many things.

It made him want to whisk her away in the dead of night. Back to Bavaria. Install her there as the Lady of his castle. Sharing his land. Sharing his title. Lady Ren. He’d have her dresses tailored by the finest Dressmaker in Bavaria.

Dust off the family jewels and then bedeck her in them. Head to toe. Nothing less would do for her. She’s suffered such a life of penury and scraping together to make her as bait to men for marriage. He’d see to ending that sad facet of her life. He’d let her choose what she wears. Whether or not she had to pay calls or deliver baskets to the infirm.

He’d let her lounge in a boudoir parlour, reading books, and accomplish nothing in her day apart from having a sumptuous oiled bath if she so desires. He just wants to see her happy.

He’d open the whole castle for her to explore room after room. Every tapestry. Every oil painting and marble statue. Every suit of armour he’d fought in over the years. Stood proud and polished silver on display. All of it he’d let her have.

How he misses it... his home. Ranlor Castle.

He misses the way the castle feels to step into. The scent of it. The edifying old thick stone halls of musty brick and how the smell of green and pine like the forest surrounding it, seeps in every window. Hanging upon the very air.

He misses the warmth of the fur pelts on his bed on a stormy night. The sky flurrying with snow, wind howling at tiny lead crossed windows. He was so used to hearing the wolves cry out for the moon in the woods at night, as he fell asleep in his big soft bed. Missed the way flame and shadow danced up the thick exposed golden-bricked walls. It lulls him to sleep.

The locals rightly call Ranlor the ‘devils rock.’ A dark superstition has long lingered over the land ever since Kylo had been in residence there.

Named because of the way the - many - turrets either end of the castle rear out the landscape like two sharp pale fangs. Looking over all the local villages and tenants. The shadows of those turrets reach far and wide. Everything is eclipsed in it’s shade. Grisly things were said to happen too, in his woodlands. Strong men go missing and not even so much as their bare bones are ever recovered.

Local folk legend blindly believes when the moon is full, that devils roam the woods. Black wolves turn into foul hungry demons with claws, ready to hunt upon the flesh of men. When the moon is its full eye of pearl in the sky, people are warned to stay off the forest. And stick to their homes. Bolt the doors and draw the shutters. Cower in their beds and listen to the wolves howls rise faintly over the snowy horizon. Piercing through the snow.

Kylo’s work providing for his lands and Ranlor’s tenants so ably puts shame to most of the rumours.

He is a generous Lord and master of the lands. Nothing is beyond his notice. He holds a ball for the local villages every year, near Yuletide season. Amidst the bitter winter. The staff bring in great log garlands made from the holly in the forest to decorate the hall. They serve brandy and punch and Kylo mixes among everyone to see how their year has been as his tenants.

If families struggle, too many mouths to feed. He absolves their rent. Ensures they are kept stocked with food from the castles own kitchen to tide them over- He has no need for it after all. His servants eat handsomely too, Kylo makes sure of that.

If bouts of illness flourish among his tenants and among those less fortunate than him, he puts up the money for the doctors bills. He takes care of his own. Even if they are not his kin. They are under his protection on his territory.

He is remarked on being a very gallant and fair man. No one on his land would dare observe that he was frightening and cruel.

Only if he is gotten on the wrong side of that is. If poachers steal from his lands and steal the food supplies belonging to his people. Or if he sees any drunken men take advantage where they shouldn’t with a passing maiden, outside the taverns. If a violent and ill tempered brute of a man who drinks his families wage away, so much as dares to raise a hand to his suffering wife or children- then does Kylo reveals his nasty side.

He’s sure there are still gossips that believe the superstition of his home. In local taverns at night over pitchers of ale, some men lean in, to whisper and wonder and gossip if he is entirely as human as he seems.

He rarely eats. Never drinks to excess. Had never taken a wife and he doesn’t dally with whores. He stalks the forest alone most nights. They sometimes remarked that he was not human. There was little humanity about him. But they never suspected for a moment that the bloodthirsty demon unleashed by the full moon, was in fact him.

The reason some of the bones of missing men were never found? Because Kylo drains them of the blood and leaves the drained corpse for the hungry wolves to tear apart.

Kylo ruminates on memories of home as he watches the firelight kiss across her pale form on the bed. Her breathing still shallow.

“I’d so much like for you to see Ranlor. Little dove. You’d adore it.” He says. Speaking to her as if she were awake to hear him.

He tells her about the forest. About the bitter winter gales that blow through. And how it thaws so prettily in spring. Woods full of blue hyacinths and pink scented stocks. Sugary and sickly perfume of them in the warm pine of sun-baked air.

He tells her how she’d like the wildflowers and the baby roe deers and the lake when it’s warm enough to swim in. To dip into the fathomless sapphire ink of water. The graceful swans that dance across the blue waters surface.

He tells her she’d like the local life. Much like here, people were humble and simple. Salt of the earth. People who make no pretence to be more than they are. How refreshing he finds that compared to all the Janus faced civility. Velvet draped over daggers, and dripping censure that falls from lord’s and ladies mouths, in a savage English country ballroom.

He describes the villages nearby. On the road to Ranlor. The tall narrow houses built of walnut timber and smothered in white paint. Closely set together on cobbled grey streets. Some of the neighbouring villages were walled cities also. Keeps from medieval times. Set high up in the rocks.

Quaint little hamlets were dotted along the Bavarian alps near his castle. He tells her of the nearest one to Ranlor.

Brimming with taverns boasting the most excellent beer and joints of game, roasted on a spit, a flagon and a hunk of meat for no more than a half a gold florin. Cafes and shops there were, a florist also. He recalls the waxy punchy-coloured tulips and how they always always always caught his attention in the window. The striking eye-catching scarlet of them. He likes seeing it, as he often rides past on Erland. Or in his rattling big coach.

There were coffee houses, bakeries and patisseries selling Austrian cakes and puddings. Butchers or other general stores selling the local cuisine of smoked or cured meats and sausages and cheeses.

The spectacular wares always for show in the haberdashers window. Great voluminous hats with sprouting great feathers and dripping trimmings galore. Her silly sisters, he fancied, would adore to see such fine frippery. And most of all, there in that precious little village that somehow has found a warm place in his heartless chest, there are always vendors with their braziers, hawking roasted or candied nuts around the town square.

He tells her how touched he was in her gesture of giving him a paper bag of roasted chestnuts, the day after they first met.

He admits something to her then; of how he doesn’t often indulge in human food. But those he did eat. The buttery sweet burn of them reminded him of home. Lifting his nose to the bag to smell the smoky nutty scent sent him ricocheting right back to thoughts of that little Bavarian village. It touched him profoundly in more ways then he could say. She could barely spare the capital to buy them and she bestowed on him, such a gift.

She bought it with her last penny and that truly astounded him. He was a veritable stranger to her then. He is so much more than that now. She’s so much more to him. And him, to her.

Kylo will see out this lonely frightful night. He watches over her. Hopes the morning will bear better signs. Hopes that the tumultuous storm passes.

It dies well enough. By the pale pink of a wet lilac and gold dawn, shining over the windowpane and into his chamber. Shrouding his sickbed in rosy gold, she is unfortunately in much the same state. Unchanged. Not progressing nor worsened.

He sits and keeps a diligent eye on her. Had done all night. He requires little sleep. And so he talks to her. Mops her brow when she starts sweating again. Jomar and Mrs Jones flit in and out. Bringing provisions. And fresh cold water. More laudanum.

Mrs Jones brought him a plate of roasted meats and a glass of wine. It went untouched. She takes it away without saying a word. Gives the scraps to the hounds.

Jomar checks on her every few hours. With his slight grasp of medical knowledge. They try sending for the doctor again. But he is still unavailable. Fixing broken bones from men caught up in last nights storm. Kylo curses the inflexible man every name under the sun.

He doesn’t even retire from her side to take luncheon. Mrs jones had tried to tempt him with a grilled chop at breakfast. And still he refused. Tempted him with roast capons and a carafe of wine now, and still he declined. He’d gone longer without food before in his time. It wouldn’t hurt him. Three years he’d once gone without indulging.

“You need to keep your strength up. My Lord. You’re no good to her if you starve away to skin and bone.” She chides as she carries out another bowl of water. Refreshing it.

“Hardly likely.” Kylo’s insisting. Tugging at the rumpled linen of his shirt.

Sleeves rolled and cuffed. Waistcoat he shrugged off some time in the night. Just in black braces, dull boots and dark breeches now. He’s sure he’ll be a malodorous wretch in need of a shave and wash. But he won’t leave her in this crisis. He won’t so much as go to splash cold water on his face. He’s not leaving this room.

Hellhounds with glowing red eyes and slobbering gnashing teeth, couldn’t drag him away.

Mrs Jones makes a move to put a matronly hand on her hip and chastise him some more. But there comes a groan from the bed.

Kylo leaps from his chair and bolts across to her. “Dove?”

He seeks for her hand. He listens to her breathe.

It was now a shallow drag accompanied by a slight rattling wheeze when she breathed. The affliction had spread to her lungs. And he knows the opium will have suppressed her lungs as a result.

A trickle of blood leaves her mouth and smears on the pillow. A wheezing hacking cough comes from her. It’s such a weak sound it hurts to hear it. He mops it away with the damp cloth. Smears at her pale cheek in its wake.

“Oh no. God no. Iris...” He seeks louder. Trying to see if she responds. She’s limp as ever. Lost to him. Blood leaking from her lips.

“Fetch Jomar.” He orders urgently to his housekeeper. She runs for the door and brings back the Butler. He checks her over and his face is grave.

“Your lordship. Her temperature is rising and I believe it appears as if the infection is worsening.” He says softly.

Kylo’s face falls. His throat bobs with worry.

He knows she’s strong. She can temper the foul spitting words of her mother. She can temper this. She must. Or he doesn’t know what he’ll do.

“Will she die?” Kylo asks outright. Face like steel. Eyes wet.

“I’m not a doctor. My Lord. I cannot say. But she needs a miracle to fight this affliction that’s taken hold. It looks like consumption.” He tells honestly.

Kylo nods. “I’ll call you both if you are needed again.” He dismisses them.

They file out the room with sorrowful faces. Such a sweet girl. And their Master is clearly so cut up by seeing her in such a state.

Kylo wraps his fingers around her hand.

“Fight it little dove.” He urges her. She was shivering earlier. But now she’s stilled. Sweating and clammy. Burning up more than ever. She was getting worse.

“Please. Please fight. You’re so strong Iris. My god, you don’t know how strong...” He begs as he cups her hand and one hand cradles the side of her face.

“The first time I saw you, I saw your strength. Your resilience. You held your head high even though you didn’t want too. I felt your pain. I felt your back breaking under all that strain.”

Her head stays limp on the pillow. Eyes blind to anything. Shut in unrest. He wishes more than anything that there was something he could do to aid her before this got even worse.

She looks pallid. Ashen. More so than before. Sweating buckets and more blood leaks out her mouth. He wipes it away with the fresh handkerchief Jones left by the bed. He looks down in his hand and sees the sticky red staining the white cloth.

Like a bloodied paw print in the snow. It doesn’t even call out to his hunger. He’s too beyond it. This is too perilous. Too serious to measure his animal instincts.

Blood.

The room grows cold. All warmth drops as if the sun had been snatched out the sky. Kylo feels the chill pinned along his skin as a ghost of a phantom breeze sweeps over him.

His cool blood turns to prickling ice. The candles on the bedside flicker, the fire wanes. He knows what comes next. He hasn’t felt this in centuries. He hears the voice, as crisp and as sharp as frost in his head. The voice like silver coins and honey dances into his ear. Notes as fine as a dark deep concerto.

“Your blood, My fierce one. Or have you forgotten. All life is in the blood.” Comes Draegan’s soothing mellow voice.

The tone that was like feather down and silk to listen to the way he crooned. Every part of his manner was charming. The deep of his sharp eyes was piercing. Intoxicating.

Kylo’s not been alongside mortals as Draegan had. He was a healer. Though he was a demon, he always conceded that there was no death without life. All life as such, is therefore to be treated as precious. Humans fascinated him. And he moved freely and happily among them. Whereas Kylo scorned most all of them.

He strides from the bed to his unused escritoire across the room. Situated by the window for light. Not that he had any letters to write or close acquaintances to send them too. He considered leaving notes for Iris but there’s always a risk his letters would be discovered. He’s got a stack of them all written - tied up with a grey silk ribbon and hidden away.

He rifles through his drawers until he finds it. A knife. A silver dagger with a weighted carved handle. He rounds the bed again, crosses to her and sits near her hip. He holds out his left hand and rips the knife across his index fingertip.

Crimson beads up. He holds his hand aloft and watches it drip. Looks back to Iris and gently cups her face.

“I know this won’t be pleasant. But it will help.” He tells. He doesn’t even feel the sting of pain. It’s nothing to him. Nothing to the pain of seeing her suffer like this.

He gently holds her cheeks and rubs his bloodied fingers across her dry lips. Smearing crimson onto her tongue. She frowns and tries to move her head away, mumbling in distress. But Kylo doesn’t relent until he’s sure his ichor coats her tongue. Slips silken down her throat.

He takes his hand away and rubs the blood from her mouth that spilled down her chin. Leaving her as pale as she was before. The rose of her cheeks still glares awfully bright.

He bunches the cloth around his hand. He’ll heal up in no time. He wishes he could say the same for her. Only time will tell...

He holds her hand. Strokes over her dainty little clammy knuckles. “Twice now he’s saved you.” He remarks to her.

“If I didn’t know him any better....” He sighs, trails off in his words. The very breath gets punched from him. To what end could Draegan be saving her? Whatever for?

One idea occurs - it’s because he’s felt all that she means to him.

That tears agony at him like animals claws tearing down his chest. Shredding flesh. When he thought how he turned his back on him, and scorned his love. And here he was, centuries later, calling out to keep her safe. To protect her.

Kylo lets himself feel shamed.

Ashamed for the ways he bypassed his feelings for Draegan, and let anger fill him so completely up instead. Now he’s met Iris? He understands what he put Draegan through when he left. Because she might leave him now, and he thinks he might just wither away to ash, to nothing, for agony of loving her so much. Unable to help her through this pain.

Though now, perhaps he’s given her the catalyst to help her fight what ails her. He can only wait. And pray.

He paces the room. Paces and then sits. And then he’s treading worn holes in the floorboards again.

Before he knows it, night falls again. He watches out the window as the sun bleeds into blue.

Night washes a filmy indigo over the landscape. Trees turn to dark gnawed fingers of branches. The grass shimmers with evening dew and the pond out front in view of his window, turns to gloopy blue ink.

He stands with his back to her. Surveying the view out the window. Arms folded behind his back. He’s listening to the fire crack and the wind groaning outside on the cold glass, splashing hard against the house. And suddenly she speaks. Gasps out. Cries out.

“So cold.”

He whips around fast. She’s twisting from side to side and he sees the fire sheen off her brow. She repeated herself “It’s so cold...” He hastens to the bedside and takes her hand again. “Iris?” He asks.

She’s still dazed. Still delirious. Twisting her head on the bed.

“Snow. And blood. Why is there....so much blood...” She frowns. Her face all contorted. Her palms knot her fingers into her pillow. She’s writhing again.

Kylo looks down at her. Puzzled.

Her reality had became quickly spliced with odd fevered dreams.

Snippets of actuality broke through the haze. She felt herself fall after she stood up from the armchair after their intimate dinner. She dropped but her body didn’t hit the floor. She’s moving again. And those lovely strong arms of his, are around her.

She’s burning. Was she on fire? That’s what it feels like. She’s dripping sweat and trying to claw at her dry throat. Loosen her strangling clothes. Get some blessed sweet cool air on her skin.

A cold chest she’s cradled into again. Widest muscled chest she’s ever beheld. And she’s moving. Her eyes are shut, it’s all dark, yet she feels weightless. Being carried.

Then it all goes soft. She’s laying on velvet as gentle hands guide away clothes from her body. She’s aching so much her bones ring with it.

She tries moving but she feels cemented. Every word she tries to croak is difficult. Making speech is like trying to let thick hot syrup drip off her sticky tongue.

There’s this pain in her lungs. A thousand knives stabbing in when her chest expands. Kind hands touch her arm and her head. Their warmth scorches her already blazing skin. She tries to wriggle away. But she’s too weak. Her body won’t comply to the requests of her mind.

There’s feather and down at her back. It crinkles and crumples, and she’s relieved the bed is so cool. Something bittersweet is dropped down her throat. Trickling down her melting tongue. She barely feels the rest. She drifts in and out.

And the thing is, she’s not entirely sure she’s alone. She hears voices. A voice. Dark, deep, like a granite walled cave.

She can’t feel much. But she feels cold thick fingers wrap around hers. She knows who those might belong too.

The fire in her blood doesn’t stop. It doesn’t wane. She feels like she’s drowning and she’s not even in the rain anymore. Prickles and knives and all manner of horrible sharp things stab at her chest. Spears, lances, thorns and needles.

It feels like her lungs rattle with poison and shards of broken glass. She wants to cough but it’s too much for the infirm state she’s in.

In between her swimming head and trying to crack open her heavy eyes. Between bleeding crimson and a blazing twitching flame she can make out very little.

Time and sensation are lost to her. But she feels how someone diligently holds her, cups her face, cool on her cheek, feeds her spoonfuls of water so she doesn’t dehydrate. Dribbled water and laudanum - spiced with honey and saffron to cut the bitterness - down her neck with a cold silver spoon perched on her lips.

The dreams are the worst. She dreams about rain. About rivers and heavy crushing things, tar, black and rotten, squirming on her chest. Crushing her.

Of fangs ripping pale flesh off bleeding necks, how that haunts her. Wine red blood and she’s laying in a sticky hot pool of it. Unable to move.

Foul black demons with claws and leathery black wings and red eyes, drooling maws with gnashing teeth rip at her nubile skin. She screams but no sound comes. They throw her screaming into hell and brimstone, and the flames lick higher around her.

She’s dying. She must be dying. She can see it. Lying under a chiffon veil draping her body. Dried white flowers, rustling and dead sweet, are placed on her chest. Hands crossed over her chest. A figure in hooded cloaked black looms over her.

She squirms. She tries to bat them away. Tries to twist out their reach of these monsters. She calls and begs them, but to no avail. Cold splashed on her again. On her brow and on the back of her neck. She sighs and gladly welcomes it.

A low melodic buzz murmurs in her ears like a thousand bees zipping and bobbing about her head. She can’t understand what it is. But it’s somehow a nice sound to listen too.

It causes a gentle hum to seep into her aching bones and calms her heavy head. It’s like a balm. Salve on a wound. She doesn’t realise that it’s Kylo talking to her.

When the fire in the hearth across the room crackled and spit sparks up the chimney, it felt like splits opened in her skin, forming like cracks in stone, and insects crawled out. Black scurrying beetles, She started itching at her arms. Clawing. But nothing was there.

The cold soothe of her harbinger of peace is there to hold her hands and stop her nails raking her flesh away.

More voices move around her. Tumbling around the air in the room. Cracking and snapping like zapping silver lightning and thunder. The mumbling grows in volume. Slithering along her spine. One of her arms feels like it’s been left in ice water - it’s where he’s holding and kissing her. Begging her to fight it. Pleading with her.

She’s so tired. So wrung out. She just wants all this pain and fevered madness to stop. She’s soaked through to the sheets and her skeleton grates with ringing hot agony whenever she dares to move. She’d cry if her brain would grant her that meagre request.

Her lungs have worsened. She knows it. Filled and clogged with dry sand, and salt. Sluggish and wet like a briny beach. It rattles when she breathes, and something she can’t name dribbled out her mouth. Drooling onto the pillow. She doesn’t know that it’s blood.

She only knows that she’d quite like to fall away to her fever dreams and never come back.

Iris so wants the lingering darkness to take her.

However, one tiny shred of her feels cheated; she would’ve so liked to kiss Lord Ren again. One last time. The nicest thing that’s ever happened to her. She’d have liked to have tasted his kiss and drown in his loving attentions just one more time. Just one.

It didn’t seem like a lot to ask of fate. Seeing the crummy hand it had dealt her in her wretched little life, thus far.

Time passes. She’s not sure if it’s seconds, or minutes. For all she knows she may only have been lying insensate for an hour. Or it may have been days. Weeks. She can’t focus. She could have been lying stretched out there for Methuselah’s lifetime. She’s none the wiser.

Then something else happens, something unexpected. Something wet is pushed past her lips. Only it isn’t water. And it isn’t the bitter saffron alkaline of laudanum.

She doesn’t recognise this taste; it’s salty sweet. Hot metallic, and a blend of sour-saccharine burst. She doesn’t recognise it. It’s not unpleasant. But it’s not what she’d describe as palatable.

She tries to twist. But her head is thumping and those flames are curling at her toes again.

And then some distinctly odd things begin to happen. Even more odd than demon dreams or the bugs crawling out crevices in her skin.

Where she swallows, the substance dropped in her mouth starts rolling down her throat. Carving away the pain in its path.

Before long it reaches her swollen lungs. Slowly. One by one, each knife and needle, shard of glass, spear and lance is dragged out of her. Pulled away. Tugged out her pinching flesh. Relaxing her ribs.

Gradually, all her pain lessens. Stickiness in her lungs, grating of her shallow heavy bones. It all fades. Agony slowly dies like a starved candle flame.

The unknown liquid rolls through her like milk and crushed honeycomb. Ambrosia nectar. It tastes like gold. Like sunshine warming her bare skin after feeling nothing for months, but cutting winter frost.

Fever dreams start to come back in full force. And they feel more real than before.

She opens her eyes and there’s suddenly snow. It’s cold. It’s so very cold she’s shivering. Standing there, looking around a milky snow blotted forest.

The trees around her reach vast, thick and tall. Trunks wider than her body. She cranes her head and she can’t even judge the tops of them. It’s just foggy grey up above. Heavy snowfall closing in.

But all around her there are splotches of dark seeping in the snow. Dark jagged shapes lay misshapen in the thick thick icy drift.

She feels it all. The squishing shift of the powder beneath her feet. Cold little stings of flakes melt onto her cheeks and eyelashes. Turning to tears that rain dewdrops down her skin. Her breath spirits silver out her mouth.

There’s no stars up in heaven. No moon. Not tonight. Nothing to cast over this glum gloom and darkness.

Noises patter and clang in the distance. Metal scrapes and hollow clashes. She peers around her and that’s when she comes to realise what all those shapes are...

Bodies.

Laying dead and still in the snow. As far as her eye can see. Men lay broken and scattered across the forest floor. Clad in simple dark armour. All wearing the same crimson coat of arms: blood and death litters them. That is their uniform.

Crimson is still shimmering down the bark. Splashed there from the slash of swords across parts of anatomy she didn’t want to think about. She cannot imagine how her brain can conjure up such carnage. Such mayhem and suffering.

Seeing a thousand, or more, dead men, pulled and carved to pieces. Violently separated from limbs, or heads or legs. Bleeding into the snow. Slumped sat against trees or piled on each other. Some studded with arrows. Some not.

Splayed where they’ve fallen. Viscera exposed, stubby limbs chopped in half. Throat slit. Holes punched in their chests and bloodied organs tumbled out. Some men held it in their arms like dirty washing. It’s an awful thing to witness. Such savagery.

What kind of beast could cause this? Could leave men dying and dead in this horrific way?

She scans around. Unable to fathom it. These poor souls. Mouths gaping. Eyes wide and staring, unseeing, at the clouded heavens. Like sticky pearls shimmering in the dark. Death hadn’t been long in taking them. The blood leaving them is still warm. She can feel the blaze of it under her feet. Melting the snow.

She sees no movement in the trees. Save for the snow heading down from high above. Settling like natures own confetti on all these fallen soldiers. Weeping over them, yet nothing else can be done but show them to their graves.

Then she does make out something.

A tall, lean, and strong figure moves through the trees away from her. Strong trunks of long legs. Sinewed arms. Even in his dazzling armour. Slender. So slender and elegant for a man. Most men lumbered. This one practically glided.

Though he is scarcely standing out amongst them. Silver and white. Clad in brilliantly kept armour. The only thing that stands clear is the crimson splattered across this soldiers body. Gleaming down his silver armour. He comes to a standstill.

If he was the last man standing; she suddenly realises with horror exactly what that means in odes to all the death surrounding them.

She moves slowly towards this destination. Somehow desperate for a look. In the dim, she steps carefully and slow over the slaughter of mangled bodies and crimson hot snow. He has his back to her. Now she can’t see his face.

She crosses this battlefield. Comes closer and closer. As if stalking a cautious stag.

He was devastating in his height. Lean but not a man to be mistaken as being powerless. A long bloodied sword drips from his left hand. Even in this suffocating slim darkness, the curtain of white hair spilling long down his back is entirely obvious. Like a silk curtain. It’s braided too. Twisted into intricate plaits. Fixed with silver cuffs and wound with jewellery.

There are silver coiled serpent decorations wound around some of his braids. They gleam in the night like far off stars. He moves as devastating as a supernova.

If his hair moves like silk, so does he. Movements so supple yet languid. Certain. A great degree of confidence.

He turns his head. She hopes to catch a glance of his profile. Wanting to see if his face is as handsome as his hair, or his impressive built frame.

She’s curious. Somehow this is familiar for her; this white haired stranger.

He turned only a fraction. Not enough for to show her anything. Not his face. Not his eyes. Though it seemed he was looking in her direction. She’s been caught.

She freezes entirely and a smooth voice dances like honey wine and satin across the butchered dead and the snow.

“Go back to him. Little spark. He’s waiting for you.... this isn’t how we meet.” He tells her.

She cannot contest. She can’t even fight. Or speak. White fog swallows her up. Clouds her eyes. The blood and the soldiers and the snow falls away. Like she’s being dropped out of a white haze and sent tumbling down to mushy blackness. Spat out of heaven.

She falls. Jolts. Her heart leaps in her chest as adrenaline spikes through her body. She gasps...

And then, miraculously, she finally wakes.

She stumbles back to life with a rattling gasp. Kylo didn’t even hear it. It was nearly ten at night. He’s sat by the fire in his bedchamber, watching the logs within crackle and sinking and burning to amber and ash. Unaware that she’d opened her eyes until;

“Kylo?” Comes a weak little voice from the bed. Her voice.

He stands and turns so fast his head swims. “Dove?”

He strides so quick for the bed it makes her dizzy. He frets about stupid things, like the fact he hasn’t washed and shaved. He’s been too occupied in his avowed duty of sitting and watching over her sickbed.

He kneels by her side. Happily cups the cheek closest to him. Her eyes are clear, hooded, but clear. No longer shimmering bright with fever. And her cheeks have calmed. Less glaring red heat, now just a kiss of pink.

He places his knuckles on her forehead and had never been more relieved to feel her cooled. She shuts her eyes and smiles. Appreciating his touch. Savouring it.

“My god. I thought I’d lose you.” He insists quietly when she opens her eyes again. He takes her dear sweet hand and kisses it.

She takes a lot of energy to swallow and unsticks her dry cracked lips to answer him. Smiling. “Might I trouble you for some water?” She croaks. Her voice a strained crackle bleeding out her throat.

He pours it himself. Hands it to her. Helps her sit up a little and tip the glass to her parched rosebud lips. She takes dainty gulps of it. Drains the glass and has enough. It’s not overly cool, but Iris swears it’s the best thing she’s ever drunk.

He mops her brow again when she’s finished. Wipes the wet coils of hair away off her brow. It feels awfully nice and even though it’s shockingly intimate. She relaxes back onto the damp pillows and lets him comfort her.

“How long was I?-” She seeks.

“Two days, little dove.” He tells her gently. Placing the linen cloth down where it belongs. She swallows again. Refinding her lost voice. “It’s almost eleven at night.” He answers.

“I’m afraid I’ve been a dreadful imposition on you.” She starts. Picking nervously at the covers.

Kylo’s smiling again. Yesterday everything had been so grim he thought he’d never crack a grin ever again.

“Think nothing of it. I’m merely happy to see you so well recovered.” He says as he squeezes her hand tighter.

She casts her eyes for a second over the way his chin is flecked in onyx stubble. The way shadows linger under his eyes like heavy saddle bags. His hair doesn’t look unkempt. But his shirt is rumpled and faded cologne lingers around him. He’s been worried about her, than his appearance.

“You need rest and sustenance. Fevers leave you weak. So I’m told.” He reaches for the head of the bed and pulls the bell cord. The hidden crimson panel of fabric that called down to the kitchens.

“I wouldn’t turn down a cup of tea.” She sighs weakly. Beaming gently. No self respecting English woman would dare seek after anything else so fortifying.

“I imagine my housekeeper will furnish you with a banquet.” He suggests.

“How do you feel?” He seeks. It hasn’t escaped her notice his hand still twines through her own. It feels awfully nice. Cold. But not repulsive. She felt his touch even in her fevered state. It’s calming.

“Like I’ve been kicked by a horse.” She sleepily admits.

“Jomar said the affliction was on your lungs from the sound of your breathing. Do you need anything for pain?” He asks.

“I Thank you. I am well. I cannot deny the fever was.., draining. But, it was the vivid nature of the dreams I couldn’t stand. It all felt so, real.” She confesses.

“Delirium can be an odd beast.” Kylo agrees. He’s suffered blood delirium before. And that was like his own skin trying to willingly crawl off his own bones. It was beyond dreadful.

“The most odd one was... wandering through a forest. After a battle, I think it was. Horrible. Such death and slaughter. And then I saw this man through the trees. A tall man in silver armour...”

Kylo’s eyes are glistening dark. She carries on.

“He spoke out to me. I could never forget his voice it was-“ She searches for a word. “Melodic. Nearly. Utterly enchanting. And he had this hair, very long hair. It looked like white silk.” She explains.

“What did he say to you?” Kylo’s asking. Knowing full well what she saw.

“Told me that someone was waiting- And it... wasn’t how I would meet him?....” she declares. Finding the whole thing bizarre. Then again; what sense could be made out of perplexing dreams?

She looks bewildered. But Kylo knows the truth in it. He knows the various demons and reasons behind her channeled thoughts. His blood had taken its toll too.

“Dreams are confusing at the best of times.” He states in comfort. She nods in agreement. But she looks like she barely has the strength to hold up her own head.

She clasps his hand back. Her fingers and little strength she possessed, held onto him. “I’m very glad you were here.”

“I’m always there for you. Iris. And I always shall be.” He promises.

“What I did, scampering out into the rain like that. It was so foolish of me. And I don’t like to think of myself as acting like a fool.” She starts.

“I thought I was going to die it hurt so much. But I didn’t want to. Because I didn’t want to leave this earth - without kissing you one more time.” She explains.

“I know I shouldn’t say it. I shouldn’t even think it.” She swallows weakly.

Twines her fingers through his. Clutches onto him all the more. Showing him the depth of her affection that she had always smothered deep down. She doesn’t want to suffocate it anymore.

Kylo sees the wet of tears in her eyes.

“I’m very glad of your improprietous wishes. They well reflect my own.” He admits. Kissing the back of her hand. He wouldn’t throw himself and his passions upon her whilst she’s recovering in a sick bed. He’s not that much of a letch.

The door creaks open across his chamber and Jomar is the one to answer his summons. Kylo twists around where he is knelt. And when his butler sees his smile, and the calm of his expression. He hears his sigh all the way across from the door.

“Might Miss Ashton have a tray of tea and some of that broth Mrs Jones had cook prepare?” Kylo asks.

Jomars smile lightened up the whole room. “I shall fill the kettle myself. Your Lordship.” He beams. It makes Iris smile wide too.

“Thankyou. Mr Jomar. You’re very kind.” She rasps across to him. He nods a grateful smile.

“Ever your attentive servant. Miss. You got his Lordship to crack a smile for the first time since the dark ages. I feel like we ought lay roses at your feet.” He insists.

“Just the tea. For now.” Kylo reiterates.

“And might I ask you keep an eye on Miss Ashton whilst I retire to my washroom for a moment?” He informs.

“Yes of course. Your Lordship.” Jomar steps into the room and aside so Kylo may pass.

He squeezes her hand in comfort before he slips away. Off to go shave and wash himself and redress in a clean pressed shirt. And new breeches and small clothes. He felt quite rumpled in his current dress.

The kind butler lingers by the bed. Handing her some more water even though she hadn’t requested it. She needed it. He could tell.

“You all like his Lordship a great deal...” She comments.

Jomar can’t deny it.

“We love him. Miss. Though he may be stubborn and pigheaded sometimes. And most think him to be arrogant or savage. We are, all of us, so very proud to serve his house and his title.” He insists with not so much as a hint of false note to his tone.

“He depends on you a great deal. It’s nice to see a man and his butler on such friendly terms.” She states.

“We do make fun of one another. But it is enjoyable in its own way. He teases me. I rib him. And demand a payrise if he steps too far over the line. I have to remind him of his place...” He jokes in detriment. It draws a laugh from her.

“If I may speak candidly. Miss Ashton. And do censure me if it is above my place to say so; but he admires you a vast vast deal. In a way I have seldom seen of him.” He openly admits.

Iris’ heart feels like it wants to burst. So crammed full of potent emotion. It made her chest glow warm.

“I could never censure anyone for such a admission. Mr Jomar.” She gives him a wobbly smile so full of love. Moved by his plea.

“And I feel you should also know he hasn’t left your side these past two days. Hasn’t left this room. He administered medicine. Water. All himself. He didn’t even take the time away to eat or bathe.”

Her eyes water. “So you see? He really is the most stubborn man. I doubt he’d have let that illness take you either.”

“Most stubborn.” She agrees. And she cries happily. Heart so bursting full at the seams, of love for him.

Seeing how much his staff admire him. How he’s surrounded and inundated by people he warmly regards. How respect from either party cuts both ways.

He’s the most honourable man she’s ever had the good fortune to meet. She can’t ever imagine how or why she had once considered Lord Ren a monster.

For her heart is quite sold to him.

~ ~ 🥀 ~ ~

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scarlettkat86 · 4 years

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FC5 GFH Tag!

Tagged by @chyrstis ty bb💜

My brain instantly emptied when I saw this tag. Hopefully I got it working enough to give y'all Lo as a GFH.

Loralai Dale Jones (GFH)

With Fangs for Hire

Boomer: "Bebee booms!" "Who's the bestest boy? You are!"

Peaches: starts singing pussy cat by bridge city sinners

"How bout a treat for that catitude eh? Wouldn't wanna end up like those peggies."

Cheeseburger: *offers hand and ear scratch* "hope you don't mind some fruits for a snack, I'd like to see you around for a long time big guy"

"hey cheesie, think I could ride on your back into battle? No?"

With other Guns for Hire

Sharky: *checking him out as he joins the team* "dammit, forgot my 'caution: wet floor' sign"

*high fives and secret handshake before shouting "team loshaw in the house!"

*sharky turns on radio. Set those sinners free starts playing.* "this is such a Johnny Cash knock off but goddamn it's good." * Starts singing off key and slaps his hand before he can turn it off.*

Adelaide: "Hey Ads, why's Jacob not on the 'any hole' list?"

*if adelaide is talking bad of hurk jr* "I'm all outta Bitch b gone spray, but these hands can show you what happens when you don't have anything kind to say."

"Im 100% certain I didnt need that image. Now I can't go back to the marina."

Jess *after watching her stealth kill a chosen and two judges in seconds* "I think you're lady boner is showing."

*while waiting* "You know sometimes I wish you'd talk more, but I'm learning the beauty of being one with natur-" *one of Jess' arrows hit the tree beside her head* "Fuck. I don't know if I'm afraid or horny right now. Both. I think both." Jess smirks, barely visible, but its there.

Nick Hey nick, wanna make a deal? *scratches beard* "Depends what you got in mind"

"Free flying lessons in exchange for painting a giant dick onto John's plane?" She rambles on about her plan and he agrees.

"Oh! I almost forgot! I found some of that old baby stuff the peggies took in a bunker a while back, tell Kim I'll be by this weekend."

Hurk Jr. Always greets her as ElDeeJay *finger guns* "Hurkinator!"

After a fight* Hurk runs over to her "Are you alright amigo?" *clutches scrape on her head* "first of all, did you see that peggie get launched? Amazing, and i think he's still in the tree!! Secondly, don't ever aim that rocket near me again or I'll throw you off a cliff."

Grace: *first time meeting her* "wow, you're gorgeous."

"sick shot! Think you could give me lessons?"

"I can sense your an honest person. Glad to have you at my back."

In combat:

•seeing an enemy: "the big ones mine."

•sneaking: "one two Lo is coming for you..."

•killing an enemy: "this never gets easier." "It's my life or yours!" "Think I strik have brain on my boots. Disgusting."

•Reviving: "I'll be there lickety split!" "You're not dying on my watch."

•Hurt: "sonofabitch!!owww." "I'm fine, it's just, a scratch." "Come on! Push through the pain, just a few more."

•Downed: "Take your time, I've got all day. Just bleeding out here." "Fuckfuckfuck" *vision blackened* "I don't see a light. That's.. that's a good thing, right?"

Driving:

If asked to drive: "Buckle up mother fuckers!" "You can totally trust me behind the wheel."

Reckless driving: "cheese on a cracker!" "Who the fuck taught you to drive? A blind man?" "Watch out, I don't want to meet a fiery death at the bottom of a cliff!"

•Changing the radio stations:

Faith's music *exaggerated yawning* "Nope, no, nein, I can't."

*oh John while riding with grace. Making up lyrics* Oh lawd!! Beauty and Grace! She's putting bullets in each and every peggies face!"

Idle:

• If you haven't tried Chad's grill, you've gotta. Don't be put off by the whole roadkill thing. It's fresh, it's delicious. Here feeds the whitetails. I mean have you seen Eli? That's a piece of meat I could sink my teeth into...."

•I wasn't born here in Montana, don't remember much of Tennessee. I do remember always going for hikes to local waterfalls or fishing with my dad there. Was a little more dense, a little less serene... man, I wish he'd of had a chance to see this place.

•Can't stand sitting around. Anyone wanna go for a run? No one?

Location specific:

•In the Whitetail Mountains: "Nothing makes my skin crawl quite like those wolf beacons. Faith has nothing on Jacob when it comes to psychological horrors."

•At Fall's End: So glad to see this place outta John's hands. Im not much for religion but I try to stop by to see Pastor Jerome often. Mans got some interesting stories from his time in service, and history of Hope County.

•Near any Clutch Nixon mission: Greatest or stupidest stuntman of all time. I tried the Baptism of fire one time. Lost an eyebrow, took two years for the burnt hair on the side of my head to grow back normal and broke my arm but man. It was thrilling.

Tagging: @goodboiboomer-fc5 @wewillryesagain @minilev @theblissburns @nightwingshero @jacobmybeloved if yall wanna.. sorry for any double tags, maybe you have a 2nd fc5 oc to share? No obligations though! I took... forever to find this in my drafts :/

#fc5 #oc: loralai dale jones #dep as a gfh #tag #long post #sorry no access to desktop rn #can't believe i forgot about this

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megalodont · 4 years

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mdzswomen’s Women Appreciation Weeks: Favourite Ship

read it here or on ao3 ^^

The town doctor, whose name Nie Mingjue hadn’t bothered to learn, was considerably less limp-wristed and fastidious than the rest of the townies he had met. When he realised his only broodmare was foaling breech he’d reluctantly called for her; with a cow he’d just let nature take its course and if the mother died he’d cut the calf out and have beef for dinner and that would be that. But the horse was good stock and he couldn’t afford another until the end of the season. How was he supposed to drive five hundred head with only one horse?

The woman had arrived in good time, wearing practical twill and an apron. She’d taken one look at the beast lying on its side and removed the straight pins holding her shortgown closed, leaving her in just her skirt and stays. She threw the garment over the stable railing and rolled the sleeves of her chemise as high as they’d go. Nie Mingjue found himself admiring her practicality.

“I’d prefer not to get kicked,” she told Nie Mingjue, before kneeling behind the prone mare. He didn’t appreciate being ordered around on his own ranch, but he jerked his head at his younger brother—who was looking distinctly squeamish—and took his place by the horse’s rear end. Nie Huaisang swallowed and nodded, squeezing into the stall to sweet talk the beast and offer her whatever treats he’d been unsubtly hiding in the pockets of his fancy coat.

He couldn’t see much from where he crouched, hands resting on the horse’s top leg so she couldn’t kick the tiny woman, but he found himself very glad his brother was at the other end of the stall when the doctor stuck both her hands right into his favourite horse. Her face was set with determined concentration as she did... something, one sticky hand coming to rest on the boards beside his head as she turned her whole body to get one arm even deeper…. in there. An alarming quantity of reddish fluid suddenly gushed from the beast, soaking into the hay. Strings of blood and mucus smeared the shoulder of her white chemise, and Nie Mingjue gave in to the urge to wrinkle his nose.

With a grunt of effort she dug her heels into the floor and pulled. Slowly, sweat beading on her forehead, she managed to pull out a pair of hooves.

Back hooves.

“Okay,” she panted, trying to wipe her sweaty forehead on her shoulder. She stood and backed up. “Now you.”

Nie Mingjue bit back a wince and came around to kneel where she had been, the straw unpleasantly damp beneath him. His hands felt suddenly enormous on the foal’s delicate ankles, but he got a good grip and, at the doctor’s instruction, began to pull. Nothing much happened.

“Come on, what good is it being the same size as a horse yourself if you can’t put your back into anything? Pull!” She commanded. Nie Mingjue growled and leaned into it, eventually working his way up until he was pulling with all his strength. He felt like he was going to tear the legs right off the little creature, and the mare had begun to bellow as she tried to push. The doctor reached in to guide it out.

The foal came inch by inch, and then all at once. Nie Mingjue found himself falling on his ass when the baby’s hind quarters finally slipped free.

“Okay, she can do the rest,” the doctor said. Even as she spoke the rest of the foal’s body was slithering out onto the stable floor.

“Lord almighty,” Nie Huaisang said faintly. “Is it over?” Nie Mingjue snorted at the sight of him, sweaty and pale like he was the one who had just delivered a baby.

“It’s over,” the doctor told him, busy clearing the mucus from the foal’s mouth and nose with a handful of straw. “You can come see it, if you want.”

“I’m good. I’m actually going to go outside for a second I think, yep—” And he was gone.

“Bit squeamish for a cattle rancher,” the doctor commented, getting to her feet.

“More like a cattle rancher’s dandy brother,” Nie Mingjue huffed. He led the doctor around the side of the stable to the water pump so they could both wash up. He was just retying the red kerchief around his neck when he heard his brother scream.

To her credit the doctor jerked in surprise and hurried towards the sound. Nie Mingjue followed, though he was not overly alarmed; Nie Huaisang screamed when bugs crossed his path or dirt got on his fine trousers.

This was not one of those situations.

When Nie Mingjue rounded the corner he almost froze in horror at the sight of his brother, hands in the air, being faced down by six gun-toting bandits. He recognised the faces of several from wanted posters he’d seen in town. As soon as he and the doctor emerged several pistols were turned on them as well.

“Hand’s where I can see ‘em!” The leader of the band shouted. Nie Mingjue obliged, chest filling with a boiling rage.

The doctor raised her hands as well, but fearlessly crossed the short distance between Nie Mingjue and Nie Huaisang, hardly paying any attention to the pack of outlaws at all.

“Are you alright?” She demanded of Nie Huaisang.

“Of course I’m not alright!” He wailed. “They’re pointing guns at us!”

“Are you injured, ” she snapped.

“Yes! I was so startled when they jumped out I almost fell! Look at my hand, it’s bleeding! And it got all over my sleeve!” His brother had the uncanny ability to be both whiny and fearful at once. If anything had happened to him Nie Mingjue didn’t know what he would have done.

“You two, go search them for shit we can sell,” the leader said.

“You know the deal,” one of the outlaws responded sharply. He was a greasy man, wearing much better boots than the rest of his companions.

“Yeah, yeah.” The leader rolled his eyes.

Nie Mingjue growled as a bandit rifled through his clothes with dirty fingers, gun pressed to his chest. His hands were shaking with the temptation to pull his own gun, hidden in his waistband, and shoot as many of the bastards as he could before they got him. A choked gasp snapped his head to the side, and he saw the other bandit digging the muzzle of his pistol cruelly into the underside of Nie Huaisang’s jaw.

The next thing Nie Mingjue knew his ears were ringing with the sound of a gunshot, the bandit frisking him dead on the ground.

“ Get down!” The doctor shouted, busy shoving Nie Huaisang behind a wagon in the corner of his vision. Thanking Heaven the doctor had had the sense to remove his brother from the line of fire Nie Mingjue threw himself behind a barrel of feed and weathered the first round of bullets as the outlaws opened fire. He tilted his head to peek around the edge, moving back almost before he could register the locations of the men. Heart pounding with adrenaline he shot to his feet long enough to take aim, picking a man off before ducking back down, chest heaving. He glanced over at where the other two were taking shelter, knowing he’d feel guilty for putting them in danger once everything was over—only to see the doctor, feet planted, hands steady as she wielded Nie Huaisang’s own pistol. Nie Mingjue insisted he carry it in case of situations such as these, but his brother refused to even practice shooting cans with him so he shouldn’t have been surprised he didn’t take it out to defend himself.

The doctor, for her part, held it with total comfort, and as he watched she took out two men, ducking smoothly back behind the wagon as bullets hit the dust where she’d been. He couldn’t believe the tiny woman was holding her own in a gunfight mere moments after unflinchingly pulling a horse from its mother.

“What the hell are you daydreaming about over there?” She screamed over the din, face streaked with dirt, eyes blazing. For a moment the hot rage in his chest flickered into a different kind of burn.

“Who the fuck is that woman? She just shot Billy and Snaketooth Al!”

“I don’t give a fuck who she is, just finish them off already!” Shouted the leader.

Another round of bullets assailed Nie Mingjue’s flimsy hiding place. One finally punched all the way through, a stream of grain pouring out onto his dust-caked boots. He threw another look to where Nie Huaisang crouched with his arms over his head. The doctor met his eyes, and they didn’t have to speak a word. The doctor raised three fingers.

Then two.

Then one.

The pair stepped out in perfect unison, guns blazing. Nie Mingjue grunted as a bullet struck him in the shoulder, but he didn’t let it stop him shooting the no good outlaw who’d wounded him right between the eyes.

He stood, staring, panting down at where the dead men lay under the blazing noontide sun.

“Is—is it over?” Nie Huaisang asked for the second time that hour.

“It’s over,” the doctor replied once again. She tossed his gun in his direction and marched over to where Nie Mingjue was still standing, staring at her.

“Where—uh, where did you learn to shoot like that?”

“My little brother is the best marksman in the county,” she said primly. “Take of your shirt.”

He frowned. “What?”

“Shirt off. I need to look at that wound.”

“It only grazed me,” he groused, annoyance starting to overtake his admiration.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said causticly. “I forgot bullet grazes were the only type of wound impervious to infection. Off. Now.”

He glared down—way down—at her, but she didn’t back off, only narrowing her eyes.

“Tch.” He tucked his gun back into his belt and tugged off his bandana. He pulled his loose shirt over his head and balled it in his fist, plonking himself down on the bullet riddled feed barrel so she had some hope of reaching his wound. She leaned very close to inspect it.

“Didn’t hit anything vital. It’ll heal a lot better if you get stitches, but I didn’t bring my equipment. You will need to clean it though. I assume you have bandages and antiseptic?”

Nie Mingjue wordlessly raised his shirt. She closed her eyes as if she were in pain. “And something to clean it with…?”

Placing the shirt on his leg he dug in his trouser pocket, coming up with his flask. She stared at it for a long moment, and then took it. She unscrewed the cap and took a deep swallow. Nie Mingjue felt his eyebrows rise, and they stayed up there when she wiped her mouth without coughing. His brother couldn’t even smell the stuff without his eyes beginning to water.

“You’ll want some of this too,” she said, and he dutifulled took a swallow, carefully not thinking about how the doctor’s mouth had been there moments before. She took the flask back and wasted no time pouring whiskey into his bulletwound. He manfully refrained from hissing in pain.

“Da-ge?”

“Just a scratch, didi,” he assured his brother.

“Is he going to be okay?” He asked the doctor as she tore strips from her apron.

“If he comes with me back to town to let me fix him up properly, he’ll be fine. If he just lets it fester and dies of sepsis? Less so.”

Nie Mingjue rolled his eyes, but the sting of the woman binding his wound prevented him from replying.

“Who the hell were those men, though?” Nie Huaisang wondered, looking down at one. “Bandits don’t normally hit out here in the middle of the day, there’s way better pickings on the roads leading into town.”

“That’s because they weren’t bandits,” the doctor said grimly, not looking up from her work.

“Huh?”

“What do you mean by that?” Nie Mingjue demanded.

“Whoever they were they were hired to come here,” she said, tying off the makeshift dressing.

“What! By who?”

She looked up at him. “By the Wens.”

“Those dogs?!” Nie Mingjue roared. “I won’t sell them my land for mining so they decide to have me killed ?!”

“Why do you think that?” Nie Huaisang asked intently, searching the doctor's expression.

“That’s Wen Chao,” the doctor said, pointing to one of the bodies. “Wen Ruohan’s son.”

Nie Mingjue looked at the body of the chubby man in surprise, but he didn’t miss the way his brother’s eyes narrowed.

“How do you know?” Nie Huaisang demanded.

The doctor looked between them, and seemed to make a decision. She squared her shoulders.

“Because he’s my cousin.”

Nie Mingjue snapped around, staring at the tiny woman he’d come to so admire over the last hour. She hiked her chin, staring right back. Her? One of those slimy bastards?!

His furious roar was loud enough to frighten the cows.

“What in tarnation?!”

#mdzswomen #mdzs #the untamed #nie mingjue #wen qing #rated m #for gun violence #blood #and uh #graphic horse birth #idk you guys #paris writes #mdzs fic

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scarluxia · 3 years

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My son: I'M AWAKE AND I HUNGER!!!! WHAT DO YOU MEAN I HAVE TO WAIT??? FOR BREAKFAST??? THAT'S NOT FAIR! I'M GOING TO SCREAM FOR THE NEXT 20-35 MINUTES!!!

My husband: ¯\_(🙄)_/¯

Me: omg just like pick him up and cuddle him while I'm pumping it's not difficult

Me: (to my son) it's your own damn fault you won't take the breast

Actually it's the hospital's fault, since they put him on a tube and then transitioned him to a bottle and then discharged him without teaching us how to breastfeed, like, they said "oh just keep trying :)" but no, whenever I tried he would cry louder and turn his head away so I stopped because, like, RSD sucks and imagine getting rejected by your literal month-old infant??? and having PPD on top of that??? they could have at LEAST used the Tommee Tippee bottles that are shaped like a boobie, like I didn't learn about those until my pump malfunctioned and I got some of those bottles off Nextdoor with my replacement pump. Oh and let's not forget that lactation specialists are like, doing things over the phone/Zoom instead of in person and that helps exactly zero for my neurodivergent self. So my son has to wait close to half an hour because I have to pump and I'm underproducing

(I'm severely allergic to lactation tea, my job doesn't fully comprehend "just had a baby" OR "high functioning autism" and basically see me as a slacker who gets more special treatment than everyone else but I need to work in order for the County to continue to help support us because I absolutely cannot stay home alone with the baby so anyway I don't get enough sleep, and "just eat this thing" or "stay hydrated :)" don't work for me)

but neither Loki nor I want to switch the baby's liquid to "just formula" so I'm stubbornly pumping every few hours and basically he usually gets 2 oz milk and 5 oz formula per feed, UNLESS he has eaten his fruit (2.3 oz per container but he usually finishes 1.5-2 oz), in which case I have more time to relax and eat food before I pump and then he gets like 3 oz milk and 2 oz formula

We had some milk saved in the freezer but then Beb had to go back to the hospital overnight so Loki took the milk supply and the formula can with him, and yes I pumped while the boys were gone, but we still ran out really quickly

Anyway, every morning I have to hear him crying because his food is taking too long and I really hate it :( Loki says he's just making noise because he's awake and wants to play, and since he's the primary caretaker I kind of half-believe him? But it's still hard hearing him through the door and feeling all kind of way about it.

I've also had to leave/unfollow some mom groups because they were passive aggressively shaming people who formula-feed, like, "oh noes in my toes, your baby will consume MICROPLASTICS if you bottle feed!" Well gee, you know, I did have to pump for several days in the hospital to even get milk in the first place, and the pumps are made of-- surprise!-- PLASTIC. And so are the little dollar store containers I put his baby food in (we get free produce and I like to boil and blend my own rather than buy baby food from the store even though WIC will cover it if I tell them he's eating fruit).

Wow this turned into a whole rant. But yeah I've tried to talk to lactation specialists and, like therapists, they all have the same Generic A, B, and C answers that don't fucking work for me because I always gotta be a fucking outlier and it's not cool or fun, they GENUINELY don't understand that what works for other moms doesn't work for me and I hate it so m

OH AND LET'S

One of the common advice things is to eat more, like, consume 300-709 kcal more as a breastfeeding or pumping mother than before becoming pregnant. But THEN I've got the-- that really isn't working ok first of all. Secondly, I'm getting FATTER. I don't have the time or energy to exercise (I am exercising more than I did, but it takes A LOT of extra planning and a huuuge push to make me stick to my phone's reminders) and the doctors are like "you need to exercise :)" YEAH OKAY WITH WHAT??? TIME??? AND WHOSE??? ENERGY??? WHAT KIND OF LIFE DO YOU PEOPLE FUCKING THINK I'M LIVING? "But your cholesterol and blood sugar"

I just

*SCREAMS*

I wasted my entire 20's being overweight and I had just got some semblance of body acceptance for myself after Beb was born because my body was clearly strong enough to grow and nurture this whole new person, but that actually faded away sometime within the last six months and I fucking hate that i SOMEHOW FUCKING GAINED BACK ALL THE FAT I LOST A WEEK AFTER GIVING BIRTH???

I don't fucking WANT to eat more!!! The other day we went to the store and I ended up putting on a corset because I was so mad that I couldn't zip up my old work pants that, again, fit a little loose after I had the baby. I hate having to eat to stay alive, like, if I could just live on water and vitamins I FUCKING WOULD.

And due to my schedule I can't "just exercise", like, I work in office. I work from home. I pump every few hours so no matter what I do I always feel like I'm going to be interrupted "any minute" and then when I am it throws me off and I CANNOT relax. I have horrible executive dysfunction. And it's like the fucking universe is conspiring to make me morbidly obese (my medical chart actually said that when I went to the ER for a new inhaler) and underproducing milk

like I'm GLAD I'm fucking bigender because I'd feel like an absolute failure if I was just a woman

#formula feeding from necessity #failed breastfeeding #lactation woes #parenting while autistic #welfare stuff #body shaming #dysmorphia #meltdown but in text form

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carol-effing-danvers · 4 years

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knock me the fuck out (i dare ya, babe), part one

TEACHER STEVE AND SOFT BILLY

Ten years, eight months, three weeks, and nine days ago, Billy had escaped this Lovecraftian nightmare town and never looked back. He’d come into Hawkins believing that it was his own personal hell and left it certain that it was actual, literal Hell.

(this got long so i decided to divide it into three parts) If you prefer the Ao3 format, click here

Billy’s first thought as he rolls back into Hawkins for the first time in ten years is: I cannot believe Max stayed in this deathtrap.

He didn’t. Ten years, eight months, three weeks, and nine days ago, Billy had escaped this Lovecraftian nightmare town and never looked back. As soon as he was well enough to leave the hospital, he spent most of his savings on a shitty Ford Bronco (he did NOT miss that car), packed up his records, and hit the fuckin’ road. He’d come into Hawkins believing that it was his own personal hell and left it certain that it was actual, literal Hell.

Billy wonders, a bit guiltily, if Max’s life woulda turned out like this if he hadn’t left her in this Midwestern madhouse all by herself. Only twenty-four and she was already getting a divorce.

He’s never like Justin van Haut but at first, Billy attributed that to the fact that the dude was dating Max - he had a right to hate any dude trying to fuck his sister, he figured. Facts was just facts. But then they got married and it didn’t get better. If anything, Billy might’ve hated him more.

Justin reminded Billy way too fucking much of himself, of the strutting arrogant little dirtbag that he used to be - only, van Haut had the money and the influence to get away with his bad deeds. He was the kind of guy who wanted something only until he got it, and then he didn’t want it anymore.

Billy wasn’t that person anymore. He couldn’t be. It took too much energy that he didn’t have - like the Shadow Monster had sucked all the rage out of him. And without it, there was so little left of Billy Hargrove.

Old Billy would’ve gotten drunk and drove to South Bend. Old Billy would’ve beat the shit outta the bitch-ass pussy who’d spent six and half years cheating on his sister. Old Billy would’ve spent the night in the county lock-up.

New Billy didn’t do that, because New Billy promised Max he’d be there by dinner time. New Billy knew that Max would just have to bail his sorry ass out of prison with money she didn’t really have.

But either way, Billy knew even if he had the chance to, he’d never change the way it worked out, because in the end-

“UNCLE BILLY!”

-in the end, he got his girl.

As soon as he opens the door, she launches herself at him. “Who is this?” he demands seriously, stabilizing her on his lap, letting her grip the stirring wheel in two tiny hands. “Who are you? Where’s my Lulu?”

She giggles at his theatrics, tugging at his leather jacket, wisps of red hair escaping her little braid. “I’m Lulu, Uncle Billy!”

He gasps, feigning shock. “You can’t be my Lulu! You’re such a big girl!”

“I’m going to Kindie-gar-den now!” she says proudly, with a cocky little toss of her head that reminded Billy of her mother so much that he couldn’t hold in a grin.

“Yeah? Do you like school, Lulu?” They get out so that Billy can grab some of his things from the trunk.

“Uh-huh. My teacher is really nice!”

“Yeah? What’s your teacher’s name?” he asks absently, resting Lulu on his hip as he pulls his bag from the trunk.

“He’s Mister H!” she says, and his brows bounce up. Male kindergarten teacher? That was pretty unusual. Maybe Hawkins was finally getting outta the Stone Age. He doubts it, but hope springs eternal.

From inside the house, Max yells “Lauren!”

“Mommy, Uncle Billy is here!” she shouts, and squirms back down to the ground, running for the front porch. “Mommy says you can have my room!”

Billy thinks with no small horror of the pink room with Mickey and Minnie Mouse’s faces staring out from the wallpaper. Jesus Christ. Lulu beams at him, utterly delighted at the prospect of her uncle moving in, and he barely has to lie when he says “Fantastic, princess.”

Max gives him a wry smile as she appears in the doorway, practically reading his mind as she wipes her wet hands on a dishtowel. “Welcome home, big brother.”

Old Billy would’ve told her that this town might be home, but it wasn’t his. Home was a place he lost when his mother left him with Neil. New Billy knows Max isn’t talking about Hawkins. “You’re gonna get so sick of me,” he promises, dropping the paper bag he’d taken from the trunk. “Here.”

“What the hell is this?” she asks, laughing. “You better not’ve brought me a bag of p- oh my god, Billy.”

He chuckles at her open-mouth as Max stares down into the stacks of cash inside the crumbled paper bag. Rubbing the short hair at the back of his neck, he awkwardly answers, “Rent.”

“This is way too much!” she protests, trying to hand it back, like she didn’t miss a mortgage payment last month.

Billy dances out of the way, picking Lulu up and twirling her around. Grinning like a madman at her delighted shrieks, he throws her across one shoulder. “Wanna help me set up the stereo, Lulu?”

“Yeah!”

“Billy, get back here!”

“Can’t hear you, Max! All that loud metal music, y’know!”

---

“I’m home!” he calls, pushing the door shut with his hip. The apartment is completely silent and then Steve hears a familiar ‘thump’ and grins.

With her bushy tail held high, a black cat races down the hall, wailing “Waah!”

“Hello, Angie,” he coos, crouching to scratch her under the chin. “How are the birds today, huh?”

“Waah,” she repeats loudly, pleading at him with her huge yellow eyes.

“Missed me?” he asks, stroking the fluffy black fur along her back. “Let’s have some dinner.”

He must’ve told Dustin a thousand, maybe two thousand, times that he did not want a cat, but the very morning that Dustin left for MIT, he dropped the fluffy soot-black kitten on Steve’s doorstep and raced away anyway. “His name is ‘the Witch-King of Angmar’, good luck, Steve!”

Ha. The joke was on him, though. His ‘Witch-King’ was actually a queen and Steve called her Angie and she was a fucking delight – he suspected that Dustin was just overly dramatic. Steve supposed that the cat was a nice compromise, considering that Dustin had tried not to leave for college at all.

That had probably been the worst six months of Steve’s life.

He’d never fought with one of the kids before, let alone Dustin, but they spent nearly all of his senior year fighting – because Dustin managed to get a scholarship, a two-year free ride to Princeton, and he didn’t want to leave Hawkins. Or more specifically, he didn’t want to leave Steve.

Lucas was bound for Howard in DC, Will and Mike were reuniting at MIT, and Dustin got into fucking Princeton, but he didn’t want to go.

(“What the fuck are you talking about, you don’t wanna go? I don’t give two dicks what you want, shithead. I’m an adult, Dustin, and I can take care of myself! You’re not going to throw your whole life into the toilet because you think I’m LONELY!”)

So, yeah. Steve and Dustin spent Dustin’s senior year of high school fighting, and now Steve has a cat and Dustin is in graduate school, because college was where he fucking belonged, just like Steve had told him.

Filling Angie’s bowl, Steve idly dances around the kitchen to no music, pulling open the fridge and peering inside. “What should we have for dinner, Angie? What do ya think Aunt Robin wants to eat?”

Angie doesn’t bother turning her head away from her cat kibble, but her tail swishes at the sound of his voice. Humming ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb’, Steve throws together a stir-fry.

Cooking has become one of those parts of being an adult that Steve finds unexpectedly pleasurable. Cutting up the ingredients, mixing spices and seasonings, tending to the food – Steve enjoys that.

He hears jingling in the hallway as Robin comes through the door, purse swinging from her arm. He can also hear her swearing under her breath and she kicks her shoes off onto the mat beside the door. “Angie, Angie baby,” she coos as the cat runs to greet her. “Please feed me, Steve-o. I’m gonna fucking kill Bobby Monroe.”

“Parent-teacher conference didn’t go well?” he asks lightly, fluffing the rice with a fork before he pulled his stir-fry off the fire.

“NO,” she says shortly, before calling “How was the dentist? Is this a bad time to say that I picked up a banana cream pie at Baker’s Square?”

In a rather bloodthirsty tone, Steve replies “Cavity or no cavity, we are eating dessert, Rob.”

“Okay, okay, you don’t have to get out a torch and a pitchfork.”

“What happened with Bobby Monroe?”

Oof, speaking of bloodthirsty. Robin’s teeth grind together and Steve pokes her pointedly in the side as he takes their plates down from the cabinet. “His kid is on the verge of going to juvie and this guy just…Does Not get it, Steve.”

Steve’s glasses were on the verge of slipping down the bridge of his nose as he cracked open the tops on two beers. “That’s ‘cause Monroe is golfing buddies with Mayor Walsh and my old pal Tommy Hall, Rob.”

Her nose wrinkles. “Ugh,” she mutters, then brightens a bit. “I got to read another one of Holly’s essays.”

Smiling at his plate, Steve says “Yeah?”

He was a little sad he got into teaching too late to have Holly or any of the other kids as a student, but Robin got the joy of having both Erica Sinclair and Holly Wheeler pass through her classroom. “Her analysis of the creation of the Constitution was…I wanna send it to Harvard, Steve. She’s only fifteen, but she can already understand how to translate nuance in the document. Half of my graduating class couldn’t write something that impressive on early US history.”

“That’s fantastic,” he says, grinning.

“How was Munchkin Land?” she asks, through a mouthful of vegetables and rice.

Laughing slightly, Steve says “The Lollipop Guild always keeps me on my toes. Thank god for naptime!”

They eat banana cream pie on the couch in front of ‘Frasier’, Robin’s toes shoved under his thigh as Steve tries not to fall asleep on the damn sofa. She laughs at him, throwing one of the cushions at his face.

“It’s seven-thirty, you old man,” she teases, coaxing Angie onto her lap.

“Leave me alone,” he whines, melting into his secondhand couch. “I’m an educator of young minds!”

Rob stuck her tongue out at time. “It’s called ‘narcolepsy’, Steven.”

“Please leave me to die in peace.”

She does leave, an hour later, and Steve locks the door behind her like a Responsible Adult.

He is surrounded by almost total silence again. He’s a helluva lot more comfortable with it here in his apartment than he was in his parent’s house. Maybe it was because there wasn’t quite so much space to echo the silence back to him. Maybe it was because there was no steaming blue pool waiting in the backyard. Maybe it was the lack of judgmental silence, which persisted whether his parents were home or away.

He turns off the television and the lights in the living room, babbling baby-talk at Angie as he brushes his teeth and gets into bed, putting his glasses on the nightstand and sliding between the cool sheets.

Angie curls up behind his knees and Steve closes his eyes and listens to the empty space all around him.

Briefly, he spares a thought of apology for the Dustin of years past, because he’d been right. Steve was lonely. But at least now that he was a real grown-up, he was comfortable with it.

Mostly.

---

“You don’t have to do that,” Max mutters, head resting against the back of the sofa. Lauren was put to bed an hour ago and the only sound down in the house in the constant quiet tick of the grandfather clock in the hall.

“Hm?” Billy asks sleepily, sipping his beer. It was a thirty hour drive between San Diego and Hawkins and Billy had only slept once, and not recently. Honestly, that was probably the best state to experience the Horror of the Mouse that awaited him in Lulu’s old room.

Max gestures restlessly to the stacks of hundred dollar bills hastily stuffed into the paper bag. “Don’t pretend that isn’t your entire savings, Billy.”

“Don’t have to anything but die, Max,” he murmurs, his free hand subconsciously drifting to the tight silvery mass of scarring beneath his shirt, even as his eyes remain closed. With a damp shaky sigh, she leans against his side and Billy shifts that hand to drape around her shoulders. “Don’t fuckin’ argue with me, you know I ain’t gonna let you win.”

His t-shirt gets a little wet. “I’m really glad you’re here,” she admits, sniffling. “I missed you.”

His throat clicks as he swallows. “Missed you, Mad Max.”

Though Billy’s exhausted and goes to bed early, he spends an hour in Lulu’s full-sized bed, flat on his back and staring at the ceiling.

Despite his best-laid plans, here he is. Back in Hawkins, Indiana.

Funny that he still kinda feels like a mess, even though he’s a better mess than he used to be.

When his alarm goes off, Billy has the taste of antifreeze in his mouth and though it’s nearly March and Max keeps the heat low, he’s sweating.

Getting Lulu ready for school is a breeze. Firstly, because she’s smart and independent and she knows the routine she’s supposed to be following by now. Second, because once you fight an interdimensional alien monster and temporarily die, not much phases you anymore.

“This one, Uncle Billy!” Lulu says eagerly, pulling him along through the halls, towing her uncle with single-minded determination. "You can meet Sam and Freddy!"

Samantha Cross and Fred Ferris were Lulu's little friends. "Alright, slow down, you're gonna run someone over," he says, amused. She reminds him so much of Max, it's insane. "This one, Lulu?"

"Yeah!" A dark-haired man wearing a navy cardigan over a collared shirt is helping a pair of identical twins with their coats, crouching near a row of cubbies with sixteen name tags on them – from here, Billy can see Lulu’s near the end: Lauren V. "Hi, Mister H!"

Mister H-who-wears-the-dorky-cardigan turns his head and the bottom of Billy’s stomach drops out.

Steve Harrington gives Lulu a dorky little smile, all cute and happy, squinting from behind the lens of his big nerd glasses, and warmly says “Hello, Lauren.”

As a teenage boy, rolling fresh into Hawkins, Billy had fallen into a wild spiral of lust for Steve Harrington the moment he saw him standing next to Nancy Wheeler at a Halloween party. Closeted and angry and unable to escape his father’s rage and his father’s expectations, all Billy wanted was some of Steve’s attention – he hadn’t dared to let himself seriously consider getting more than that. Steve, being a straight teenage boy with a girlfriend, with popularity and money, had froze him out at every turn, and it drove Old Billy fucking crazy. No matter what he did, he never got a reaction more interested than bland annoyance.

As hot as his passions for him burned, Billy couldn’t make the Hawkins ice princess melt even a little.

But at a certain point, when you grow up, you can look on certain things you got attached to or certain things you enjoyed as a teenager and find your attachment sort of silly, maybe even comical. New Billy had sort of looked forward to reaching that conclusion here.

This isn’t like that at all.

Actually, Billy thinks it might even be worse than before. Billy feels a dull flush beginning to form over his face and swallows the urge to say something stupid to get Steve’s attention – that was the ghost of Old Billy talking.

God, he looks so good.

All grown up, the knitwear clinging to the tantalizing hint of strong biceps, Steve’s eyes are huge and dark behind the lenses of the geek glasses, bangs hanging down into his eyes. Beneath the cardigan, his collared shirt shows an enticing view of his clavicles and the moles high on his neck. Billy used to jerk off to a fantasy of sucking on them and seeing what kind of noise he would get.

He looks soft and sleepy, like Billy could just curl himself around him and press his mouth to that bare skin and Steve would just-

“This is my Uncle Billy!”

Billy is abruptly pulled from his thoughts by the sound of Lulu’s voice and realizes that he’s well on his way to pitching a tent in his pants in front of Steve Harrington and his five year old niece. What the fuck is his life, seriously?

“Harrington.”

---

“Harrington,” the man next to Lauren drawls, and suddenly, Steve’s attention is focused and sharp.

This is my Uncle Billy.

He’s…wow, he’s really…grown up.

The sneering boy with a headful of dirty blond curls and a baby-fine mustache has aged into a grown man with a full beard – the old mullet has almost reversed, with the hair at the back and sides nearly shaved off and the hair at the top slicked back away from his face.

Oh my god.

So. So so so so so.

The thing about Billy- “Hargrove,” he greets, hoping that he sounds friendly and surprised and not breathless. “Max didn’t tell me you were coming back to town.”

Billy Hargrove was the very first boy Steve was ever attracted to, and after he left town, the realization that 1) he had a big gay crush on him and 2) he wasn’t ever going to see him again, were sorta the things that began his big bisexual breakdown – what Robin affectionately calls Steve’s ‘all dicks tour of ‘86’, even though she still doesn’t know what started it.

And now Billy’s standing here, in Steve’s classroom, the muscles he used to flash now hidden beneath leather and denim and flannel but possessing every inch of them as much as he had ten years ago. He looks like he could toss Steve over his shoulder and carry him off somewhere, like a caveman.

But hotter, Steve thinks, helplessly staring at the long sweep of his lashes. His lips, the same deep, full red of ripened berries. The dusting of freckles over Billy’s cheeks from hours standing in the sun.

For a moment, Steve feels a stab of uncertain fear – has Max ever told Billy anything about what happened in ’86?

No. His relationship with Max may have gotten slightly distant, especially after she officially married Justin, but he was pretty confident that she wouldn’t have told him such embarrassing and personal information about Steve, not when she that knew Billy had hated him.

At least she seems to be right, though – Billy had calmed down a lot.

Billy shrugs, in that effortless, careless way of his. Steve experiences a visceral urge to have that short beard rub his mouth raw and it makes his stomach twist with desire, uncomfortable in its intensity. “Got tired of San Diego – thought I’d see my best girl. Right, Lulu?”

Lulu. God, that’s cute.

Lauren grins up at Billy, proud as a peacock, and Billy smiles back at her for a moment, so nakedly adoring that Steve’s stomach gives another twist, his insides melting into goo. “Billy lives with me and Mommy now, ‘cause he missed me so much,” she declares, lifting her chin. “I’m his best girl.”

“That’s right,” he vows, cuffing her lightly over the head.

“That’s…really nice of you, Hargrove,” Steve says lightly. He knows that Max is getting a divorce – the entire town knows. Honestly if he didn’t think Max would kick him in the nuts, he’d have a nail bat with Justin’s name on it.

Lucas, chewing on his jealousy like a wad of bubblegum, had told them that Justin had basically spent their entire relationship cheating on her. He’d gotten the most willful girl in school to be his girlfriend and got bored with her almost immediately afterward.

He has a feeling that was the real reason for Billy’s sudden appearance in town after ten years of absence.

Billy shrugs again and peers at Steve through those long lashes. “Max didn’t tell me you were Lulu’s teacher.” He grins, tongue held between rows of sharp white teeth. Steve’s heart kicks up in his chest. “Kindergarteners, Harrington?”

He smiles awkwardly, dodging the question. “Lauren is one of my best readers,” he says instead. No matter which child it is, Steve can always find a reason to brag about one of his kids. “And her penmanship is terrific.”

Lauren gasps, bouncing with excitement, one of Billy’s rough hands clutched in both of hers. “I read a chapter book with Mommy and she only had to help me with two words, Mister H!”

“That’s awesome!” he says, unable to keep himself from beaming down at her. “Did Mrs. Diaz help you get a library card?”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Maybe your uncle can help you, then,” he says brightly, neatly side-stepping anymore conversation with the boy – the man, god, Steve didn’t think he’d ever seen anyone more of a man – who can apparently still make his heart race, even ten years since he’d last saw him.

In the doorway, he spots Marcy Roberts holding her little brother’s hand. “Morning Marcy. And good morning, Martin.”

“Morning, Mr. Harrington!”

---

“Alright, Lulu, it’s almost time for your class to start,” Billy says, tucking her too-long bangs behind her ears. “Mom will be back to pick you up, okay?”

For the first time, some of Lulu’s uncertainty shows through. “You’re still gonna be here, right? You aren’t going home?”

Billy pauses. Fuck, this kid’s dad has done a number on her.

Justin was hardly ever around anyway, but he’d just packed up and left in the middle of the night – Billy doesn’t even know the last time he bothered to talk to her on the phone. Lulu’s gotten upset when she and Max had to say goodbye to Billy in the past, but she’s never acted this insecure with him. “I’m home now, Lulu,” he says, crouching down to press a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll be there to say goodnight, okay?”

“Okay,” she agrees in a tiny voice that steals his whole fuckin’ heart away.

“Who’s my girl?” he asks in a whisper, tugging gently on the end of her ponytail.

Her face brightens. “I am.”

“The best, Lulu.” He winks and she giggles. “Be good, okay?”

“Kay!”

He stands to his full height and Harrington’s eyes accidentally meet his. There’s still a small smile lingering around the soft shape of his mouth and as soon as he looks into those big brown eyes, Steve looks away. Billy bites the inside of his cheek, resists his automatic urge to say something spiteful, something that will get those eyes back on him.

He would like to be able say that it’s because New Billy knows better. But it’s really because he already knows from experience that it won’t do anything but make Steve that much colder. He wants fire, and all that’s there for him is ice.

He leans against the wall right outside the classroom door and…just listens.

Listens to Steve speaking, his sweet patient drawl used for the children in his classroom. “Alright let’s take attendance and then I want to hear all about what you did this weekend, class. Evan Adams?” He stays there, listening with eyes closed, until he hears, “Lauren van Haut?”

“Here!”

Billy shakes himself, pushing away from the wall. No sense mooning over a straight boy who thinks he’s lower than dirt.

TBC

#harringrove #teacher steve #soft billy #knock me out babe #my writing

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he-has-a-knife · 4 years

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The Kitten Dilemma

WORD COUNT: 1256

FANDOM: House of Wax

PAIRINGS: none

RATING: sfw

This is part of a larger work of HoW Drabble that you can read here!

You were craving breakfast food. The only kind that the family kept stocked in their house was instant oatmeal and powdered coffee, and having that every single morning was kind of a downer. After a little bit of sweet talking and sucking up to Lester (the primary breadwinner of the household) he agreed to go grab some eggs and bacon with you from the local diner twenty minutes away.

Together you crunched across the gravel in the front of the house, heading for the truck as February sun began to weakly trickle through the treeline. “Sonovabitch, it’s gold.” Lester chattered, sniffling. He wasn’t the only one feeling the freak weather. You stuffed your hands deeper into your coat pockets to try and escape the chill. This particular county had been experiencing an unprecedented cold dip over the past few days, going down even into the mid-thirties; something that never happened in Louisiana.

You swung open the door and clambered inside the truck, stomping your feet to work feeling back into your toes.

“Well I’ll be damned!” Lester’s voice came through, muffled by the car door opposite you. “Hey, come look at this!”

With a drawn-out eye roll you oblige, exiting the truck and walking around the back. I swear to god, if he’s going to show me a weird bone or skull he found in the truck bed, you thought grumpily. “What.” You asked, rubbing your arms in the cold.

Lester was crouched by the wheel well of the front tire. When he stood up, he was beaming. In his arms he held a tiny fluffy ball of fur about the size of a tennis ball. “Look who I found tryin’ to keep warm inside my truck!” He said. His dirty fingers scratched and the furball, which moved and gave a little mrrp . “His mama an’ his two brothers didn’t make it through the cold night, it seems. They’re dead on my tire. But this little one wasn’t too keen on lettin’ god take him just yet, were you?” Lester’s voice trailed upwards as he began to baby-talk the kitten he had just found hiding by his tire.

A slow smile crept onto your face, accompanied by a giddy sensation that only adorable animals could bring on in people. “Oh my god!” You said, reaching out to pet the kitten. “He’s so cute! Look at those little ears! And that nose! Lester,” You turned to him and jerked a thumb towards the house door, “breakfast is cancelled. Let’s get that little guy inside and fed.”

Lester nodded and tucked the little guy under his jacket as you both headed back indoors.

***************

“We’re not keepin’ it.” Bo said, arms crossed.

“Aw, c’mon!” Lester protested. You shot Bo an incredulous look to go with Lester’s protest. The both of you were seated on the living room couch, watching the kitten eat out of Lester’s hand from his seat in your arms. Lester had spent the past five minutes tearing and mashing up some of the leftover gamefowl he had cooked into a mushy and easily digestible paste for the little cat. You were honestly surprised at how immediately invested he was in the little guy.

“We already got a dog!” Bo replied, gesturing with his mug of coffee at Delilah, who was napping on a rug in front of the fireplace. “And I ain’t responsible for what she does to that cat! They’re natural born enemies, ain’t they?” The kitten in your arms purred as it was eating, making choppy little sounds in between bites. Bo shot a glare at it as it effectively undermined his argument by being goddamn adorable.

“Bo, have a heart.” Lester pressed, carefully pinching another glob of meat between his fingers and feeding it into the kitten’s tiny mouth. “He ain’t got no parents to rely on. His two brothers ain’t around to take care of him! He’s all on his own; he needs us.”

You looked at the mousey, stubbly man opposite you with a flash of recognition; that’s why he immediately felt such sympathy for the creature. He was the kitten. Always the third wheel, always left to his own devices, even in his own family. You always knew that the Sinclair’s mother and father were either focused on ‘fixing’ Vincent, or caging Bo. Maybe there was no room for a younger brother in that picture.

Bo rubbed his brow and took a long sip of his coffee. Just has he opened his mouth to say something, looking tired and put-off, a set of heavy bootfalls were heard from the far back room. Vincent had spent the night doing catch-up work in the studio, and had just now come back to the house through the trap door.

“Vinny!” You called, leaning towards the wide doorway, “We’re all in the livingroom! Come here!”

Vincent slunk in a few moments later, in that same hunched and ‘don’t mind me’ posture he always took around his brothers. You beamed at him from the couch, and he stood up a little straighter, giving you a wiggly wave.

“Vincent, check it out.” Lester crowed, nodding his head towards the kitten with a grin as he fed it one last little chunk of meat.

Bo tried to put a hand out and stop Vincent from walking forward (probably because he knew once his twin got his hands on the kitten there would be no turning back) but Vincent artfully dodged the outstretched limb. His hands were already extended, masked eye locked on the tiny fluffy creature. You held the kitten up carefully. Vincent gingerly took it, holding it like it was made of glass and tilting his head in utter fascination. The kitten made a high sort of ‘mrow’ sound and without hesitation closed its tiny mouth around a few strands of Vincent’s hair.

Vincent was immediately and obviously in love. He held the kitten close to his flannel-layered chest and scritched its tiny head behind the ears with two wax-dirty fingers, emitting a small grunt of delight when the kitten responded by pushing itself further into his palm.

Meanwhile, Bo stood behind him, looking completely defeated. He shoved his face into his hand with a muffled ‘christ’, seeing as he was now outnumbered three to one. When he raised his head he was confronted with the bright and anticipatory stare of you and both the other Sinclair brothers.

“Fine. Fine.” He huffed, drinking the last of his coffee. “But I ain’t takin’ care of it, y’hear? This is all on you three. When something happens to it, don’t come runnin’ to me.”

“You should name him.” Lester said, wiping his meat-damp hands on his puffy vest.

Bo looked somewhat taken aback. Vincent seemed to sense this. Ever trying to comfort and care for his brother, he shuffled forward towards him and gestured with his arms for Bo to look at the kitten cradled within them. Bo looked down at the cat, obviously trying to keep his grouchy face in place when the whole family was being so tender around him.

With a single hesitant finger he pet the kitten’s downy and round little belly. The kitten peeped. “...Looks like a Jackson to me.” He said begrudgingly.

“It’s a Jackson!” You said loudly, raising your hands in the air in celebration and vindication. Lester followed suit, raising his arms and cawing the kitten’s name. Vincent raised the kitten into the air like a scene out of the lion king.

“I live in a house of idiots.” Bo muttered.

#house of wax #slashers #horror #slasher imagines #vincent sinclair #lester sinclair #bo sinclair

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thismightbeaterribleidea · 3 years

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Accidental Snowbirding

So I went to Florida and accidentally became a snowbird. I drove south in September with no real timeframe for anything in mind, and I ended up staying on the Gulf coast north of Tampa (Pasco County) for almost three months, minus a couple of weeks I was in Georgia.

Some friends have asked me how the new, nomadic life is going, and I tell them that it hasn’t really felt that nomadic. I’ve enjoyed being close to my friend Ron — I had a regular rotation of several campgrounds, none of them more than half an hour from his place. It reminded me of the decade-plus ago when we both lived in Denver, in old, cheap apartments within walking distance of each other. A friend calls and says “do you want to come over?” and you just go over. It’s lovely. We both got into paddleboarding (more on that later) and explored some rivers. We even took an airbnb trip to the Smokies and northern Alabama before the pandemic escalated. So it’s been interesting and good, if different from the types of images that motivated me to buy this big-ass van (wilderness, solitude, aspen groves, desert mesas).

Here’s what I remember from the last few months:

A cotton-candy-pink bird forages on a shoreline and it is so quiet that you can hear its three-clawed feet pattering in the mud. Ninety minutes later we are scarfing down fried chicken in the car in a crowded parking lot.

In the trailer park, people drive golf carts around in loops: maybe this passes for exercise, or maybe they are hoping to run into someone to talk to.

Until November, I sweat and sweat and sweat, and then it cools off enough for me to run in the morning and it’s glorious.

During the day, there is constant traffic and the lights are always red. There are a lot of billboards, all promising different things, but the one that makes us angry is the one that says “Jesus promises stability.”

I spend the night at a trailer park and the ladies in the office are sweet and efficient and wearing masks. But the spot I’m assigned is across from a mobile home with one of those flags that is half the U.S. flag and half the Confederate flag, and although my privilege probably keeps me safe here, I keep running through the equations with slightly different variables: who would be safe in this spot, in this trailer park/this county/this state/this country, and under what circumstances? What could make all of us safer? And the people who chose to pay for and display that absurdity of a flag, why is that flag the story they tell themselves? And what is the topography of the shared responsibility for all of this bullshit?

We paddle the Hillsborough River and see no other boaters but two alligators. One is basking on a log, and when I turn my head for a second it drops into the water with a massive splash: one moment there was a six-foot alligator; the next moment there was nothing but ripples. It was that fast. My friend decides he will not paddle here alone.

I see live oaks that have Spanish moss hanging from their branches, sure — but they’re also covered in lichens, and on the horizontal branches there are carpets of multiple kinds of moss and clusters of foot-tall ferns. It’s a whole ecosystem in one tree.

I’m driving “home” (most frequent campground) late one night and I am alone on a very dark road. In my headlights, I see a human figure in the middle of my lane, facing directly at me. I think: goblin! But it is a human person. I swerve into the other lane in case he moves. But he doesn’t move a muscle. He is in a half-crouch with his hands on his knees. I catch a glimpse of him in profile as I pass: his face is set in a rictus, jaw clenched. He is still staring straight ahead, unblinking, as if he hasn’t even seen me.

I call Ron just to reassure myself that I haven’t slipped out of the real human world and into someplace else.

“Oh my God,” he says. “But no, you’re still in the real world. There’s a lot of meth around here. He’s not a demon or anything. It’s just Florida.” He is wearing a dark sweatshirt and standing in the dark on a dark road; what if he gets hit? I call the police and I hate that to this day I still wonder if that was the right decision.

We get into paddleboarding. Ron already has an inflatable paddleboard, and I buy one with money I should be saving for things like van insulation or the loose crown on my lower left molar that is already living on borrowed time. But the paddleboard is amazing. Previously, I hadn’t gotten it: why stand when you could sit? I’m lazy and I have crappy feet; I hate standing. But this isn’t regular standing. It’s walking-on-water standing. In our favorite river, the Weeki Wachee, you can see all kinds of things from a paddleboard that it’s harder to see in a kayak, just because of the angle. On a paddleboard, you look straight down and there’s a fish striped like a zebra, an old pine log submerged ten feet down in the clear water, a scurrying blue crab, a bed of rippled sand.

We start at the public park and paddle up against a stiff current. Twice, we get to the three-mile mark and there is the same black-and-white cormorant in the same tree both times. We are familiar with the fact that if you time it right, so that you get back to the park as late as possible without actually paddling in the dark, and the crowds taper off so you have the river to yourself, the deepest pools are turquoise on our way upriver and viridian on our way down.

There are sometimes manatees on the river. In this part of the world, manatees are THE charismatic megafauna. And they are charismatic as hell. Once we are out late, a couple miles up the river with no one else around, and we see a mother and baby grazing on eelgrass in shallow water. We watch for minutes, mesmerized. The baby is tiny for a manatee: about the size of a Corgi. It must be very, very new. There is another manatee that I’m pretty sure I see several times on different days: it is very plump, with three pink slash marks across its back. We get to the point where, if there is a throng of other boaters stopped near where manatees are feeding, we don’t try to stop and see the manatees. We’ve seen them before, and we’ll see them again, when we don’t have to worry about the people and their kayaks and canoes in the current.

The last time I went to the Weeki Wachee, I went alone. The leaves were turning, because the calendar’s close-to-Christmas is Florida’s fall. I hadn’t ever planned on seeing a blazing orange maple next to tropical blue water, but it happened. Close-knit formations of big, soft gray, doe-eyed fish darted under my feet, and at the appointed time the water started turning dark green. In one of the final bends just upriver from the park, there is a deep spot called Hospital Hole. As I paddled down towards it, I saw one manatee, then another break the surface to breathe. I drifted over the hole, away from the manatees near the surface, and I saw the outline of another one eight or ten feet down against the very dark blue of very deep water.

The Weeki Wachee is a very narrow river, usually not more than thirty feet across and often only twenty. It’s also shallow, four or five feet on average, twelve where the current has carved a deep groove or pocket. Hospital Hole is at one of the river’s widest points, I’d guess maybe 150 feet from bank to bank. The hole itself — technically a sinkhole, but with a couple of small springs feeding into it — is only about 30 or 40 feet wide, but 140 feet deep. It goes down so far that there are different layers of water: freshwater, saltwater, a layer that is anoxic, another layer that is so full of hydrogen sulfide that divers can smell the rotten-egg odor even though they’re breathing compressed air. I read online that the manatees often go to Hospital Hole to sleep at night. The sinkhole-spring, like a big deep pocket, gives them space to stay together and still spread out. They can sink down below where they have to worry about boat engines or curious paddle boarders or whatever else manatees worry about. Every so often, they come up to breathe, then sink down again. Respire, rest, repeat.

It’s 7:17 p.m. as I am writing this, so they’re probably there right now.

***

So that’s Florida! Other, more nuts-and-bolts things that have happened include...

I installed lights and outlets. This was a big project and a big deal, since it means that I can have things like a fan (to keep me from sweating to death in the summer), an electric cooler (a.k.a. mini-mini-fridge) for things like vegetables and hummus and cheese and cold boozy beverages, and, well, lights at night that aren’t a harsh blue-white solar lantern, which is what I was using before October, when I made these improvements. Anything electrical is always a little scary; I’m nervous every time I have to go into the breaker box and always surprised when I’m able to touch it without shocking myself. I also had an extremely minimal understanding of how to splice wires together and how to connect all these lights to each other, to the dimmer switch, and to the breaker box. This involved a lot of googling, and even though the DIY van blogs seemed to say that installing lights would take half a day, it took me the better part of two days. But it’s done, and I’m very happy with it. Fiat lux, motherf***er!

My new favorite public agency is the Southwest Florida Water Management District. Occasionally, if I’d had a few drinks at Ron’s house, I spent the night parked in his driveway. Sometimes I stayed in private RV parks. (This was mostly driven by the need to empty the van’s port-a-pot once a week or so — public dump stations are not easy to find in this area of Florida; the closest was about an hour away.) But mostly, I stayed at campground operated by the SWFWMD. These campgrounds are in big tracts of forested, marshy, watery land, and they are great primitive campgrounds that cost $0. There’s no water, no showers, no other fancy campground amenities, but there is usually one outhouse, and each campsite has a picnic table and a fire pit. They’re basic and beautiful.

My favorite campground is called the Serenova Tract. It’s about 15 minutes from Ron’s house, and the campground is in a bunch of pines and live oaks. Horses are allowed, and on one of the last weekends I spent there, several people with horses stayed overnight and hung up Christmas lights. The next morning, they were joined by a dozen other horses and riders who all went for a morning trail ride through the woods. I was insanely jealous.

The other SWFWMD campground I stayed at was called Cypress Creek. It’s a little farther from Ron’s place than Serenova, so it was my second choice when Serenova was full but my van’s shitter wasn’t. It’s a beautiful spot, with tons of big pines. But right now I’m a little wary of it because the last time I stayed there I woke up from a dead sleep at 4:51 a.m. when I heard someone singing and talking to themselves. (The campground had been totally empty when I got there and still was as far as I could see.) It was probably just someone who had come in on foot and was drinking because it was cold (40 degrees) outside, but it was still a bit unnerving.

I also have a favorite RV park. I was thinking that my relationship with these places would be strictly utilitarian, and it still mostly is. But out of the three RV parks that I’ve stayed at, there’s one small one called Suncoast that I actually kind of enjoyed: even though I only went there occasionally, the three staff people remembered me when I called or came in, and they often gave me a discount on their regular rates because I don’t use any electricity. They (both staff and most guests) also seem to be taking pretty good pandemic precautions. (I actually saw someone get kicked out of the office when they tried to come in without a mask, something that I’ve never seen in any other business since March!) The place has nice big pine trees, and by the office there’s a table where people put free food that they aren’t using, or occasionally two-day-old bread that someone got from Publix for free. The last time I was there, some people had decorated their campers and RVs with lights and it was kind of charming. I still heavily prefer to be out in the woods by myself and not spending any money, but I’m glad I found someplace pleasant for my once-a-week-or-so sewer/water needs.

I figured out how to stay warm while sleeping. This is a bigger deal than it sounds because a) I haven’t insulated the van yet, so at night, it’s only a few degrees warmer than whatever the temperature is outside, and b) I’m a very cold sleeper. Florida is SUPER WARM compared to any other place I’ve ever lived, but in December, it started getting a little chilly at night: down into the fifties, then the forties, then, a few nights ago, 30 degrees. I’ve camped in near-freezing or slightly-below-freezing temperatures before, but sometimes it wasn’t very comfortable — even with good long underwear and socks and a hat and a zero-degree-rated sleeping bag. But I’ve figured out a system for my bed that uses four blankets, layered like a licorice allsort: a quilt, a heavy wool blanket, another quilt, and a faux-wool blanket. If it gets below 40, I can add my zero-degree down sleeping bag and be not just comfortable but actively toasty, like a baking croissant.

Unrelatedly, I’ve been having a hard time getting out of bed in the morning.

I’ve found that my life in a van is basically like my life has been anywhere else. I work. I sleep. I stay up late reading things on the internet when I should be sleeping. Sometimes I go running or do yoga (while trying not to bump into the cabinet or kick the front console or hit the ceiling). Sometimes I do fun things, like paddleboarding or talking to friends. I make goals and plans and don’t follow through on them, except when very very occasionally I do. But when I’m looking up van stuff online, I often run across photos of people who are #selfemployed #vanlife and the photos of them working are:

A woman is seated propped up on pillows in the bed in the back of her van. The doors are open, framing a view of the cerulean sea, so that you can practically smell the gentle breeze blowing over the dunes. She has a laptop on her lap and is looking thoughtfully out to sea while a cup of tea steeps on a tray that is on the white coverlet of her bed.

A man is seated at the dinette in the back of his van. He has a laptop, a French press, a mug of coffee, and a plate with two scones on it on the table. The table, and in fact the whole dinette with its two upholstered benches, would be at home on a small luxury yacht, and it’s the kind of dinette that you make into a bed at night. The astute, intent expression on the man’s face give the viewer to understand that he is competent and disciplined and never stays up two hours past his bedtime because he’s too lazy to lower the dinette table and rearrange the cushions and put on all his sheets and blankets. We are also given to understand that the electrical system in his van would have no problems handling the power drain of a bean grinder, even though he is clearly parked in the high Rockies — again, with the back doors open, the better to take in the late spring air and see the fresh green of the aspen trees — and it’s often cloudy. Lastly, we are given to understand that he baked those scones himself, because when he’s not working, hiking, lumberjacking, or otherwise living his best life, he enjoys unwinding by baking bread and pastries. (Not in the van; don’t be silly! He bakes outside, over a wood fire.)

(A tangent: Why do so many people have their van doors open in photos I see online? Do they only stay in places with no bugs? If I tried that in Florida, or even Maryland or Colorado half the year, I’d be awake half the night swatting at mosquitoes and/or flies.)

In contrast, a photo of me being self-employed in a van would look like:

A woman is sprawled in an ungainly fashion on her narrow bunk. Her laptop is braced by her lower ribs and propped up with a pillow placed over her gut. The pillow has a cat on it. The windows of the van are covered in silver bubble-wrap, so very little light gets in. Absolutely no doors are open, because the van is parked behind a Dunkin Donuts so the woman can get free wifi and not burn through all the data on her phone plan. She takes a break to heat up a can of Campbell’s soup on an alcohol stove, adding a handful of dehydrated mixed vegetables, to be healthy. As she stirs the soup, she gazes contemplatively out the windshield towards the adjacent parking lot, where there is an IHOP. #vanlife

A woman is sitting in the passenger seat of her van with her feet on the dashboard and her laptop on her lap. Beside her in the cupholder is a steaming Hydroflask full of the cheapest tea she could buy at Publix. The van is parked in a grove of live oaks. Spanish moss sways gently in the morning breeze. Behind the woman, in the dark recesses of the van, sets of clothes are hanging: leggings and a shirt, still sweaty, by the side doors, a bathing suit over the sink, a t-shirt and shorts for sleeping in by the rear cabinet. Several kitchen towels are draped on the driver’s seat and on the dashboard because the cab leaks above the sun visors when it rains, and even though she’s tried caulking it three times, she still can’t get it to stop. #vanlife

The good thing, though, is that I’m still getting work and making a living. I can do it someplace that’s safe, without having to risk my life to do it. And I’m getting paid a fair hourly wage. But then the very terrible thing is that everyone should be able to say what I just said, but so many people can’t: they’re not making a real living through their work, they have to risk their lives to do it, and they’re not getting paid a fair wage.

(Brief interlude as I stare at the ceiling angrily.)

***

Here’s what I’m doing next: I left Pasco County on the 16th. I’ll be in what I think of as “traveling quarantine” until the 30th, staying in a national forest near Jacksonville. (With a couple of stops at state parks to refill water, empty the port-a-pot, and maybe take a real shower.) I’ll be in Maryland on New Year’s Eve and will stay at my parents’ while I insulate the van, build interior walls, and do a bunch of other stuff so that I can call it (mostly) finished. Then I’m thinking of going to New Mexico and spending late winter/early spring there… parked on top of a mesa… sipping a cup of French-press coffee on my white coverlet while I thoughtfully gaze out the open doors of my van… (I really would like to park on top of a mesa though.)

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