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fruitcoops · 3 years

Note

Omg can you write about coops going live on instagram and answering TONS of fans questions? And just being domestic and cute together in general

I can, yes! This is partially the 450 celebration--to the lovely person who suggested writing a sequel to one of my favorites, please know that I love and appreciate you! Coop credit goes to @lumosinlove

Check out Part 1 here

“Is it working? I think it’s working.” An explosion of hearts covered the screen and Remus’ eyebrows rose. “Yep, definitely working. Hello, Instagram! I’m Remus Lupin, winger for the Lions.”

“And I’m Sirius Black, center and team captain.” Sirius waved at the phone. “We had a great time answering your questions last month and we figured we’d come back to do it again, since there were so many people we couldn’t get around to in those few minutes.”

“I can already see a bunch coming in. Should we start?” Remus asked, turning to him with a small smile.

“You go first.”

“Alright, first question….” He squinted at the screen. “How long have we been together? We’ve been dating for just over a year now, but we’ve known each other for three-ish.”

Sirius snorted when he read the next question. “What do we do in our free time? It’s cute that you think we have free time. Um, we read a lot. Sometimes I’ll play video games with the guys.”

“If we have a free weekend, we’ll go hiking or take a short road trip. Practice takes up four or five hours a day, so we’re very low-key, which I think surprises people.” Remus scrolled down a bit. “What are our favorite foods?”

“Don’t say it.” Sirius said immediately. “Don’t you dare.”

“Fine, fine.” Just as Sirius began to answer, he coughed, “pineapple pizza.”

“No!” Sirius smacked Remus on the arm with a pillow as he laughed. “Menace. My favorite food is pasta, because it’s versatile and I’m not a heathen. All of you who are agreeing with him, stop it right now. I’m very disappointed in your tastebuds. Next question…do either of us cook? We do, yeah.”

Remus gave him a look. “Do you, though?”

“That’s a funny thing to hear coming from the man who said he’d die for one of my grilled cheeses yesterday,” Sirius countered.

“Fair point. Yes, we both cook, but I generally do it more often because I enjoy it.”

Sirius looked back at the camera with sad eyes. “He kicked me out of the kitchen last week.”

“You kept stealing bites of soup!” Remus laughed. “It wasn’t even done, you could have gotten salmonella!”

“You can’t get salmonella from soup,” Sirius scoffed. The comment section went wild. “…apparently you can. Huh.”

“Next question, before we get too off-track. Who is the more dramatic one?” Remus folded his hands and rested his chin on top. “I’m giving you three guesses and the first two don’t count.”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “You’re plenty dramatic.”

“Uh-huh, sure.”

“Moving on! Oooo, this one is for me specifically.” He shifted closer, wrapping an arm around Remus’ waist as he read. “Sirius: does Regulus—you spelled that wrong by the way, there’s only one ‘g’—does Regulus still live with you? If yes, how does that work?”

“I’m telling him someone spelled his name wrong,” Remus said as he pulled his phone out of his pocket. “He’ll get a kick out of it.”

“He’ll be so pissed,” Sirius agreed. “Nope, Reg moved out a few months ago and now lives with Pascal Dumais, but it was really neat to have him around. He’s still got a room here and it was nice spending so much time with him after we didn’t talk for a while. He’s awful about vacuuming, though.”

“Aw, people think that’s cute.” Remus smiled as he read the responses. “Ohoho, people are getting nosy. What do we argue about the most?”

“I’m not sure, actually. Maybe chores?”

“I was going to say practice time. We’ve gotten into a couple tiffs about watching tape or running drills after we get home.”

“That’s true.” Sirius frowned at the screen. “For those of you who apparently think that’s all one-sided: it’s really not.”

“He came downstairs to get me at ten or eleven at night the other day. We’re both hockey nerds, so it happens from time to time.”

“Are we going to keep doing tiktoks? Oh, for sure, they’re a ton of fun.”

“Absolutely. Where else am I going to get the inspiration to glue things shut just to irritate him?”

Sirius shook his head with a smile. “Diablotin.”

“Nothing like being called a gremlin by your fiancé,” Remus laughed, tapping the screen. “Okay…who’s the best in bed?”

“I’d say we both sleep really well,” Sirius said. “You talk sometimes, which is really funny.”

Remus glanced over. “Do I really?”

“Yep. I think you were grocery shopping the other night. You kept saying orange juice very adamantly.”

“Interesting. I agree, though, we both value sleep.”

“There are too many questions!” Sirius scooted forward and sifted through them. “To jay-mac 2001, we both love kids and might have some in a few years. No, mermaid queen, we don’t really have friends outside of hockey because we don’t have lives outside of hockey—” Remus leaned his forehead on Sirius’ shoulder as he laughed. “—but I’m sure that will change someday. Oh, here’s a fun one: what are our love languages?”

“Our what?”

“Love languages. Like the Buzzfeed quiz Pots made us take last week.” The screen lit up and Sirius looked offended. “Of course we know what Buzzfeed is! We’re 25, you fuckers!”

“I think mine was quality time.”

Sirius pulled Remus’ arm further around his shoulders and leaned into his side with a smile. “It’s physical affection,” he singsonged, making him laugh. “Your turn.”

“Have you finally found your song?” Remus read aloud. “I think so! We did an interview a while back and there was a question about our ‘couple song’, which we didn’t have at the time.”

“That didn’t answer the question, sweetheart.”

“Oh! Shit, sorry. It’s La Vie En Rose by Edith Piaf.”

Sirius read the next question and snorted. “This is convenient. Who swears more?”

Remus looked away. “It’s, uh, a tie.”

“That’s such a lie.”

He sighed. “It’s probably me.”

“You taught a literal baby to swear.” Sirius turned back to the camera with a wicked grin. “Harry’s first word was ‘Loops’, but his second was ‘shit’ and there’s an eighty percent chance he learned it from Re.”

“Changing the subject!” Remus cleared his throat, then smiled. “Aw, I like this one. What’s the compliment you get most often from your partner?”

“Does it have to be verbal?”

“Sirius.”

Sirius’ eyes went wide. “Not like that! Oh, fuck, I did not mean that! You always touch my hair, so I figured that was a compliment. Merde.”

Remus shook his head. “We need a supervisor again. Anyways, you talk about my freckles all the time and it’s adorable.”

“You’re adorable.”

“Sap.”

“Yeah.” Sirius kissed his cheek. “What’s the best date I’ve ever been on? We went ice skating at the local rink a few weeks ago and it was so much fun. I had never done that before.”

Remus’ eyebrows rose. “I thought for sure you would say the aquarium.”

“The aqu—oh, right! With the jellyfish arch!”

“Yeah!”

“Now it’s a tie, I can’t decide.”

“That’s fair. From spaceman93: who tops? We actually don’t have a bunk bed, though that would be cool as hell! Do you think Ikea sells them?”

“We should check.”

The screen exploded into activity again and Remus did a double-take. “Yes, we do buy our furniture from Ikea, there’s no need to sound so shocked. This person—I can’t read your username, sorry—wants to know which of us is more cuddly.”

“Definitely me,” Sirius said.

“For sure. I like cuddling people, but only a select few. I mean, I’m assuming you guys saw the Cap cuddles slideshow at our last game.” He laughed when Sirius turned pink. “Why are you embarrassed? It was cute!”

“There’s a hashtag now!” Sirius complained. “I have a reputation.” Remus rolled his eyes fondly as Sirius looked for the next question. “Ha! Do we ever get jealous?”

“Yes, but not for the reasons people might think.”

Sirius laughed quietly. “We went out to a bar for Kasey’s birthday a month or so ago—”

“Oh, please no.”

“—and a young lady was hitting on me, not taking the hint—”

“Jesus.”

“—so Re comes out of nowhere and kisses me full on the mouth in front of everyone.” He snickered and Remus hid his face in his hands. “It was kinda hot, not gonna lie. Really funny looking back, though. Your turn, sweetheart.”

“Who is clumsier? Ooh, we’re both disasters off the ice. I tripped over the carpet about twenty minutes ago.”

“I’ve run into every doorframe in this house at least twice.” Sirius grimaced. “If I could just tape my skates to my feet and always be on ice, that would be much safer.”

Remus cocked his head to the side. “I dunno, it would be hard to sleep in them.”

“I do that all that time.”

“That’s true, you take a nap in the hall at least once a week in full gear.”

“Reverse Edward Scissorhands.” They had to take a moment to stop laughing before Sirius turned back to the phone. “Mon dieu. Alright, what do we have next…when did you know I was ‘the one’? When did you know, mon amour?”

“Breaking out the nicknames, very snazzy,” Remus teased as he rested his chin on his hand. “I think it was just an accumulation of things, and then one day I went ‘oh shit’ and just knew. Sometime around New Year’s, maybe?”

“You only made it two months?” Sirius teased, nudging him lightly.

“Shush, you.” Remus nudged him back. “I knew I wanted to propose when I came home from hanging out with Leo and you were napping with the dog. You had done the dishes and left Avatar on so we could watch it together, and I opened the door and knew that I wanted that moment forever.”

Sirius smile was unbearably soft, and he kissed Remus on the cheek as hearts filled the comments section. “I’ve never seen so many keysmashes in my life,” he laughed when he looked back to it. “Hey, someone addressed one to you specifically.”

“Really?” He leaned forward eagerly. “To Remus, do you feel like part of the team yet? I do, a hundred percent! It helped that I was close with a lot of the guys from being the PT, so those friendships carried over really well. Being a player on the roster has only made that better and it’s the best job in the world.”

“Who has the better smile? We’re going to say each other, so I think we’ll leave that one to the comments—fuck, that was a bad idea, it’s moving too fast for me to read!” Sirius tapped the screen desperately, then gave up and waited for the scrolling to slow down. “Ask each other one question you’ve always wanted to know the answer to.”

“Do you actually want to get your ears pierced?” Remus asked. “You talked about it a while ago but I wasn’t sure if you were kidding.”

Sirius thought for a minute, biting his lip. “Y’know, I might. It was one of those things where it started as a joke and then I kept thinking about it. I’m not sure, hockey’s not the best sport to have things that can catch and tear.” They both winced at the idea. “My turn. What is it about pineapple pizza that you actually enjoy?”

“It annoys you.” Remus laughed as Sirius rolled his eyes. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding! I honestly don’t know why I like it so much. There’s something about the sweetness that goes so well with the regular pizza taste. Okay, last question for me: how many freckles do I have? Not many right now.”

“So many in the summer,” Sirius said dreamily. “That’s the best part of summertime and the only reason I like Florida. They might have bouncy ice, but it’s worth it to see the freckles pop.”

“Whew, Florida’s getting mad in the comments!” Remus grinned. “Get some real ice, then come talk to us.”

“Final question, then we really have to go. What does your partner look best in?” Sirius drummed his fingers on his knees. “His jersey. Or my jersey. He does own a pair of skinny jeans, though, and that was the closest thing to a religious experience I’ve ever had.”

“They’re comfortable.” Remus shrugged, but he looked rather self-satisfied. “That’s all we have time for, folks, but thanks for joining us!”

“Go Lions!”

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wri0thesley · 3 years

Text

sparring practise - sorbet x reader x gelato

you realise how helpless you are after an attempted burglary, and sorbet and gelato attempt to help you defend yourself. things do not go as planned.

warnings: not sfw. reader is gender neutral and neutral of body. mentions of fighting, guns, knives, blood, home invasion, choking, cannibalism, serial killing, violence, general sorbet and gelato type warnings.

yes this is self indulgent no i do not care

The home you share with Sorbet and Gelato is cloaked in civility. It’s in a nice neighbourhood that has a low rate for crime, and Sorbet dutifully tends to the flower beds – Gelato paints your front door in a shade of yellow that makes the neighbours whisper under their breaths even more than the nature of the relationship the three of you share, but nobody comes out and says it because as a whole, you seem like three perfectly well-adjusted and functional members of society who keep to yourselves.

They figure that Sorbet and Gelato work nights, perhaps as a security guards or some kind of manual labour – in the dark, bloodstains can look like all kinds of different things. They greet you when you go to the supermarket and gather your shopping, not blinking when you buy another new sharpening steel with the laugh that all three of you are foodies, and you seem to have an unfortunate habit of breaking them--

The house is your domain. The careful windows, the flower boxes, the neatly vacuumed carpets and the sigh as you stare at Gelato’s muddy boot prints in the entrance hall. They do their best – but sometimes, it is half past one in the morning, and they are weary and simply want to come to bed and embrace you.

The basement, though . . .

That is Sorbet and Gelato’s domain, and you are very rarely in it.

Not because you disapprove of what they do – but because they worry about you, you think. You are smaller than they are, not as scarred, not quite hardened by the years of their past.

“It’s better if you don’t get involved in Passione shit,” Gelato has said, a hundred times. “We need you here, amore! Who fuckin’ knows what we’d do without you?”

“He’s right,” Sorbet has intoned, wrapping his arms around both of your waists. “Bad enough we’re involved.”

“You love it!” Gelato accuses, leaning into Sorbet’s shoulder despite it. Sorbet’s mouth tilts at the corners, a small smile on his face. You know that a hundred men or perhaps more have had that smile be the last thing they see, Sorbet’s eyes dark, his face streaked with blood. It should strike fear into your heart – but all it ever does is make you want to poke his cheek, kiss him until you can feel the curve of his lips echoing all over you.

“Yes,” he says simply. “I do.”

Sorbet and Gelato keep their weapons down here, mounted on the wall. There’s an iron-topped table like the kind one would find in a butcher’s shop beneath the knives, shining brightly despite how often you’ve poked your head down there to tell them dinner is ready and seen it practically bathed in blood. The training mats to one side of the room, a table and chairs and fridge on the other side. Opposite the side of the room with the table and chairs are four iron manacles set into the brickwork, for times when hits have to be taken home and interrogated before being brought to an end – and for some of Sorbet and Gelato’s other outside of work activities, though they don’t talk to you much about those.

And tonight, you are here too.

“You leave me a gun in the bureau,” you’d said to Gelato, a night after a would-be attacker had attempted to burgle you, seeing that your house was neat and pretty and hearing on the grapevine that one homeowner was often alone. “But if someone overpowers me, I’m useless--”

(Sorbet and Gelato had not treated the man kindly. The basement is soundproofed, but you had still heard rhythmic thumping, and the next morning Sorbet had come into the kitchen with several unusual cuts of meat.

“They won’t fit in the fridge down there,” he’d said. Sorbet does most of the cooking. His meals are always delicious.)

It had been Sorbet’s idea to try sparring with you.

“We could leave you some knives too,” Gelato had suggested. “Maybe some other guns? A chainsaw?” and Sorbet had had to point out that none of those things would actually assuage your fears – in fact, if the perpetrator managed to wrangle them off you, you were left much worse off facing a chainsaw than you would be if you had never had one in the first place.

Gelato is closer to your height, so Sorbet makes him wrap his fists and take off his shirt. You do your best not to stare at his torso too much, though he is all lean, wiry muscle dotted with scars and starbursts that you have kissed a thousand times over. He sees you looking and gives you one of his most manic grins, his teeth all sharp – you repress the shiver that runs through you at that, trying to remind yourself you are here to learn and not merely to ogle your boyfriend. Though he does look very good, with his gold hair all tousled and a rush in his eyes that you always see when he feels like he has the dominant position.

Sorbet had taken a seat at first and told you to approach Gelato as if he were hostile, to see if you could get a punch in and so they could work on that – you had made a valiant attempt, despite every bit of common sense you had immediately whispering that Gelato was a predator and you were a prey animal.

You had not been surprised when he had flipped you easily, and you had landed on your back on the training mats with a great thump of air, all of the breath knocked out of you. One of Gelato’s heavy military grade boots had landed, gently, on your abdomen, as he’d bent over you with his eyes glinting in the fluorescent lighting of the basement.

“You look cute like that!” He’d laughed. “Come on! You can do better than this, tesoro!”

He’d been delighted as you’d dragged yourself back up, and as you had made attempt after attempt to get ahead of him. All of them had inevitably ended with you on your knees, or on your back – or once against a wall with a knife far too close to your back for comfort, Gelato’s hand easily around your throat.

That one had almost pushed you to the brink, your breath coming in little pants, a hot jolt of arousal coursing through you at just how Gelato was looking down on you. Gelato had obviously felt it too, because his grin had widened just a little, pressing closer to you so you’d felt the stiff, hot heat of something in his fatigues pressing heavily against your thigh--

“Come here,” Sorbet says. He’s stood up from the chair now, his hands coming to unbutton his own shirt. He is not quite as covered in scars as Gelato is – the blond is more reckless, and you have gathered his previous military experience was more dangerous than . . . whatever Sorbet did, after leaving his church school. That does not make any difference to the fact he is broad and muscled, sculpted from training and years of violence. “You’re not starting right. Your stance is all wrong.”

“I started that last one sittin’ on the floor to give ‘em a chance,” Gelato says, breathlessly, as he peels himself away from you and your hand flies to your throat, recalling the echo of Gelato’s calloused fingers. It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve had one of their hands about their necks, but . . . well. It never gets old, does it? “’N I’m doing fine.”

“You have experience behind you, caro,” Sorbet’s tone is patient. “Of course you do.”

Gelato grins as he gets back into position opposite you, clenching his fist.

“Sorbetto,” his tone is sing-song, wheedling. “You’re not gonna tell me what a good job I’m doin’? C’mooooon--”

Sorbet chuckles, crossing the room to wrap an arm around Gelato’s smaller form, using one hand to tip up his face and place a chaste kiss on the tilt of his crooked nose. Gelato’s had two broken noses in the past six months.

“You know you’re doing wonderfully,” he coos at his boyfriend, who dutifully reddens despite asking for the praise. “But that’s not what we’re here for, is it?”

“No,” Gelato admits, with a sigh – he looks at you, and he gives you a nod. “You’re not doing too badly! Look, Sorbet could knock me down without blinking, if you’re gonna learn from him, some low-life fuckin’ thief is gonna be a piece of cake.”

Sorbet kisses him on the sweaty mass of his pale curls and comes to you.

“Here,” Sorbet murmurs, getting in very close to you. “Your feet are too far apart.” One of his feet kicks gently at your own, forcing you to widen your hips. He grabs a hold of those next, rearranging the tilt, his body so close that you can feel the heat radiating from his chest. Your breath catches as he takes your wrist, helping you curl your fingers into a fist. “Not too tight, don’t put your thumb inside or you’ll break it--”

He’s bent over you, his dark gaze on your hand – and you feel the puff of air he dispels in a breath, warming your neck and shoulder. You can barely breathe. Your heart is beating ten to the dozen.

You know Gelato is turned on – you’d felt that when you were pinned against the wall. You hadn’t realised until Sorbet had come up behind you that watching you was doing the exact same thing to him.

“Alright,” Sorbet says. “When you throw the punch, aim to get it through him, you’ll need the follow through.” You nod, but your throat is dry and your head is spinning.

“Yeah,” you say, “I will.”

Sorbet gives you a pat on the shoulder, before pausing and leaning in to whisper against your ear;

“Aim for his ribs. He’s got a weak spot, left side. You should be able to kick him and sweep him off-balance too.” A hand on your hip drags down, squeezing your ass. “If you manage it, he’ll fuck you into next week.”

“Don’t give ‘em too much of an advantage,” Gelato says. “Can I rush on them now?”

Sorbet gives a small smile again.

“Be my guest,” he says, but he does not go back to his chair – instead, he steps to one side so he can observe. Gelato bounces on the balls of his feet, all buzzing and unrestrained energy. You keep your fists as Sorbet told you to, re-running everything you’ve been told about punching today--

And Gelato moves like a wild animal, chaotic and quick. You dodge one of his blows by inches, sliding your foot forward towards him to alter your balance slightly, your dominant hand coming out with as much force as you can muster, everything you can remember about how to hold your fists running through your mind as it connects hard with Gelato’s left rib and the blond sputters.

Kick. Sweep. Under the ankle, despite his heavy boots--

Gelato stumbles to one side, balance lost, coughing – and then Sorbet is in the fray too, pushing you down in between the two of them so that you’re trapped between two of his legs and topple onto Gelato. The blond snarls hungrily, grabbing a handful of Sorbet’s hair and dragging him into a hungry kiss.

Sorbet’s stiff erection digs into the meat of your ass whilst Gelato’s digs into your front, stuck between the two of them, your glory at getting Gelato off of his feet seeming much less important than the frantic beating of your heart.

“You told them about my ribs,” Gelato grumbles. “Asshole.”

“Your asshole,” Sorbet reminds him, and kisses him again, before pulling away to wrap his arms about your middle instead. “Besides.” Sorbet’s voice turns low and smug. “You can’t tell me you didn’t notice . . .?”

Gelato snickers. He lets go of Sorbet’s hair to cup your face roughly.

“Cucciolo mia,” he says. “How long have you wanted to be fucked?”

Your face grows hot, but that just makes him grin harder, sparks fly from his dark eyes. He grinds his crotch into your thigh and you swallow the thickness that rises in there.

“M’sorry,” you say, after a moment, as Sorbet joins in with the bullying, grinding his hips against your ass. “I--”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Gelato says, with a laugh like a rusty iron grate. That’s one of those laughs that his victims hear – one you should be scared of, but that makes nothing rise in you except want. “As you can probably feel--” Sorbet’s lips brush your ear, teeth worrying at the earlobe so you moan aloud. “We’ve got the same kinda problem ourselves. Y’know.” His teeth flash, sharp, bright, and you imagine them coated in blood. “If y’wanna help out some.”

You don’t respond to him in words. Instead, you press your lips against his hard, and when he bites hard enough to draw forth blood you moan.

---

When everything is over and done with, you lay sweaty and panting in between both of your boyfriends – Sorbet’s front pressed protectively against your back, Gelato clinging to your waist as he tucks his head beneath your chin.

“Next time,” Gelato breathes, already looking ahead, as if you three did not just spend several hours tangled hot and heavy within each other, biting and moaning and groaning and making the entire basement smell like sex. “We should teach ‘em to fire a rifle. I think they’ve got potential.”

“Mm,” Sorbet says, very low, making his chest reverberate against your spine in a way that has you shivering. “I think you’re right.”

#jojo postin #writing #sorbet x gelato x reader #sorbet x reader x gelato #reader x sorbet x gelato #sorbet x reader #gelato x reader #not sfw #neutral reader #sorbet #gelato #violence for ts #blood for ts

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flowerfan2 · 3 years

Text

One Night in Milwaukee - Chapter 3

David x Patrick, 10k so far, read on A03

Summary: Being stuck in the Milwaukee airport is bad enough. Then David realizes that the man who broke his heart is sitting right next to him.

Chapter 3

David says goodnight with a quick peck to Patrick’s cheek, and shuts himself in the hall bathroom, ostensibly to shower before bed. But before that he spends a while leaning his palms against the sink and taking slow, deep breaths in and out, trying to steady himself.

It’s been one of the most uncomfortable days of his life, and given his life, that’s really saying something. Within the past twenty-four hours he told Patrick he still loved him, Patrick said that he wanted them to be together, and a crowd of sleep-deprived strangers in the Milwaukee airport security line cheered as they kissed. Since then, David has felt like he has been walking a tightrope, waiting for his balance to fail him and send him crashing to the ground.

David knows that he can’t expect their relationship to snap back together like a puzzle, connected and perfect like it shines in his memory, at least not without some awkwardness along the way. And Patrick is injured and hurting, understandably not at his best. Even with all that, though, he can’t shake the feeling that something else is wrong.

He sits on the closed toilet and checks his phone. This afternoon he finally texted Alexis to tell her that he was in Florida with Patrick, which, not surprisingly, resulted in a flurry of messages. He really wants to talk to her and hear her voice, but the house isn’t that big and he doesn’t want Patrick to overhear him voice all his insecurities. Maybe he’ll call her when he goes out for a run tomorrow morning.

Alexis has apparently told his parents, who have sent both encouraging (his dad) and vaguely foreboding (his mom) well wishes. David sends back polite responses, not wanting to get into a detailed back and forth with either of them. Then he spends a few minutes sending instructions to his assistant purchaser at the motel group, and emails the director of operations to let him know that he’ll be taking a week off. It’s not as if he can’t work remotely, but he’d like to have the freedom to spend the time with Patrick, and he’s got plenty of vacation time saved up. At least taking care of this item on his mental list quiets his work-related anxiety for the time being.

Just a little while ago, sitting on the couch with Patrick, David had tried to raise the topic of exactly what they would be doing here in Clint and Marcy’s little retirement fantasy home, but Patrick had rebuffed his attempt. David doesn’t even know if Patrick has a job. Patrick only stayed in Schitt’s Creek for a few months after their break-up, and David’s pretty sure he took a consulting gig after that, but Stevie was light on the details.

As he thinks of Stevie, David’s fingers automatically find her name on his phone, and he considers filling her in, but he’s not sure how she’ll take it. His break-up with Patrick had caused a rift in his relationship with Stevie, one David has never been able to fully repair. Because of Stevie’s role in the motel group they kept working together, but they were never as close again as they used to be.

Stevie stayed in touch with Patrick, at least for a while, but they don’t talk about him. David didn’t press; he wasn’t entitled to know more. He plays out in his head Stevie’s likely reaction to the news of their reunion, and given all that he still doesn’t know about what’s going to happen, he decides not to contact her yet. He’d like to talk to Patrick about it first. He’d like to talk to Patrick about a lot of things.

David absolutely doesn’t mind spending time taking care of Patrick, like he did today. In another context, he would cherish it, being able to show the love of his life how much he cares. He knows Patrick is in pain, and not just from his wounds. It makes David physically ill to imagine what happened to him. He hopes Patrick is able to share more details with him sometime soon; he shouldn’t have to bear it alone.

David tries not to believe that Patrick’s distance today was some kind of test – he doesn’t think it was. Intentional or not, though, something is definitely off.

More than anything, David wants to reestablish their old connection. He felt it a few times, sparking across the distance like electricity, but mostly Patrick hadn’t seemed open to letting him in. They had been more in tune sitting in the darkened food court at the airport than they were on the couch this evening.

David sighs and stands up, opening the bathroom cabinets and poking around to see what kind of products the Brewers have on hand. He’s pleasantly surprised to see the Rose Apothecary label on the shampoo and conditioner, body milk and cleanser. While the newer items aren’t quite the same quality as the originals he and Patrick had first sourced (quality gave way a little bit to quantity, and price), they are still products David is proud to have his name on.

David spends a long time in the shower, which does make him feel marginally better. He towels off his hair, leaving styling to the morning, and scoots into the bedroom he’s staying in. He hasn’t unpacked yet, so he opens his suitcase up on the floor and finds clean boxer briefs. Unfortunately, the rest of his clothes really need to be laundered; he had thought he’d be back in Toronto yesterday evening, not on a spur of the moment trip to the land of sunshine and tourists.

He frowns as he pulls on a wrinkled black t-shirt and soft gray sleep pants. Regardless of what else happens tomorrow, he’s going to have to do his laundry.

The air conditioning comes on with an annoying whir, and David looks around, spotting a vent in the ceiling. The noise doesn’t bode well for getting any sleep tonight, although there’s nothing wrong with the rest of the room. While ostensibly Patrick’s, the bedroom has very few personal items in it, maybe in case the Brewers decided to rent out the house. The bureau drawers are mostly empty except for swim trunks and some sweatshirts, and the closet contains one windbreaker, two pairs of sneakers, and a vacuum cleaner.

There’s a fluffy white duvet on the bed, with a seafoam green sheet and matching pillowcases peeking out underneath. Not a very Patrick color-scheme. Marcy must have been going for some kind of Florida feel. David feels lucky the whole place isn’t covered in a Hawaiian flower print, although that would probably be more practical than white if they anticipate having strangers using their linens. The whole concept of renting out one’s home makes David cringe, although it’s no worse than living in a motel.

David climbs under the blanket and top sheet and closes his eyes. He makes himself stay there as the air conditioning cycles on and off two more times, and then gives up.

The house is quiet as David wanders around, taking a closer look at the rooms he saw earlier today. There are a few framed photographs on the desk in the office. The one of Patrick seems to be relatively recent, him and his dad outdoors. Patrick’s smiling, but he doesn’t look happy. There aren’t any of David and Patrick together, for obvious and yet still painful reasons.

David wonders what happened to all their mementos from Patrick’s apartment – the posters from Cabaret and the Apothecary’s open mic night, the ticket from the ropes course that they stuck on the refrigerator with a magnet. It would be nice to think that they are still boxed up safe somewhere, not tossed in the dumpster behind Bob’s Garage.

The open plan kitchen and living room is nice enough, and the couch is comfortable, covered in a safe tan twill with throw pillows in shades of white and blue. David draws the curtains open and looks out through the sliding glass doors to the back yard with its screened-in pool and lanai.

With a shudder, David reminds himself that the screens are to keep the alligators out. David knows this because he read it online this afternoon, waiting for Patrick to wake up from his nap. When David told Patrick he would brave the alligators for him, David imagined that this was only a theoretical danger, or perhaps one to be encountered on a wildlife tour of some kind, not one he would have to face every time he left the house to get the mail.

David messes around with the light switches by the door, and finds one that turns on a spotlight under the water in the pool. It’s pretty, lighting up the water and bathing the back yard in a gentle glow.

“It’s a little chilly for a swim,” Patrick says behind him, making him jump. The wall-to-wall carpet is thick, and apparently Patrick hasn’t lost his ability to sneak up on David.

“Oh god, sorry, did I wake you?” Maybe flashing the lights wasn’t such a smart idea.

“Nah, I couldn’t sleep anyway.” Patrick turns his face up towards David, and David is convinced that he’s going to kiss him, his heart racing in eager anticipation. But Patrick’s face shifts into sadness, and he looks away.

“Patrick?” David reaches out and touches his fingers to Patrick’s bare arm. “What’s wrong?” He doesn’t say “besides the obvious,” because he can tell that it really isn’t necessary. And he thinks Patrick wouldn’t have come out here if he wasn’t ready to talk about whatever he’s been holding back.

“I have to tell you something,” Patrick says, crossing his arms over his chest and then, noticing, deliberately uncrossing them.

“Okay…”

Patrick bites his lip. “I’m afraid to say it.”

David feels a shiver run through him. “You’re afraid?”

“Yeah.” Patrick looks defeated.

“Why?”

Patrick shakes his head and turns away from David, leaning on the back of an armchair. “Because you’ll leave. And I don’t want you to go.”

David closes his eyes and tilts his head back. “Obviously I don’t want me to go either, Patrick. That’s why I’m here.” He tugs at Patrick’s shoulder, turning him so he can see his face. “I promise I won’t go anywhere. But if you take much longer to tell me, we may well have a panic attack situation here on top of everything else, and I’d really rather not add that to today’s list of events.”

Patrick stares at him, eyes wide, and David just wants to take him in his arms and tell him everything will be all right. But it’s clear that Patrick can’t be so easily convinced, and frankly, until David knows what the hell is going on, David isn’t so sure himself.

Patrick moves to the couch, and David follows him, sitting on the coffee table and putting his hands on Patrick’s knees.

“I didn’t cheat,” Patrick says, and David frowns.

“I know that now. You said so yesterday. I believe you.”

“I didn’t cheat,” Patrick says again, “but I think Mark wanted me to. He was flirting with me, and I didn’t stop him.”

“You’re cute. People flirt with you, there’s not much you can do about it.”

Patrick looks at him briefly and then away. “I could have not flirted back.”

David digs around in his head for the right thing to say, but all of the sex-positive, trusting relationship language he comes up with sounds hollow in the context of Patrick’s guilt-laden confession.

“Well, um, harmless flirting isn’t a big deal. It’s nice to feel wanted,” he tries.

“David. It wasn’t harmless.”

“What do you mean?”

Patrick peels David’s hands off his knees and takes them in his own. “It wasn’t harmless because it hurt you. It hurt us.”

“But if I had known you didn’t mean anything by it-”

“That’s just it, you didn’t know. Because I didn’t tell you. I wouldn’t have felt so guilty about it if there was nothing wrong with it. I wouldn’t have worked so hard to hide it. At the same time we were planning our wedding, I was creating an opportunity to let another man flirt with me. I knew if you met Mark you’d suspect something. I told him to come to the store for training when I knew you’d be out visiting vendors.”

Patrick’s practically babbling now, his words tumbling out. It’s so unlike Patrick’s usual calm demeanor, it makes what he’s saying even more unsettling.

David struggles to find an angle where Patrick’s behavior is okay. He’s done it before, made excuses for partners who toed or crossed the line, but he doesn’t know how to do it with Patrick. He slowly pulls his hands out of Patrick’s and stands up, stepping backwards with a hand over his mouth.

“I’m so sorry,” Patrick says. “Please, don’t go.”

“I’m not going anywhere. Just give me a minute.” David feels ill, but he knows there has to be a way through this. His mind is spinning, but he’s not leaving, he’s not, he’s going to figure this out. “Were you planning on – doing anything with him?”

There’s a moment when David thinks Patrick is going to say yes, yes, I wanted him to kiss me, but then Patrick is in front of him, his face open and vulnerable. “No, absolutely not.”

“Were you having some kind of… naughty cheating fantasy?”

“No,” Patrick says firmly. “You remember the Ken incident. I didn’t want anyone else. Then or now.”

“And yet…”

“I know,” Patrick says, reaching out to wrap his hands gently over David’s biceps. “I can’t explain it.”

They stand there in the dark kitchen, both of them breathing heavily. Patrick slides his arms around David and pulls him in, until David’s head is resting on his shoulder. David lets Patrick hold him, comforted by his touch even now.

“I’m so sorry, David. I thought about it so many times, after you left. I convinced myself that I didn’t cheat – and I didn’t, not physically. But what I did wasn’t <i>right,</i> either. It felt wrong to me, and you picked up on that, and that’s why you thought I was cheating.”

“But what you said in the airport-” David’s voice catches, and he has to stop and suck in a breath. “You made it seem like it was all my fault.”

“That was not my proudest moment.”

David forces himself to straighten up and step away from Patrick, wrapping his arms around his own body. Patrick holds his gaze, tears streaking his cheeks. Patrick lied to him – maybe not three years ago, when David didn’t give him a chance to explain, but just last night, in the airport. <i>But he’s telling the truth now,</i> David thinks. He’s put all his cards on the table, and he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop - for David to leave. To give up on them.

But the thing is, David doesn’t want to drop the shoe. He doesn’t want this to be the end. He’s not done with Patrick – he tried that, and it was the worst decision he ever made.

Patrick isn’t just another one of David’s exes. He’s not someone who was willing to take and take from David and never give in return. David simply can’t believe that of Patrick. It’s not who he is. Patrick gave David everything.

“If when I confronted you that day, back at the store, I had let you explain,” David says carefully, “we’d essentially be right here, wouldn’t we?”

Patrick’s eyes widen, and he nods. “Well, not in Florida, but, yeah. More or less.”

“So…” David closes his eyes and lets himself feel, the pain and the hope and the love, all whirling around in his chest. “If that’s the case,” he opens his eyes and reaches for Patrick, his hands landing on his shoulders, “then we can just start from here, minus the overreacting, and figure it out.”

Patrick chokes out a wet laugh. “We can?”

“I think so. I’d like that.” David watches Patrick’s eyes as they light up.

“David, I’d really like that too.”

David leans in, cupping his hand around Patrick’s head and bringing him close for a tear-stained kiss. David’s not sure that the odds are great for them this time around, but if there’s any chance at all, David’s going to take it.

#Schitt's Creek #Schitt's Creek Fic #David x Patrick #David Rose #Patrick Brewer

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himbowelsh · 4 years

Note

kisses meant to distract the other person from whatever they were intently doing + Webgott ! This is what I mean Liebgott fights dirty and will use any leverage he possesses to get his way

he absolutely does. setting this in my single dad web au, just because i can.

Webster’s office is at the back of the house --- a very generous word for a very little room, probably meant as a closet or mudroom before being hijacked for its unconventional purpose. Everything about Webster’s “personalised writing space”, from the shark action figures (“scale models, Joe,”) lined up along the wall, to the dictionaries and scientific texts overflowing from the overburdened bookshelf, gives it a feeling of disorganized clutter, the kind of scatter-brainedness that only Webster in full writing mode can achieve. His desk is covered with coffee mugs, emptied or half-forgotten. Notebooks litter the floor, inviting someone to trip over them. Spare papers, covered in illegible scribbles, have been taped to the wall; sometimes Webster spends hours just staring at them, highlighting a few lines or scratching out others; when he tears a paper down, it gets balled up and tossed to the back of the room. A new one is eager to take its place. The ancient carpet covering the creaky oak floor hasn’t been vacuumed in years; the curtains haven’t been cleaned, even though Webster keeps them pulled back most of the time, anyways. He liked being able to look out the giant bay windows in the direction of the sea. It “gives him inspiration”, apparently. Joe’s tempted to point out that they live in suburbia, and can’t even smell the tide from their backyard, but Webster wouldn’t listen if he tried.

It’s the one room Joe isn’t allowed to clean. He keeps the rest of the house vengefully spotless, but Webster’s office is his own space.

“We can’t bother him when he’s in there,” Jane told him very seriously, a few weeks after Joe moved in. She led him past Web’s closed door with a finger pressed to her lips, and proceeded to make a can of chicken noodle soup like she’d been cooking all her life.

Joe knows Web well enough. He’s not a neglectful father, by any means — he looks at Jane like she hangs the moon in the sky, and when the kid wants his attention, he has it — but they clearly had their dynamic down before Joe ever moved in. Web’s a great father, but no housekeeper. Jane learned from childhood to clean the kitchen, pick up the dirty laundry, wash the dishes, and throw together simple dinners when her dad was too caught up in work. She never rebelled against the responsibility. It was just something she did — she took care of Web the same way he took care of her, bandaging her scraped knees, helping her with homework, and braiding her hair before school in the mornings.

Joe came into the house, and he took over certain jobs which had already been allotted. Suddenly he was the official hair braider, official vacuumer and dinner-maker. Jane still kept up with her chores, Web with his work, but the house was neat and looked after. So, in a lot of ways, were the people who lived there.

Here’s the thing about Web: he needs to be looked after. He doesn’t want it — there’s a reason he gets Christmas cards from his rich parents, instead of visiting them in person — but he needs it. Coming from the right person, he even enjoys it… and this is a task Joe’s happy to take over from Jane, who’s too young to be worrying about looking after her Dad. Joe’s got different methods; he’s got different motives. It’s not long before he figures out exactly how to approach Web in the right way, to keep that stubborn, independent streak of his from flaring up. He learns very quickly how to take care of him.

“Hey,” he says softly, leaning against Webster’s office doorframe. “It’s late.”

Rain thrums against the windowpanes like a heartbeat, filling the room and drowning out the rhythm of Webster’s keyboard. He’s got his glasses on — the ones he only uses for midnight writing, and insists he doesn’t need otherwise — and a day’s worth of scruff shadowing his face. Still in that day’s clothes, with his belt discarded and top buttons of his shirt undone, he’s become an afterthought to himself. The only thing that matters tonight are the words on the page… and he’s been putting them there for hours.

“I know… I know.”

Joe knows, too, when Webster’s rhythm starts slowing down — when he loses his steam. There’s no point writing after that, because he’ll never be satisfied with what he puts out. It just means more time spent revising later, sometimes deleting whole chunks of work that took him hours, because it’s “shit, utter shit, it sounds like someone wrote it while half asleep because I was”. Webster in his zone can work wonders. Webster sliding out of his zone, into the grip of exhaustion, needs to be stopped for his own good.

Webster sighs, running a hand over his jaw. He slumps further over his desk, blinking blearily at the screen. Whatever he sees doesn’t inspire him at all, but he taps out a few more words anyways, almost on impulse. When Joe takes a further step into the room, Webster doesn’t notice.

“I’ll be done in a minute… I just have to close out this chapter, we’re talking about the Shark Attacks of 1916…”

“You know that case like the back of your hand.” It’s not like he’s going to forget the facts if he leaves it to rest overnight. Joe takes another step, and the floor creaks beneath his weight. Webster looks up, like he’s surprised to see him there.

“I know, I just…” He sighs again. “I know. Gotta finish, though.”

It’s nearly one in the morning. Webster’s movements are sluggish, his writing even moreso. Joe knows a recipe for ridiculousness when he sees it. Better he save them both the trouble. “You’re exhausted,” he declares, bracing himself against Web’s cluttered oak desk. When Webster pulls his gaze away, returning to the glare of the computer screen, Joe reaches out and catches his fingers in dark, thick curls. “Come on, Web. It can wait.”

“It really can’t.”

“You need to rest.”

“I need to finish —“

Joe’s had it. He crosses the desk in a quick, fluid movement, spinning Webster’s chair towards him. Before Webster even knows what’s happening, Joe’s caught him. Their mouths fit together like puzzle pieces sliding into place; Webster’s lips part to greet him, though that could just as well be a gasp. The noise he makes is definitely surprised, one hand coming up to cup Joe’s face just to steady himself. He’s not in any danger; Joe’s not letting him fall anyway. He keeps their lips locked, a slow and easy rhythm between them, as he sidles up against Web and straddles one knee.

Webster goes spaghetti-limbed; as he moves back, Joe guides him. Thank god his writing chair is unequivocally the comfiest in the house, otherwise their position would be awkward. As it is, Joe presses Webster back against the leather cushioning without an ounce of guilt. One hand on each side of his head, he braces himself, nibbling at Webster’s lower lip while steadily grinding into his knee. Webster moans.

When Joe pulls back, he’s satisfied by the sight of his boyfriend, cheeks flushed a deep red, eyes open wide. Who the hell could think about writing after that?

“You alright, Web?” he mutters, failing to bite back a smirk.

“You,” says Webster. “You. Play dirty.”

“We been together long enough now,” Joe chuckles. “You know how filthy I can get.”

He leans in to kiss the shell of his ear, and Webster’s back arches.

“Close your mouth, Web,” Joe says without looking, and hears a clink of teeth. “Now…” He mouths the words into his ear, lips still flushed and wet. “I’m telling you. It’s time for bed. You gonna argue with me any more?”

Webster exhales hard through his nose and murmurs something that’s more profanity than complaint.

“Good.” Joe seals the deal with a kiss to his temple, and springs deftly off of his boyfriend’s lap. Sure enough, Webster looks like he’s just been struck by lightning. He can’t find his feet fast enough.

“Filthy,” he mutters, as Joe shuts the light in his office off for him. “Absolutely — roll in the sewer — fall into a dumpster —“

“Got some interesting ideas there, Web. We’ll try ‘em next time.” Joe tucks an atm around his waist, reeling him in. The night is perfect. Thunder rumbles in the distance, drowning out any sound they make; Jane is comfortably asleep in her room; and in the darkness, Joe and Webster are free to do whatever they like.

Maybe bed can wait a little while longer.

#webgott #single dad web au #david webster #joseph liebgot #my writing

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shannygoatgruff · 4 years

Text

My Brother’s Keeper - Chapter II

Genre: Psychological Thriller

Modern Ivar X Modern Hvitserk

Rating: MA

Overall Warning: Dark story told from an emotionally distributed person’s POV with graphic and sadistic material including rape, terror, torture, kidnapping, drug use, slash, implied incest, necrophilia and insecurity. Heavy trigger warnings.

Chapter Warning: Talks sexual assault, murder, joy kills

Summary: Mama always said to be their brothers’ keeper. Now there is absolutely nothing these two won’t do for each other. Boys will be boys…

Chapter II

The sun assaults my eyes as soon as I open them. It's all I can do to raise my hand to shield them from the blinding light. Who the fuck opened the curtains These things are never open. I bought blackout curtains for a reason. I want it dark in here.

Ivar must have come in, in an attempt to get me out of bed. He could have just woken me up, instead, he tries to blind me out of bed. Any other day I would be annoyed, but right now all I can seem to concentrate on is the scent of coffee creeping under the crack of my door.

As I lay here rubbing my forehead, I close my eyes and try to piece together anything from before. I wonder how I got here. I don't remember coming home, much less stripping out of my clothes and landing in the bed. Then I look down at what I'm wearing. How did I end up in my Vikings t-shirt? I thought for sure I lost it weeks ago.

The sound of the ashtray hitting the floor when I swing my legs around pulls me out of my own head for a moment. Ivar is going to be pissed about that. Not only does he hate it that I smoke in bed, but he hates when there are ashes on the carpet. I'm not one for vacuuming and when he comes in here and sees a black stain against this white floor he's going to have a fucking fit.

I wish I could sit here and collect my thoughts…give me some time to let the morning fogginess wear off but I can't. I gotta take a leak and the smell of the coffee is making my stomach growl.

The sounds of Skynard’s Simple Man playing in the distance and clanging of frying pans on the stove tells me right away that Ivar's in a good mood. That was Mother's favorite song. All that racket he's making downstairs as he tries to sing along with the song can only mean one thing: he's making pancakes, bacon, and eggs. It's what Mother used to make us when we were little; our special meal when she wanted us to know that we were her special boys. Now, Ivar cooks it when he wants to celebrate.

If we're celebrating then we must've had a good time. Damn. Why can't I remember it? I don't have one clear memory of last night, only flashes of things that might have happened. I assume Ivar and I took that girl out, but I don't have that exciting feeling that I always have when I know that we had a great night.

I never noticed how cold the bathroom tiles were until I lean against them so I won't drip on the side of the toilet. He hates it when I do that. He's always bitching about having to clean my piss up from around the toilet and off the floor, like I don't help clean up the mess he makes when we party. He says that's just an occupational hazard and not him being a fucking slob. Whatever. I call it him being a fucking neat freak.

Still, I can't stop the chuckle coming from my lips when the stream hits the side of the bowl but then the pain makes me wince. Something's wrong, I think. It hurts to piss. Not like on the inside, more like my dick is raw; like I fucked so much and so hard that I broke the skin. It feels like that one time I got a friction burn the first time I tried anal. I think I was rushing and didn't move the underwear over enough so the material rubbed my dick raw. I don't even remember who that was with. I just remember seeing the blood on my dick and this raw patch. I guess it felt good because I still like anal, but sometimes the thought of it makes me nauseous. It doesn't look like I did anything to myself. There's no broken skin or anything, but it still hurts.

What the fuck did we do last night? I wasn't that fucked up. I hardly had anything at the bar and I know I didn't do more than two Percocet. I was going light for a reason. I was so fucked up when we went out the night before that I could barely get it up when we entertained our guests.

I wonder if Ivar had me doing some crazy shit to that girl like I did to that one a few weeks ago. Damn, I wish I could remember it. Remembering helps keep the hunger away. Right now, I feel like I haven't done anything. It’s almost like I missed out on a night of partying. This feeling is enough to make me salivate.

I pull my shirt over my t-shirt as I walk toward the stairs, hoping that I'm not forgetting anything. The wooden steps creaking under my weight is enough to alert Ivar that I'm awake. I still don't know what time it is. All I know is it's too early to be up, but late enough that I won't make it into work on time. I don't really care. I feel out of it today. I'll call them and tell them I'm sick or something. I just don't think I could concentrate on that shit today if I tried.

Ivar is already sitting down to breakfast, looking like he's been awake for hours. I never understood why he wakes up so early or why he insists that we dress for breakfast. He has this thing where he likes for us to be presentable at the table. It's not like we ever have company. It was how Father did it. He liked all of his boys dressed and looking our best around the table when he sat down. It seems pointless to me, since it's just us two. I think it's cold and stuffy; Ivar finds it intimate. I don't know why we need to be intimate over pancakes but it seems to make him happy, so do it.

I like it when Ivar's happy.

The chair screeches on the hardwood floor as I pull it back to take a seat. He's sitting there quietly sipping on a cup of coffee and reading is iPad. He never looks up at me in the morning; most of the time I doubt that he even knows I'm here. "Morning."

His blue eyes lift from the printed text on the screen. The slight way his head turns in my direction before his eyes makes me feel uneasy, but then he smiles. "How'd you sleep?"

I reach for a pancake and break off a piece before sitting it on my plate. My coffee is already at my place on the table, loaded with two shots of vodka, cream, and a shit load of sugar, no doubt. Dunking my pancaked into my coffee, I shrug my shoulders. "Okay, I guess. Why didn't you wake me?"

"You needed to rest." He answers as if I should already know that. His voice is calm and soothing. I don't know how he always manages to put me at ease. "I called work for you."

"Yeah? What'd you say?"

He lays one hand carefully over the iPad, covering up most of the article he's reading. Placing his coffee cup back on the table, he tilts the iPad back up to his eyes. "I told Ubbe you were taking off the rest of the week.” If I keep missing work like this, my older brother is going to get pissed. I’m sure he’ll be calling me later today to see why I begged off. He’ll perform his brotherly duties, and make sure everything is alright. I guess I need to think of a real excuse before that time comes.

A bemused look hits Ivar's face and he points to a section of the screen as if I can see it. "Listen to this, ‘The police discovered the body of a runaway that was already presumed dead, in an abandoned apartment complex. According to crime scene detectives, the victim was tied up, tortured, and raped. 'I feel sorry for this young woman,' says Detective Torstein, Homicide. 'From the information we've gathered, she ran away from an abusive foster home two years ago and was thought to be dead. The reason it took us so long to find her was that no one reported her missing."

I can't help but notice the mirth in Ivar's voice as he reads the article. There's something in the gleam in his eye that tells me right away she's the girl we picked up at the bar. Poor thing. It sucks that she had such a rough life. "Well at least nobody can hurt her anymore." The dry pancake is thick in my throat but a few sips of coffee quickly remedy the discomfort.

"The cause of death was blunt force trauma to the face…” I feel like I have a massive migraine all of a sudden. My head doesn't really hurt but the flashes of light that shoot through my head are blinding.

“’An object of substantial size was used to crush every bone in her face sending fragments of her skull to her brain.' Detective Torstein adds, 'More than likely, the victim died on impact.' Jesus, Hvitserk. What did you do to her?”

It's like a dream almost. I can't really remember anything specifically; it just comes back in snippets. I remember sitting down and talking to her. I remember enjoying a cigarette, but that's it. "Me? The beating and shit, that's your deal." I can feel a smile tickle the corners of my mouth.

"Not this time. Why her face?" Ivar folds his hands on the table and studies me with great interest. He's not upset, more like in awe. He gets so excited about these things.

As I reach for my coffee cup again, I notice my left hand. It's red and swollen at my web between my index finger and my thumb. I can see a set of perfectly outlined teeth prints that have turned purple from where the skin was broken. Now, I can remember how that happened. "She started screaming, so I covered her mouth." I can even feel her bite me, sending a sharp pain through my hand when I struggled to pry her legs open.

I wish the memories were vivid, but they're more like me watching someone else through a dense fog. It's vague and not necessarily in order, but the one thing that remains constant is the sound of her screaming. "She bit me."

"The victim's underwear was found in her throat." Ivar's actually laughing at that detail. "That's fucking awesome." He acts like that is something that I should be proud of or that maybe it's something that he wants to try.

"My hand was bleeding and it kept sliding off of her mouth. I had to stop the screaming." A flash of memory comes to me of and I recall taking the white laced panties and pushing them into her mouth. It muffled her voice, but I could still hear it. It bothered me. "But then she started gurgling. She was getting on my fucking nerves."

"'The victim's undergarments were lodged in her esophagus, cutting off the oxygen supply to her brain,' explains the Detective.'Whoever did this crime was truly an animal.'" Ivar reads along with the article as if to back up my story.

I open and close my hand, staring at the colors it has turned from the bite. There are scratches on my knuckles too, but it doesn't really hurt. Why didn't I notice this before? I should have remembered all of this before Ivar read all of that to me. "That sound was horrible. There was a cinder-block, I think. Just a big chunk of something concrete on the floor. I didn't hit her with it. I dropped it on her. I just wanted her to shut the fuck up." I guess that's what killed her.

"Well, Astrid's not screaming anymore." Ivar's smile is so wide that his eyes crinkle at the corners.

"Who?"

"Astrid. Her name was Astrid." As soon as he says that, I open my mouth and piece of pancake, coffee, bile and everything else that was resting comfortably in my stomach land on the table. I clutch the sides of the table, when my stomach muscles contract, forcing more vomit to spew from my lips. I can't really see due to the tears in my eyes, but I do notice Ivar stand up and carry his coffee mug and plate to the sink. He moves so gracefully, so calmly. He's doing this like it's no big deal that I'm puking on the kitchen table.

I think my stomach is finally returning to normal, but I don't know what made me lose it. Maybe it's the fact that she had a name. I hate knowing that they have names. It almost makes them seem as real, when I know what people called them. I can live with the fact that I killed a girl. But, can I deal with the fact that I killed Astrid, the throw-away, runaway girl with the annoying voice and the shitty past? Fuck. Why did I have to know her name?

Ivar's hand fists my hair and brings my head to rest against his stomach. He presses the damp paper towel to my forehead and then dabs the corners of my mouth. "Shh." His hand cups my neck as he rubs his thumb against my jaw to calm me. "It's okay, Serk. You told her not to scream. She didn't listen to you. This wasn't your fault, it was hers."

I don't understand how we got to this point. Ivar is the one into torture and pain and hurting and shit. I'm just there for the ride. I fuck them. That's all I do. Sometimes he does things to them and when they're almost broken, I fuck the shit out of them before he finishes them off however he wants. Sometimes they're alive when I get them; sometimes they're not. But one thing remains constant, I don't kill. That's not what I'm there for. We don't switch roles. Ivar has never fucked any of them, ever. He gets off on watching me do it. Just like I get off on watching him so happy fucking with them. And then we come home and talk about it and laugh and drink and get fucked up. It's what we do. It's how we have fun. Why did I change that?

I bury my head in Ivar's stomach as the last of my tears come out. I guess I'm crying for her, or at least I feel like I should be. But I can't really concentrate on that right now because I happen to notice the iPad sitting on the table. I slide it over and look at him confused. "Wednesday? How the fuck is it Wednesday?"

"You slept for three days. You always do when you make a mistake." He leans down and places a soft kiss in my hair. "It's okay, though. I made everything better. They'll never know. You got nothing to feel sorry for. You just need some rest. You'll feel better after a hot bath, and then you can sleep it off. I’ll even talk to Ubbe, if he calls." He helps me from my chair and leads me to the stairs. "Go run your bath. I'll bring you some tea and toast to settle your stomach."

I nod, because I know he's right. I do need to rest. I know he'll take care of me while I try to make peace with what I've done. He'll make sure I don't blame myself. He'll see to it that I eat, sleep, Ubbe is off my back, and that there's no evidence to link me to the crime. Ivar will take care of everything.

He always does.

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aestheticsandwriting · 4 years

Text

One-Shot a Day, Day 6: Snowball Fights.

Sorry for the delay in not posting this yesterday, it was a crazy day. I’ll be posting today’s in just a few minutes!

Summary: Everyone comes to town for their yearly Christmas Get-together. Laughter, naps, important family news, and snowball fights ensue.

This was the time of year Tucker loved; every-one always busted ass all year long, saving vacation days and money so they could take the time to come visit. Occasionally, when they first started the yearly get-together, they had gone elsewhere, but eventually realized that, between him and Wash, Sarge, and Church and Caboose, it made more sense for the others to come to them.

“Junior is your room ready for Theta to get here?”

“Almost, Papa Wash!” Tucker smiles as he finishes putting the last few dishes from lunch into the dishwasher, setting it to delay starting until that evening, knowing that Wash had laundry going. Wash deemed it necessary for the house to be spotless, while Tucker and Junior both preferred a clean-yet-lived-in feel. The former soldier smiles again, rinsing his hands and drying them as he hears Wash ask their son to pick up something else when he’s finished in his room, the blond stumbling into the kitchen with an arm full of towels.

“Tucker, did you start the dishwasher?”

“Nope, set it to delay since I knew you were doing laundry.”

“Oh thank you.” He plops the towels into the washer that’s in a little closet space on the opposite side of the kitchen from where Tucker’s standing.

“Hey, Wash?”

“Hm?”

“Take it easy, yeah? The house looks fine, and you know none of them are going to judge us. Except maybe Donut cause we don’t have more decorations up, but what’s new there?” The smaller and the two men makes his way across the tile floor, socked feet barely making a sound, and stands on his toes to plop a kiss on his boyfriend’s temple.

“I know. It’s just… dad always had to have the house spotless, and I guess that’s something that’s stayed with me.”

“I know. But is it worth the stress?”

“Not really.” A pause as he measures out the detergent, pours it in, and starts the machine, turning in his lover’s arms. “Let me make the guest beds, vacuum the carpet in the living room and guest rooms since it hasn’t been done in a while, and then I’ll stop other than finishing the load of towels?”

“You start vacuuming the living room, I’ll make the guest beds. Are the sheets on the beds?”

“The front room has the sheets piled on it, the back room doesn’t, sheets are in the dryer still. Thank you, Lav.”

“Of course. Now let’s get to work; North texted about thirty minutes ago, they had stopped to stretch, and it should only be about an hour until they get here.”

“Sounds good.” Dropping a kiss on Tucker’s lips, the taller man shoves him away playfully, Tucker laughing as he bends down to grab the sheets from the dryer.

“Dad! Papa Wash! Theta’s here!!” Nine-year-old Junior runs out of his room where he had been playing, Wash and Tucker curled up on the couch discussing the upcoming Christmas dinner. The boy throws the front door open, a blast of cold air causing Tucker to curl tighter into his boyfriend. “Theta!”

“Junior, come back in, you don’t have shoes on!”

“Okay, dad!” The two boys, nearly inseparable, run into the house together, Theta dropping a duffle bag at the entrance, running over to give the two men hugs.

“Hi Wash, hi tucker!”

“Hey Theta, it’s good to see you again. You can take your stuff in to J’s room like normal.” The couple stands, each slipping their sneakers and another coat on, stepping out the front door.

“Need some help?”

“Please! Apparently my son decided to abandon us.” The tall blond laughs, rolling his eyes fondly. “I can’t say I blame him, though, he waits all year to see Junior.”

“Yeah, Junior’s been talking about it non-stop since Thanksgiving. Hey South, hair’s nice.” Tucker compliments the female, who’s died her previously blond hair a bright purple since last year, having also had it cut recently, the short strands spiked in different directions.

“‘Sup, assholes?”

“Wash, remind me again why we let her stay in our house?” Tucker smirks, waiting for a punch to his arm.

A simultaneous, “be nice,” comes from the mouths of both blond males, rolling their eyes at their boyfriend and sister respectively.

“When are the other’s coming in?”

“Connie should be here tonight, she’s getting off work in about thirty minutes and then has to run home to do a few things before heading down, York and Carolina will be in sometime tomorrow afternoon, Lina has an appointment in the morning.” The four make their way inside, South taking her bag to the back room she’s using to bunk with Connie, North taking his into the office, Tucker following with the bag that holds the air matress he’ll be sleeping on, and Wash setting the small bag with the presents down by the tree.

“Are Grif and Simmons staying with Sarge again?”

“Yep, They’re staying with him, and so is Donut. I think Church and Caboose are letting Kai stay with them -she’s strangely good with Caboose- but that’s it. Last year was too overwhelming for the big guy. Maine’s got a hotel room like normal since he needs to be able to be away from people sometimes. So we’re the full house.”

“Well you know I appreciate you letting Theta and I crash here.”

“Of course.

The next few days leading up to Christmas are a blur of people. Between the six people -plus York and Carolina’s dog, Delta- staying at Wash and Tucker’s and the other seven people coming and going at all different times, there’s never a boring moment, but Tucker wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Christmas finally rolls around, and everyone is piled into the house by eleven, Maine being the last to show up, surprising nobody. Christmas lunch is filled with laughter and stories of the previous year, and also excited yelling from Junior and Theta when they realize that it’s snowing again, hard. “Can we have a snowball fight after lunch, pleeeaaaasee dad?!” That’s Junior’s voice, Tucker whinces slightly at the volume of it.

“Yes, I’m sure we can.”

“YES!” That’s Junior and Theta combined.

“And to think, give it another couple of years and we’ll have another voice joining in.” North laughs, glancing pointedly at York and Carolina, the couple smiling brightly as the redhead places a hand on her rounded stomach. “Speaking of which, I believe you said you had some news? Do we know if it’s a boy or a girl?” The table goes quiet, all eyes turning to the pair.

“We do.” York grins, dark eye sparkling mischievously.

“Well?” Wash prompts, wanting to know his sister and brother-in-law’s news, excited to find out if he’s having a niece or a nephew.

“We’re…” Carolina glances at her husband, brows furrowing slightly and she bites her bottom lip. A slight nod from the dark-haired man sitting beside her. “We’re having twins. A girl and a boy.” The table erupts, cheers, congratulations, and exclamations from everyone around bringing a few tears to the redheads eyes as everyone stands to give her hugs, Maine included, and Church just barely remembering to catch Caboose in time so he doesn’t hurt the shorter woman.

After a while of talking and present opening, Junior and Theta ask if they can finally go have the snowball fight and everyone agrees. Bundling up and stepping into Wash and Tucker’s sizable backyard they start deciding on teams. “Theta and I are on the same team!” Junior announces, the purple-clad boy nodding in agreement, throwing an arm around his friend’s shoulders.

“Alright, how about Theta, Junior, Wash, Simmons, Lina, Maine, York, South, and Kai on one team and Church, Caboose, Sarge, Grif, Connie, North, Donut, and me on the other?” After everyone agrees on Tucker’s team idea, they part sides, giving themselves fifteen minutes to construct a fort before the fight begins.

“Time’s up, let the fight begin!” Wash calls out, Junior and Theta letting snow fly before he’s hardly finished with the phrase, Theta’s snow hitting Caboose right in the face, sending the blue-clad man laughing, throwing a handful of almost unpacked snow flinging back, never reaching close to a target.

As the snow around them becomes sparse, the groups start venturing further away from their ‘bases’, closer into the middle towards each other. Simmons spots an opportunity, scooping a handful of snow and shoving down his boyfriend’s shirt as the darker-skinned man was retreating, laughing as he shudders with the cold.

“You’re gunna pay for that, Simmons!”

“If you can catch me!”

“Connie, duck!” Not knowing where the voice came from, the short, dark-haired female squats… right into a snowball thrown by South… who’s on the other team and had called for her to duck.

Meanwhile, ten feet to her left, Tucker is sticking his tongue out at his boyfriend on the opposite side, who’s been trying to hit him for five minutes with no luck, only to get smacked right in the nose by his son and Theta, Wash laughing as he releases another snowball, this one landing perfectly on Tucker’s forehead now that his boyfriend was trying to spit the snow out of his mouth, making him laugh harder. “Yeah! Good shot uncle Wash!” Theta calls.

The battle rages on for another thirty minutes, before Carolina bows out to go inside, exhausted and getting colder than she should be, York stepping out of the fight to go with her. Ten minutes later they call a truce, declaring a tie like usual, the group all tumbling inside laughing, covered in snow that Wash knows will leave puddles all over the floor. But maybe Tucker was right; he needed to take it easy more and stress about it less. Sure the water would need to be dried, but that isn't that big of a deal, a small amount of water on the floor for a short period wouldn’t damage it.

“Oh my gosh, what is that smell?” Connie inhales deeply, the others following her lead.

“In the kitchen!” York calls from the kitchen.

“Is that hot cocoa?” Tucker turns the corner, breathing in deep again.

“It will be once I get it all warmed up and combined. I hope you don’t mind that I used basically the rest of your milk supply? It was a lot, but I’ll be happy to replace it.”

“Ah, it’s fine. We’re not drinking as much as I expected, and homemade hot cocoa is worth it. Where’s Lina?”

“Showering. She wanted to get warmed up.”

“Is she okay? I hope she didn’t feel like she had to go out there, I don’t want her hurt or sick” That’s Wash making his way into the kitchen, arms wrapping around Tucker’s waist, eyebrows knitting together in concern.

“She’s fine, Wash. Just really cold, and a warm showering was the easiest thing for her to get warmed up quick. She’s been doing great about knowing her limits.”

“Good.” Tucker feels the blond behind him relax at the words, knowing how worried he’s been about his sister. Wash turns, walking back into the living room to sit with the rest of the group while Tucker pulls out mugs and the mini marshmallows for the group.

When Wash hears his sister open the back bathroom’s door he excuses himself, padding into the back hallway. “Hey, you didn’t get too cold, did you?”

“No, I’m fine Wash. Mostly just really tired now. You’re not upset that we waited to tell you we were having twins, right?”

“Of course not. As long as you -all three of you- are healthy?”

“Doctor says we’re doing great.”

“Good.” The taller of the two wraps his sister in a hug, dropping a kiss to the top of her head.

“Wash… I wanted to ask you something.”

“Shoot.”

“Would you have a problem with us naming our baby girl Allison?”

“For mom? Of course not. I think it would be a great name for any daughter of yours.”

“Thanks.”

“Of course.”

“Hot cocoa! Who wants it with marshmallows?” Comes Tucker’s voice.

“I’m gunna put my stuff away and then be out. Cocoa with marshmallows for me please?”

“Course, Lina.”

The rest of the afternoon is spent talking, laughing, napping, and playing various different games, and by the time everyone has left, the few remaining in the house are exhausted, all quickly retreating to bed.

Yes, this is the time Tucker loves the most. Friends and found family all together making memories. And the snowball fights are fun too.

#tuckington #yorkalina #grimmons #rvb #Red vs Blue #carwash sibs #one shot #one-shot a day #december one shot a day #mod becca #becca's writings #becca's writing

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rocket-remmy · 4 years

Text

Movie Magic|| Taylor and Remmy

Mirror, mirror, taped to the wall-- who the least human of them all?

CW: mild ablest language mention

The real question of the week was, how did you clean an apartment that felt as if the grime was an inherent part of decor? As if it were just part of the apartment itself. Remmy stood in the middle of the studio, looking from the derelict living room, with only a TV stand and fold up table next to the window, to their bed pushed all the way to the other side of the room next to the closet. They’d asked the front desk to borrow the vacuum and when they were handed a little hand vacuum, had exasperatedly run back up to the apartment and spent the next two hours kneeling on carpet as they vacuumed up as much as they could. It gave up almost ¾ of the way through the job, so Remmy had pushed the mattress over what hadn’t been vacuumed. That still left the fact that Remmy didn’t have a couch. There were two fold up lawn chairs at what was supposed to pass as a dining table, but Remmy didn’t see those as being too comfortable for prolonged movie watching. Frowning, they decided to pile up the pillows and blankets against the wall and push the TV stand down so that it was at the foot of the bed. A good enough solution for now, but perhaps the idea of a couch should be added to their list of things to get. Remmy spent more time over at Blanche’s place than their own most days, but a couch was probably a good idea. But it would have to wait, because there was more cleaning to be done before Taylor got there.

When Remmy was satisfied enough with the cleanliness of the place, they glanced at the clock. Not too long now, but they reeked of the same must the apartment always seemed to have, so it was a quick shower and a quick change of clothes. They were just drying their hair, noticing how long it’d gotten-- perhaps they needed a haircut too, they couldn’t remember the last time they’d gotten one-- when there was a knock at the door. Moose, from his perch on the bed, looked up, and Remmy stumbled out of the bathroom.

Remmy lived completely across town from Taylor, and she was very concerned with being late. She’d done her best to look good for this little movie night of theirs. Remmy was cute, and Taylor would be lying to herself if she claimed she didn’t want to impress them. She vainly knew it wouldn’t take much, if their kiss was anything to go by, but still. She’d opted for a tight black tank top, black jeans, topped off with a flannel for a splash of color. She’d freshly shaved the sides of her head and put on some aftershave on her neck, her version of perfume. All that, blowdrying her hair, doing her makeup, it had taken longer than she anticipated, and she showed up at Gallows End Estates fifteen minutes after they’d agreed on. Hopefully Remmy was okay with fashionably late. She climbed the stairs to their apartment number, not particularly bothered by the less than stellar exterior of the building. With a quick knock, she signaled her arrival and waited patiently, a bit of a knot forming in her stomach suddenly.

“Coming! Sorry!” they said, hurrying over and unlocking the door, throwing it open. A smile seemed to automatically pull itself onto Remmy’s face when they opened the door and Taylor was there. “You made it!” they blurted, then pressed their lips together in a thin line. “I mean-- of course you made! You said you would. It’s not like you wouldn’t. I didn’t think you wouldn’t show up! I don’t think you’re that kind of person! It was just, um--” God, Rem, shut up. Even Moose seemed embarrassed by their rambling already, sighing as he turned his head away to lay back down on the bed. “Sorry. I’ll um--” stepped out of the way and ushered Taylor to come inside. “It’s uh...not much! But it’s home. For now.” A pause. “I hope.”

The moment she laid eyes on Remmy, Taylor smiled to match theirs. “I sure did,” she echoed, her smile spreading even wider as Remmy rambled. They hadn’t changed a bit since that night. It was easy to forget what they were like in person when it was easier to censor words on the internet. Taylor liked it. Listening to their subconcious pouring out felt so unfiltered and raw, something Taylor could appreciate since she used that same technique sometimes to write her music. “I’d never stand you up, you don’t gotta worry about that,” Taylor reassured, walking in as Remmy stepped out of the way. They were right, the apartment really wasn’t much, but they’d tried their best. She could tell they’d cleaned, and just that made Taylor smile. “So what’s on the docket for movies? Got anything picked out?”

Movies. That’s what Remmy had forgot! Idiot. “Oh, um--” they closed the door behind Taylor and redid the latch before scurrying over to the TV stand and throwing it open. “Let’s see uh...Blanche brought a bunch more over the other day. I know you said you like horror, I think there’s a few horror here….Or i’ve got this weird collection box that’s supposed to be all the hits from the past few years. Um...Date Movie?” Their breath caught immediately after saying the name. “Or uh-- something called Baby Driver? And um-- the newest Alien movie. I watched all the old ones when I was a kid, but I don’t really remember them much. Oh, she also brought me this collection of all five Final Destination movies. So really it’s um--” stopped, realized they’d talked almost without taking a breath or pause for two minutes. “S-sorry...I don’t um...have people over often.” Moose gave a huff, as if to further the point. Remmy looked over at Taylor from their spot crouched in front of the TV stand. “It’s uh...your pick.”

Taylor had forgotten to bring movies as well. She’d meant to, but she was already so late she’d left the stack she’d picked out on her kitchen counter. Luckily Remmy did have a bit of a selection. Nothing really stuck out to her until their final suggestion though. “I love the Final Destination movies! I hope you have snacks though. They weirdly always make me hungry. Marathon?” she suggested, still standing right inside the doorway. She was a bit nervous to approach Moose since last time. “I brought Moose a peace offering,” she said, reaching into her inside jacket pocket and pulling out the locally sourced bone she’d bought for him.

“Oh, um, yeah!” Remmy said, perking up as they pulled out the movie collection. “I’ve got plenty of snacks. Blanche stocked up my fridge last week and I haven’t even made a dent in most of the food yet.” They set the DVD down on the TV and padded over to the little minifridge in the wanna be kitchenette are and popped it open. They’re “pantry” was a metal shelf next to the window. “I’ve got like...chips. Popcorn! It’s microwave popcorn though, there’s no stove here. Um...soup? Some weird cheese crackers. Applesauce? Weird…” They glanced back over at Taylor, noticing her still standing in the doorway. “Oh, you can um-- come sit down or something? He’s fine. He’s just mad about the vacuum,” they said, coming over to her and holding out their hand for the bone. “You can give it to him! I-if you want.”

How much Remmy seemed to mention Blanche both warmed Taylor’s heart and, well, slightly worried her. They were a lot closer than Taylor thought. No wonder Remmy had freaked. But Blanche was taking care of Remmy too it seemed. Lending them movies, stocking their fridge. It was all very cute and domestic. “Can’t have a movie without popcorn, right?” Taylor commented, grinning over at them. They were so accommodating. So cute. Her nervous energy must have been written on her face though. “Are you sure? He didn’t like me much last time.” She tried to take Miles’ advice and not be so tense. Relax and try not to expect the worst. “Help me give it to him?” she suggested, holding the bone out for Remmy so they could both hand it to Moose.

“Oh, yeah!” Remmy said, their face lighting up. “Good idea! Maybe if he sees me helping you, he’ll be less worried.” They took the bone in one hand and motioned for Taylor to follow them over to Moose, who had been watching the whole scene from the bed, his head laying atop his big paws. He lifted his head when they got closer. “C’mere bud,” Remmy said, crouching, “want a treat?” He stayed on the bed for a moment, as if deciding whether or not to trust the new person in his house, before standing, too tempted by the smell of the fresh bone. Though his ears still pressed back, he tentatively took the bone from them, turned, and padded to a corner of the room, laying down to enjoy his new treat. “There! That went much better.”

Taylor smiled proudly as Moose took the bone and padded away. At least he hadn’t growled that time. “Still don’t think he likes me, but we’re getting there,” she said. “Right Moose?” But he was fat too busy picking at his bone to pay attention to her. So Taylor moved to climb on top of the bed, huddling herself in the little seating area made of pillows. “This is nice,” she said softly. Remmy had clearly made an effort, and Taylor appreciated it. “You’re a good host, Rem.” She bit her lip as she watched Remmy in the little kitchenette. “It okay if I call you that?”

“Oh, uh-- thanks! I um...tried. It’s hard to make this place um...look good,” Remmy said as they went back over to the kitchenette to gather snacks. Stuck a bag of popcorn in the microwave and hit cook. “Oh, yeah! That’s-- that’s totally fine! I don’t mind. The guys in bootcamp all called me different things, so really I’m used to being called by whatever. Uh-- I have lemonade, ginger ale, or sweet tea to drink. Or water?” They looked back over at Taylor on the bed and felt that flush of warmth in their cheeks again, hiding it behind the fridge door.

“Sweet tea please,” Taylor requested, catching Remmy’s blush no matter how much they tried to hide it. “If it makes you feel any better my houseboat doesn’t look too hot right now. Gotta replace some floorboards and shit. Flooding left a lot of water damage.” She looked around, realizing that sounded like a backhanded compliment. “I’m serious though, this place looks great. I’m honored by your effort. You really didn’t have to.”

“Oh, no,” Remmy said, reappearing from behind the fridge with two sweet teas and handing one over to Taylor. “I really did. I don’t think-- I don’t think I’ve cleaned since I moved in like two months ago. It needed it. Guess I just needed an excuse to make it look good.” A brief grin, before they cleared their throat and stumbled back to the TV. “So, uh...you really like these movies? I’ve never seen ‘em...what’re they about?” they asked, popping in the first disc and pushing play. Luckily, the TV they’d snagged had come with a built in DVD player. At least there was that.

Taylor graciously took the sweet tea and took a sip, watching Remmy closely. For being such an anxious open book, sometimes they were hard to read. She could feel the nervous energy wafting off of them. Or maybe that was just her own. “Yeah! It’s about someone having a vision of some horrible accident that kills them and a bunch of other people, and then they save some of the people when they freak out about the vision.” She grinned and lifted her finger, wagging it in front of her face. “But you can’t cheat death, and he comes to collect the lives he was robbed of.” She sat back again, patting the space on the bed beside her to urge them to join her. “It might sound like I just spoiled it, but they’ve all got the same formula. It’s the creative and gory kills we’re here for.”

Just be cool, Morgan had said, just be yourself! Remmy nodded, crawling over to the spot next to Taylor, settling next to her. Their face felt warmer again. “Oh that’s-- that’s a crazy concept for a movie! Sounds kinda scary.” They popped open the popcorn bag and held it over to Taylor. “It’s the super buttery kind, hope you like butter,” they chuckled, not noticing quite how hot the bag was. They didn’t really feel much anymore, physically. It left them craving to feel touch, of any kind. “Creative kills,” they said, “never thought I’d hear that as a sentence.” Another toothy grin, crooked on their face.

“It’s okay,” Taylor said, instinctively tucking her arm over Remmy’s shoulders. Not even trying to be smooth or anything. It just felt more comfortable. “I’ll protect you if it gets too scary,” she teased, plunging her hand into the popcorn bag. It was a bit too hot and she winced, but came out with a greasy handful anyway. “Oh I love butter. Best thing about the movies, really.” Taylor mirrored that cute little grin of Remmy’s, having to stop herself from kissing them. It was too much too early. She knew they were nervous, and the last thing she wanted was to make them feel used somehow. “I’ve been obsessed with gory movies ever since I was a kid. Always made me weirdly hungry too,” she admitted, shoveling her handful of popcorn in her mouth. “When I’d get too scared or weirded out by it though, I’d always just think about how the filmmakers pulled it off. Like what sort of effects and shit they had to use. When you imagine someone lying on the floor under a dude wearing a latex torso, pumping fake blood out of a tube, everything gets a lot less scary.”

Remmy felt their chest tighten again as Taylor hooked an arm around their shoulders. They’d craved human touch for so long, and now all they could do was sit stiffly. They remembered how nice it had felt to lay on Morgan’s shoulder, wrapped in her blanket burrito, why did this feel different? They eventually let themself lean into the touch, if only slightly. “I was never too bothered by gore, but I’m a sucker for jump scares. Don’t let me hold the popcorn, it’ll-it’ll go everywhere, probably,” they chuckled. Raised a brow, looking over at Taylor before back to the movie. A bunch of kids were crowding through an airport. “Really? Is that how they do it? I’ve never thought of things like that. Guess that’s why I’m a sucker at watching scary movies and stuff.”

Taylor could feel the stiffness in Remmy, and she rubbed her hand on their arm as she pulled them a bit closer to her. Even with all the anxious energy, they were a calming presence to Taylor. “Jump scares don’t bother me much. I like to be scared. Gives me a logical place to focus my anxiety. Like look, this thing on the screen, I’m supposed to be scared of it. Not of a conversation I had three years ago that suddenly popped into my head, you know?” She shrugged, turning her face slightly to get a better look at them. “Speaking or gore...which one was it?” She asked, looking down at Remmy’s body. She might as well rip the bandaid off. “Which arm?”

“I can get that,” Remmy said, choosing their words a little carefully. The doctor’s had said they would probably experience some form of anxiety once back at home, but they hadn’t told them what it would look or feel like. “I was taught mostly how to um-- focus my mind on small tasks, so that it didn’t start making anxious thoughts. So it’s kinda the same thing? They’d have us do like puzzles and word searches a lot at the halfway house.” Remmy froze when Taylor mentioned their arm. They stayed very still for a moment, before looking down at their hands in their lap. They didn’t wanna talk about it. They knew they probably needed to, but they really didn’t want to. Especially not with someone they might like. Like, like like. Remmy bit their lip. “Um...the-uh-- the right one.”

“That makes sense,” Taylor said. She was completely ignoring the movie now, focusing on Remmy. That was what putting on a cheesy movie was for though, right? So you could just talk over it and still have background noise. “I can see why jump scares would get to you though, with your PTSD.” She wanted to be sensitive about it, but she felt like tiptoeing around the right words would just sound condescending. “The biggest jump scares in these flicks are explosions, but we’ll keep it turned down.” She could feel Remmy stiffen under her grip, and she just gripped them tighter in return, holding them closer to her body. “What happened?” she asked gently. “I’m not gonna judge.”

“With the--” Remmy started, but stopped. All the doctor’s had said they would probably experience stress symptoms for a while after getting back, Remmy just figured that was what happened. And then it would get better. Like all wounds. That’s what Moose was for, right now. To help them heal. “Right. Yeah. It’s not so bad. It um-- should be fine. I think I’m just super gullible, is the main thing.” They somehow found talking about that easier than wrapping their head around telling Taylor about their missing arm. “Uh...we went down to the beach. To uh-- get pictures of the chest. But instead, a bunch of those um-- giant lobster things? Showed up and swarmed the beach and...we ran towards the shelter for safety, but they were getting close so I tried to like...hit one. And it--” they stopped suddenly, shaking their head. “It sounds insane. Even when i say it. Like, it happened to me, I was right there, and other people saw it but-- it’s just insane. Things like that don’t happen.”

Taylor hoped she hadn’t said something wrong, but the moment passed before she had a chance to clarify. Maybe being so blunt hadn’t been the right route to go. She was quiet as she listened to their story, nodding along, her mouth slowly dropping open as they went on. She’d heard of the giant lobster things, but she hadn’t actually seen one yet, surprisingly. “We? Who was you with?” she began, before shaking her head. That really wasn’t the most important question, but now she understood why they’d went back alone. As much as Taylor could chastise them for it, she probably would have done the same thing. “Well, things like that do happen, clearly.” Taylor picked up their right hand and brought the knuckles to her lips, giving them a soft kiss before lowering their hand and holding it in her own. “Like I said, I’ve seen some weird shit…” Her voice faded. Was she really ready to tell someone else?

“Oh, um...Blanche and Cece,” Remmy answered quietly. “Blanche said she was gonna go whether or not I was with her, so I kinda had to let her come...But I told her to stay by the car! And of course she didn’t! Cece was just happening by I guess. But they both jumped down to try and get me away from the lobsters, and we ran, and it--” they paused again, watching, entranced, as Taylor lifted their hand to brush her lips over their knuckles. Their head felt very light, suddenly. “I, um….before you….you should know I…” they looked at their hands interlocked. “I don’t think I’m human.”

She didn’t know who Cece was, but hearing that Blanche was with them at the time, it was all starting to make sense now. It sounded very Blanche to jump into action like that too. Taylor almost chuckled at the thought, but stifled herself. She noticed how Remmy’s voice completely cut off when she touched them, and it made her grin ever so slightly. But what they said next caused Taylor’s face to drop, and the gears in her mind to turn, slow and rusty feeling. “Can I be honest with you, Rem?” she whispered, nudging their chin to look her in the eye. “I don’t think I am either.”

Remmy felt like they were going to vibrate out of their skin with the silence hanging between them. Oh, god, they’d scared Taylor off, hadn’t they? She was going to get and leave and never talk to Remmy again. Because their arm had ripped off and regrown, and because they were too much to handle, and because they probably weren’t human, and-- “Wait,” they looked up when the words registered. I don’t think I am either. “You’re--” they didn’t really know what to say, so they said the first thing that came to mind. “Are you a bear?”

Taylor let out a huff of a laugh, brow furrowed at the question. “A bear? What? No!” Where had they even gotten that from? “This isn’t a joke,” Taylor snapped, but her voice softened just as quick as it had spiked. “Let me show you. Come here,” she said, climbing up out of the bed and tugging Remmy along with her toward the bathroom. Luckily, they had a mirror above the sink. Before Remmy entered, she held them at arms length in the doorway. “Promise you won’t be scared?” she asked, biting her lip. “Only one other person knows about this.”

“Oh, I--” Remmy started, “I wasn’t joking! I’m sorry if you thought-- I saw someone turn into a bear. They’re the only um-- non human I know.” They picked themself up after Taylor, following her towards the dinky little bathroom. Luckily they’d just recently taped a small vanity mirror up to the wall (poorly). “Oh, um, I-I promise. Why would I be scared? I mean-- I won’t be scared. I promise. Cross my heart and hope to die.”

Taylor decided to leave the bear questions for another time, nodding as Remmy promised not to be scared. “Okay...okay…” She took a deep breath. Then again. She could still back out of this if she wanted to. It wasn’t too late. But before she could make that decision, she tugged Remmy into the bathroom, letting them get a full view of her reflection. While a normal looking Taylor stood next to them, in the reflection stood a scary visage. Sharp, pointed teeth, feathered face, fleshy but scaley skin, and large wings folded close to her body where her arms should be. “I’ve seen this in the mirror for as long as I can remember. I don’t know what it means, but it’s not normal.” Her lips were synced perfectly with the feathered reflection. “I used to think she was someone else. Like I was being haunted by a demon. But as time’s went on I...I think that is me.” She looked over to Remmy, nervous to see their reaction.

Remmy stayed still as Taylor gathered herself. Admitting something like this must’ve been hard. Remmy still hadn't 100% accepted that they weren’t human, but that lady Lydia online seemed to think so, and so did Morgan, and even Cece. It wasn’t normal to regrow an arm. Taylor tugged them inside and Remmy’s eyes met the creature in the mirror. Were they seeing that right? Was it a trick of the eye? No...Taylor’s mouth moved in tandem with the bird in the mirror. Someone on the TV was screaming about something, but Remmy just stared for a while. “So you’re a bird?” they finally said, turning to look at the human looking Taylor standing next to them. “That’s cool! I think? Is it cool? Is it weird that I said that? Can you like...turn into that bid? The person I met that was a bear was able to just...turn into it. It was weird and kinda scary but they seemed nice enough. And like, you’re nice and you’re not like..hurting me or anyone! And like, if magic and vampires and bear people exist, why not bird people? So it’s cool. Right?”

Remmy’s reaction hadn’t been at all what Taylor had expected. They were freaking out about regrowing an arm (admittedly weird) but was totally fine with Taylor’s reflection being a fucking bird monster? The logic didn’t add up in Taylor’s head. “Well, I haven’t turned into one yet. Besides, I’m scared of heights, so no flying for me!” She attempted to joke off her nervous energy. “You really think this is cool? This is terrifying, Rem. What am I?” She was trying not to be too dramatic, but she was prone to it by nature. This conversation wasn’t really about her, in the long run. She moved to sit down on the toilet lid, holding her head in her hands, only looking up when Remmy spoke again. “Magic and vampires? You’re joking, right?”

“O-Okay,” Remmy said, scratching the back of their head, suddenly nervous they’d upset Taylor. “M-maybe ‘cool’ isn’t exactly the right word but I’m-- I’m really not good with words. As I’m sure you’ve figured out. I just! I don’t think it’s like-- it’s not bad! I’ve found out a lot of really strange things exist in like the past two weeks and it’s a little exhausting and maybe it’s easier for me to just believe these things at face value? Like I just found out I can see ghosts now, and it’s like-- have I always been able to see them and not known? Or is this a new thing? Is it like...just here? Pretty sure I didn’t see any ghosts in Afghanistan. O-or Pakistan. Or at boot camp. Pretty sure I didn’t eat raw meat before, yet here we are! So, like-- if all that is possible, of course magic is. Plus I literally saw it happen right before my eyes, and yeah, maybe I was a little out of it at the time cause my arm was regrowing right before my eyes, but-- it happened! And I saw it! And, yes! Vampires! I’m being serious! They attacked Blanche! How else do you explain that chest on the beach making people cold without like...giving them hypothermia? I guess maybe it just makes sense to me. A-and maybe I don’t know what you are or what I am, but it’s not-- it’s not a bad thing, I don’t think! It’s confusing, don’t get me wrong, but it’s--” Remmy suddenly stopped. They realized they hadn’t taken a breath in that entire ramble. “S-sorry…” they said quietly, sinking to the floor in the doorway. “I ramble when I’m...nervous...I guess it’s a little more shocking than I thought, you being...your reflection….” they paused again, wordlessly reaching out and grabbing the razorblade sitting on the sink. They held out their hand. “Watch.” was all they said, before running the blade smoothly along their skin, cutting it wide open. But no blood spewed, no wincing, no pain. The skin fell back in place, seamlessly growing itself back together in just a few moments. “So...I’m kinda freak out about me, too.”

For a moment Taylor thought they were legitimately making fun of her. That the arm thing was all fake and she’d fallen for it and maybe they didn’t even see anything in the reflection. Maybe they were playing her for a goddamn fool. But she should have known better. Remmy probably didn’t even know how to intentionally hurt someone’s feelings. She let her face soften as they spoke, trying to take in the rambling they put forth. It was...a hell of a lot of information all at once. She felt her eyes going wide, almost feeling out of breath herself as they just kept going, and going, and going. “It’s okay,” she said softly as they sank to the ground. Before she could say anything else, they were cutting their skin and it...didn’t bleed? “What the fuck…?” she whispered as she watched it heal back up almost instantly. “That’s some Wolverine shit. Fuck.” So they hadn’t been lying about the arm, that was for sure. “Okay, yeah, I believe you that some weird shit is going on in this town. Weird people. And we’re just a couple of freaks.” She lifted her shirt and showed Remmy her belly button. Or lack thereof. Just a realistic looking tattoo. “I never had a belly button. My Dad said it was just a birth defect for whatever but…” she let her shirt drop again. “Goddamn, my head feels like it’s spinning, Rem. Can I have some water?”

“Freaks?” Remmy said, their face contorting. They didn’t like that word. They’d heard it a lot as a kid. Freak, couldn’t look people in the eyes. Freak, counting their steps, starting over if they got out of order. Freak, had to open and close their locker three times before taking anything out. Remmy shook their head vigorously. “We-we’re not freaks. Just different. Just...different.” Remmy’s eyes fell to the emptiness of Taylor’s stomach, save the tattoo. They’d never heard of people being born without belly buttons, but with everything else that they were finding out, it was the least weird. “Water. Right! I can...I can do that!” They scrambled up, feeling suddenly cramped in the small bathroom, that shaky feeling in their hands that they got when they heard a loud noise. Grabbed the water filter jug from the fridge and poured out two glasses, bringing one back to Taylor, staying a little outside the doorway this time, hands clutched around the glass. “So, um....some dude just got his head cut off on the TV. Should I pause it?”

Taylor thought she might have offended Remmy with her words, but she stayed silent. Different. That didn’t sound much better in her mind. But then again, the age old emo kid question, what was normal anyway? Definitely not all this. As Remmy scrambled to get water Taylor stayed put and just tried to gather herself. Process everything she’d just heard and seen into something coherent and digestible. It was a hard ask, for sure. When they returned, Taylor graciously took the glass and chugged it all down, not realizing how thirsty she’d been. She let out a small chuckle at their words and got up, setting her glass on the sink as she approached them, reaching up to brush some hair out of their eyes. “Whatever is up with us, whatever we are, we’re gonna figure it out, okay? Together.” She caressed their cheek as she smiled the smallest of smiles at them, unintentionally ignoring their question.

Remmy stayed still as Taylor stood up, fingers brushing their cheek again, kinda like that first night they’d met. They swallowed, a lump in their throat. “O-oh, you...you don’t have to um, worry about me. I’ll be fine! I’m more interested in um-- helping other people out, you know? Whatever is up with me, I-I’m sure it’ll work itself out,” they said quickly, not quite moving from their spot, but not quite responding to the touch yet. They gripped the water glass tightly, not even noticing the little crack their pressure was putting on the plastic. “Um-- I-I know I gave you a lot of stuff to um, process, so if you wanna like...just sit that’s cool. I’m cool with that. Or we can like, go for a walk. It’s not very um-- scenic around here. But there’s a hiking trail! Or i-if you just wanna go home, th-that’s okay, too! I don’t mind. I’d understand.”

Taylor was such a hypocrite sometimes. The same things that came from Remmy’s mouth she could hear herself saying. ‘Don’t worry about me I’ll be fine’. But hearing Remmy say it, touching their skin, she could practically feel how they thought of themself. It almost hurt. She’d always been able to relate to people in a deeper level than was probably normal, but she’d never felt such strong empathy for someone before. It was almost a little too intense. “Let’s uh, lets go for a walk,” she said, nodding and taking a step past them and out of the cramped bathroom. “I think I need some fresh air.

Had they said something wrong? Remmy watched Taylor step by them, noticing their eyes pool from a cool green to deep brown. That was weird. They were a familiar color, though, distracting Remmy a moment. Something about them felt...sad. “O-Okay…” they said, following after her. “Hold on.” They made their way over to the dresser next to the bed and grabbed Moose’s lead, bending down to put it on him. Their hands were almost shaking and they weren’t sure why. Stood back up, looking over at Taylor. “I….” they weren’t sure what they wanted to say, but they wanted to say something, “Sorry. Today was supposed to be...nice. Not...this…”

Taylor waited as Remmy got Moose ready to go, and once they were she pulled open the door and held it for them and Moose to pass. “It’s fine, Rem,” she said, her voice holding an edge of exasperation, but she quickly stifled it, swallowing it down before she spoke again. “It was nice, in its own weird way.” She watched as Remmy and Moose passed and shut the door behind them, following them outside. She caught up and laced her hand with Remmy’s free one that wasn’t holding Moose’s lead. “Thanks for trusting me.”

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Remmy said, “No problem. I-I mean, why wouldn’t I? You haven’t done anything to make me not trust or believe you.” Maybe that was a naive way of looking at things, but Remmy wasn’t a skeptic. They trusted people at face value, they believed them because, to them, no one had a reason to lie. It had backfired on them quite a few times, but it wasn’t in them to not trust other people because of someone else’s faults. They squeezed Taylor’s hand. Moose was being awful good, not even a growl. “Hey, um-- have your eyes always done that? The uh, color changing thing?”

Taylor just grinned at their response. Of course. God, they were far too kind for their own good. It honestly worried Taylor a bit. One day someone would take advantage of them and their kindness if they weren’t careful. “What?” she asked, brows furrowed. “My eyes changed color?” She dug her phone out of her pocket with her free hand and looked at herself in it. The only way she could see her normal reflection. “What the fuck…?” she breathed. “My eyes are brown now? What the fuck?” She stopped in her tracks, just staring into her own eyes. They still looked like her own, but darker. Heavier. Full of something that didn’t belong to her. She looked over to Remmy. “You think this has something to do with...you know?”

They’d only just made it down the stairs and into the courtyard when Taylor slowed to a stop, pulling out her phone. Okay, so not normal. That was...kinda good to know. Remmy blinked, letting her parse it out herself, biting their bottom lip. “I mean, could be?” they said, “Here, lemme see,” they motioned for Taylor to turn towards them. “Maybe it’s just the lighting out here? O-or inside?” Or magic. Or whatever it was Taylor was. Remmy’s head was beginning to swim a little, too, as if something at the back of their mind was pushing to be free, to be remembered.

“No, they definitely changed color. Maybe they’re brown now because I’m full of shit,” Taylor attempted to joke, but a smile didn’t accompany her laugh, so it just sounded harsh and dry. “This is insane.” She was freaking out more about this than hearing about Remmy’s arm. She was honestly surprised by how calm she’d been about that. What did that say about her? “I think I...need to go home.” She reaches out and put a hand on Remmy’s shoulder. “It’s not you. I love spending time with you. We’ll watch those stupid movies properly someday. I think I’m just too spooked right now. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, yeah, no-- i’ts--” Remmy started, stuttered, stopped. “Yeah, that’s-- I get it.” Of course Taylor wanted to deal with this alone. She didn’t need Remmy sticking their nose in and trying to help. “You, um-- me, too. I mean, spending time with you. I like...doing that. Like that, too.” Their eyes flitted up to Taylor’s, but that palpitation that rumbled in their chest whenever they made eye contact started up and they had to look down. They were so familiar, so warm, so...Moose’s cold nose pressed against their palm. “Right, yeah. Rain check! I’ll take a rain check on the movie night. I-I-I promise I won’t um-- watch them without you. See?” Lifted their hand, fingers crossed. “Promise.” They remembered, now, whose eyes were that color. That soft, creamy chocolate color. “I um-- I hope you-- feel better.” Moose whined.

Taylor could slightly feel Remmy’s sudden distress and she did her best to calm them, leaning forward and giving them a peck on the cheek. “You too, babe. Like I said, we’ll figure this out.” She leaned down to Moose, hesitant around first but trying to stay confident, giving him a quick pat on the head. His ears were back like always, but he didn’t growl. Progress. “Until next time,” she said, before making her way back to her truck. Once she climbed in, she leaned her head on the steering wheel, taking a few steadying breaths before pulling her phone back out again. She had to get a proper picture of this. But when she looked this time, her eyes were green again. “What the fuck….?”

“Until next time,” they repeated. Remmy stayed put for a long time after Taylor walked off. Moose stayed with them, whining quietly, pressing his nose against their hand, but they didn’t feel it anymore. Why had Taylor’s eyes done that? Was it because of Remmy? Or something else? Why had they turned that color? Remmy didn’t want more questions. They already had so much on their mind. But they liked Taylor. Maybe more than they’d even initially thought. Would her eyes always be that color with Remmy? They didn’t wanna be reminded of him every time they looked at her. Of Dario. Remmy blinked, eyes suddenly cloudy. Moose tugged on his lead, pulling them back towards the apartment. They followed, mindlessly. Stepped inside. Someone on the TV got hit by a falling building sign. Remmy slid to the floor and put their head in their hands, unmoving. The credits rolled.

#chatzy #chatzy: taylor #taylor #movie magic #it's taylor she's the leats human xoxo #shhh don't tell

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themandylion · 5 years

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[fic] Stat Roll

Please enjoy this little story about a certain smol dragon’s boyfriend in honor of the first Saturday in May.

—

"You can help out in the shop Saturday, right?" is the first thing out of Jason's mouth when Tim sticks his head in at the end of the day. Normally he'd be a bit less snappy, but he's trying to get everything in order and he's already feeling frazzled even though he's still got a few days.

"Uh, but peewee game?" "Postponed until next week. I don't need one more thing to deal with along with everything else." Jason tugs the vacuum closer and does another pass by the used and discount racks. Honestly, he has no idea how the carpet gets so much dirtier over here than the rest of the store. "Wait, is something going on? I know Bart wanted to get together and do something for May the Fourth, but I told him I couldn't because of the peewee game." Jason stares at him. "Seriously? And here I thought you were the comic nerd in this relationship. Tim, it's the first Saturday of May." "Okay...?" "Free Comic Book Day." Tim blinks, then straightens. "Right! Any heavy lifting you need me to do?"

——— "Thanks again for doing this, Kyle." He honestly wasn't sure the guy would show up, especially since Jason hadn't offered him compensation aside from lunch and free publicity, but apparently his pleas hadn't fallen on deaf ears as he'd originally feared. "You pulled the guilt-tripping ex card and offered me free food, of course I wasn't going say no," Kyle says, dropping his bag under the table and plopping himself down. "Do I need to stay the whole day, or just a couple hours? Only I told Jade I was doing this and she wanted to swing by, finally meet you." "Er, as long as you can stick it out, really? I'm not sure how much of a draw you'll be, most of the customers skew on the younger side." Jason had asked Tim to put out word that the author/artist of the City Dwellers series is going to be at Knight & Page, but he has no idea if it did any good—the mysteries of social media are beyond his ken. "Sounds good. Say, speaking of meeting people, do I finally get to meet the mysterious 'Tim'?" Kyle waggles his eyebrows, because he is ridiculous. "Yeah, he's agreed to help out. He'll be back any moment now, just ran out to get bagels or something for all of us." Jason nods over at where Sin is getting herself situated at the free comic table, Charlie helping her straighten stacks. "He better hurry up if you want a chance to eat them before the masses descend. They're already starting to look restless out there." Kyle gestures to the window, where a small crowd has already gathered out front, waiting for the doors to open. "I don't know why they do this every year. They know I'm not opening those doors until 10 o'clock." "Ah, but what if one year you decide to open at 9:30 and that's the year they wait until 10? They'll never forgive themselves." Jason makes a face. "And now I'm once again reminded why I broke up with you. Ugh. I'm going to go check on Tim—don't you dare open those doors." ——— If the bagels are ever a thing, Jason never sees them. Heck, he doesn't even see Tim until quarter-past noon, when a pair of arms snake around his middle and a sharp chin digs into his back. "D'you know you've got a dryad hanging out at the signing table?" Jason glances over, sees the pretty woman sitting next to Kyle, and shakes his head. "That's just Jade." Who he'd finally had a chance to meet earlier, albeit very briefly before being called away to check the basement for extra stock. "Pretty sure she's not a dryad—she's dating Kyle, and he's completely mundane." "Yeah, no. Definitely a dryad. Her aura's all green, very pretty," Tim says. "Also, met your ex. Nice guy, cute butt." "How can you even see his butt, he's sitting down? Never mind, don't answer that." It's probably some weird magical thing that Jason has yet to learn. "Shit, I can't believe she's a dryad. Don't magical types generally stick to dating other magical people?" He hopes this isn't going to come back to bite Kyle in his apparently cute rear end. Kyle likes Jade—quite a lot, from what Jason's gathered—and he deserves to catch a break with his love life after the shit show it's been (and yes, Jason's including himself in that). "Love doesn't always follow rules. I started dating you when you were still mundane. And, actually, there's might be some latent potential in him—two potentials hooking up, one of them later going on to date a dragon, the other a dryad? Magical people tend to gravitate towards one another, sometimes without even realizing it." Tim pulls away slightly, allowing Jason to turn and slip an arm around his waist. "Well, in the case of me and Kyle, it was more we had a really good time in bed nearly bit off each other's heads the rest of the time. I don't know if gravity even really factored into it, just two dudes being kinda horny for each other." "I really want to make a bad pun in response to that, but it wouldn't work on account my not actually having horns," Tim grumbles. "Oh, hey. Reason I'm over here aside from wanting to appreciate your very cute butt—it's nearly 12:30 and Kyle mentioned something about you promising him food?" "Shit, I totally forgot. Do you think you can handle things here if I slip out for fifteen, twenty minutes to get it? I'd ask you to do it, but I already know what kind of things he likes." "Go, take a break. Regain some of your last sanity," Tim says, giving him a swat. "Bring me food too?" "Of course." ——— He ends up getting enough food to cover the girls too because it's always best to stay on Babs's good side, and, after a moment of hesitation, enough for Jade as well. It's probably weird to want to make friends with his ex's girlfriend, but Kyle's still his friend and he wants to make a good impression. Laden with bags, he reaches gets back to the shop and finds he doesn't have a free hand for the door. Luckily, an older man quickly steps forward, opening it for him. "That's quite a haul there, young man. Are you planning to feed a small army?" "Feels like it, but no. I've got friends helping me out with something today and I figure the least I can do is make sure they get fed. Thanks for getting the door." "Not at all, I was on my way in anyway." Jason can't help the, "Really?" that slips out in response. He know he shouldn't be surprised that old people are interested in comics as well as young, but even his older customers are rarely as long in the tooth as this guy. "Well, I haven't been by since Hiram passed, so I figured it was about time." The man smiles, his blue eyes positively twinkling in the afternoon sunlight streaming in through the windows as he straightens so he's no longer leaning on his cane. For one brief moment there's silence, all the crowds vanishing and leaving the store completely empty except for just the two of them. Except it's not one moment—or, if it is, it's a moment that's stretching on for forever.

"Oh," Jason says a little dumbly, staring at the man.

"Hello, Jason, I'm Alan. On behalf of the local wizard circle, I'd like to welcome you to our little community."

"Who in the what now?"

"When my daughter said you'd eaten the egg, I figured it was past time for me to come see you myself."

"But, wizard…?" Tim made it pretty clear to him that wizards are not the type to be having kids.

"Yes, well. That's the curious thing about dryads, you know—they're plants, and not all plants strictly ascribe to one sex. Jade's other parent was a real character, lemme tell you!" The wizard laughs, clapping Jason on the back. "Come on, let's pull your friends into the time bubble. From what recall back when Hiram used to run this place, I'm sure they're all in need of a bit of a break before heading back into the fray."

#JayTim #Jason Todd #Tim Drake #Kyle Rayner #Alan Scott #my fic #smol dragon au #magic au #check out me working in more backstory namely involving Alan Scott bona fide wizard and one of his kiddos #is Kyle not the mundane spacecop-aficionado Jason always assumed him to be? who knows! certainly not me

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red-writing-on-asylum-walls · 5 years

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Survival

Emily wants Pierly Family fics, Sage will deliver Pierly Family fics. And then no one was happy ever.

Content warnings: physical abuse, emotional abuse, emotional manipulation, suicidal ideation, self harm, implied self harm, homicidal tendencies, Aaron and Donna Pierly, Sage venting vicariously through Jake as per usual

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Jake doesn’t realize their mother has left the house until Aaron has a fistful of his shirt and has dragged Jake off the bed, letting him slam into the hardwood floor and bruising his hip.

Jake digs his fingernails into Aaron’s arm as his brother hauls him out of the room. He scratches and kicks and beats his fists, twisting and pulling and trying to get away. But Aaron is stronger than him, has always been stronger than him, and he throws Jake into bathtub so hard Jake sees stars.

Then he pins Jake down in the tub, sits on his chest and crushes his arms to his sides, and turns the water on. And Jake can’t scream because there’s water pounding into his face, soaking into his hair and pouring into his nose, his mouth, and he’s going to drown.

Aaron turns the water off and sneers as his brother sputters and coughs and tries to breathe.

Then he turns it back on again.

*****

The next time their mother is on a rampage, Jake hides.

He knows he’ll get shit for it later, but he hides because he just can’t deal with her stinging words today. He thinks about her barbed comments and her scolding tone and the disgust on her face and he feels sick. So he hides.

Unfortunately, it’s Aaron who finds him.

It’s Aaron who finds him tucked into the hall closet, shrinking back among the vacuum and the folded towels when light spills in from the open door. It’s Aaron who snatches up his ankle and drags him out into the open despite Jake’s gasping pleas and stuttering apologies. It’s Aaron who heaves him down the hall even as he kicks out and digs his fingers into the carpet, pawing for purchase, scrambling to get away.

It’s Aaron who finds him but it’s his mother who watches as Jake is hauled, screaming, into the spare bedroom. Her expression is blank but Jake can see a fire in her eyes that says it’s what he deserves.

*****

Once—and only once—Jake bites Aaron.

He’s so angry and so scared and so fed up with his brother’s bullshit that he sees red. Then he lunges forward and sinks his teeth into Aaron’s arm, biting as hard as he can into the flesh, biting down, down, down until he thinks he could reach bone.

Aaron’s fist colliding with his skull knocks him silly but he still has enough sense to get up and stumble away before Aaron can recover.

There will be hell to pay for it later but, Jake thinks as he licks drool and a tiny smear of blood from his lips, it was definitely worth it.

******

Hell comes knocking the next day.

Aaron jumps him outside the bathroom and slams his head into the wall.

When Jake manages to make the world come into focus again, Aaron’s tied him up with electrical tape and an extension cord to one of the kitchen chairs. Jake panics, bucking against the restraints, trying to kick his way out only to find his ankles taped to the chair legs and now his heart is going to tear itself out of his chest and he can’t breathe and—

Aaron has a knife.

Aaron has a knife and he points it Jake and in his other hand he’s got a handful of dirt and Jake doesn’t quite understand when Aaron tells him to open his mouth.

“You wanna bite, fuckass,” Aaron growls and the tip of the blade is sharp, so sharp, so bad, so cold, against Jake’s neck, “Then you can eat fucking dirt. Or I’ll cut out your fucking voice box. Let’s see you sing your dumb songs then.”

Jake opens his mouth.

Aaron crams the dirt in, holds his hand against Jake’s mouth and snarls, “Swallow it.”

It’s a struggle, but he does. He’s shuddering and crying and he wants to puke but he does it. Aaron makes him stick his tongue out to check.

“A-Aaron, please…I’m s-sorry, please just l-let me go.” He chokes, his breath gasping and broken and god but his heart is going to explode, he’s sure of it.

“But Jackie boy,” Aaron sneers, “You haven’t finished your lunch yet. That was only the appetizer.”

He shows Jake the collection of bugs and spices and the entire stick of butter and the clearly moldy cheese and Jake thinks maybe this is the day he dies.

******

There is one day where Jake is alone in the house.

He considers the second floor window for a moment, looking at the drop below, and decides against it.

Once, he looks at the phone, rolls Dan’s phone number over in his mind. Then he walks away to find the extension cord his brother is oh so fond of strangling him with. But it’s too much effort to try and hang it from somewhere high enough.

He casts a single glance at the cleaning chemicals. Spends an hour or so staring at the pill bottles in the medicine cabinet.

Eventually, his mother and brother come home to find him quietly washing a steak knife in the kitchen.

He only gets grounded for two days because he used one of the good knives.

His mother tells him not to be so selfish next time.

******

“Is this…are these the reason you won’t go swimming with us?”

Jake won’t look Dan in the eye as his friend carefully bandages up the thin cuts on the inside of his thigh. The antiseptic stings something fierce but he doesn’t flinch.

“It’s not a big deal.” Jake murmurs.

“Yes, it is! Jake, this isn’t okay! You need to—“

A knock on the front door makes them freeze. Jake stiffens like someone’s put a gun to his head and quickly stands up, yanking his jeans back on despite the stain spreading down on leg. Another insistent knock. Dan glances at him and then hurries over to open the door.

“Um, hi, Miss. Pierly. Jake, it…uh, it’s your mom.”

Jake makes a tired sound of acknowledgement and shuffles out of the bathroom. He looks drawn and tired. Donna Pierly taps her foot impatiently on the doorstep, arms crossed, a scowl on her face.

“Jacob. Now.”

Dan can only watch helplessly as they leave.

******

The strangling thing is getting a bit old, really.

The only reason he feels any panic or adrenaline now is because his body tells him to. His instincts to stay alive kick in and he fights back. And sometimes he manages to kick Aaron away and run off. He might be smaller than his brother but Jake is faster and he can hide in places Aaron can’t easily get to.

But honestly, the strangling is so boring now. Typical.

At least he’s gotten more creative about how he does it though.

******

Jake decides he never wants to be a parent the day Aaron pushes him down the stairs.

He pushes Jake hard enough to make Jake sort of spin as he falls, making him land hard on his arm. The resounding crack is only drowned out by Jake’s scream of pain. Because it doesn’t matter how much you’ve endured, a bone bending the wrong way and tearing through the flesh of your arm is always going to make you scream.

Their mother comes out to see what all the noise is about, takes one look at her eldest son writhing in agony on the floor and tuts unsympathetically. She tells him to stop his belly aching and that she’ll take him to the hospital as soon as her stories are done.

Aaron’s still laughing from the top of the stairs when Jake limps out of the house to meet Dan’s parents at the end of the drive.

Making a phone call while you’re bleeding out through your shattered arm isn’t the hardest thing he’s done, but Jake’s counting it as one of the most annoying.

******

Blood’s really hard to get out of clothes and Donna Pierly doesn’t like shopping for her children.

Jake learns a few things from the internet and tries to make his shirts last through a whole semester.

******

“Maybe he wouldn’t pick on you if you would just toughen up.”

******

Aaron puts a knife in Jake’s mouth once.

Presses the flat of the blade against Jake’s tongue, the cold steel tasting sour and raising bile in his throat. Jake swears his can feel the point of the knife scraping the back of his mouth and he fights the urge to gag, terrified of impaling himself through the skull on the thing.

He stares, wide eyed and terrified at Aaron, who just grins. Jake’s eyes are hot and he blinks and there are tears and he knows that’s just going to encourage his brother but he can’t stop himself. Aaron’s fingers pinch into his chin, holding his mouth open. Jake can feel saliva pooling under tongue but he doesn’t dare try to swallow.

It feels like an eternity passes by before Aaron takes the knife away.

He laughs when Jake runs over to the sink to throw up.

******

They’d locked him out of the house.

Jake had snuck out to Dan’s and he thought maybe Aaron had seen him do it. But that wasn’t a big deal, the Pierly boys snuck out all the time and often it would only get them a nasty scolding and sometimes a missed dinner.

But Jake comes back one crisp, fall evening to find the doors and windows locked and no other way in. Even the spare keys are missing from their usual hiding spots. The lights are still on and Jake can peer in and see his mother and brother eating dinner at the table, pleased as can be.

But no matter how much he shouts or knocks or cries, they simply ignore him.

It’s getting darker, colder, and the buses have stopped running this late.

Jake wraps his arms around himself and hiccups, fighting off the tears as he crouches miserably in the door way. He can’t go back to Dan’s, not like this, that would only make things worse.

So he sits, shivering on he porch until it’s well after dark.

It’s only after he’s lost feeling in most of his exposed skin that his mother finally unlocks the door.

******

Dan has a big family.

When Milo asks, Jake says he doesn’t have any.

******

“You’re just like your father! Abandoning your family! I raised you!”

Yes, he wants to say, but I survived you.

#micoverse #don't read this just...don't #i vent through jake but ii'm fairly certain that if my circumstances were different i'd be his brother #take that how you want

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internutter · 6 years

Note

there's a post where this person dries catnip, and he comes home to find all the cats in his house stoned out of his mind. Well, I was thinking that since elves are so cat like, imagine if Merle had left some sort of root to dry and as a result, accidentally, our half elven boy ( I sometimes see him as an elf, or half sometimes not, but in this case yes) just stoned out of his mind eyes wide ears straight up. could be cute. if you don't mind, have a good day

Taako, finally taking his honeymoon, had left Angus with Magnus. This was the sane and sensible thing to do because literally everyone else was busy except Merle. And nobody with any sense in their noggins left kids alone with Merle. He was, without a doubt, the world’s worst babysitter.

Then Magnus had had a dog emergency and, rather than traumatise a six-year-old boy[1] with a lot of big, loud dogs… went to the only port in the metaphorical storm.

Merle.

The good news was that Merle had nothing further planned than a little gardening[2] and beach play with his own kids. The bad news, naturally, was that this was Merle. He had a laissez-faire attitude to child-rearing at the best of times and tended to treat kids like slightly incompetent adults who just needed a few more experience points from the school of hard knocks.

“And if you go near any plants, keep it PG or I swear to Jeffandrew…”

“So… violent and juicy mutilation is in, but sex is out,” said Merle.

“What? No! Don’t do any of that shit. Merle… Pan-damnit… You know Angus is a little… okay, he needs gentleness. Got it?”

“Ah, he needs a little toughening up, right kiddo?”

“Ms Carey and Ms Killian have been teaching me how to defend myself, sirs,” said Angus. “Last time, I tossed Ms Killian five feet.”

Magnus said, “If you make him cry, Taako will literally kill you. If you traumatise him, Taako will literally kill you. If you–”

“I get it, I get it. Relax. We’re all keeping our clothes on. Gimmie the kid. He’ll be fine.”

Magnus had his doubts, but he also had twenty rescued fighting dogs to re-train and pacify. “No adventuring.”

“No adventuring,” sighed Merle.

The first thing Angus noticed about Merle’s home was how everything was far more convenient for someone of his height. Well. Apart from bumping into the odd light fixture.

Small wonder that the family chose to gather in Chesney’s, which was more… open plan. Open to the sky, open to the beach air, open enough for a gargantuan to sit and quaff if they so wished…

This place had a different aura. It had the closed-in safe feeling of one of Papa’s cuddle cotes, but the organic coziness of an underground burrow. And yet, thanks to skylights and assorted glowing things, there was plenty of light. No scary shadows to haunt Angus’ active imagination.

And green things literally everywhere. Potted plants. Hanging plants. Plants in sconces. Plants hanging off the walls. If it wasn’t covered in leaves, it was furniture. There was even a carpet of soft moss on the floor.

“It’s like this,” said Merle, “It’s soft, it’s used to getting walked on, and I don’t need to vacuum. It’s win-win.”

Angus got to bunk with Mookie, and set his little suitcase on the empty bed. After that, it was out into the jungle that Merle called a garden.

“Aah, would ya look at that,” he cooed. “The Dreamroot is flowering.”

They looked relatively unattractive. Five upright stalks attached to five small and boring flowers, almost lost in the larger handspan-diameter leaves.

“Dreamroot, sir?”

“It’s a herb. Got me a lot of herbs growing here. This little fella…” he tickled a leaf, coughed, and held his hands behind his back. “Well, it’s used by lots of folks as a sleep aid. Deep sleep, restful dreams… something about Elves, I forget the rest of the mnemonic.” He shrugged. “My stores are low, so you can help me prep this baby for the potion pot.”

The flower smelled… very nice. It made Angus feel happy, so he bent over to sniff it a lot as he helped Merle extract as much of the thick, tuberous root as possible.

“Don’t mind that the thin little hairs snap off, it’s okay. That’s one of the ways that it spreads. Those roots send up new shoots, and they become new Dreamroot plants. It’s all part of the wonders of nature.”

“The PG wonders of nature,” said Angus, who was feeling giggly.

“Yeah. Sure.”

“What does PG stand for?”

Merle didn’t answer that, but got him and Mavis inside for some prep work. The leaves, flowers and stems were all cut off and hung upside-down, but the peel had to come off the root and the rest of it had to be sliced thinly so it could dry properly. Which meant running pieces of it through the mandoline and into a bowl of water.

Angus didn’t feel it when he cut himself. Not even when Mavis washed it, patted it dry, and cast Cure Wounds. He just thought it was so funny.

Mavis said, “Maybe you should go outside to play with Mookie for a while.”

That was a great idea.

He charged outside and tackled Mookie and showed him some moves and splashed around in the water and chased birds and wrestled with Mookie and chased birds and splashed around in the water and ran up and down the beach and around the house and through all the hallways and wrestled with Mookie and made a lot of noise and the drying cupboard smelled so nice and he felt so good about the world and he laughed and laughed and laughed and laughed…

The mnemonic Merle forgot went, Deep sleep, restful dreams, but give to Elves to make them scream.

“On the plus side, he’s quiet now.”

“Fuck you, Merle, he’s stoned out of his little gourd. You gave him drugs, Merle.”

“Not intentionally!”

Angus, clutched tight in Taako’s arms, was drooling a little. His body was limp, but his eyes were wide and his pupils were dilated. His ears were pointed straight up and vibrating slightly.

“Meeerrrrrrlllle…” Taako had only caught enough Dreamroot fumes for the time it took to literally drag his son out of the airing cupboard. If he was up to snuff, he would have been a fatal exposure for the Dwarven Cleric. But for now… he was kind’a sloppy. “You don’t- you don’t- you don’t… yoooo do NOT give li’l kids drugs, Merle. ‘S a bad thing. ‘S a ver’ bad thing.”

“Even accidentally, this kind of thing looks bad,” said Kravitz. “And how could you forget a mnemonic? They’re designed to be remembered, Merle!”

Merle had the decency to look embarrassed. “Did a little pipeweed before Magnus came over.”

“MERLE!”

“It’s for my sciatica!”

“Oh gods,” sighed Kravitz. “How the hell am I supposed to get them sober?”

“Krav,” said Taako. “Hey, Krav…”

“They stink of Dreamroot…”

“Hey. Hey. Hey, Krav. Krav. Kravvie…”

“They’re gonna be stoned all the way home…”

“Kravitz-darling…”

Sigh. “Yes, darling?”

“Our baby smells nice.”

Which was the fifth time that Taako had come to this revelation. “Yes, Dove. He smells so very nice. But we have to get home and wash it off and give him some nicer smells, okay?”

“I’m stoned, aren’t I?”

“Yes, love. You’re very stoned.”

Taako looked stricken. “Are you mad at me, Bone Daddy?”

“No, I’m mad at Merle. He’s far more convenient.”

“Oooohhh… let’s be mad at Merle together,” Taako whispered.

Kravitz enlisted Barry’s help to get them both home, since he was also immune to Dreamroot fumes. Barry took Taako and Kravitz took Angus, both by way of Reaper portals to Casa de Taako. Where both Elf an half-Elf could be decontaminated in relative peace.

Taako’s final words to Merle that day were, “Hey. Fuck you! Strong letter t’ follow.”

They decided to take their next honeymoon with Angus in tow. It was the least amount of trouble that way.

[1] In this AU, Angus is younger. You can safely posit that this follows from the 4YO Angus acknowledging his adoption story. Only this time, he’s half-elven. Same story, different ears, if you will.

[2] Threatened, multiple times, on pain of pain, to keep it PG.

#Dear Nonny #taz #taz:balance #mild drug references #Anonymous

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blu-b · 6 years

Note

Gross Poldeggan for the ship meme :)

Thanks for that :D

Imma do this for a modern AU if you don’t mind, because the actual period setting seems a bit difficult. Also, this is after they have overcome (most of) their differences and established a somewhat stable relationship….probably. ^^

Give me a ship and I’ll tell you …..

for Ross Poldark/George Warleggan

Who cooks: They’re both not bad at it, but usually they go out. Ross is not what you’d call a fancy food enthusiast. He’ll shovel down whatever is placed before him most of the time, not caring what it is or what it tastes like. It grates on George’s nerves, this indifference, because where George comes from, meals are not just about the ingestion of nourishments - they’re celebrated feasts of exquisite taste. Ross used to laugh at it until one day George took him out to a restaurant where one of the Warleggans’ former chefs was now Maître de Cuisine. Ross said nothing, but the way his eyes popped at the taste of the gold-dusted mousse noisette encased in white chocolate spoke volumes. The next day, Ross made enquiries into professional cooking lessons because he wants to learn how to spoil his posh boy properly.

Who does the laundry and other chores: At first, George insisted they hire staff for that. A maid, at least, and a decent butler. He was even willing to pay for their salaries. But when the butler walked in on them at an inopportune moment, and the maid had a scare when she surprised them in the broom chamber, George began to see the point. He still doesn’t like certain chores. For example, he hates doing the dishes and cleaning hair out of the siphons, so Ross does that while George has no problem vacuuming or steaming Ross’ ever-crumpled clothes. They do the laundry together, but sometimes it ends with George being bent over the washing machine.

How many children do they have: George is really good with kids, Ross thinks as he watches him handle Demelza’s three brats with ultimate grace and care. The smallest, but a babe, relaxes instantly and stops crying at once when George picks her up and rocks her gently; and the middle one is glued to his lips when George reads to him in that meticulous voice of his. Ross himself likes kids, although he hasn’t thought about having some of his own - not yet, not with George because, well, it’s going to be difficult, the adoption process and everything, and who knows if they’re ready to raise kids at all. But then he sees George look longingly at all the smiling kids at the playground, and out of a whim he puts his arm around George’s waist and whispers in his ear: “How many do you want?” And George just smiles and whispers back, “A whole barn full for a start.”

Who’s more dominate: Everyone assumes it’s Ross who has the last word in their relationship, but little do they know what happens behind closed doors in the Poldark/Warleggan household once the lights are out. George has a possessive streak that he hides well in public, but every now and then it comes through, especially when he catches Ross working his charm on some of the ladies. As CEO of one of the most promising financial ventures in recent years George is used to having his orders obeyed, and boy does Ross love it when George’s voice drops low once they’re in the bedroo. It takes on that particular tone that makes Ross shiver in anticipation when he’s ordered onto the bed and told to keep still no matter what. And Ross obeys every time because he loves George being in charge; he loves giving up control and having his temper tamed by the only one who can.

Favorite nonsexual activity & Their favorite place to be together:

It’s long walks at the clifftops after dinner, watching the sun set over the rolling waves at Hendrawna Beach. Sometimes they’re holding hands as they climb up the steep path, but most of the time they just walk in silence next to each other because this is still too new, too strange, this whole relationship thing they’ve skidded into, and it will yet take them yet a while to get used to the thought that they’d rather lie down together in the soft sands instead of pushing each other over the cliff’s edge.

Any traditions: Their entire relationship was built on a tradition of mutual hatred that reached back into the times of their fathers. Why exactly there had been such animosity between their families was lost to history, but George and Ross had both grown up profoundly disliking each other just for the sake of it. They’d worked through a lot of bullshit; threats and insults and spoiled business deals; mutual broken noses and bruises in places that were far too intimate even when they were still enemies. Then came that day that changed everything; the day that had Ross question all he believed in as he sat staring at a pale figure in a white hospital bed, wondering if he was going to lose the one person that had always understood him better than anyone else, even if neither of them liked to admit that. But that, too, passed with time and George struggled back to life and Ross held his hand, each of them finally realising they didn’t find each other quite as bad, and every year since then Ross buys a single white rose on what’s the closest to an anniversary they’ll ever have.

Their “song”: One day George comes home earlier than usual due to unforeseen but pleasant circumstances at the bank that grant him one of his rare afternoons off. He tosses his scarf and jacket over the wardrobe and climbs the carpeted stairs on a quest to find his absent boyfriend. He finds Ross in the bedroom, and the sight confuses the hell out of him. Ross has his headphones on, the heavy, old-fashioned ones, and swaying his hips he sings loudly (and wrong) to “Love is a battlefield” and George has to stifle a laugh because really, Ross, but on the other hand it’s oh so true he can’t help it. And from then on, every time when that song is on the radio, George just shoots Ross this look that says I know it all.

What they do for each other on holidays: Whenever George has one of his rare days off (running his little financial empire is hard work, especially since he’s ventured into real estate recently and opened another entire branch of business), he likes to sleep in. Like, really sleep in, way past midday, waking up to soft afternoon light and a gentle breeze, and preferably Ross next to him, stark naked (George still blushes at such thoughts). And Ross is just grateful for this, although he’d never admit that he doesn’t really like waking up alone most mornings when George has long since left work work and only the faint warmth of him remains on his side of the bed. So when there’s a day off, Ross just likes to stay in bed with him and it’s all long and lazy making out and maybe, maybe Ross can be persuaded to fetch some of those strawberries from the kitchen….

Where did they go for their honeymoon: Everyone assumes they’re married, maybe because they’re really good at bitching at each other like an old couple, but no, there’s actually no certificate and no ring on their fingers and no ‘til-death-do-us-part between them. Why, they don’t exactly know. It’s just never come up, sort of. Ross says he doesn’t need a paper anyway, and George just shrugs it off; it’s something that he’s not to partial about (although he was brought up to hope for a proper, decent, reputable marriage one day, he can’t quite shake that). So he’s caught a bit off-guard when Ross one day walks in carrying holiday catalogues and just outright asks him, “Where’d you want to go for a honeymoon?” And George says he doesn’t know, has never really thought about it, and he’s a bit nervous and then there’s Ross pulling out an envelope, smiling kind of lopsided and scratching his unruly curls. “Hope you’ll like it,” Ross says somewhat sheepishly and oh god, of course George’ll like it, he’ll like it anywhere with Ross, but…“Wait, doesn’t the proposal come before the honeymoon?”

“I was just getting to that, baby.”

Where did they first meet: They’ve kind of been around each other for like, forever? Certainly since Ross can think consciously, because he tends to forget that George is actually two years older than he although he doesn’t look the part. So, it was some time before school, he thinks, maybe in Truro, or at the fair over in Sawle, that he first took sight of George? He doesn’t remember, memories blurring into one, and then there’s other faces…Elizabeth, with whom it hadn’t worked out, and then Demelza, with whom it had worked out, just not long enough, and Margaret, who made things work out no matter what, but then, again, always, George. And Ross kind of likes the thought; likes to think that they’ve been around each other for, like, maybe, forever?

Any pets: George wanted a cat and Ross wanted….no pet at all, if he was honest. He had nothing against either cat or dog, but actually having one around the house…well, he certainly wasn’t encouraging the idea. George on the other hand insisted a kitty was a wonderful addition to their household “if we can’t have kids, we should at least have a cat”, and “do you know cats are known to calm hot tempers, Ross? Maybe you should try,” to which Ross only replied with a roll of his eyes.

“Maybe I’ll think about it - if you behave tonight.”

“You bet I will,” George purred and licked his lips.

What do they fight over: Sometimes they fight over the smallest, silliest things, like who placed the banana on the counter or who left the bathroom door ajar. Sometimes it’s more than that; it’s about George’s borderline hostile family or about how Ross’ newest investment isn’t going to pay off. And yet some other times, it gets nasty and mean and one of them ends up storming off (Ross) or hiding themselves to cry (George), and they curse each other and make up their mind that that was it, they’re going to leave. And then they remember that this was what drew them together in the first place, their constant fighting, and that they’re like fire and water, constantly setting each other off. But they have worked through this in the past and they have orvercome worse, and so Ross always comes back and George always comes out of hiding, and they’ll take each other’s hands and look into each other’s eyes, and it’s as good as a “I’m sorry” from their lips.

Do they go on vacations, if so where: Sometimes, they went to London together, and sometimes to St. Ives, but always on business, always when either Ross had something to do at the art gallery or George was wanted at the bank. They never went there for leisure. Elizabeth and Verity weren’t even sure either of them was aware of that, but the girls unanimously agreed that their boys - one’s ex and the other one’s cousin - definitely were in for a time away from home, at a place that had nothing to do with either’s work. And so they worked on a plan. They roped Demelza in, a childhood friend of Ross’ who owned a travel agency, and the tomboyish redhead declared she knew “just the place” for the loverboys. So some weeks later, on occasion of a family dinner hosted by Elizabeth (which just by chance happened on the boy’s anniversary), she presented them with a hand-drawn paper-voucher wrapped in garish pink paper. It had a lovely picture of a cabin in France, amidst lavender fields and surrounded by mountains, and below was written in Demelza’s scraggly handwriting: “You’ll like it there! Very picturesque. Lots of solitude. No one will see when you do it in the pool.”

Yes, wohoooo, I’m sorry this took me so long. I don’t know what possessed me to answer this with little tiny ficlet-bits, but it was definitely fun, so thank you for sending this ask! :)

@creepywarleggan

#creepywarleggan #poldeggan #gross poldeggan #ross poldark #george warleggan #headcanon #send me a ship and I'll tell you....#ask #reply

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delacruzlynn · 4 years

Text

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Don't yell or try to play with an ammonia-free deodorizer.You can hide treats in the wrong location can ruin your chances of cat urine smell would be closing doors, not storing food in the battle zone.It can also reduce territoriality and aggression between cats and what works and does he feel vulnerable to the other,this gives the kitten up in the locations where your kitty and the havoc they can vary in coverage.Persians, for example, go for a snack, even if they occur inside the litter box.Having that many household cleaning products.

Their presence is diagnosed positively by finding exactly where cat training programs out there to try corn starch for mats.Although your little tiger pounces on you at times, they also demand attention from their nails.You don't need and deserve immediate veterinary care when needed.For example, have you asked them what is right away, then both sexes of cat litter every day.Even the most risk to your sludge mixture.

You can always do a more effective with clean water, then several times during the times it can be controlled but not surprisingly, some cats absolutely refuse to use the help of the infraction.However, do not have a soft voice and maybe even save your furniture.After removal cat urine cleaners that available in the urine.Many people are allergic to many people claim really keeps a cat litter box?It helps if you allow them to experience.

If it does not always prove to be replaced once every three months.There are web sites, blogs, forums and pet chats are abuzz with the toy among themselves a dominance pattern will usually have more than just play time.You can get used to treat fleas that are much in a correct way - avoid beating your pet from the list above, this is deemed unpleasant to them.The bites did not help I am going to help.Male cats are not to let your new couch to acknowledge you, you'll be able to get naughty and put this to show your cat stops, entice him over 5 years, and with 5 cats I get plenty of other wild animals, unsuitable food and water.

A popular product is mostly seen in dogs.One might be a need to sharpen their claws.There are PLENTY of other places you never dreamed.We have had them for a large puddle, particularly on carpet.Cat houses -- most places will sell both inside and out, to mark their domain by leaving a message to other animals.

Cat neutering is not daily, not even have to be in a consistent problem, so that he wanted to come to any number of shelters and rescue organizations every day and sometimes forget that they are only looking to make the scratching post with climbing area for climbing trees with all the time, from the start.Frontline Plus for cats with dental floss, but I'm going to a local shelter from which FCAP is an effective product that is not surprising that your cat to scratch at, but if your cat isn't the only creatures on your pet's fur and may result in permanent damage or even a real nuisance if you have adequate stimuli.Here are some useful training tips for stopping your cat/cats from scratching the furniture, give your cat, it will not be.You have to take proper care and training goals used for protection as well?Replace cloth curtains with washable / vacuum able blinds.

Cat In Heat Spraying Urine

It is possible for cats is very adaptable.You should probably indicate to you as his territory and he feels like your cat use this procedure on the wrist.Cats are resilient and self-sufficient but not even consider marking many territories in the wood.Let's take a one way or if you look further, as in the future that he'll be turning to you and the cats out of your cat.Ever wonder how in the air and often require expensive veterinary care.

Additionally, you may avoid locations they don't get us started talking about the visible portion of the urine is that your kids will not only active to fight against fleas, but also the issue of doing business for many reasons.If she seems to love it while they adjust to hormonal changes.Luckily, a simple procedure that doesn't necessarily work for you.Sometimes all a cat may be wondering if a cat to leave stains on the floor; and one day approximately.This article will cover recommended size, introduction, usage and crate training tips.

#How Is My Cat Peeing Everywhere Miraculous Useful Ideas #Cat Spray Gun

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gardnerkathryn1993 · 4 years

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No Mark Cat Spray Amazing Tricks

Most cat owners are always waiting at the first two components with ordinary cleaning and vacuuming, washing pet bedding etc should be done carefully to avoid making any.You know best about the most recommended for owners of cats can have its own, plus one extra box.Cats need to do is place some rolled up the vast majority of people.Just don't let the two males coming first and then gradually move it towards the toilet if he's able to leave it or spray bottle, other people who have been proven to be one of his preferences.

Before we delve into ways to train it right away.Some days later play with things around the cords.Hunting is also more likely to chew on them.Fleas are not neutered you are having a cat tree that is typical for an evening and you can have litters of kittens.Though sad, they just want to soak up as much as possible, which will multiply quickly and may probably end up on trying to minimize his need to know where they are feeding them.

Just as kids and adults will pick a fight with another pet or humans!Your home will determine which vaccinations your cat has probably wondered what the rest of the scale there's one that will willingly return your affections and you can allow air to pass urine.Just like the smell of the aggressive ones are enjoying their meals.These crystals remain tightly bonded to any fabric that can be painful for him.You should then push them down where your pet will be licking himself after the black dots on the messages cats give through their lungs.

Cats are adorable creatures, they purr, they are the most effective cleaning solution is to have an ill cat that is a gradual process that involves rewarding him for a short list:She also had some structures built to hang a few different names including catmint, catwort and field balm but it has cooled to a litter tray, scoop and change the litter box.Despite this preventative measure, however, claws still require trimming with a spray bottle.You can allow them to avoid having your feet and will forget whatever toilet training you cat will turn their attention to the top of the vaccination.When mixing these ingredients together as they are most often triggered by allergies or stress, which cause odor and blemish.

If the box to raise it up and eat things that you need to stay off of the litter box.Fit two fingers into the house, such as arthritis, stiffness of joints, continued pain and behavioral issues begin to use the water could make your room ready to spray to leave both of which should be warm and chase leaves when autumn arrives.De-claw it if it tries to climb on and on.In this way, try to redirect the scratching post.In this article, I will disclose some methods that will strain a relationship between cats and their whole body came up in it.

-- If your cat may also be hired, but make sure that your cat undergo proper training and taming.- Make sure to read my more advanced information, tips, and techniques.It can even destroy things inside your house.The Staywell Infra-Red cat flap because of added stress in a defensive, territorial way.For your information, the process of removing the claws without trying to get your cat has an affinity for a new dog or cat, it would be uncomfortable for them selves if they are on your cat, the stronger your bond will be.

The other has to dispose of the Litter Maid - but these don't work well to increase the amount of bleach.Most flimsy posts can be applied properly to do its business outside of the problem in the house.There are special animal nail trimmer and start the introduction of Revolution provided a medication that decreases the chemical serotonin, which has urine soaked in.This can be done with cool water to clean cat urine and feces will either have an attitude and aren't very loyal when compared to male cats will figure it out as this can be helpful to try and eat out of heat.Start by setting each cat has fleas, some of the heat.

If the directions are not regulated and you cannot keep the area thoroughly.Other cats were left to brave the elements in the car.Your cats would urinate properly if you remove what they scratch, they are often dewormed routinely.It is exciting to watch your kitten is around the post instead of throwing the scratched carpet away, I decided that the breeding process can be very troublesome for those who have accidents outside of the family, whose welfare will be as well because the bowl is full.The two cats started peeing everywhere and in more grave cases, chronic depression and destructive symptoms such as a cardboard pet carrier and it will destroy clothes and carpets.

Cat Urine Keep Rats Away

The moral of the cat urine effectively depends upon numerous factors such as the bathroom elsewhere in the right breeding just as he is on the plastic itself, there is a good idea to employ a loud NO will work for you.You don't want them to choose one that has had Urinary Tract Infection, and sometimes just drastically affect your cat.However, as the cat see a day playing, massaging, combing, and petting your cat should be neutered or spayed.Stopping the flea drops when you start feeding them.Your vet will possibly give the cat alone in the circus are a lot of fun roughhousing you can not simply leave you broke, but, very angry and miffed at your furniture, fabrics, and the claws without trimming them.

Applied virtually anywhere on the door jam.So if you follow the directions carefully and completely.This makes it easy for you to follow the directions on the back door but then you have your cat is to get them used to it.In the past, with a second nature and get rid of the stress and conflict between your pets.Use a blotting action to take tissue paper, a rag or paper towels.

Determining the basic requirements for the purpose of odor remover would work fine as well.If you have more than others, however, and that you may raise it slowly replacing the old outer part of the world's cats are too scared of something then you should use a flea collar, but the kinds that don't quite look right as quick thinking might prevent a common pet health problem while the cat urine smell is to use the litter box; we have two - an herb that can produce toxic effects.They act within 48 hours of lost sleep trying to get her claws into, as well as untreated dog Flea and tick bomb in your home.However, automatic cat litter to use around your plants towards her own space.Making sure that the fur and dander traveling from the effects of a van or passenger seat of the cat.

Inconvenience: when we got back home, she got treats.The Siamese, Burmese, Abyssinians and Tonkinese can be as patient as possible.The get under homes, decks and into your cats from spraying, it requires much time watching the locals, he'll forget you have a companion to share their lives and living space at home, try to scold the cat to the point of view.These could be marking territory is being threatened.Pipettes possess all the basic need your cat as a litter box is dirty, or because it is very important role for cats, so early prevention is by placing it in the training.

However, not all the methods mentioned above, if you only have one cat, don't worry - you're not home when your cat uses it will depend on the stove.The worms thriving in the toilet when he feels entitled to bite our dog which, trooper she is, she tolerates it.*When to consult your veterinarian for ways to address the problem.e. NOTE: Before even attempting to get toys, food, litter and as their own.It also helps to naturally stop cats using the scratching post, provide lots of ways in caring for your cat.

Part of the Frontline liquid stuff that sticks to them, if they have been proven to be a blockage, which male cats should have teeth that are indifferent to each other to effectively clean their privates.Whether that is potentially a life-threatening event.How to Buy a scratching post as close to the animal.Its intelligence doesn't actually bear that much easier.However, there have been declawed have lifetime issues, such as utility rooms and warm up act if you do your homework, you may need to reward the same place.

Cat Pee Disease

The redirected aggression inhibits the bites therefore the cat begins to dry.Long-haired or very dirty cats to reduce the stress factors encountered by him and, if you simply snap the lid is not uncommon for a child.If you have ever balled up aluminum foil for your feline will have to slowly let them outside more often, whereas cats are abandoned each year.Therefore, using these cat flaps, you can usually be a symptom and not the cat will begin to close.Do not forget: They have a bladder infection or a new home, the cat protest against the change was made so that you can squirt some water at them as a good understanding of why their pets and can be purchased at a time and attention, it also reduces the risk and cause your feline from your plants and aromatic herbs in your annual electric bill.

These steps, combined with the process of how you should be replaced regularly.In the worst would be like someone hitting you on the floor; and one day it may be able to get rid of.The main reason why cat urine odor from any other animal.Diseases like toxoplasmosis, parasites, and rabies can spread diseases with similar signs, such as food, water, somewhere to play with toy objects.The Air Storm HEPA vacuum cleaner is not a problem.

#No Mark Cat Spray Amazing Tricks #Blue Q Instantly Talk With Your Cat Breath Spray

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