#((you go far back enough you can see ive made gifs of them as i truly was down bad for them lmao))

[toournextadventure]

our little secret

Summary: You're the preacher's daughter with the perfect boyfriend. Lorraine is a rancher's daughter with a less than perfect boyfriend. You were both the best of friends. If only anyone knew what went on behind closed doors.

Word Count: 7.4k Warnings: 18+ smut (fingering, oral), swearing, religious talk (talk of sin, seminary, Christian/Baptist views), religious trauma, mentions of homophobia, angst Pairing: Lorraine Day x Fem!Reader Taglist: @aahdiieb (our little secret i) (our little secret ii) (our little secret iii) (our little secret iv)

There was something relaxing about spending a day outdoors on someone else's farm. Well, you had a farm; they had a ranch. It was quite the different beast to take care of, but you were more than happy to assist in whatever they needed you for, and they were always more than happy to ask for your assistance.

A benefit of being the preacher's daughter, you supposed.

It wasn't the first time you had found yourself crawling under Mr. Day's truck, and it wouldn't be the last. Piece 'a shit is broke, he grumbled before immediately following it up with don't tell your daddy I swore. You had just laughed at him and promised your lips were sealed.

But now that you found yourself tearing it apart, you had to agree with him. His truck was a certified piece of shit.

You slid out from under the truck and sat up with a sigh, your arms resting on your bent knees. It was going to take far more than one day's worth of work to get it fixed. That was mighty fine with you, though, you liked the Day family. They came to church dutifully and your parents almost always had them over afterwards for lunch. Just a nice, genuine Texas family. That was why you liked them.

Certainly not because of Lorraine.

"She's broke, huh?" Mr. Day asked, bringing you out of your thoughts. You glanced up and saw him leaning against the door frame of the barn.

"She ain't broke," you said with a shake of your head. "She just needs some love." You gave him a teasing smile. "Which you ain't givin' her."

"S'pose not," he huffed.

"Hope you been givin' your family more love than your truck," you continued as you pushed yourself up to your feet. Oil covered hands tried to brush stray pieces of straw off your jeans and left black stains in its place. "Ain't nothin' more important than family."

"Well now you sound just like your daddy," Mr. Day chuckled. You turned your head so he couldn't see the grimace his words caused.

"Sometimes he's right," you managed to chuckle back. If he picked up on the double edge of your words, he didn't acknowledge it. It was better that way.

"Well, he can be right again," Mr. Day said as he stretched his hand out in your direction. "Come on in, now, Mrs. Day made lunch."

You walked forward, suddenly focused on trying to wipe the oil off your hands. Mr. Day's hand rested lightly on your lower back, guiding you back to the house while you were now otherwise distracted. His other hand reached out to hold your forearm, helping you not trip up the stairs. By the time he opened the front porch door for you, you had managed to get absolutely no oil off your hands.

"Afternoon, Mrs. Day," you said with a smile and a little wave.

"Better wash those hands off 'fore you touch anything in this kitchen," she said with a pointed look that then directed you to the kitchen sink.

"Yes ma'am," you said with a sag in your shoulders. It made you feel like a child getting scolded for playing in the mud.

Only once she had declared your hands "good enough" did she have you sit down at the table for lunch. It was the perfect lunch, in your opinion; sandwiches, chips, and an ice cold coke. Mrs. Day really knew how to put the charm on.

"How are your brothers holdin’ up?" She asked once everyone had started eating.

"They're…" you hesitated. Perfect Christian family, your father's voice echoed in your head. "They're great," you finally said with a polite smile. "Just goin’ ta classes.”

“And that fella of yours?” Mr. Day asks.

You almost laughed. Instead you took a bite of your sandwich and took the time to chew before answering.

“Beau is fine,” you said with a small smile to yourself. “He should be back from the rodeo tomorrow mornin’.”

“How’d he do?” Mr. Day asked around his own mouthful of food. “Calf ropin’, wasn’t it?”

“Team ropin’,” you said with a nod. “Think he said him and his partner got third?”

“Well that ain’t half bad,” he mumbled. “Lorraine and RJ are s’pose to get back from that film thing tomorrow, too.”

The mention of Lorraine got your heart pounding in your chest, threatening to rise up out of your throat. Everything about her got your body reacting in ways you couldn’t quite describe. The mere mention of her name got your palms sweaty, your thoughts foggy, and your mouth dry.

But then the mention of RJ made you feel sick to your stomach, like when you drank warm milk after it had been sitting on the counter all morning. The thought of him touching Lorraine, or kissing her, or even talking to her made you irrationally angry. It wasn’t something the good lord would want from you.

Too bad you didn’t really care.

“The four of you should go down to the lake tomorrow,” Mr. Day mused aloud. “Give you all a day or two to relax before gettin’ back down to business.”

“Only if y’all behave,” Mrs. Day scolded. She didn’t wait for either of you to finish your lunch before taking the plates to the sink. You quickly got up to help.

It was the Southern thing to do.

“Go on home, sugar,” Mr. Day said when you finished drying the plates.

“I need to finish your truck,” you said as you leaned your hip against the counter. “She’ll never get fixed if you keep sendin’ me home after feedin’ me.”

“I think she can last a little longer,” he said with a light chuckle. “Go home. I’ll tell ‘Raine y’all can meet up around 2.”

“When the sun’s shinin’ down?” You complained.

“It’s good for you. You’ve been locked in that chapel for so long you’re gettin’ mighty ghostly-”

“-John,” Mrs. Day interrupted. You had to turn away from her so she couldn’t see you laughing. “That’s blasphemy.”

“Preacher’s daughter is here, she’ll forgive my transgressions,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Won’t you?”

“In a heartbeat,” you replied.

“You’re both blasphemers,” Mrs. Day huffed before walking away.

You and Mr. Day tried to stifle your laughter to avoid getting in trouble again, but you couldn’t help it. Only when Mrs. Day beat you both with the hand towel did you both stop, shouting your “sorrys” as you ran outside. You called out your goodbyes and hopped into your daddy’s truck before going back home.

“You’ve gotta be quiet,” you mumbled against Lorraine’s lips. Her fingers scratched against the back of your neck in response before pulling you back to her.

You let her lead, pulling you with her until her back hit the wall with a *thud*. You tried to tell her to be quiet again but she didn’t let you pull away. Her arms tightened around your neck. Your own hands slid under the hem of her shirt, resting on her waist. She shivered, giving you all the approval you needed to trail your fingers up her sides, stopping right below her breasts.

"Please," she whimpered against your lips.

Oh, how that gave you such unholy thoughts.

You didn't bother removing her bra; there was too much risk involved. But you had no shame in pushing it up just enough for your hands to cup her breasts. The smallest moan fell from her lips and you had barely brushed your thumbs against her nipples.

"Quiet, 'Raine," you whispered.

But before she could answer, you softly squeezed one of her nipples between your fingers. She moaned into your mouth that time, and you couldn't help your little chuckle before doing it again. Her back arched, pushing the rest of her closer to you. All you needed to do was put your knee-

-you shoved Lorraine into the coats when you heard the door click and open. You spun around just in time to see Jimmy looking in, quickly meeting your eyes.

"I'm goin' to see Liz," he said. "If Pap asks, I'm out studyin' with Blaine."

"You better not get her pregnant, Jim,” you said quickly, almost forgetting why you were in the chapel closet in the first place. “I can’t protect you from daddy forever.”

“I ain’t gettin’ her pregnant, god,” he huffed. “You know too much.”

“It’s on account ‘a I’m your big sister,” you said with a pointed finger, “and if you get her pregnant before you marry her, I’m gonna tan your hide.”

“You got me shakin’ in my boots,” Jimmy taunted with a roll of his eyes. “I’ll see you later.” He turned to walk out but leaned in through the doorway once again. “Bye Lorraine.”

You locked eyes with Jimmy and froze. There was a small smirk on his lips that you wanted to smack off. But then you heard rustling behind you, and his smile grew when you felt Lorraine’s hands on your waist as she leaned out from behind you.

“Bye, Jimmy,” she said sheepishly.

“Not a word, Jim,” you said with a slight shake of your head.

“You scratch my back, I scratch yours,” he said with a smile. “I’ll tell Liz y’all said hi.”

Both you and Lorraine mumbled goodbyes as Jimmy finally shut the door and left. You let out a shaky sigh and turned around to look at Lorraine. By all accounts she looked embarrassed with her flushed cheeks and guilty smile. But the flush could still be from the fact that she was turned on.

You would be in the same boat.

“I told you to hush,” you mumbled.

“Then keep me quiet,” Lorraine said before she wrapped her arms around your neck and pulled you in for another kiss that had your stomach twisting into knots.

Oh this girl would be the death of you.

You were still remembering that day at the chapel while you watched Beau finish clearing out the trailer. It was a tough job, watching your fake boyfriend clear out the trailer with his fake friend. The way they laughed and couldn’t keep their eyes off each other was almost embarrassing. They were disgusting, truly. They needed to learn the definition of discretion.

“Howdy, beautiful,” Beau said with a smile when he finally approached you after cleaning back up.

“Afternoon, handsome,” you teased back.

When he was close enough, you wrapped your arms around his neck as he gave you a kiss on the cheek. It was simple, much more conservative than most couples. But it was a line you both had settled on. After all, it wasn’t like either of you were interested in each other. You both had… other fascinations.

“Bye, Huck,” you called out to Hucksley when you started climbing into your daddy’s truck. “I’ll bring him back in one piece.”

“Have fun, you two!” He shouted back with a big ‘ole grin and a wave.

“He likes you,” Beau said when he started driving over to the Day ranch. At the rate you were going, you would both get there just before 2. And then you could finally see Lorraine again.

“Y’all able to get some alone time this trip?” You asked. You didn’t bother looking at him, instead opting to look out the window.

“Little bit,” he said. “You get to see Lorraine yet?”

“No,” you sighed. “She went off with RJ. Again.”

“You know he is her beau,” he said with far too much gumption. “It’s almost expected she go with him.”

“That don’t mean I have to like it,” you said quietly.

“Now you know how Huck feels when I'm with you,” he said. “It ain’t easy, but it’s what we gotta do.”

You didn’t bother answering him. You knew he was right, he was always right. Hell would freeze over the day your daddy found out Beau was nothing more than a front so everyone thought you were both having normal relations. If anyone found out about your feelings for Lorraine, or his and Huck’s relationship, your lives would be over.

But that didn’t make it any easier.

What did make it better was seeing Lorraine standing on the porch with Mr. Day. She was staying out of the sun but that didn’t hide the brilliance of her smile. The scarred side of her face was turned away from the road - a habit she had picked up recently - but you didn’t care. She was home, and oh so close. It made your palms sweaty.

You didn’t wait for Beau to park the car before throwing the door open and jumping out. The ground was still rushing underneath you and you stumbled, but quickly regained your footing. All you wanted to do was run up the porch and hug her, letting her know just how much you had missed her over the past two weeks.

But your feet slowed to little more than a walk when RJ came out of the house with a bag in hand. Right. He was there too. Your smile fell into little more than a grin as you forced yourself forward and up the porch. Lorraine turned and gave you those soft, pitiful eyes that made your knees weak.

And the moment was ruined when RJ wrapped an arm over her shoulder.

“Thought you’d never make it,” RJ said with an irritating grin that had you grinding your teeth.

“My fault,” Beau answered as he finally stood behind you. He dutifully put his hand on the small of your back, just like any good boyfriend should. He always did play the part exceptionally well. “Huck and I took a bit to unload the trailer.”

“Congratulations by the way,” Mr. Day said.

“Thank you, sir,” Beau replied. “Coulda done better, but ain’t half-bad.”

“Would you let me film you some day?” RJ asked. “It’d make a good movie.”

“We’ll see, camera boy,” Beau said with a chuckle.

How he could be so casual around RJ was beyond you. The man caused you to want to do un-Christianly things to him. Whether it was his obnoxious smirk, or his stupid hair, or his dumbass glasses. Every single aspect of him got your blood boiling, and him wanting to film Beau was just the icing on the cake.

“Y’all should skedaddle before it gets too late,” Mr. Day said. “Should be plenty of daylight left to pitch the tents.”

“We can take my daddy’s truck,” you said. Lorraine’s eyes were broken, and butterflies instantly erupted in your stomach. "Plenty of space for everything."

Everyone agreed before grabbing their things, telling Mr. and Mrs. Day goodbye, and loading up the truck. Two tents, food, sleeping bags, and small backpacks with some extra clothes and necessities. It was as if you were all professionals. And you were, if you were being honest.

Well. Everyone except RJ.

"In the cab, pardner," Beau said to RJ once everything was loaded. "We'll let the ladies ride in the bed."

"Yeah, alright," RJ mumbled. He gave Lorraine a quick kiss on the lips before getting in the cab.

It made you sick.

Lorraine was perfectly capable of climbing into the bed of the truck all on her own, you knew that. But you couldn't stop yourself from holding your hand out to help her up. She flashed you that smile that you loved so much and climbed in, sitting on the left side. Her bad side.

You didn't bring it up as you climbed in next, sitting down directly beside her and immediately grabbing her hand. It wasn't like anyone could see, you were both surrounded by gear and the truck was already pulling away. She twisted her hand just enough to interlock her fingers with yours and suddenly things weren't so bad anymore. Things almost felt right.

"How was the shoot?" You asked even though you didn't exactly want to know.

"Rocky," Lorraine said; her first word to you in two weeks. "Nothin' went right so we gave up for the weekend."

"Did you join this time?" You continued.

She didn't answer. Her face was turned away from you and your fingers ached to pull her back. To make her look at you so you could see her eyes, caress her scars, kiss her soft lips. But all she ever did nowadays was turn away from you.

It had started after that very first film they did, when she had gotten shot. All you remembered was Mr. Day calling in the middle of the night to let you know she was in the hospital. Nothing had ever put the fear of God into you quite like that night.

Now she always did her best to sit on your left side so you couldn't see her face. It didn't matter how much you kissed her or tried to comfort her, she always turned away from you. The only time she didn't was when she was coming undone beneath you and had plenty of other things on her mind.

"How's Roy?" She asked instead. It was answer enough; she had done a scene or two for the film.

"Can't eat, can't sleep, hootin' and hollerin' cause he thinks he's still in 'Nam," you said with a shrug. "Daddy says we can pray it out of him."

"I'm sorry." Lorraine squeezed your hand lightly before pulling it into her lap and playing with your fingers.

It was your turn not to answer. You didn't want to talk about your veteran brother, or her smut film, or your preacher daddy. Nothing about Beau or RJ or Huck or anything else. You just wanted to talk about her; anything and everything you could possibly find out.

Not like you, Lorraine, Beau, and Huck had all been friends since you were in diapers and knew each other inside and out. That meant nothing.

Lorraine leaned over and rested her head on your shoulder as the truck continued to bounce down the dirt road to the lake. It was hot and humid and you were sweatin’ like a whore in church. But you still let your own head fall on hers and pulled her closer. You could handle the uncomfortable weather if you had her with you.

“I missed you,” Lorraine said softly before practically cuddling deeper into you.

“Missed you too,” you answered. 

There was a desperation to kiss the top of her head, tell her you loved her again. A desperation to pull her into your lap and kiss away the frown that you knew she had on her lips. To show her how much you loved her and give her something to take her mind off of whatever was bothering her.

But the truck pulled to a stop at the lake and she pulled away. It put a lump in your throat when RJ came around and helped her out of the back of the truck. Beau did the same for you, of course, shooting you a sympathetic smile in the process. It didn’t make you feel any better.

“Wanna help me pitch the tents?” He asked you while RJ took Lorraine to the lake, ignoring all the bags in the back.

You nodded and started to grab everything you could. If you “accidentally” left RJ’s bag in the back of the truck, you could be forgiven. Things happened, you know? The Big Man in White would forgive you for any transgressions. Beau started up a conversation for nothing more than to pass time.

It helped.

The sun was just starting to kiss the horizon when RJ and Lorraine came back, a smile on his face and a slight frown on hers. But that frown turned upside down when you admitted “oh I’m sorry, RJ, I must have forgotten your pack.” He grumbled and left to grab it while Lorraine turned around to hide her smile.

It was the little things in life.

“Hey ‘Raine,” Beau called out while RJ was still gone. She turned around to look at him. “Why don’t you and sweetness over there go get some firewood?” He gestured his head to where you were finishing putting the cooler down on the ground.

Oh that sneaky bastard.

She nodded once and waited for you to join her before walking away. You both knew where the firewood was, you had grown up around this lake. It just gave you a nice opportunity to be close to her; you thanked god for Beau every day of your life.

“Beau’s not very sneaky,” Lorraine said once you were both out of earshot of the boys.

“No he ain’t,” you laughed, “but I love him anyway.”

“RJ doesn’t like him,” she continued. “Thinks he’s fake.”

“Bold words,” you grumbled. You didn’t like talking about RJ; he always seemed to be the topic of conversation during the few moments you got alone with Lorraine.

It seemed Lorraine picked up on it because she reached over and grabbed your hand, slotting her fingers between yours and stepping closer. Her skin was just as sweaty as yours thanks to that Texas sun, and your hands were sliding against each other and were all clammy. And it was perfect.

“How’s seminary?” Lorraine asked. You didn’t necessarily like that question either, but you could at least talk about it.

And you did. You both started talking, going over what all had been happening since Lorraine had started traveling with RJ more often. How you and Jimmy were primed and ready to go to seminary, just needed to find out which one. How Lorraine was really starting to enjoy filming, and even sometimes being in the films. You teased her about the promiscuity, which she promptly shoved you for.

“Better watch out, ‘Raine,” you continued, “the flames of Hell might devour you for your sin of the flesh.”

���Oh shut up,” she huffed, but there was a smile on her face. “I think you commit the same sin.”

“I’m not at fault,” you said. You stopped abruptly and Lorraine was yanked back by your hand. With only a little bit of finesse, you pulled her into you until she had to look up at you. “I fell victim to a temptress.”

“Is that what I am?” She asked. “Your temptress?”

You looked down at her and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She went to turn away, to hide the scars covering the entire left side of her face. But you cupped her cheek instead, keeping her still and looking at you. It broke your heart to see her desire to hide away. Did no one remind her how beautiful she was?

“No,” you said softly, eyes trailing over every scar and freckle on her face. “You’re my whole world.”

You didn’t have to make the first move; Lorraine was more than willing to stand on her toes and kiss you. Just a peck, always just a peck at first, almost as if daring the other one to pull away. But it always led to the same thing. You bent down and cupped both of her cheeks, pulling her into another kiss that had butterflies crawling over every inch of your insides.

The moment her hands gripped your shirt collar, you knew you were done for. That needy, whiny grab that was so full of want and desperation, pulling you closer until you threatened to topple over. It gave you that little push to go a bit further, gently biting her bottom lip to draw out the tiniest moan from her.

You thanked God for whoever had invented the little snap buttons on your shirt. Lorraine's slender fingers could pop them open instantly, and you shivered from both the sudden brush of air and her fingers on your chest. Her skin was hot on yours, scalding like hellfire, and it felt heavenly.

A coyote howled in the distance and you quickly straightened, pulling Lorraine closer to keep her safe. It was getting far darker than you had expected and you knew better than to get caught in the open by a pack. You knew she could hear your heart racing in your chest, and she placed a comforting hand on your now-bare stomach.

"We should get back," you said quietly; you certainly didn't want to alert any coyotes to your location.

"We didn't get firewood," Lorraine said just as quietly. Her breath tickled against your chest.

"Beau and I got some while you were gettin' indecent with RJ," you said before immediately stiffening up.

You weren't supposed to admit that.

"And what, pray tell, are we doin'?" Lorraine asked in what you, Beau, and Huck had dubbed her Scolding Mother voice.

"Sinnin'," you said without hesitation. You were already in trouble, no use trying to get out of it.

"Y'all are bastards," she said with a huff and an elbow to your stomach. You coughed and doubled over, giving her the perfect opportunity to start walking back to camp without you.

"Be careful," you whisper-shouted as you ran after her, your fingers trying desperately to button your shirt back up. “Lorraine!”

You were in a state of complete disarray when you both got back to camp. RJ and Beau were already building the fire; well, Beau was forcing RJ to try and do it. He was failing miserably and you wanted nothing more than to laugh, but the look Lorraine gave you shut you up.

“Need some help, RJ?” You asked when he failed for the fifth time to get the fire started.

“I’ll let you try,” he said with a shake of his head and a shrug. The three of you knew it was his way of saying I can’t do it.

You knelt down and got the fire started in one go. You had to stay on the ground for a few minutes too long so you could stop yourself from looking so smug about it. By the time you stood up, convinced the fire would stay steady, Beau and Lorraine were finishing up preparing for dinner and RJ was messing around with his camera.

“You always have that with you?” You asked him, gesturing your head to the device in his hands.

“Never know when you’ll stumble across the perfect shot,” he said with a smile.

Laughter had you turning your head to see Beau and Lorraine with large smiles on their faces. She looked at peace, like she was actually happy to be there with him. There was no intent to hide herself, or keep quiet, or act a certain way. She was just laughing and pushing him around and talking ceaselessly.

It was the perfect shot, and RJ was missing it.

“Quit it,” you told Beau, who was waving a knife around all willy nilly. “You two go sit down before you hurt somebody.”

“Yes mother,” Beau said with a roll of his eyes. Lorraine said nothing but smiled and walked away to sit beside RJ.

Everyone kind of did their own thing after that; you cooked the stew for dinner, Beau got his guitar out and started picking a few tunes, and Lorraine and RJ were sitting together, whispering about something. Every now and then she would look up and meet your eyes for a moment before focusing on RJ once again.

Beau noticed, as he always did, and decided to make light of the situation. He started strumming a tune, singing horribly off key and inviting you to join. You shook your head and protested and did your best to ignore him, but how could you when he was giving you that smile? It was no wonder he had managed to pull Huck in.

You both continued to sing as terribly as possible, laughing when the coyotes started howling in harmony. He cracked open a lukewarm beer and handed it to you before grabbing one for everyone else and then himself. It was disgusting, but you couldn’t complain too much because it was about the camaraderie, not the taste. About knowing you were all just out having fun, enjoying the reprieve from the real world.

For a moment you could almost believe you were out there with Lorraine, free from the prying, judgmental eyes of the world. When you handed her a bowl of stew and her fingers brushed against yours, sending a shiver down your spine and a heat in your belly. When she smiled at you while RJ and Beau were talking, as if you were the one she was with.

But then RJ would kiss her on the cheek, or wrap his arm around her, and you felt sick to your stomach. The world certainly knew how to play its sick jokes. You knew what your daddy would have to say about it. It's a temptation from the Devil himself to lust after another woman. Guilt started gnawing at your heart, piece by piece until it was beating wildly and you feared you would pass out.

“We should get some sleep,” Beau proclaimed once talk had died down. Maybe he had noticed you starting to lose every ounce of sanity you had left. You hoped he didn’t. “Plenty more fun to be had tomorrow.”

Everyone mumbled their agreements - you just stared off into the fire - before standing up and stretching. Sitting on the hard ground was always tough on the joints no matter how young you were. Once everyone started getting ready, you cleaned up and put out the fire, your mind still dwelling on the guilt your daddy continued to instill in you even from afar.

“RJ, you’re in the tent with me,” Beau said quickly. “I ain’t invokin’ the wrath of a man of god.”

He didn’t look happy about that proclamation at all, but what could he do? He had grown up a Southern man too, he knew how seriously people took such a thing. So he nodded once, grumbling an agreement before climbing into the tent with Beau hot on his heels. Beau gave you one look before zipping up the tent and leaving you alone with Lorraine.

Alone with Lorraine.

Oh god.

You took far too long gathering your things before heading to the tent. Double and triple checking that the fire was out, looking out for coyotes, checking for rattlers, making sure the food was properly put away. Only when you could no longer find anything to do did you finally venture into the tent where Lorraine was already waiting.

Your breath caught in your throat when you saw Lorraine sitting in the tent, lantern on and book in hand. She had her chin resting in one small hand as the other turned the page. Her hair fell over her face, creating a sheer curtain that you could barely see through. The tanned skin of her shoulder was bare to the world as her too-large sleep gown hung off her arm.

Just the sight of her was enough to make you want to praise the heavens, singing her gospel until God felled you from heaven himself. You would give up the very promise of heaven if it meant you could go to bed seeing her like that every night. The deepest pits of hell could not persuade you from loving her with every beat of your heart and every breath that she pulled from your lungs.

"You're starin'," Lorraine mumbled in her sleepy voice, the one you would die for.

"You're plum wore out," you said as you finally managed to get your body moving again. You zipped the tent up behind you and moved to get on the small pallet beside her.

"Long trip home," she said with a sigh. Slender fingers placed the bookmark in its spot before placing the book beside the lamp and blowing it out.

You laid down in silence, staying as still as possible so as to allow her to go where she pleased. You're acting like you've never slept with her before, your mind taunted you. And it was right, but there was a guilt that was still gnawing at your heart, chomping at the bit to devour you, body and soul.

"You ain't gonna face me?" Lorraine asked, her mouth so close to your ear that it sent a shiver down your spine.

"Sorry," you whispered as you turned on your side and ended up face-to-face with her.

"You're thinkin' real hard tonight," she said. You couldn't really see her in the dark, but you heard shuffling before you felt her hand resting on your cheek.

It felt like the touch of god himself.

"I'm alright," you said. Part of you hoped she would believe you.

Part of you hoped she wouldn't. 

"It's just you and me tonight," she said. Her fingers scratched gently against your skin, just enough to keep you grounded.

Tonight, your mind emphasized. It was just you and her tonight. When the sun came up she would go back to RJ, and you would go back to Beau, and no one would think twice. It would be as if nothing had ever happened, as if she hadn't made you want to prostrate yourself at her altar.

"You and me," you said to yourself. If you said it enough, you could believe it.

"I don't wanna fuck tonight," Lorraine said, making you blink in the dark at her complete 180.

"You… you don't?" You asked. "May- may I ask why?"

"All I ever do is fuck," she said, her lips now brushing lightly against yours. “I want you to remind me what love feels like.”

Oh. Oh, you could do that. It was all you ever wanted to do. There wasn't a single thought in your head when you felt her lips press against yours. No thoughts as you wrapped your arm around her waist, pulling her body flush against yours. She was warm and soft; she was yours.

You rolled over onto your back, gently pulling her with you until she was laying on top of you. It always amazed you how small she was, how her weight on you meant nothing as she straddled your stomach. Both of her hands made their way to your neck while yours went under her shirt and to her hips. Her skin was already slick with sweat thanks to the summer heat.

She bit your bottom lip as your hands slid up her sides, caressing every inch of skin they could find. Gentle touches until you reached the sides of her breasts. Her breath caught in her throat when one of your thumbs lightly brushed against her nipple, immediately followed by a shiver down her back.

“Don’t tease,” Lorraine mumbled against your lips. 

You hummed your acknowledgment and leaned up into another kiss, but continued to leave the lightest of touches. Brushing a knuckle against her nipple, softly kneading her flesh. Only when she was least expecting it did you do anything more, rolling a nipple between your thumb and forefinger and swallowing her moan.

The simple touch had her rolling her hips against your stomach. Even with her panties on, you could feel her arousal on your stomach. Just the knowledge that you had such an effect on her was enough to convince you that she had too many clothes on.

She whined when you removed your hands from her breasts. A needy, breathy sound that quickly disappeared when you pulled her gown up. Her lips parted from yours just long enough to get the gown over her head before she leaned down, instantly kissing you again.

Your hands rested on her hips, just tracing patterns on her skin as she continued to roll her hips. Her movements were slow, methodical. She was working herself up, not trying to get off just yet.

"Take it off," she mumbled as her hands fidgeted with the hem of your shirt. Well, it was Beau's shirt, but no one cared.

"Yes ma'am," you answered before sitting up.

Lorraine slid into your lap while her hands tugged at your shirt, attempting to assist you. But you could tell she was already too desperate, too distracted to be of any genuine help. As you pulled your shirt off, her own hands quickly replaced it, running over every inch of skin she could reach.

"I missed you," she said breathlessly. Her hands trailed from your neck down to your breasts, giving them the same teasing treatment you had given her.

"I missed you too " you answered just as breathlessly before her lips closed around one of your nipples and drew a moan out of you.

She loved to do that. She loved to interrupt your thoughts with her actions, whether it was a gentle bite here or the scratching of her nails on your back. And she did just that, biting down just hard enough to pull a gasp from you before soothing the sting with her tongue.

You let her continue for a few moments; it was one of her favourite things to do. All the while you massaged her hips, her thighs, could practically feel the heat from her core. She was still working herself up.

"Come here," you said, gently pulling her face back up to yours.

You couldn't see her in the dark but you could imagine the lust-drunk look she was giving you as you laid her down on the pallet. Both of your hands were on either side of her head, caging her in. Your thigh strategically placed itself between her legs and she took no time in rutting against it.

Her arms wrapped around your neck, pulling you into another kiss. One thing about Lorraine, she loved to be kissed. To taste you, feel your tongue on her lips, your lips on her skin. If you were kissing her then you loved her, and she couldn't have been more right.

"More," she said with another desperate grind against your thigh.

You lowered yourself down to your elbows before shifting your weight. Your body was tilted ever so slightly so as not to crush her while one of your hands finally made its way back down her body. If the sweat was anything to go by, you knew exactly what you would find when you slid your hand in between your thigh and her panties.

The wetness on your thigh and stomach had already told you how worked up she was, but when you actually felt how soaked her panties were, you couldn't help but sigh. She just made it so easy to tease her, to run your fingers over her so lightly that all she could do was whine and squirm.

"Stop teasin'," Lorraine whined, pulling a smile from you.

"Take these off too," you said in reply.

She had never moved so fast in her life, you reckoned. But almost within an instant she had kicked her panties off and laid bare beneath you. You wished the lantern was on so you could see her. See her kiss-swollen lips and her freckled skin, the blush on her cheeks or the almost bashful look in her eyes. You wanted to see her; all of her.

But she clearly felt you were taking too long, because she grabbed your hand and placed it exactly where she wanted it. You dipped your finger into her arousal and up to her clit once. She threw her head back with a moan at the same time as you.

"Jesus, Lorraine," you said as you bent down to kiss her neck. "You're so fuckin' wet and I barely touched you."

You could feel the vibrations of her moan against your lips as you continued to kiss down her body. Your fingers slowly circled her clit, putting the lightest amount of pressure just to keep her worked up. You kissed her collarbone, her chest, left little love bites on her breasts. Her hips rolled with your fingers as you kissed lower, across her stomach and to her hips. Extra kisses for her hips, one love bite on each before being soothed with your tongue.

"Please," Lorraine whimpered just loud enough for you to hear.

How could you say no to that?

The first swipe of your tongue already had her back arching and her fingers tangling themselves in your hair. She tasted like the nectar of heaven, something you could only ever find from her. Any semblance of self control dissipated and you dove back in like you had been parched for a thousand years.

Her hips wriggled below you with every touch on her clit. Flat broad licks always brought out the low moans from her while the quick kitten licks had her whining and her thighs shaking.

"You gotta be quiet, 'Raine," you said when you picked your head up for a moment to try and see her face.

Her fingers removed themselves from your hair before cupping your cheeks and pulling you back up. Part of you was upset you couldn't taste her anymore, but then she pulled you into another kiss. This one deep and slow. She liked your bottom lip and you quickly parted your lips, allowing her to taste herself on your tongue.

"Then keep me quiet," she said before immediately kissing you again.

She was going to be the death of you.

With your mouth now preoccupied, your fingers went back to work. Rubbing slow, wide circles on her clit to make up for the few seconds of lost contact. Lorraine sighed through her nose, the air tickling your cheek. But you were tired of teasing her. It had been too long for you to tease her all night.

You pressed two fingers against her entrance lightly, giving her time to tell you no. One of her hands left your face and grabbed your wrist, pushing you completely into her. You both moaned into each other, her at the feel of your fingers and you at how tight and warm she was.

Sometimes she liked it harder, faster, but not tonight. Tonight you went with slow, deep strokes. Every time you would pull out, you would curl your fingers just enough to hit that sweet spot that had her toes curling. Her hips rolled to meet your hand, pushing your fingers just that extra bit deeper to have her a sweaty, moaning mess below you.

You didn't stop kissing her when you moved your thumb to her clit, adding that extra sensation. Her nails dug into the back of your neck and your wrist, but you didn't care. She would bite your lip every time your fingers thrusted into her deeper than usual. She was coming completely undone.

All it took was one more circle on her clit before she came, clenching around your fingers and moaning into your mouth. You kept thrusting slowly, softly, helping her ride it out until she could gently come back down. You could feel the welts on your neck and wrist, but it didn't hurt. You stayed completely still until you could feel her body start to relax again, only then removing your fingers slowly.

"I love you," she whispered with a husky, exhausted voice. "I love you."

"I love you too, Lorraine," you whispered back before laying down beside her and pulling her until you could curl your body around her.

She interlocked her fingers with yours and pulled your hands tight to her chest. You felt her lips press kisses into each fingertip, the kisses getting slower and slower until you could feel her even breathing. Part of you wanted to laugh; she always fell asleep so quickly.

The other part was screaming. Reminding you that she wasn't yours. That come morning, she would go back with RJ like nothing had ever happened, and you would be alone again. You would never get the girl, and one day he would even take her away from you.

You closed your eyes and pulled her impossibly closer, feeling the warmth from her skin. The Texas heat was unbearable even in the dark, and it was humid and you were both sweaty. But the touch of her skin on yours was worth it. You left lingering kisses to the back of her bare neck as she continued to sleep.

"I love you, Lorraine," you whispered into the dark for no one but god to hear.

At least for now you could pretend she was yours. Just for one night.

#lorraine day x reader #lorraine day #jenna ortega x reader #lorraine day smut

[in1-nutshell]

HELLO HELLOOOOO THIS HAS BEEN STUCK IN MY HEAD FOREVER BUT IVE GOT 2 ASKS, OBVIOUSLY U CAN DO ONE OR THE OTHER IDC BUT COULD WE GET TO SEE MORE RUMBLE TERRAN BUDDY FROM TFE OR TFA BUMBLEBEES TWIN BUT ITS SENTINALS REACTION TO THEIR NAME?? LIKE SENTINALS CALLIN FOR EM AND THEY STICK UP FOR THEMSELVES SAYING THEIR NAME IS BUDDY OR SUM ONE OR THE OTHER I DON'T MIND!! THANKS SO MUCH :]]

We are going with Bot Buddy Rumble today!

Hope you enjoy!

Bot Buddy who has the personality of Rumble: Slice of Life

SFW, Platonic, Familial, Cybertronain (terran) reader

TFE

… They had gone into healing stasis for 3 days!

3 DAYS!

SO MANY THINGS HAD HAPPENED!

And now they have 3 more siblings.

…

Welp, family is family.

Buddy welcomes them with open servos when they get the story.

Hashtag, Nightshade and Jawbreaker were excited to find out they had another sibling.

Hashtag picking up Buddy by the waist.

“So, your our other sibling?”--Hastag

Buddy squirms a bit in her grip.

“And you’re the new sibs?”--Buddy

Nightshade and Jawbreaker wave at Buddy.

Buddy crosses their arms looking at the three.

Then they smile at them.

“Guess there’s 3 more sibs I gotta look out for then. Hope you guys don’t give me as much trouble as these four.”--Buddy

“Hey!”—Robby, Mo, Thrash, and Twitch

Nightshade raises their servo.

“Umm, Buddy quick question.”--Nightshade

Hashtag puts Buddy down.

“Sure.”--Buddy

“Why were you in healing stasis in the first place?”--Nightshade

“… I’ll tell you when you’re older.”--Buddy

“Aren’t we around the same—”--Nightshade

“WHEN YOUR OLDER!”--Buddy

To try and get more sibling bonding time they tried different games.

Board games and obstacle courses were good for a while before they started getting bored.

They needed a challenge.

“We can always play hide and seek.”--Buddy

“Buddy we can’t play that game.”--Robby

“Not if we set clear boundaries. If we do that, we can play better.”--Buddy

“I want to play!”--Hashtag

“Me too!”--Nightshade

“Me three!”--Jawbreaker

“Me four!”--Thrash

“Thrash!”--Mo

“Majority vote wins! Let’s do this!”--Buddy

Meanwhile with Bumblebee…

Bee looks around.

“…Somethings just happened and I don’t like it…”--Bumblebee

So, the games began.

The reluctant Maltos had to agree that playing the game was fun and could even be training if they tried hard enough.

And as always, Buddy is the last one to be found.

…

Robby and Mo suddenly remember why the game was banned.

It’s a farm wide search for Buddy.

Robby and Mo try to use their cybersleeves to find Buddy.

“Isn’t that cheating?”--Jawbreaker

“Not when it doesn’t work.”--Robby

“I still can’t get anything!”--Mo

“Its like they aren’t even on the farm anymore.”--Robby

“They couldn’t have gone far. Let’s spread out!”--Twitch

Hashtag was constantly being used as a pole for the others to search.

Nightshade is flying around with Twitch trying to find Buddy.

Jawbreaker is looking with Thrash and Mo in the fields.

Meanwhile with Buddy…

They wanted to get a bit creative with their hiding places and decided to hide in Dad 1 car.

Buddy was still within the boundaries of the property, so it was okay.

But of course, they chose the day he had to go into town.

So, they just stayed in the car hidden from view and just listened to tunes the entire time, even taking a nap.

Alex came back into the car singing a tune he had in his head.

Buddy slowly lifts their helm from the back seat.

“Dad—”--Buddy

Buddy winces a bit at the high shriek their Dad had made.

“Buddy?! Buddy, what are you doing here?”--Alex

“I was playing with the others and hid here.”--Buddy

Alex shakes his head and begins driving back to the house.

“Why didn’t you say anything when you noticed the car was moving? I would have stopped and gotten you back to the house.”--Alex

“I did but…”--Buddy

“But…?”--Alex

Buddy looks down a bit embarrassed.

“…I like hearing your music and you singing.”--Buddy

Alex chuckles a bit as they start pulling up to the house.

“Just next time let me know you’re here. Someone could have seen you.”--Alex

Buddy hops out of the car with Alex feeling a bit down.

“But if there’s a karaoke night, I think I know who I can count on.”--Alex

Buddy’s demeanor lifted at that.

“Like singing partners?”--Buddy

“I don’t see why not, but I will have to run the idea by with your mother.”

Buddy gives him a hug before immediately releasing him coughing a bit embarrassed.

“I’m just gonna go over there…”--Buddy

Buddy runs into the barn as Alex laughs to himself and goes into the house.

He manages to close the door when he hears the clash of metal, a loud ‘I FOUND THEM!’, and shouting about messing up someone’s back struts.

#transformers x reader #maccadam #bot buddy #tfe x reader #tfe x platonic reader

[guyfieriii]

New Person, Same Old Mistakes

After multiple rewatches of The Bear over the last month, I've been sucked back in and couldn't think of anything else but Carmen Berzatto.

Here's part one of four of a little something about our favourite depressed chef's years in NYC.

Part II, Part III and Part IV

He looks like he doesn’t really want to be here. At this date. If you could even call it that. 

A drink tomorrow night. How does that sound?

I can’t meet up at nights. Work. 

Oh.

I can meet you in the morning.

For breakfast?

Why not?

Why the fuck not?

A non-date you hauled ass all the way from Brooklyn at the crack of dawn. 

An over-exaggeration, but it’s one you feel entitled to. You’ve taken a 46-minute train ride for breakfast with a man who looks like he just crawled out of bed. Which is a miracle since he looks as though he’s been up for days. It’s not just the exhaustion that rolls off him, there’s something else you can’t quite find the word for. You wanted to turn back the moment you saw him standing outside the bodega. 

But for some reason, you kept walking. Equal parts curiosity and obligation. You made it this far, might as well see it through.

Also—

He was by no means unattractive. Looked a lot like a coked-up Gene Wilder, if you were being honest. Clad in a tight, albeit wrinkled white t-shirt and a pair of vintage jeans. Redline Selvedge. You concede to the fact that he somehow managed to pull off the ‘I got ready in under two minutes’ look quite well. Messy. Understated. Kind of hot. It was his hair that really brought it all together, sandy locks that stuck out in different directions like he’d run his hand through them over and over. 

Your hand twinged at the thought.

Every time he lifted his arm to take a drag of his cigarette, you distinctly noticed the way his bicep bulged under his sleeve. 

Christ, that’s…something.

He noticed you walk over and offered you a sort of smile with the raise of a brow, and fuck if it wasn’t endearing. 

You finally took proper notice of his eyes. Blue. Crystalline. Ocean strong waves of azure in the warmth of sun-lit currents. They were strangely emotive, despite his face remaining fairly impassive. Despondency echoed through them quietly. They were a far cry from what you saw online. 

You still admired them when you were scrolling through Tinder and came upon his profile. He had one photo - he wore a white coat in it, the ones that the guys on MasterChef wear. Like it was a professional headshot. He stood, leaning against a metal worktable with his arms crossed. Hair slicked back, with a ruminative look on his face. But his eyes—

They were hollow. A sepulchral for all sentiments buried deep within. 

His bio read:

Carmen, 29

Chicagoan. CDC at Eleven Madison Park.

That’s all it said. His name, age, and profession. Like it was a fucking resume. You scoffed at the bare effort he put in. As if a picture and a brief description of his occupation were enough to lure the ladies in. Just as you were going to move on to the next man in a series of disappointments, you accidentally swiped right and matched with him. 

Hours of scrolling and a bottle of Pinot later, it seemed like he was your best and only option. So you messaged him. He was good-looking enough if only a tad underwhelming in what he put forth. What was the harm in trying him out? 

What indeed?

Seeing him in the harsh light of day, he looked entirely different from the put together guy you saw on his profile. Still good looking, just—

Tragic.

That was the word you were looking for. 

“Carmen?” 

“Uh, yeah.” He flicked off his half-smoked cigarette to the side and wiped his hands down his jeans before offering you one for a shake. It feels rough but warm. Calloused. A worker’s hands. Hands that could tell chronicle a novel’s worth of stories, you’re sure. You can feel bits of raised skin across his palm, around his fingers. Little scars littered all over. You want to examine them all. 

You turn your wrist underneath to see a tattoo on the back of his, a knife piercing the hand. 

Christ. 

A few seconds pass as you examine the rest of his tattoos. He has a pair of cherubs holding up a Sun on his upper arm, and a snail with the words ‘Live Fast’ underneath. 

Your gaze drifts over to his other arm—

You’re interrupted by an awkward clearing of his throat and you realize you’ve been holding on to him, shaking his hand for the better part of a minute. You let go immediately, your palm still tingling from the feeling of his. The air kisses your skin, it’s light, empty, remiss of the character you found in his touch. 

“Sorry, I was just—“ Your eyes meet his once again and you’re lost. 

“It’s cool.” He mutters. “I, uh—“

“So what’s the — Sorry, you—“

“No you go—“

“I—“

“Sorry, I don’t—“

The two of you stammer over each other in constant apology before you finally put it to a halt with an uncomfortable laugh.

“I was just asking what the plan was.” You look around the block, nothing but the bodega seems to be open this early. “Where are we going to eat?”

“Right…here?” He looks at you with mild hesitance, pointing towards the bodega. 

“We’re eating breakfast here?” He has to be joking in an oddly genuine way because he looks like he-

Oh God. It’s not a joke. 

You woke up at 7 am, got onto the subway, and switched three trains for a fucking BEC.

He looks at you in deepening discomfort, a little sheepish, only just realizing that this may not be the ideal date most women have in mind. His eyes brimmed with repentance. 

Those eyes.

“It’s, uh- it’s fine!” You say with an overstated tone of cheerfulness. “I’m starving, anyway.”

“Right.” He looks unconvinced but opens the door for you, nonetheless. 

“‘Uarda, Carmy!” A woman, probably in her late 60s, seated behind the counter broke into a smile as the two of you entered. “The fuck ya been, huh?”

“Work, Lucia.” His tone conveys ire, but his face betrays him. 

He looks at the woman with softened fondness as she fusses over him. She’s loud and over-exaggerated in her mannerisms, hands animatedly gesticulating every word. All the while, Carmen — Carmy, stands there indulging her every word with the occasional apologetic glance spared your way. 

It’s a charming sight, watching the two of them talk. Lucia is loud and mothering and Carmen is reserved.

“Didn’cha mother teach ya any manners, boy? Who’s the darlin’ behind ya?” She finally ends her tirade of ‘the fuck you been?’, ‘never show ya face ‘round no more’, ‘eat a lil’ somethin’ f’fuck’s sake’ and notices you. “Don’t mind him, sweetheart. The fuck’s been mezzamort ever since he moved here.”

“I’m, uh—.” His date? To a fucking bodega?

“She’s a friend.” Carmen interjects quickly. 

“Since when do you have—“ Lucia scoffs, incredulous.

“A friend who’d love some breakfast, actually.” You cut in, wanting to spare him the end of that sentence. 

He wouldn’t have friends, would he? Doesn’t seem like the kind to. 

Maybe you could—

“Should’a said — yo Gino! Get two BECs going on a — ya’ll have it on a bagel or a roll, doll?” She snaps into action immediately.

“Uh, a bagel. Thank y—“ 

“Hear that? A bagel for her, roll for Carmy.” She yells across the other end of the small bodega to the teenage boy sitting over two milk crates, scrolling on his phone. “Get off ya fuckin’ ass, Gino! Gotta feed these kids.”

The boy gets up with an exaggerated eye roll and strolls over to the flattop to get your breakfast started. “SPK?” He questions in a monotone over his shoulder.

“‘Course she’ll have it, ya moron.” Lucia answers for you.

“She’s a bit much.” Carmen is back at your side whispering in a low voice, apologetic. “But she means well.”

“No, she’s great.” 

The two of you stand in silence, watching your sandwiches being made. With Lucia now occupied, it’s awkward once again. You’re not usually at a loss for words, but Carmen isn’t a man who oozes approachability. Not that you’ve known him longer than a few minutes. Maybe, eventually—

Maybe, you could—

“Coffee?” He asks, walking to the self-serve station behind you. 

“Hmm?” You shake your head, snapping back to reality. “Oh. Yeah, sure. Cream and two sugars, please.”

What is it about him that makes think of any kind of eventuality? You’ve only just met. It’s been awkward and stilted, and he looks like a mess. The only things know about him are summed up in a one-line bio. Maybe it’s your desperation. Your sheer need to be coupled up regardless of the clear red flags you see.

Maybe it’s his eyes. Maybe it’s the sense you get from him, this veiled potential. Maybe you’re just a fool looking to fix a man you don’t even know. 

You’re both back out on the sidewalk, coffee in hand, sandwiches packed in a little bag that hangs off his wrist. “Are we—“ You’re unsure of how to phrase your question without sounding like an idiot, but there’s no way around it. “Are we eating on the sidewalk?”

That earns you a disbelieving laugh and a smile you’ll remember. Only because it just seems so out of place. His lips curl up just the slightest in a barely there, you’ll miss it if you don’t really look kind of way. It’s all in his eyes. They lighten. The pensive wistfulness that floats in those pools of glacial blue volatilizes. What takes place in its stead is just a hint of ease and good-natured humour. It makes him look his age, just for that brief moment. 

“The park? Yeah? Thought it’d be a good spot.” It’s jarring just how his consternation inches back in as quickly as it had disappeared. 

“The park’s great, Carmy.” You say it, his nickname, without thinking. Your tone is soft with the intention to mollify. 

He looks at you in surprise and you’re worried you got too familiar too quickly. But then it comes back — that ease. His brows dip slightly, and that faint wisp of a smile returns. The fact that you were able to bring it forth fills you with this warmth. It imbibes itself in your bones, coursing through your body, settling around your heart. It beats faster. 

Faster still, as you watch him run his fingers through his hair, once, twice, thrice. You’re enthralled. 

If you could just reach out and—

“Let’s go?” He takes a step forward and turns to look back at you when you don’t move. Your gaze falls down to his hand, the one he ran through his hair with. More tattoos. A flower on the back and the letters ‘S O U’ on his fingers. Your own fingers itch to intertwine themselves with his. Feel the warmth of his palm, pass by the ridges of his scars like they’re milestones on a road not taken. At any rate, isn’t that what people do, when they go for a walk on a date? Hold hands?

Jesus Christ, listen to you. One look underneath his lugubrious nature, and you’re fucking smitten. 

“Sorry—“ You blink twice, pushing out from behind your thoughts. “Yeah, let’s go.”

You walk side by side, hands apart.

It’s a short walk, just a couple blocks. You enter the park through the side gate and pick the first empty bench you find and take a seat. You unwrap your breakfast in silence, setting your sandwiches down on paper napkins between you. 

It’s still not what you’d have had in mind for a first date and yet, you’re content. It’s a warm morning for an early spring day in New York. Lightness flickers through your hair with the Eastertide breeze — it carries with it the scent of blossoming ephemerals, the hyacinths, and magnolias that grow at your feet. It’s a cool zephyr enveloped in the warmth of the sun, almost quixotic for a morning spent in the park. The best of both worlds, really. Refreshing the air in your lungs with each breath, just as springtime offers the start of something anew. Yet, the apricity that lingers under the sunlight shining from the east brings about this effortless comfort out there in the open. 

It’s all so ideal, it pushes you to be brave. 

“Can I ask you something?” You turn sideways, now sitting cross-legged on the bench. 

“Yeah, sure.” Carmy follows suit, facing toward you, feet still planted on the ground. 

“You don’t go on many dates, do you?” You blurt the words out in a straightforward tone, it might as well have been a statement and not an inquiry. 

“That obvious?” He traces this bottom lip with his fingers in nervousness.

“Well—“ You shrug, noncommittal, with a sly smile. 

“Yeah. I don’t date. I don’t really have the time.” He sounds almost defeated like he’s settled into what his circumstances are. 

You don’t like it. 

“So what made you come out with me?” You press on and hope his answer isn’t as resigned as he looks. 

“I—“ He looks away from you, lips curling into a frown and you can see his mind churning behind his eyes for an acceptable response. 

Oh.

You’re not special. He didn’t make time. His interest in you was just as much of happenstance as you accidentally swiping right on him. 

“It’s alright, I kinda put you on the spot with that question.” You try not to sound too sullen. It’s silly. In a span of a few minutes, you’ve gone from apprehension to being so taken with him all because—

His eyes flash back to yours and he looks so fucking apologetic, it hurts. 

You’re desperate to change the subject. “Tell me about your work. You’re a chef at Eleven Madison, right?”

“Yeah.” One word. That’s all he offers. 

“It’s like the best restaurant in the country. That must be…cool.”

It breaks through the ambiguity caused by your previous question and you’re relieved. 

“Yeah. It's…cool.” His jaw tightens just by a fraction and you wonder why. But that’s a thread best left alone. 

“I know fuck all about food, forget all that fancy stuff you probably make—” Flattery is the safest bet for you at this point. So you decide to play to his ego a touch. “—So you’ll have to help me out here.”

“What do you want to know?”

“I’ll start simple. What’s your favourite thing to cook?”

That makes him pause. “At work?”

“Yeah. At work. What’s your favourite thing to make?” You offer him an encouraging smile. 

“I—“ Why is this so hard for him? He fidgets with the lid of his coffee cup.

“Can’t be that hard to think of something, Carmy.” 

“It’s not, I just — I’m CDC now. Spend more time on the pass than anything so—“

“What does that mean?”

“CDC. Chef de Cuisine. Kinda like-“

“Okay so you’re the head bitch in charge?”

“Kinda, yeah.” He scoffs. “So I’m at the pass — the part of the line where all chits are called out the plated dishes are put up.”

“So you don’t cook much anymore?”

“I used to before—“

“Okay, so before, what was the thing you loved to make?”

He actually seems to give it some thought. You watch him silently mull over, as you take a bite of your sandwich.

“Wild boar with celeriac, lingonberry, and hazelnuts.” He finally answers, definitively. 

“That sounds…simple.”

“The wild boar was dry-aged for 21 days. The celeriac was in the form of a yolk. The hazelnut oil was compressed in-house. The peels were used to smoke the lingonberry gelée.” He says with a challenging raise of a brow. 

Oh, he’s showing off.

“What the fuck?” You exclaim in utter disbelief. “A yolk?”

“Yeah, I spherified the purée with sodium alginate in a calcium gluconate bath.” He says it like it’s the most obvious thing. 

“I failed 8th-grade chemistry, so you really fucked me up just now.” 

He snorts at that. “Didn’t do so hot in school, either. But when it comes to food I—“

“Finding your passion in something just makes shit you thought was hard a whole lot easier, doesn’t it?” If only the same held true for you. All you had to account for was a series of failed starts, an apartment you could barely afford in a city where you knew no one, and a directionless future ahead.

“What’s yours?” He asks, his eyes bore into you and you shy away from their intensity. 

You walked right into that.

“I…don’t know yet.” You frown self-consciously. 

“Kinda seems like you do.”

You don’t. All you know is how to say the right thing at the right moment. A skill cultivated out of your sheer dread of not being what others need. You have no experiences to share, you’ve done nothing but fail. School. Jobs. Relationships. You’re a fuck-up. So you’ve resigned yourself to the next best thing you can be — you can be something for someone else, if not yourself.

“I—“ You keep your eyes downcast, not wanting to give yourself away. “I really don’t.”

“Heard.” You glance back up at him and are only met with recognition. It eases the tightness in your chest. 

“What’s that?” 

“It’s what you say in the kitchen when you acknowledge what you’re being told.” 

“Oh, that’s cool. I’m stealing that.” 

“You’d have to follow it up with ‘Chef’ for it to really stick, though.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Heard, Chef.” 

“That’s perfect.” It’s back, that smile. A mere tendril of one at his lips, but it bleeds from his eyes. 

Fuck, it feels good.

Maybe, eventually.

Maybe, you could—

You finish your breakfast in idle chatter. You ask him about the rest of his tattoos.

“It kinda looks like an ‘E 22’ from one angle and ‘733’ from another.” Your fingers trace the ink decorating his arm.

“Yeah. 733 is the area code for Chicago and  E22 is a dishwasher code for when the filter’s blocked.” You feel the muscles rippling under flex under your touch.

“I kinda want a tattoo.” You don’t draw your hand away. 

“What would you get?” He doesn’t seem to mind. 

“How many other dishwasher codes are there? Do I have some to pick from or just the one?”

He tells you more about things he likes to cook. You meet him in the middle with your one-pan pasta recipe and slowly watch the horror creep into his face. 

“Don’t knock it till you try it, Carmy.”

“Worked with food long enough to know what doesn’t work. And pasta cooked in canned tomatoes and half and half doesn’t work.”

He tells you some things about his life in Chicago. He mentions his siblings but the look on his face tells you it’s not a topic you ought to probe at. It’s repentant in some parts and reminiscent in others. But there’s also this resonant anger beneath it. You see the tick in his jaw, the way his fingers tap against the lid of his cup a bit faster, and the way he adjusts his position to sit a bit straighter. All to distract from the hurt. You recognize it because it’s something you do yourself. 

“My family’s not come to see me. I’ve — uh been too busy.”

“Neither has mine.” But you have all the time in the world. You don’t say that, though. 

You try and lighten the mood by telling him about your life as a gig worker. Ever since you moved to the city, you’ve barely managed to hold down a job for longer than 6 months at the time. So you wised up and made sure to have back-ups. Whenever you’ve brought that up on dates, you’ve only been met with thinly veiled judgment. But Carmy- 

“It’s kinda like working in the kitchen. No two days are the same. Keeps shit interesting.”

That’s a good way to look at it, you decide. 

In under the span of a couple hours, you leave his company feeling better. The breakfast was pretty decent. Carmy assured you it’s the best of what you’d find in the neighbourhood. 

“I don’t fuck with brunch.” He’d said. You’d laughed, but he was serious. “It’s a hell shift, and I can’t eat without picturing how fucked they are back of house.”

You part ways with a hug and a promise of a text from him for whenever he’s free next. 

“I’m going back to Chicago for a couple days in a few weeks. But when I’m back—“

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’d like to see you again.”

The weeks passed, and you waited. 

The text never came. 

#carmy berzatto #carmy x reader #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #the bear #the bear fic #the bear hulu #the bear fx

[maraschinomerry]

Hi! Ive really enjoyed your Lockwood and Co fic’s so far, especially how you incorporate gn-readers! As for a prompt to give: A George Karin X GN Reader fic where George works himself sick on researching a case and no one else really notices he’s sick other than Reader, and Reader makes him stop and takes care of him for the night. A quote to go along with this maybe: “No one ever cared about me like you.” There’s really not enough George fics out there, so thank you for rectifying that!

Chicken Soup

Pairings: George Karim x gn!reader

Content: literally just 99% fluff, the other 1% is reader misunderstanding when George tries to confess his feelings

A/N: this fic takes me to less than 1000 words off having posted 30,000 words in 4 weeks 🤯 will have to see if I can post another later!

Word count: 2.1k

Taglist: @neewtmas @marinalor @ettadear

George looked tired.

He usually looked at least a little worn out, so you weren't overly surprised, but this time it was more distinctive. Plus, his exhaustion was always paradoxically frantic, brought about by rushing to prepare for a case that needed solving yesterday, but this time Lockwood had specifically said nobody was going anywhere near the site until you and George were confident there was no more research to be done. You'd hoped that would mean George would take his time, but it seemed his brain had forgotten how to function in any way that wasn't cramming 3 days' worth of research into 3 hours.

"Let's call it a day," you prompted. The two of you had been glued to your seats around a stack of papers in the Archives all day and your back was getting horrendously stiff. George couldn't be faring much better, hunched so far over his book he practically disappeared into his orange plaid shirt.

"You head back, I just need a bit longer to finish off," he replied, not even glancing up. Under normal circumstances, you'd be able to use his frustration at the impossible deadline to lure him away, but what on earth were you supposed to say when it was self-inflicted?

"Are you sure? Lockwood did say to take as long as we need, so it can wait until morning."

George looked up then, only to shake his head. You knew what he was thinking: by tomorrow, the book he needed could have been borrowed by someone else; by tomorrow, Kipps' crew could have swanned in and solved the whole case; by tomorrow, there may not be anyone at the site left to employ them. You sighed.

"Sorry, I know it's a pain. Will you be okay getting home alone?" Trust him to be worrying about you when you were worrying about him. You assured him you'd be fine, and promised to have a cup of tea ready when he got home.

"You're the best," he said with a weary smile. Secretly he didn't want you to leave, he enjoyed your company, but it was unfair to make you stay just because he wanted to. As you walked away, you heard him sniff, which built into a sneeze. Hmm.

—

Less than ten minutes after you returned to Portland Row, the heavens opened. Rain hammered against the front door like it was begging to be let in, and wind whistled through every corner it could find from the attic downwards. 

You, Lucy and Lockwood sat around the dining table, soaking in every ounce of the warmth that seeped from the oven while dinner cooked (a steak pie you'd made when you got back, to distract yourself from the anxious knot in your stomach).

"How did it go at the Archives?" Lucy asked over a steaming cup of coffee.

"We're making progress, but I'm worried George is overworking himself."

Lockwood gave a wry chuckle. "Trust me, if George has a limit, I haven't seen him hit it in all the time I've known him."

That wasn't overly convincing - having bursts of intense hard work followed by a couple of days to recover was one thing, but working flat out for this long was another, especially when you knew from hearing the way the house shifted that he hadn't been sleeping.

"He was sneezing when I left," you pointed out. If Lockwood knew him so well, he'd know he wasn't much of a sneezer, even in the height of pollen season.

"This case dates back decades," Lucy countered. "Imagine how much dust is on some of those files." Just thinking about it made her nose crinkle. You could only hope they were both right.

—

A long-cold cup of tea and the remaining quarter of the pie awaited George when he returned, the last embers of daylight being snuffed out by the heavy rainclouds above. The second the key rattled in the front door, you sprang from where you'd been falling asleep on the Thinking Cloth and clicked the kettle on.

"You didn't wait up for me, did you?" George croaked from the kitchen doorway. Something had happened to his voice in the hours since you'd left him.

"I promised you tea!" As you turned in mock outrage you noticed something else wrong. He was shivering and pale. Instinctively, you stepped closer, brushing a hand across the droplets on his shoulders and spotting more in his hair. Had he walked home in this weather? No. There wasn't enough water for that. This was just from the cab to the door. He wasn't shivering from the cold. You suddenly remembered the sneeze earlier.

George was ill.

This was a disaster, and it was all your fault. You should have forced him to come home with you. Should have noticed sooner and never let him out today in the first place.

"Oh Georgie," you murmured, almost as much to yourself as him. "Give me one minute with that tea and then you need to get to bed."

"I'm f-fine," he stammered around chattering teeth. "It's nothing."

As if he'd been summoned as backup, Lockwood sauntered in on his way to the basement. "Glad to see you missed the rain," he joked. George gave another sneeze, a spray of said rain flying from his curls with the force of it. "Bathroom's free if you want a bath to warm up." Misguided as Lockwood was in his reason for the advice, it wasn't a bad idea actually.

"I'm just heading up," you shot him a grateful look before George could object, "I can set it running." Lockwood grinned and disappeared. Today was not one of his observant days, it seemed.

"I can run my own bath," George grumbled, still in the doorway, but his cheeks flushed a little and he made no move to stop you. Probably because his hands were shaking so much he would have struggled to even turn the taps. You took his freshly brewed tea in one hand and his arm in the other and guided him to the library to cosy up until the bath was ready.

—

Half an hour later, you were debating whether to go and make sure George hadn't fallen asleep in the tub when he emerged. His dark curls were damp yet fluffy from the towel, a slight glow had returned to his skin and he was dressed in the clean pyjamas you'd looked out for him. He frowned at you as best his tired muscles would allow, pondering the fact you'd clearly spent the entire time sitting on the bottom step outside the bathroom. Before he could comment, however, the warmth of the bath began to wear off and the tremble returned to his bones. You reached behind you and sheepishly held out a fuzzy forest green bundle.

"I, um… I couldn't find any of your jumpers, I think they're all in the wash, so you can borrow this one. It should fit."

George took hold of it and unfolded what turned out to be the softest hoodie he'd ever felt in his life. He wriggled into it, his one working nostril breathing in the way the smell of you lingered in the fabric. It was so comfy that he found himself burrowing into it, bringing it up under his chin and tucking his hands into the sleeves.

You caught yourself staring at him, marvelling over how he could look so adorable in such an unfortunate situation, and gave him a soft smile. "Better?"

He nodded and mumbled out a "thanks" which ended up somewhat drowned in the hoodie as he shuffled away. Halfway through his bedroom door, he stopped and turned back to you. "What's that?"

You went to see what he was referring to, hands on his shoulders to support yourself as you pressed close on tiptoes to peer past him. Suddenly very aware of how close you were, you focused your attention on the flask on his bedside table.

"Oh. It's chicken soup. I wasn't sure if you'd want it just yet, so I used a flask which should keep it warm for the next few hours."

If you hadn't been aware of how much you were in George's personal space before, you certainly were now as he practically melted against you.

"That's so thoughtful." He sounded shocked. Not at you being thoughtful towards him, at anyone being so. Unsure of what to say, you gave his shoulders a supportive squeeze and then used them to steer him towards his bed.

His room was a little chilly, so you checked that his window was properly closed before drawing the curtains. George, energy almost completely drained, flopped onto the bed. You helped him tuck his legs under the duvet,  bringing it up around his chest. He sniffled again, and without a word you nudged the box of tissues you'd found and set out for him. His eyes grew wide and incredulous, suddenly scrunching shut with another bout of sneezing.

"Do you need anything else?"

The sneezing paused. "I think I left my book in the library…"

"Georgie, no." Your voice became stern even as you used his nickname affectionately. "No more research until you're feeling better." He began to protest. "Think about it. The more you rest, the sooner you'll recover and the quicker you can get back to it." He couldn't argue with logic, and you both knew it.

You ended up fetching him a glass of water, some paracetamol and a couple of contraband biscuits. When you returned, you found him sipping the soup, and his face lit up at your last offering.

"You're too nice," he sighed, insisting on splitting the first biscuit with you. "I love you."

You almost choked on your half of the biscuit, bursting into a coughing fit you'd expect from the actual ill person in the room. George immediately rose from the pillows to pat your back as you tried to remember how to breathe. "Are you okay?" His hand stopped patting as your coughing subsided but it didn't leave your back, instead rubbing gentle circles.

"I…" you spluttered, finally dislodging the rogue crumb. "Do you really mean that?"

"Of course I do! No one ever cared about me like you."

His words were kind, tender, yet your heart still sank. He'd just said it because you were looking after him. You couldn't believe you'd actually thought for a moment that he loved you. There was nothing more you wanted than for the ground to swallow you up, but when George kept talking you stayed and listened. "Lockwood and Lucy do so much for me, don't get me wrong, and my parents did their best, but I'd be lost without you. I mean, all this…" he gestured around at the flask, the hoodie, you still sitting on his bed,  "nobody else even noticed there was anything wrong. But you did. You see me, and I love you for it."

Tears welled in your eyes. You blinked them away, refusing to obscure your view of the beautiful boy beside you. His hand stilled on your back, twitching away, afraid he'd said the wrong thing. You leaned into his side, strengthening the touch. "I love you too."

His eyelids fluttered, a mixture of exhaustion and adoration. His free hand linked with yours. "Remind me to kiss you once I'm better."

"Why can't you kiss me now?"

"Because I'll make you ill, if I haven't already!"

"I'll take that risk." You leaned in.

"Nooo," he whined, a hand on your chest to keep you at a distance, "I'd feel bad. But lucky for you, I have a fantastic doctor, so I'll be better in no time."

"Oh yes, I hear they're exceptional and very committed. Now lie down."

George did as he was told, gasping at the rush of cold air as the duvet was lifted behind him. You eased yourself into the bed, legs tangling in his and pulling you closer until his back leant against your chest and your face was buried in his hair.

"What did I just say?!"

You shushed him. "It's fine, if I catch it you can look after me." You pressed a kiss to his temple as you reached over to click the lamp off. He groaned in the darkness.

"You're impossible."

"You love me, though."

His hand found yours again, bringing your arm to wrap round his stomach. Your fingers traced the warm, soft skin underneath the hem of your hoodie. He sighed contentedly, the rise and fall of your chest behind him lulling him closer to sleep. "I do."

You sneezed.

Damn it.

#lockwood & co x reader #george karim x reader #george karim #gn!reader #lockwood & co fanfic #lockwood and co

[slxsherwriter]

Out of Trauma Comes....

Fandom: Don't Breathe

Pairing: Norman Nordstrom x reader

Warnings: Child death, loss of limbs, ptsd struggles

Word Count: 4,076

Author's Note: I have fallen down the Stephan Lang rabbit hole. This is the first in a series of Norman one-shots. Reader does have a military background. This decision was based off of the relationship that Norman had with Hernandez in the second movie. Hope everyone likes! As always, not beta read, so mistakes are mine.

You woke with a start, gasping for breath that wouldn't seem to fill your lungs. For several agonizing seconds, it felt like it would never happen before finally, your body kickstarted itself. The silence of the room was only broken by the brief choking gasps of air as you tried to regulate your breathing. Then your ears registered the frantic beeping of a heart rate monitor. Your own. Forcing yourself to take a few slower breaths, it calmed down as you managed. Stiffness below reminded you that you were stuck in a hospital bed. Right. The accident. 

With a grimace, you forced yourself into a seated position. The pain was a worthy distraction, taking your mind off the vivid flashbacks that played before your eyes. Like a bad horror movie that you couldn't pause. 

A nurse came in, far more quickly than they had the past three weeks. Must have been fewer patients on the floor for them to monitor. When you had first arrived four weeks ago, despite your status, it had taken time for them to show up. 

“Everything okay?” No, nothing was okay in the least about the entire situation. Swallowing down the words, you found yourself giving a shaky smile. 

“Yeah, fine. Just a bad dream.” PTSD. Post traumatic stress disorder, that's what it was. You knew well enough to recognize the signs after seeing some of your closest brothers go through the same thing. “Sorry, didn't mean to cause any worry.” She gave you a softer smile, one that felt like pity. You hated every second of it. Of all of this, if you were honest. You wanted to be back home, away from the world and everyone in it. Why should you have lived?

 “Not a problem at all.” She checked over your IV line and monitor before moving to the door, taking her leave. But before she fully left, she looked over her shoulder. “From what I heard, you're getting out of here tomorrow.” There may not have been a God but that news could have brought you to belief. 

“Thanks…for everything.” 

*****

Using the crutches to get into your home, you grunted with the effort. The cracked ribs were healing and could bear the brunt of your weight with some protest and discomfort but you weren't hanging around any longer than absolutely necessary. 

A chill ran down your spine and the urge to look at the street was almost overwhelming. But you knew what you would find there if you did. Just repeated flashes of blood, broken glass, and phantom pains. Unconsciously, your jaw had started to clench, something you only realize when you heard a small crack. 

“Fuck.” The word bounced through the empty house. A slow sigh and you were moving to the staircase. Life now had a whole new set of obstacles and challenges. Ones that you couldn't have ever dreamed of if one were to ask you. Yet, here you were. “Don't have a fucking pity party now. Get your ass up the stairs so you can take a proper shower. Then, you can check on Norman.” it was the right thing to do. You had heard from your older neighbor just once in the entire time you had been in the hospital. Understandable, given the circumstances and what he had to be dealing with, but it didn't quell the drive to follow up. Having been a neighbor for the better part of five years now, you had grown close to Norman and Emma. Just the thought of the girl was enough to constrict your throat and threaten to have tears spilling from your eyes once more. 

White knuckling the crutches, you slowly made your way up the stairs. It was both painstaking and painful but there was a small sense of accomplishment when you hit the top landing. One thing out of the way, many many more to come. No use in getting too excited over it all just yet. The shower was the next thing to tackle. 

***********

Having only fallen once, the shower could be considered a success. Dressing wasn't as difficult as anticipated, the bed that you had easy to get on and off of with the wall right there that you could brace yourself against. Now, down the stairs? That was a whole other ballgame. Slow, very slowly, you worked down each step. It probably would have been easier to admit defeat and go down on your ass but that stubborness that often got you in trouble decided to rear it's head. This was life now so it wasn't like something that you wouldn't have to get used to. Might as well start that right now.

The shower made you feel a bit better. Something about being able to shower at home, in your own space, with your typical washes and shampoos just did something different than when you were stuck showering in a hospital. While you still were in tremendous discomfort that bordered on pain that was barely tolerable, you still felt better. Plus, being out of those hospital clothes just helped give a little mental boost. 

Tossing a jacket over your shoulders, you opened the door with a slow breath. The street was quiet, just as it often was. There were so few left in this neighborhood, the stranglehold of the economic crisis squeezing life out of Detroit day by day. Those that remained were too headstrong to go more than anything else. You and the man across the street had that in common. Not the only thing. The memory that came of the first meeting had you wanting to laugh. It was either laugh or break out into tears because the bad came rushing hard. Shaking away the thoughts as if the physical action could dislodge and remove those mental images. 

The walk across the street didn't take too long, though getting up his steps took a few moments. It seemed that Shadow knew of the presence on the porch before you could even knock. The bark that came from inside was excitement, something recognizable and in a way somewhat comforting. It was normal. Routine. Despite the fact that nothing about this would ever be the normal that you both once knew. There was no answer to the rap of knuckles against the wood. Not for a minute. Or five. 

A part of you wondered if you should just leave him be. You had your own trauma from the entire thing but his loss was so much greater than your own. A leg compared to a child? No comparison. Still, something rolled in your gut at the thought of leaving Norman to his misery, grief, and pain. You had been alone in the hospital. Being alone and isolated was never good. So, that thought made you knock again and call out. 

“Norman?” Your voice nearly cracked and you had to take a second to take in a breath. The situation called for composure. Letting your own emotions shine through wouldn't help the moment at all. “I'm sure you don't want to see anyone right now…” What words were supposed to be spoken for this sort of thing? Huffing out in frustration, you stared at the door. 

“Can you please let me in? You don't have to talk. I know you aren't alright, I wouldn't expect you to be but seeing you would at least settle my own mind. Please?” Maybe appealing to that part of him would get the older man to agree. Another few moments passed, bringing about a sense of defeat. This wasn't something to barrel through, to hit head on like a bull in a china shop. If Norman didn't want to see anyone,you couldn't force your presence upon him. At least not with his house closed up like this. Just as you were getting ready to turn around, locks disengaging rang out and the door opened. Shadow's bark was significantly louder, the thump of his tail against the door frame audible. 

He looked rough, like he hadn't been sleeping. Something that was relatable. More than that, it was in the way that he held himself. A man defeated had a certain posture after all. An awkward silence fell over the two of you as you stood there before the door opened a bit more and he stepped to the side, a silent signal to come inside. The crutches hopefully made enough noise for him to be able to keep his feet out of the way as you entered the home, as mindful of where you were placing them as you could be. The last thing that was needed was for you to cause a physical injury to the man. 

“When did you get home?” 

“Today.” A grunt was the response that you got and honestly, you hadn't expected much more. The house was dark, though it didn't matter much to Norman and you weren't going to say a damn thing. He led you to the kitchen, where he was having some coffee from the smell that lingered in the air. 

“They have her in jail.” That perked your ears up as you eased yourself into the seat. Crutches were kept close by just in case quick movement was needed.

“Good.” Your voice had come out firmer than intended. But really, it was where the young woman deserved to be. She had killed someone, not just someone but a child. All because she had been stupid about drinking and driving. Frankly, at this rate, she shouldn't leave. Two lives permanently altered in ways that could never be repaired by one decision of a third party. Maybe it would have been just injuries to you and Emma if you had moved faster. Hurling your body in the way of the oncoming car in an attempt to get the girl out of the way or at least shield her to some degree had been an instant reaction. If only it would have worked. 

Clearing your throat a little, you tried to shrug off the anger that had been growing in presence day after day for the last two weeks. “It's no less than deserved. The police hadn't been by to talk much to me besides that first week I was actually conscious. I've been a bit out of the loop on what is happening.” The idea of checking your phone had fallen to the wayside in the focus of getting ready to leave the hospital. He set a cup of coffee down in front of you without having asked. The warmth of the cup seeped into your chilled hands, causing you to close your eyes for just one moment. 

“She'll rot in jail.” She better. But it wasn't like a trial was going to happen any time soon. Those things took time. An extended amount of time, with additional suffering to come for the both of you. Norman fell silent for a long while, staring off in that unseeing fashion of his, eyes seemingly focused just above your right shoulder. What more was there to say?  “You're on crutches.” An observation without any real direction.

“Yep.”

“They wouldn't give you a prosthetic?” 

“I opted not to get one right away. Getting out of there and home was more important to me. I have an appointment set up in two weeks with a physical therapist and someone who can fit me for one.” Your voice grew softer for just a second, obvious to the both of you. Was it self consciousness that caused it? A worry of bringing up something that would upset him? 

“And your other injuries?” A wince that you were thankful could not see came before you could stop it. A feeling of guilt crawled the back of your throat, robbing you of your voice for a mere moment. 

“Things that will heal with time. Some medicines for the rest of my life.” And the daily reminder that you just hadn't acted quick enough. Something that would haunt you every time you looked down and saw the empty space where your right left should have been. “All things that I can manage.” He hadn't said anything about himself, about how he was dealing. Poorly. There was no need to put a word to it but hearing it would at least lead in a direction of knowing what to do to help him. He was deflecting, though you had pleaded with him to let you in on the basis of not having him talk. Silently, you were able to reach out and carefully curl your fingers around his hand. For a brief moment, tension wracked you as the expectation of him pulling away reigned up. Instead, there was a slight tremble and he was curling his own fingers in response, squeezing her hand tightly. 

*****

Daily trips over to Norman's became routine. It was good for the both of you, in all honesty. Getting out of the house instead of sulking around and wallowing, despite arguing that it wasn't a pity party, did you no good. And the same could be said for the older man. A familiar motion that helped dictate the day and forced the both of you to keep to a schedule. He was a little more open in talking about it, letting you know what the detectives had to say and where everyone was at with the case. You couldn't speak to the sinking feeling that rolled in your gut any time that it was discussed but it was shoved to the side and never mentioned. The man had enough stress. 

He was good for forcing you to talk about where you were at with your physical therapy and the prosthetic. You had been fitted for it several weeks ago. Things weren't one size fits all. The molding process had been interesting, with a reassurance that it would be correct once it came in. And finally, after a long wait, it came in two days ago. You hadn't realized physical stress that just the therapy would have you going through, let alone the entire concept of learning to walk again. Because that was what it was. Relearning to walk. Balance would be all new, weight shifts entirely different, and movement to adjust to when it came to walking. 

There had been an argument between yourself and your therapist that had left you stewing, in a rotten mood that was volatile at best. Norman had realized something was wrong when he ran into you while out walking Shadow. Shadow, as always, let out that excited bark and his tail started going a mile a minute. It was not acknowledged on your end and the silence was clearly enough of a tip off for him.

“Did it go that poorly today?” You jumped, startled by the comment, and the fact that he had engaged when you hadn't said a damn thing. A huff was the only response he got for a long moment. 

“I ended up in an argument with my therapist.” The words were a little sullen. Not typical at all. He waited patiently, not saying anything else, forcing you to elaborate. Pulling the information out of you without being too forceful but with the knowledge that he could be as stubborn as you. “They wanted to keep the prosthetic there until I properly learned to walk….” The words caught for a moment, not wanting to admit to struggling with it. Everything about the weight distribution felt wrong to your body. 

“I wanted to be able to bring it home so that I can work at my own pace, without all those eyes on me.” He hummed for a moment, not saying anything else right away, mulling over the information as his hands folded over top of his cane. 

“They let you?” 

“Yes.”

“Then why are you sitting here?”

“What?”

“If they let you bring it home, why are you sitting here and not walking?” The words that your therapist had said rang around your head. Coupled with the frustration over the entire situation, you had opted to sit and stew in the anger. It was easier. Mentally and physically. Still, Norman was right. And if there was one person in the world that you couldn't argue with right now, it had to be Norman. That sight less gaze seemed to settle on you, his head ever so slightly tilted, listening for your reaction. You knew the signs well enough by now. “Get your things and come over.” Now, that was entirely unexpected. Realizing that he was serious, you pulled yourself up and moved to grab everything into a bag.

*******

Norman knew his house intimately, which is the reason why he chose to do it in his space rather than yours. Every uneven floor board that would cause a balance shift, which wall would easily be reached as a brace if falling down. And how to move easily through the space, forcing you to move after him. Like a game of chase. An annoying game of chase.  

But there seemed to be a method to his madness as you were starting to get the hang of movement. It wasn't just walking in a straight line. No, this was actual movement, natural in hoe you would operate day to day. There were plenty of stumbles, sending you crashing down to the hard wooden floor. But the gruff responses demanded that you get back to your feet. 

Exhaustion began to tug at the edges of your consciousness. Muscles ached and protested each movement as they strained further and further under unfamiliar stress. The stumbles became more common and that sense of anger came rushing back, but along with it an embarrassment that you weren't picking up as fast as you wanted. That you were looking like a fool in front of Norman. 

He had demanded that you attempt the stairs. Well, more like a suggestion without room for any argument. It took effort to even think at this point how to shift your weight and the movement needed to swing your leg. Norman was close this time, closer than he had been while moving throughout the house. A brace of sorts, just in case there ended up being a tumble down the stairs. 

The first step was managed well enough, the second with a little more difficulty but by the third, your body had decided that it had enough. Thankfully, you want tumbling forward instead of backwards into Norman. Your fingers scrapped against the wood of the stairs, a shaky breath taken as your throat constricted for a moment. 

“I think that's enough for today. Come on, let's get you resting.” The raspy, grizzled voice of the older man was the only thing keeping you tethered to reality at this point; grounding you in a way that let the desire to scream, to cry, to throw things fade into the background. You were tired, hurt, and angry. But the warm hands against your hips helped to guide you back to a standing position. “Think you can get back down? Or do you want the crutches?”

“Might as well try.” The stairs were narrow, so Norman couldn't stand beside you. But, he stayed in front of you despite the risk of being toppled into, hands remaining against your hips to help act as an extra brace. The stabilization actually helped as you managed to get down the two steps, nearly sagging into the wall to your left. The older man had the audacity to chuckle. You wanted to be upset about it but found that you didn't have it in you. 

“We will work more tomorrow.” 

“Norman, you don't have to…”

“I'll stop by after my morning walk with Shadow.” You knew the routine well enough after all. When the man had his mind made up, he was all but impossible to deter. It was in that moment that you realized his hands were still pressed against you. A fact that you hardly minded. They weren't moving and neither was he as he was still crowded close. The presence was both exciting and comforting. You would be a liar if you said that he hadn't felt attraction to the man, had since you had first met. But it had never seemed appropriate. 

“Okay.” Again, it was an argument that wasn't going to be winnable. His mind was set. This close, you could see the way that his lips seemed to twitch upward, the hints of a smile present. And in response, you found yourself mirroring the expression. “I'll be ready.”

“Good.” With that confirmation, he pulled you away from the wall, as if you were nothing more than a feather in his grasp, one arm sliding around your waist to help you keep your balance. “You can take it off on the couch. Do you need to do anything with it now?” 

“Gotta make sure I don't have any blisters, pressure patches, or breakdowns in the skin.” That was easy enough to focus on, even as the warmth of his body beside yours was making it difficult to focus. “I'll clean up when I get home and use the cream that they gave me.” He helped you get settled down on the couch. 

“Can I?” His hands moved forward before hesitating. You hadn't had anyone besides the doctors and nurses touch the area. You hated having to do it yourself. But, as he waited for permission, you found that you couldn't deny the request. 

Carefully, you took his hands and guided them to the prosthesis. Norman moved his hands slowly over the entire thing, kneeling beside the couch to be able to trail them down to the foot before back up, all the way up to your thigh. 

“They did a good job.” Again, the touch lingered. For a second, you swore he could hear your heart racing, the almost unsteady beat loud in your ear. The moment was far more intimate than it had a right to be. Were you reading into it too much? Maybe. Norman hadn't exactly shown all that much interest in anything more than the steady friendship that had formed between the two of you.

“Yeah.” Finally, he pulled away and inched up to settle onto the couch beside you. The entire world felt off kilter, in an entirely new way. “Yeah, it's supposed to ultimately function better than some of the older models. I didn't exactly understand the technical stuff on how the knee hinge works but I know it cost the VA a pretty penny.” 

Carefully, the process of removing it was begun. The movements were still a little foreign to you but something you were getting the hang of; eventually they had said you would be able to do it in your sleep. Norman's fingers wrapped around your forearm, squeezing lightly. Actions paused immediately, you glanced towards him, trying to determine what the touch was for. 

“Give yourself a second.” You didn't understand what he meant. “You're shaking. And I can hear the little noises of pain.” You hadn't realized that you were even making noise, and now that he had pointed it out, you could feel the tremors in your hands and arms. He had noticed it all before it had registered. 

After a few moments, the process was finished and you tucked the prosthetic in the bag, along with the sock. The skin was a little red and there were some indentations along the pressure points but overall, nothing looked worrisome or terrible. Thankfully. 

“Better?” A rush of gratitude welled up. Shadow nudged your hand on the other side and in that moment, you realized that just as you hadn't wanted Norman alone, you weren't either. Swallowing hard to push back the emotion and chalking it up to the exhaustion that you were feeling, it took a second to respond. 

“Yeah, better. Thanks, Norman.” Unable to help it, you found yourself leaning into him just a bit as you scratched Shadow behind the ear. It didn't feel like it was too much or stepping over the line after the way that Norman had been close before. Hopefully, that wasn't too bold an assumption. For a second, it may have been when he seemed to tense before you could feel him relax. The final reassurance was when his arm curled around your shoulders, an unfamiliar but incredibly comforting weight that brought a smile to your face.  

#slasher writing #horror writing #slasher x reader #slasher x you #norman nordstrom x reader #norman nordstrom x you #norman nordstrom #don't breathe #don't breathe fic #the blind man x reader #the blind man x you #stephen lang characters

[pinazee]

Bounty Hunters!

I just find it so adorable when a kid has bright ass food stains on them. Its like the essence of childhood or something more poetic haha also, this might sound insane, but this is the first ep i could feel that shawn and gus had been friends since childhood. Possibly because they’re nearly wearing the exact same shirts and at the same steps so the parallel is a lot more obvious. Like it just clicked in my brain or something.

I just really liked this shot. That is all.

Shout out to James and Dulés’ stunt double

This is one of those times i don’t envy actors. This looks so uncomfortable. Also, i can’t decide if it’s naivety or arrogance that Shawn would think he could go into this bar and be okay?? I guess you can assume that Shawn knew Tancana would stop them before they caused any serious damage but that one guy was about to hit him with a chain, and its one thing to go into this on your own, its another to bring your friend with you.

A+ scene work from Corbin Bernsen here lol

This is what I do to get my dog to stop eating her toys. Doesn’t work with her either.

One of the few times Shawn kind of loses it with Gus and has to recollect himself haha. Like he’s been frustrated sure, but he usually applies some sort of manipulation. But i really like this scene because usually its Gus thats frustrated with Shawns behavior.

Sidenote: about the super sniffer. I don’t think its that he can smell things others can’t, because Shawn usually points it out and can recognize it, i think the super sniffer is that Gus can break the smell down and put a name to it. Like the gardenias in the perfume, the ginger blossoms in the kangaroo paste. Shawn just knows its kangaroo paste. Idk, i had to think about it at least haha

What a goof. But also, ive started watching Gus while shawns doing his breakdowns and he’s like miming beside him haha if i see it in a later ep i’ll gif it.

Its kind of insane that Bird hands over Tancana and this supposedly alleviates Juliets guilt? Like i get the line she says we all make mistakes as a way of saying Juliet’s forgiven herself, but um, she didn’t really do anything. I wish instead they would have had Shawn notify the cops where he’d be, have lassie ignore him per usual, but let juliet take off on her own (against orders) and save them from bird that way (possibly at the parking garage). This way we can see that she can still rely on her gut and it isn’t handed to her by shawn, kind of like the If You’re So Smart ep, when he solved her case and its somehow a win for her. Its still a sweet gesture that Shawn was cool semi-risking his life (and gus’s for that matter) so she can “save” them and get her good reputation back, even if it doesn’t quite make sense haha

The near kiss was perfection! I think a full kiss would have been too soon, particularly because Juliet was pretty vulnerable just then and it wouldn’t feel right. But the fact that it made juliet nervous enough to start dismantling her gun like she’d been doing all day- fantastic way to gain insight into to her mind and give us the audience hope that the ship would exist. She seems pretty conflicted about him (i think mainly because she doesn’t date coworkers?). I mean, from her perspective, she only know him as immature, irresponsible to a degree, who relentlessly flirts, BUT at the same time is incredibly kind and fun. I would have some hesitation too. Being kind and fun will only get you so far, in my book at least. I also need someone i can rely on to do the boring grown up stuff so im not solely responsible and Shawn just doesn’t come across as someone who can do that (yet). And not to spoil it, but in the bank robbery ep, we learn Juliet likes them mature.

okay. I don’t think this is going to be a popular opinion (just to prepare you mentally) cause i believe everyone loves this scene, and don’t get me wrong i love it too, i just think it doesn’t quite fit in the ep? Like i know shawn was flirty with jules the whole time, and he’s trying to impress her, but it was always jokey and they didn’t really have a solid heart to heart moment, and it pulls away from what Juliet was going through. I think if he’d consoled her a bit, let her know that a mistake is inevitable and assuming that she wouldn’t make any was setting her up to fail, that she was still the smartest, and bravest cop on the force and she should remember that the next time that voice in her head says differently, then he could maybe go for the kiss. Maybe. I think I would’ve preferred it if he’d just consoled her and she was the one who went to kiss him but changed her mind at the last second and thats how we get close talking. Because she wants to kiss him, but at the end of the day she’s pragmatic.

(I just want to quickly add that i by no means think i can write these better. This is just fun for me to put my own little spin on it. I also know other factors go into making a show (time, budget etc) so there are things writers wanted to include that would have improved their eps but said factors forced them to make changes. I don’t want these little opinionated changes i’d make to come across as mean spirited or arrogant. They’re more like responses to a writing prompt if that makes sense.)

#took a little longer to post this one. i was quite conflicted. #also i got really into another fandom haha #psych tv #psych rewatch #psych usa #psych #shawn spencer #burton guster #james roday rodriguez #james roday #dulé hill #dule hill #juliet o'hara #shules #maggie lawson #carlton lassiter #timothy omundson #henry spencer #corbin bernsen

[kikuowo]

THE LONELY TREE

PAIRING: sanzu haruchiyo x reader

SUMMARY: comforting him <3

WARNINGS: slight manga spoliers about sanzu’s past. self deprecating thoughts . i did NOT proofread so goodluck lmfao

A/N: omg…hi hey guys im.. alive what. ive had this in my drafts for EVEEEERRRR and finally found motivation to finish it. its not long and its not great but its something. i miss tr and i miss sanzu my pookiebear…

every so often, haruchiyo would return to this state. his old self. once again he was timid and quiet, the kind boy you remembered when first meeting him.

he went from his loud teasing nature, to locking himself in the bathroom. he would stare into his reflection with dim eyes that seemed to be far off into his mind.

haru thought he was hideous. bright obnoxious pink hair, something so childish for a top ranking gang member, that paled his already ghastly skin even more. freckles dotted across his nose and cheeks, he had always hated them as a kid and now even in his late 20s he still wont acknowledge that no amount of scrubbing will wash them away.

two large jagged diamonds were etched into his skin. just thinking about them he could still feel the sharp stabbing pain from the edge of the plastic toy like it happened yesterday. he thinks this might be the ugliest aspect of him. he could tolerate the pale skin, freckles, eyebags, and wild hair. all easy fixes, he thinks, but has no motivation whatsoever to do so. however, the scarred skin on each corner of his mouth would never, could never, be fixed.

his appearance was just one thing that made him hideous. his action and, really his whole existence was hideous.

never was he good enough.

not good enough for their mother to stay. not good enough for their father to raise them. he was a terrible brother, teaching senju wrong and always disappointing takeomi.

he was a bad friend.

he killed mochi. one of the few people who he thought truly cared for his well being, even thought of him as a younger brother.

he was a bad boyfriend.

haru knew he wasn’t good to you. he knew you deserved someone normal. someone who isn’t an addict. someone who can go out freely and take you out on dates. he knew you deserved someone who didn’t lose their temper easy like him, who hurt you not just physically but mentally and emotionally as well. he’s not sure why you’ve been following him around so long, but he also isn’t sure what he would do if you stopped.

rindou had warned you through text about haruchiyo’s sudden drop in mood. you immediately dropped everything and rush home to him, wanting to stop his self loathing quickly before it turned for the worse.

when you arrived to the apartment all lights were off, drapes closed and everything was quiet. if you didn’t know any better you would think no one was home. but you knew he was home, if not for the shoes thrown haphazardly by the door, the soft sounds of crying could be heard.

you ponder on calling out your arrival, deciding on just being loud enough to let him know you are home, but not enough to startle him. you make your way to the bathroom and quietly knock three times before pausing then entering.

haru stands slouched in front of the sink. his rose colored hair messy, eyes red and puffy, and a frown set on his lips.

taking a slow breath you walk up to him, your reflections side by side. you know he knows you are there, it shows in the way he slightly tenses and his hands begin to shake. you want nothing more than to comfort him, however knowing he dislikes overbearing people holds you back for a moment. unsure and unmoving, you take this moment to really look at the broken man in front of you.

you see his pain, you see his hardships, you see his worry, you see is sadness. but you also see his pretty blue eyes that always look at you with love and hopefulness. you see pretty porcelain skin that blushes a pretty pink when he gets flustered from your words of love. you see rosy lips that you love to feel against your own and that you know he loves to use to praise you, to make you feel loved.

you also see two scars, one on each side of those lips. deep down they have always made you feel a sense of sadness. a once happy little boy scarred for something he didn’t do, insecure to the point of covering his face for years, a moment forever changing his life.

but they also made you happy. they were apart of haruchiyo, the man you loved with every atom inside of you. anytime a diamond appeared throughout the day you instantly thought of him. how happy he made you, how much you missed him, when will be the next time you can hold him? kiss him?

snapping out of your trance, you once again walk up to him. slowly, allowing him time to retract from you, you wrap your arms around his middle and lay your head against his back.

he tenses even more at first before slowly but surely relaxing into your hold. you place one, two, three kisses between his shoulder blades, payment for letting you comfort him. he places a cold hand over one of your own, a silent thanks and a green flag to comfort him.

and so you do, holding him in the cramped bathroom slowly swaying the two of you and placing kisses every so often onto him and listening to the steady thrumming of his heart, one he knows solely beats because of you.

#tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #sanzu haruchiyo #sanzu x you #sanzu x reader #sanzu haruchiyo x reader #tr x reader #tr x you #kikuowo #kiku writes 𓂃♡ ࣪₊

[lildrabbles]

Chapter 7: Family Meeting

2007! Raphael x Female! Reader

Summary: Despite Raph's protests, hes made to bring you back to the lair to meet his family.

A/N: HELLO EVERYONE IM SO SORRY I HAVNT BEEN UPDATING, since school started i just kinda lost motivation to write BUT IVE CAME BACK. I cant say for sure how long youll have to wait in the future, cuz i have a problem with writers block. Also, this is a lot longer than most of my chapters, so enjoy!! But let me know if you like the longer chapters or shorter ones <3

Raph didn't want his brothers to meet her. They would embarrass the hell outta him! 'What do I care...' he told himself, but deep down inside he couldn't stop the dread. He stared at the stove while he ate his Corn Pops aggressively.

"Dude, what did those Corn Pops do to you?" Mikey said, laughing as he poked raphs side.

Raph quickly grabbed his finger and twisted it, causing Mikey to yelp and beg for mercy. Raph scoffed and let go, going back to eating his Corn Pops. When he was finished he stood up, making his way over to the sink to wash his bowl and spoon.

"So are you going to call her?" Donnie asked as he grabbed a poptart from the cabinet.

"I'm gonna text her to meet me." Raph said, not looking at him as he dried the bowl.

Donnie chuckled. "If only Leo were here to meet your girlfriend."

Raph was about to threaten him, but the mention of his eldest brother stopped him. He glared down at the spoon he held, not saying anything.

"Uh... sorry about bringing that up." Donnie cringed in on himself.

Raph scoffed. "Dont be. It's not like he's comin back anytime soon." He said dryly.

Donnie sighed. After a couple moments, Mikey piped up. "Dude, suddenly it got like, really tense in here."

Raph rolled his eyes as he turned around and leaned against the counter. "Blame Donnie."

"I apologised!" Don protested.

Raph sighed before placing the bowl back up in the cabinet. “I’m goin to the dojo to work out.” Before turning around and walking away, not waiting for any reply.

He was finishing beating the crap out of his punching bag before he felt light headed. He exhaled and collapsed onto the bench, grimacing at the sharp pain in his wound. When Donnie mentioned Leo it got his blood to boil. God, even thinking about him made him pissed. Who was Leo to think he could just leave his family, his own flesh and blood, just because he “didn’t feel good enough”? 

Didn’t he fcking know that he was the best fighter out of them all?! He was truly selfish. And before he left, Raph may have started an argument, which yes he shouldn't have done, but then Leo started going on about how Raph was selfish and that only his own opinion mattered! Can you believe the audacity of that turtle?!

He grunted as he took a swig from his water bottle, grabbing the cloth beside him to wipe all of the sweat off his forehead. Raph glanced down at his phone, looking at the time. It was currently 4 pm. He wanted to wait a bit longer until it got dark to meet up with her, but decided to text her sooner so she had some notice. 

He texted her to meet him in an alleyway where he knew wasn't far from her apartment and had a sewer entrance so they could easily get in and out without getting noticed. He also made sure to mention to come alone.

When she didn't respond right away, Raph decided to do some sit ups. After a couple of those, he heard his phone vibrate on the bench. He sat up and grabbed it, and read Y/N's message.

Y/N: ok what time? My shifts already over so I'm not worried

He chuckled at how she didn't even question it. Silly girl.

Raph: How about in half an hour?

Y/N: Sounds good to me! See you then

Raph sighs, then stands up, stretching and drinking the last of his water. Time to go make sure she gets there safely.

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

You didn't have to wait that long in the alleyway for him. You stood and looked around, double checking this was the right alleyway. Yep, it was.

Since it was a bit chilly, every time you let out a breath a little cloud formed.

Before you could even call out, you heard a soft thump behind you. You jumped slightly, spinning around. A small smile erupted on your face as you saw Raph emerge from the shadows.

"Hey, Raph." You look back towards the sidewalk to make sure no one would see you both.

"Hey." He smiled. "Okay, so uh… you probably wanna know why I brought you here right?"

"Right." You agreed.

"My family wants to meet you. Sensei mostly wants to meet you because he wants to know if he can trust you with our secret."

"O-oh!" Your eyes widen slightly. "So I get to meet your family?"

"Yeah. But…"

You frowned slightly. "What is it?"

You then gasped when Raph leaned towards you and in a flash, your vision was dark. You felt him tying a piece of fabric around your eyes. 

"Raph, don't you think you're taking this too fast? I'm not into this kinda thing." Despite the shock of him doing this, you couldn't help making a cheeky joke while you giggled.

Even though you couldn't see him, his eyes widened as a blush erupted from his face. He frowned. "I-its not fcking like that!!" You could hear in his that he was flustered, causing you to giggle more.

You felt strong arms pick you up, but you weren't that alarmed because you recognised they were Raph's. You heard him grumbling to himself.

 You clinged onto his neck despite his firm grip on you.

"I'm only doin this cuz we can't risk you knowin our location yet." Raph blushed and grimaced slightly as your arms wrapped around his neck.

"Oh… well I guess I can understand that."

You suddenly felt the wind rush around you both and you let out a little squeal, feeling a little nauseous. You heard Raph's feet thump on the ground softly, meaning he had jumped down somewhere.

The more he walked, a disgusting smell assaulted your nose. You scrunched up your nose. "Are we in the sewers?"

"Yeah." Raph laughed watching your reaction.

You nod slightly, nose still scrunched up. After a couple more moments of walking, you felt him stop and he placed you on your feet.

You heard some shuffling and then a crash, followed by an "oof!". 

"Am I allowed to take this off now..?" You asked, directed towards Raphael.

 He grunted in response which you took as a yes, so you slipped it off, only to be met with another turtle with an orange bandana in your face. You jumped a little, bumping backwards nto Raph.

"Mikey, what did I tell ya before I left?!" He scolded the orange banded turtle.

The turtle named Mikey threw his hands up. "Sorry bro! I just wanted to get a good look." He offered his hand to you. "I'm Mikey!"

You smiled sheepishly, shaking his hand. "I'm y/n."

Another turtle with a purple bandana appeared. He did the same thing as Mikey and offered his hand to you. "It's nice to meet you y/n, i'm Donatello but just call me Donnie or Don." He smiled.

You smiled back and shook his hand. "Nice to meet you as well."

You awkwardly stood there while you heard Raph huff behind you, crossing his arms beside you. Then, you saw a rat, just a bit shorter than the turtles. You assumed this is the Sensei Raph had talked about.

You bowed your head slightly to him. "And you must be Sensei Splinter." You smiled a little up at him. He smiled back and stood in front of you, taking your hand in his and held it for a moment.

"And you must be y/n. Thank you for helping my idiot son." He shot a quick glare towards Raph.

"Of course. I wouldn't call him an idiot though, after all he was just trying to protect--"

Raph suddenly cleared his voice loudly. "Okay, you met her, now what?"

"Dude we should all watch a movie together!!" Mikey exclaimed.

Before Raph could protest, everyone else agreed. But you were hesitant. "I would love to but I don't want to become a problem for you guys."

Raph stared down at you. "The hell do you-" he couldn't finish before getting smacked in the head by Splinter. He winced before re-phrasing. "What do you think you'll be a problem for?" He said gruffly.

You shrugged a little. "I-i don't know, I just don't want to invade your guys' personal life."

Donnie spoke up. "Don't worry about that, we would love to have you. We haven't had company like this in… well, we've never met new people really. Except for April and Casey, but we've known them forever"

You nodded, remembering Raph telling you about them. Then you smiled. "Ok, then. I'll stay."

Mikey cheered and ran towards the kitchen to gather snacks. 

After a bit of setting up the movie (that apparently Donnie pirated) and setting up all the snacks, you settled down onto the couch beside Raph. You smiled up at him softly, making his heart clench. But he didn't show it, just smirking a little and huffing, taking a handful of popcorn from the bowl in your lap.

You chuckled, offering everyone popcorn before the movie began. Then Donnie turned on the movie, and you let out a deep exhale, sinking into the old, tattered couch.

After about halfway through the movie, while everyone else was asleep, Splinter left to go meditate in his room. So it was only you and Raph awake now.

"Your family seems really nice," you whispered to him.

He scoffed quietly. "Yeah but my brother's can get hella annoying."

You giggle a little and lean in closer. "I'm sure you'll seem annoying after a while of knowing you too."

Raph playfully glared down at you. "Oh yeah? Ditto. Except you're already gettin on my nerves." He joked.

You held your chest where your heart is dramatically. "Ouch. My heart."

You both laugh quietly. You looked down, then shuffled closer to him so your thighs were touching, and wrapped your arms around yourself, getting a little chilly.

He tensed a little, trying to even his breathing. He noticed your eyes starting to droop. "You know you can fall asleep, right?" He said softly. What has gotten into him lately?

"Are you sure?" You looked up towards him. He nodded, then grabbed a blanket from behind the couch, throwing it on you. You giggled a little and got snuggled up in the blanket. You then gently rested your head on his shoulder before whispering, "Is this okay..?"

"Y-yeah…" He whispered back. You smiled and got comfy against him, before closing your eyes to go to sleep.

After a couple moments, he relaxed. He let out a soft exhale. The way you cuddled into his side made his heart skip a beat. Shut the hell up, Raph. She's just cold. And you can't be goin soft for anyone!! He scolded himself. But despite his protests in his head, he let himself fall asleep, managing to fall into a slumber way easier than he's ever had.

#raphael x reader #2007 raph #tmnt #tmnt x reader #raph x reader #raphael #2007 raphael x reader #2007 tmnt

[angelkissiies]

Ive had this image in my head all week and i need to excorcise it so im writing it here. Feel free to ignore.

I really think Abby should get to rip open a clicker's skull by jamming her hands into that... I have no idea how to describe it... you know that split up their faces where the two halves of their explodey mushroom heads meet... jam both hands in there and rip it apart like whichever Chris splitting that firewood in that MCU movie... where he... does that... I'm vaguely remembering a gif...There's a reason why you write and I send asks on anon and it's not cos I'm articulate.

But yeah, whoever plays Abby in the HBO show should get to do that, as a treat! :)

Also, for us Abby x Reader nerds, just picture it: You think you're fucked, there's a clicker crawling toward you, you lost your weapons somehow (stay with me). You're scrabbling backwards but its faster than you, there's nowhere to go and all you can do is accept your fate. Out of nowhere, Abby jumps on its back, grabs the motherfucker's face as its inches away from yours and pulls it into her chest to rip it apart. Blood everywhere. She's breathing heavy. You can't believe she'd be so stupid to put her hands IN a clicker's FACE. She can't believe you thought she wouldn't try everything to save you. Then you make out. You know?

Exorcism complete

i kinda just threw this out because you seriously inspired me !! i hope this is an okay rendition of your vision !!

You’d run out of options, dodging behind a half wall to escape the roaming clicker that you’d gotten trapped with. The floor to the room you’d been searching caved in and left you empty-handed, scrambling around in the dark to gain your bearings- though before you’d had the chance to dig your flashlight out of your pack, you heard the telltale clicking noise come from down the hall. It was one bad situation after another, leading you to where you sat now, clutching the only useful thing you could find in the array of items you’d retrieved from the building.

The light from your flashlight bounced off of the ceiling, illuminating your surroundings as you peeked around the corner, seeing the cordyceps ridden being shuffling around the stairwell. So far, it only seemed like it was the one, which sounded easy enough right? Wrong, without a knife you were almost certainly fucked- seeing as their growths served as a king of armor for them. “Goddamn it.” You mouthed, hearing the floorboards above where you sat squeak- catching the clickers attention.

You quickly moved, taking refuge in a small corner, having no place else to go now. The room only had one exit and as you used a hand to cover your mouth, you saw the hypersensitive infected shuffle in- whipping its blinded head around as it made a hellacious screaming noise. It knew, somehow, that something was down here. Its legs drew it further and further into the room until it was just feet away from you. You knew this was it, do or die- and the circumstances had forced your hand to choose the latter- squeezing your eyes shut as you braced yourself for the inevitable lunge.

Abby had made it, just seconds before it was too late- not even thinking to draw her knife as she saw your unmoving figure coward under the clicker. She moved too fast for it to counter her, her heavy boot coming into contact with its knobby kneecap- causing it to fall before her. Her heart was racing, hands jamming inside the monster's mouth- fingers securing on the flattened beds of its teeth as she forced the bones apart- a sickening noise of pain emanating from its mouth as the pieces came apart in her hands. The blood from the kill didn’t phase her, not wasting a second as she threw the pieces of the skull onto the floor, coming to her knees before you. “Baby?” She whispered, rubbing the blood from her hands onto the legs of her cargo pants.

You could barely hear her over the sound of your heartbeat echoing in your ears, only jumping when you felt her calloused fingers brush the hair from your face back. Your eyes darted up, slightly blurry from how tight you’d screwed them shut- arms immediately latching around her shoulders as you launched yourself at the girl. “Fuck, oh god, Abby.” You shuddered, fingers digging into the dark blue of her jacket, burying your face in her neck. “I thought it was over.”

She let out a shaky breath, thinking the same, as she wrapped her arms around your waist- pulling you impossibly close. “I’d never let anything happen to you.” She said matter-of-factly, mind still racing as she took a deep breath- inhaling the sweet scent of your coconut shampoo. It had been a gift, something you only used once in a while due to its scarcity, and she thanked god you decided to use it today- feeling the nerves dwindle as she melted into you. “Would do anything to keep you safe.”

#abby tlou #abby the last of us #abby anderson #abby anderson x female reader #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x you #abby anderson ff #abby anderson brainrot #tlou #tlou2 #the last of us ff #the last of us angst #the last of us fluff #the last of us

[mickyaltierisgf]

Part 3 was great! 💗💗

I can't wait for part 4🤭

missing at sunrise studios iv : the final chapter

poly!ghostface romickey x fem!reader nsfw! minors dni

warnings: extremely dub-con

Despite Roman’s worries, the studio was still open, negotiations were being made with the writers, and production on the movie was still going forward, albeit slowly. The only consequences so far seem to be increased security and longer hours. While you were sad to have even less time with your boyfriends, you were at least content that they were safer now. Measures were finally being taken to prevent any more unexplained disappearances. You were no closer to finding out who the killers actually were, but you had done all you could for the moment, given your limited resources.

Another downside, however, was Roman’s perpetual black mood. You knew he was already stressed on a good day, and this situation had only worsened the load. Even Mickey had been more sullen than you could ever recall. You weren’t sure if keeping the studio open was a blessing or a curse anymore. They still had their jobs, but at this point, that seemed to be all they had. Mickey had been making calls almost every other day, informing you that they’d be staying late. So it came as no surprise when he called you today to give you the same bad news. You sighed, hearing Roman yelling in the background.

You sat on the couch, flipping through channels mindlessly, when you heard your phone ring. You stared at it for a moment, a feeling of trepidation rising in you. You weren’t someone who spooked easily, even given the less-than-pleasant phone calls you had received from the killers recently. Maybe it was the general tension in the atmosphere over the past week. The whole house felt colder and lonelier than usual. Every time the phone rang when you were alone lately, you felt that frisson of fear until the voice of one of your boyfriends came on the line and soothed it away. You saw the "Unknown" flash at you, and still you prayed that it would be Mickey’s voice again, or even Roman’s. Even if he was mad.

You hesitated a moment, but pressed the accept button and held the phone up to your ear.

"Who is it?" You asked instead of the customary ‘hello’.

"Someone close to you," the voice answered, and the frisson of fear intensified.

"Close in what way?" you asked back, looking around you. With only the TV and one lamp on and all the curtains drawn closed, there was very little light for you to see. Every shadow seemed deeper and darker now as your eyes studied them.

"That’s the question, isn’t it?" the voice replied, sounding vaguely amused. "Let’s play a game. If you can guess who I am or where I am, I’ll hang up and leave you alone."

"What about your partner?" you asked as you walked over to turn on another lamp. You’d feel better if you could actually reach the light switch, but this would have to do.

"He doesn’t really like playing games," the voice stated, sounding somehow more sinister.

"Then what’s the point?" You hiss, your frayed nerves shortening your patience.

"You might have a better chance against just one of us," the voice almost seemed to tease.

"I have enough bullets for both of you," you spat, and you hung up. You pulled a gun out of your pocket and reached for another under the couch. You liked to keep at least one weapon in every room, and ever since you’d started working on this case, you made sure they were easy to access. You’d also taken to keeping your gun on or near you at all times, at least while you were alone in the house. Maybe you were paranoid, but it was better than being defenseless.

You heard a noise, and your head snapped in the direction it came from, straining your ears to listen for more sounds. They were likely already in the house. Your heart was beating like a drum, but you were ready. This wasn’t even the first home invasion you’d dealt with. You turned your head to look toward the foyer when your phone rang. You ignored it, letting it ring, and the noise was just enough to cover up the footsteps coming towards you from the other side. Luckily, you turned your head in time to see them come through the doorway, and you quickly aimed your gun. The ringing stopped abruptly, and suddenly there was another figure on the other side of the room. You pointed your other gun that way, looking between both masked men.

"You can take off those masks, or I can take them off for you," you said with forced calm.

Shooting two guns at once was not nearly as easy as it looked on TV. Even the most skilled shooters would be hard-pressed to aim correctly at one moving target, much less two. There was no time for focus or finesse; you just had to shoot and hope for the best. At least a few shots missed; one barely grazed one of the killers in the arm. Before you knew it, your bullets had run out, and both killers were laid out on the floor. You moved around the couch, still aiming your guns, though by this point they were little more than props. One was already sitting up, and you froze, aiming both guns uselessly.

"We’re not high schoolers, y/n," your Chief’s voice said.

You backed up as you saw the other killer stir next.

"Did you really think we wouldn’t come prepared?" He continued, and he pulled the dark robe open just enough for you to glimpse a bulletproof vest underneath.

"I’ve got a lot more bullets," you replied easily, though you knew getting to them would pose a big problem.

"12 rounds," your partner’s voice chided. "You’re all out."

"Fuck you," you replied, and you threw one of your guns at his face. You made a break for it, running out through one of the doorways. If you could get to your office, you could get your semi-automatic.

You heard scrambling and footsteps chasing after you. You managed to make it into the room, but just as you tried to slam the door shut, an arm came through, and a knife nicked your arm. You pushed the door on their arm, forcing them to pull back, and managed to slam it shut and turn the lock. You ran to your desk, pulling open drawers to find your semi. You were loading it with shaking, sweaty hands when the door came flying open by force, and both killers stood across from you. You had no time to finish loading, so you grabbed the lamp beside you and tossed it, hitting one of them squarely in the head. They went down, and the other dove at you with an inhuman growl, their knife poised above their head, ready to strike. You moved just enough that their knife missed you, but they threw their other arm out, backhanding you hard. You stumbled to the side, nearly tripping over the chair. As you tried to steady yourself, the killer rammed the handle of their blade into the side of your head, and your eyes rolled up as you dropped to the floor.

When you came to, you immediately noticed a pair of cuffs restraining your wrists in front of you. You were being pulled uncomfortably by your arms, and you resisted, trying to drag your feet. One of the killers grabbed your hair, and you gritted your teeth to keep from voicing your pain, but you were forced to stop resisting. You were tossed on your bed, landing on your front and unable to turn over.

"You need to put cuffs on me." You spit, frustrated. "Two against one and—" you broke off as you were being yanked by your hair again and flipped on your back.

"You’re all talk, just as expected." The cold voice was back, and a knife was shoved right up to your neck, almost breaking the skin. "12 bullets and not one good hit."

"She must have slept her way through the academy," the other killer said on your other side, their knife snaking down your chest.

"Funny, because you’re talking a bit too much too," you said, and you kicked out with your legs, dislodging one of them and then sitting up and headbutting the next. Your mind was entirely focused on evasion and escape as you tried to scoot off the bed. But of course you were quickly pushed back down, and this time the knife being placed at your neck was pushing in and drawing blood. You froze up, your breath catching and your eyes staring wide at the black holes of the mask as it bared down on you.

"Try that again, and this knife is going right down your throat next," the voice said menacingly.

The other killer was ripping your shirt open with his own knife and then tearing through your bra next. You gasped, careful not to move and have the knife point go any deeper.

"All you had to do was sit pretty at home, maybe let your little boyfriends fuck you every once in a while, and keep your nose out of things." There was a click, and then..."But you couldn’t even do that right," Roman’s voice said.

You went so still, your heart skipping in your chest, that you thought you might pass out again and never wake up.

"What’s the matter, y/n? Don't you like this voice?"

"Oh, I think she does." Mickey’s voice rings out next, and you look at him as if trying to pierce through the mask with your gaze. The knife is cutting through your shorts and then your panties next, and they’re torn off.

"Don’t," you plead in a low voice.

Gloved fingers pry your legs apart and plunge into you. You wanted to clamp your legs shut, but that would only trap his fingers inside you. You cried out as they moved quickly in and out, and you heard the voice chuckle in Mickey’s voice.

"At the mercy of two killers, and you’re still wet," Roman’s voice tsked, and you felt tears sting your eyes as shame burned hot through you.

"Are you gonna be a good slut for us now?" Mickey asked, his fingers curling inside you and drawing out an involuntary moan.

"Answer him," Roman’s voice barked at you, and it sounded so painfully real that you felt yourself flinch.

"Yes. I-I’ll be good," you said, hating the resignation you heard in your own voice.

"You can start by putting that mouth to better use," Roman indicated as Mickey moved near your head. You saw him struggle momentarily with his long robe as Roman removed the blade from your neck and positioned your head better.

You realized you were already thinking of these killers as your boyfriends, and you hated yourself for it. They’d managed to taint your partner and your chief, now the two most important people in your life. You weren’t sure if you’d ever be able to get past this, assuming you lived through this encounter at all. The killer impersonating Mickey touched his tip to your lips, and you flinched away on instinct, but then his left hand was gripping your chin and squeezing hard enough to force your mouth open so he could slide in. You glared ineffectually, though the killer’s head was tilted back as if in bliss.

The other killer, whom you tried hard not to think of as Roman, slid inside you so easily that it felt eerily familiar and uncomfortable all at once. You felt like your senses were betraying you completely. Your body was accepting this as though it were not just expected but welcomed. The hand on your chin moved down to your chest to grope roughly at your tits. Your hands flexed between you and the other killer, who held himself above you as he thrust inside you. Your arms were feeling painfully cramped, but it was dull compared to the pleasure in the rest of your body.

You felt the body above yours go taut, and the groan they let out let you know they had come, but it was only now that you realized they must have worn protection when you didn’t feel them spill inside you. They swapped places, except you now had a hand wrapped around your throat, making it harder to draw breath than it already was. The killer seemed to be staring down at you, and you tried to close your eyes to avoid having to look at that freakish mask. But another hand slapped you lightly, demanding you look at him while he fucked your mouth. The killer between your legs was playing with your clit with skilled fingers, and your brain was chanting Mickey’s name even though you tried to stamp that thought down. You shouldn’t be drawing these comparisons. It felt like a betrayal to them. Still, the stimulation made you shake, come, and moan around the dick in your mouth. This time you felt the killer spurt his release on your tongue, and there was nowhere else for it to go, so you swallowed as you felt Roman massage your throat to help you. Moments later, water was forced past your lips, washing away any trace left behind.

No DNA left behind would make a rape kit useless. As you spluttered, coughing up a bit of water, they moved around you again. Your hands were freed, and your arms went limp by your side, trying to soothe the ache. You weren’t sure who was leaning over you now, pressing their cold mask right up against your warm cheek. "Who will look for you when you’re the one who disappears?" The voice changed mercifully back to that indistinguishable tone. You felt a knife tip press against your side and then plunge into you. The killer sighed along with you as your pain escaped through your lips in a silent gasp. You felt the killers looking at you, though your own eyes were shut as you curled in on yourself and clutched at your bleeding wound.

You weren’t aware of anything around you; your only focus was on the pain radiating from your side. You had to get to the hospital. When you looked around, it was dark, empty, and oppressively silent. You pressed your ripped shirt to your wound and limped around to reach a phone. When the call was over, you struggled to keep your eyes open, despite the strength feeling like it was seeping out of you with every intake of breath.

You weren’t sure what you were going to do when you got called back in to work. Your injury gave you a little more time to think about it, but more time didn’t help you make up your mind. You could ask for a transfer. A desk job to keep you busy and out of the way

You sat silently, alone in the office. Your boyfriends had taken a few days off, although you tried to convince them it wasn’t necessary. You’d nearly begged them not to. They had insisted. And now you were shut away from them anyway, trying to pretend they weren’t there. There was a throb in your side, and you winced slightly. It hurt like hell, but it wasn’t meant to kill you. You could call it a miscalculated strike, but you knew better. The cut in Mickey’s hairline was explained away as an incident involving one of the microphones on set. The bandage on Roman’s arm is usually kept out of sight by the sleeves of his shirts. You didn’t ask and he didn't explain.

Your Chief's voice. Your partner's. The bulletproof vests. How they were able to sneak around so efficiently and the fact no one wanted to touch the case. Your partner was the only one you'd told about your boyfriends, which the killer had also known about. You were supposed to think it was them. And you almost had. Against every instinct you had almost convinced yourself.

You lay completely still between Mickey and Roman as they slept beside you. Roman was always very mindful of your space, but Mickey tended to latch onto whoever happened to be beside him. You were uncomfortable, but you didn’t move a muscle. Only exhaustion finally pulled your eyelids closed, plunging you into a restless sleep.

They were much gentler than they’d ever been before. Even with each other. Roman checked Mickey’s injury, and Mickey checked yours with a delicate hand. His left. And you had to force yourself not to shrink away from the touch. When you could remember, you weren’t supposed to. That shying away from their touch wasn’t normal for you. Even though you were finding it increasingly difficult to define what was normal for you anymore.

You weren’t keeping up with the case through the news. You didn’t take any calls. You didn’t ask Mickey or Roman how things were going on set, and even if they told you, you weren’t really listening. You had wanted so much to be involved, to find out more, to work on this case, and to see it through all the way to its end. You had wanted to get into the killer’s mind, and now you were there. And they were in your mind too. You wished you were as bad at your job as they thought, so maybe you wouldn’t have it all figured out and you could pretend you didn’t know what you should do about it.

Mickey popped in ‘Enemy of the State,' and you were back in the middle of the couch, all the while Mickey’s hand twisted the ends of your hair as he draped his arm around your shoulders and Roman’s hand rubbed comforting circles on your thigh. You tried to immerse yourself in the movie completely, tensing imperceptibly when Mickey parroted the scene playing.

Brill: Do they know me?

Robert Clayton Dean: Who's them?

Brill: Do they know me?!

Robert Clayton Dean : I don't know what you're talking about!

Brill : You're either very smart... or incredibly stupid.

Fin

#ghostface #scream #mickey altieri #roman bridger #ghostface x reader

[thesherrinfordfacility]

hello! first of all i really, really love your metas and it's such a joy to read them ❤️ i'd be very interested to know what you think aziraphale's smile in the elevator meant? i've been a bit baffled by it for a long time and i just cannot come to a conclusion. sorry if this has been asked before/you've already written about it!

hi anon!!!💕 that's really kind of you to say, thank you!!!

so i did indeed answer a similar ask, but it was a while ago now, so ive just reread through to see if my opinion remains the same (oftentimes it frankly varies with the wind), and im still reasonably of the mindset that his smile is aziraphale coming up with a plan/doubling down on some kind of 'im not here to go along with your plan, im here to make a difference'.

now a lot of that conclusion does hinge on my personal thought that aziraphale is aware that metatron is trying to play him, that there is an unspoken threat or intimidation going on, and that aziraphale has just gone through the FF thinking he has no choice but to go back to heaven, lest he (and crowley, potentially) be put in danger if he doesn't. imo he's entered the FF with the mindset of 'making a difference', bc if he doesn't have a choice in the matter, he might as well go and instead further his own agenda whilst he's there. but do it with crowley, because they're on the same side.

essentially, i think aziraphale is speaking throughout the whole FF in a way that doesn't tip off the metatron that he's anything other than heaven's man, and also speaking in a way that doesn't alert crowley to the situation that they'd be in if aziraphale were to refuse the promotion. the blindside is that crowley understandably refuses to come with him, kisses him as a last-ditch attempt for him to stay, and leaves when aziraphale deals the killing blow - and the metatron drops the bombshell that is the second coming.

so when he's in the lift, you visibly see him start to panic - one last look at crowley, deep breath, and into the lift, all before he starts to breath heavily through his mouth, face lax in shock, etc. but as we hit the credits, he's stiffened up, gotten himself under controlled, and schooled his face.

frankly, i find these expressions way more alarming than the ending smile itself, but i genuinely think it's aziraphale running through everything he knows in his head, attempting to sift through possible ways in which he can make his first step, whilst keeping his expression as calm and collected as possible infront of the metatron. kinda like a game of chess - white has made its opening move, and he's running through all the different responses that could set the foundation for the entire match. i see aziraphale as a very capable analytical thinker, so - for me - this tracks.

and then it all culminates in one final moment:

his head tips back, his eyes actually move and flit around (as if he's had a eureka moment), and the tightness in his face - particularly around his eyes - relaxes. now, i don't necessarily think aziraphale suddenly has it all worked out, not at all, but whether it's him working out at least the first move he can make, or him simply steeling himself after a thorough pep-talk that he's going to see this farce through, either way - i see it as a dangerous smile. crowley told him in ep2 that he's an angel that goes along with heaven as far as he can, and aziraphale kinda knocked on the door of that at the end of s1 - enough to want nothing to do with them as we enter s2 - but i think this moment, and everything that just happened, just might be his actual tipping point.

#good omens #ask #feral domestic/final fifteen meta #aziraphale meta

[sweetbuckybarnes]

The Era Tour: 06. Act IV: reputation

Pairings: Colin Bridgerton + Penelope Featherington, Anthony + Kate Bridgerton

Polin Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Colin watched as Penelope's favourite artist disappeared from the stage. He didn't know what 'era' was coming next - just watched Penelope from the row above. He watched as she swapped places with Gregory - meaning she was standing next to two fellow Swifties. He was pretty sure that is what Penelope calls herself.

The sound of heels on the floor as well as the hissing of a snake nearly made the entire stadium erupt in screams.

Gregory must have said something to Pen because she leaned over. "Watch the entire stadium go absolutely feral!"

And feral did they go!

Colin could only watch in shock over Penelope as she pulled out body rolls and some kind of sideways hip thrust (somewhat similar to the moves Taylor Swift is producing).

"Knew he was a killer the first time that I saw him, wonder how many girls he had loved and left haunted. But if he's a ghost, then I can be a phantom, holdin' him for ransom," the opening lyrics weren't as eye-opening as the pre-chorus and chorus were for dear Colin.

"I-I-I see how this is gon' go. Touch me and you'll never be alone, I-Island breeze and lights down low, no one has to know. In the middle of the night, in my dreams. You should see the things we do, baby (mmm). In the middle of the night, in my dreams, I know I'm gonna be with you. So I'll take my time, are you ready for it?"

It made Colin look at Penelope with a mix of awe, shock and even wonder. He shouldn't be pinning after his little sister's best friend like he is. But sometimes the heart wants what it wants.

Colin had heard rumours of chants at the concert. Turns out, this was one of them.

"This ain't for the best. My reputation's never been worse, so. You must like me for me. We can't make any promises, now can we, babe? But you can make me a drink!"

Which was quickly followed by "1, 2, 3! Let's go, bitch!"

The second chorus made Colin wonder who Penelope had been seeing, may possibly be seeing. She hasn't said anything to him, the often shared stories. If Penelope hadn't told me, Eloise would have (he remembered when Eloise had bragged about Penelope's date to their secondary school prom).

"Third floor on the West Side, me and you. Handsome, you're a mansion with a view. Do the girls back home touch you like I do?" Was sung, which made Penelope look over at the two other Swifties, and shook her head - then giggled when she realised that Taylor Swift was doing the exact same thing. "Long night with your hands up in my hair," Penelope ran her fingers through her hair. "Echoes of your footsteps on the stairs. Stay here, honey, I don't want to share. 'Cause I like you."

It was going to bug Colin, who the hell Penelope was seeing. Whoever it was, didn't deserve her. What if you're good enough for Penelope? A voice said in the back of Colin's brain.

Did he? Could he dem himself 'good enough' for Penelope?

The next song to play was Don't Blame Me, which as Colin listened to it - sounded very gospel-like. Colin watched as Penelope sang along at the top of her lungs, so much so because he was so close, he could only just hear her over the sound of the speakers.

"I've been breakin' hearts a long time, and, toyin' with them older guys. Just playthings for me to use. Something happened for the first time, in the darkest little paradise, shakin', pacin', I just need you," Colin couldn't believe the dance moves Penelope was pulling out, he looked over at Kate (who wasn't paying attention to Penelope), then he looked over at Eloise and his mother (neither were paying attention to Penelope either). "For you, I would cross the line. I would waste my time, I would lose my mind. They say she's gone too far this time."

Then the song hit its pinnacle. Heavily leaning into the gospel sound. "Oh, Lord, save me, my drug is my baby. I'll be using for the rest of my life," Taylor Swift's backup singers sang, as she looked down the stage and into the camera.

"Using for the rest of my life, oh!" She hit a very high note, then sang the higher notes as both the backing track and her backup singers sang the main track.

"Don't blame me. Don't blame me. Don't blame me for what you made me do," the third sentence made the fans in the stadium freak out. "Don't blame me. Don't blame me. Don't blame me for what. You. Made. Me. Do!"

The gospel sound of Don't Blame Me changed into the dark fantasy sound of Look What You Made Me Do.

"I don't like your little games, don't like your tilted stage. The role you made me play of the fool, no, I don't like you," Colin had watched as Penelope and the two Swifties exchanged bracelets much like she did with the little girl in front of her. "I don't like your perfect crime, how you laugh when you lie. You said the gun was mine, isn't cool, no, I don't like you. Oh!"

"But I got smarter, I got harder in the nick of time. Honey, I rose up from the dead, I do it all the time. I got a list of names, and yours is in red, underlined. I check it once, then I check it twice, oh!"

She walked down the stage very quickly, during the bridge. "I'm sorry. But the old Taylor can't come to the phone right now. Why? Oh, 'cause she's dead!" She jumped and landed on her shins then her knees

"Look what you made me do. Look what you just made me do. Look what you just made me do."

As soon as she disappeared into the stage, the reputation era was over.

#polin #polin fic #colin x pen #pen x colin #penelope x colin #colin x penelope #colin bridgerton #penelope bridgerton #gregory bridgerton #eloise bridgerton #kate bridgerton #violet bridgerton #taylor swift #reputation #...ready for it? #delicate #don't blame me #look what you made me do #Spotify

[yasminewestbank]

all movie asks answers from the ask meme post bc it was fun

Your favorite movie released this year DIDNT WATCH ANY 2023 MOVIES YET.. CRIES

A movie you think is underrated - obliged to say An Elephant Sitting Still by hu bo bc i can never find it in dvd stores and i unfortunately honestly dont know if i will find a screening of it in a cinema available to me ever again but i dream of it

A movie you think is overrated - going to put two, one new and one classic. first one is parasite. im bitter abt this movie bc it was advertised like crazy and the reviews were so hyping and then i went and it was average. its not a bad movie but not only doesnt deserve the hype the hype ruined it for me bc if i went with the proper expectations i wouldnt have gotten so disappointed. a classic is alphaville of godard... obviously its a good movie and im sure it was groundbreaking at the time but by now the story doesnt feel as sophisticated bc this genre of story is at this point.. i wouldnt say overdone bc its still a great genre but its not fresh or suprising by now without making it more complex. this movie felt like a blueprint to the 1984 book soviet dystopia genre so it didnt keep up with the times. many classic movies are still exciting and fresh just like when they came out including other movies of godard but this isn't one of them. but i can also see how it was probably one of godard's top commercial movies, bc it was easier to digest and more basic than his other work

A movie you like but wouldn't recommend - stalker of tarkovsky and tarkovsky movies in general bc i think it would probs be boring to most ppl (its slow and not much plot) + tarkovsky movies r slow and the kind of movies u have to watch in the movie theater

A movie musical you like - annette of leox carax. and its not only a good movie the music is so good too

A horror movie you like - audition by takashi miike . love japanese violence

A sci-fi movie you like - high life by claire denis. AND it has robert pattinson in it!!!!!!!111 and hes amazing!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

A fantasy movie you like

A movie in your native language you like - Life According to Agfa by Assi Dayan. one of the only good israeli movies that exist bc i didnt see so far any good, worthwhile or complex israeli movie besides this one (not including documentaries).

A foreign-language movie you like - (i put a bunch already so ill do one in a language i didnt put yet) tori and lokita by the dardenne brothers. takes place in belgium in french about a young refugee woman and a refugee child from africa who pose as brother and sister. this is going to destroy you but its such a good movie i cant recommend it enough but i still cant recover

A movie you wish you could un-watch - the disney secretariat movie. it was so bad oh my god it was so fucking bad im in pain. i want disney to give me back the braincells i lost. this actor horse deserves so much better

A performance you think is underrated - Vicenç Altaió (yeah had to google this one) in story of my death by albert serra. his acting was insane. probably one of the best acting perfomances ive ever seen, specifically the toilet scene stuck with me. so it's a period movie about casanova. there a scene in the movie that all of it is just him taking a shit. and of course it sounds goofy but it was actually a really human and sensitive depiction and his acting was so natural i completely forgot i was watching a movie. he really made this scene what it is. and tbh i think even from those other photos u can see what i mean on him

A performance you think is overrated

A movie made better by the ending - only thing that comes up in my mind is barton fink of joel coen.. i can barely remember this movie bc i watched it years ago but (spoilers) i can just remember there was a twist in the middle that flipped the whole movie on its head and it was super enjoyable. besides this i cant think of anything

A movie ruined by the ending - the holy mountain of jodorowsky... at the time i watched it i was so disappointed by the ending it was so anticlimactic. i think he thought he did something but it just didnt work. (might be spoilers) same vibes when a story pulls "and then he found out it was all a dream". like.. in this case it just didnt feel fitting it was disappointing. but i watched it years ago so i wonder if i would feel the same now

A trilogy/franchise you like cant think of anything

A movie you never get tired of talking about - drive my car by ryusuke hamaguchi. its fun to talk abt this movie bc even tho there are a lot of themes and details that make it what it is, its not too complex to not be able to grasp and pinpoint them. so its complex enough to be a good movie but not too complex to not be able to talk abt it, both abt the good and bad things (bc there r also choices the director made that i dont like). and there's also so much to talk abt that stems from this movie not only in the movie itself but also what it shows abt japanese cinema, contemporary japanese cinema/this generation of japanese directors versus the previous generations. also i love this director in general i recc all his movies

A movie you never wanna hear about again - if i hear one more thing abt any marvel movie im going to kill myself

A movie you look forward to watching (could be an upcoming release or not) - aki karutismaki's fallen leaves that came out this year

A movie you think looks beautiful - red desert of antonioni. i adore the aesthetic of this movie. tbh its probably my favorite movie visuals wise. i just cant stop adding photos from google bc i love everything slkfdsflsfgds

A director you think is underrated - tbh hard to think of anyone.. i think any director i like got some kind of recognition, and if i think ok which one doesnt get mainstream recognition it would be basically most of them. so im trying to think.. who do i rlly think doesnt get recognition. maybe the crown should go to the photographer petra collins who actually directed the first season of euphoria before sam levinson kicked her out and claimed he did it and stole all her work

A director you think is overrated - HITCHCOCK!!!!!!! HES NOT THAT GOOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! HES TRULY NOT THAT GOOD!!!!!!!!!!! I COULD PULL UP 10 DIRECTORS FROM HIS TIME AND BEFORE HIM THAT ARE SO MUCH BETTER THAN HE IS THAT ARENT AS HYPED UP. godard and kurosawa made movies so much better and decades before him so the reason hes hyped cant even be that what he made was groundbreaking for the time. hitchcock is MID

An animated movie you like - the cowboy bebop movie... its so fun and satisfying to watch i watched it so many times dsfdf

A silent movie you like cant think of anything

Your favorite movie - possession by andrej zulawski. im speechless abt it. dont read a summery go into this blind. its such an insane experience (sin look my fav movie is a polish movie)

Your least favorite movie i dont rlly have one i have a whole bunch of movies i dont like but i dont have THE hated movie

[istumpysk]

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

AFFC: Alayne II (Sansa III) [Chapter 41]

My little sweet tea! ❤️

I'm a Sansa fan, and even I find the length of this chapter alarming.

She turned the iron ring and pushed the door open, just a crack. "Sweetrobin?" she called. "May I enter?"

"Have a care, m'lady," warned old Gretchel, wringing her hands. "His lordship threw his chamber pot at the maester."

"Then he has none to throw at me. Isn't there some work you should be doing? And you, Maddy . . . are all the windows closed and shuttered? Have all the furnishings been covered?"

"All of them, m'lady," said Maddy.

"Best make certain of it."

Have you forgotten this is a 13-year-old kid?

Because the author would like you to.

+.+.+

"I heard my Sweetrobin was ailing." After his encounter with the chamber pot the maester had come running to Ser Lothor, and Brune had come to her.

His mother?

+.+.+

"No," he said, "but I'm not going. I want to stay in bed. You could read to me about the Winged Knight."

The Winged Knight was Ser Artys Arryn. Legend said that he had driven the First Men from the Vale and flown to the top of the Giant's Lance on a huge falcon to slay the Griffin King. There were a hundred tales of his adventures.

Dragonrider imagery featuring a dead Griffin King.

+.+.+

Alayne slipped into the darkened bedchamber. "It's only me, Sweetrobin."

Someone sniffled in the darkness. "Are you alone?"

x

"It is too dark in here for reading." The heavy curtains drawn across the windows made the bedchamber black as night. 

x

"Might I let some sun in?" "No. The light hurts my eyes. Come to bed, Alayne." "I shan't open them very wide. Only enough to see my Sweetrobin's face."

He sniffled. "If you must."

x

"I don't love her. She's just the mule girl." Robert sniffled. 

x

"I could do it," Lord Robert said, "but I don't choose to." He swiped at his runny nose with the back of his hand. 

Take note, they're in a dark bedchamber, and Robert keeps sniffling.

Robert Arryn has never sniffled in any Sansa chapter until now.

+.+.+

She sat on the bed and smoothed his long, fine hair. He does have pretty hair.

Sansa's got a kink.

Tenderly she reached out and brushed back his soft blond hair. - Sansa I, AGOT

+.+.+

Before she could summon the servants, however, Sweetrobin threw his skinny arms around her and kissed her. It was a little boy's kiss, and clumsy. Everything Robert Arryn did was clumsy. If I close my eyes I can pretend he is the Knight of Flowers. Ser Loras had given Sansa Stark a red rose once, but he had never kissed her . . . and no Tyrell would ever kiss Alayne Stone. Pretty as she was, she had been born on the wrong side of the blanket.

Sounds like we need another bastard.

For those keeping score, here's the people and things Sansa has been forced to kiss:

Ser Dontos.

Give your Florian a little kiss now. A kiss for luck. - Sansa IV, ACOK

Joffrey's sword.

"Bless my steel with a kiss." He extended the blade down to her. "Go on, kiss it." - Sansa V, ACOK

Sandor Clegane. (In her head. The reality of the situation was far worse.)

He kissed me and threatened to kill me, and made me sing him a song. - Sansa II, ASOS

Tyrion Lannister.

"With this kiss I pledge my love," the dwarf replied hoarsely, "and take you for my lady and wife." He leaned forward, and their lips touched briefly. - Sansa III, ASOS

Littlefinger.

Sansa tried to step back, but he pulled her into his arms and suddenly he was kissing her. - Sansa VII, ASOS

And Robert Arryn.

If you don't think this ongoing nightmare will be set right, I don't know what to tell you.

+.+.+

As the boy's lips touched her own she found herself thinking of another kiss. She could still remember how it felt, when his cruel mouth pressed down on her own. He had come to Sansa in the darkness as green fire filled the sky. He took a song and a kiss, and left me nothing but a bloody cloak.

It made no matter. That day was done, and so was Sansa.

That's not what he came for, but I'll let you cope.

+.+.+

Maddy and Gretchel might listen all they wished, but they would hear nothing. That was just as well. Gretchel could hold her tongue, but Maddy gossiped shamelessly.

x

Robert's squires had turned up as well. Terrance and Gyles could always sniff out trouble.

Lady Alayne knows her staff well.

+.+.+

"Lord Robert is feeling stronger," Alayne told the serving women. "Fetch hot water for his bath, but see you don't scald him. And do not pull on his hair when you brush out the tangles, he hates that." One of the squires sniggered, until she said, "Terrance, lay out his lordship's riding clothes and his warmest cloak. Gyles, you may clean up that broken chamber pot."

Yes, Your Grace.

+.+.+

"His fingers trembled a little bit when I held his hand, that's all. He says you put something vile in his milk."

"Vile?" Colemon blinked at her, and the apple in his throat moved up and down. "I merely . . . is he bleeding from the nose?"

"No."

"Good. That is good."

[...]

Alayne understood all that well enough, but it meant that the burden of getting Sweetrobin safely down the mountain fell on her. "Give his lordship a cup of sweetmilk," she told the maester. "That will stop him from shaking on the journey down."

"He had a cup not three days past," Colemon objected.

"And wanted another last night, which you refused him."

"It was too soon. My lady, you do not understand. As I've told the Lord Protector, a pinch of sweetsleep will prevent the shaking, but it does not leave the flesh, and in time . . ."

"Time will not matter if his lordship has a shaking fit and falls off the mountain. If my father were here, I know he would tell you to keep Lord Robert calm at all costs."

"I try, my lady, yet his fits grow ever more violent, and his blood is so thin I dare not leech him any more. Sweetsleep . . . you are certain he was not bleeding from the nose?"

"He was sniffling," Alayne admitted, "but I saw no blood."

My gut tells me that boy was in fact bleeding from the nose, and this maester is a dimwit for not checking on that himself.

It could not be more clear that Sansa has no clue how dangerous sweetsleep is, and this bumbling fool is doing a horrific job at making her understand.

+.+.+

They dare not let the full extent of Robert's frailty and cowardice become too widely known, her father had warned her.

In her mind she's protecting Robin.

+.+.+

Petyr Baelish was clear across the Vale, though, attending Lord Lyonel Corbray at his wedding. A widower of forty-odd years, and childless, Lord Lyonel was to wed the strapping sixteen-year-old daughter of a rich Gulltown merchant. Petyr had brokered the match himself. The bride's dower was said to be staggering; it had to be, since she was of common birth. Corbray's vassals would be there, with the Lords Waxley, Grafton, Lynderly, some petty lords and landed knights . . . and Lord Belmore, who had lately reconciled with her father. The other Lords Declarant were expected to shun the nuptials, so Petyr's presence was essential.

There's the first one. 1/6.

"Redfort and Waynwood are old. One or both of them may die. Gilwood Hunter will be murdered by his brothers. Most likely by young Harlan, who arranged Lord Eon's death. In for a penny, in for a stag, I always say. Belmore is corrupt and can be bought. Templeton I shall befriend. Bronze Yohn Royce will continue to be hostile, I fear, but so long as he stands alone he is not so much a threat." - Alayne I, AFFC

Too bad you pissed off Lyn Cobray in the process.

+.+.+

"Music soothes him," she corrected, "the high harp especially. It's singing he can't abide, since Marillion killed his mother." Alayne had told the lie so many times that she remembered it that way more oft than not; the other seemed no more than a bad dream that sometimes troubled her sleep.

Kind of like lying to yourself about the night you were almost raped and killed.

+.+.+

What would she do when the music began to play? It was a vexing question, to which her heart and head gave different answers. Sansa loved to dance, but Alayne . . .

The dancing girl will always follow her heart.

+.+.+

"Just give him a cup of the sweetmilk before we go, and another at the feast, and there should be no trouble."

"Very well." They paused at the foot of the stairs. "But this must be the last. For half a year, or longer."

For the record, he did have a cup of sweetmilk before they left, and will have more at the feast.

Please, she prayed, don't let him start to twitch and shake. Not here. Not now. Maester Coleman would have made certain that he drank a strong dose of sweetmilk before the feast, but even so. - Alayne I, TWOW

I have to admit, sometimes I question whether I'm denying the obvious when it comes to Robert Arryn.

+.+.+

Old snow cloaked the courtyard, and icicles hung down like crystal spears from the terraces and towers. The Eyrie was built of fine white stone, and winter's mantle made it whiter still. So beautiful, Alayne thought, so impregnable. 

Would you call it an enchantment?

+.+.+

She could not love this place, no matter how she tried. 

Don't think for one second they're going to let this interfere with their Lady of the Vale meta.

+.+.+

No one sang up there, not since Marillion. No one ever laughed too loud. Even the gods were silent. The Eyrie boasted a sept, but no septon; a godswood, but no heart tree. No prayers are answered here, she often thought, though some days she felt so lonely she had to try. Only the wind answered her, sighing endlessly around the seven slim white towers and rattling the Moon Door every time it gusted.

BRAN?!

+.+.+

Her father said there was no shame in being afraid, only in showing your fear. "All men live with fear," he said. Alayne was not certain she believed that. Nothing frightened Petyr Baelish. He only said that to make me brave.

There's nothing wrong with showing your fear.

Way to go, Ned. All you had to do was take a second and have this conversation with her before Baelish could.

+.+.+

"Don't be so certain, m'lady. She's half mule herself, that one. I think she'd leave us all to starve before she'd put those animals at risk." He smiled when he said it. He always smiles when he speaks of Mya Stone. Mya was much younger than Ser Lothor, but when her father had been brokering the marriage between Lord Corbray and his merchant's daughter, he'd told her that young girls were always happiest with older men. "Innocence and experience make for a perfect marriage," he had said.

Holy god, why do people believe Littlefinger actually plans to wed Sansa to Harry? Why.

Petyr Baelish had offered to wed the girl himself, she recalled, but of course that was impossible; he was much too lowborn. - Cersei II, ADWD

hello? HELLO??

+.+.+

Alayne wondered what Mya made of Ser Lothor. With his squashed nose, square jaw, and nap of woolly grey hair, Brune could not be called comely, but he was not ugly either. It is a common face but an honest one. Though he had risen to knighthood, Ser Lothor's birth had been very low. One night he had told her that he was kin to the Brunes of Brownhollow, an old knightly family from Crackclaw Point. "I went to them when my father died," he confessed, "but they shat on me, and said I was no blood of theirs." He would not speak of what happened after that, except to say that he had learned all he knew of arms the hard way. Sober, he was a quiet man, but a strong one. And Petyr says he's loyal. He trusts him as much as he trusts anyone. 

A bit more background on the Brunes and Cracklaw Point.

Lothor has an honest face, is quiet, strong, and loyal. If Sansa's saying it, trust it.

+.+.+

"M'lady," Ser Lothor said, "you'd best know. Mya didn't come up alone. Lady Myranda's with her."

"Oh." Why would she ride all the way up the mountain, just to ride back down again?

I think we downplay how completely insane it is that Myranda travelled all the way up this mountain only so she could ride down with Alayne.

+.+.+

"Soon or late you must meet Myranda Royce," Petyr had warned her. "When you do, be careful. She likes to play the merry fool, but underneath she's shrewder than her father. Guard your tongue around her."

I will, she thought, but I did not know I'd need to start so soon. "Robert will be pleased." He liked Myranda Royce.

Mya and Myranda are like sisters.

Littlefinger is cautious around Myranda.

Sweetrobin likes Myranda.

Everything we learn about Myranda is positive.

+.+.+

There was a scarf as well, and a pair of leather gloves lined with fur to match her riding boots. When she'd donned it all, she felt as fat and furry as a bear cub.

The snowy bear cub will be riding a mule through the harsh elements.

Eat your heart out, pantry.

+.+.+

She took one last look at her room before she left. I was safe here, she thought, but down below . .

Sansa always knows.

+.+.+

"He needs to make some haste. It's getting colder, can't you feel it? We need to get below Snow before the sun goes down."

Do you have any idea how funny this sentence is?

+.+.+

"My lord," said Mya, "will you ride down with me?"

Too brusque, Alayne thought. She should have greeted him with a smile, told him how strong and brave he looks.

You ever notice Sansa's strengths are Jon's weaknesses?

+.+.+

The sky cells on the lower levels made the castle look something like a honeycomb from below. A honeycomb made of ice, Alayne thought, a castle made of snow. 

That's a misdirection.

And later I dreamt that maid again, slaying a savage giant in a castle built of snow. - Arya VIII, AFFC

He doesn't die in the Eyrie. They can't go up the mountain during winter.

+.+.+

She [Myranda Royce] got to her feet and brushed the snow from her skirts. "And you must be the Lord Protector's daughter," she added, as the bucket went rattling back up to the Eyrie. "I had heard that you were beautiful. I see that it is true."

Alayne curtsied. "My lady is kind to say so."

"Kind?" The older girl gave a laugh. "How boring that would be. I aspire to be wicked. You must tell me all your secrets on the ride down. May I call you Alayne?"

What else would you call her?

Sansa using 'my lady' is not a tell, but it will quickly become one.

+.+.+

"If you wish, my lady." But you'll get no secrets from me.

Unreliable narrator Sansa Stark.

You're in way over your head, kid.

+.+.+

"I am 'my lady' at the Gates, but up here on the mountain you may call me Randa. How many years have you, Alayne?"

"Four-and-ten, my lady." She had decided that Alayne Stone should be older than Sansa Stark.

You can remove the girl from high nobility, but you can't remove the high nobility from the girl.

She had decided that Alayne Stone should be older than Sansa Stark.

aka the author is doing everything he can.

+.+.+

"Randa. It seems a hundred years since I was four-and-ten. How innocent I was. Are you still innocent, Alayne?"

She blushed. "You should not . . . yes, of course."

It's not every day you see a bastard correct a highborn girl.

+.+.+

Up here where the slope was steepest, the steps wound back and forth rather than plunging straight down. Sansa Stark went up the mountain, but Alayne Stone is coming down. It was a strange thought.

No real comment, but how could I leave it out?

+.+.+

I could close my eyes. The mule knows the way, he has no need of me. But that seemed more something Sansa would have done, that frightened girl. Alayne was an older woman, and bastard brave.

Sansa associates bastards with bravery.

When you're old enough, I will make you a match with a high lord who's worthy of you, someone brave and gentle and strong. - Sansa III, AGOT

We're 33% of the way there!

+.+.+

"We have had a letter from your father," she said, as casually as if they were sitting with their septa, doing needlework. "He is on his way home, he says, and hopes to see his darling daughter soon. He writes that Lyonel Corbray seems well pleased with his bride, and even more so with her dowry. I do hope Lord Lyonel remembers which one he needs to bed. Lady Waynwood turned up with the Knight of Ninestars for the wedding feast, Lord Petyr says, to everyone's astonishment."

"Anya Waynwood? Truly?" The Lords Declarant were down from six to three, it would seem. The day he'd departed the mountain, Petyr Baelish had been confident of winning Symond Templeton to his side, but not so Lady Waynwood.

She said it before I could. 3/6.

"Redfort and Waynwood are old. One or both of them may die. Gilwood Hunter will be murdered by his brothers. Most likely by young Harlan, who arranged Lord Eon's death. In for a penny, in for a stag, I always say. Belmore is corrupt and can be bought. Templeton I shall befriend. Bronze Yohn Royce will continue to be hostile, I fear, but so long as he stands alone he is not so much a threat." - Alayne I, AFFC

Too bad you pissed off Lyn Cobray in the process.

+.+.+

"Not from your father, no, but we've had other birds. The war goes on, everywhere but here. Riverrun has yielded, but Dragonstone and Storm's End still hold for Lord Stannis."

"Lady Lysa was so wise, to keep us out of it."

Myranda gave her a shrewd little smile. "Yes, she was the very soul of wisdom, that good lady."

Timeline check. Sansa's slightly ahead of Jaime.

+.+.+

There's a new High Septon, did you know? Oh, and the Night's Watch has a boy commander, some bastard son of Eddard Stark's."

"Jon Snow?" she blurted out, surprised.

Alayne, did you know you spent your entire childhood with the Faith, studying to become a septa? And did you know you have no idea who Eddard Stark's bastard is?

+.+.+

She had not thought of Jon in ages. He was only her half brother, but still . . . with Robb and Bran and Rickon dead, Jon Snow was the only brother that remained to her. I am a bastard too now, just like him. Oh, it would be so sweet, to see him once again. 

+.+.+

But of course that could never be. Alayne Stone had no brothers, baseborn or otherwise.

I believe you, author.

+.+.+

"Our cousin Bronze Yohn had himself a mêlée at Runestone," Myranda Royce went on, oblivious, "a small one, just for squires. It was meant for Harry the Heir to win the honors, and so he did."

"Harry the Heir?"

"Lady Waynwood's ward. Harrold Hardyng. I suppose we must call him Ser Harry now. Bronze Yohn knighted him."

Bronze Yohn was scheming.

+.+.+

"Oh, yes. He died on top of me. In me, if truth be told. You do know what goes on in a marriage bed, I hope?"

She thought of Tyrion, and of the Hound and how he'd kissed her, and gave a nod. "That must have been dreadful, my lady. Him dying. There, I mean, whilst . . . whilst he was . . ."

". . . fucking me?"

Lol, I love Myranda. She better not disappoint me.

+.+.+

"As you say, my lady." Alayne remembered Petyr's warning.

"Randa. Come now, you can say it. Ran. Da."

You're doing amazing, sweetie.

+.+.+

"Much better. I fear I must apologize to you. You will think me a dreadful slut, I know, but I bedded that pretty boy Marillion. I did not know he was a monster. He sang beautifully, and could do the sweetest things with his fingers. I would never have taken him to bed if I had known he was going to push Lady Lysa through the Moon Door. I do not bed monsters, as a rule." 

That right there might be a problem. When did that happen?

Remember who accompanied Catelyn Stark to the Vale? Remember who met Littlefinger's daughter when she still had red hair?

Stumpy remembers.

+.+.+

She studied Alayne's face and chest. "You are prettier than me, but my breasts are larger. The maesters say large breasts produce no more milk than small ones, but I do not believe it. Have you ever known a wet nurse with small teats? Yours are ample for a girl your age, but as they are bastard breasts, I shan't concern myself with them." 

Here's another reminder that Sansa is 13 and the young woman eyeing her up and down like a rival is 20.

+.+.+

Mychel Redfort was the one. He used to be Lyn Corbray's squire. A real squire, not like that loutish lad Ser Lyn's got squiring for him now. He only took that one on for coin, they say. 

We're still not sure who this loutish squire is.

Alayne's giggle drew Corbray's attention. He handed his shield to his loutish squire, removed his helm and quilted coif. - Alayne I, TWOW

+.+.+

"Do you think Ser Lothor likes her as she is, in mail and leather?" she asked the older girl, who seemed so worldly-wise. "Or does he dream of her draped in silks and velvets?"

"He's a man. He dreams of her naked."

Lol.

+.+.+

"Does your father plan to wed again?"

"My father?" Alayne had never considered that. Somehow the notion made her squirm. 

Why, because you have a sixth sense and deep down you know he plans to wed you?

+.+.+

He needs a pretty young wife to wash away his grief. I imagine he could have his pick of half the noble maidens in the Vale. Who could be a better husband than our own bold Lord Protector? 

Hold this.

+.+.+

Though I do wish he had a better name than Littlefinger. How little is it, do you know?"

"His finger?" She blushed again. "I don't . . . I never . . ."

Totally normal thing you might ask his daughter.

+.+.+

"It's best to lead the mules across," Mya said. "If it please my lord, I'll take mine over first, then come back for yours." Lord Robert did not answer. He was staring at the narrow saddle with his reddened eyes. "I shan't be long, my lord," Mya promised, but Alayne doubted that the boy could even hear her.

When the bastard girl led her mule out from beneath the shelter of the spire, the wind caught her in its teeth. Her cloak lifted, twisting and flapping in the air. Mya staggered, and for half a heartbeat it seemed as if she would be blown over the precipice, but somehow she regained her balance and went on.

Alayne took Robert's gloved hand in her own to stop his shaking. "Sweetrobin," she said, "I'm scared. Hold my hand, and help me get across. I know you're not afraid."

He looked at her, his pupils small dark pinpricks in eyes as big and white as eggs. "I'm not?"

"Not you. You're my winged knight, Ser Sweetrobin."

"The Winged Knight could fly," Robert whispered.

"Higher than the mountains." She gave his hand a squeeze.

Lady Myranda had joined them by the spire. "He could," she echoed, when she saw what was happening.

"Ser Sweetrobin," Lord Robert said, and Alayne knew that she dare not wait for Mya to return. She helped the boy dismount, and hand in hand they walked out onto the bare stone saddle, their cloaks snapping and flapping behind them. All around was empty air and sky, the ground falling away sharply to either side. 

[...]

And then they were on the other side, and Mya Stone was laughing and lifting Robert for a hug.

Look at our girl! Catelyn is made of steel, and this nearly broke her.

"Lady Stark," Mya called across the gulf. The girl sounded a thousand leagues away. "Are you well?"

Catelyn Tully Stark swallowed what remained of her pride. "I … I cannot do this, child," she called out. - Catelyn VI, AGOT

Sorry, I kind of have to point out Sansa has natural maternal instincts, and the author keeps highlighting that through her interactions with Robert.

+.+.+

There was ice underfoot, and broken stones just waiting to turn an ankle, and the wind was howling fiercely. It sounds like a wolf, thought Sansa. A ghost wolf, big as mountains.

+.+.+

"So you're brave as well as beautiful," Myranda said to her.

"No."

Yes.

+.+.+

"I remember a man throwing me in the air when I was very little. He stands as tall as the sky, and he throws me up so high it feels as though I'm flying. We're both laughing, laughing so much that I can hardly catch a breath, and finally I laugh so hard I wet myself, but that only makes him laugh the louder. I was never afraid when he was throwing me. I knew that he would always be there to catch me." She pushed her hair back. "Then one day he wasn't. Men come and go. They lie, or die, or leave you. A mountain is not a man, though, and a stone is a mountain's daughter. I trust my father, and I trust my mules. I won't fall." She put her hand on a jagged spur of rock, and got to her feet. "Best finish. We have a long way yet to go, and I can smell a storm."

He'll come back, Sansa.

There was nothing below but yawning blackness, nothing above but moon and stars. "The mountain is your mother," Stonesnake had told him during an easier climb a few days past. "Cling to her, press your face up against her teats, and she won't drop you." - Jon VI, ACOK

+.+.+

"We have apartments prepared for all of you," she told Alayne, "but if you like you may share my bed tonight. It's large enough for four."

"I should be honored, my lady."

"Randa.

Jesus, she's more formal than the queen during a court session.

+.+.+

Count yourself fortunate that I'm so tired. All I want to do is curl up and go to sleep. Usually when ladies share my bed they have to pay a pillow tax and tell me all about the wicked things they've done."

"What if they haven't done any wicked things?"

"Why, then they must confess all the wicked things they want to do. Not you, of course. I can see how virtuous you are just by looking at those rosy cheeks and big blue eyes of yours."

Any talk of how innocent and virtuous Sansa is will always elicit a giggle from me.

+.+.+

They all rose when she entered, and Petyr smiled warmly. "Alayne. Come, give your father a kiss."

She hugged him dutifully and kissed him on the cheek. 

I will drill through your urethra.

+.+.+

"You are never an intrusion, sweetling. I was just now telling these good knights what a dutiful daughter I had."

"Dutiful and beautiful," said an elegant young knight whose thick blond mane cascaded down well past his shoulders.

I smashed my head against the cement, and figured out this is actually Sandor Clegane.

+.+.+

"You left out that part, m'lord." "I would do the same if she were my daughter," said the last knight, a short, wiry man with a wry smile, pointed nose, and bristly orange hair. "Particularly around louts like us."

Alayne laughed. "Are you louts?" she said, teasing. "Why, I took the three of you for gallant knights."

"Knights they are," said Petyr. "Their gallantry has yet to be demonstrated, but we may hope. Allow me to present Ser Byron, Ser Morgarth, and Ser Shadrich. Sers, the Lady Alayne, my natural and very clever daughter . . . with whom I must needs confer, if you will be so good as to excuse us."

Uh oh!

For those keeping track, the following people know Alayne is Sansa:

Petyr Baelish

Oswell Kettleblack

Lothor Brune

Ser Shadrich the Mad Mouse

Myranda Royce (probably)

Yohn Royce (undetermined)

That's too many.

Personally, I don't think you introduce Ser Shadrich, and put him in the Vale, if you don't intend to use him in the story. So, yeah.

This is also a nice reminder that Littlefinger is capable of making big mistakes.

+.+.+

"I did not expect you back so soon," she said. "I am glad you've come."

"I would never have known it from the kiss you gave me." He pulled her closer, caught her face between his hands, and kissed her on the lips for a long time. "Now that's the sort of kiss that says welcome home. See that you do better next time."

I will peel your foreskin.

+.+.+

"You would not believe half of what is happening in King's Landing, sweetling. Cersei stumbles from one idiocy to the next, helped along by her council of the deaf, the dim, and the blind. I always anticipated that she would beggar the realm and destroy herself, but I never expected she would do it quite so fast. It is quite vexing. I had hoped to have four or five quiet years to plant some seeds and allow some fruits to ripen, but now . . . it is a good thing that I thrive on chaos. 

Is it still called breaking the fourth wall when it's a book?

+.+.+

The Merling King's returned to Gulltown, and old Oswell had some tales to tell."

[...]

What little peace and order the five kings left us will not long survive the three queens, I fear.

"Three queens?" She did not understand.

Nor did Petyr choose to explain. 

The peace will not survive the three queens. You shouldn't want this to be about Sansa.

It's Cersei, Margaery, and Daenerys. The Merling King returned from Braavos, he knows about Daenerys.

+.+.+

"I have brought my sweet girl back a gift."

Alayne was as pleased as she was surprised. "Is it a gown?" She had heard there were fine seamstresses in Gulltown, and she was so tired of dressing drably.

Gulltown. Gulltown. Gulltown.

+.+.+

Petyr Baelish took her by the hand and drew her down onto his lap. "I have made a marriage contract for you."

I will decorate my Christmas tree with your intestines.

+.+.+

"I am married," she whispered. "You know."

Petyr put a finger to her lips to silence her. 

I will make you nurse a badger.

+.+.+

"Lady Waynwood?" Alayne could hardly believe it. "Why would she marry one of her sons to . . . to a . . ."

". . . bastard? For a start, you are the Lord Protector's bastard, never forget. The Waynwoods are very old and very proud, but not as rich as one might think, as I discovered when I began buying up their debt. Not that Lady Anya would ever sell a son for gold. A ward, however . . . young Harry's only a cousin, and the dower that I offered her ladyship was even larger than the one that Lyonel Corbray just collected. 

I'm confident he's somehow screwing over Anya Waynwood and Lyonel Corbray on these deals.

You know who else doesn't pay debts? Littlefinger.

+.+.+

It had to be, for her to risk Bronze Yohn's wroth. This will put all his plans awry. 

It appears Littlefinger was aware of Bronze Yohn's plans. Can I be told?

+.+.+

"He was just knighted. And he has a bastard daughter by some common girl."

"And another on the way by a different wench. Harry can be a beguiling one, no doubt. Soft sandy hair, deep blue eyes, and dimples when he smiles. And very gallant, I am told."

I know, maybe Littlefinger has a cuckolding fetish, and can't wait to have his favourite play thing mounted by a younger, better looking guy? Most men are like that, right?

I mean sure, he was super territorial with Catelyn, and almost died fighting her betrothed, but he could change? Right?

+.+.+

He teased her with a smile. "Bastard-born or no, sweetling, when this match is announced you will be the envy of every highborn maiden in the Vale, and a few from the riverlands and the Reach as well."

I would love to know why any maiden from the riverlands or the Reach would give a shit about Harrold Hardyng, an upjumped squire who's never left the Vale.

You get any petitions for marriage when you were in the Reach, Baelish?

He needs a pretty young wife to wash away his grief. I imagine he could have his pick of half the noble maidens in the Vale. Who could be a better husband than our own bold Lord Protector? 

+.+.+

Petyr took her hand in his own and brushed his finger lightly down the inside of her palm.

I will harvest your organs.

+.+.+

"Won't they come before Harry? I don't understand."

"You will. Listen." Petyr took her hand in his own and brushed his finger lightly down the inside of her palm. 

"Lord Jasper Arryn, begin with him. Jon Arryn's father. He begot three children, two sons and a daughter. Jon was the eldest, so the Eyrie and the lordship passed to him. His sister Alys wed Ser Elys Waynwood, uncle to the present Lady Waynwood." He made a wry face. "Elys and Alys, isn't that precious? Lord Jasper's younger son, Ser Ronnel Arryn, wed a Belmore girl, but only rang her once or twice before dying of a bad belly. Their son Elbert was being born in one bed even as poor Ronnel was dying in another down the hall. Are you paying close attention, sweetling?"

"Yes. There was Jon and Alys and Ronnel, but Ronnel died."

"Good. Now, Jon Arryn married thrice, but his first two wives gave him no children, so for long years his nephew Elbert was his heir. Meantime, Elys was plowing Alys quite dutifully, and she was whelping once a year. She gave him nine children, eight girls and one precious little boy, another Jasper, after which she died exhausted. Boy Jasper, inconsiderate of the heroic efforts that had gone into begetting him, got himself kicked in the head by a horse when he was three years old. A pox took two of his sisters soon after, leaving six. The eldest married Ser Denys Arryn, a distant cousin to the Lords of the Eyrie. There are several branches of House Arryn scattered across the Vale, all as proud as they are penurious, save for the Gulltown Arryns, who had the rare good sense to marry merchants. They're rich, but less than couth, so no one talks about them. Ser Denys hailed from one of the poor, proud branches . . . but he was also a renowned jouster, handsome and gallant and brimming with courtesy. And he had that magic Arryn name, which made him ideal for the eldest Waynwood girl. Their children would be Arryns, and the next heirs to the Vale should any ill befall Elbert. Well, as it happened, Mad King Aerys befell Elbert. You know that story?"

She did. "The Mad King murdered him."

"He did indeed. And soon after, Ser Denys left his pregnant Waynwood wife to ride to war. He died during the Battle of the Bells, of an excess of gallantry and an axe. When they told his lady of his death she perished of grief, and her newborn son soon followed. No matter. Jon Arryn had gotten himself a young wife during the war, one he had reason to believe fertile. He was very hopeful, I'm sure, but you and I know that all he ever got from Lysa were stillbirths, miscarriages, and poor Sweetrobin.

"Which brings us back to the five remaining daughters of Elys and Alys. The eldest had been left terribly scarred by the same pox that killed her sisters, so she became a septa. Another was seduced by a sellsword. Ser Elys cast her out, and she joined the silent sisters after her bastard died in infancy. The third wed the Lord of the Paps, but proved barren. The fourth was on her way to the riverlands to marry some Bracken when Burned Men carried her off. That left the youngest, who wed a landed knight sworn to the Waynwoods, gave him a son that she named Harrold, and perished."

+.+.+

He turned her hand over and lightly kissed her wrist.

I will invert your ribcage.

+.+.+

"So tell me, sweetling—why is Harry the Heir?"

Her eyes widened. "He is not Lady Waynwood's heir. He's Robert's heir. If Robert were to die . . ."

SHE'S A CHILD PRODIGY.

+.+.+

Petyr arched an eyebrow. "When Robert dies. Our poor brave Sweetrobin is such a sickly boy, it is only a matter of time. When Robert dies, Harry the Heir becomes Lord Harrold, Defender of the Vale and Lord of the Eyrie. Jon Arryn's bannermen will never love me, nor our silly, shaking Robert, but they will love their Young Falcon . . .

I'm sure your cheque book can fix that.

Do you think Littlefinger wants to compete with a young man who is loved by the high lords and common folk? I don't.

+.+.+

Jon Arryn's bannermen will never love me, nor our silly, shaking Robert, but they will love their Young Falcon . . . and when they come together for his wedding, and you come out with your long auburn hair, clad in a maiden's cloak of white and grey with a direwolf emblazoned on the back . . . why, every knight in the Vale will pledge his sword to win you back your birthright. So those are your gifts from me, my sweet Sansa . . . Harry, the Eyrie, and Winterfell. That's worth another kiss now, don't you think?"

This is going to sound crazy, but you should question everything Littlefinger says.

Anyway, this feels familiar, doesn't it?

"Does this mean you will not wed the girl? I warn you, she is part of the price you must pay, if you want your father's name and your father's castle. This match is necessary, to help assure the loyalty of our new subjects. Are you refusing me, Jon Snow?" - Jon XI, ASOS

+.+.+

That's worth another kiss now, don't you think?

I will power wash your colon.

Final thoughts:

There's only one more Sansa chapter.

-> return to menu <-

#operation stumpy re-read #affc #alayne ii #sansa iii

[streamafterlaughter]

Fundamental Differing

gif credit

masterlist | playlist | chapter IV

Chapter V: Why Are You So Far Away?

rating: 18+ MDNI

summary: The tour family decides to celebrate a successful opening night, attempting to accept their fate as being stuck with each other for the next few months. You grow acutely aware of yourself, as well as of Eddie’s newfound pessimistic attitude.

tags/warnings: rockstar!eddie x rockstar!reader, gnc!reader, 90s AU, excessive alcohol consumption, (hard) drug use, eddie is an asshole, bff!steve, angst, hurt, mutual pining, brief smut

a/n: (for the sake of this fic let’s pretend the viper room opened in ‘92 instead of ‘93 yeah?) Hi everyone! Last chapter didn’t do so hot, im hoping i kicked up the Angst Level enough for this one to get y’all interested. i’m pretty proud of how this is turning out so far, and i’m finding i’m coming up with so many more ideas. sorry for typos, my fingers have been so cold all day. Disclaimer: I do not give permission to have my work reposted on other sites. Reblogs are more than welcome, but please inform me if you find my work elsewhere unless otherwise stated. Reblog to support the author!

——

September 1988

New York City, New York

“Eddie, I can smell her on your fucking clothes!” You slam the car door, intending on hailing a cab just to get away from him.

“Y/n, I swear, nothing happened. She’s just a groupie! She comes to all of our shows, we’re friends. We danced, that’s it! I don’t get why this is such a big deal.”

“Seriously? What’s not to get? You let these girls think they have a shot with you, you play with them until you get bored, and you come home to me smelling like cheap perfume, and you don’t see why that bothers me?! I swear, you’d let anything with half a brain ride you, and I’m tired of it.” You keep walking down 54th, unsure where you’re going at this point.

“What do you want me to do, Y/n? I can’t help how they act around me.”

“You can help how you act around them, and you don’t! Fuck off, I’ll get a hotel for the night. Don’t call me.”

“Don’t be stupid, come back with me. We can fix this.”

“There’s nothing to fix. I need space from you.”

“We leave tomorrow!”

“So give me until tomorrow!”

—

Present Day

Eddie’s POV

“We should celebrate!” Gareth passes him the joint they’re sharing, and Eddie rolls his eyes as he inhales.

“Celebrate what, exactly?”

“C’mon, man! Our first night of tour!” He backhands Eddie’s arm, and is met with a glare. He doesn’t retreat, though. “You don’t have to come, but I think you should. Could be fun.”

Eddie passes the joint to Jeff. “Maybe, I really need to shower first.” His shirt, damp with sweat, is tucked into his back pocket. Before he can escape, though, you and your bandmates enter the green room. Jeff passes you the joint, and you accept gratefully. Eddie can’t bring himself to look at you, but your presence looms over him like a cloud.

“You guys coming out tonight?” You ask, passing the joint to your drummer. Eddie doesn’t know her name, not having made the effort to meet the rest of your band after splitting up. “Heard the Viper had some room tonight, might be able to get in with you guys there.” You giggle, and Eddie can’t help but lock his eyes on you then. He catches yours, and watches as your smile falters only slightly. “No pressure, of course.” You speak directly to him, in front of everyone, and no one seems to notice the shift in your tone. Eddie does though.

“No, I think it’ll be fun.” He responds, more bitterly than he intends. He has no desire to party, not with you there, where he’s able to watch as guys, girls, and gender non conforming people alike attach themselves to you, begging to hook up. He knows he can have whoever he wants, so the thought of you getting picked up shouldn’t bother him, but he can’t wrap his mind around watching you with someone else.

“Great!” You clap your hands together. “It’s settled. I’ll call us a few cabs.” You pluck the joint from Eddie’s fingers, as casually as ever, and look right at him as you take another hit. He can’t bring himself to break eye contact, watching you push the smoke into your nose with your tongue. You hand the roach back to him, still lit. “See you later.”

-

Your POV

“What the fuck was that?!” Robin exclaims as you change out of your sweatpants and into a pair of shredded jeans.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about!” Your voice is an octave above normal, and you sing your words with a tremble in your voice.

“You were flirting. Heavily!” Sylvie speaks up, brushing their hair back before tying it in a bun. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to get Munson all riled up!”

“As if.” You roll your eyes, but your cheeks burn with embarrassment. You’d known what you were doing, talking to Eddie like that. “I was testing the waters. Being civil.” You argue, earning groans from your friends. “Anyway, it’s not like he wants anything to do with me! And I want nothing to do with him. We’re just coworkers.”

Robin snorts. “Right, coworkers.”

“Cabs are here!” Steve peeks his head into your room, causing a commotion of shrieks from your half dressed bandmates.

“Knock much?!” Robin throws a rolled up pair of socks at Steve, nailing him right in the nose.

“Sorry! I’ll meet you outside!” The door clicks shut.

-

The Viper Room is packed, both with celebrities and those trying to become them. You exit your taxi shortly before the second pulls up, hauling Corroded Coffin’s members. As you climb out of the back seat, you’re met with the stench of booze and piss, the combination of fluids you’ve gotten used to in just the last few days.

Steve throws his arm over your shoulder, and does the same with Robin on his left side. “Ready to party?” He asks, dragging you both with him as the bouncer lets you inside. You feel Eddie shove past you, into the darkness, watching as he’s immediately swarmed by young, pretty girls in fishnets and tight dresses. Steve must notice your shift in demeanor, because he tightens his grip on you as you approach the bar.

“You were insane tonight! I’m so proud of you guys.” Steve sips his beer while you wait for your drink, a whiskey neat, and slams the bar with his free hand. He’s clearly already tipsy, having spent the whole night drinking while you performed.

“Thanks, Stevie. It really means a lot.” You thank the bartender as she hands you your glass, and watch as she does a double take.

“Oh my god, you’re Y/n! And you’re Robin!” She hands Robin her vodka soda with a now shaky hand.

“Yeah, hey!” Robin greets enthusiastically. “Nice to meet ya!”

“I caught your show tonight. Had to leave before CC to make my shift, but you guys rock. These are on me.” She waves Steve’s hand away as he tries to pay for the drinks.

“That’s so sweet, thank you!” You gulp your drink down. “Another?”

“Coming right up!” She scurries away to retrieve your drink.

“You’re practically celebrities!” Steve nudges you, and you let the alcohol in your bloodstream lighten your mood. Over Steve’s shoulder, you see Eddie and Garett, sitting in the middle of a gaggle of young women, one of which is sitting in his lap. Eddie catches your stare, but looks away quickly to the girl on top of him, whispering something in her ear. Her reaction suggests he’s said something naughty, covering her giggle with a dainty painted hand. You roll your eyes, and grab Steve’s wrist. “Come dance, big boy!”

Steve groans as you and Robin each pull him to the dance floor as Rhythm Is A Dancer blares through the club speakers. Steve twirls you around, then Robin, as Sylvia and Lilith find you in the sea of sweaty bodies. You laugh at Robin’s horrendous dance moves, letting the strobe lights and loud music take over your brain. You barely notice Eddie and the girl attached to him enter the floor. She grinds on him heavily, and he’s got his hands on her hips as she gyrates to the beat. You roll your eyes, annoyed by how easy he’s let himself be with his groupies. But it’s none of your business now, who he chooses to spend his time with. You wrap your arms around Steve’s neck, closing the gap between the two of you as Robin migrates to dancing with Lilith and Sylvia.

“You okay up there?” Steve taps your temple with his finger, his other hand resting gently on your waist. “Don’t think I can’t see what’s going on.”

You groan, resting your forehead on his shoulder. “Enlighten me then, what is going on?”

“You’re trying to make Eddie jealous, right? I mean, that’s why you’re dancing with me like this?”

“I'm that transparent, huh?”

Steve only chuckles. “Only because I’ve known you for six years. You don’t have to pretend you’re into me, Y/n, don’t worry. My feelings won’t be hurt. On top of that, you’ve been denying free drinks all night, and from decent looking people.”

You push a small laugh from your throat. “Please, I know that. Plus, I wouldn’t do that to Harley.” She’d been severely into Steve since meeting him years ago, and she’s been desperate for you to set her up with him. Steve is clueless, though, so you’re taking your time. “I’m not in the mood to entertain right now, I’d rather drink with you guys.”

The song ends, and you watch Eddie take the pretty girl off the floor, his arm linked with hers, and you book it to the bar for a third glass of hard liquor.

-

Eddie’s POV

He snorts the key bump she gives him as Just Like Heaven begins, a song he knows you love, blinking rapidly as he wipes the white powder from his nostrils. Coke isn’t his go to, but it gets the job of forgetting you done much faster. He tries to be subtle, watching as you dance with Steve, your arms clasped around his neck the way you used to dance with him, to nothing, in the living room of his uncle’s trailer. Now, though, he’s in the back of the club, surrounded by girls whose names he didn’t bother to ask, cutting lines as bottles of expensive liquor are brought over to him.

“Slow down, Ed, doesn’t look like Steve’s gonna be around to yank you into bed tonight.” Gareth nods his head toward your group, where you are whispering something into Steve’s ear, something that causes him to chuckle.

“Who needs him?” Eddie grumbles, taking the rolled up dollar bill from a girl clad in latex, and snorting two more lines from the table in front of him. Garett rolls his eyes, and shoves himself from the plush couch.

“You need to collect yourself,” Gareth checks his watch. “Bus leaves in two hours.” And he leaves the group. Eddie watches as Gareth greets you and Steve, and seemingly asks to speak to you alone. He averts his eyes when you glance over to him, a sad look in your eyes.

-

Your POV

“Gareth, it’s none of my business.” You pinch the bridge of your nose as Gareth relays the night's events to you, explaining that he’s worried for Eddie’s well-being. “What he does with his little friends is not my problem anymore. It’s not really yours, either.” You look at Gareth, whose eyes are filled with fear and sadness for his friend. “I can’t do anything about it.”

“I’m not asking you to, not at all. I just don’t understand what’s gotten into him. He’s meaner, he’s less enthusiastic about performing. I feel like we’re losing him.”

You shrug, taking a sip of what you believe to be your fifth drink. “I lost him years ago. Surprised it took you all this long to catch up.”

Gareth sighs. “Well, you guys were great tonight. Killer show.”

You smile sadly at who was once your boyfriend’s best friend. You feel his pain, watching the person he cares about lose himself to the toxicity of fame. It’s not fair, having to stand by while Eddie destroys himself, but you learned a long time ago there’s only so much you or anyone else can do to stop it. “You wanna hang with us? Get away from the bad energy for a while?”

Gareth nods and you call the bartender over. “What’s your poison?”

“I’ll just have a beer, whatever you got.” He tells the pretty bartender, and she nods.

“Coming right up, Gareth!” She winks and grabs a glass.

-

Eddie’s POV

He stumbles into the bathroom, closely behind a woman in a tight red dress. Once she’s locked the stall behind them, she busies herself with his belt. “I’ve been dreaming of this moment since I saw you guys perform a few years ago. You look so good on stage, I can’t believe you’re not with anyone.” She babbles, much to Eddie’s annoyance. She drops to her knees, and Eddie screws his eyes shut, resting his head against the wall, trying to relax as she takes him into her mouth. He can't help but picture you below him, back at The Hideout, in a different dingy bathroom. Whoever this girl is, she knows what she’s doing, and she’s probably blown a fair few rockers and movie stars in this very bathroom.

He finishes quickly, grunting as she moans around his cock before swallowing him down. She pops back up, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “You taste good, pretty boy.” The nickname hits him like a bullet, and he has to shove by her to unlock the stall. “Did I say something wrong?” But Eddie doesn’t answer, just throws the bathroom door open, and lets himself be consumed by the busy room of crowded bodies, the room spinning around him.

-

Your POV

“We should get going,” Steve shouts over the music, and you nod. “Gareth, get your boys, we gotta get on the road if we want any time to recuperate before your show tomorrow.”

Gareth nods, and runs off to find his band mates. You spot Eddie, standing against the bar, resting his head in his hand. You go to approach him, but Robin grabs your arm before you can. “He’s not your problem. Don’t make him one.” She’s stern, but you’re extremely drunk, and you don’t really care what happens. You pull yourself from her grip, and she lets you walk away.

“Hey!” You shout, loud enough for him to hear you over the blaring guitars of Head Like A Hole. “Time to go.”

When Eddie looks up at you, you take a step back. Even in the dim club lights, you can see the darkness in his eyes. His face falls as he recognizes you, and turns toward the bar. “Hey, can I get another?” He shakes his empty glass, and the bartender nods.

You interject, throwing your arm over his. “Actually, we’re leaving, and I’m cutting you off.” You grab Eddie’s arm, but he pulls away roughly.

“Leave me alone.”

“Eddie, we have to go.” You yank him again, and he shoves you off, causing you to stumble in your intoxicated state. “We have to be in San Francisco by noon, we have to get on the road!”

Eddie groans, and the bartender interrupts. “Your lover’s right, honey, you don’t look good. Go get some sleep.”

“They’re not my lover, and it’s none of your business.” He spits, and you decide that’s enough.

“Get up.” Your voice is cold, your expression made of stone, and he realizes you mean business. He pushes out of the stool, stumbling slightly as he walks away, pushing past you as he does. You sigh, and turn to the bartender to thank her, apologizing for Eddie’s behavior.

“Don’t worry, hun. I’ve gotten worse, from people way more famous than him. Just hope y’all make it home okay.”

“We’ll try. It’s gonna be a long ride, though.” You slap a twenty on the bar, and go to find your friends.

-

You barely make it out of the club, tripping on the curb as you dig for your cigarettes. Before you find them, someone holds one out in front of you, wrapped between two ringed fingers. You meet Eddie’s eyes, still blown out from the drugs, and take his offer with lips pursed. “Thanks.”

He nods once, and lights the cigarette for you. You inhale deeply, letting the smoke do its job of increasing your heart rate, even though Eddie’s proximity to you is doing enough of that.

“Why’d you do that?” You barely hear him, and only realize he’s speaking to you when you look at his face, eyes locked onto you. “You embarrassed me.”

You can't help but roll your eyes at him, taking another drag of your cigarette. “You were embarrassing yourself, Eddie. I had nothing to do with it.” You don’t apologize, you don’t try to make nice, regardless of how much your heart hurts. You don’t like watching Eddie fall apart, no matter what your relationship with him is. It still stings, how cold he is to you, and you’ve come to the realization there’s only so much you can do to save him from himself. “I don’t care what you do, how much you drink, or who you fuck in the club bathrooms, but we have shit to do on top of it. And I won’t let you ruin this for me.” You stand your ground, even when Eddie’s eyes flicker from anger to sadness. “I’m not responsible for you. But you need to start at least pretending to care about yourself again, or someone’s gonna hand your ass to you before you can clock it.” You flick your butt onto the ground, stomping it out with the toe of your boot. “Get your shit together.” Before Eddie can respond, the buses have pulled up behind the club, and you walk away from him, linking your arm with Robin’s.

-

Eddie’s POV

“C’mon, up you go.” Steve heaves Eddie up the stairs of the bus, and down the aisle to the bed in the back. “Sleep it off.” He’s pissed, Eddie realizes, and dares to push him further.

“What is your problem?” Eddie asks pointedly, lighting another cigarette before offering one to Steve. Steve takes one, lights it, and sucks harshly. “Never seen ole Stevie so wound up.”

“You’re such an asshole.” Steve turns to face Eddie, who’s crammed into the corner between the bed and the wall of the bus, rubbing his temples. “You got the Rockstar Douchebag act down, though, I’ll give you that.”

“Glad you finally caught on, too bad it doesn’t change anything.”

“Fine, be that way, but don’t fucking take it out on Y/n like that.”

Eddie sits up, suddenly fully awake. “What are you talking about?”

“They’ve been so fucking nervous out about touring with you, about seeing you again, and you’re walking off with the first skank to bat her eyelashes at you. On top of that, the way you talk to them, to me, even to your fucking bandmates, is unacceptable. What happened to you, Ed?”

Eddie sighs, taking in his former best friend’s harsh criticisms. “Well, Steve,” He spits, “I almost fucking died, I lost the love of my life, I got thrown into this almost instantly after graduating high school. There’s only so much I can control.”

“Your attitude should be one of those things.” Steve’s tone is even, stern. “And for your information, I almost died that day, too. You don’t see me treating my friends like they’re the ones that tried to kill me.” Before Eddie can argue, Steve slides the door shut, and stomps toward his bunk, leaving Eddie in the dark alone. He shoves his face into his pillow, letting out a long, angry groan, before flipping onto his stomach, and falling into another fitful sleep.

-

Your POV

You rise from your bunk, dazed, as the bus pulls into the club’s back lot. You’ve never been to San Francisco, but you can’t even bring yourself to enjoy the nice weather before security greets you, hustling past the crowd of fans that have camped out for your show. You wave to a few of them, earning excited squeals in response, and it’s then that you become acutely aware of the pouring in your head.

Once inside, you begin setting up for sound check as CC makes their way to their room. While you’re figuring out your pedals, a short, round man with a luscious beard, greets your band. “Hey, DDA, welcome. I’m Rich, I own the Chameleon Club. We’re so excited to have you guys tonight, please make yourselves at home. Your riders have been fulfilled, everything is in your dressing room! Let us know if you need anything else.” You wave your hand in thanks, and he walks off to introduce himself to the headliner.

-

Eddie’s POV

When the club owner leaves their dressing room, he lays down on the tiny couch in the room, trying to nurse his hangover. His bandmates babble, cracking open beers and lighting joints, enthusiastic about the show tonight. Someone taps him on the shoulder, and he opens his eyes to Steve standing over him, offering a bottle of water. He takes it, thanking him wordlessly, and gulps it down to soothe his headache. “You guys need anything?” Steve asks, addressing the room.

“Nah, thanks man.” Jeff offers him a joint, and he accepts, turning to Eddie. “How you feelin’?”

“I feel like someone ran me over, then backed up to run me over again.”

Steve snorts. “Good, you deserve it.” He offers Eddie his hand, and Eddie uses it to pull himself off the couch. “You gonna survive?”

“Why do you keep asking me that?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Because you’ve been acting like you’re on the verge of death since tour started. I’m right to worry.”

“I’m fine, I always rally.” Eddie gives Steve an unconvincing smile, and Steve huffs in response.

“Alright, gentlemen,” Eddie announces, earning the attention of the room. “I’m sorry for my behavior these last few days, I promise I’ll do better. Starting now. Let’s go check some fucking sound, yeah?!”

Gareth humors him, clapping more with the relief that Eddie’s acting human again. Jeff joins in, whooping his approval. The three of them charge out of the room, cheering like they’ve just won a long DnD campaign.

-

Eddie’s hollering dies down as they reach the stage, just in time to catch your band soundchecking. Jeff and Gareth stand behind him, each resting a comforting hand on his shoulders. “You alright?” Jeff whispers, examining Eddie’s expression, bracing for the dam to break.

Eddie doesn’t answer right away. He’s hypnotized, captivated by you. You’re soundchecking his song, still in the sweats and extra long t-shirt you’d probably slept in, singing to the empty floor of the club. You pluck the strings of your guitar, stopping every few seconds to adjust a string or tap a pedal.

“Ed?” Gareth snaps him out of his daze. “You good?”

Eddie nods, blinking rapidly, suddenly unable to focus his eyes. “I’m good. I’m so good.” He’s trying to be, at least. He refocuses his attention on you as the lights adjust, giving you that glow again. When you finish the song, you start packing up, and you glance in his direction. He realizes you’re wearing one of his old shirts, a worn out Black Sabbath tee he thought he’d just lost. Eddie doesn’t look away from you this time, holding your gaze in his for as long as he can manage. You look away first, and he bites back a smile when you tuck your hair behind your ear.

-

Your POV

“Hey,” Sylvie bends down to help unplug your wires. “You doin’ alright? I saw that,” they nod toward the curtain, where Corroded Coffin have been lurking for the last five minutes.

“Yeah, I’m okay. How’d we sound?”

“Pitch perfect, just hope the light guy knows what he’s doing during Choke.” Sylvie rolls their eyes, and you chuckle. You hear footsteps behind you, and turn to see Eddie, Jeff, and Gareth lugging their own instruments on stage. Behind them, a few guys on the crew follow with more instruments and amps. The four of you gather your things, and more guys on your crew come to help you. You feel Eddie’s eyes on you as you exit the stage, refusing to return his gaze. You stop behind the curtain, daring to eavesdrop on their private practice.

“You comin?” Robin whispers at you, and you shake your head.

“Okay,” she comes back to stand next to you, and you shake your head again.

“You go ahead, I’ll be right there. I’m fine, I promise.” You’re not sure just yet if that’s true, but you want to believe it. Robin squeezes your hand in understanding, then jogs back to the rest of your band.

You set your guitar down gently in the spare stand next to you, and take a seat amongst the curtains out of Eddie’s eyeline.

“Right, what are we opening with?” Eddie plugs his guitar in, and begins fiddling with the knobs. He still uses his Warlock, something you find charming. Even after all the money he’s made, the offers he’s had to play plenty of expensive guitars, he still cherishes the one he bought himself in high school.

“We open with The Crawl.” Gareth says, twirling his drumstick. You know the song, you remember when Eddie was struggling to write it, sitting in his bedroom at the trailer, asking your opinions on chord progressions.

“Right, yeah,” Eddie begins strumming the intro. You sway as they run through the song once, stopping every so often to adjust a guitar or an amp.

You know Eddie’s voice is beautiful, but it sends chills through you when you hear it in the empty room. His voice is smooth and low, much unlike the loud rasps of other bands in the genre. He begins to sing as the others adjust their instruments, testing his in-ear and microphone.

Deep underground, somewhere I shouldn’t be / I’m stuck in a hell built only for me / But you’re down here too / and you’re making it worse / ‘cause I've got a blessing / and gave you the curse.

I tried going alone, accepting my fate / I let myself believe I had what it takes / But watching you follow, I started to fall / And now I’m stuck down here, and I start to crawl.

Eddie paints the picture of the scary, dark place you know all too well, twisting his words around the loud, angry instruments, sending a shock down your spine. His voice is hopeless, angry, frightened even as the song builds to a chaotic climax, where Eddie seems to growl the final chorus.

You sing along quietly, remembering every word from the months you spent listening to it as Eddie recorded. Regardless of your feelings toward him, you can’t deny Eddie’s raw talent when it comes to lyricism and songwriting.

When they finish, you heave yourself from your spot on the floor, when Eddie says, “Feel free to watch the rest of the show.” You freeze, your back turned to the stage, feeling his eyes on you. You turn slowly, arms raised in surrender.

“I come in peace.” You state, begging your voice not to break.

Eddie shrugs. “‘Kay guys, shall we?”

Gareth hesitates, turning to you with worried eyes. You return a confused look, and he sighs with defeat. You don’t realize what he’s trying to communicate until it’s too late.

The drums kick in, and you vaguely recognize the song. When Eddie utters the first words, your blood runs cold.

We were everything I ever wanted / All I could ask for / But you walked out last night, and now I’m sleeping on the floor / I haven’t seen you in years now, i hope you’re doin’ well / but if you aren’t, i couldn’t care, i’ll see you soon in hell.

I begged the skies to give you back / asked what I had to do / but that phone kept ringin off the hook and i left myself undo.

You can’t listen anymore, feeling each line dig the hole in your chest deeper and deeper. You snatch your guitar, and sneak away as the chorus fades from your earshot.

I lost myself when I lost you, / and now I let myself undo, / You broke my heart when you left, too / and I’ve got scars to fuckin’ prove.

-

You hold back tears as you enter the green room, biting your lip to keep it from quivering. Deep breaths, it’s an old song, you try to reassure yourself, but Eddie’s smug face as he started the song suggests he still feels that way. You decide there, he’s not worth fighting for anymore, and you’re done trying to be anything more than coworkers. No more inviting him out just for him to hang out with groupies five years his junior.

“Hey, Y/n! We’re discussing outfits, help me pick something out!” Lilith holds out two skirts, a black pleated mini and a long floral.

You point to the mini skirt. “This one’s sexy.” You state, matter-of-factly, and she nods. You dig through your tour bag, packed with plenty of different garments, but nothing speaks to you. “What about me?” You ask your friends, and Robin digs through her own duffel.

“What about this?” She holds up a cropped black t shirt with Eat The Rich plastered across it. You chuckle, remembering the shirt from high school. “I think it’s yours anyway.”

You take the shirt from her, and match it with a pair of black tripp pants, clattering as you slide them over each leg. You look good, and you feel better as your friends send compliments your way. “Wanna go get some lunch? I’m so bored hanging out in back rooms all day. Let’s go explore!” Robin offers you her hand, and you take it, off to adventure the city.

——

chapter vi

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#st #willow writes sins #stranger things #eddie munson fanfic #rockstar!eddie x reader #gn!reader #gnc!reader #st4 #strangerthingscentral #hurt/comfort #angst #mutual pining #90s au #au where eddie lives #corroded coffin #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #steve harrington #robin buckley #slow burn #fundamental differing #new kid fic #alt!reader #nb!reader #rockstar!reader

[fanaticsnail]

Okay, I haven't read chapter 6 of Sapsorrow yet, I have a big day ahead so I know it will distract me too much and I like the incentive of something to treat myself at the end of the day, so my actual thoughts on the chapter are yet incoming

HOWEVER

Your thoughts for Buggy and/or Law having a ring have inspired me.

Ive been working on an idea for a series of interconnected one piece one shots using fairy tales (which got set back once I got COVID bc I had three days of writing planned out which ended up being three days of delirious fever sleep). And I haven't really set anything in stone yet but I have several stories that I think would work for each character and several extra stories I haven't yet decided characters for. So allow me to regurgitate some of those stories that I think could be thematically appropriate for Law/Buggy stories in the Sapsorrow AU:

Hans who made the princess laugh/The Princess who never smiled/the lad with the goat skin (there are a lot of variants of the story of a boy making the princess laugh/smile for her hand in marriage) - I was thinking of using this concept for a Koby or Luffy story, but it also really suits Buggy. If the condition placed upon marriage is him finally making his betrothed laugh it makes room for lots of hijinks that would inevitably lead to her getting to know him and fall in love.

A Thousand and One Nights - I planned this for Usopp (obviously) but I feel like Buggy managing to entertain someone with tricks and jokes so they allow him to keep wooing them the next night and so on until they agree to marry him because he's entertained them successfully for however many days and nights as was his task

Princess and the frog/beauty and the beast/Prince Lindworm esque story - hear me out, Reader as the scary beast bc Buggy's task was to prove he loved them truly for more than just superficial reasons. I feel like, thematically, I could see Buggy learning to not judge others and consequentially therefore learning not to be so harsh on himself (learning that he deserves kindness by extending kindness to others?) (And then there is the opportunity to flip the script with Buggy being the one wearing the ring and Reader being the one owning it.)

Hades and Persephone - I like how Buggy consistently fails upwards and I can definitely see the bumbling clown somehow getting lucky enough to snag the favour of someone super dangerous and powerful despite tripping over himself repeatedly. I imagine someone only ever feared might enjoy him speaking his mind bluntly. Also could have Reader owning the ring. (The comedic potential for a story of Buggy somehow failing forwards into the arms of a Morticia-esque partner. The angst/drama potential of someone learning they are not only capable but deserving of love and loving and are allowed to have some light and fun in their dark life.)

For Law I feel like his task could be something associated with him being a doctor. Either his betrothed promises to marry whoever manages to cure her loved one (or her) of a sickness/curse. Maybe his betrothed has sworn off marriage because she is sick and expects to die and doesn't want to leave anyone heart broken, which is why she objects to marrying him, which leads to a lot of secret keeping and angst on both sides.

OR, something that is the other side of the coin, his betrothed wants to kill/poison someone and needs his help. Oooooh~ dramatic crime story

SNAIL AGAIN! I should've seen this one first. My dear, you spoil me!

The way I have been struggling with Buggy's Sapsorrow. I want to write a little snippet so desperately, but he is thus far eluding me. I am LOVING these thoughts.

I do have an idea for Law, but I am wanting to write for him last due to not desiring to reveal all of the lore involving the spectre of Sapsorrow just yet. Of all of the rings to be given, I will say that Law will be the only one to offer it to someone freely: using it for its intended purpose. It is going to devastate me, but I am very much looking forward to his the most. Main theme: Angst.

NOW THAT THAT HAS BEEN SAID.

........are you saying you would like to join in on the storyteller au collab? Because if you are!!! Usopp with "a story short" and Luffy with "Fearnot" would be perfect for you: considering it sounds like you already have many a similar idea regarding them, and I would LOVE to have you involved!!!

#one piece #opla #x reader #opla fic #one piece live action #sapsorrow au #storyteller au #moot collab #ask snail #snail answers #storyteller collab