#chet's air shoes

[oldtvlover]

Chet’s “air shoes” and his long explanation I had to devide. Still funny to see how good is he prepared and all, yet it doesn’t work again.

Now everyone’s amused - and duty calls! lol

#emergency! #gifs #s03e22 #inventions #behind the station #chet's air shoes #station 51 family #captain hank stanley #mike stoker #roy desoto #chet kelly #marco lopez #johnny gage #all are amused #good intention but miserable failure #funny to see #duty calls

[parkersbliss]

070: “Married life, am I right?”

“We’re not married.”

“Not with that attitude we are.” With five? I don’t know, thought it would be funny.

Hotel Waffles | F. Hargreeves

pairing: five hargreeves x reader

warnings: none

wc: 600??

synopsis: if only retirement actually meant retirement for you and Five

requests: CLOSED

prompts:  070: “Married life, am I right?” “We’re not married.” “Not with that attitude we are.”

Masterlist | Taglist | Prompt list 

—

“What kind of hotel doesn’t serve waffles?” You mutter, coming to stand next to Five with your plate.

“You can just get pancakes,” He suggests.

You scoff. “Five, it’s a right of passage to eat hotel waffles. They’re like… magical. I don’t know what they put in them—”

“I’m gonna take a guess and start with flour.”

You slap his arm lightly. “Five! Seriously, have you never had them before?”

Five turns to face you with a neutral expression, and you nod. “Oh, right. Apocalypse.”

He gives you a tight-lipped smile, moving down the buffet when Klaus jogs up to the two of you.

“Hey, uh, what do you say we get outta here? Take a little road trip?”

Five raises a skeptical brow, lifting the cover of one of the containers. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about a sojourn to the countryside. You, me, (Y/N), the wind in our hair.” Five scoops out the pancakes, still eyeing Klaus. “Thelma and Louise on the open road.”

“You know they die in the end, right?”

“Holding hands, living our best life my little cherub.” Five stops to put some fruit salad on his plate, and you follow, grabbing one of the pieces of melon off his plate and eating in.

“Listen to me. I nearly died last night because of Luther’s sleep farts,” Klaus said quietly, and you stifle a laugh. “We need to get out of here! Get some fresh air.”

Five turns around to face his brother. “Okay, I’ll bite. Why us, Klaus?”

“Because you said - you said you’re both retired, and that’s what retired people do. And don’t you deserve some fun? We can get… hotel waffles!”

You perk up at that, turning to Five to tell him you should go, but he stares at the empty tank.

“There’s no lobsters,” Five observed.

Klaus gives Five a weird look. “Excuse me?”

“There were three lobsters in that tank a minute ago,” You mumble, noticing the strange disappearance of the crustaceans at this time of the morning.

“Yeah, well, you know, maybe Chet blended ‘em into a morning smoothie.”

Five shakes his head but smiles. “You’re an idiot, but we’re in.”

You wrap an arm around Five, “Yes!”

…

“This actually isn’t so terrible,” Five admits glancing out the window at the rolling hills.

Klaus smiles. “See? Told you.”

“Come to think of it, my whole life, I’ve been under the gun. Missions for dad, working for the commission, trying to survive the apocalypse. I was always looking around the corner, just waiting for the other shoe to drop. It’s nice to just breathe.”

You prop your head on the center console, smiling at the two boys. “Yeah, I love retirement.”

“Good for you guys. Retirement is suiting you.”

“Oh!” Five suddenly perks up. He grabs something from the passenger side drawer. “Uh… all right. So, I’ve circled all the roadside attractions along the way.”

“Oh… I’m not sure we’re gonna have time for all that,” Klaus trails off.

“I have the Brownsville big nickel.”

“Oh, Ricky’s bakery has award-winning pies,” You chimed in, and Five points to you with a nod.

“Well, if you just let me explain—”

“Or there’s the cow henge—”

“Listen to me. Just shut up for two seconds, okay? Just two seconds, all right?”

“Okay,” Five said. “I’m all ears.”

“Me too, Klaus.”

Klaus takes a deep breath. “We are going to Pennsylvania to find my birth mother, okay? Yay!”

“Excuse me?” Both you and Five said, eyeing him up and down.

“I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry. I just needed someone to come with me for emotional support.”

“Oh, emotional support? Like a schnauzer?”

“Yeah, yeah, and I knew you guys wouldn’t come if I told you, so what was I supposed to do? Well, (Y/N) would have, but you wouldn’t let her.”

“You’re goddamn right we wouldn’t have come, Klaus. You know why? Because we are supposed to be retired!” You can see the vein popping out of Five’s neck as he leans toward Klaus. Though you do agree with Five, you didn’t mind supporting his brother as much as he did.

“Yeah, I know—”

“This was supposed to be a carefree road trip.”

“Well, it still can be, babe,” Klaus offered, smiling at Five. But Five’s eyes catch a sign.

“Ball of twine! Klaus, turn!” He shouts.

“What? Five? Five!”

“Ball of twine, turn!” Five grabs the steering wheel and jerks the car to the left. “It’s one of the best ones, c’mon!”

“Five!” You yell, flying around in the back seat from the sudden turn.

“Five, we’re gonna die! Ah!” Klaus screams when they almost hit a car.

Five’s hand grips the steering wheel. “I don’t care. Let’s go!”

“Five!”

“You know what? No twine, no birth mother!”

And that settles the argument pretty quickly. Klaus pulls up to the ball of twine, following behind you and Five.

“You know, I expected it to be bigger,” You said.

“Seems pretty big to me,” Five shrugs.

“Well, that’s what you tell yourself,” You snort.

Five scoffs at you, but you can see the smile on his features. “I just think this is boring. We could go to like… Hershey park!”

“Hershey park?” Five questions.

You nod eagerly. “Chocolate and roller coasters, why not?”

“I think the Philadelphia bell is a much better idea.”

“Nuh-uh,” You said.

“Yuh-huh,” He replied, and you go back and forth for a while until Klaus comes to a stand next to you.

“Married life, am I right?” He sighs.

You give Klaus a puzzled look. “We’re not married.”

Five whips his head towards you, crossing his arms. “Not with that attitude we are.”

You slap his arm lightly, looking towards the ground at his comment, and Five asks Klaus about his birth mom, and you tune out the conversation. It was between them, anyway. Instead, you just stared at the huge ball of twine, wondering if this really was the end. You could see yourself happy married to Five, driving around the country, and doing what retired people are supposed to do. Even though you both still looked like kids.

Perhaps that was a benefit though. You wanted to see if you could convince him to drive to the world’s longest water slide.

Five’s hand slides around your waist, pulling you out of your thoughts. “C’mon, we’re going to help Klaus.”

You hop into the backseat, getting comfortable, only to find after maybe thirty minutes, you were there. Klaus steps out, and Five gives him a pep talk before opening the backdoor and coming to sit beside you. He takes out the map, and a pen, turning to you with a smile.

“So, where to?”

You grin, leaning your head on his shoulder and pointing towards a few attractions. “Oh, I hear Disney World is a lot of fun!”

“Disney, huh?”

“There’s the Aero and Space museum nearby too, founded by Kennedy.”

Five shakes his head. “I think I’ve had enough Kennedy for a while.”

“So, Disney it is?”

“Whatever you want.”

“Really?” You asked with a laugh, surprised he was agreeing so easily. “You wanna go to Disney with me?”

Five nods, “I’ll admit it’s not my thing, but it’s what you want. Hershey Park is a no, though.”

“Disney World for the win!”

Five smiles, circling Disney on the map and putting a heart with your initials by it. “Disney it is.”

You smile up at him, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek as he hums along to the song on the radio. “You don’t even know my name,” Five sings along, feet propped up on the seat as he looks at the map. “I go inside the—”

Something suddenly knocks against the car, flicking you both to the side. You knock against Five, groaning. “What is—?” Five questions, standing up to find the field of cows is empty. You come to stand next to him, your shoulders falling. “Fuck.”

He gets out and sighs. “Oh, can’t we get one fucking day off?”

“So that’s a no to Disney, isn’t it?”

Five gathers you in his arms, “One day. Disney and hotel waffles, I promise. Right now we just…”

“Have to save the world again?”

“One more time.”

— END —

🏷 five taglist: @clearbasementvoid @halfumbrella @esmedith @navs-bhat @alexxavicry @thelaststraw3 @rainbows-r-nice05 @gcldtom @bokuakadaily @3ternalreal1ty

#five hargreeves x you #five hargreaves x reader #five hargreeves #five hargreeves x reader #tua five x reader #tua #tua fic #tua five #number five x reader #number five #five x reader #five x you #five x y/n #aidan gallagher #tua season 3 #tua s3 #the umbrella academy #the umbrella academy season 3

[sweetestofchaos]

Run From Me - Three | K.TH

p. vampire!taehyung x vampire hunter!reader

g. soulmates - enemies to lovers - reincarnation

r. 18+

w. flashback - blood drinking - illusions to sex - dub con (reader is high from vampire venom) - murder

wc. 3.4k

an. divider and support banner made by @benkeibear. betaed by @theharrowing. HAPPY BIRTHDAY TAEHYUNG!!!!!

fic masterlist

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Some time in the 1920s…

The city streets are filled with bodies and chatter. Smoke blankets the night air in a fog as people try to get from place to place. Music spills out from an open door, a man dressed in a black suit smiles as patrons enter and exit the venue. The Perching Bird, an up and coming jazz club that holds many vocal talents within its walls. Voices speak softly over the live band that plays on the center stage. 

In the background are beautiful maroon drapes that are tied back with golden rope that stands out against the dark wooden wainscoted walls. The floor is a cream colored marble to brighten the room, filled with tables set for two and larger groups of four. A handful of plush maroon and gold booths are pressed into the corners of the room, crisp white table cloths with beautiful flower centerpieces.

On stage a large black woman’s hair is perfectly coiffed out of her face and her green tinted hazel eyes shine in the lights. She croons the lyrics of ‘I’ve Got A Crush On You’ by Ella Fitzgerald and the bartender, Howard across the way smiles proudly. Gloria is one of their top acts and Howard loves her voice. He only works on the nights that he knows she will be there.

The scent of bourbon is strong and warm as the bartender pours a drink for another guest. He takes his eyes off the stage for a moment to thank the paying guest and flash them a coy smile. As the song ends, everyone inside claps politely and the bartender watches as Gloria leaves the stage.

From the back of the stage, a man with auburn hair parted and styled out of his face stands with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his green trousers. He wears a white button up shirt with a maroon and green striped tie. Overtop a matching green waist vest finishes off his outfit as it ties in the black and maroon two-toned oxford shoes.

The man is up next to sing and it is his first night at this club. He is a traveling entertainer, never staying in one city for too long. He is searching for a woman and has yet to find her. He got a tip from a friend of his that the woman he is looking for will be here tonight.

Gloria steps into the back and smiles at the new guy. “Break a leg out there kid,” she smiles as she walks past, patting his chest. He licks his lips and chuckles. Kid? He is far from it, but he knows he doesn’t look his age, not even close. 

Hidden from view, he waits until he is called up on stage. His hands remain in his pockets and he inhales deeply, closing his eyes as he sorts through the scents in the room. Smoke, alcohol, heavy perfume…nothing stands out to him. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, tonight we want you all to welcome a new talent to the stage. He comes to us with a very unique tone. Please give a warm welcome to Taehyung Kim!”

Taehyung pulls his hands from his pockets and slaps a smile onto his smooth face as he steps out into the spotlight. The band plays a simple introduction beat and Taehyung bows to the crowd before he waves and shakes the owner’s hands in thanks. He walks up to the mic and looks around with a small smile on his face, his cheeks growing in size making everyone swoon. Looking over his shoulder, Taehyung nods his head to the band and they go right into ‘Everything Happens To Me’ by Chet Baker. 

The setlist is easy enough. Taehyung picked songs he knew were popular in this area like ‘Fly Me To The Moon’ by Frank Sinatra, ‘I’ll Be Seeing You’ by Billie Holiday and a few others. 

Halfway through ‘Moon River’, creamy sandalwood catches in Taehyung’s throat. The cardamom spice burns his tongue while green citrus sends a shiver crawling down his spin. He takes a step back, allowing for the band to fill in the silence a little more as he tightens his grip on the mic stand. 

A shadow moves in the corner of his eye and Taehyung inhales once more. You are here, finally. 

Finishing the song, Taehyung turns to the band, keeping his hand over the mic as he fills them in on the new song that he wants to add to the playlist. They seem excited to play something new and Taehyung already has the owner’s permission to try it out. Turning back to the mic, Taehyung glances over at your table and your eyes are elsewhere; not even sparing him a moment of your time. Oh. His gums ache as he watches your finger glide over the thin gold chain of the diamond necklace that sits against your throat. 

You are focused on the story your friend is enthusiastically retelling. You have heard it before but the details always change. Your lips spread wide, showing off your teeth as you laugh and smile. Taehyung speaks into the mic and watches as your smile drops the moment you hear his voice. Can you feel the pull? Can you hear his heart calling your name? 

“This next song is one I wrote myself,” Taehyung smiles, glancing down at his feet to feign being shy. “This is for the one that got away.” He whispers, the mic hardly picking up with words. As the guitar starts to play softly, Taehyung looks back at the band one last time as he sings.

Chueokdo uimi eopsi

Naege neon sarajigo

Ijjeumedo I can't

Two backup singers fill in the gaps, their voices blending together beautifully as Taehyung keeps his face close to the mic, his hands holding on gently like he would a lover.

Let you go, let you go

Geu mari dain geoni

Hanmadiman namgigo

Huhoehamyeon

Won't you let me know? Let me know?

His finger taps to the beat as he sings. Not once losing himself as the lyrics and his voice spill into the hearts around him.

Geurae na soljikage

Da malhallae

Neoneun maeil eotteon saram eotteon gose

Myeot beonssigina mwol haneunji neol saenggakae

Lost without you, baby

The highnote casts a chill over your body, goosebumps rising as the hair on the back of your neck stands upright. Taehyung’s eyes roll upwards from the floor and whiskey brown meets honey. The words that fall from his lips have you hypnotized. 

I wish you would love me again

No, I don't want nobody else

The world around you fades, nothing can be heard over the sound of Taehyung’s voice as he continues to sing. Your ears ring but the buzzing is a subtle feeling at the base of your jaw that melts into your bones. You blink once, twice…by the third time you are no longer in the club. Now you lay on a plush softness; your body sinking deeper and deeper.

Colors, so many colors blind your eyes in a kaleidoscope of unknown shapes and textures. Where are you? This isn’t the club. You cannot hear anything no matter how much you try to focus past the ceaseless humming of your veins. 

Turning your head slowly, a searing pain pinches and pulls at the side of your throat making you wince. You didn’t want to move anymore than you already had. Blinking away the tears from the sudden pain, you are meat with a mahogany nightstand. It is clearly hand carved with a white doily placed on the surface. What looks to be an antique vase sits in the center with freshly cut white calla lilies.

The scent is subtle as it slowly filters into your sinuses and eases your mind. The walls are covered in a light tan wallpaper with a geometric flower pattern in dark brown. Brown furniture takes up space in the room, nothing over to the top but everything is mahogany and hand carved. It all looks to be antique, the style not quite meant for this era but beautiful nonetheless.

Little by little, the buzzing in your veins settles. The muck of your mind stills and becomes a clear mirror to reflect the night's events. You try to recall the moment you left the club and the buzzing is back, a silent partition determined to keep your memories at bay. 

Your face twists up in a grimace as you lift your hand. It feels like you have swam through a swamp filled with molasses, or maybe quicksand, unable to move freely as your hand falls right back to your side. Your lips part to call for help but the words die as soon as they process in your mind. A lock clicks and icy terror locks your muscles in place. Unable to move, a whimper leaves your lips.

“You’ve awakened dear one?” 

A voice deeper than the Congo river floats into your ears and the bed sinks from a new weight. Your breath stills in your chest. The bedding shifts from the weight and you can feel it against your skin. Did you sleep with this stranger? The scent of lavender and honey tickles your nose making your head ache. You hate the scent of lavender, always have ever since you were a child.

“Easy, dear one.” 

Dripping water catches your attention and you struggle to turn your head towards the voice. A cool hand, warmed over by hot water, touches your cheek. You don’t recall it being cold outside, so why does this stranger’s hand feel like this? Fingertips graze your skin and you shiver as water trails down your face.

“I hoped you would still be sleeping. Forgive me? I got a little carried away.”

What is this man talking about? Who is he and what has he done to you?

“Don’t be afraid, dear one. I won’t hurt you.”

The fingers on your cheek follow the contours of your face as a warm hand cups your chin and you flinch as a wet cloth is pressed into the side of your neck. You whine, unable to scream as the feeling of red hot needles piercing your skin burns through your neck. The man hushes you softly, the low notes of his voice a quiet warning as he wipes at your neck. His touch is firm but not uncaring as the wet cloth is removed from your skin. You can hear water droplets again before the cloth touches your skin once more. Why is he cleaning you? What has he done? Why does it feel as if you’ve been attacked?

“Look at me, dear one.” 

Careful hands help turn your head and you gasp. Beside you, the man from the club stares down at you with that same piercing stare. Gone is the waist vest and tie, his white shirt is unbuttoned midway down his chest, his sleeves are rolled up, exposing the smooth skin of his forearms and his hair is no longer parted neatly. It looks disheveled as if hands have run through the silky looking strands. The man’s face has hard lines, soft cheeks and dark eyes. He is what is spoken about when you hear ‘tall, dark and handsome.’ He offers a closed mouth smile, his eyes squinting slightly as his cheek softens the hard lines of his face.

Fingers ghost over your face again, touching as if they have your whole being memorized. As if they have touched you a million times before. A finger traces your upper lip before it lowers to your bottom lip and pulls at the plump skin. It feels like you are not within your own body as this man caresses you without a word. Such soft touches are for lovers not strangers…

“P-Please…” 

Your voice struggles against the sand that seems to have found a place lining your throat. You want to go home. You want to promise you won’t tell anyone about him. The cloth is back on your throat, pressing a little more firmly as the man wipes at your skin. From how the water runs down the side of your neck and over your shoulder, you know that your necklace is gone. Did he take it? Is this a robbery? Tears gather at your waterline and the man frowns as he collects your tears with his thumb.

“I do not mean to frighten you, dear one.” He sighs, pulling his hand away to drop the cloth into the bowl in his lap. 

You catch sight of the reddened cloth and the man’s frown deepens as your scent starts to sour.

“You have nothing to be afraid of. You are safe with me…” 

The words are spoken like they have been said before. They are sincere but something deep down inside begs you to run. Run far, far away. Swallowing past the dryness in your mouth, you try again to speak. Your lips part and the man is quick to slip his hand behind your head. Slowly, he helps you sit up and raises a glass to your mouth.

Cool water floods your insides and you greedily gulp down the soothing liquid. He pulls the glass away and sets it on the nightstand, cooing as he wipes away the water that spilled from the corner of your lips. Easing you back down onto the bed, he watches as your pupils shake and dilate.

Leaning down, the man skims his nose along your jaw and kisses just below your ear, “You smell divine, dear one. I don’t think I can hold back much longer…” His lips are frosty with a subtle warmth underneath, creating goosebumps on your skin as he peppers kiss after kiss on your skin. “May I taste you again? Share with you my love again?”

You shake your head, the pain in your throat clawing at your veins as you try to sit up. Your body won’t move and when you stare at the man above you, a name falls from your lips. His eyes widen a fraction of a second and he is pulling you into his lap. His hands cup your face and he rests his forehead against yours.

“Again, dear one. Say my name again? I beg you, please?”

You can feel the stiffness of his length as you sit in this man’s lap. His name falls from your lips once more and his arms wrap around your waist. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, body shaking and you realize belatedly that he is crying. Movement comes to your limbs in an act of muscle memory as you cradle the man in your arms, one hand resting on the back of his head as your fingers smooth over his hair.

Again his name falls from your lips and you press the softest of kisses to his temple. His skin isn’t as warm as it was before. It feels colder now, the heat slowly evaporating from his pores. A dry tongue licks at the side of your neck and your fingers tangle in his hair. A firm tug makes the man moan against you.

“Taehyung.”

It’s a warning. One that Taehyung will clearly ignore, but a warning nonetheless. He kisses up the side of your neck, his nose pressing into your cheek as he fumbles to find your lips. Taking pity on the man, you guide his face upwards and capture his lips. Past the coolness of his lips, the bitter tang of something metallic makes your stomach roll in disgust. You move to draw back and Taehyung follows you.

Your lips never break apart and you groan as he kisses the very breath out of you. His hands find your waist and nails dig into the subtle flesh, pricking the skin enough to draw blood. You hisses against Taehyung’s mouth and he nips at your lower lip.

“Smell so good, dear one. So good.”

His mouth is attached to your throat before you can process his words and you cry out as teeth puncture the freshly cleaned wound. Taehyung slurps loudly as your blood rushes into his mouth. Gulp after gulp makes him moan and his skin heats up. You whine, your core throbbing and clenching around nothing.

Your mind clouds with black and white static, the whooshing rush of your blood, loud behind your ears and your hands push at Taehyung’s shirt. As his skin peaks from underneath his clothing, your hands find purchase against the strong muscles of his shoulders. You squeeze and pull him closer, you want his skin on yours. 

“P-Please…Tae?” Your voice sounds miles away, a ghost of who you know yourself to be. Begging for something you have never had.

Grunting, Taehyung pulls away from your neck and crashes his lips into yours. Your blood tastes sweet and tangy, something close to a red wine. Taehyung strips himself of his shirt, sharing with you his unblemished skin, sunkissed from a time long ago. He rolls you over, hovering above as he shoves his trousers and boxer shorts down his thighs, kicking them off his legs. The heat that rests against your lower stomach is hot as your body trembles in anticipation. Taehyung grins down at you, a boxy smile with pink tinted teeth. How boyish he looks above you with mused hair and wide eyes.

“Taehyung,” You breath out, unsure of what to ask, but Taehyung takes control. He knows your body inside and out, he can and will give you everything you ask for and more. His touch is gentle and unrushed, like he has years to pull your pleasure from you again and again. There is no pain as he takes his rightful place between your legs. As his teeth sink into your neck once more, your body burns with pleasure.

Your heart beats wildly in your chest, pumping harder as the blood never reaches back to recycle. Your walls tighten around Taehyung, your legs hold him close and your nails drag down his back, red lines marking the skin for only a few seconds before they disappear. How much longer will this pleasure last? You have come undone how many times? Your body feels like lead, sinking rapidly in a bottomless ocean. Your eyes flutter and the colors around you swirl, fading into a monotone of black. Your breathing is shallow and it hurts to think.

“T-Tae…”

The name falls on deaf ears and tears leak from the corners of your ears. This feeling, this heavy weight that seems to lighten with each gulp that Taehyung takes makes something deep inside crumble away bit by bit. You know this feeling. Struggling, you cup Taehyung’s cheek and stroke the apple of his cheek. His face is wet, you know that he is crying. Taehyung can feel your heart slowing and yet he cannot stop. The sweetness of your blood calls to him, warms his body twice over. It is a feeling that he has chased all throughout time.

Death bitters the blood, tainting the very source from which Taehyung drinks. He wants to stop, he knows he should stop…Your hand falls away from his face, fingertips wet with his pink tinted tears. Bitter, rotten and cold blood touches Taehyung’s tongue and he rips himself away from your neck, gagging on the taste. His tears stream down his faster, now a deep red as he cries blood. Raising his right wrist to his mouth, Taehyung bites down, tearing into the flesh and hurriedly presses the bleeding limb to your parted lips.

Blood pools in your mouth but you do not drink, there is no movement from you. Your heart is still, not a single beat fills the room. Taehyung sobs as he places his hands over your heart and starts chest compressions. You can’t die! 

Repeatedly, Taehyung tries to resuscitate you, letting more blood flow into your mouth but nothing happens. He holds you in his arms and cries. His tears disappear into your hair as he wails. His heart pounds rapidly in his chest, his face is flush with the very life he stole from you and it hurts. 

How can he live without you? He doesn’t want to be alone again. He just found you…please…please he didn’t mean to hurt you.

How long will it take to find you again? How soon will your soul be reborn? He will scour the Earth a million times over until he can keep you by his side. This was a mistake, Taehyung understands that now. He was too hasty and that cost you your life. He will spend an eternity begging for your forgiveness. He will find you again. He must. 

#taehyung fic #taehyung x reader #taehyung smut #vampire taehyung #fic: run from me #soc taehyung #exqueuese me

[masterqwertster]

And finally the full ensemble of Bells Hells from Kuuraketu's Bells Hells/Avatar the Last Airbender crossover Bending Apart.

With individual characters with art notes beneath the cut

Truthfully, these are almost all pretty quick and dirty traces of official character art, fiddled with for different outfits and human features, and then given the paint bucket. But they were fun.

I went with a more hash-marked claw strikes for the scars since Ashton is not actually made of stone in the fic, and we haven't yet (ch12) seen how they got hurt. I'm sort of betting on a spirit attack, thus the more claw inflicted scars.

I also think it's a fun twist that Ashton is an earthbender, people who notoriously don't wear shoes in A:tLA, but here he's got full-on boots. I figure between keeping the skill a secret, late-blooming, and general lack of training (and maybe Ka'Mort induced hypersensitivity for his element), it makes sense for him to still do shoes.

Chetney was kind of one of the quicker ones. At least once I messed around with his gnome-proportions to get more human sizing.

As a spirit hunter, I gave him some sort-of Buddhist prayer beads, and a little scarf with the kanji for earth, water, air, and fire (though you can't see earth here).

It was also fun giving Chet the little pillbox hat and restyling his shoes into pointy toe "slippers." Chet's just fun.

My sweet boi is my nemesis in drawing here. He's completely freehand, so maybe not as solid in style as the rest.

I think his little polar half-jacket is cute. And has a conveniently normal looking sleeve end for their amputated arm. Their shirt is yellow for living in the Earth Kingdom.

Fearne's barefoot because it just fits her whimsy. Also, she's a firebender in Earth territory. It doesn't hurt to be a little tricksy and look like an earthbender when she's actually going to be kicking fire. Though she's probably got a pair of geta/zori/sandals in her bag (being warmed under Little Mister's butt, lol).

She probably should have more layers to her kimono to be more fancy, but that's more work than I'm putting into these, haha😅

I know, I basically gave her cowgirl boots. It's a look.

Honestly, I feel like this Laudna may have ended up poaching Delilah's necklace and boots.

Like, the shirt and pants are pretty Earth Kingdom peasant. But then the waterbender blue dress was a "gift" from Delilah for her "apprentice." And then Laudna maybe looted D's body (I think she's dead? hasn't been properly brought up as of ch12) and took the nice boots and pretty necklace.

Honestly, Orym's original look isn't that out there for an Avatar setting, so I made minimal changes, haha😅

I switched his wraps and gloves for some Air Nomad colors wraps. Also lengthened out his shirt into a tunic and removed the left sleeve as well. And had some fun redecorating his armor with air and Ashari motifs.

#MQart #fic rec #kuuraketu: bending apart #bells hells

[unhingedtiktoks]

Description: Tiktok from user billyandchet. The caption says "POV: you show your sophisticated friend Ratatouille." The movie ends and Billy, the cameraman, turns to Chet.

Billy: So... what'd you think?

Chet: (awkward laugh) Uh, really... (sarcastic) really good.

It cuts to them talking in the kitchen.

Chet: A rat can move a man's arms and legs b-by what? Pulling his hair?

Person 3: What are you talking about? It's an animated movie, dude.

Chet: (walking away with his hands up) Haha, okay...

Person 3: What do you expect?

It cuts to Chet tying his shoes.

Chet: I mean, hey, if you guys liked it, that's great. To each his own. I just thought it was a bit of a stretch, even by Pixar's standards, so...

It cuts to them walking down the road at night. Chet laughs quietly to himself.

Billy: What's so funny?

Chet: I was uh... I was just thinking about how fucking stupid that movie was. Well, we're here.

Bouncer (played by Billy): ID?

Chet: Yes sir. Oh! And don't worry. (takes off hat) He's of age too.

(In the bar)

Chet: My hands are out of control!

Person 3: (annoyed) What are you doing?

Chet: I-I don't know, I think a rat is pulling on my hair and my hair is directly attached to my limbs! (grabs a beer and starts to take a drink)

Person 3: That's my beer! Goddamn it, dude.

(Outside the bar)

Billy: You loved Up and that's arguably just as ridiculous as this.

Chet: (seriously) Houses get lifted into the air by balloons every year, Bill.

(Back at the house)

Chet: Alright, I'm off to bed. (walks away)

Person 3: He's gonna be a nightmare after Toy Story...

At night in the hallway, Chet is staring blankly into the kitchen as pots and pans clatter offscreen.

Billy: Chet! It's three in the morning, what are you doing?

He walks up to Chet, then turns, revealing a guy in a rat costume pouring cream into a pan.

Billy: What the fuck...

He turns back to Chet, who looks at him in horror.

#tiktok #comedy #sketch #ratatouille

[clarrissanewt]

Club Idiot

Pairing: TASM!peter parker x fem!reader

Warnings: say less, it's just chaotic

Summary: here!

“Do you think-”

“All the time,” Peter snorted as he walked ahead of you. “I’m a good thinker.”

“That’s not what I meant! Do you think-”

“Yep.”

Your blood boiled as you kicked him on the shin. “Will you quit that? I’m trying to ask you something!”

“Alright,” he chimed again,” ask away.”

“Thanks.”

“You are welcome.”

You stopped dead on the footpath. Bloody hell…

“Oh god, fuck you and your welcome!” Tossing your shoulder bag at him, you stomped your way to atleast painlessly kill your best friend as he smirked in your direction. “Now I forgot what I was going to ask!”

Skidding across the lanes of Queens, you two looked like gremlins in making (well, if you both weren’t that already), and the final straw was when you actually plucked out your sneaker (which had taken five minutes to be laced up), launched it at the brunet, who seemed to be caught off guard as the treads of the shoe hit his head. Peter saw the shoe coming, but hey, it’s not everyday you roam around some stinky alleys of Queens revealing, hey, Y/n! It's not just your idiot best friend, it’s the friendly neighbourhood hero; AKA the spiderman!

“Kudos to your ass running,” you panted, slouching by his side, your back pressed firmly on the red bricked wall. If only you hadn’t run like 30 metres after Peter, you could have totally struck off the thought of standing at such a creepy place.

Anyway, call it the grace of spidey tingle, he stiffened next to you, and a little tilt of his head towards the opposite corner already made him whine in his head.

First, he wasn’t in the mood to get gut punched.

Second, he definitely didn't want you to greet and meet spiderman when your temper was reverberating so badly.

“Well, it’s a nice change of scenery,” he muttered, swinging both of your bags in his hand.

“Seriously?” You raised your brow. “This is a freaky alley.”

“Exactly. I was being sarcastic. But this isn’t good…”

You wanted to punch the air and yell ‘heck yeah, I know!’, but kept your mouth shut just to retort with a ‘how could you tell?’.

“See, we are slowly getting surrounded,” he hummed towards a tumult of ragged faced Mr (plural please) Criminals. “And they have guns and knives and I think that guy is carrying a machete.”

“Machete?” You mimicked him. “As in muh-she-tee?”

“Ma-chet,” he repeated solemnly.

“Hah, it’s muh-she-tee!”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, handing you your bag. “Um, I’ll call help.”

“Hey!” You protested but Peter was gone by then. “Wonderful time to die. Brilliant.” You crossed your arms and turned to the Mr Criminals, who were nearly ten footsteps away from where you were standing. “Good…what’s the time? Uh- Good evening!”

Mr Criminal 1 grunted at you and yes! It was time for the mama muh-she-tee.

“Woah, woah, woah,” you tilted your head back and saw a flash of red and blue spandex, and soon enough, you were being pushed back to the wall. “Hands off, sir, that’s my girl.”

My girl? You squinted at none other than Spiderman himself, but nope, adios, you swatted him on the arm and glared into his buggy white eyes.

“You are spiderman?”

Peter winced at your accusation. As if wiping an invisible sweat, he rubbed his finger gently on his temple. “Uh, later, Y/n?”

“Later?” You looked at him hysterically. “Later? That guy was literally going to cut me with his muh-she-tee!”

“Ma-chet,” he leaned closer to you and the Mr Criminals groaned at his back. As a faible attempt to shut their mumbling at the end, he tried to turn to them, but you were faster. Switching both your positions, now he was pressed on the wall while you hovered above him with your comparatively small height.

“Time out, please?” He croaked at the criminals but two out of five just took out their guns. “Jesus, I hate disobedient ones like you.”

You felt his arms slithering against your waist as he webbed the guns somewhere too impossibly high. There was a faint ‘shoosh’ and you yelped as some of the sticky fluid propelled back onto your wrist, thereby safely latching you to the beautifully icky wall and Peter’s spandex suit.

“Shit,” he looked down at your hands, gulping silently. “The projection shouldn’t have bitten back.”

“Get the web out of my hand.”

He mphed at you while fighting the Mr Criminals from the wall. “I can’t! Geez, can you quit the fight and stand still for a second?” You felt something, or perhaps someone falling with a ‘thud’ near your feet, but you just landed a light kick before turning to Peter again.

“I tell you, GET THE WEB OUT OF MY HAND!”

“I CAN’T!”

“BUT YOU ARE SPIDER FUCKING MAN! EAT YOUR WEB BACK, DO SOMETHING BUT JUST DO!”

Peter rubbed his face as if blushing behind the spandex. “Y/n,” his voice sounded so whiny, “you know that sounds so wrong…spider fucking man-”

“Jesus, give me a break,” you again kicked Mr Criminal 4 who was trying to pulverize you from the ground.

“Kick him,” Peter quipped.

“Shut up.”

“Didn’t say anything,” he raised his hands as if to surrender.

“Don’t care. Shut up.”

“Alright, don’t mind me, I’ll just be in a corner, having another existential crisis.”

You nodded and kicked the man straight on his nose, maybe or maybe not breaking his nose. Bingo, 3 out of five knocked out.

“So, what’s our exit strategy?” You mused as Peter continued to shoot some random webs, sticking the bandits on walls as if making graffiti.

“Our what?”

“Oh my god, we are going to die! Eat your bloody web and- good shot,” you beamed as Peter leaned forward, as far as his web fluid and spandex suit let him whilst still being attached to you. “Thanks-”

“You are welcome.”

“Yeah,” he blinked behind those white buggy eyes. “Wait, what are yOU DOING?”

“Talk less, bug boy,” you tutted, nodding to the passed out Mr Criminal 4, and Peter had this excruciatingly difficult task to nick out the knife from the ground, and when he handed it to you, he stood there judging his life choices.

Giving a knife to you? Definitely bad.

“You are not doing that.”

“Better than being stuck on a wall.”

“I could bleed!”

“Of course, there’s no way I’m cutting off my nike’s jacket. Nope, spider fucking man.

“Tell me something which doesn’t let me feel the edge of my spandex being severed.”

You smirked at him. “Ears never stop growing.”

“That’s definitely not true,” he chided as you cut the web undetected.

“Of course it is. I read it on wikipedia!”

Accio bonus!

“I was just wondering,” Peter rubbed the back of his neck as you stomped next to him, “you are an idiot (you quipped a ‘hey!’). I’m an idiot. We can be the co-presidents of the…um, Club Idiot!”

“No way in hell, I’m pooling my money for you idiot club,” you scrunched your nose. “And how dare you! You didn’t even tell me you are a fucking bug!”

Peter muttered something that sounded like, ‘oh, I’m so dead’, and halted in front of you, his hands cupping your face. “It’s ma-chet.”

You had no remorse as you snatched your last sneaker and hurled it at him.

_

taglist: @inlovewithremusjohnlupin @wtfstxr @di4na

join the taglist!

#andrew peter parker #tasm peter parker #tasm andrew garfield #tasm peter x reader #tasm peter parker x reader #tasm peter parker x fem!reader #peter parker x fem!reader #peter parker x reader #spiderman x reader #spiderman x fem!reader

[dulce-pjm]

cheek to cheek

request for taehyung from @kidcoredreamz (thanks bae!!) 

listen to “cheek to cheek” by ella fitzgerald and louis armstrong and “i get along without you very well” by chet baker for maximum effect

make your own request here using these prompts!

cheek to cheek

word count: 3.1k

genre: fluff, arrangedmarriage!au

summary: it’s night like these that you wish things were different

Taehyung is guaranteed, always has been. 

From the minute your tiny fingers could interlock with his, you were dragging each other around the mansions and garden parties, sneaking off to corners with desserts and chocolate milk and getting sugar rushes together. Time with Taehyung comes easy and passes quickly, the hours with him condensing into minutes and the few minutes without him stretching into lonesome years. 

You’ve seen him through thick and thin. Through acne flare ups and awkward conversations and never-ending games of tag. You’ve seen him pick his nose, cry over spilled milk (or, in his case, a broken remote-control race car), get caught sneaking out. You’ve comforted him while he felt broken, laughed until your sides were aching. You know his ins and outs, his rough edges and corners, his soft spots he tries to hide. 

Marrying him should be a blessing. 

To spend the rest of your life with the person who’s stuck by your side throughout everything is a future some can only dream about. To have someone understand you so perfectly, to understand them like no one else will. It should be a blessing. 

It should be. 

The digital clock reads 11:57 when he knocks on the window. 

You’ve always had a weird thing about having a room on the ground floor, when possible. It’s closest to the front door, in case of an emergency. And there’s no risk of tripping downstairs when you’re sleepily moving around in the night. And, most importantly, it’s easy to sneak out when you need to. 

While you’re a little startled, you’re nothing close to afraid. You know exactly what face to expect as you throw open the sheer curtains, silken pajama sleeves hanging over your fingers and eyes swollen from sleep. 

The moonlight makes his silvery hair seem otherworldly, a soft glow coming off of his locks. A few months ago, you’d been more than opposed to his sudden need to dye his hair, but you really shouldn’t have been surprised. The odd color just makes him more ethereal. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” you hiss, opening the bay window and letting the frigid air slam you in the face. Your eyes comb over the rest of his figure, your brows furrowing at his dark hoodie and sweats, a black hoodie crumpled in one of his hands. Anyone else would have assumed he was an intruder. 

“Visiting my fiancée?” he tries, flashing a lopsided grin. “Thought we could sneak out again. For old times’ sake.” 

“We’re not kids anymore, Tae,” you huff. 

“That doesn’t mean we have to be boring.” 

You cross your arms as a chill runs down your spine from the cool breeze. “It’s midnight. I’m in my pajamas.”

“Well, then you better change.” You stare at him indignantly for a moment, wondering just how much of a doormat he thinks you are. 

“Please?” he adds, batting his lashes teasingly. “I have a surprise. You’ll like it, promise.”

“But will I like it more than I’d like crawling back into bed? Can’t it wait until morning?”

“No. Let’s be a little spontaneous, like we used to be.”

You won’t lie. The soft duvet, still warm, is calling to you strongly. You know that as soon as your head hit the pillow again, you’d be out. Sleeping like a baby. 

But it’s Taehyung’s half-assed pout and an unfortunately strong curiosity that compels you to slip on the nearest t-shirt and sweats for the designated “not-dirty-enough-for-the-basket-yet” chair and climb out the window with a sigh. 

-- 

“It’s Dad’s latest passion project. It was my suggestion, but I think he’s enjoying it more than me.”

You’re enjoying yourself more than you’d like to admit, too. You aren’t sure what urged Taehyung or his wealthy, CEO father to pour their time and effort into a run down museum, but you sure are glad they did. It’s like walking through a ghost town, dust coating the walls and old exhibits. Only some of the lights work and there’s renovation supplies littering the floors. You and Taehyung stick to each other’s sides in the poorly lit areas to avoid tripping and meeting a sorry end via paint roller. 

This certainly isn’t the first time you’ve been out late with Taehyung. When you were in high school and determined to rebel against your parents’ constricting ways, the two of you often found yourselves roaming the city and laughing much too loudly during a time when you should have been catching up on sleep or homework. 

Being with Taehyung was never too much of a risk. His parents always fell victim to your innocent smiles and mumbled apologies, while yours believed Taehyung could do no wrong. After they yelled and scolded and nearly tore their hair out, soon they were only shaking their heads and smiling at each other knowingly. It was hard to be mad for long when things were really working even better than planned. 

“What do you think it means?” Taehyung asks as the two of you stare at the large mural. It’s filled with wide strokes of color, abstract shapes littering the foreground with seemingly no pattern or reason. You really can’t even see the whole thing, when Taehyung turned on the lights for this room, only two or three managed to flicker on. 

You tap your chin, deep in thought. “Well, the red is clearly...” You tilt your head. “It’s clearly having a battle with the yellow. They represent good and evil. And the purple in the back is hope.” Taehyung tilts his head in the same direction as yours, brows knit in concentration. 

“You really got all that from... that?” You snort. 

“Nah, I just bullshitted it. I have no idea what it means.” Taehyung giggles, shoving you in the side. You stumble, yelping dramatically and nearly crashing into a probably very expensive bust of some historical figure you wouldn’t recognize. 

“I was being serious, Y/N.” You laugh at his pouty expression, resisting the urge to poke him in the side in revenge. You don’t want to start a fight you know you can’t win. 

After trying to make sense of the abstract mural for a few moments, you move out of the art exhibits on to the historical section, looking at the old skeletons and fossils and relics from years and years ago. 

It’s fun trying to guess the names of the different dinosaur skeletons, cackling obnoxiously at all the ridiculous things you can combine with “—asaurus.” You take turns reading the puns scattered on the colorful signs throughout the exhibit, groaning at the bad ones and acknowledging the okay ones with a tiny chuckle. You laugh the hardest when Taehyung spots the fake alligators and climbs onto the display, insisting you take his picture so he can look cool. 

“Tae, you can clearly tell you’re inside!” He scoffs. 

“Just take the picture!” he insists. “Don’t I look like Steve Irwin?”

The photos all come out insanely blurry, your arms shaking too much as you try to hold in your giggles. 

When you were first told of the arrangement at age sixteen, you cried. You sobbed and you wailed and you screamed and you locked yourself in your room in protest for an entire day. Your parents couldn’t understand it. You loved Taehyung. More than your own family. More than anything else. They loved him too. He was the son of a close friend and a union would benefit business, certainly. 

When you eventually came out of your bedroom, you refused to talk about it. You only mumbled that you were sorry and your parents knew better than to ask questions and so, that was the end of it. 

“Taehyung!” you shout, grabbing his wrist and dragging him across the antiques exhibit. You’d both already tried (and failed) at using the dusty typewriter and moved on to playfully arguing about who should pose with the guillotine when your eyes locked onto an item across the room. 

“What is it?” he laughed, stumbling after you, all smiles. 

“It’s a phonograph,” you explain. It appears in near-perfect condition despite the circumstances, the brass horn shiny and golden like it’d been made yesterday. “You can play records on it.” 

He nods in understanding. “We should try it.” The idea is tempting, but your hopes for it working are fairly low. “There’s already a record on it, just try to get it to play.”

You lean forward, fingers mentally crossed as you fiddling with the needle and try winding the crank. The gears squeak terribly inside the main compartment, making you cringe. But you keep winding it, stepping back and squeezing your eyes tight in anticipation. 

When you’re met with silence instead of music, you sigh in defeat. “Well, I guess that’s alright, it’s pretty old anyway, let’s—”

Suddenly, the machine fizzles to life, record slowly turning on the turntable and a jazzy tune carries through the air. Taehyung cheers, clapping on the shoulder. 

“You did it!” Your smile quickly stretches into your cheeks, exhaustion long forgotten as you relax in the nice sound, soft piano and pleasant singing filling your ears. 

You begin subconsciously swaying to song, fingers drumming to the beat absentmindedly on your thighs. Taehyung seems to know the song, quietly singing a few lyrics every one and a while. 

“Let’s dance,” he says suddenly. Your stomach tightens. 

“Let’s not,” you reply quickly, arms hugging your sides. You stare ahead, trying to focus on the song rather than the person beside you. Out of the corner of your eye, you see him lean slightly closer, lolling his head to the side. 

“Why not?” 

You sigh. You don’t really have an answer. 

Your hand finds his, fingers interlocking as you let Taehyung guide you out into a relatively clearly spot, tennis-shoe clad feet shuffling lightly to the music. You’ve danced with him in other settings, with many more eyes watching. You’re normally dressed perfectly, not a hair out of place and a thick layer of makeup coating your eyes and cheeks. 

“Remember that time your mom made us take dance lessons when we were twelve?” Taehyung asks, a glint in his eye. 

You scoff. “I remember the part where you gave me laxatives right before the first lesson, yeah.” Taehyung can barely keep his grip on you, moving his other hand to your waist in an attempt to steady himself as his shoulders shake with laughter. 

“I really thought it was regular tea, I promise.”

“Sure you did.”

“I did! I thought we were being all fancy like our parents and drinking fancy tea like fancy rich people.”

“Then why didn’t you drink the laxative tea, huh?”

“I don’t like tea. I just put milk in my teacup and hoped you wouldn’t notice.” You snort, hands settled all to comfortably on his shoulders as the smooth voice croons and echoes off of the walls. 

It’s intimate. There’s nowhere else to look but his eyes as he places a hand on your waist, pulling you closer with a soft smile. The room feels warmer, his breath barely skimming across your face at the close proximity. 

It forces you to think about the things you’d much rather keep inside. 

This should be nice. It should be normal and romantic and sweet, to be slow-dancing with your fiancée. Your smile should be light and endeared and love-struck, not forced and fake. 

There’s a heavy pang in your heart as you remember. Remember how much love him. How much you care. How much you want to hold him close, press your lips on his without a single bit of hesitance. 

But you can’t do those things, knowing the things you do. To Taehyung, this marriage is a convenience. It’s a way to please his parents and strengthen his business connections and do it all with his best friend. He’s always been perfectly content with the arrangement, perfectly content to marry for everything but love. 

And how are you supposed to feel, wanting to marry him for the very thing he doesn’t feel for you?

He’s all you’ve ever wanted. You would have left this life a long time ago, but it would mean sacrificing him. You’re too selfish to do that. You want him all to yourself, every part that you can get. 

You’ve seen every side of him, the weird and the sad and sweet. You want it all. But you’ll never have it. 

You wish it were real. That this were a romantic night away, that you’d wake up in the morning all tangled in his arms. It’s this intimacy that you crave but can never enjoy, not when you know it’s all fake.

And he knows you too. Knows something is up when that little knot between your brows forms and your eyes grow just a little glassy.

“What’s wrong?” You quickly straighten your spine, blinking away any tears pricking at your eyes. 

“Nothing, I’m fine.” But Taehyung knows. He leans forward slightly, dark eyes piercing through your very soul. You gulp as you feel his body heat on your own skin, releasing your hands from his shoulders in your panic. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

“No,” you breathe. Your gaze falls as you step back, the music tapering off as the phonograph finally gives out and the moment is fully broken.

But instead of letting you slip away, his grip tightens, look growing desperate.

“Wait! Just a second.” You can see him itch to run his hand through his hair, but his arms don’t leave you. “You’ve been acting so weird lately. Is it me? Did I do something wrong?” You furiously shake your head. 

“No, that’s not it. I just—” You stop yourself before too many words spill out and you say something you can’t take back.

When you don’t elaborate, Taehyung’s face falls further. “Seriously, what is it? Am I really making you that upset?”

“No, I—”

“Is it because I dragged you out so late? I’m sorry, it’d just been so long since I saw you and I missed you—”

“Just shut up!” you cry, shoving him off of you for good. A few tears wet your cheeks and your face heats with embarrassment. “It’s because you pull this kind of stupid, romantic shit that makes me love you even more than I already do but I know you don’t see us that way.”

Taehyung’s eyes go wide, but you suppose since it’s all on the table, you’ll keep going. “I know this is all just fun and games and easy to you but it fucking hurts, Taehyung. You can’t lead people on like this. You can’t do this shit and expect me not to feel something for you.”

The phonograph crackles in the corner of the room, unable to play pretty tunes or sweet songs anymore. It sounds restless and broken and unpleasant to hear. 

“Maybe I wanted you to feel something for me.” You whip your head up, cheeks still hot from mortification and anger. 

“What?”

“You heard me. I wanted you to love me. Because I love you.” 

When you kiss him, it’s like a breath of fresh air. It’s hungry and rushed as your fingers gently tug on his hair and his palm is splayed on the small of your back, pulling you as close to him as humanly possible. 

At some point, you end up pressed against the wall, euphoric as he trails pecks down your jaw and neck incessantly, like he’s trying to make up for every time he wished he’d kissed you. You whine when he parts his lips, tugging on his hair as he fastens your body against him. He tastes like the peppermint chapstick he always keeps in his pocket. The habit had ruined a pair of his dress pants before when it melted all in the pocket, but he’s always been too stubborn about chapped lips to learn his lesson and carry it elsewhere. You can smell his shampoo and the faint scent of his cologne. Everything that fills your senses is him and only him. 

You feel a few tears sting at the corner of your eyes but you ignore them, gasping for breath between long kisses, a few giggles escaping you when you see you’re not the only one lightheaded. 

After what feels both like hours and seconds, Taehyung pulls away, his lips swollen and pink, but stretched into that adorable grin that hasn’t changed since you were kids. 

“Sorry I didn’t say something earlier,” he murmurs. “I never could find the right words to say it and I knew it’d make everything awkward if you didn’t feel the same way.” You laugh mirthlessly, cupping his face gently with your hands. 

“Same here.” You sigh. “Guess we’re both idiots.”

“Guess so.” 

It's a little frightening to stare at him like this. You’ve always held your guard tightly whenever you felt even close to your feelings being compromised, but that weight you’d carried for so long as suddenly detached itself from your shoulders, leaving you free floating. Yes, it’s like floating untethered through the air or being caught in the ocean with your life jacket. It’s scary and daunting and unknown. But it’s nice to know that you’ll have Taehyung’s hand tightly holding yours the whole way. 

“Since I confessed first, I think you should pose for a picture with the guillotine.” Taehyung’s intent stare breaks, his face crinkling in disgust. 

“But I kissed you first.”

“Only because I said I loved you.”

“If you really loved me, you’d pose with the guillotine and I could pose like I’m the executioner.” Now it’s your turn to be disgusted. 

“That’s so fucking morbid, Kim Taehyung.” You smack his arm, but he keeps you against the wall, thigh between your legs as he leans in again. 

“Only for you,” he murmurs, planting his lips on yours again. 

The scoff about to leave your mouth is caught in your throat as you’re enveloped in his embrace, kissing each other dizzy until you’re certain the sun must be rising soon. 

You wouldn’t mind too much if it did, though. 

As Taehyung keeps trying to convince you to take stupid photos and explain abstract art to him, you aren’t sure how much a blessing he is. All you really know is that he’s your guarantee, your anchor in this unforgiving world. You aren’t sure where he’ll take you next, what random time he’ll decide is the best for your future adventures. You can’t know what the rest of your life holds, only that he’ll be next to you as long as he can. 

And that’s enough for now.

#dulce-pjm: request #kidcoredreamz #taehyung #taehyung drabble #taehyung fluff #taehyung angst #this was uh #not supposed to be this long #nice #thank you for the request! i loved your prompt

[angelicmichael]

living after midnight

Brooke Thompson x Montana Duke

Summary: Brooke and Montana get a bit intoxicated and get a bit carried away while going night swimming. Based off this post I made a week ago hehe

Words: 3.1k+

Warnings: mentions of alcohol and also vague mentions of weed, stripping (no nudity tho LOL), lotssss of sexual tension, lots of fluff, slowburn, friends to lovers, weird yearning angst for like .02 seconds lmao

A/N: Hey guys, sorry if this is random but I got random inspo for brotana so.. here this is lmao. Believe it or not I did try to make this under 1k words but.. I got carried away so I’m sorry that’s it’s long 😭. But the fic happens sometime after Brooke and Montana meet but before any camp redwood fuckery happens lmao. Anyway I hope y’all like this!! This is also probably the fastest I’ve ever written a fic so I hope it’s atleast decent haha. Anyway enjoy <3

A gentle breeze danced against Brookes exposed skin. The midnight air cold on its own regard but it seemed to blend perfectly with the extensive heat that radiated from the bonfire she sat in front of.

The night was entirely pitch black. The moon was vacant from the sky, leaving the only source of light to come from the giant fire that sat at Brookes shoes.

It was admittedly a bit unsettling being in almost the total darkness, especially with how many girls had recently gone missing in L.A as of late but the beer in her system had mostly put those thoughts to rest. Plus, being with three men and Montana was also reassuring. Even if she didn’t exactly know Xavier, Chet or Ray that well but.. she knew Montana.

It was nearly impossible to forget about how they met.. in the girls locker room in the showers and well; it’s not as if things were any less weird now. Showers or not.

It’s not as if Brooke and Montana were best friends or super close, because that definitely wasnt the case; but they weren’t acquaintances either by any means. The weird tension and ‘playfulness’ that lied between them ruled out being friends.. or that’s Brooke liked to think anyway when she had one too many things to drink. Like now.

Her legs twitched a bit restlessly; content at the ambience that surrounded her but not content with her current state of being. Like how she knew she should be enjoying herself, drunk, not caring about particularly anything at all but instead all she could do was fucking care. Her thoughts were purely infiltrated with Montana and it was embarrassing, to say the least but now that she was intoxicated there was really no harm in fighting it. No matter how annoying and taunting those thoughts truly were.

After all, Why should she not think about how nice it would be to feel Montana’s hands (which she knew had to be soft and delicate) on her waist and down her back? Why should she not think about Montana’s soft lips moving against her own, a few strands of her bleached hair (which definitely had lost it softness due to excessive over bleaching) brushing up against her face accidentally?

That was a rhetorical question; because she knew exactly why she avoided those type of thoughts on a normal day to day basis. Not because it would make things awkward between them but because it was beyond fucking painful to imagine scenarios that would never happen.. Never.

The smell of the fire and the sounds of the wood crackling, which was far too dry and poorly stacked (neither Xavier, Chet or Ray could build a proper fire to save their life), helped bring Brooke out of her thoughts and bit more into reality. So did the gentle sway of the tree branches which she could see in her peripheral vision, since they were right on the cusp of a forest that cut off to a beach. Ocean waves which slowly dragged across the sand were also soothing to listen too, albeit distant over the sound of Brookes friends screaming and laughing and being heavily intoxicated over what was more than just alcohol and weed.

Brooke reached down and swiftly grabbed the beer can which was previously lodged upright in the sand. Lifting the can up to her lips and cringing and unconsciously tensing up as she swallowed until the can was nearly weightless - wiping her mouth with the back of her hand just to see-

“Montana?!” Brooke nearly yelled. Both alcohol and temporary shock making her speak way louder than what was realistically needed.

Montana, who was previously standing several feet away with the boys was suddenly seated right next to Brooke on the log with no warning. Probably having moved over while Brooke was poorly chugging the alcohol she hated.. but she couldn’t help but to notice that their thighs (as well as basically their entire sides) were touching as she tried to wipe the alcohol that had embarrassingly dripped down her front in a frenzy.

Chet and Xavier looked back at them from a few feet away as they smoked what Brooke knew had to be a joint. Briefly laughing and giving the pair of women an amused glance before turning around and immersing themselves in whatever conversation they were previously having.

Brooke sheepishly met Montana’s gaze, feeling her cheeks grow nearly unbearably hot at the awareness that she was now being watched.. studied almost.

“Sorry,” Brooke added with a giggle.

Montana responded with a slight upturn of her lips; amused with Brookes actions not because she found it necessarily funny or pitiful, but for the sole reason that.. it was cute and endearing that Brooke couldn’t really hold her alcohol for shit.

It made her unique and different from everyone else Montana acquainted herself with. People that Montana had to basically learn to keep up with.. but Brooke on the other hand was different.. She was a breath of fresh air, and that’s why Montana assumed she was so attracted to her (besides her looks, of course).

Montana tried her best to ignore and not be bothered by the fact that Brooke was wasting perfectly good alcohol by wiping it off herself (alcohol that Montana wouldn’t necessarily mind licking off Brookes lips.. or her neck, or really anywhere else off of her). Instead focusing on how suffocated she felt here.

It wasn’t necessarily anyone’s fault. After all; she loved Chet, Xavier and Ray dearly but.. they were also undoubtedly preventing anything from happening between her and Brooke.. and that needed to change.

Montana huffed. Her deep brown eyes quickly flickering at the flame and then Brooke before speaking.

“Im bored,” she announced. Suddenly standing up and not letting her eyes break the gaze she suddenly held with Brooke.

Brooke responded with a simple hum. Her jaw quickly dropping once she noticed that Montana’s bright red nails quickly darted down under her own shirt. Hooking the material under her fingertips before quickly raising the shirt up and over her head. Throwing it back somewhere behind the log Brooke still sat on.. somewhere where Brooke was almost certain Montana wouldn’t be able to locate later.. which was probably done on purpose.

Brookes jaw still stayed ajar when she saw Montana’s hands automatically fly down to the small jean shorts she was wearing. She could do nothing but watch as she saw the button unhook- wait.. what exactly was happening?

“Montana, what are you doing?” Brooke asked with a laugh.

Brooke tried her best to fight the urge to look at her friend who was now well.. in her bra and underwear, out of what she was trying to convince herself was respect, but it wasn’t working. She knew for a fact her cheeks had to burnt bright fucking red; she tried to laugh off the feeling but Montana still stared.. her smile slowly growing wider until sudden laughter momentarily broke the tension again.

Brooke and Montana both looked behind them just to find the boys laughing and whooping as well at Montana’s sudden lack of clothes.

Brooke smiled back at them but it only lasted a second before she found herself overtaken with a emotion she never really felt around Montana before.. was it jealousy?

Just the sight of them staring at Montana (who obviously didn’t give a fuck, or was thriving off the attention more than anything) was enough to make Brooke stand up.

“Go swimming with me?” Brooke suddenly proposed. More than certain that her sudden impulsivity was coming from the alcohol more than anything.. it had to be, right?

Brooke looked Montana in the eyes again as she watched the other woman’s expression suddenly change at her words; looking utterly shocked and.. maybe a bit thrilled.

“You want to go swimming?” Montana nearly sneered, her tone reeked off utter disbelief, “and what are you gonna wear?”

Brooke laughed at what the other woman was implying. Her dark brown eyes slipped down to admire the rest of Montana’s body that she dared not to look at previously. Only looking for a second at the matching cherry red set that Montana wore. A bra which was most definitely too tight and cut a bit small, along with a thong with sat a bit high on her hips which only accentuated her figure even further.

She didn’t have time to think; her eyes darting back up to meet Montana’s which she knew were watching her.

“I’m not going naked-“

“You don’t have too. It’s not like their gonna see us anyway once we get away from the fire. Here.”

They both spoke in hushed whispers. Weirdly paranoid that maybe the boys would overhear and wanna join which- was something they both clearly didn’t want, although unspoken.

The distance between them was minimal enough due to alcohol (and other substances in Montana’s case) running high in their systems. Making personal space something that was now nonexistent.

Montana extended her hand out to Brooke to take. She quickly grabbed her hand, hoping desperately it wasn’t sweaty from how close they were to the fire and also.. just from the situation she was bound to find herself in. But due to Montana’s reaction (or lack thereof) she knew she had nothing to worry about.. sweaty palms or not, she knew Montana wouldn’t judge her. No matter how insane the circumstance; Brooke always felt safe around Montana. That’s why she supposed she was currently following her into the pitch black - her vision getting more and more sparse as they walked away from the fire and into some nearby trees that framed the beach..

“Are you sure they can’t see me?” Brooke asked, trying her best to look through the trees and see if any of her friends happened to be looking but - she couldn’t really make out anything besides the subtle outline of her surroundings which included Montana.

“They can’t see you. Relax,” Montana said with a giggle. “Now do I need to help you undress? Your taking forever and I’m hot- and it’s not like I haven’t seen you wearing less-“

Brooke tried her best to look offended and shocked by her reference to how they met. She knew that normally with nothing in her system she would’ve easily sidestepped Montana’s ruthless flirting but.. something felt different about tonight. After all; why should she keep trying so hard to resist something they both felt? And it wasn’t like anyone could see them anyway..

Brooke quickly turned her head to where she knew Montana was and stepped closer until they were barely a foot apart. Her feet nearly stumbled on Montana’s from the proximity; biting her lip to prevent herself from stupidly giggling once she felt hot breath on her cheek.

She grabbed Montana’s hands which first held hers back limply but briefly held hers tighter before Brooke directed her hands on her shirt.

“Take it off,” Brooke uttered. Her voice barely audible but not quite loud enough to be discerned as a whisper.

Montana didn’t hesitate as she quickly took Brookes shirt off, barely feeling the soft fabric against her fingertips before she quickly threw it behind them into the forest. Montana didn’t wait for Brooke to say anything before her fingers were quickly undoing the button and the zipper of her jean shorts which were only thrown somewhere in the forest as well (hopefully near her shirt.. Brooke could only hope).

Brooke tried her best to not look bothered by her sudden lack of clothes but she also knew that was purely idiotic since they were in the pitch black.

Nevertheless she looked down at herself, trying to discern whether her figure was actually visible or not but Montana grabbed her hand again. Making her gaze snap upward as she led her out. She knew they were going out to the water now; the sand under her feet and the fire now visible from a distance as they continued to go out. The sand becoming more grainy and nearly painful to step on as they got closer to the water.

Brooke quickly looked over her shoulder before she took the first step in - still holding onto Montana’s hand. She quickly glanced to see if any of the men they had came with were watching but surely enough they were still talking and laughing as if they didn’t even notice they had gone missing.. and they probably hadn’t given how fucked up they were.

Perfect.

She continued to hold onto Montana’s hand as she went further and further into the water; not phased by the sudden coolness she felt as the water wrapped around her legs.. submerging her further and further until they both finally stopped. The water lapping around Brookes waist, and well, nearly Montana’s chest since she was a few inches shorter than Brooke.

The water seemed to be a perfect temperature despite them being at the ocean; and the rocks had since disappeared under their feet and changed back into soft sand which also made the current situation a bit more enjoyable.

Brooke tilted her head back a bit, worried momentarily that her hair might get wet but it was worth it. It was absolutely breathtaking.

The night sky which previously looked completely black and void of any light whatsoever was now painted with what looked to be a million stars.

“Do you see this?” Brooke asked.

“What, the stars?” Montana answered, her voice holding a bit of amusement to it and almost as if she was trying to hold back a laugh.

“Yeah,” Brooke affirmed with a nod. Still keeping her gaze fixated to the night sky.

“What about them?” Montana asked.

The water rippled a bit as Montana started to a take a few steps closer towards Brooke, dissatisfied at the distance between them.

“Nothing. I just- it’s beautiful. I never do things like this,” Brooke responded, tilting her head down to make eye contact with Montana as she finished her sentence.

Montana smirked.

“Never?” She asked with a laugh. “C'mon. I’m not wet enough, let’s go deeper.”

Before Brooke could protest, Montana grabbed both of her hands and pulled her deeper in the water.

“But I didn’t bring a towel!”

“Your not gonna need one. We can warm up by the fire, remember?”

They continued to keep wading until the water almost spilled over Montana’s shoulders. The water barely touching Brookes collarbones but getting some of her hair wet regardless.

She hesitantly let go of the other woman’s hand in the water, intent on using her hand to help her gain balance since a few rocks were still on the ocean ground but - the exact opposite happened.

Brooke didn’t even have time to gasp or scream before her left foot quickly slid on a random rock that just.. of course.. had to fucking be there. Her hands quickly landed on Montana’s shoulders; the rest of her body accidentally falling into the other woman’s but she only felt Montana’s hands suddenly grab gently at her back. Holding her in place against her body.

Brookes eyes instinctively closed shut but when she slowly opened them and reluctantly lifted her head higher up (silently cursing herself for accidentally getting her hair almost entirely wet now) she noticed.. how close they were to each other.

Her nose was only centimeters away from Montana's shoulder.. which meant-

“Are you okay?” Montana asked softly, speaking unintentionally right next to her ear which made a shiver run up Brookes spine.

“Mhm,” Brooke responded.

She rose her head up further - her vision fully black now due to closing her eyes so tightly and being disoriented from slipping, but she knew from hearing Montana’s voice that she had to be close. Very close.

Moving her head a bit to the left.. almost microscopically, not wanting whatever ‘this’ was to necessarily be clumsy but she knew she didn’t necessarily have a choice in the dark.

“What are you doing?” Montana continued to whisper.

Brooke couldn’t help but to smile and let out a giggle that made her sound far more drunk than she actually was. She knew exactly where Montana’s lips were now due to her speaking. Thank god.

“You’ll see.”

Brooke leaned in slowly. Briefly bumping noses before catching Montana’s lips with her own. The feeling so heavenly and overdue - not enough but simultaneously far too much to take in all at once.

The taste of dull, gut wrenching beer started to flood her mouth. It was all that Montana basically tasted like.. that and a bit like smoke but Brooke didn’t mind. If anything it made the feelings of infatuation temporarily stronger. Brookes nails started to pierce the other woman’s back; wanting nothing more than to just have.. more. More of Montana; her taste, her hands, her touch.. the feeling was both pathetic but impossible to fight any longer.

The mere thought that this was something she was previously holding herself back from having was almost laughable but- that would be something to think about for another time.

Montana’s lips softly broke from hers.

“Eager.. aren’t you?” She teased.

Brookes eyes still refused to adjust but she knew Montana had to be grinning.

“Sorry.. I just-“

“Don’t be sorry. You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do that,” Montana said lowly.

Montana suddenly leaned in with no warning. Her hands softly grabbed Brookes shoulders; leaning in to pull her bottom lip with her teeth.

After she let go, the feeling to kiss her again was strong but.. she thought of something better. The thrill of the chase was something Brooke always enjoyed, after all.

Brooke took a few steps back suddenly before quickly heading for the shore. Not really going that fast at all due to the resistance of the water pushing up against her legs but she laughed regardless.

She could hear Montana laughing and calling her a jerk in the distance but it was all just noise at this point. Her voice, the water rushing, the fire and their friends (which grew gradually louder as she approached) all started to sound the same.

Maybe the alcohol was finally kicking in.

Even though Brooke definitely felt tipsy, she still felt nervous the closer she got from being fully submerged out of the water. Maybe it was due to the fact she wasn’t certain what was going to happen at the fire, or if their friends had even heard anything but she knew atleast now she would have Montana. Exactly how she had Montana was something to be determined later, but as she finally stepped out and away from the nearly black ocean waves and ran up to the fire to go wait for Montana - she was comforted by the thought that things would now never be the same and forever would be different between the two of them.

Which had to be a good thing; right?

Taglist: @michaellangdonstanaccount @langdonsexual @jimmason @blakescoven @dark-mei-rose @9layerdevilfoodcake @prophecy-is-inevitable @matildaofoz @beautyiswithinchaos @frenchlangdon @king-with-no-crovvn @melodylangdon @littledemondani @celestialrequiem @sojournmichael @ritualmichael @waitinvain @twilightzone24

Let me know if u would like to be added or removed to the taglist hehe

#brooke x montana #brooke thompson x montana duke #brotana #ahs fanfiction #ahs fanfic #my fic #will post to ao3 soon 😌 #did I procrastinate my Andy fic to write this?? maybe lmao #I’m almost done w my Andy fic tho I swear 😭 #i know I never talk about brotana so this is probably random asf but I just wanted to write something wlw 😌

[chaos-is-beautifvl]

What Donkey?

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 |

warnings: none, just shameless cursing

word count: 1.2K

"Girls just wanna have funnn!" You belted out the lyrics to the song, tapping your fingers on the steering wheel. The song had released in the fall of last year, and once you heard it, it had you hooked. Well, technically, it took one of your friends, Lana, begging you to give it a try before you listened to it.

A laugh erupted from beside you, and you turned your head to see Ray staring at you with an amused look on his face. "Yeah, you sure are having fun, singing that horribly."

"Oh, fuck you, Ray," you scoffed, directing your attention back on the road. "I'm an excellent singer," you used your faux British accent for emphasis. Ray rolled his eyes and peered out the window, "Yeah, sure you are."

"Anyway," you said, stretching out the word, "who's this friend of yours we're bunking with?" When Ray had first brought up the two of heading down to LA for, in his words, a nice vacation, he said he had a friend who would let you stay with them. You weren't that well-versed with Ray's friends because a good majority of them were assholes.

"His name's Chet. You've met him before." He saw you raise a brow, "You know, buff arms? White guy?"

You nodded, "Yeah, I totally know who that is. Ray, that's like 75, wait no- 85 percent of the guys in your fraternity." Ray sighed and rolled his eyes for the hundredth time that day, "Looks like he's on steroids?"

"Ohhh," you flashed him a grin, "I know who you're talking about now." He mumbled something about you being insufferable, to which you just smirked and directed your attention back on the road.

"So, where are we headed?" Ray gave you the instructions and commented on how you should've just let him drive if you didn't know where to go. You narrowed your eyes at him, explaining that you would never let his clumsy ass drive your car.

"Turn here." You flicked on your signal light and made a right turn. Ray told you to pull into what looked like a plaza of some sort. Looking around, you noticed the building you parked in front of was a gym. That's when the word 'aerobics' lit up in bright neon letters caught your attention.

You turned to Ray with a big grin on your face, and he already knew you were up to no good. Before he could even tell you to leave him alone, you pinched his cheek. "Aww, Ray... If the only reason you wanted to get away this summer was so you could do explore your hidden love for aerobics - you could have just said so, you big goof."

Ray swatted your hand away, blankly staring at you, "You are the most annoying person I have ever met."

"Ray!" You unlocked the doors, stepping out of the car, "You know how I feel about being called annoying. It makes me feel.." you paused for dramatic effect, "special."

"What the actual fuck is wrong with you?" He asked, scoffing as he bent down to tie his shoes.

"Hmm... Let me think..." you tapped your foot, head tilted up as if you were asking the heavens for help, "Everything."

Rolling his eyes, Ray shook his head, "Come on." You followed him after making sure you had locked the doors. You couldn't have anyone taking you guys' stuff and stealing your precious baby, now could you? The answer to that is no. No, you could not.

Thank god, they have air conditioning, you thought as you and Ray made your way into the building. The early summer weather was not treating you well as far as the light sheen of sweat covering your body went. As much as you loved your car, the air conditioning was not the best, leaving the air inside humid.

Ray's car's air conditioning worked fine, considering his car was a newer model and the fact that he got regular check-ups. The only problem was that Ray's car had suddenly "stopped working." You didn't believe that for one second, but when you had brought it up to him, he was quick to shut you down. You left it alone, but if he thought you had forgotten about it, boy, was he wrong.

There was a group of three people leaning against a desk. One of the three was a blonde with brown roots, his back facing you, talking very animatedly with his hands. You didn't even try to hide the fact that you were checking him out, slowly dragging your eyes up his legs, right to where his tiny white shorts met his-

Your pleasant gazing was cut short by Ray calling out Chet's name. You flicked your gaze around the room, not noticing the beefy brunette until he was standing right in front of you, "Ray, my man. You made it."

They did a little handshake, and you looked past Chet to see that he had come from the group of three. So that meant you were shamelessly ogling one of his friends. But did you care? Not at all.

You didn't know Ray and Chet had walked away until Ray sighed in annoyance before calling out, "Y/N, get your ass over here." You looked around, a foe look of confusion on your face, "My ass? Sorry, Ray, I don't think I have a donkey?"

He shook his head for the thousandth time, "Just, come on." You walked over, a satisfied smirk on display. Did you like pissing your sweet (not so much) cousin off? Yes, you did. And were you ever going to stop? No, you weren't.

"Y/N," Chet said, smiling as he pulled you in for a side hug. "Chet," you replied, returning the hug before pulling away, "Are you going to introduce us to your friends?"

"Right on that, ma'am." He turned to his friends, getting their attention before they came over. "Guys, this is-"

"Montana Duke," a girl with bleached blonde hair with a light blue headband on and smoky eye makeup said, thrusting her hand towards you. You took it, flashing her a smile, "Y/N. And this is my cousin-" She cut you off too. You figured she wasn't trying to be rude, so you let her continue. "Ray. Yeah. I know this idiot."

You smirked, tilting your head at her, "Yes. I think you and I are going to get along quite well." She smirked back, a twinkle of mischief flashing in her brown eyes, "Yes, I think we will."

Ray sighed, shaking his head, "I knew I shouldn't have brought you with me."

"Aww, Ray, you'll be okay. Just expect a lot of-"

"Sorry, guys. I was thirsty, so I got-" That voice sounded oddly familiar. Right when you were about to ask who it was, the person spoke again, "Holy shit."

Yep, you definitely knew that voice from somewhere. A pair of steely blue eyes met yours when you raised your head in their direction, and you scoffed as a laugh escaped you, "Son of a bitch."

The other three shared looks of confusion. You stepped up to the blonde, smirking, "Well, hello, there, stranger."

The person returned the smirk as they cocked their hip, tilting their head and squinting their eyes at you, "Long time no see, huh, babe?"

—

tags (if you want to be added/unadded, let me know): @unblossomedme @czarinera @fandomxloveer @9layerdevilfoodcake @lizzy-claire-fandom @prophecy-is-inevitable @leatherduncan @mikhalxngdon @ramona-thorns @michaelarchives @fandomxloveer

#finally done with this #chaos-is-beautifvl #chaos.writes 🖋 #xavier plympton #xavier plympton x reader #ahs #ahs 1984 #ahs imagine #michael langdon #xavier plympton fanfiction #ahs xavier #ahs x reader #michael langdon fanfiction #ahs coven #ahs apocalypse #michael langdon x reader

[myluciferiscody]

i loved you first. p.3

pairing: Xavier Plympton x Reader

word count: 2,843

warnings: au! in present time, language, angst, light fluff

*title inspired by joan’s song*

part 1 part 2

3.

The rest of your friends had followed you home. You were somewhat grateful, unsure if you could handle being alone right now. The look on Xavier’s face when he slammed the door on you refused to leave your mind.

Chet was very pissed off. Montana was equally as angry, but she had more time to ruminate on the situation, which would make sense as to why she was quiet.

“He’s such a fucking dick!” Chet spat, pacing the length of your living room. “And that’s coming from me.”

“I’m sure he’s chewing the bitch out now,” Montana said, drinking from the beer she stole from your fridge. “If not, I’m going to kill them both.”

Ray and Brooke were both quiet, sitting next to each other, holding hands. You felt a pang of envy watching them. 

Chet glanced at you, but you looked down at the pillow on your lap, seeing a feather sticking out. You pulled it, rolling it between your fingers. “I might have to join you guys,” you said lamely.

“y/n, you’ve already suffered enough, she’ll get her comeuppance,” Montana said, smiling at you. 

Chet chewed on his lip, standing next to your television, which was still off. The room was too quiet for you. You reached over, turning it on and seeing it was left on the news. You kept the volume low, trying to focus on the weather for the next week.

“Could we report her to the police?” Ray asked, looking between Chet and Montana. “For theft?”

You shook your head, “I highly doubt that. She stole my journal, they’d probably laugh at me the moment I told them.”

“What about making a key?” Chet offered, looking pleased with himself. “Assuming that’s what she did.”

“It could be considered breaking and entering, but it probably won’t hold up in court. She’s dating Xavier. That’s already a problem.” Montana said, and you nodded in agreement. 

“This is all bullshit!” Chet said, before plopping on the floor. 

“Calm down, man,” Ray said, his arm around Brooke now. “I’m sure Xavier already dumped her ass.”

“That’s not enough,” Chet said, reaching underneath him to pull out the notepad from earlier. The energy in the room shifted; you didn’t realize he kept it. “This has to be.”

“What else is in there?” you asked, alarmed as Brooke brushed off Ray and crawled on the floor towards Chet, who was reluctant to give it to her. Brooke read a few pages, her mouth falling open with quiet gasps as she shut it, her eyes wide in disbelief. 

“What!?” you asked again, standing up and approaching them. Montana and Ray were simultaneously trying to grab it from Brooke, who remained speechless.

“You can’t read it, y/n,” replied Chet, his eyebrows furrowing as you tried to take it as well. “She’s a horrible person who belongs in jail.”

“If it’s about me, I deserve to know!” you hissed, finally able to grab it from Brooke, who yelped when Montana accidentally stepped on her bare leg. You quickly flipped it open, skipping the first page, which you already saw earlier. The notepad was small but completely full of writings.

I tried to get it out of Xavier today if he has any history with y/n. I don’t know if he is dense, but he really didn’t say much other than they’re “good friends.” I think it’s a bunch of bullshit. y/n is clearly in love with him. Every time she looks at him, she gets this god awful dreamy look in her eyes. 

You flipped the page, once again finding another passage about you and Xavier.

I was forced to spend time with y/n today. God, I don’t know what else I could do to get him away from her. She’s so desperate, so fucking pathetic. I can’t really blame her though, if I had to see Xavier dating another woman, I’d have to kill the bitch and make it look like an accident.

 Another page:

We’ve been dating over a year already! I finally got him convinced to move in with me. He deserves it, he’s been working so hard lately. :(

I’d tell y/n myself to see if she’d cry or beg him to stay. Seems like the kind of thing she would do. But he didn’t seem as excited as me. :( 

You skipped through a few pages just bearing your name crossed out, and the others just watched in silence as you sunk onto the couch, feeling your heart beating wildly out of your chest when they got more aggressive.

Xavier was really sad today. He barely touched me. I tried to initiate sex, but he said he wasn’t in the mood. This isn’t him. He must be boning y/n. This is the second time this week!! We move in together in a month. When we do, y/n isn’t going to step foot in our fucking place. I’ll see to it myself.

I saw my ex-boyfriend Christopher at the store today-

“Who in the?...”

You let out a scream when the front door swung open, hitting the wall. Montana and Ray both yelled in fright, seeing an angry Xavier slam the door shut, kicking off his shoes. Chet stood up, glaring at his friend as you shut the notepad, feeling your adrenaline running on high.

“Well?” Chet asked, crossing his muscular arms.

Xavier looked at all of you but refused to meet your eyes. You stared at him, willing him to look at you, your hands trembling. 

“I need a minute.” was all Xavier said before breezing past the group and into the bathroom. After a few minutes, you could hear the shower turning on.

“What a fucking imbecile-” Chet began.

“He does that when he’s upset,” you countered, ignoring the pleased look Montana and Brooke gave you. “Give him a break, Chet. He didn’t know.”

Chet nodded begrudgingly, sinking back down in his original spot. 

Xavier was in the shower forever, and the others were growing tired as the time slowly ticked towards one in the morning. The news turned into reruns of a sitcom you couldn’t get into, and you ended up turning off the television. 

“You guys should go,” you said, looking at them from your spot on the couch. Brooke was passed out against Ray, who was barely keeping his eyes open. Chet was lying on his back, staring at nothing. Montana was on her phone, but you could tell she was exhausted. You were too.

“We don’t want to leave you,” Montana said, frowning at you.

You smiled a bit, hearing the shower turning off. “I think it will be easier on Xavier if it’s just the two of us.”

After some convincing, your friends each hugged you goodbye, before shuffling out the door. Something told you Montana wouldn’t be going too far, as she winked at you before she left. You knew she’d be waiting in her car for you to give her word everything was fine. Or that it wasn’t.

You cleaned up the pillows, your heart beating faster, hearing Xavier move around in the bathroom. You stared at the notepad sitting on the coffee table, before grabbing your journal and taking it into your room. You lay on your bed, flipping through the pages to your last entry, which was earlier in the year.

“I wish I could get over him. I’m tired of feeling this way. It’s exhausting, being in love with someone who doesn’t love you back. It’s not fair. All of that time, I could have told him how I felt. I didn’t do it, and this is what I get. Chloe is beautiful, and he is head over heels for her. She got what I was too scared to go after. I some times think of what could be if I just spilled everything out to him. Even if Xavier didn’t or never reciprocates my feelings, him knowing is better than me keeping it all bottled up inside. But what if he also felt the same way? What if he was also scared of telling me? I could have started the conversation! I feel like it’s all my fucking fault. I love Xavier, but I don’t know how much longer I can take of this. If they get married, I don’t think I’d be able to watch it and survive.” 

You hadn’t realized you were crying until you heard soft footsteps approaching you. You slammed the cover shut, looking up to see Xavier frowning at you. His eyes were red, and you had the urge to joke about getting soap in his eyes. 

“Why are you crying?” Xavier asked, sitting beside you. 

“Uh, nothing,” you shook your head, putting your journal back. You wiped at your eyes, faking a laugh. “I just read something stupid, is all.”

There was no way in hell Xavier believed you, but you didn’t bother to continue with the lie. You felt like you needed to apologize to him. The others weren’t supposed to witness anything. You understood why Chet was so angry, but Xavier was just as clueless as you had been. If it weren’t for Montana, who knows what the next few months would look like. 

“I uh, I wanted to apologize for what happened,” you said, looking back at your lap. “I didn’t mean for that to happen in front of everyone...” you whispered.

“I don’t want you apologizing for anything, y/n,” Xavier scolded you, forcing you to look at him. Your eyes met his, and you almost melted. “I would have preferred it to be a little more private, but... That’s how life works.”

You nodded, gently pushing his hand off your chin. He dropped it, still maintaining eye contact with you. “I just want you to know that if I had known who she was, I would have never brought her around you. I never would have dated her.” 

You frowned, wondering what he knew. “What happened after we left?”

Xavier looked uncomfortable now, clearing his throat and rubbing his hands on his sweatpants. You noticed he was shirtless, and you looked away, wondering if you should turn the air conditioning down.

“Well, I knew it was your diary, and I knew you wouldn’t make anything like this up, so...” he sighed deeply. “I knew if I wanted to get the truth out of her, I needed to play down to her level. I convinced her if she just told me the truth, I wouldn’t break up with her. It took a while, but she finally cracked.”

“Chloe told me she had been arrested for stalking and harassment a few years before we met. She didn’t say much about her boyfriend, but I don’t think I really want to know,” he winced. “I grilled her about what she was up to, and she said that she felt threatened by you. I always thought there was jealousy, you know?” Xavier frowned at you, “You’re my best friend. I told her about you before we even started dating. I tried to convince her that there was nothing between us, but...”

You nodded, feeling like your heart was just crushed. You held back your tears, wanting him to continue on and get it all out. This was your worst fear, right after thinking about him spending the rest of his life with someone else. He only saw you as a friend. 

“I would have been a liar too,” he said slowly, his cheeks slowly turning red. 

You perked your head up, wondering if he meant what you thought he was saying. “What are you saying?”

Xavier felt like he was going to throw up. He watched you, gauging your reaction. Your eyes were brighter, but he could see the hurt and hesitation in them. This was the moment that could change his life for the better or, the worse.

“y/n, I just want you to promise that what I’m about to say, it won’t ruin what we have?” he said carefully, his stomach now full of butterflies. You nodded.

“I started dating Chloe because I thought it was the right thing for me. I liked you for a long time. I started having feelings for you in high school. But I was too scared to ruin what we had. I tried to flirt with you a bit, to see if maybe you felt the same way. But I thought you weren��t interested because you would never really acknowledge it, so I gave up. I’m such a fucking idiot, but I thought my time ran out, and I thought that this would help me get over you. But it didn’t.”

Your mouth was hanging open as Xavier finished, gawking at you while his words processed in your head. The nerves you had felt this entire evening were easing away, and you felt your head become lighter at his admittance to how he felt about you. 

Xavier Plympton, liking me? Like that?

This had to be a sick joke. This wasn’t a movie, this was real fucking life. 

“This makes me sound like a fucking asshole, but I hoped that if you had feelings for me after I got with her, you’d... I don’t know, admit that you liked me too? I’m such a dick!” he spat, his blue eyes alight with frustration. “I started dating another girl, a fucking psychopath, just to get over you. I used her. I...”

You placed a hand on his arm, and Xavier immediately stopped, giving you a puzzled look. “Xavier, stop talking.” He nodded, watching you.

“I wanted you to come sweep me off my feet like those 80s rom-coms you force me to watch once a month,” you said, cracking a smile. Xavier grinned at you. “I’ve loved you for a long time...” you nodded. “I wanted to tell you the first night I met her, but it was selfish. So I didn’t. I wanted you to be happy.”

“It is selfish,” he laughed a little. “But I would stop the world if it met I could call you mine, y/n,” 

Hearing his voice say your name sent chills down your spine. You almost forgot about the real problem Chloe was when he ran a hand along your cheek, his fingertips tracing the length of your cheekbone. 

“Do you love her?” you asked softly.

Xavier shook his head, “No. I know this because what I feel for you is so much stronger.”

You always imagined yourself jumping up and down in excitement when the truth finally came out, possibly even passing out in your dramatics. But this was more heartfelt than you ever imagined. Plus, Xavier wasn’t fresh out of a relationship in your imagination. 

“I loved you first,” you responded.

Xavier nodded, and you had the urge to kiss him. You wanted too. But this was all too fresh, and you didn’t want to push Xavier into anything he wasn’t comfortable with. Now that the truth came out, that was all the reassurance you needed at the moment.

“Do you think she’ll be a problem?” you asked, nudging him when he stared at his feet. “Like a threat?”

“She was crying when I left, but... I don’t really know, y/n,” he said, before looking you in the eyes. “She won’t lay a finger on you. I’ll see to that myself.”

-

You had fallen asleep on the couch with your head snuggled into Xavier’s back. You had slept through the night. The sun was shining brightly through the windows, and you pulled the blanket up to cover your face as Xavier snored quietly next to you. 

There was something off when you woke up, wiggling your way off the couch. Xavier slowly moved into your spot, his head rolling to the side as his snores slowly subsided. You rubbed your head as you glanced around the apartment, seeing nothing out of the ordinary. 

You decided to shower, planning on cleaning up the house before you returned to work the next day. Xavier would probably be asleep for a while longer, and he’d be well-rested enough to help you. Despite feeling unsure, there was a new warmth in your chest, which bubbled up until you were smiling. 

Xavier Plympton liked you.

You admitted that you loved him. You understood that his life changed in a second. Xavier was leaving a relationship that you had so selfishly wanted to end. You didn’t feel too bad about it now, given the circumstances of who Chloe Smith was. This was a different kind of waiting; it was less painful because you knew it was only a matter of time until Xavier would finally be able to say he was in love with you. You could live with that.

After your shower, you changed into comfy clothes. You weren’t surprised to see Xavier sitting up on the couch, awake. But the look on his face stopped you. It was panicked.

You took a final step closer, seeing an angry and rumpled Chloe, standing in front of him with a gun.

taglist: some tags aren’t working, hope I didn’t miss anyone!

@the-walking-daryl @trichy-knitts @shydragonrider​ @thefandomzoneisdangerous @lemonwhiskers @jetblackpayne @langdonsvcrd @okoktrinity22 @uwonman @stefanmikaleson1864 @sevenwonderwitch @rubbrninja @iamnotjesha @leatherduncan @imshakingandcryingrn @bratzblitz @goblackcat69 @brookethompsonownsme @bookoffracturedescapes @zodiyack@bitchchatter@guiltyfiend @psychobitchtess  @aangrana  @thexmancometh @wtfcas @pleasforhelp @capshoney @agentnightshade44​ @frenchlangdon​ @morganelizabeth-99​ @fathoe69333​ @infagnito​ @felicityofbakerstreet​ @codyfernmorelikedaddyfern @arthurismybby​ @fandoms-allovertheplace​

#xavier plympton x reader #duncan shepherd x reader #michael langdon x reader #xavier plympton imagine #ahs 1984 #ahs imagine #montana duke #chet clancy #brooke thompson #ray powell #Cody Fern

[smndragon]

Hello I'm in your follower so excited for the game "Rose" Initials : EA

🖤🦋🖤🦋

10-15-20

Things: I see stars and anthems, long dark nights of hot humid air and sweat waiting for rising suns. Work well worthy. Eyes staring hard into distance, anticipation. Large anomalies, gaining weight, drinking monsters. I fall in love to easily - Chet Baker. "You miss me that much?" Could also be said as 'too much'. Solutions you mate asked someone for at some point to just yesterday, some questions have not been answered and are covered by fog. Remember your guidance and practices. None the wiser, wiseness in exchange of religion. Health in exchange for happiness. One relationship I feel has been severed or will become. Someone with glasses, I see a flag somewhere, a jacket hooded, hands in pockets. Someone has been avoiding you or you've them, this person is constricted somehow, waiting for you to come up to them so they can say sorry or move on if they could. Dancers. Ambc (idk what that means). Danganronpa. Jewish. Separation or difference in nationalities, one of them may have moved recently and is worried about how things will go in their current state. Looking at the ground. Looking there all their life, desperate for someone to notice them or someone covered in a light they adore, blonde or dirty blonde. Again hoodie or jacket. Possibly even a traditional style of clothing somewhere in culture. Mudded shoes. Game Night. "Scoundrel". "You always say that, you always promise.". "Stop looking at me your making me rethink/nervous" (this could be stop looking at me in general too. Someone wants you to let go, or to let go themselves. The relationships and admirers you've gained over your youth and life have left somewhere, you cause a sense of movement in people. Something they both love and hate. Talking late night. Hy-Vee, a grocery store, dollar tree. Gained sweetness. Sweetener. Coffee shop only open in the mornings. Waking up early and someone you may text first or who texts you. Love hate relationships. You could feel your guardians and guides have left. Your patrons are always watching, relax and remember to breath through things. Times will come if you wish and work, your main focused probably should be work to find romance soon. People admire when you're focused and getting things done. Caught someone staring once most likely. "Stupid." Said in a way where it's not supposed to be insulting but I forgot 5h3 word for it. You see one of them in water, reflections as they come to mind. When you let out a sigh, the air reaches them. It's weird but true, they share the same mindset in a way and some have become a bit toxic to where they want to mold around you and become you almost. Jerky meat. Barbecue, maybe have met or saw each other recently near something like this. "How could you." A friend and a quarrel. "Shut up" either said passively or seriously and toxic like. Spills. Sippy cup - Melanie Martinez I think that's the title. Dream sweet major song piece. G, f, r, n, m, k, o, p, b, v, n, mm, cc, c, t , gf, gd, Michael, Mika, hemorrhoids, gender fluid, gray hair dye or clothing a lot, one or 3 are around 5'5-6'0 or even 6'1. Played a game with a few recently. Lucky star. Ginger. Snaps. Large dog. Beagle. Eagle. Eye of the tiger. Scepter. Arm wrestling. Arm chair. Nonbinary.

[watusichris]

A Mile or Two in Joe South’s Shoes

My 2016 Joe South career retrospective, restored from Internet Purgatory.

**********

If you know anything about the true breadth of Joe South’s talents, it’s remarkable to consider that if he is known for anything at all today, it’s for just two songs.

For a hot minute in 1969-70, South looked like he was on the way to a major career. “Games People Play,” the tune that introduced him to the public at large, rose to No. 12 on the national singles chart; a radio ubiquity, it captured two Grammy Awards in 1970, as song of the year and best contemporary song. A year after that breakout hit, he rose to the same chart slot with the stomping, soulful “Walk a Mile in My Shoes,” a number that would be covered in short order by Elvis Presley.

After those two signature songs, Joe South pretty much disappeared off the American pop landscape. It was an astonishing vanishing act, for, in terms of sheer reach and ability, he came as close to genius as a musician can get. He was one of those cats who could do it all.

He wrote almost all of his own material; before his late-‘60s emergence, he had already made his mark writing for others – most notably fellow Georgian Billy Joe Royal – and one of his songs, “Rose Garden,” became one of the biggest country hits of 1970-71 in Lynn Anderson’s hands.

South had all the chops to put across his material. He was a terrific, expressive baritone vocalist. Perhaps more importantly, he was a dynamite guitar player who had honed his craft as an A-list session man in New York and Nashville. And he knew his way around the studio booth, too. He produced nearly all of his own records, and they were big, opulent sides, dressed with strings, horns, and chorales (in the manner of Chet Atkins’ countrypolitan sessions, Atlantic Records’ castanet-snapping R&B outings, and Phil Spector’s Wall of Sound). Yet at the core of South’s early records was the gutbucket sound produced by his family band, the Believers.

Though you could broadly categorize South’s music as “pop,” there was nothing weak or watered-down about his stuff. Like any musician who grew up in the South, he was reared on country music, and all his singing and picking reflected those roots. His style also had a strong R&B backbone and backbeat – not surprising, since one of his early hits as a songwriter, “Untie Me,” was for the Atlanta beach music act the Tams. And he could rock hard, and was unafraid to use the studio tools at his disposal for up-to-the-minute effects: Many of South’s most interesting tracks are overtly psychedelic.

Joe South was primed to go places – almost anywhere he wanted to go, really – but a predisposed dislike for the necessities of the music business, the usual rock ‘n’ roll pitfalls of drugs and alcohol, and, most critically, a devastating family tragedy knocked him out of the game when a brilliant career appeared his for the taking.

He was born Joseph Souter in Atlanta in 1940. His family was attuned to music and the arts: His father played guitar and mandolin, and his mother wrote poetry. He began playing guitar at an early age, while his younger brother Tommy took up the drums. Like many Southern households, the Souters tuned in to the Grand Ole Opry on Nashville’s WSM, as well as the popular local DJ Uncle Eb Brown on WGST.

“Brown” was the air name of Bill Lowery, who had been a mover and shaker in Atlanta’s music community since the early ‘50s as a broadcaster, station executive, and music publisher. It’s said that in an attempt to advance his musical aspirations, young Joe Souter boldly went to visit Lowery during his radio shift. No doubt impressed by his spunk, Lowery took the wannabe performer under his wing. One of his first pieces of advice was that Souter should change his name to the regionally reflective Joe South.

Beginning a professional and personal relationship that would survive for nearly five decades, Lowery brought 18-year-old college dropout South on board at his new independent record label, National Recording Corporation. The young picker was at first employed as a member of NRC’s house band, which also included the future recording stars Jerry Reed and Ray Stevens.

South began cutting singles in his own right for NRC, in varying pop, rock ‘n’ roll, and rockabilly settings. His lone chart record for the company came in 1958: “The Purple People Eater Meets the Witch Doctor,” a sort-of-sequel to two recent novelty smashes, Sheb Wooley’s “Purple People Eater” and David Seville’s “Witch Doctor.” Bouncing onto the chart briefly at No. 47, it was the only bright spot during his time on the label, which went bankrupt in 1961.

He continued to work as a performer, cutting singles unprofitably for the indies Fairlane and AllWood and for MGM, the former home of Hank Williams. But he began to hone his chops as a behind-the scenes player with his writing, playing, and production. He made his first mark with “Untie Me,” which became a No. 12 entry on the U.S. R&B charts in 1962.

He made his biggest impact in 1965-67 as writer and producer of Marietta, Georgia-born Billy Joe Royal’s hits on Columbia Records. Their partnership was announced with the propulsive poor-boy-loves-rich-girl saga “Down in the Boondocks,” which climbed to No. 9 in 1965. Royal road-tested such other South compositions as “Leanin’ On You,” “Rose Garden,” “Yo-Yo,” and “Hush.” The latter track reached No. 52 on the Hot 100 in 1967, but became better known in a 1968 cover by British hard rockers Deep Purple.

South also left his imprint via several noteworthy sessions. He played guitar on Simon & Garfunkel’s first bona fide electric sessions, which became the bestselling 1966 folk-rock album Sounds of Silence. He contributed guitar and bass during the Nashville recording dates for Bob Dylan’s groundbreaking two-LP 1966 set Blonde On Blonde. And in 1967, in the company of FAME Studio’s crack Alabama rhythm section, he laid down the signature guitar licks on Aretha Franklin’s hit “Chain of Fools.”

By 1968, Joe South had little left to prove, and Bill Lowery helped midwife a deal for his protégé at Capitol Records, already the home of such progressive pop-country talent as Glen Campbell and Bobbie Gentry. South was given extraordinary latitude for his first album: He produced the collection, wrote all of the material, and played lead guitar, backed by the Believers, a group that included his brother Tommy on drums and his wife, Barbara, on keyboards.

The resultant LP, Introspect, is an impressive piece of work that didn’t sound quite like anything else on the market. It was a widescreen sound, immense and layered, but at bottom down-home and funky. It drew from several stylistic tributaries. Its lead-off track “All My Hard Times” was an updated rewrite of the old spiritual “All My Trials.” The mocking “Redneck” was a loping countrified lampoon that can be seen as an early anthem of the New South; “These Are Not My People” was an alienated piece of similarly styled, Dylanesque social commentary. The strikingly trippy “Mirror of Your Mind” bore a startling out-of-time passage in its middle, while the equally expansive “Gabriel” was a psychedelic parable cut straight out of the Old Testament.

As great and unique as it was, Introspect was a marketplace failure, and Capitol’s accountants yanked it off the market just as a single drawn from it was beginning to make some noise.

Sporting a unique lead guitar line -- fabricated by South on either, depending on which source you believe, a Coral electric sitar or a Gibson Bell guitar fed through an outboard Echorette echo unit -- and a lyrical hook derived from the title of Eric Berne’s 1964 pop-psychology bestseller, “Games People Play” became a slow-rolling hit. Realizing they may have deleted Introspect prematurely, Capitol decided to capitalize on the song with a hybrid new album.

The Games People Play album – essentially a second debut album for South – resuscitated the title track, “These Are Not My People,” and, in an expanded psyched-up version, the song “Birds of a Feather” (which would appear on three of South’s six Capitol collections). To these were added a couple of new originals (including “Hole in Your Soul,” a frenzied vocal version of the Believers’ two-sided psychedelic instrumental single “Soul Raga”), remakes of several early-‘60s compositions for the Tams and Royal, and a potent rendition of South’s Brill Building-styled 1963 single for MGM, “Concrete Jungle.”

This bizarrely reconfigured opus failed to make any waves, but South gained some name recognition with his “Games People Play” Grammys. Moreover, he made some longer commercial strides with 1969’s Don’t It Make You Want to Go Home? The LP, which ultimately reached No. 60, sported not one but two hit singles: the title cut, a poignant look at the toll wreaked by modern life upon the Southern landscape, and the visceral, gospel-styled “Walk a Mile in My Shoes.” It also contained the most hallucinogenic entry in the South catalog: “A Million Miles Away,” a dense instrumental overlaid with a recitation of the album’s personnel and an extract from a telephone call between South and some staffers at the Nixon White House.

These ambitious records might have suggested to some that South’s potential was unlimited. But there was a problem: He didn’t like to tour, and was at heart a studio animal. He also didn’t respond well to the intense pressure of coming up with material that wouldn’t just equal the sales of his chart records, but would better them.

Perhaps in a hope of shaking things up, the 1971 album Joe South was recorded on home turf at Atlanta’s Studio One, where the Atlanta Rhythm Section was the hot session band of the hour. But -- save for “Rose Garden” (included to cash in on Anderson’s enormous hit with the song) and the “Brown Eyed Girl”-like “Birds of a Feather” (it was the third time around for this belated single release) -- the material, a mix of tepid new tunes and recut warhorses, was scarcely South’s best. The disinterest seemed to carry over on the second LP South issued that year, So the Seeds Are Growing; only seven of the album’s 10 tracks were original compositions.

The disenchanted South’s drug use had begun to escalate, and his brother Tommy, who suffered from depression, was also self-medicating. A turning point came on Oct. 11, 1971, when the younger South took his own life.

The immediate result of this tragedy was South’s final Capitol album, A Look Inside, released in 1972. The LP jacket bore a cover photo of South with an open window in his skull, and the most confessional songs on this dark, unsettling record mirror the graphic perfectly. Its first two songs, “Coming Down All Alone” and “Imitation of Living,” are candid and frightening reflections on drug addiction, and they have lost none of their power. But the record’s true killer, which kicks off with a tart quote of the “Game People Play” melody, is the ironically titled “I’m a Star,” possibly the most blunt, world-weary, and self-reflective deflation of the music industry ever released.

It was a record made by an artist at the end of his tether. As South said frankly in the notes to what proved to be his final album, “I flipped out. I just went completely into the ether in the wake of my brother’s death. I just had to get away, so I went out to the islands, caught Polynesian paralysis and just lived in the jungles of Maui for a couple of years.”

He returned, briefly, in 1975, for his lone release for Island Records, Midnight Rainbows. Though it began promisingly with the fittingly introspective original medley of “Midnight Rainbows” and “It Got Away,” the album – again employing members of the Atlanta Rhythm Section – is disappointingly short on new original material; its strongest tracks are wrenching covers of Jerry Butler’s “For Your Precious Love” and Johnny Adams’ “You Can Make It If You Try.”

The last track on Midnight Rainbows is an instrumental titled “Cosmos,” and that’s exactly where Joe South headed. He was virtually invisible on the public stage from the release of that last LP until his death on Sept. 5, 2012, in Flowery Branch, Georgia. Before Bill Lowery’s death in 2004, he issued a couple of singles on his old sponsor’s independent labels: “Jack Daniels On the Line” for 1-2-3 Records in 1981, “Royal Blue” for Southern Tracks in 1986.

The last work he released during his lifetime arrived as a bonus track on the Australian label Raven’s 2010 repackaging of So the Seeds Are Growing and A Look Inside. Sung by South in a charred latter-day voice, “Oprah Cried” is an apparently faithful account of his appearance on Oprah Winfrey’s talk show, where his story of life’s hard knocks moves the hostess to tears. “Son, I thought I’d heard it all,” she tells him.

Considered in light of what might have been for Joe South, it’s one of the saddest damn songs ever written.

[fckinsupreme]

Saved - Xavier Plympton x Fem!Reader

Description: An AU in which you save Xavier from being killed by Margaret and kick her ass in the process. 

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: AU, violence, stabbing, blood, gore, ass kicking. No smut this time, sorry y’all. 

A/N: @nickisgirl requested -  ooo dude can you do a fun one where the female reader goes and saves Xavier from Margaret and kicks her butt? :) For Bertie. :) 

Sorry if this has been done before! This turned out a little longer than I planned and I’m not wholly satisfied, but I hope y’all like it!

 No copyright infringement intended! Any rights belong to proper shareholders and they deserve the ultimate credit. ___________________________

Your heart is pounding in your ears, the smell of blood and the feeling of death hanging heavy in the air. Earlier in the night, you had witnessed people dying all around you, their fates dealt by the cruel hand of Mr. Jingles. It hadn’t helped that Xavier, your boyfriend, had taken off after Rita in a fit of rage (or whatever her name was, since she was actually an imposter) and had ended up God knows where. He was being incredibly foolish, impulsive even, but at the same time, you knew that it was warranted. If you’d been in his shoes, you would have likely done the exact same. Being thrown into an oven to die, surviving but bearing physical & psychological scars, was enough to break anyone.

You were worried, to say the least.

You left Montana and Brooke to go searching for him, a complete ball of nerves and on full alert as you made your way through the woods. You were scared of the type of scene that you may stumble across; would he be dead? Wounded? Safe, but in potential danger? And where in the hell were Chet and Margaret? Surely help should have arrived already and one or both of them should have returned. Yet, there was no sign of them or anyone else as you stumbled along the path. However, it didn’t take much walking until you hear the sound of a familiar voice.

Xavier.

You begin to run, following the sound of his voice to the archery area. You see him, his back to you, one of his burnt hands on a bow as he shoots arrows into Mr. Jingles. You can’t move, frozen in place as you observe the scene with wide eyes. You want nothing more than to make your presence known, but you’re also aware of how fatal that could be. Jingles doesn’t seem to stay down after another shot, so what would he do to Xavier if the blond was caught off guard? You didn’t want to entertain the thought, or bring it to fruition, so you stay put. 

You also notice that Margaret is on the ground, apparently unconscious. So, she was back, and her unresponsive state was likely somehow caused by Jingles; but where was Chet? You knew him well enough to know that he would come and find you or Xavier to inform you of what had happened. Did he succumb to his shoulder injury? Did he stay on the opposite shore to find help or wait for it to arrive? You had a bad feeling in the pit of your stomach, and the sight of Margaret’s motionless body did nothing to calm your nerves. What in the hell happened here? 

Your eyes flicker toward Jingles again, who was finally down on the ground. Relief swims in your veins, and you compose yourself after a brief moment before stepping out from behind the tree. Xavier is doing a victory dance when you approach him, and he grins widely once he sees you. He pulls you into his chest, and his scent of burnt clothing and damaged flesh is actually more of a comfort now, rather than the sadness and anxiety it originally procured in you. He’s here, he’s safe, and he had just saved the other survivors’ lives. You give him a soft kiss before the two of you make your way to Margaret, feeling a bit uneasy. She’s still out cold, with Xavier on his knees to try rousing her. You remain standing, noticing a knife directly beside of your foot within Margaret’s reach. Before you can pick it up, you hear her eerily calm voice answering Xavier.

“Never better, actually.”

Margaret reaches for the knife, but by some miracle, you’re much faster. You bring your foot down onto her hand, stomping it hard with a loud cry. Margaret screams, both in surprise and in anguish, and you kick the knife far out of her grasp. You bend down to shove Xavier off of her, not knowing what her next move could be. He’s stunned as he hits the ground, gaping at both of you as he tries processing what’s happening. You’re not sure that you understand, either, but it was slowly falling into place within your frazzled mind. She grabs you, throwing you aside as you hit the ground with an audible groan. 

Before you can tell Xavier to run and hide or get help somehow, Margaret is upon him again. The knife is in your sight, but she apparently has no time to look or has forgotten about it in her haste, so she opts for a rock instead. You quickly step toward the knife, tucking it into the waistband of your shorts when you realize that trying to charge her with it now would be useless. You watch in helpless horror, a soundless scream leaving your lips as she brings the rock down on Xavier’s head. You feel pure rage bubbling within as he crumples to the ground, not knowing what else to do in your fury besides pushing her down roughly with a disgruntled cry.

“You think something that childish is going to stop me?” she questions, her tone dripping with faux-sweetness as she bats her lashes. “You naive little harlot.”

“Fuck you,” you growl. “What the fuck did you do to Chet? Where is he?”

“I killed him, of course,” she says, holding up the same rock that she’d just used on Xavier. “Just like I killed your boyfriend and how I’m going to kill you, too.”

That was enough for you. Something about the way she spoke to you, her demeanor, how she’d hurt Xavier and God knows who else, just made something snap inside of you. It all sent you flying completely off the handle, and you couldn’t contain yourself anymore. You had a bad feeling about her from the moment you met, and now you knew why. It was her; she was doing this, or at least some of it. You couldn’t piece together her motive, but in this very moment, you didn’t much care. Right now, your only concern was stopping her reign of terror before she hurt anyone else. This notion causes you to charge at her, knocking her to the ground. She’s winded, and you deliver a hard punch to her nose before forcefully grabbing the front of her shirt to pull her up.

“You bitch,” you spit, delighting in the sight of blood gushing from her nostrils. “What did you fucking do?”

“God’s work,” she replies, bringing the rock to the side of your face.

A burst of pain overtakes your right cheekbone, momentarily blurring your vision. You barely register her lifting it again as she throws you down, but you’re still much faster than she is. You kick both feet into her stomach with bruising force, and she falls again with a loud thud and series of wet coughs. She attempts to get up, but you elbow her in the face to keep her down. More blood flies from her nose, squirting onto your clothes, but you pay no mind. She delivers another blow which you rebound from, getting the upper hand yet again.

“Where is Chet?” you cry as you slam her head against the ground, holding her by the throat. “Where did you put him?”

“Lake,” she manages to choke out. “I tied weights to him and I threw him in.  No one will ever find him; it’s bottomless, remember?”

The revelation makes you absolutely sick to your stomach. How could anyone be so cruel? So cold and calculating to murder someone so horrifically? Chet was a good man, he was the last person to deserve such a terrifying, painful fate. And what about Trevor and possibly even Xavier? The thought that Xavier could be dead right now, by her hand no less, only fuels your rage. You squeeze as hard as you can on her throat, your body quaking with both anger and adrenaline.

“I’m going to kill you,” you hiss. “Let you see exactly how it feels, you heartless fucking cunt.”

She sputters around your grip, clawing at you and trying to raise the rock again. You press harder, trying with all of your might to make her lose consciousness once more, but it’s in vain. She once again gains her footing, the rock colliding with the same cheek as earlier. More searing, throbbing pain cascades the entire right side of your face, and you feel a bit of blood dripping from around your temple. You hear her coughing and gulping air into her lungs, and you’re so shocked by her latest blow that you temporarily lose traction. A shattering punch is brought to your nose, momentarily paralyzing you as she stands above you once you hit the earth. The bitter, coppery taste of blood fills your mouth, dripping from your nose. You look up at her, ignoring the tremendous amount of pain that you’re in, now faced with what could possibly be your death sentence.

“Poor little Y/N,” Margaret says calmly. “Any last words?”

Tears fall down your bloodied, bruised cheeks, and you turn your head to look at Xavier. He’s still knocked out, perhaps even deceased, and you know that you’re likely going to meet one of those same fates. If he was dead, then what else did you have to live for, anyway? All of your plans with him, the life you wanted to build together, all of it fucking gone because of her. You cast your glance back to Margaret, who was watching you with folded arms. You swallow around the lump in your throat, blinking back a fresh wave of tears as you reach toward your boyfriend. Margaret, surprisingly, doesn’t stop you. She remains planted in the same position, a callous grin painting her red lips.

“I love you,” you whisper in the direction of Xavier’s body. “I’m sorry. I love you so fucking much.”

Margaret tsks, her face displaying false sympathy as she continues looming over you. Her legs are positioned at either side of your torso, bracing herself. You shift slightly, and that’s when you remember that you had the knife. You could feel the blade against your hip, warmed from your body heat yet still somewhat cool. You kept a poker face, not wanting to tip her off that it was in your possession. You wait, biding your time as she straddles your waist. You have to be swift, knowing one slip up or false move could literally cost your life. 

You close your eyes, reaching under your shirt to grasp the knife’s handle. When you open your eyes to gaze at her, you can tell she isn’t noticing your actions. She’s too occupied with looking toward the heavens, perhaps silently praying to God for forgiveness or some other reason that makes sense only to her. You keep the knife concealed next to your hip, awaiting her strike. Residuals tears fall from your eyes, trailing down your temples and into your hair, and then the moment finally comes. Margaret bears down onto you, rock in her hands. You bring the knife up, holding the blade toward her, ignoring the sickening squelch! it makes when it penetrates her lower abdomen. It enters on her right side, and you push it in deeper with a triumphant grin. She attempts to grab hold of it, but you withdraw the blade before she gets a chance. Hot blood pours from the gaping wound, and she swings from side to side above you.

You shove Margaret off before she can topple onto you, watching her cover the stab wound with one trembling hand. You debate slicing her throat to finish the job, but you refrain from doing so. This injury was self-defense; anything else would be murder, and you knew that even the best lawyer in the world wouldn’t be able to get you out of that bind. It was best to just leave it alone as it was, let nature take its course if it must. At least now she was subdued and you’d stopped her in her tracks; that was all that mattered now. You take in her struggle to stay awake, before she loses the battle. You don’t even think through your next move, rushing to Xavier and kneeling next to him. You shake him quickly, attempting to bring him back to you. You feel for a pulse, are relieved to see he still has one, and begin rousing him a bit harder.

“Xav,” you plead. “Wake up. Please.”

But if he didn’t wake? What if this was it and he was gone forever? It was all your fault. If you’d been fast enough, if you would have been here before Margaret, none of this would have happened. Even his burns could have been avoided if you’d gone with him to rescue Bertie. Perhaps Bertie would still be alive as well. Perhaps--

You’re brought out of your thoughts by the sound of Xavier groaning softly on the ground. You hold onto his shoulders, a tear of relief falling from your nose and onto his charred tanktop. He blinks up at you in confusion, and you want nothing more than to kiss both of his cheeks. You don’t, though, not wanting to cause him any more pain than necessary. He sits up, pinching the bridge of his nose as he tries to stave off a wave of dizziness. His concerned eyes meet yours, and you grip his arm as he stands. 

“What happened?” he asks, his voice croaky from exhaustion and newfound consciousness. He takes in your appearance, the blood and injuries visible in the moonlight. “Are you okay? Where’s--”

He answers his own question when he turns around, seeing Margaret’s body. He gapes at you, rubbing his temples and the back of his neck as you try to keep him steady. “She killed Chet. She also killed Trevor. She no doubt fucking killed those counselors in 1970. I really think she did most of this, both past and fucking present.”

“Jesus,” Xavier breathes, swaying. “I--”

“Sit,” you instruct. “I’ll go get someone. I don’t know who, but--”

“No,” he says. “I don’t want to be alone. I’ll be fine. Is she--”

“I don’t know,” you interject. “I don’t much care. Either way, she’s going to fucking pay for her crimes. Whether it be here or in Hell where she belongs. I’ll try to explain things better later; let’s just get the fuck out of here. We need to get help and I’m pretty sure that you’ve got a concussion, so let’s just focus on that for now, okay?”

He nods, still pretty rough on his feet. You take his arm again, leading him from the archery site and back into the forest. You had no idea what other horrors awaited you, if Brooke and Montana or anyone else were safe, but you knew one thing: The worst seemed to have passed for now, and you could focus on leaving this place as a survivor. Xavier had a long road ahead with his recovery, but you were more than determined to stick it out with him. 

Margaret be damned. She had failed to take the most important thing from you, and for that, you were already better off. You, unlike her, had something special, something worth fighting for. It felt like the most surreal dream, an eternal nightmare, but as always, Xavier was going to be here with you. You were going to get out and get through this--together. 

___

Taglist!

@littledemondani, @wroteclassicaly, @venusxxlangdon, @ringpop-poppy, @ccodyfern, @icylangdon, @duncvns, @mantorokk, @queencocoakimmie, @codyswhore, @sebastianshoe, @rocketgirl2410, @hisgirlwonder, @sherlocklaufeyson, @disa, @hxdesworld, @w0nder-marie, @hplotrfan, @holylangdon, @losers-club6, @langdonsdemon, @melodylangdon, @idespac, @femaleantichrist, @chaoticevillangdon, @lotsofhunny, @maso-xchrist, @lvnabanana, @iloveziggystardust, @hecohansen31, @lvngdvns, @michael-langdon-owns-my-soul, @michealsheep, @codyssfern, @lovelylangdonx, @1-800-bitchcraft, @coollangdon, @leatherduncan, @thorohdamnson, @angel-langdon, @kaetastic, @jetblackpayne, @arkhamren, @madamaholmes, @theinevitableprophecy, @langdonsblood, @daydreamingofcody, @ittakesmanyf0rms, @psychobitchtess, @michael-langdon-appreciation, @confettucini, @sojournmichael, @xavierplymptonsangel, @heavymetalover, @littlegirlsdontplaynice, @syndaselur, @xavierrplymptons, @divinelangdon, @codyfernmorelikedaddyfern, @swishandflick889, @langdens, @ashyblondwaves

#i'm not a fan of how this turned out but I TRIED MY BESTTTT #xavier plympton #xavier plympton x reader #xavier plympton x fem reader #xavier plympton x y/n #xavier plympton x you #xavier plympton imagine #xavier plympton fic #xavier plympton one shot #ahs 1984 #ahs 1984 one shot #ahs one shot #american horror story #american horror story one shot #american horror story imagine #ahs 1984 fic #ahs fic #ahs 1984 imagine #xavier ahs #xavier ahs one shot #xavier ahs imagine

[langdxn]

This has haunted me ever since you sent it, thank you so much anon! I hope you don’t mind, I’ve used this opportunity to make a second part of a Xavier prompt I’ve been meaning to follow up for ages that @frenchlangdon​ requested. I probably didn’t find the exact cover you were talking about but I’ve listened to 10 covers and they’re just as creepy as the next!

Read part one here!

For a man as outgoing as Xavier, watching from the shadows was an uncomfortable character shift. However necessary under the circumstances, he hated the secrecy, the lack of intimacy, the inability to reach out and catch you by the elbow, spin you around and crash his lips into yours.

Death changed him. Or more specifically, Margaret changed him. The man who used to plant soft, loving kisses at the nape of your neck became a sinister, immovable force for evil. The lover who cradled you in the afterglow of lovestruck 4am headboard-snapping sessions became a nocturnal fiend that crept into your bed in the early hours, dried blood flaking onto the sheets.

Now, that same man, that same lover, concealed himself behind a tree, watching from afar as you wandered down to the lake, boombox balancing on your shoulder as you played one of your favourite tunes from long before the horrors of Redwood. The foreboding tones of The Police radiated from the speakers as you passed through the thick forest.

Every breath you take and every move you make

“She deserves to be happy,” a warm male voice came from behind Xavier, making him flinch and spin on his heels. A tall, stocky man stood behind him, looking on with concern etched on his face.

“Fuck, Jingles, I thought you were the Lady in Whi—well, your mother,” Xavier sighed in relief, a palm resting on his chest to calm himself.

Every bond you break, every step you take, I’ll be watching you

“Do I sound like my mother to you?” Jingles stifled a chuckle under his breath, stepping closer to stand beside him.

“What do you want anyway, following me into the woods?” Xavier returned his gaze to you, placing your boombox at the end of the boardwalk and perching over the edge, feet dangling into the water below.

Every single day and every word you say

“When I gave you a place to hide away from the other counsellors and that lady, I didn’t realise you’d come back here so quickly.”

“What’s it got to do with you?” Xavier scrunched his forehead, lips pursed tightly.

Every game you play, every night you stay, I’ll be watching you

“Nothing, nothing at all,” Jingles folded his arms. “But it’s got a lot to do with her over there.”

Idly swinging your legs over the dock, you ran a hand through your hair and sent shivers up Xavier’s spine — you used to weave your fingers through his hair just the same.

Oh, can’t you see you belong to me

“Don’t,” Xavier snapped, a firm hand pressed into the air between them. “Don’t pretend you understand, I’m nothing like you.”

“Maybe so, Xavier, but I’ve seen that look before. That look that says you know she deserves better but you can’t bring yourself to let her go.”

How my poor heart aches with every step you take

“Yeah,” Xavier muttered resolutely, a despondent curve crept across his mouth as he crossed his arms to mirror Benjamin. “Maybe you’re right.”

“So go to her.”

“Are you crazy? She hates me,” he spat through clenched teeth, watching with an ache in his chest as you leaned back on your palms, drinking in the burning sunset bouncing off the lake. “There’s no going back, not after what I did.”

“It wouldn’t hurt to find out how she feels now, would it? You’ve been hiding out with me for months, maybe she’s had time to think about it.”

Xavier sighed heavily, resigning himself to observing you for another endless amount of months.

Every move you make, and every vow you break

“What exactly did you do that was so bad, anyway?”

“Spent more time with my ex than her. Brutally murdered a counsellor for looking at her. You know, the usual.”

Benjamin sucked his teeth tentatively.

“Could be worse.”

“You think?” Xavier huffed, rolling his eyes. “I don’t know what to do.”

Every smile you fake, every claim you stake, I’ll be watching you

“You can’t run from her all your afterlife, Plympton. Go to her, rip off the band-aid. I’ll wait here if you need to come back to the other side.”

Swallowing hard, an unmistakable lump in his throat, Xavier dropped his arms and conceded. Treading tentatively down through the woods, he brushed bleach blonde streaks away from his face as he neared the dock.

Since you’ve gone I’ve been lost without a trace

His heartbeat thundered so loud in his ears, he didn’t notice the footfalls of another person heading to the water until a glimpse of dirtied white sneakers just ahead of him stopped Xavier in his tracks. Eyes following the shoes up to the bare legs carrying them, his gaze shot up to find the owner - Chet Clancy. Luckily for him, the Olympian paced determinedly toward the boardwalk and didn’t spot Xavier lurking in the shadows. Breaths hitched in his throat, Xavier froze to watch his friend walking toward you.

As Chet’s footsteps pounded on the wooden path, you turned to see him approaching and beamed from ear to ear, a warm smile spreading across your perfect lips. Xavier couldn’t bring himself to blink, dread filling his heart as Chet dropped to the edge of the boardwalk beside you, bare legs dangling off the edge.

I dream at night, I can only see your face

Chet said something to you that Xavier couldn’t make out, his lips moving too subtly except as he ended his sentence with a grin. You laughed heartily, dipping your head onto his shoulder affectionately.

Xavier’s heart dropped like a stone in the lake.

I look around but it’s you I can’t replace

Wrapping an arm over your shoulders, Chet leaned into you and drew you in for a soft kiss. A hot sensation burned at Xavier’s cheeks, fury brimming in his eyes beside searing tears as he clenched his jaw tightly. Your lips locked with Chet’s as if you were two pieces of a jigsaw made for each other, slotting together perfectly.

I feel so cold and I long for your embrace

In an erratic attempt to justify his actions, Xavier shook his head desperately and balled his hands into fists by his side. If he had only moved toward you sooner, none of this would’ve happened. Chet wouldn’t have reached you before he could.

How long had this been going on? How long had you spent mourning the loss of Xavier before you moved on with his best friend? Maybe he should’ve let Chet die in the spike pit all those years ago. He could never have predicted that his trusted friend would steal his girl.

I keep crying, “Baby, baby, please”

Xavier’s sights locked on Chet’s hand wandering with purpose down your back, ghosting over your shirt as his fingertips followed the trail of your spine to the waistband of your shorts. As his fingers tucked under the denim and journeyed south, Xavier clamped his eyes shut, turning away in agony unable to face whatever happened next.

He had waited too long.

Oh, can’t you see you belong to me

A curt slap of skin against skin and frantic stamping feet on the boardwalk startled him back to look at the dock, discovering you running toward the forest with your boombox swinging in your hand, tears tumbling from your cheeks. Chet sat dumbstruck at the edge of the dock, rubbing his cheek and staring helplessly at you running away.

How my poor heart aches with every step you take

As you neared the woods, Xavier paced determinedly toward you, stepping out of the shadows and into your path as you hurried back to camp.

Barely seeing Xavier’s pastel-clad form ahead of you through your tears, you dropped your boombox at your side and tumbled into his open arms.

Every move you make and every vow you break

As you sobbed frantically into his chest, flooding tears soaking his shirt, Xavier wrapped his arms around you tightly with his fingertips digging trenches into your bare shoulders.

“It’s okay baby, I’ve got you,” he reassured you, planting longing, comforting kisses on the crown of your head.

Every smile you fake, every claim you stake, I’ll be watching you

“I—I’m so sorry, Xavier,” you wailed through stuttering breaths. “I couldn’t do it, I couldn’t just move on.”

“I know baby, I know,” he cooed softly, idly stroking your hair. “I’m sorry for leaving you.”

Every move you make, every step you take, I’ll be watching you

“I’ve missed you, you idiot,” you slapped his chest playfully, earning a lighthearted ‘ow’ in response. “Where the fuck were you?”

I’ll be watching you

“It doesn’t matter,” he hummed into your hair, glancing back to the woods to see Benjamin in the shadows, smiling kindly before turning to walk away. “I won’t be going back there.”

#Xavier Plympton #xavier x fem!reader #xavier plympton fanfiction #xavier plympton imagines #xavier plympton x reader #xavier plympton x reader angst

[wroteclassicaly]

Dibs

A/N: Heeeeeeeey, loves! I’m back and pretty proud of this one! It’s a two part story, this obviously being the first part. Smut will be in the next one. I’ve wanted to write this idea since I came up with it the night of the season premiere. 

Reader is plus size in this one. She is also Chef Bertie’s daughter. There’s some major self-esteem issues and some self-bashing in this one, so be warned. I hope ya’ll enjoy! Lemme know what you think? :) 

P.S. I’ve changed a few things around to fit the reader in. Dialogue, mostly. It’s not that much of a change though, so don’t worry. 

Also, I can’t seem to get my taglist to work right, so I don’t tag anyone. I’m sorry. :(

Pairing: Xavier Plympton x Female reader

Word count: 2,691

Warnings: Explicit language, references to smut and virginity, self-esteem issues, poor body image issues

Looking forward to something during the summer months wasn't usually your forte, but this season seemed to be taking drastic approaching turns already. You'd been coerced into coming help your mom work the kitchen of Camp Redwood. Massacres and legends galore, bugs and snakes touring your housing. Sounded so fun to you. Your mom didn't want to leave you at your home alone, so you hesitantly agreed to get away from the dangers in Los Angeles and help out at the camp with her.

The drive up you imagined all sorts of various and vile scenarios. Woods and stories caught your imagination and refused to leave without a searing tongue lashed haunting. Your mom had assured you things would be okay this time around, that she wouldn't let anything happen to you, but it still felt so unsettling to be surrounded by nothing but dirt and trees and a large body of midnight fresh water. For your mom, however, you opted for the positive side of things, and sucked it up. You met with the eccentric and eerie Margaret, hovering closely to any exits you could think about, then escaped to the cabin you would be sharing with your mother to put your things away.

Margaret had informed you and your mom that a group of counselor volunteers would be arriving in the afternoon, leaving your stomach to tumble into the anxiety founded pits it always was. You hated much social interaction, even living in one of the world's largest cities. You avoided leisure activities and parties that were too high octane. You cared only about the peace and quiet, a few close friends, your books, and your music. You were grateful you had been permitted to bring along some albums and your record player, because without it, you could not function.

Setting out your music, you had tasked yourself out to sweep and mop the dining hall and kitchen. Covered in sweat and grime, hair pulled back into a messy mopped bun, the entire area became brand new once more. So much so that you had to stand and admire, the enriching draped melodies from Stevie Wonder casting a serene, echoing production to highlight your hard work. You hadn't noticed until Margaret jabbed a nail into your tank top clad shoulder, causing you to nearly deck her in the face with your broom handle. She raised a manicured brow, annoyance perched on her poker faced features, asking you to come meet the newest additions to the staff, as they would be arriving soon and you still had to bring food into the kitchen pantry.

Reluctantly, you followed your camp leader out into your new life for the next few months.

~*~

Present day: The First Night

Your insides feel as if they have all been twisted together like licorice, coolness spreading through your veins, erecting goosebumps all across your flesh. You self-consciously grip your noticeable stomach, already prepared for an array of flashy and skimpy clothed girls to accompany muscular, tight fitted guys. You don't fit in. Not being more than overweight, but what doctors seemed to call obese, with a swell to your face and the rest of you in places all around your thick form. In this day and age, not many girls your size are praised or celebrated in music and on television.

Sure, there were a few, but the movies you have seen are the overweight girl being an extra, a classmate, the bestfriend, the loner, the reject, or the propping joke. Fat is funny in LA, you aren't stupid. And no matter how far you run from it, you'd have to face scrutiny, even here. Your thinking is pregnant with triplets on this one, as you don't even bat a blink walking out with the Carrie White's mother - Margaret White -esque Camp owner, to meet everyone. Worn sneakers and boots from different brand names dusted in California soil is what you see before meeting the eyes of a very petite brunette.

That's the first counselor that smacks your self-esteem straight into the pits of hell. And the blonde girl near her in the colorful and tight outfit? Yeah, you want to find a hole and dig it twelve feet under. Six feet for your humiliation, adding on an additional six for your fat ass body. You want to run, but, yeah, right.

If you don't speak then you will look stupid, more so than you do now, covered in perspiration and dirt smudges. Margaret makes an introduction that collides right into you stepping behind your mom, getting an eyeful of the two handsome guys with the girls, reaching for a crate of eggs, attempting to look busy as to bay the awkward pause. Everyone says a few brisk words of greeting, those male counselors snickering. Why did you come here? The risks back home are far more tempting right about now.

Your nose catches the scent first, the sound of the person's shoes hitting ground second. Clad in this overly musky scent that seems to glide itself across the air, a rapturous, creamy silk-like voice hits the atmosphere and flips you head over ass.

"Dibs."

Your mom is snapping back with her wit, shoving her crate into his hands and moving away from his speechless face to leave you visible. Standing still, your box seemingly heavy, body light, you can't but help yourself to a heaping serving of observation. His pants are tan, or white, belt tightly securing those defined hips, his sneakers stretched over long feet (don't they say long feet mean... okay then, holy fuck), and sea-foam green muscle tank that leaves nothing to the imagination, except how much leverage you'd have to straddle his chest...

"And this is Y/N. She's joining us with her mother, whom is Chef Bertie. She won't be bunking with the ladies, however. But I still expect of all you to get along and make her feel apart of things, as she will also be partaking in counselor duties for the summer." Margaret's voice interjects, right smack into your looking into this guy's angelically crafted face.

You can't see what color his eyes are over his designer frames, just blue hued glimpses reflected off California sunshine. His plump lips are wet with amusement and surprise at your reveal, jaw sharp and alert, so arching and shaped it can cut through glass. There's a small cross dangling from his left ear, his hair is frosted at the top. He looks like some guitarist that has actual angel wings. His arms are steady, hands big.

You can swear there's a saxophone player somewhere playing a soundtrack for this very moment. You kind of, no, record SCRATCH that, you definitely need to find a seat somewhere and pour a glass of ice water over your head. For a fleeting moment you think you might need to attempt Olympic running towards the infirmary, cause this is some sort of General Hospital soap opera scene. You can't stop yourself from how you do react though. Biting your upper lip, eyes dashing mad all across his body, you're engulfed in more than the summer California heat.

You see the metal of his silver cross earring catch the light, and you know that even God himself can't help you now. Looking at this man in the blue shirt, you feel as if you've committed a lifetime of the most blood deep sins. You feel the need to ask Margaret to save you in the lake, some prayer needing to happen before you feel anymore guilt for objectifying this stranger. What feels like never-ending hours is merely a minute at most, making you look even more awkward and ignorant. Margaret does save you this time, introducing each counselor, the sensual blue eyed boy called Xavier Plympton, to your amusement, then with a seemingly arrogant grin on her peach painted lips, demands you take Xavier and the other two attractive male counselors - Ray and Chet, to finish carrying the crates of fruit and eggs to the kitchen pantry.

A dying 'hi' towards the friendly faces of the group is all you muster, rolling a shoulder back to the truck for the boys to take the hint. Xavier already has his share from what your mom gave him, so it's quick work for the other two. You don't talk, don't look at any of them on the way into the large dining area and back into the kitchen where your mom is hard at work. All the guys pile beside you, so you figure that now is the time to find your damn voice box and activate its fucking switch.

"You can just leave the stuff here, guys. Some of the other staff is in charge of stocking it anyways. They're real particular on everything, you know? We appreciate your help!" You ramble on, eyes widening when you spot Xavier - shades now clipped to his collar - smirking at you, pearly whites gleaming tauntingly.

Everyone, yourself included, all discard your food onto the chipped wooden counter. You fold your hands into fists on its hard surface, knuckles pressing together, lips pinched tight, feeling this tickle attack you from the tips of your toes and back, leaving you absolutely parched and winded both.

"So you're the Chef's daughter, huh?" Ray is the first to speak to you.

You turn to his direction to see him leaning a few feet beside you, propped against the end of the countertop by his elbow. His smile is genuine, calm, excited even.

He must really have wanted to be here this summer.

"Yeah." Is your proud response. Your mom is a hard worker with a zero tolerance policy for bullshit or dumbasses, so you're very proud to call yourself her child.

"Kind of a given you'd be here with her, right? That's cool. Most kids wouldn't volunteer their time to help their Mama at some sweaty ass camp in the middle of nowhere. You even gettin' anything in return from this?" Ray questions again.

Your body warms a little, not used to this duration of a conversation, let alone by someone this cute, this cool, who seems nice enough. You find yourself softening towards his presence, friendly and open in your answers.

"She'll share whatever she makes with me, so it's a win win. I have to clean the camp, so I'll also pull in my own money, then we put it all together. Living in LA is fucking expensive."

"Wait-" Chet cuts in. "You still live with your mom? Aren't you in your twenties or some shit? Don't you have any plans back home?"

Yup, there it is.

You were expecting some sort of snide commentary from at least someone in this group. You're unsure how to answer. It's not that your lifestyle is something you're ashamed of, it's just that you're beyond sick and tired at the ridicule it brings. Your mood is deflated, head bowing a little at Chet's laughter. Maybe it's not malicious, but to you, it isn't funny either.

"At least she didn't blow a chunk of cash on condoms and cheap ass cologne to impress Brooke. No one likes a cocky counselor, Chet." Sounds to your left.

Ray snorts into his hand, easing back at Xavier's biting remark. Your jaw becomes unhinged with a loud giggle that makes Xavier lick his tongue across the top edge of his teeth. He's super focused on you, sharing this knowing that eases and unsettles you all at once. Ray and Chet begin a bicker at Chet's expense, Xavier continuing to watch you in a similar fashion as you were observing him earlier. The floor feels like lava under your feet, your legs jello.

"Better get back outside, kids. Boss lady will be getting impatient." Your mom's helper speaks to you from the kitchen.

You give him a nod, trance broken. Moving one foot in front of the other is hard, but you get it right, breezing past Xavier and the rest, right back into the summer heat wave.

~*~

After the conversation your mom directed over her history with this Camp and her current decision to return, Margaret invited you to tour the grounds again with everyone else after formal introductions were completed. You weren't going to disagree, not with the possibility of sneaking looks in Xavier's way, hearing the things that came from his perfect mouth. You're fucking sickening, like some dingbat ditz on a sugar high that's having an affair with lust. The whole tour was boring and subpar, but worth it to see Xavier in action. Margaret stops everyone outside the cabin with, in your opinion, the finest views, to preach her rules onto everyone.

You're cringing, already choking on heaps of unshed laughter and snorts. Everyone but Brooke seems to be amused. Brooke seems the most like you, so it's a comfort. Xavier has his debate locked and gone, metaphoric smoke trailing behind of his tongue, following his words like a steaming mug of honey-hot tea. After his fist bump with Ray he makes sure to give a nodding little grin your way.

A bashful smile colors your mouth.

"Y/N is true to her pure body, to herself, to the Lord. She hasn't polluted it with the perversions of today, have you, sweetheart?" Margaret's voice is that bucket of ice water you could've used earlier.

You have to grab onto the other side of the doorway to keep it together, your heartbeat in your throat. How in the fuck does she know what you do, or for that damned matter, if you've done anyone before? The entirety of everyone's attention is on you now. Your eyes are sharp on Margaret's, her joy apparent. You see right through her bullshit.

She can read people, and she's just used that to her very public advantage.

Whatever. Fuck her.

"I don't know how you’d know about my personal life, or why it matters towards the situation of a damned summer camp, Miss Booth." You snap, cheeks hot with anger, neck flushed with adrenaline. 

Her head twitches as if she's some robotic experiment in a lab, but she catches herself, a plastered on smile melting back into place. "Damned is the farthest thing from the grounds on which this Camp sits, Y/N. And as for your earlier inquiry? I have known your mother for half of my adult life, so that means I also know you."

You're in place, still stunned. How does knowing your mom have anything to do with Margaret knowing you're a virgin? It's not something your mom would broadcast to anyone. Luckily, it's a dropped topic. You're given looks you expect, especially by Chet and Montana. Ray and Brooke, who stops to turn around and give a compassionate smile, are the more sympathetic and understanding.

That leaves... him. You're petrified to turn and see his cliché reaction. He doesn't say anything, not at first, only moving past you. But when stops, a partial pivot, there's an almost relieved expression on his face. The breeze picks up a little, making you brush a lock of escaped hair from your messy style.

The grass and dirt crunches under his weight as he approaches you, stopping a decent distance. You can't breathe, can't comprehend anything out of this shared airspace. The wind has the little cross swaying against his lobe, his lips are plump, the blue in his eyes darkening to the shadows of the summer shade. There's rain on the air. It's going to rain tonight.

"You know I teach at an exercise studio in Los Angeles, Y/N? I'm good at helping people learn."

So he's baiting me to come to his gym with my fat body? Prolong the shame?

You want to further scold yourself for thinking he'd be anything but a shallow Hollywood hottie. Typical.

Before the tears even make themselves form, Xavier is moving closer. You don't stop him, don't take the out his slow and respectful pace is giving you. He's tilting in a little more so that wisp of frosted hair brushes your nose, his breath warm and minty.

"A virgin, huh? I guess it works out that I'm a teacher."

#xavier plympton #xavier plympton x reader #xavier plympton x you #ahs fanfiction #ahs fic #xavier plympton fic #xavier plympton fanfiction #ahs #ahsfx #american horror story #ahs9 #ahs: 1984 #ahs 1984 #kristenwrites #ahs 1984 fanfic #ahs 1984 fanfiction #american horror story fanfiction

[leiascully]

The Wong End of the Telescope

By @agirlcalledNarelle: submission for Angst fic exchange in Apr 2020. Prompt was ‘Mulder and Scully on the run angst’! Trigger warning: suicide reference, disordered eating. How did Mulder & Scully end up in the UH?

6,8K words. Here on AO3

Cotton candy pink grazed the tops of the darkened hills. It was the hour of magical thinking, when dreams fuse with reality and imaginary adventures are tethered once more by the earth’s physical laws. Scully pulled up at a trailer park, her eyes on the dirt track in front of her rather on the hills above. The energy of the hour moved around her like the parted Red Sea.  Mulder stirred beside her, stretching his arms over his head, and wiped spittle from the side of his mouth.

‘Where are we?’ His voice was hoarse from sleep. He looked at her in a daze, so boyish and trusting, having slept for the last seven hours. She wanted to reach over and stroke his warm, pink cheek, but instead she sat on her hands and stared outside.

‘Crockett, Texas.’

‘Why?’

‘Sun was coming up,’ she answered tersely. ‘It meets the criteria, and we’ve been on the go for over 12 hours.’

The sky was now a cloudless blue. Dry air promised a hot day ahead. Their last town had been in flat and endless prairie country. Scully had ached to see mountains, the hodgepodge of nature competing for survival, so she subconsciously delivered them to a town surrounded by hills in the neighbouring national park. She used to like arriving. She would enjoy discovering what made each town tick, uncovering their customs and values, until she realised every place was the same in that they would one day leave it behind.

The door to the trailer park reception opened and a dishevelled woman eyed them suspiciously.

‘We don’t open til 7,’ she called, her features distorted with annoyance. ‘Y’all will just have to wait til then.’

Scully looked at her watch: it was 6:55am. Mulder opened his mouth to speak, but Scully got there first.

‘That’s fine, we can wait. Thanks for letting us know.’ She attempted a smile, but it sat foreign on her lips. The woman said nothing and closed the door.

‘It’s only five minutes, Scully,’ Mulder muttered, kicking the gravel. ‘I’m sure she could have sprung us a key.’

‘What’s the point in drawing attention to ourselves?’ Scully replied sharply. ‘We just got here. I don’t want to have to leave before we’ve even had breakfast because you’ve gone and made yourself all memorable. We’re living by your rules, you know.’

Yesterday, she had returned to their trailer to find Mulder urgently packing the car. Gotta move, he had said. The Sheriff had come into the store where Mulder worked stacking shelves, and Mulder didn’t like the way he’d answered the Sheriff’s innocent questions. Felt there was too much room for scrutiny, and he got his feeling. The feeling when someone looked at them for too long or asked too many follow up questions. Before she’d had a chance to shower, they were leaving town.

At precisely 7am, the sign on the door of the lodge switched from Closed to Welcome! We’re open. Scully paid in cash for a week while Mulder sulked by the car. She left him to carry in the bags while she entered the stuffy trailer in search of the bed.

*

She found work a café off a main road which offered all-day breakfasts for the laborers, and milkshakes and relative privacy for the high schoolers. The first time Mulder had been a fugitive, the Lone Gunmen had set up a couple of bank accounts in different names for him to access. Now they were nearing the end of their second year on the run as a pair, and without the Gunmen’s help, they worked to supplement themselves. As Mulder liked to say, their opportunities dried up as quickly as the money in those accounts.

Ed, the manager, had thought Scully would be perfect for front of house. She preferred something along the lines of washing dishes and his expression revealed that it wasn’t the first time he’d received such a request. He’d looked her up and down and nodded slowly. Shift is 6am to 2pm, 6 days a week, Ed said daringly, you think you can handle that?

Scully filled up the sink on her first day when a boy entered, skinny, with mousy brown hair in need of a trim. He slipped an apron over his standard teen uniform of black jeans, band t-shirt and converse. She guessed he was 17, maybe 18 years old. He stopped still at the sight of her.

‘Who are you?’ His voice was both deep and weedy, still adjusting to itself.

‘Denise.’ Another of Mulder’s rules: keep the same initial. Easier to roll off your tongue. ‘Who are you?’

‘I’m Chet. I’m the morning waiter until 2pm, when Sasha’s in.’ He reached across her to wash his hands. It had been a while since someone other than Mulder has stood in such close proximity. Feeling crowded, she inhaled quickly and concentrated on tying her hair up. ‘You’re different to the last washer.’ Scully didn’t say anything. ‘You new in town? Did you just arrive?’

‘You ask a lot of questions, don’t you?’ Scully busied herself with the pots, and Chet took the hint. They didn’t talk for the rest of the shift.

‘Do you think it will work?’ Mulder asked when she returned 8 hours later, accompanied by the smell of cooking oil. The afternoon was caught under a bell jar, hot and still. Mulder was sprawled on the bed with newspapers spread in front of him, looking for any information that could potentially threaten them. Scully was sure that, should she ever ask him, he wouldn’t be able to articulate exactly what he was looking for.

‘It’s fine.’ She removed her shoes and sat on the end of the bed. Her feet were humming from the day’s work followed by the 3 mile walk back. ‘Same as that place in Burlington.’

‘Kansas?’

‘Sure.’ She crawled fully onto the bed and tucked her hand under the pillow, her back to Mulder.

‘Good. The more anonymous the better.’ Mulder pulled the papers from under her. ‘It looks like there are two local newspapers, but the most popular one here is USA Today.’

‘Well that’s a surprise.’

‘Whatever, Scully. I’m not doing this for fun.’ She felt him lie down next to her. The hairs on her back stood to attention, hoping he wouldn’t touch. The silence between them was a black hole, and Scully jumped right in.

‘I found work at a local motel. They’re renovating for Summer.’ Mulder said quietly after a few minutes.

‘Ok.’ Scully stayed on her side.

‘I stocked up at the store, so we don’t have to go for a little while. Do you want anything to eat?’

‘No.’ She closed her eyes against the daylight.

*

The mirror in the trailer was placed such that she could only see her shoulders up. Mulder had to crouch to see himself, and Scully very nearly had to stand on tiptoes. Before, this would have made her laugh.

Around her 40th birthday, she had gone through a phase of avoiding mirrors altogether, but now she studied her reflection with interest. Her pronounced clavicle snaked around the bottom of her neck like two thin arms buried under the skin threatening to strangle her. Feathery lines sat under her eyes from months of squinting at the road. Her cheekbones slid into shadowed gorges and levelled out to her soft chin, slack and furry with little hair. Freckles splattered like paint on a pale canvas. Grey dominated the natural auburn at her temples so that when she pulled her hair into a ponytail her mother’s face gazed back at her. The first time she saw the likeness she had gasped, remembering her father sitting next to her Christmas tree, little Emily asking to be set free in a wooden church. From then on, her hair was always down unless at work.

Mulder made her wear a baseball cap when she was out. If she dyed her hair, she was allowed to leave the cap at home. The idea of being anything other than a shade of red panicked her: this was her last thing. She was already hollowed out, a tinman pretending to have a heart. If she lost her hair colour, she felt she would finally rust over and be lost forever. What else did she have left?

*

Scully was scrubbing stubborn scrambled eggs from a large frying pan. The effort made her arm ache, and she felt slightly dizzy. Though they had shared fewer than 10 sentences since she started a week ago, she welcomed a break when Chet walked quickly into the kitchen.

‘Trade places with me,’ He said urgently. She looked at him properly for the first time. His head was ducked, chin covered in the duckling fluff of a teen too keen to prove his maturity. He was tall, she realised. She hadn’t realised how tall, given his movements were soft and quick. She wondered what his mother felt when she looked at him.

‘Why?’ She asked suspiciously. ‘I need to stay back here.’

‘Please, would you just do it for me?’ He pleaded. Scully scanned the room to see a table of girls laughing over their menus.

‘You want to avoid those girls?’

‘Something like that,’ Chet mumbled, cheeks flushed. Scully sighed and took the apron out of his hands, her palms sweaty with nerves. She took their order and found she had forgotten how to move her face. Her reactions felt too big, too staged. She tested her limits by taking another order from another girl sat by herself. When she returned to the kitchen, Chet had scrubbed off the remaining egg.

‘Thanks,’ he said gratefully. 

‘I’m not going to do it again,’ she snapped, snatching the brush from his hands. He left, and she leaned against the sink, hating herself for snapping. After almost three years on the run, her ability to make connections was off. She wrapped her right thumb and middle finger around her left wrist, measuring its circumference. Her wrist didn’t touch the fingers, and she was pleased when she could circle her wrist freely their grip. The bubbles in the sink crackled as they burst, slowly revealing a yellow glob of egg.

*

She would wake before Mulder to get to the café on time. He slept soundly, in a way he never could previously, on his back with an arm over his head. The conspiracy hadn’t been enough: he needed to be fully consumed by something, eaten, removed from life as he knew it, before he found peace.

He was enjoying his current line of work. She could tell because he once described the paint brush gliding like a toboggan, or by his swagger as he removed his t-shirt after a day of manual labour. Previously he was all about exposing the designs of others; now he was the creator. He was proud of himself. She had picked a hangnail on her pinkie, dry from constantly being in water, as he told her a tale about some wood and nails. Or it might have been shelves and a spirit level. She hadn’t listened too closely, knowing that whatever he found here would last only as long as he felt safe. Soon the time would come when his house of cards would fall.

*

‘What are you doing here, anyway, Ms Denise?’ Chet asked her. He was standing in the doorway, at a loose end. Rain kept the breakfast regulars away. Scully’s wet ponytail was plastered down her back and her soaked t-shirt stuck to her leggings. Her hipbones, sharp and round like pin heads, pressed against the sink as she leaned over, missing the usual padding of a dry t-shirt. They would bruise by the end of the day.

‘What do you mean?’ She asked flatly. With no customers, she kept busy by dismantling and cleaning the fat fryer.  

‘Just that.’ Chet helped her remove one of the baskets. ‘Why did y’all come to Crockett? To work in a café? What’s the story?’

‘No story. Just in need of a job.’

‘No story.’

‘Nope.’

‘You’re here just because you need a job. All on your lonesome.’

‘Yep.’ She popped the ‘p’ sound at the end.

‘My uncle had a friend who just turned up out of nowhere,’ Chet said. ‘Turns out he had two different families over in Louisiana. Weren’t long before he got sprung and had to go back. Now he’s awaiting trial for polygamy.’

‘So what?’ Her forehead suddenly prickled with sweat and she wiped it with her wrist. She met his gaze and held it in a silent threat.

‘Nothing’s never nothing, s’all I’m saying.’ Chet left to serve a customer, and Scully exhaled shakily. The oil mixed with the soap in the sink to create rainbows on the slimy surface. This kid was smart. A liability best kept to herself for now.

*

Scully ate an apple each morning as she meandered down the dirt roads to work, its crunch made louder by the darkness. She emptied her mind and savoured her surroundings, appreciating each ditch in the road, and the way a particular shrub resembled a sheep as she passed the ‘Welcome to Crockett!’ sign. Sporadic streetlights illuminated her solitary figure like the beacon of a lighthouse.

They had started out as crusaders, underdogs who would come out on top having prevented the end of the world. However, it was clear a few weeks in that without FBI resources, and the very real talents of the Gunmen, they were doomed to exist on the fringes of society, chasing wicker men. On their first night running she had told Mulder that she wouldn’t accept defeat if he didn’t, a memory that now makes her prickle with discomfort. That Scully is a high school student scribbling love hearts on her exercise books. That Scully doesn’t realise that unconditional love is actually anguish, pain, boredom, compromise, rage, sacrifice, not just sometimes but all the time until you’re so far in you can’t see where you stop and the other begins.

She used to feel like Mulder was the one holding the other end of the rope. But while they had been distracted buying cheap second-hand cars with high mileage, crossing state lines, eating store-bought sandwiches in the middle of the night, the rope had frayed and snapped. They each still had their end, but their futile attempts to mend it hurt so much that after a while, she just stopped trying.

*

‘Scully?’

My name, she thought idly as she swam from the depths of sleep. Not my never name, though. Not Dana. It’s my sometimes name. She tried to ignore it, but it repeated until she slowly became aware of her dull head, her dry mouth, of Mulder’s voice coaxing her back to him.

‘Mmmh?’ Forcing her eyes open, she saw Mulder sat on the bed. He didn’t touch her, she noted, and her shoulder shivered in the absence of his hand. The space in the trailer compacted with Mulder’s return. The walls closed in as he crossed the threshold and there wasn’t enough room for her.  She could see his mind humming with thoughts, but not knowing what they were, she would feel like an intruder.

‘You’re asleep again.’ He said with a hint of accusation.

‘Mmmh.’ She closed her eyes and sighed. If she was lucky, she could fall back to sleep quickly.

‘I’ve brought food.’

‘What?’

‘I’ve brought food.’

‘Oh. I ate at work.’

‘That was 6 hours ago.’ She opened her eyes again. It was 8pm already? ‘You were sleeping when I came home at 6, and it looks like you’ve not moved.’

‘I took a sandwich home with me,’ Scully lied. ‘You woke me when you left again, I ate then.’

He met her eyes and she realised she couldn’t remember the last time they’d properly looked at each other. His face was worn. She spied blue paint by his ear. He hadn’t shaved in a few days. Like her, he had flecks of grey around his hairline, and his eyes seemed smaller among the creases of his cheeks. But there was energy coursing behind his irises. He can handle this, she realised enviously. This lifestyle suited him.

She shrank as he studied her in return. He had always been interested in her mind, had always valued her level-headed scientific approach. She knew he had found her beautiful at some point, but his true love affair was with her intellect. She counted on the fact that he wouldn’t ever really see her. She liked feeling invisible. But now he had noticed what she saw when she looked at her reflection.

‘Are you eating enough?’ His question landed heavily in her stomach. She circled her left wrist with her right fingers and twisted, drawing confidence from the gap.

‘Yeah.’ She avoided his eyes.

‘Are you sure, Scully?’

‘I told you, I already ate.’

‘You look thin.’

Scully fluffed her pillows and lay back down again. ‘It’s just from being on my feet all day. And the walk there and back.’

‘Do you need a ride there each day? I can get up earlier. I don’t want you –’

‘I’m fine, Mulder. Please.’ She rolled away from him, not caring that she was still fully clothed. She felt sleep stalking her in the periphery and prostrated herself ready for it to snatch her.

*

The first rule Mulder created was that they avoid being in public together, the net result being a lot of alone time for her when her shift finished. She was to go home straight away. He would pick up their groceries on his way home, comfortable with his own vulnerability, but he resisted her attempts at independence beyond what was absolutely necessary.

Every day the trailer was oppressed by afternoon heat. The air refused to move so it felt like she was wading through blankets. She would sleep the afternoons away, passing out so heavily that she felt drugged when she awoke, limbs heavy, clinging on to unconsciousness as her senses fired up. More than once, she thought she was still in her Georgetown apartment, and it took a few minutes to remember. She would try to wake up before Mulder came home, but recently that was proving more challenging.

Her bones were dragging.

*

‘Can you trade with me again?’ Chet arrived at her elbow. She instinctively took a step back. ‘Please?’

‘I told you the last time,’ Scully replied, ‘no. I need to stay here.’

‘Please. I can’t go out there.’ He sounded so desperate that she sighed and scanned the restaurant for the table of girls.

‘I don’t see those girls here,’ she said.

‘That group of girls? With the headbands and the lettermen?’ Chet scoffed. ‘No, not them.’

‘Then who?’ Curious, Scully couldn’t help but look again. She saw in the corner a small girl with brown hair to her shoulders reading a book. ‘That girl over there?’

Chet backed away, his cheeks blushing

‘Yeah,’ he sighed. ‘Amanda Jones.’

‘She seems nice?’ Scully asked, unsure of what to say.

‘She is nice.’ He ran his hands over his hair. ‘She’s super smart, and she really thinks about things. She’s not one of those girls you saw the other day…’

‘Those other girls don’t think?’ Scully bristled at Chet’s casual dismissal.

‘I don’t know if they do or not. But they’re not very nice.’ He paused, looking out at Amanda. ‘Please. I can’t go out there.’

Scully sized him up before holding her hand out for his apron. She remembered how teenage love teetered between affirming and soul destroying. The girl looked up and ordered a coffee with such self-possession that even Scully had to admit she was impressed.

*

Dana pulled up outside her mother’s dark house. It was 7pm and she was expected for dinner, but she was met with silence. Her mother’s purse was on the hall table. Shopping sat on the kitchen counters. There was a sweet, fermented smell of rotting fruit.

Professional instincts kicking in, she drew her weapon and checked downstairs before making her way upstairs.  Her mom was on the bathroom floor, eyes closed and congealed blood at her temple.

‘Mom!’ Dana cried as she kneeled beside her. She patted her mother’s cheek urgently, and Maggie’s eyelids fluttered open. Relief washed over Dana and her arms shook as she moved.

‘Dana….’ Maggie whispered. ‘I fell….’

‘Mom, I’m gonna help you,’ Dana was unable to stop her voice from wavering. She held a damp washcloth against the side of her mother’s head. ‘When did this happen?’

‘Two days ago maybe… or three…I’m not really sure.’ Scully held a second wet, clean cloth to her mom’s lips for her to suck. ‘I couldn’t get to the phone….  I’ve been here for such a long time.’

Maggie closed her eyes and went limp. Dana felt her mother’s pulse weaken, and she screamed.

Scully sat bolt upright, throat wheezing as she desperately sucked in air. She panted, sweat rolling down her back as she held her hands out to orient herself. There was the bedside table. There was the side of the bed. There was Mulder, his strong back to her, snoring. Her mother was back at home, and Scully had to believe she was alive and well.

She slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb Mulder, and sat on the steps outside. It was warm enough to sit in her t-shirt. She put her arms around her knees and lit a cigarette. She struggled to sleep past 2am these days.

Some nights she would reach around Mulder to wake him with her hands. She would take him in her mouth, and he would push her head until she gagged. Their bodies grew slippery together, and she would dig her nails into his back to gain traction as she sat on him, feeling him plunge into the cavernous depths of her. She would cry his name – his real name - in her throaty voice, the black night their only witness. It was always quick, vicious, and she rarely had her turn although she didn’t want that. She wanted to be entered, to be filled up. They wouldn’t speak after, but the next day there would be a new charge in the current between them which almost made the situation almost bearable.

Most nights, however, she would simply sit outside and smoke. She savoured her secret cigarettes, this tasty rebellion. The orange glow soared through the air like a grown-up sparkler.

The expanse of the stars made her mind spin as she gazed upwards. She remembered her childhood astronomy, spotting the Big Dipper and the Big Bear. She heard her father’s commentary. In these moments, Scully wondered if she was even really there. She might blow away on the wind’s currents, floating higher and higher until she was as far away as the stars. She felt like she was looking at life through the wrong end of the telescope.

*

The day in May came, around which all others moved, and she dragged herself to the café when all her instincts told her to stay in bed and spend the day remembering his gummy smile and the sound of his cry.

The day before, she had eyed a bottle of whiskey as she replenished her clandestine cigarettes on her way home but had ultimately decided against it. Throughout the years they had both tried to escape this day via alcohol. For her, it resulted shame and hazy memories of tear-soaked grief, Mulder’s clumsy hands holding her hair back as she vomited, raging against his strength as he tried to contain her. On his part, he turned inwards, growing snarky, mean and morose. He channelled his energy towards the cruellest insults which swirled in her head for months after. You call yourself a mother? You give him up and then claim to be a mother? You’re a selfish bitch, Scully, that’s what you are, and you have to live with that for the rest of your life.

At the café, she saw Chet hanging around her sink. Her heart sank when he smiled as she approached. She wasn’t sure she could handle him today.

‘Ms Denise!’ He greeted her enthusiastically. ‘I have news.’

Scully said nothing and turned the tap on. Chet wasn’t put off by her indifference, having worked with her for 7 weeks now and seen little else.

‘I was riding home from work yesterday and I saw Amanda had a puncture,’ his thin, reticulin fingers gesticulated as spoke, ‘so I helped her fix it, and we walked home together and had the best conversation. Turns out she’s reading '1984’, which is my favourite book. We both think it’s so clever, you know, how they reduce thought by altering language. Kinda like what’s going on now, all this war on terror talk. You know what I mean?’ He laughed to himself. ‘Man, I can’t believe she actually spoke to me.’

Scully shook her head slightly to refocus. She was bothered by something he said.

‘You love '1984’?’ She asked, looking directly at him. He had shaved his fluff but kept a small, patchy moustache on his baby face. His hair had greasy roots, and she wanted to tell him to take a shower. He was clean and musty at the same time. ‘How old are you, Chet?’

‘I’m 19. I’ll be 20 in October.’

‘Why aren’t you in college?’ She asked sharply. He raised his eyebrows cynically.

‘College? What college am I going to go to?’ He replied, voice squeaking. ‘You’ve seen this town, there’s no college here.’

‘You’re a smart guy.’ Scully seethed at the waste of his potential. ‘There are colleges nearby, with scholarships –‘

‘No, I’m just gonna work here, get some money behind me,’ Chet interrupted. ‘I’ve been talking to Ed, maybe one day I can take over this place.’

‘Chet, you can have bigger dreams than the local café for the next forty years,’ Scully was desperate to make this boy see the world was bigger than this. ‘You can do whatever you want.’

He shook his head slowly. ‘No, I can’t. I’m not that guy.’

‘Chet….’ She saw his face harden.

‘Anyway, what about you?’

‘What about me?’

‘What all are your dreams, why are you lecturing me about mine?’ His voice was raised, and Scully’s heart ticked like a metronome on the highest setting. She stepped back from the sink. This was too much attention. ‘You’re hiding something. You don’t wash your hands like a normal person. I reckon a doctor, or surgeon, someone who has to keep clean. And then there’s that cornfed guy working at the motel on the other side of town. Funny how he pops up same week as you, same accent as you, yet you don’t know nothing about anything. So who are you really, Ms Denise?’

He reeled, surprised at his outburst. Scully blinked back tears, her hands shaking as adrenaline bled through her. He reminded her so much of Mulder: observant, passionate, gentle, and he had her number. Yet this wasn’t her mini-Mulder. He was elsewhere celebrating this day with strangers, and she was in a kitchen in small town Texas. She heard waves crash in her ears.

‘I’m nothing,’ she muttered, and pushed past Chet. ‘Excuse me, I’m not feeling well.’

He called her name as she ran out the back door and threw up beside the bins. It felt good. Chunks of apple, half dissolved by acid, lay at her feet, and her teeth chattered. Chet appeared with a glass of water which she took gratefully. Her stomach churned as the water hit, but it stayed down.

‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. He stood next to her, unsure of what to do. ‘Today is a hard day.’

‘I can tell Ed you’re not well,’ Chet said awkwardly. ‘You should go… I can handle it today.’

It was mid-morning by the time she turned down the dirt road towards the trailer park. Mulder would have just left for work, and she wanted to crawl in bed and close off the day. She wasn’t sure what four-year olds were even like: she had a vague recollection of Matthew being into trains. She couldn’t imagine his hair colour, what his voice sounded like, whether he could count to twenty, or if he could do puzzles. She had no idea, and her ignorance of rudimentary childhood development made her feel worse.

On a whim, she ignored her thirst and walked past the trailer park entrance to the natural bushland at the end of the road, lured by the refreshing shades of green. The ground was covered in grass, with natural tracks running between the trees. Leaves and sticks scraped her ankles as she walked, and she soon found herself deep within the bushland, with only the track behind her for navigation.

She walked until her shin bones ached. Suddenly the path dropped away. The cliff was 40 feet or so and framed by the overhanging branches from the nearby trees. A creek ran through the lush valley at the base of the cliff. It looked so quiet, so unspoiled. She crept closer to the drop and looked down to see rocks directly below her. Standing tall, the breeze blew temptingly across her face and her toes crept over the edge. Then the balls of her feet. Her weight shift to her heels. She knew if she closed her eyes, her balance would falter, and who knew which way she would fall? The risk appealed. She felt dizzy. Reckless. Her hands opened by her side, her fingers stretching downwards to feel the breeze on her palms. She imagined feeling weightless.

A rustle next to her made her jump back, her natural instinct to survive proving to be stronger than her desperation to for everything to stop. She fell as she retreated, landing hard on her coccyx. The pain brought tears to her eyes, and for the first time in a long time, she heard herself cry. Her chest heaved twice, three times, as she inhaled to support more sobs. Pain dripped like mercury from her fingers. She gripped her hair by its roots and let out a huge scream which echoed around the valley as her rage tumbled out. It was a relief to finally feel something. A fox squirrel shot out from under the scrubland and stood still, eyeing her as she wept. It tilted its head and ran up a tree trunk. Her right fingers wrapped around her left wrist, and she twisted her wrist in the gap. Tears splashed on the rocks beside her.

*

When she got back to the motel, Scully stayed away from the bedroom. She drank three glasses of cold water and took her towel to lie on the grass outside of the trailer, enjoying the solid ground beneath her shoulder blades. Studying the leaves above her, she realised that she still had choices. She could decide things. She could identify her limits, but it came down to how much she was prepared to fight for herself. She was a hologram of the person she used to be, and she wondered if she even had the strength to stand up. Eventually she was lulled to sleep by the rhythmic lullaby of leaves in the breeze.

She woke when Mulder pulled up. Her sleep had been light, leaving her unusually refreshed. The importance of the day crashed on her chest once more, but she recognised a very, very slight shift in perspective: today could be about more than grief. What should I do with this, she wondered.

‘Scully?’ He approached her with caution, wearing his own memories of this day on his face. ‘What are you doing out here?’

‘It’s a nice day.’ She folded her towel and stood. ‘I just wanted to be outside.’

That evening, they sat outside with a beer to toast their son. They talked, though not about William. He was interested in her trip to the bushland. She told him about the sound the trees made, and the squirrel, but not how the whispers of the breeze had dared her to see if she really was immortal.

*

She had grown used to the smell of old cooking oil and grease. It seeped into her skin and her hair. Having been there for two and a half months, it smelled as much like home as anywhere had. Half-way through her shift one Tuesday morning, she asked for a plate of scrambled eggs, which the chef handed to her in surprise. Out back, past the bins, she found Chet on his break, and sat wordlessly beside him.

‘You taking a break today?’ He asked incredulously. ‘You never take a break.’

They had reached a truce after William’s birthday: he chewed her ear off about whatever he wanted, and she offered sparse but pertinent advice. Each day, he brought her some new piece of information about the youth of the town, and she found herself invested in spite of herself.

‘First time for everything,’ she replied, hoping she sounded light, carefree. The fork was awkward in her right hand, plate balanced on her lap. The eggs were yellow and solid; she sliced into them with the side of her fork. They felt like stones clogging her throat. Her mouth salivated as she ate. Scully tried to ignore how heavy the food felt inside her stomach and cleared her throat nervously. ‘Can I eat with you tomorrow too?’

‘Sure thing, Ms Denise.’ Chet balled up the paper from his bacon sandwich. ‘You don’t have to ask.’

She managed half her plate, and fought against the itch in her fingers, the urge to lock herself in the bathroom afterwards.

That afternoon, as she was leaving the Mom and Pop store, Chet and Amanda cycled past. He was in front, and he said something which made her throw her head back in laughter, her hair trailing behind like a mermaid. Scully felt a spark in her chest: a tiny flame, a burst of energy. She drew warmth from its glow.

*

They started to spend the warm evenings outside together, the fog between them slowly dissipating. She told Mulder about the legend of the Ozark Howler, a cat-like creature with horns and glowing eyes. It was said to be found in the Ozarks but there were sightings as far reaching as Texas too. Mulder’s core ignited with new folklore, curling himself towards her in his plastic chair. She presented tidbits of information to him like proud child. They found themselves in a discussion of whether it’s realistic for one cat-like creature to cover so much geography, or if it meant a growing species, and whether that contributed to or undermined its veracity. His eyes narrowed when he learned that Chet had told her about it. Careful Scully, his tone immediately changing, you don’t want to get too close. Keep your distance. She had smiled thinly, ruffled his hair, and walked back inside before he could see her tears because, for just a minute, she had forgotten and they had felt like a normal couple again.

*

‘Mulder?’ Scully approached Mulder as he lay on the couch in the tiny living room reading the papers. Three months in and she could see he was starting to twitch. It wouldn’t be long until he wanted to up sticks, and she wanted to get in first.

‘What’s up, doc?’ He smiled. She sat next to him and pressed her knees together. She had recently bought some dye to patch over her grey hairs. Her cheeks were starting to fill out with her daily plate of eggs, though she still couldn’t consider anything more solid without her palms sweating. She noticed he had started to look at her differently: he had stopped looking through her, and she felt herself take up more space.

‘Mulder…..’ She sighed and looked at the floor. ‘Mulder, I need to go home.’ She glanced up and saw shock, fear, pass over his face.

‘Go home?’ he repeated dumbly. ‘Scully, I can’t…. you know what waits for me there.’

Scully closed her eyes, not wanting to remember Mulder’s sentence: death by lethal injection. The danger had always been real, but somewhere along the way she had lost the sense of it as she had lost herself. With this request, she had to face it once more.

‘There must be a way,’ she said, her voice shaky. ‘Please. It’s… I’m …. I’m not doing well. I’m… vanishing.’

‘I know that Scully,’ he said in his crinkly voice that reached into the dark shadows of her. ‘I see you. I think you’re right, I think you may have reached the end of this road. But what choice do I have?’

‘There must be a way,’ she repeated, the lump in her throat making her voice thin and tight. ‘We can email Skinner. I don’t want to leave you. I hate the thought you being by yourself.’ She paused to compose herself and reached for his hand. ‘You’re good at this life. You know how to duck and weave. The threat gives you energy, purpose, as it always has. I see you too, you know.’

 ‘You’re my gal. You’ve always seen all of me.’ He kissed her knuckles. ‘I know you’re struggling. I don’t know the last time I saw you eat more than a banana. I wake in the night and you’re not there.’ She stiffened but made herself stay in the conversation. It was the first honest talk they’d had in months.  ‘But can you give me some time? Just a little. Please, Scully. Let me get my head around it some more.’

‘Mulder….. There’s Matthew. My Mom.’ She hiccupped the last word, and to her frustration, started to cry, releasing the pressure in her chest. She wiped her eyes. ‘I mean, what is our plan here, exactly? Wait for an apocalypse that we’re powerless to stop? Well, I don’t want to welcome that one without my family. Or maybe it doesn’t happen, and we run for the next 20 years. Or do we draw the line at 30 years? And what happens if you fall from a ladder, or even just get tonsillitis?’

They sat in silence. Mulder had abandoned the newspaper, and Scully circled her wrist. There was still a sizeable gap and her satisfaction at this quickly turned to guilt.   

‘Ok, Scully.’ Mulder said finally, exhaling heavily. ‘Let’s email Skinner. See if there are options.’

*

That Sunday they drove two hours out of town to a random internet café. Mulder set up an email account and then they sent Skinner a cryptic message. Mulder drove three hours in the opposite direction two days later to see his reply, and he didn’t let Scully come. Too conspicuous for both of them to miss a day of work, he’d reasoned. Scully had wanted to throw her coffee mug at the wall in frustration.

They hadn’t spent more than a work shift apart since 2002, and Scully was bereft as she waited. She dropped a stack of plates at work, and spent the afternoon peeking out of the trailer window at the sound of every car rumble. It felt like snakes had taken up residence in her stomach.

She was sat the small table in the kitchen when he returned, a plate of celery, carrots and hummus in front of her. She cried out with relief as she heard the car pull up and ran to hug him as he exited the car. His sweater was soft, and she remembered how solid she felt when her body locked against his.

Once inside, he handed her a printout from the now deleted email account. Scully scanned it, seeing words like pardon, obstruction of justice, requalification, but her mind raced over the email before she could comprehend its meaning. She looked at him expectantly.  

‘It looks like there’s a shot,’ Mulder said nervously, rubbing his palms together. ‘A long shot. Skinner thinks he could get any potential charges against you dropped as long as I continue to lay low. But he thinks there’s a possibility for us both to return.’

‘And we’d be together?’

‘Yes. We could be together.’ He finally slipped a smile. ‘I may not see daylight for the foreseeable future, so I hope you like the anaemic vampiric look.’

Scully covered her face with her hands and pushed all the air out of her lungs. Her fingers were hot, and her head tingled. She laughed, feeling a little light-headed and hysterical. She pictured her Mom’s face and the laugher turned to loud sobs of relief. Mulder kissed her head and held her tightly while she calmed. The energy in his eyes had already been replaced with fear, and she realised the price of the choice he had just made for her. For them.

‘Pack your things Scully,’ He started pulling their bags from the cupboard. ‘We gotta move.’

#submitted #submission #submission summer 2k20