#drunk clay pt 2

[layce2015]

Supernatural (Dean Winchester x Female!Reader)

Dead Man Don’t Wear Plaid

Masterlist pt 1

Masterlist pt 2

"Bobby, listen, when you get this message, call! Okay?" Sam said into the phone as we get out of the Impala. "Is he still not home?" I asked him and he shakes his head. "How far could he get in that chair?" Dean asked as we enter the diner to meet a man who saw a murder by a man who was supposed to be dead.

"So, what do we do?" Sam asked. "Well...Guess we just do it ourselves." Dean said as we sit down at a table opposite a man. "Mr. Wells, why don't you tell us what you saw in your own words." I asked the man. "Call me Digger." Mr Wells said.

"Digger? Who gave you that name?" Dean asked him. "I did." Digger said. "You gave yourself your own nickname? You can't do that." Dean said. "Who died and made you queen?" Digger asked Dean and I snorted at this.

"Okay. Uh, why don't you just tell us what you saw?" Sam asked Digger. "I saw Clay Thompson climb into Benny Sutton’s trailer through the window. Couple minutes later, Clay walked out, and Benny's dead." Digger explained and I hold up a photo of Clay. "And, uh...Is this the guy you saw?" I asked him. "Well, he was all covered with mud, but, yeah. That's Clay." Digger said as I put the photo away.

"And you are aware that Clay Thompson died five years ago?" Sam asked him. "Yep." Digger said. "And you're positive that it was this guy." said Dean as he points at the photo. "You calling me a liar?" Digger asked, offended. "No, no, no. Of course not." I assure him but he looked at me, not like he was believing me.

"Look. Can you think of any reason why Clay Thompson, alive or dead, would want to kill Benny Sutton?" Sam asked him. "Hell, yeah. Well, five years ago, Benny's the one that killed Clay in the first place." Digger said. "Is that a fact?" Dean asked. "Well, yeah, so-called hunting accident. Now, if you ask me...Clay came back from the grave to get a little payback." Digger said.

"Go on." I said, intrigued, but then Digger looks over out shoulder. "Heads up. Fargo." Digger said as a female officer comes up to us. "Digger." she greets. "Sheriff." Digger said then she turn to us.

"Gentlemen. Ma'am. I'm Sheriff Jody Mills. I don't believe we've had the pleasure." Jody said. "Agents Dorfman, Neidermeyer and Flounder. FBI." Dean introduced us. "Welcome to Sioux Falls, gentlemen and ma'am. Can I ask you what you're doing with Digger here?" Jody asked us. "They’re doing their job. They believe me, Sheriff." Digger said to her.

"The FBI believes a dead man committed a murder?" Jody asked, giving us a suspicious look. "Look, we're just asking a few questions, Sheriff. That's all." I said. "Of course, if a dead man didn't commit the murder, then, uh, who did?" Dean asked as Jody eyes us.

"What'd you say your jurisdiction here was again?" she asked. "Our jurisdiction is wherever the United States government sends us." Dean said. "Oh, yeah. How 'bout me and your supervisor have a little chat about that?" she asked. "Absolutely." Sam said and he hands her a business card and she calls the number on the card

"Agent Willis, this is Sheriff Jody Mills…" she said after a moment of silence then she stops. "Bobby? Is this Bobby Singer?" she asked and the boys and I give shocked looks at this. Honestly, I was feeling a bit nervous, when people call Bobby it usually works but somehow this woman knows who he is.

"Bull crap." Jody said into the phone, hangs up and turns to us. "FBI, huh?" she said. "So, uh...So you know Bobby Singer?" Sam asked, nervously. "That is...a fun coincidence." Dean said as he chuckles nervously. "Here's what I know about Bobby Singer. He's a menace around here, ass-full of drunk-and-disorderlies and mail fraud. You understanding me?" she said to us, firmly. "I think we all can agree that you've made yourself perfectly clear, yes." I said to her, nodding.

"So, whatever the four of you are planning, it ends here. Now. Ten-four on that, Agents?" she asked. "Yeah." Dean said and Jody glares at us.

"You know how many times we called? Where have you been?" I asked Bobby once we made it to his house after Jody let us go. "Playing murderball." Bobby said. "What's that smell? Is that soap? Did you clean?" Dean asked as we walk in deeper into the house.

"What are you, my mother? Bite me!" Bobby yells. "Bobby, seriously." Sam said, exasperated. "I been working. You know, trying to find a way to stop the devil." Bobby said, defensively. "Find anything?" Dean asked him. "What do you think?" Bobby sneers.

"Bobby, it's just…there's a case less than five miles from your house." I said. "What, the – the Benny Sutton thing? That's what this is about?" Bobby asked. "You knew about this?" Dean said, confused. "Hell, yes. I checked into it already. There's nothing here." Bobby said. "Except a witness who saw a dead guy commit murder." Sam said. 

"What witness? Digger Wells?" Bobby asked. "Yeah. So?" Dean said. "So, he's a drunk." said Bobby, like it was obvious. "Well, what about the lightning storms? They look like omens." I pointed out. "Except in February in South Dakota in storm season. Guys, I thought it was something, too. Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar." Bobby said.

"So who killed the guy?" Sam asked. "Take your pick. This Benny Sutton guy was a grade-a son of a bitch. There's a list of the living a year long wouldn't mind putting a cap in his ass." Bobby said.

"So, you're telling us...nothing?" asked Dean. "Sorry. Looks like you wasted a tank of gas on this one." Bobby said. "Great." Dean grumbles and I sigh at this.

That night, Dean parks the Impala near St. Anthony’s Cemetery and I turn to him. "What's up?" I asked him. "Isn't that the graveyard back there?" Dean asked. "Yeah. So what? Bobby already checked it out." Sam said. "And? What, Bobby's never wrong? Come on. We'll take a peek, and then we'll hit the road. Can't hurt." Dean said and I look over at the backseat at Sam, who just shrugs.

We walk through the cemetery until I see a grave with overturned soil. "Hey." I said as I point at the grave. We walk up to it and see that it is Clay Thompson’s headstone. "That look fresh to you?" Dean asked as he gestures to the overturned soil. "Yeah, actually." Sam said and I nod then we begin to dig up the grave.

Minutes later, we get to the coffin and open it to find it empty. "What is going on here?" I asked the boys. "I don't know, but something stinks." Dean said.

Later, we break into Clay Thompson’s house and began looking around when someone jumps on me. "(Y/n)!" I hear the boys shout as I fight the person and I push him to the ground. "Don't shoot me! Please! There's money in the safe." the man pleads. "We don't want your money." Sam said and I was able to get a better look at the guy and realize it was Clay.

"What do you want? Anything. Please..." Clay said, frightened. "You're Clay Thompson, right?" I asked him and he nods and looks between the boys and I. "Who are you?" he asked. "Um, FBI." Sam replied. 

"FBI?" Clay asked then his eyes widen in realization. "Oh, my God. This is about Benny." He said. "Wha…what about Benny?" Dean asked him. "He killed me! He shot me in the back! I'm supposed to let him get away with that?" Clay exclaims.

"Hold up. Are…are you confessing?" I asked. "Please. I'll go with you. Just…just don't wake my kids." Clay said. "Y-you'll go with us where?" Sam asked him, confused. "Jail." Clay replied, plainly. "Let me get this straight. You're Clay Thompson, and you died five years ago?" Dean asked. "Yes." Clay replied.

"And three days ago you climbed out of your grave, and you killed Benny Sutton?" I asked him. "Yes." Clay said. "So you are, in fact, a dead guy." Dean said and Clay shrugs a bit. "I guess. I – I – I don't know what I am." Clay said when a woman, presumably his wife, enters the room.

"Clay? I called 911." she informed. "It's okay, honey. These men and lady are the FBI. They're here about Benny." Clay tells her. "Why don't you come with us, Mr. Thompson? I think that'd be best." Dean said. "Dean." Sam said, exasperated.

"He's a monster." Dean growls. "He's a soccer dad." Sam said. "What do you want to do with him?" Dean asked Sam, who looks over at Clay.

Later, we walk out of the house with Clay when Jody and another officer intercept us. "Freeze! Drop your guns!" Jody demands and we raise our hands. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. All right. Hey." I said. "Remember the guy you said that was dead and couldn't possibly commit murder? There he is." Dean said as he nods to Clay.

"And?" Jody asked. "And? And you're welcome – for catching the undead killer zombie." Dean tells her. "Whatever he is or isn't that don't give you the right to shoot him in the middle of the street." Jody said then she handcuffs Dean.

"Shoot me?" Clay asked, confused and shocked. "You're free to go, Mr. Thompson." Jody tells him. "Free to go?!" I exclaimed, upset and confused. "I can't believe you were gonna kill me." Clay yelled at us. "You're a zombie!" Dean yells. "I'm a taxpayer!" Clay screams back as Sam and I get handcuffed.

"So, what? Sheriff's on the take?" Dean asked us as we sit in the jail cell. "Yeah. No. The zombies are paying her off?" Sam asked while I look through the cell door and see Jody and Bobby talking in the police station.

"Hey." I said to the boys and they look over at me. I nod towards Jody and Bobby and they look to see what I was seeing. "So, what? Now they're friends?" Dean asked, annoyed.

Surprisingly, Bobby was able to get us out of jail and we left the station and made our way to Bobby's house. Once we arrived, we get out of the car and head into Bobby's house, Sam pushing Bobby's wheelchair.

"Bobby, I thought the sheriff hated you?" Sam asked him. "She did till five days ago." Bobby said. "What happened five days ago?" I asked him. "The dead started rising all over town." Bobby replied and we all look at him.

"So you knew about this?" Sam asked him. "Yep." Bobby said, nonchalantly. "I think what Sam meant to say is, you lied to us?" Dean asked him, angrily. "Look, I told you there was nothing here. And there isn't. Not for you." Bobby said. "There are zombies here." I said, annoyed.

"There are zombies...And then there are zombies. Come with me." Bobby said and he leads us to his kitchen. "You want to tell us what the hell…" Dean started to say when we stop and see a woman wearing an apron walks to the table carrying a plate.

"Oh, hey. I didn't realize you were bringing company." she said. "It’s four a.m., babe. You didn't need to cook." Bobby said to her. "Oh, please! I’ll get some more plates." the woman said and she walks over to the cabinets.

"Who was that?" Dean asked Bobby. "Karen. My wife." Bobby replied. "Your new wife?" I asked. "My dead wife." Bobby replied and my mouth fell open.

"This is incredible, Mrs. Singer." Dean said after taking a bite out of the pie Karen had made. "Thank you, Dean." Karen said, appreciatively, while Sam and I give him a pointed look. "What? It is." Dean said, defensively. "It's great, Karen. Thanks. Could you, um, just give us a minute?" Bobby asked her and she leaves the room.

"Are you crazy? What the hell?" I asked Bobby, quickly. "(Y/n), I can explain." Bobby said but Dean jumps in. "Explain what? Lying to us? Or the American girl zombie making cupcakes in your kitchen?!" he asked, angrily. "First of all, that's my wife, so watch it." Bobby threatens.

"Bobby, whatever that thing is in there, it is not your wife." Sam said. "And how do you know that?" Bobby asked and I give him a look of disbelief. "Are you serious?" I asked him. "You think I'm an idiot, kids? My dead wife shows up on my doorstep, I'm not gonna test her every way I ever learned?" Bobby asked.

"So what is it? Zombies? Revenant?" Dean asked. "Hell if I can tell. She's got no scars, no wounds, no reaction to salt, silver, holy water..." Bobby lists off. "Bobby, she crawled out of her coffin." I said, firmly. "No, she didn't. I cremated her." Bobby admitted and I was taken aback by this.

"Somehow, some way, she's back." Bobby said, looking down. "That's impossible." Sam said. "Tell me about it." Bobby grumbles. "You bury her ashes?" Sam asked. "Yeah." Bobby said. "Where?" Dean asked. "In the cemetery. That's where they all rose from." Bobby replied.

"How many?" I asked him. "15, 20, I made a list." He said and he hands the list to Sam. "Uh, there's Karen...Clay...Sheriff Mills – her little boy came back." Bobby said. "And there were no signs? No omens?" I asked him. "Well, there were the lightning storms." Bobby said.

"That's what we said. What else?" Dean asked and Bobby pulls out a book and starts to read from the Book of Revelation. "And through the fire stood before me a pale horse. And he that sat atop him carried a scythe, and I saw since he had risen, they, too, shall rise, and from him and through him." he reads.

"So, what, Death is behind this?" Dean asked. "Death, Death? Like Grim Reaper death?" Sam asked. "Yeah." Bobby mutters and I scoff. "Awesome. Another horseman. Must be Thursday." I said, sarcastically.

"Bobby...Why would Death raise 15 people in a podunk town like Sioux Falls?" Sam asked, curiously. "I don't know." Bobby said, shrugging.  "You know, if Death is behind this, then whatever these things are...it's not good. You know what we have to do here." Dean said. "She doesn't remember anything, you know." Bobby said.

"What do you mean?" I asked him, confused. "Being possessed, me killing her...her coming back." Bobby said and I give him a sympathetic look. "Bobby..." Dean said and Bobby shakes his head. "No, no, don't Bobby me. Just...just listen, okay?" he said and we could hear Karen humming. 

"She hums when she cooks. She always...used to hum when she cooked. Tone deaf as all hell, but...And I never thought I would hear it again. Look, just read Revelation. The dead rise during the apocalypse. There's nothing in there that says that's bad! Hell, maybe it's the one good thing that comes out of this whole bloody mess." Bobby said. "And what would you do if you were us?" Dean asked him. "I know what I'd do. And I know what you think you got to do. But...I'm begging you. Please. Please. Leave her be." Bobby pleads to us and the boys and I share a glance.

"So, what do you think?" Sam asked us as we leave Bobby's house. "There's nothing to think about. I'm not gonna leave Bobby at home with the bride of Frankenstein." Dean said. "Then what do you want to do? Just walk in there in front of Bobby and blow her skull off?" I asked Dean. "If she decides that Bobby's face is the blue plate special, I'd like to be there." Dean said. "Fine. See what else we can find out." Sam said and he begins to leave while I stay with Dean. 

Dean and I were leaning up against the Impala, parked outside of Bobby's house, as I sat there thinking. This whole thing with the dead rising is creepy but then I start to think what if my parents came back. Would I be like any normal hunter and shoot them where they stood or would I be like Bobby and do everything in my power to keep them safe?

"You okay?" Dean asked me and I turn my head to him to see he had a concerned look. "Sorry, you looked like you were in deep thought." He said and I shrug. "I was just thinking..." I said. "About?" Dean asked me. "This whole ordeal with the dead rising...and Bobby and his wife....I'm just wondering, what would you do in that situation if John or Mary came back." I said and Dean stares into my eyes.

"Where is this coming from?" He asked me and I turn my head away from him. "I'm just...sitting here and thinking...if my dad or my mom ever came back from the dead, I don't know what I'd do. Part of me thinks I would take them out but...another part of me is like I'd never do that." I said then I turn to him. "What would you do?"

He thinks on this for a moment and says. "Honestly, dad would be pissed if I didn't waste him. And mom, I don't think I could harm her."

"What about me? What would you do?" I asked and I could tell he clenched his jaw at this and he looks down for a moment and looks up but jumps slightly back. I turn to where he was looking to see Karen next to me.

"Oops. Did I scare you?" She asked. "No. No. No. There's...nothing scary about you at all." Dean said. "Feel like some lunch?" Karen asked. "Uh...I'm good. Thanks." Dean said. "Yeah, I'm good too." I said. "Come on, there's more pie." Karen said.

"I don't think that Bobby wants us inside." Dean said. "Guess it'll have to be our secret, then, huh? Come on." Karen said and we follow her back into the house.

After getting inside, she gives us a slice of pie each even though we were basically surrounded by other pies. "I'm gonna go out on a limb and guess that you like pies. Did you bake all these?" I asked Karen as Dean eats his pie. "I don't know what it is. Since I got back, I can't stop baking." she said.

"Yeah, when do you have time to sleep?" Dean asked her. "I don't. Must be the excitement." Karen replied. "Or being dead." Dean said, bluntly, and I look over at him and give him the what the hell? look. "I know you two don't trust me." Karen said.

"Why would you say that?" I asked her as I turn to face her. "Come on, (y/n). That's why you two are here, isn't it? Keeping an eye on me? I know who you two are. Just like I know Bobby's not the same mild-mannered scrap dealer I married. You hunt things. I – I'm a thing. I get it." she said.

"So then you know that me, her and Sam would never let anything happen to Bobby. That he's like a father to us." Dean said to her. "I understand. And he's lucky to have you looking out for him, Dean. But you're not the only one." Karen said. "Is that so?" Dean asked. "I remember everything, you know. When I died. That demon taking over my body...and the things it made me do. And Bobby having no choice but to...Well, you know what he did. But I can see it in his eyes when he looks at me. The guilt. It weighs on him." she explains.

"So why don't you just tell him you remember?" I asked him. "He's my husband. My job is to bring him peace...not pain. If you were in my shoes, wouldn't you do the same for Dean?" Karen asked me as she gestures to Dean and Dean and I share a look at this.

"Keep your damn voices down. Karen's upstairs." Bobby tells us after Sam came back and told us how he went to Mrs Jones' house and found her gone full-on zombie and killed her husband. "Oh, I'm sorry. We're a little tense right now. Who's old lady Jones?" Dean asked Bobby, annoyed. "The first one to come up." Bobby replied. "First one to go bad." Sam said. "Ah, she was always a nutty broad." Bobby said, dismissively.

"Nutty how? Nutty like the way she ate her husband's stomach? Was that the level of nutty she was in life?" I asked Bobby, getting annoyed and angry he wasn't taking this seriously. "No." Bobby said, shocked.

"Look, Bobby, I feel for you. But you have got to acknowledge that you're not exactly seeing this straight!" Dean yells at him. "Bobby, whether you admit it or not, these things are turning. We have to stop them – all of them." Sam said and, immediately, Bobby pulls out a gun and rests it on his lap.

"Time to go." he threatens and I stare at him, shocked. "What?" Dean and I said, confused and shock. "You heard me. Off my property." Bobby said. "Or what? You'll shoot?" Sam asked. "If Karen turns, I will handle it my way." Bobby said.

"This is dangerous." I said and Bobby cocks his gun. "I'm not telling you twice." He growls at us and the boys and I leave.

"He's crazy." Dean grumbles. "It's his wife, Dean." Sam said. "So he goes Full Metal Jacket on us? We're his family, Sam." Dean said, angrily. "Look, honey. Bigger fish, okay? I mean, we got a bunch of zombies about to turn this town into a giant chew toy." I said to him. "Yeah, and he's alone in the house making pie with one of 'em!" Dean said.

"All right? So?" Sam asked. "So! I'm gonna have to go back there and…and…and kill her. That's the only thing I can think of." Dean said. "If he sees you, you're a dead man." I said to him, worried. "Well, then, I guess I won't let him see me." Dean said.

"Okay. (Y/n) and I'll...head to town and rescue everyone – should be easy." Sam said and I nod. "Sounds like..." Dean said. "We're gonna need some help." I said. "What about the sheriff?" Dean asked her. "Uh, last time I checked, the sheriff was pretty pro-zombie." Sam said. "Well, I guess you'll just have to convince her." Dean said.

"How?" Sam and I asked. "I don't know. You're just gonna." Dean said and I give him a concerned look then I lean up and kiss him. "Be careful." I tell him as I pull back from the kiss. He nods and kissed me, lightly, on the lips again then I go over to Sam and we head back into town.

Sam and I make it into town and go to Jody's house, where we heard some screams coming through. We burst through the front door and see Jody looking at her son in horror, whose mouth was covered in blood, and we could see a dead man behind the boy.

"Let's go!" Sam yells at Jody as he grabs her and pulls her away. "No!" she screams. "Go!" I shouted as we drag her out of the house. "My husband!" She cries as I shut the door behind us. "Leave it! He's dead!" I tell her as we run.

"That was not my son!" she exclaimed, upset, and we stop and turn to her. "You're right. It wasn't. Listen, Sheriff. Your town is in danger. People are in danger, and we need to help them now. Can you do that for us?" Sam asked and she shakes her head. "Can you focus for us, Sheriff?" Sam asked but she doesn't respond as she still looks dumbfounded.

"Sheriff?" I said and she looks over at me. "How do we put them down?" she asked us. "Head shot." Sam said and Jody nods. "We're gonna need weapons." she said. "We can start by rounding up everybody we can find. Where is there a safe place we can take people?" I asked her. "Jail." she said. "Right. Just, um..." Sam said as he takes out his gun. "...give me a minute." he said and he goes back into the house.

Jody looks at me and looked like she was about to aya something when we hear a gunshot. She closes her eyes and tears pours down her face. I give her a sympathetic look and place a hand on her shoulder and she wipes away some tears with her hands.

After comforting her, Jody helps us lead the citizens to the police station then she takes guns out of a cabinet as the people gathered around. "All right, if we hand you a gun and you see a dead person, I don't care if it's your friend, your neighbor, or your wife, you shoot for the head. That's the only way we survive." Sam said to the people.

"Uh, you mind telling us who the hell you are?" one guy asked us. "Friends of Bobby Singer's." I said. "Town drunk." the man said, questioning. "No, I – I thought..." Sam said then he nods at Digger, who was among the crowd. "...he was the town drunk." Sam finished.

"Who told you that?" the man asked. "Bobby Singer…." Sam replied while I passed out guns to the people. "Stay sharp." I tell the people. "I'll watch the front door." Sam asked then he goes and opens the door then looks out. He closes the door again and shakes his head at me and Jody.

*3rd Person POV*

Dean opened the front door of Bobby's house and enters the building when he heard a gunshot. "Bobby?!" Dean exclaims as he runs in the house and goes into one of the rooms where he heard the gunshot. There he finds Karen, dead, and Bobby holding her hand.

Dean couldn't help but feel bad for Bobby as he watches the man grieve. "You know, Bobby, if you want to sit this one out..." Dean said to him but Bobby shakes his head. "Let's just get going." Bobby said until they heard a noise.

Dean goes to investigate through the salvage yard while Bobby sits in his wheelchair. "Dean? Dean!" Bobby shouts and he fires at a zombie, which tackles Dean to the ground.

Dean punches the zombie and tries to reach his gun. "Dean?" Bobby calls out then he shoots at and kills a zombie as it runs at him, then shoots at another zombie which is moving behind cars. Dean finally gets to his gun and shoots the zombie that attacked him.

"Dean!" Bobby yells again just as multiple zombies attack both Dean and Bobby. One of them throws Bobby out of his wheelchair onto the ground. Dean shoots it. "Little help here?" Bobby calls out and Dean helps Bobby back into his wheelchair and picks up his gun.

"Guns?" Dean asked him. "Yeah. All right." Bobby said and both he and Dean shoot zombies as they hurry back into the house.

"Got any more ammo? I'm low." Dean said to Bobby once they get inside. "Yeah, we got plenty. Just run back past the zombies. It's in the van, where we left it." Bobby said, sarcastically. "A simple no would have been fine." Dean grumbles. "What are they all doing here, anyway?!" he asked Bobby. "I think I get it." Bobby said. "What?" Dean asked but then Zombies begin to break in through the roof and windows.

"Oh, that ain't good." Bobby said as he and Dean fire their guns a few more times until it clicked, indicating no ammo. "I'm out." Dean said. "Me too." Bobby said. "Come on!" Dean said and he and Bobby run and lock themselves in a closet, fighting zombies on the way. 

"Kind of a tight fit, don't you think?" Bobby asked Dean as zombies pound on the door. "It's all right. They're idiots. They can't pick a lock." Dean said then the pounding stops and the door handle moves. "Don't you ever get tired of being wrong?" Bobby asked Dean, annoyed. "I'm making this stuff up as I go. Sue me." Dean growls.

The closet door opens and Dean hits zombies with the butt of his shotgun. "Get down!" A male voice said and Dean looks over and sees Sam, (y/n) and Jody standing nearby and they shoot all of the zombies.

They lower their guns after all the zombies die and (y/n) looks over at her boyfriend. "Are you okay?" she asked him and he nods.

*(y/n)'s POV*

"Well, if there's any zombies left out there, we can't find them." Dean said as he and Jody join me and Sam in front of the massive funeral pyre at the cemetery. "How are the townspeople?" Sam asked Jody. "Pretty freaked out. Hell, traumatized. A few of them are calling the papers. As far as I can tell, nobody's believed 'em yet." Jody tells him.

"Would you?" I asked and she shakes her head. "How are you holding up?" I asked and she shrugs, unsure. "Is that everyone?" Dean asked. "All but one." Sam said.

We make our way back to Bobby's house and join him in front of another funeral pyre. "So, thinking maybe I should apologize for losing my head back there." Bobby tells us. "Bobby, you don't owe us anything." Sam said and Bobby looks down and I place a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, at least you got to spend five days with her, right?" I said and he nods, slightly.

"Right. Which makes things about a thousand times worse. She was the love of my life. How many times do I got to kill her?" he asked, upset. "Are you gonna be okay, Bobby?" Sam asked and Bobby sighs.

"You three should know...Karen told me why Death was here." Bobby said and I look over at him. "What do you mean?" I asked. "I know why he took a stroll through a cemetery in the sticks of South Dakota. He came for me." Bobby said.

"What do you mean, you?" Dean asked him. "Death came for me. He brought Karen back to send me a message." Bobby said. "You? Why you?" Dean asked him. "Because I've been helping you, you sons of bitches. I'm one of the reasons you're still saying no to Lucifer, Sam." Bobby said.

"So this was like a hit on your life?" I asked. "I don't know if they wanted to take my life or...my spirit. Either way, they wanted me out of the way." Bobby replied. "But you're gonna be all right. Right, Bobby?" Sam asked him but Bobby doesn't respond.

@rach5ive @kitsun369 @itzabbyxx @cevans-winchester @ellie-andthemachine

#fandom #fanfic #fan fiction #reader insert #x reader #supernatural #dean winchester #dean winchester x you #dean x you #supernatural dean #dean x y/n #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester x y/n #dean x reader #deanwinchtser #dean winchester x female!reader #dean winchester x reader #supernatural fandom #supernatural fanfic series #supernatural fanfiction #fantasy #horror

[moralorelconfessions]

ive tot about dis specific line in nature pt.2 where orel yells "its because you become a bad person when you drink!" ive always wondered if tat line implied there were times where clay had gotten *too* drunk and resulted in orel being beaten/abused 4 no reason, maybe even moar violently. maybe orel wasnt spanked/beaten at those aforementioned times, maybe clay just full on beating him up?kicking him?punching him? full on extreme abuse. probably looking 2 much into it,i dunno just a dark thought

#moral orel confessions #moral orel #clay puppington #orel puppington #I suppose realistically/doylistically speaking it’s referring to the fact that clay is generally more visibly unhinged and unpleasant when #drunk but dwyw with it

[dead-bones]

(i can't drink beer or wine so it's hard liquor for me. makes going to bars/clubs expensive though)

you seem so sure that you can lead without me putting up one hell of a fight. if i have to go down it won't be without swingin some (calling me cute does... diminish the fight a little) - 🪑

Awe, I like a good fight.

#dead chatters #bone party #chair anon #loving bar fight #drunk clay pt 2

[chanfictions]

Count - Bonus Extended Aftercare Scene

Hidan x Reader, Kakuzu x Reader

This one isn't raunchy, but still calling it 18+ content! Minors, DNI.

Part 1 - Bonus Scene - Part 2 - Special Episode: Red - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Special Episode: Nightmares - Part 6 - Part 7 - Special Episode: Sick Day - Part 8 - Special Episode: Nightmares Pt. 2

95% fluff - Reader needs some time to come down from orbit after the insanity in Part 1. Bubble baths, teasing, fluff fluff fluff, etc. I needed something light after writing the first part.

3.5k

"That's one."

"Wha?" You breathed in disbelief, thinking your brain had just misfired.

With a throaty chuckle, Kakuzu rubbed a hand on your back, still settling you back down from the intense high you had been riding for the last few hours. "Although, I have to tack one more on, considering you never bothered to ask what exactly it was that you owed."

"Trick question," you mumbled into his shoulder.

"You have no way of knowing that now," he smirked.

"Can't collect f'm dead," you slurred, eyes closed. "Pretty sure 'm dead."

"Nah, you're fine. Just totally fucked out of your head," Hidan snickered.

"Nope, dead," you breathed, tucking your arms in between you and Kakuzu now that you were starting to cool down. "Because Kakuzu’s cuddling me. Kakuzu doesn't cuddle."

Kakuzu snorted, rumbling with a laugh that traveled through your body. "I could give you back to Hidan if you want to insist that I am incapable, but he's just going to fuck you again."

You pressed yourself against his chest. "Nuh uh. Cuddly Kakuzu accepted. Pussy offline. Try again later."

Hidan cackled. "I like her like this."

Grumbling, you turned your head against the chest you were cuddling. "Fuck… need a shower."

"You want a shower when you can't even stand?" Kakuzu quipped.

"I can totally stand," you mumbled with your eyes still closed.

"You're going to be in for a rude awakening as soon as water hits your skin," Hidan mused, admiring the view of the dark welts and bites littering your body. "That or we're going to be listening to you orgasm in the shower for a week. I don't think you have any idea how purple you are."

"I do," you breathed happily.

"How long does that shit take to heal with that weird blood trait of yours, anyway?" Hidan inquired, resting his chin on his hand.

"Day or two," you mumbled.

Kakuzu gave your ear a flick. "Did you forget about all of the blood you gave Deidara after his last little batch of clay blew up in his face? You're down at least a quart. That slows your recovery time."

"Fuck," you grimaced, having forgotten that.

"How the hell do you know about all of that, Kakuzu?" Hidan raised a brow.

"B'cause he's a billiondy and probably knows my great-grandpar--ow!" You were interrupted by another flick to the ear.

"Watch it, runt, or you're going to be my personal plaything for a month," Kakuzu warned.

"Oh no," you giggled tiredly, feigning despair.

"You really are a glutton for punishment, aren't you?" Hidan mused with another laugh.

"Guilty," you said on a heavy exhale, sinking contently into the wall of warmth that was Kakuzu.

"Be careful what you wish for, girl," Kakuzu rumbled again.

Another little stifled laugh rattled in your throat. Being Kakuzu's plaything for a month would probably result in death by orgasm.  "Can I wish to teleport into a shower? I'm covered in… everyone's everything," you giggled again, finding it amusing with your totally zonked out brain, forgetting all of your rage in the kitchen a few hours ago.

Hidan smirked and stood up, peeling your sticky body off of Kakuzu's. "Kakuzu's got a sweet bathtub."

"Wait, not sure if want," you pawed weakly for Kakuzu before dropping your head against Hidan. "If you're coming with me, I'm fucked again," you snorted with drunk laughter.

Hidan threw his head back and cackled while he carried you toward the bathroom. "Yeah, probably."

"Kakuzuuu-" You whined pitifully.

"Hidan," a gruff warning rang from across the room.

"Fine, fine. She can have a break," he snickered before closing the door.

You groaned, sounding completely exhausted when he set you down on a closed toilet to get the water running. "I can do this myself y'know. I don't need supervision."

As the water began filling the impressively large tub, Hidan dumped in some bubbles for good measure, snickering to himself that Kakuzu had bubble bath materials sitting out in the open. "You're going to fall on your face if you try to stand up. Your legs are still shaking."

You looked down. He was right. All of you, in fact, was still shaking.

"I beat the hell out of you on top of everything else. Your body is toast right now, and so is your brain. Quit trying to be so damn self-sufficient and accept that the medic needs a bubble bath." Hidan ditched the rest of his clothes as the tub neared full, twisting off the taps once it was. "Come on, fuck piñata," he snickered while scooping you up again.

You groaned. "Please tell me that isn't your new favorite nickname for me."

"I like it better than Nurse Ratchet or blood bank," he grinned as he settled into the water with you in front of him.

"Ahhh, fuck that's hot!" You squeaked, trying to climb back up Hidan's torso to get out.

"It isn't. You're just missing some skin, babe. Relax." Hidan was being surprisingly gentle about this. He settled his arms around you in the water, getting you comfortable despite the welts. Your head fell back against his shoulder, eyes clenched while gritting your teeth. Every inch of you burned. As the post-frenzy endorphins wore off, the ache was setting in. "I told you the water was going to suck," he mused while petting your hair back.

"You just came in here to see more pain face, didn't you," you accused, opening one eye to look up at him.

"Maybe," he grinned cheekily. "You don't really have a pain face when I'm hitting you, though. It's this glorious psychotic laughter combined with an o-face. I fucking love it."

You grimaced, shifting in the water. "Glad you were entertained."

Hidan snagged a washcloth with a long arm and brought it into the water, slowly running it over your skin to dislodge the dried layers of 'everyone's everything', as you so delicately stated, not trying to hide the fact that he was enjoying the pained sounds rattling through your shaky body. "You have to breathe," he said in your ear, running what felt like sandpaper over your legs.

"Fucking hell," you groaned.

"Not gonna cum again, are ya?" He teased.

"No, just feels like sandpaper. And lava. And angry kittens," you griped through grit teeth.

"I can use my hand instead," he added mischievously.

Another pained sound tumbled from your lips. "That might be better," you hissed.

Hidan happily obliged, going over the rest of you with his palm instead. It still stung like hell, but it was way better than the cloth. You sank back into him and the biting water after his little bit of washing torture was through.

"Why does Kakuzu have such an amazing bathtub," you bubbled with your mouth just above the water. Hidan shifted you back up a bit before you drowned yourself in suds.

"He's a stingy bastard, but the man likes nice things," Hidan snickered.

You enjoyed a light laugh at that before having another tired revelation. "Fuck… we destroyed my clothes. I have to go get clothes," you groaned at the ceiling.

"You aren't doing anything, cupcake," Hidan snorted. "I'll grab something from your room after this. You don't get to sleep by yourself after what we just did to you, either. You're staying with one of us tonight. I'm warning you now because Kakuzu's going to tell you that as soon as you mention bed."

"Fuck's sake, I'm fine," you grumbled.

"You're going to have one hell of a drop if you don't," Hidan chided. "Kakuzu has rules about fucking crazies like you for a good reason. Accept the cuddling."

"You're being awfully nice to me right now. I'm suspicious," you mumbled tiredly.

"How the hell was I supposed to know you had a tolerable personality under all of the stomping and whiskey guzzling?" Hidan teased. "You've been so pissy about being stuck here that you never bothered to interact with any of us outside of your job."

"I'm having a talk therapy session with Hidan in Kakuzu's bathtub. These have to be the chemical misfires of a dying brain," you eyed the ceiling as you sighed. "You two fucked me to death. That's the only way this makes sense."

"Quit being so dramatic," Hidan laughed.

"Not a bad way to go, though," you giggled hoarsely.

Hidan chuckled, idly running his palm up and down one of your arms, occasionally crossing onto your chest. He could still feel your entire body vibrating. "So are you going to tell me what the deal was with you kicking me in the face while you were hanging up?"

"Thought you liked a good struggle," you mumbled, hoping he would drop it.

"That wasn't the same. I get that it's a hard no. I just wanna know why," he shrugged.

You blew a heavy sigh before finally making your admission. "Mouths freak me out."

"Mouths." Hidan repeated, dumbfounded.

You shuddered. "I'm not big on the whole kissing thing either, which I'm sure you noticed. Biting anywhere else is fine and dandy. It's just… tongues… ugh," you shuddered again. "Can't do it. Weird texture. Nope."

Hidan suddenly burst out laughing. "Is that why you freak out and get so pissy every time Deidara blows his arms off? Is it those creepy fucking mouth hands?"

You made a gagging noise and a shiver raced up your spine. "Can we not talk about Deidara's mouth hands?"

Hidan let out a giddy, devious giggle and nuzzled your neck. "What are you gonna do if I lick your face?"

"Scream bloody murder for Kakuzu and hope he flushes your balls down the toilet?" You squeaked while arching your head away from him.

"Moooouth haaaands," he whispered mischievously while making little wavy motions with his palms while holding your arms.

"Hida--" You yelped desperately, only to be silenced by a palm over your mouth.

Laughing hysterically, he pressed a tongue-free kiss to your cheek. "Don't go crying for daddy the second I bully you, or he'll never let us steal this tub again," he teased. "By the way, you should call him that if you're feeling really bratty and want the soul fucked out of your body," he snickered.

"Hmmmffff--and how would you know that?" You teased back after prying his hand off of your mouth. You then paused to think about the fact that Hidan said again.

"You're not the first feisty little brat we've tag teamed," he replied smugly. "But you hold the current record for being the most fun. Masochists are so hard to come by, especially ones who can take a beating and  a dicking like that. I always get stuck with the girls that only want a light spanking, but fuck is that unsatisfying. I wanna smack you so hard my palm hurts."

You giggled. "If it isn't enough to make me swing, it wasn't hard enough."

Hidan laughed heartily and pinched your cheek. "See, that's why I've decided we're keeping you."

"Scuze me, what?" You did not have the brain power for this right now.

"Besides, you have a debt to pay, little lady," he snickered. "And Kakuzu believes in compound interest. Not to mention the fact that I think he likes you. He never takes cuddle duty and always drops the criers on me to deal with. He says he doesn't tolerate brats, but he's so full of shit. He fuckin' loves putting a brat in their place."

"I'm not usually a brat, per se. I was just in a mood in the kitchen earlier."

"Bullshit," Hidan snorted. "You love pushing buttons."

You groaned with a defeated laugh. "My brain is too cooked for this right now." You settled back against the body behind you, trying to ignore the harsh sting that shot through you every time you moved. Pain was delicious, but even you had some limits as to how long you enjoyed it. The aftermath was always a little tricky, especially when you were down a quart. Recovery would be slower, as Kakuzu pointed out. Fuck, you just wanted a nap. Your eyes fluttered closed with a sigh.

You must have nodded off for a moment because the next thing you knew, Hidan was tapping your cheek.

"Hey, no sleeping in the tub."

You grumbled pathetically and grabbed for the side with a shaky hand. "Fine, lemme get out."

Hidan popped the drain with his foot and slid you around to stand you up.

Oh, that was a mistake. Soaking in hot water for that long after all of your earlier shenanigans and then standing up suddenly tanked your blood pressure. Your head tipped back and ears started ringing over the sound of Hidan's laughter.

"Little miss "I don't need aaaany help" is about to hit the deck," he snickered while just lifting you over the lip and setting your feet on a rug. With the rustle of fabric, he snatched a towel and wrapped it painfully tightly around your torso, eliciting a groan from you.

"Dick," you croaked, not much liking the feeling of that fabric on raw skin.

"Mmm, maybe later," he hummed in your ear.

Your head fell back against his shoulder. Standing was too much effort. "Just leave me here. I'll sleep on the rug," you groaned.

Hidan parked you on the closed toilet again while throwing his own clothes back on and drying off, chuckling as you folded over your legs and closed your eyes again. Sleep was singing a siren song for you. It was so hard to resist. "You think Kakuzu's going to let you sleep on the floor in his bathroom? You really are a nutcase."

"Tired. Don't care," you breathed a muffled reply into your knees. You thought for a moment that Hidan was actually going to leave you alone there, as you didn't hear his snark for several minutes. Somehow you missed the opening and closing of the door, as a flick to your ear jarred you out of near sleep. You just made another muffled groan but didn't pick up your head.

"Come on, princess. You wanted clothes," Hidan quipped, sitting you up by the shoulder and pulling a shirt over your head.

Grumbles rattled in your chest as you stuck shaky arms through the sleeves. "You did not go rifling through my dresser."

"Of course I did. Gotta say, I like what you keep in that panty drawer," Hidan cackled, twirling a pair around his finger like he was going to fling them at you.

"Gimme those," you growled, making a weak attempt at snatching them.

"Mmm, I don't know if I should let you after what a little shit you were on the rope," he grinned.

"Please, Hidan?" you sighed defeatedly.

"Fuck, I love hearing you say that," he growled in a wicked tone, leaning down and letting you have them.

Grumbling to yourself, you wrestled them onto yourself with a few pained grunts. Your ass was bruised as hell. Despite the fabric being very soft, putting anything on felt miserable. Shorts followed, leaving you sitting there with your shaky legs as you tried to decide how much of a mistake it would be to get up and try to go back to your room.

"Alright, let's go, piñata," Hidan snickered while hauling you up to your feet.

You didn't have the brainpower for a cheeky retort and just leaned on him. "I hate you sometimes."

"Keep telling yourself that, babe," he cackled while ruffling your hair and walking you back out into the room.

You just huffed as you shuffled along next to him. When you looked up, you saw that Kakuzu had cleaned everything else up while you were soaking in the tub. Somehow, it felt like you were going to pay for that.

"Here ya go, partner," Hidan declared while parking you back on the couch again. You had neither the energy nor the willpower to argue.

Kakuzu looked up from where he stood, coiling up the rope that had been left on the floor.

"Can I go now?" You grumbled while folding over your legs again, your knees muffling your voice. "I'm not going to spontaneously combust if I sleep in my own bed."

"You're sleeping here," Kakuzu gruffed without turning around, finishing up the coil of the rope and putting it away again.

"Told you so," Hidan snickered while mussing up your hair again, eliciting another harumph from you.

Kakuzu walked over to where you folded yourself in half and sat you upright by the shoulder, but your head remained tipped forward. "You don't want to share a bed with me. I'm a blanket hog and I snore," you mumbled. You carefully left out the part that you were a fitful sleeper. The embarrassment of having either of them finding out that you often woke up in a cold sweat from the nightmares you still had about your previous life motivated you to try to talk your way out of a night in either of their beds. Kakuzu tipped your head up to force eye contact.

"You think all of that is going to hog a bed?" Hidan snorted while gesturing vaguely at you.

"Don't underestimate the blanket stealing power of a woman," you retorted.

"Enough. I've been dealing with messes like you for longer than you have been alive, little girl. If you want there to be a next time, you're going to shut up and do as I say," Kakuzu growled in your face, silencing you immediately. "You're still shaking. My bed. Now."

"Now you've done it. Daddy's mad," Hidan teased with a devious grin. "Have fun, princess." With one last playful pinch of your cheek, Hidan left.

With another groaning complaint, you heaved yourself onto unsteady legs, nearly toppling right into Kakuzu in the process. You had to grip a handful of his shirt to avoid landing on your face.

"Tell me again how you think you're walking anywhere without my help," he gruffed.

"I'm not," you sighed defeatedly with the weight of his rant on your shoulders. The heat radiating off of him made you want to crawl into his clothes and sleep there, causing you to unconsciously lean in for more contact. Without the warmth from the bathwater, you were freezing.

With a satisfied grunt, he coiled one tree trunk of an arm around your body for a bit of support and brought you over to the absolute pile of heaven that was his bed. Hidan wasn't kidding when he said his partner liked nice things. It was like falling into a fluffy cloud. You almost wondered how he could be so grumpy all the time when he was sleeping on such a divine throne,  but you knew better than to ask. You must have let out a content little moan because Kakuzu was snickering at you.

"This is going to cost me, isn't it?" You groaned after a moment of sprawling out in his bed like a cat.

"We'll discuss payment when your trophies from tonight have healed," he said with a dark chuckle while climbing in after you. He collected the little heap of limbs that was you and pulled you over, covering the both of you with a blanket.

You sighed contently as a little shiver rolled up your spine. Despite the ache throbbing through your entire body that seemed to radiate from your injuries, you were desperately cold, and Kakuzu was a furnace. A quiet hum sat in your throat as you curled up with your back against his side and took custody of one of his arms, hugging it like a stuffed animal. "I'm warning you, I'm a terror to sleep with," you mumbled into his bicep. "I drool, too."

"You aren't talking your way out of this bed," Kakuzu snorted, shifting onto his side to drape his other arm over your body.

You closed your eyes and yawned, squeezing his arm. "And I kick. Sometimes I talk in my sleep."

"Next you're going to tell me that you breathe fire as well." 

"Haven't done that yet," you mumbled, nuzzling the warmth beneath your head. "Dunno any fire style."

Kakuzu chuckled.

You got lost in your thoughts for a few minutes as you laid there, curling your legs one behind the other. "Hey… Kakuzu?" You asked quietly.

"Yes?"

You chewed your lip for a moment before finally gathering the courage to speak again. "Can… you do that tapping thing you did on the couch again?"

"What, are you afraid of being in my bed after all of that?" He inquired incredulously.

You shrank. "No… it's just… nevermind."

"Face me."

Now embarrassed, you chewed your lip and released the arm you were hugging to roll over and laid your head against his chest, tucking your arms between your bodies. The weight readjusted around you and wrapped you tightly as the rhythmic tapping on your tensed upper back began.

"Count."

#naruto x reader #naruto smut #kakuzu x reader #hidan x reader #akatsuki x reader #chanfictions

[midnightswithdearkatytspb]

VelvetCardiganBucky’s Recommendations 2021: Week 16 | April 11th – April 17th

Welcome to week 16 of my recommendations, if you would like to be featured on a future list, I follow the hashtag #VelvetCardiganBucky, message me, tag me in your future works, or reblog this post and link to your story, one-shot, Masterlist, writing challenge, etc.

Be aware some if not most stories and writers on this list are meant to be consumed by an audience of those 18+. My blog is also an 18+ blog.

✨Page breaks are made @firefly-graphics✨

«Last Week

Week 17»

My Masterlist

My Fic Rec List of Mafia/Mob Bucky/Sebastian & Steve/Chris/Andy

Stuff I Posted This Week:

Lee Bodecker

One-Shots:

Rough Love by @ladyfallonavenger » Lee Bodecker x Reader — Lee wakes to his wife getting ready for the day. This work is inspired by the song Poker Face by Lady Gaga. | So very hot. 🥵

I Can’t Wait To Meet You by @not-a-great-writer » Lee Bodecker x Pregnant!Reader — Request: Lee doesn’t want to leave his pregnant wife’s side. | I summarized the requested one-shot up. It’s very fluffy and domestic and sweet. I say we petition for the user name to be changed not a great writer to a fantastic writer!

(Mini) Series:

*Give In 🎡 Pt.21 🎡 Pt.22 by @not-a-great-writer » Soft!Dark!Lee Bodecker x Shy!Reader — She didn’t think she was anything special. So when the intimidating Sheriff takes an interest in her, she can’t help but feel a little unsettled. Her boring life is about to get a little interesting. | Can I just say this story is just *chefs kiss*? Lee Bodecker? *chefs kiss* Reader? *chefs kiss* It’s just all so perfect and so is the smut.

Bucky Barnes

One-Shots:

I’m In The Water by @nsfwsebbie » Dark!Winter Soldier x Reader — He’s in the wind, and you’re in the water. Nobody’s son, nobody’s daughter. | Read the tags, this is extremely dirty as well as dark, but I honestly enjoyed it. Sabrina really blew my mind with this one.

Show A Little Gratitude by @thicccsimp » Bucky Barnes x Reader — You discover a new kink with Bucky after making a bad call during a mission. | Hot, Hot, Hot 🥵

Just Wondering by @infernal-fire » soft!dark!Buck Barnes x Reader — Reader is pregnant and has some mixed feelings. | This is sort of adorable, and pregnancy hormones really come out in this.

Sunday Kinda’ Love by @msmarvelwrites » Bucky Barnes x Reader — You weren’t sure when it happened, falling in love with Bucky Barnes. | Brontë is such an amazing writer who wrote something that made my heart squeal while the rest of me just thought it was really hot.

Don’t You by @pagesoflauren » Bucky Barnes x Reader — Bucky sees you for the first time after breaking up with you. | Taylor Swift and Bucky Barnes what more could you ask for in life?

(Mini) Series:

Just Like Dad 💋 Pt.2 by @ladyfallonavenger » Bucky Barnes x Reader — The Reader loses Bucky in the snap and life presents a whole new challenge. | It’s got your angst and your fluff, everything you need for a perfect one-shot.

Sweet Dreams Pt.3 ✨ Pt.1 ✨ Pt.2 by @jedimastermelkor » Bucky Barnes x Reader; Mystery Avenger x Reader — Your daily routine involves waking up in the morning, going to work and sulking at night. But then you meet the man you’ve fantasized about for your entire life, Bucky Barnes. At the same time, you’ve caught someone else’s eye and his first step in winning you over is to cook you breakfast. But will you be welcoming of that person’s affections? | You can tell Bucky really likes the reader in this and the reader has a crush on Bucky. Now you add Peter who you know has a crush on the reader. It's sort of adorable. I highly recommend it. It will keep you at the edge of your seat and your jaw hitting the floor a couple of times along the way.

Stucky

(Mini) Series:

The Miracle Pt.3 ✨ Pt.1 ✨Pt.2 by @heavenhatesme » Soft!Dark!Stucky x Reader — When infertility threatens mankind with extinction and there hasn’t been a baby for almost 18 years, what happens when two certain super soldiers fall for the same woman and accidentally impregnate her? | Heed the tags folks. I want to call them soft!dark, but they are pretty dark, but it’s up to you the reader to decide. The smut in this is great, and the storyline just as good, it also pulls on your heartstrings.

Vampires Will Never Hurt You by @missgraceomalley » Steve Rogers x Darcy Lewis; Bucky Barnes x Darcy Lewis; Steve Rogers x Darcy Lewis x Bucky Barnes — Darcy's been hiding something and Steve can't pin what it is. Can the serum help him? Or will he be compelled away? (AO3)| I love stories that take you on twist and turns, I also love vampires, add in Damon Salvatore plus the two Super Soldiers? You make me very happy!

*Brooklyn Wars by @world-of-aus » Mob!Steve x Reader, Mob!Bucky x Reader / Eventual Mob!Stucky x Reader — Childhood friends pulled apart by a move and a rivalry between families, will a shared promise of ‘till the end of the line’ be enough to keep them together. Or will a deal struck up gone wrong, and an indecisiveness to choose who your heart loves be the ‘end of the line.’ | I spent my Saturday morning re-reading this and loving every part and wishing for more. @world-of-aus is such a fantastic writer that doesn’t get enough recognition in my list.

Steve Rogers

(Mini) Series:

*His Koala Bear by @kinanabinks » Dark!Steve Rogers x Innocent!Reader — You and steve have been best friends since you were 5. for the longest time, he has wanted so much more from you. and it’s getting harder for him to stop himself from taking it. | Prepare for the emotional roller coaster this story is going to take you on and to change your underwear or perhaps to take a cold shower, maybe both.

*Lipstick and Crayons 🖍 Pt.5 by @oneoftheprettynerds » Dark!Mob!Steve Rogers x Single Mom!Reader — Steve can’t ever repay you for what you did. After meeting you, Steve believes his broken family is the missing piece in the puzzle of your own wrecked one. Indebting the crime lord to you has been the biggest mistake of your life, cause now you can’t get rid of him, no matter what. Loyalty and favours go a long way in the mob. | This story makes you feel like you are watching a Dark!Mob Romantic movie staring Steve Rogers. It’s just that good and I love it.

Ransom Drysdale

One-Shots:

Sugar by @chrissquares » Ransom Drysdale x Reader — Reader sees Ransom in his glasses for the first time. | Let’s be honest, I wouldn’t mind seeing Ransom in his glasses more often, especially if he looked like that.

(Mini) Series:

Stolen What’s Mine Pt.1 by @wanderinglunarnights » Ransom Drysdale x OFC!Charlotte Callahan — Charlotte and Ransom are up for the same promotion at the publishing house. She hates his handsome ass, especially when he steals the job as editor in chief out from under her nose. | Charlotte is sassy and she isn’t going to take any of Ransom’s nonsense, I love it! You can tell it’s going to be a good one!

Andy Barber

One-Shots:

I’ll Be Here by @candlefics » Andy Barber x Reader — Jacob grew up with you around. What happens when he’s convicted of murder, and his family falls apart? What will your relationship with Andy turn into? | I like this take on a show I have still yet to watch. It was sweet and emotional, a must read in my book.

(Mini) Series:

*Moment’s Silence Pt.3 🥞 Pt.1 🥞 Pt.2 by @syntheticavenger » Frank Adler x Reader; Andy Barber x Reader — The tumultuous relationship between twin brothers Frank and Andy takes a turn for the worse when Andy offers to wipe out Frank’s debt by asking for the one thing Andy wants that Frank has. | This story has me wanting to bite my nails in anticipation even though I can’t. So freaking good!

Misc.

Drabbles:

Good Behavior by @syntheticavenger » Dark!Andy Barber x Reader; Soft Dark!Steve Rogers x Reader — Andy’s special delivery arrives with a familiar face. | This is hot in a way you wouldn’t expect it to be, and I’m sort of wishing for a part 2.

One-Shots:

*Distractions by @rebelwrites » Jax Teller x Reader — I requested “Can you please put a shirt on?” | Let me just say this prompt was just so well written and it put a smile on my face. I would welcome Jax as a distraction any day, as long as he threw one of his signature panty dropping smiles my way.

Seal Team

One-Shot:

I’m Not Good Enough by @rebelwrites » Sonny Quinn x Reader — “So, we’re just going to ignore the fact that you drunk-dialed me to tell me you love me?” | This broke my heart than it fixed it. 💗

No Damsel In Distress by @rebelwrites » Clay Spenser x Reader — #3 and #13 for Clay Spenser. “Even when we were kids, i always kicked your ass!” And “How is my wife more badass than me?” | So hilarious and badass.

You Aren’t Allowed To Be Sick by @rebelwrites » Clay Spenser x Reader — “What do you mean you’re sick?! You’re my partner in crime!” | Clay can buy me flowers and take care of me any day.

#fanfiction recommendations #ktk rec #VelvetCardiganBucky #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x rogers #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #reader insert #seal team #andy barber #mob!rec #sonny quinn x reader #lee bodecker #clay spenser x reader #jax teller #lee bodecker x reader #sons of anarchy #jax teller x reader #ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x ofc #frank adler #andy barber x reader #frank adler x reader

[chrysalispen]

futilis, pt 2 (cid/nero)

Briefly NSFW but it’s more an allusion to a scene than a scene per se.

Fic under the cut as usual.

=====

  iii.

  think how it wakes the seeds—

woke once the clays of a cold star.

 -----o-----

 “What a waste of malt,” he muttered, staring into the heavy flagon. Three pints of this overpriced swill and he was barely feeling the effects. Ala Ghiri might be a miserable heap of rocks, rebels, and sweltering heat, but at least the locals’ arak could get the job done properly without emptying his pockets overmuch for the trouble.

Welcome back to the capitol.

Nero set the mug back on the table, glanced out the nearby window, and saw precisely what he expected to see: darkness and heavy snowfall. 

The small tavern sat on the edge of the university district, near an unfashionably older part of the capitol and its outlying wards. Only a few sullen-faced stragglers occupied the establishment tonight, a few Academy upperclassmen and a table of older people dressed in the common attire of city workers. The latter were wary of his presence; he could practically feel the suspicious stares boring into the fresh and unfamiliar face in their midst. He didn’t take offense to it. Such a healthy dose of caution was only to be expected, after all- but he wasn’t here on business. Not tonight.

Someone had left a stray coin on the table. Nero plucked it from the dirty surface of the table and turned it over and over in his fingers, watching the light flicker over each side before he set it upright and began to idly spin it like a top. Naught but mindless fidgeting. Something to occupy his hands while his mind went on a journey of its own. 

He’d been debriefed upon the incident, of course, before setting out on his way to the memorial service a few days past. His superior had supplied him with a dossier that included the timeline of events as recorded by the first responders to search Bozja after the castrum’s communications signals were lost. It had been a dry and dispassionate account of the catastrophe: an emotionless timeline offered by a government that cared little for the consequences of what had transpired and even less for its (mostly non-Garlean) provincial casualties.

As Nero had assumed would be the case, the army's engineers cared only for the unexpected fruit which the incident had yielded. One of the notes that had caught his eye was “projected chances of success for anti-eikon countermeasures,” phrasing he knew full well was intended to lend credence to any future action the imperial army would take against the southern savages. 

No longer a hypothesis but an inevitability. It was cold, and it was cruel, and it was utterly unsurprising.

Much like the man-killing blizzards that so often struck the city and its surrounding mountains without any warning, the Empire was a great and driving force of progress via conquest, as soulless as the ancient machina its scholars dug from the deep reaches of the star. Nero was quite willing to acknowledge that even he and Garlond were but parts of the whole when one got right down to it.  Important parts, mind, like a ceruleum pump or an ignition switch-- but still parts. Whether or not they misliked their place was immaterial. It was what it was, and they had to learn to live with it.

He’d give Garlond the time and space necessary to do what needs must in order to set this unpleasant episode aside. Shove it in a box or a locked cabinet or whatever container might be close at hand and stow it away, along with all the other distasteful things that they had been (and, doubtlessly, would be) asked to do over the years. And if Cid still hadn’t learned what was expected of a nan by now, he would simply have to learn the hard way. 

There’s been an accident. 

That hollow expression flashed into his mind’s eye once more, unnoticed by the crowd that had gathered, clustering about that lonely silver-haired figure making for the convoy. Elegant words and inoffensive platitudes following in his wake, rattling in his ears like the empty bier that had sat atop the memorial dais- and at each offering of condolence that left their lips, the creature inhabiting Cid nan Garlond’s skin had only nodded. It could have been acknowledgment or merely the twitch of a puppeteer’s fingers, tilting at marionette strings. 

...Not a pleasant visual, that. He found himself reaching for the mug again.

“Stop following me,” a voice slurred. 

A strong wave of yeast and some other unmentionable odor assailed his senses just as his fingers had started to wrap about the mug. Projecting as much outward calm as he was able, he turned to meet its owner with a cool and expressionless stare. 

“So you live,” Nero said. “I had half a mind to search every ditch between the palace and the outer wards before I remembered the old haunts. Predictable as ever.”

“Mightn’t’ve bothered.” Cid was listing slowly from side to side like a sailor in a storm, and Nero had to wonder how much he must have already had. He brought his own drink back to his lips and took a long swallow, feigning indifference to the sight of the other man’s inebriation for the moment as he grimaced at the taste. 

“I take it you’ve decided to see if the house ale is any better than it was when we were students.”

“It’s not.”

“Of course it’s not,” he scoffed. “Like making-”

“-love in a cargo hold,” Cid finished with a short laugh that surprised Nero. His own chuckle accompanied the small answering smirk he shot the other man over his flagon, but that amusement faded quickly when one of those hands fell on his shoulder. “Need to talk.”

The vessel thumped upon the worn boards of the table where he set it down. “What we need is to set you to rights.”

“No need to worry. ‘M fine.” 

“You’re piss drunk. I’d rather not end my otherwise pleasant evening holding your head over a toilet.” Nero dug into his pockets, tossed a few coins on the tabletop, and stood. His cheeks were warm and his own head swam a touch - he’d had more than he had thought, but not nearly enough for it to be a concern. He braced his arms about Cid’s broad shoulders. “We can talk somewhere else. Let’s go.”

Ignoring the shorter man’s weak protests, Nero threw on his overcoat, flashed the narrow-eyed men at the table a grin, and all but dragged his companion out into the snow. It was a walk Nero could have easily made by himself in about half an hour or so with few complications, but dragging a drunk man along was going to make it an undertaking and it was colder than he’d expected. Beneath the false glowing warmth in his cheeks, there was a bite in the wind he could feel.

Patches of black ice shimmered beneath the sterile cast of the streetlights, the bulbs’ insectoid hum the only other sound to be heard, and he saw the drifts were already close to knee-deep in places. Cid shivered under his arm, teeth chattering. Nero looked down at the sound of it, and that was when he realized the other man wore a coat and no other protection. Nothing about the neck or head. No gloves. He cursed under his breath.

“What?”

“Have you lost your senses entirely?” He plucked his woolen scarf from his throat and all but threw it at him. “Here. Put this on and keep your hands in your pockets.”

The admonition earned him a sullen glare but Cid did as he was told nonetheless, shoving his hands into the deep pockets with a graceless resentment.

The pair walked - staggered, perhaps - back towards the campus. The snow was not heavy and the wind not so fierce as to make the undertaking particularly hazardous, but there were pitfalls beyond the weather itself. Nero took the quickest and safest route he could remember to ferry them back to the provost’s bungalow, kept his eyes and ears sharp and their limited conversation superficial. A cohort on patrol duty passed them as they entered the main grounds of the Academy, and Nero lifted a hand both to acknowledge its presence and to signal that they were no threat. The armored optio, silver trim on his tabard just barely visible, offered a brief salute in return and nothing else.

Even so, he waited until the familiar outline of the provost's residence was visible - elegant columns and precise ratios and all - before he hissed, "What in the seven hells possessed you?”

"To do what?"

"Don't be bloody obtuse, Garlond. You know better." He made a rough, annoyed gesture, a flick of his wrist. "This. Drink loosens the tongue, you know that."

“I don’t-” For a small blessing, the exertion and time had let Cid regain a measure of sobriety. He looked away from Nero’s scowl, eyes shifting from side to side and his hands visibly balled into fists in the depths of his overcoat layers. “...You’re working with Gaius in Ala Mhigo, you said?”

“...I’m a pilus prior. If I end up in his presence then something has gone wrong often as not. But my direct report is his tol, yes, so I suppose in a manner of speaking.” 

“His second.” Those eyes were as hard as slate, suddenly. “Then you’re a-”

“That is not an appropriate subject for discussion.” Or a safe one. He almost regretted his sharpness but Cid’s lips snapped shut almost immediately; it was clear he had taken Nero’s meaning. “Ask your question before we both freeze to death.”

“I guess you already know they used our patents, then. The ones from our second year.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The homing device! You should know the one; you built the bloody thing. And my levinspark pulse module too.” Cid took a deep, heavy breath. “Gaius used them to take Gyr Abania, five years ago. They were part of the advance force when the XIVth Legion sacked Ala Mhigo.”

“I’m aware,” Nero said flatly, but he wasn’t finished.

“And I’m told that's not the end of it. There's talk of a much larger operation. I don’t suppose you know aught about that.” Cid’s shoulders heaved, but not from the cold or the alcohol. All his drunken petulance had disappeared with the sobering walk, and that clouded look had returned, rolling in to shroud his eyes like a fog bank. He looked tired and old- no, not old. Despairing. “Hells, Nero, what’s happened to us?”

“Speak for yourself. I’m the same as I ever was.”

“We thought we’d change the world, the two of us,” Cid said. “Do you remember?”

All too well. “Idle boys’ chatter. We were children.”

“So we were.”

“I don’t see what this has to do with anything.” 

“You said it yourself: we were children. Children, Nero.” His words were quiet, measured, but no less vehement for their lack of volume. “They patted our backs and gave us trophies and called us the future of the Empire, right before they turned around and used our toys to subjugate nations. They killed children our age and made us complicit." "Garlond-" "In the end, we didn’t make a single ilm of difference.”

“You seem to be laboring beneath the assumption that we are deserving of pity," Nero retorted. "What of it?  No one cares to hear a couple of former child prodigies cry about their past or their lost innocence, or whatever point you think you're making. As you might have noticed, we're not children any longer.”

Open reproach lay in his stare; Nero needed no further response than that. Hastily he tilted his chin upwards to stare at the leaden sky and the snow spitting from the clouds. ‘Twas a sight he would have rather ignored altogether, truth be told, but it was easier than enduring that silent rebuke. 

“That’s it, then? Off to the assembly line and not another word spoken. That's your answer? Seven hells, Nero-”

“Yes, in point of fact,” he snapped. “What excuses have we now for the blood on our hands? That we didn't know? We did. We knew full well we would be expected to do our bit the moment they could set our hands to work. We were never going to change the world, and it’s time you accepted that you were never as important as you clearly thought we were. It's all part and parcel of the machine.”

"Machine," Cid uttered a short, hysterical bark of a laugh. "A meat grinder, more like, and you and I the poor beasts in the slaughterhouse line awaiting our turn once someone more pliable comes along.” He removed his hands from his pockets. Stared down at his cold-reddened fingers as if they belonged to someone else. “I wonder how long it’ll take for them to decide we’re no longer of use and discard us like-”

“Enough.” This sort of talk could be easily taken as seditious, and the protection of Midas’ name would only go so far were there any prying ears about to listen. “Let’s get inside before we start losing toes.”

And before he could move a pair of cold chapped hands had snagged in handfuls of his coat and pulled him forward, closing the distance, and Cid nan Garlond was kissing him for the first time in over a year. He tasted like that godsawful ale and smelled like a brewery besides, but he hadn’t realized how much he had missed that sensation until it was there again: the familiar press of lips and the sigh of a yielding mouth and the dance of a tongue as it grazed across-

But they were over. They were over, they had been over for nearly a year now. He had moved on or thought he had. Cid had made it more than clear he hadn’t wanted to see or speak to him and now this?

Hurt pride warred with indignation and culminated in a forceful shove. Cid nearly tripped over the cobblestones in an attempt to correct his shaky balance and Nero had to sit hard upon the impulse to reach for him, catch him, make sure he hadn't aggravated his still-healing injury with his push. The unwanted impulse shouldn’t have served to fuel his anger, but it did. He was infuriated by his own need, hating that this was all it had taken to forget every slight, every onze of frustration, every rejection. To make him hope again that things could be the way they once were.

“If you want a body to warm your bed for the night, you've ample funds to purchase yourself a room by the hour."

"That's not what I meant to-"

"The world hasn’t stopped turning because your father died. It owes you nothing," each word hissed from his lips with precisely enunciated rage, "and neither do I."

It would hardly be the first time he had uttered bitter words or a harsh truth, but he knew this was too far. Nero's outrage faded at the sight of that crumpling, sorrowful face, replaced by a deep-seated and reluctant remorse. He was grateful for the distance that shove had put between them; his cheeks burned and it was neither with fury nor the biting cold. At least the darkness made his shame difficult to see. 

“...Get some rest.” Nero shoved his hands in his pockets and ran the edge of his tongue over his lower lip. Still damp. Tasted like cheap ale and regret. He’d be thinking about that kiss for weeks. “Drink some water before you sleep.” 

“Aren’t you coming in?”

“I need to report in and see to my travel arrangements. I can sleep on one of the benches at the depot if it comes to that.” White clouds billowed about his lips with his resigned sigh. “You can keep the muffler.”

There was the weight of a hand on his arm. He considered shrugging it off and didn’t but the impulse was strong enough that he could feel the tension thrumming through the bunched muscle of his forearm, like exposed circuitry beneath his overcoat lining. 

“Come inside,” Cid said. “It’s cold. You can sleep on the sofa and go in the morning.”

“That isn’t the point.”

“You’re right, Nero. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have… I’m sorry. Just.” His words held an unsteady wobble and his face was still the color of old paper; the pain of Nero’s inflicted wound lurked behind his eyes but paired with it was a plea for forgiveness. The patchwork beginnings of a beard on his chin kept catching the light with each movement of his mouth. “...You’re welcome to stay.”

His personal effects were still inside where they’d been the last two days. All he had to do was shove them in his bag and go if it came to that.

“Please. Just for tonight.” Uncharacteristically soft as it was, that was the Cid he knew once again- if only for these fleeting moments: that awful, listless emptiness held at bay by his contrition. “Stay.”

“I shouldn’t,” he said.

He stayed.

iv.

  are limbs, so dear-achieved, are sides

full-nerved, still warm, too hard to stir?

 -----o-----

“The Emperor means to appoint me  primus architectus.”

The door had barely shut behind him before Cid had blurted the words aloud. He stood in the parlor half-soaked and utterly forlorn, snowmelt dripping into the nap of the Thavnairian rug from his overcoat, nose and cheeks stained scarlet from the cold. 

“A veritable family enterprise.” He felt something in his stomach freeze and a stinging heat, rising just behind his nose as his ears began to ring. “I suppose you expect me to congratulate you.”

“No! No, just… listen, there was a summons waiting for me this morning. I’m to be at the palace tomorrow but I-”

He couldn’t take it any longer. “Stop.” 

“What?”

“We can talk about anything else.” 

Cid said nothing but his eyes, feverishly overbright, glittered like mica from the hollows of their sockets. Bitterness surged from the depths of Nero’s chest in a tidal wave; how a man who possessed everything he had ever wanted for himself could be this dissatisfied with such a frankly enviable lot in life- 

He busied himself with removing his coat and shoes. He tossed the former haphazardly at the hanger by the door - the hanger which, he realized with an internal cringe, still had Midas’ heavy woolen field overcoat draped on one end, a fine layer of dust having settled upon the shoulders and collar. Shoes off, one, two, the thump dull and wet and reverberating through the floorboards.

That done, wits sufficiently gathered, he was able to turn his attention back to the issue at hand. Cid had at some point removed his own coat; it lay half on the floor and half draped over the arm of a nearby chair. He stared sightlessly out the massive parlor window where the heavy drapes had been pulled back (no wonder it’s so godsdamned frigid in here, Nero thought). On the far side of the tempered glass panes, snow and ice granules settled into the mortar patterns along the cobbled walkway until each stone was limned in glittering, crystalline white. 

“Anything else,” Nero repeated. This time it was a touch more measured. 

As he had half-expected, the concession went unacknowledged- although it did afford him the luxury of surreptitious scrutiny. Cid had no idea how handsome he truly was, had never known and never cared (another aspect of Garlond’s personality which never failed to gnaw at him, that artlessness which was so irritatingly and unfathomably genuine). The lamplights cast a warm glow against his fine platinum hair.

But that flat and empty stare was so disquieting. 

“What really happened?” he went on, quietly. “That day-”

“I already told you I don’t remember.” Cid’s mouth drew downwards into a tired bow, eyes cast askance at the window again. “It hardly matters now at any rate.” 

He had seen it before all too often: the tightly controlled terror etched like Allagan script into the faces of conscripts younger than himself. Peasants pressed into imperial service, given no more quarter by the Empire than the enemies they were made to kill in its name. Bearing witness to the desolation that grief had made of Cid’s defenses, Nero understood at last. It was precisely the same. 

And as to the whys and wherefores-- well, that was perfectly obvious in hindsight. “You think he’s going to put you on Midas’ project.”

“Yes.”

“I’ve seen the-” Nero caught himself before he could say postmortem. “...The reports. VIIth Legion’s R&D seems to think they already have all the information they need.”

Cid was shaking his head before he had even finished speaking. “You said you didn’t want to discuss it,” he said. “So we won’t.”

“Garlond.” The utterance of his name caught Cid’s attention - not the name, but the timbre with which it was spoken: for Nero, it was something almost gentle. “You’ve surely not decided to blame yourself for this, have you?”

“Father didn’t do it by himself. Not all of it.” Nero’s eyes snagged upon the dip in Cid’s throat as he swallowed. “I was one of his assistants. I knew the dangers. I should have gone to him sooner than I did. Perhaps if I had-”

“What was it he used to tell us? Hindsight vision is always perfect? It was an accident,” his voice was a rough and uneven rasp, “just an accident. That’s all. There was no rhyme nor reason. It could have happened to anyone.”

“I suppose.”

“The only opinion that should matter is His Radiance, and thus far his reaction should be provisionally encouraging.” Somewhat begrudgingly, eyes fixed at some vague point over Cid’s shoulder, Nero added: “Or so one would assume.”

The ghost of a smile flickered in Cid’s eyes then, its echo a faint twitch at the corner of his lips. They stood in awkward silence for a beat or three, listening to the hum of the hallway radiator as with considerable effort Nero dragged his gaze away from his perusal of the other man’s face.  That ship has long sailed,  he reminded himself.  And you already told him no.

“I’ll get the extra blankets,” Cid said at last. "For the sofa. I’m… The staff is supposed to change the linens daily. They would have already had them out, but I sent them on their way early tonight.”

“Why? No witnesses to watch you drink yourself into a stupor?”

His cheeks flushed with embarrassment at the pointed drawl. “...Something like that, yes,” he admitted. “I’ve been using Fath-... the guest room. I wanted to be left alone. Besides, you’ve travel ahead of you in the morning, and the bed’s already made, so I’ll take the sofa.”

“What? Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not kicking you out of your bed.”

“Who said you were kicking me out?” There it was, the annoyed jut of his lower jaw and the tight and unamused press of his lips. “I’m offering you the space.”

“And I’m telling you, Garlond,  keep it.” 

“If you weren’t so bloody stubborn- ”

“If you weren’t so godsdamned overbearing- ”

They were shallow wells, both run dry; all that remained were limbs and eyes and mouths to say the words neither could (or would) speak. Cid’s eyes were dark as twin stormclouds, the distant dullness temporarily displaced by his passing irritation, and the sight brought to mind a memory of the summer squalls which frequented Nero’s boyhood home: the thunderheads rolling like an avalanche across the sky with little warning, the deep levin-struck rumbling that shook the roots of the land and echoed through the mountain pass. Wind gusts with their sharp bites of chill, driving shepherds and their flocks into nearby caverns. All of it fueled by that violent clash of cold and heat which always presaged an oncoming storm.

Like a string pulled too taut the tension between them winnowed down to its barest fraying threads and lingered perhaps a breath too long,  inhale, exhale,  and in that beat it was Nero who closed the distance between them, making a liar of himself with two gathered handfuls of fine-woven linen and the crash of his mouth against his colleague's, rough and angry and demanding.

A renewal of hostilities, perhaps. Or simply a seized opportunity, to finish what Garlond had started outside in the freezing bloody cold.

He would not have taken it amiss had the other man pushed him away as he had done, excoriated him for his hypocrisy. Instead he found himself stumbling backward with arms twined about his neck and hands grasping for his shoulders, through the parlor and into the hallway until his back met the wall with an ungentle thump: a startling jolt that might have knocked the breath from his lungs if there had been breath to take. If that hadn’t already gone from him, stifled in the cavernous warmth of a familiar mouth, stolen alongside the hidden parts of what heart he had to give, leaving his gut on fire and his legs trembling.

“I thought you told me to buy myself a room,” the murmur reached his ear but it was one he felt as much as heard, the soft whisper of cooling breath upon damp lips, tracing the patterns of the words with the tip of his tongue.

Nero was a liar-- one lacking both the wherewithal and the patience to dissemble further. 

“Shut up, Garlond,” he growled. "Yours will suffice."

Cid laughed (or perhaps he was merely hearing things). But the way that mouth fit against his was as much like coming home as it had ever been.

 ~*~

 Sleep was an elusive creature. He laid awake into the small, still hours of early morning with sweat still drying in a fine dew upon his skin, hooded periwinkle eyes fixed upon the paneled ceiling. The warmth and surety of his lover draped dozing against his bare chest, his stubble-roughened cheek pillowed by smooth flesh and a small forest of wiry golden curls, should have been a comfort.

It felt like a millstone, weighing him into the mattress. 

Nero couldn't remember now exactly when they had ended up moving from the hallway and into the modestly furnished guest room, nor had he particularly taken mind of the moment when their clothes had come off. He did commit to memory the bits he felt worth keeping. That bracing contrast of cool air on his skin when he had finally cast aside the restriction of his smalls, the avarice in blue eyes as they beheld the sight of him, the heat and slick agility of a greedy tongue and a greedier mouth to punctuate curses and narrow thrusts. The sharp relief and the myriad tiny pinpricks of light shuttered behind his eyelids just before the aching coil of desire released its grasp upon him and he had spilled, Cid's name little more than a wrecked and wasted moan in his ears, to dwindle into memory and silence.

His fingers tangled idly in fine strands of platinum, combing through their softness while tracing with his gaze the grain of the wood above. Remarkable, he thought, to see such workmanship in a residence here now. The stone and metal structures of the city were homogenous, streamlined, and almost universally ugly in their sterility but the small imperfections and minute flecks of color made him think of the little garret he'd slept in as a boy.

Sentimentality had little place in his life now. That, too, was the way of things. 

"You're still awake," the sleep-gravelled voice muttered against his shoulder, stirring and adjusting position on the mattress. Linen and carbon-insulated weighted cotton shifted to and fro over them, beneath it all the soft creak of the bed frame, "Don't tell me after all that, you still aren't-"

The hand gentling through Cid's hair paused. Drifted downwards. Draped at last over his waist with a faint, insincere chuckle. "I never want for stamina."

"Nor obstinacy. Get some sleep."

"Are you going to meet with the Emperor tomorrow?"

He felt the slight lift and drop of shoulders. Small and uneasy. "...I reckon I should at least hear what His Radiance has to say."

"You already know what he has to say," Nero said, not quite able to hold his impatience at bay. 

"Aye. I do." 

And with those three words that unspoken barrier dropped back between them just as it had been before, holding him at arm's length. Despite the shared warmth of their bodies the room no longer felt as comfortable- and then he had not even that, for Cid was already sitting up and fumbling over the edge of the bed for his smalls.

"Where are you going?"

"The sofa," Cid grunted, wriggling his hips as he dragged the fabric up his legs and over trim buttocks. He didn't even glance at Nero.

"Look, Garlond, if this is about what I said-"

"It isn't."

"Then stay," he could hear an annoyed edge creeping back into his voice; the warm and expansive mood between them was quite gone now. Nor did he expect its return- but a part of him still wanted to try. "I'll set the alarum so we're not-"

Cid was already shaking his head, a rueful tilt upon soft lips, pained and sorrowful, as he gained his feet. There was something altogether too careful about that smile and it silenced him as no angry words ever could. As infuriating as Nero all too often found his old classmate, his emotions had ever been an open book-- but like his cold apathy, this veiled, furtive look was not something he had seen before. It felt just as wrong and out of place as that numb disinterest, and he could neither read this expression nor understand what had engendered it. 

"I've got used to sleeping alone, Nero," Garlond said, with some strange and unexpected tenderness. His hand settled upon the doorknob, turned, and opened as he crossed the threshold. "As have you, I expect."

The door clicked shut without a pause and a chill as deep as winter sank into his chest. 

  v.

 was it for this the clay grew tall?

 -----o-----

  "I accept," he said. 

For all that it was a former royal residence, Nero always found himself distinctly underwhelmed by the viceroy's palace. The entire affair was a garish collection of painted purple sandstone and ill-kept mosaics from the barbarian kings that had ruled this land before it had felt the Empire's boot upon its neck, sparsely furnished to the point of seeming austerity. It had all the look of a space that saw little use beyond the viceroy's occasional desire for private discussions.

"Strictly speaking, this is not an appointment I would consider were you either only an engineer or only an officer. You came highly recommended on both counts." The room was also stiflingly warm; the climate unit that had been so hastily installed a few years ago was malfunctioning again and Nero was sweltering in his carbonweave. Regardless, he managed to remain at parade rest as the legatus addressed him. "To be clear: at this time, we have no plans for this artifact. It is to be considered merely a research opportunity, something which you had expressed interest in pursuing per your query."

"Of course."

Baelsar hesitated- just a slight hitch in the planes and slopes of broad shoulders, nothing a less observant individual would have noted - before he added:

"There are certain... additional conditions, all commensurate to this posting, which you might wish to review ere you formally accept the offer. Should you prefer to give the matter some thought-"

"No need, my lord. I find the terms quite amenable." 

Any surprise he might have expressed lay well-concealed beneath his helm but his body language was the picture of consternation - consternation which Nero ignored in favor of a long study of terrain through the dusty panel of tempered glass. The impromptu dig site was some distance away, situated very close to the edge of the salt loch, but the palace sat at the very top of the hill upon which the city had been built. Even from here, he could perceive the great hole carved into the rocky earth, its edges made jagged by ancient stone and sand and root.

Below that detritus of collected eons lay the Black Wolf's unexpected prize: a sleeping beast of Allagan steel and artifice.

"So," he continued, "this is why you requested an expert."

"Yes, though I have other matters which you are to oversee. Your primary directive, for the time being, will be to assist your fellow tribunes in seeing the Agrius and its crew made battle-ready. Once that mission is completed I would have you investigate the matter in more detail." Nero watched the man turn away with his gloved hands clasped behind his broad back. It was not a question; the legatus would have done his due diligence beforehand. "In truth, I had hoped to have Cid nan Garlond as my consult, but one must make do."

He chose to say nothing. His hands curled into fists, clenched tightly and safely at their position behind his back.

"Speaking of which, I don't suppose you've had any contact with him."

"Why would I have had contact with Garlond, my lord?"

It sounded more defensive than he would have wished and there was no hiding that, and he could see in the curious tilt of the other man's head that it had not gone unnoticed. "Perhaps you are unaware, but I fostered him for a time when he was young. Midas nan Garlond is an old friend, you see. I'm told the two of you were similarly close-"

"Something of an overstatement, I'm afraid," Nero said. "We were classmates."

"Nothing more?"

Perhaps it was folly, remaining under the command of a man who had raised the closest thing to a real friend Nero had ever had- but it was a calculated risk. The Empire looked upon defectors and deserters as the same stripe of beast: craven and treasonous, worthy of naught save the hangman's noose, and surely Garlond had not been spared that endemic disdain simply by virtue of who he was. 

Surely not. Seven hells, he had to get lucky sometime.

Besides which, any anger he felt was from the affront the man's feckless existence had proven. The boundless webs of opportunity he had taken for granted, the constant praise and acknowledgment he had clearly considered his due. It was very specifically not that cold clench in the gut Nero had felt when he had awakened at first light and discovered himself alone in the former domicile of a dead man. 

No, it was his turn now. His time had come; he felt that very keenly. Garlond was persona non grata. This was a new chapter in his own tale, yet to be written, and if he was a cog in the machine at least there was purpose to be found in ambition. In serving himself- and in future, any endeavor he chose would be for that reason alone.

There would be no more weakness. 

"Nothing more," he said.

     -----o-----

  oh, what made fatuous sunbeams toil

to break earth's sleep at all?

 -----o-----

#chrysalispen writes #cid garlond #nero tol scaeva #cid/nero

[alex-fucking-dempsey]

its 12:47am i plan on finishing two episodes tonight needless to say im in a bad mood and im high this is going to be dramatic as hell.

SPOILER WARNING FOR 13 REASONS WHY SEASON 4 EPISODE 2 or 3 one of them got deleted at some point last night n idk which

This funeral is for someone who commited suicide and now im fearing for clay :(

Clay saying fuck you is my kink

Clay cursing >>>>

I want clay in my guts if you can't tell

ayO???

the calling is making me really nervous

So is SHIT weird or is clay just insane??

this is quickly becoming like a scary movie and i hate scary movies i signed up for the angst

THE SMILING CLAY HAS ME MF SENT IM SENT YALL I CANT BREAAAATHE

is it just me or do you want justin in ur guts ;-;

uR aSlEeP wHeN iM sLeEpInG why did he say it like that wtf

I NEED TO TAKE MY MORNING SHIT

I CANT MF BREATHE

I guess thats high school hey clay i was doing just fine buddy

Clay and justin reminsing abt season 1 ;-;

MY WHOLE LIFE IS CHALLENGES SET BACKS AND FAILURES CLAY IS THE BEST NARRARTOR PLEAAAAASEEEEE

thw writing being winston is too obvious it was obviously fucking the guys who beay the shit out of clay

alex: anxious bi

zach is cute the way he peaks over pls sir lemme hold ur hand

The way i talk abt clay vs the way i talk abt zach dksjsjd

zach literally could give less shits abt the world around him i was to be as carefree as him

also lets talk abt the way alex is STARRING at zach like BRO

Also Jessica screaming WERE FUCKED bitch duh coULD SAY IT ANY LOUDER

estella??? oh snap hang on i didnt think of it

Tyler: taking pictures

Hes so cute i love my boy

I literally hate the sheif hes irritating

Winston looks great in that fit bro

Justin ur wild bro

Winston is me snooping

ani is v protective shes so cute

Red painted clays locker onG THEY FRARMED HIS ASS

im so wtf

What class period is it where they are all just vibing

SHUT UP I LOVE CHARLIE

SHUT THE FUVK UP I LOVE ZACH

she called him sweetheart they are so sweet ;-;

these racists i cannot stand it they keep racially profiling tony :(

im so angry

lowkey tony and that guy kinda look the same age and i cant unsee it

Winstokn looks like the guy who plays pennywise

I WANT WINSTON TO SHUT UP LEAVE TYLER ALONE PLEASE

why do u care bro

im kind of really fucking nervous im nervous of what hes going to do

Oh tyler :(

winston is so aggravating

lEAVE CLAY ALONE

iM hErE fOr yOu eat my ass

zach is so cute hes literally planning a date with alex mr Im FuCkInG hEtErO okay pal

"Everything's fine"

"Everythings fucked"

"Same thing"

I aspire to be as chill as zach

wOULDNT LIFE BE BETTER IF WE JUET CAME OUT

FUCKING WISE CHOICE OF WORDS BUCKAROO

This man just walked onto that bus im-

THIS BITCH "thwre is a line"

"Sorry" keeps walking deeper into the bus

winston is so cute hes smile bro.

is clay gonna fight someone

god bolden is ugly

tHE SPRAY PAINT WHAT THE FUCK

tHROW IT OUT THE WINDOW???

zach arm is literally-

mATT>>>

zach is drunk isnt he??

zACH IN THE COAT

why tf is zach in alex in different groups

alex knows who winston is

Alex is so worried abt his boy

cLAY KEEPS TRYNA THROW IT AWAY AND EVERYONE IS ALL "hEyYyYy"

why would clay even do that bro??

zach looks so damn good fucking WOW

Zach is abt to go party with these ppl

THEY ARE GONNA GO PARTY

I CANT BREATHE I LOVE ZACH SO GODDAMN MUCH

clay n zach are so rare but so great together

winston dont look at alex 🔪

Jeremy looks familiar if u know who he is pls tell me

Jessica 😔😔 jesus im so nervous for her i feel like puking

Amanda: ???

THEYVE PLAYED THREE ROUNDS I LOCE THEMMMM

CLAY STILL DRINKS

cory sisj

the nerves i have for this drunk girl OH FUCK NO

i cant fucking breathe sorry yall i cant cover this lightheartedly so i wont at all

im so nervous

jess n justin :(

jess only liked justin on drugs change my mf mind

alex ;-;

winston is gonna get 🔪

Okay maybe not lowkey soft

why is looking at him like that he touched his hand EVERYONE STOP

IM NOT GAY ALEX MF STANDALL EVERYONE THE MAN WHO JUST MERE DAYS AGO KISSED ZACH

iM SO FUCKING CONFUSED EVERYDAY IM MORE N MORE CONFUSED

I CANNOT BELIEVE THEY ARE IN THE POLICE STATION

THEY ARE SO DRUNK

zach looks so good in this outfit on these chairs like he became a fashion god wtf

MATT

clay: is still drunk

I cant breathe

:( clay feels replaced by justin

zahc doesnt give a fuck abr anything wow

OMG CLAY

everyone is... off

jess and ani :( so sweet

THAT SCARED ME FUCK

why is justin writing with a fine liner

I hate justin and clays fights they always tear me apart :(

oh wow :( clays freckles

Tell him. God clay im going to kill u

TWO CANS AYO? ZACH WTF

iF I WORK HARD IT COULD BE 2.9 if it aint me

yes ani queen

wHY LIE TO ME WHAT GOOD DOES THAT DO HES SO FINE

wHy dIdNt yOu TeXt mE lAsT nIgHt clay shut up ongg

Winston simps for Alex so hard i cant breathe

Why is theprincipal trying so hard ur so creepy bro stg

estella is fucking pretty let me hug her :(

tHE SPRAY PAINT BRO IM-

he looks so fucking good alex thank you sir

caleb and tony :( so cute

alex ur so cute

YO WHY ARE ALEXS CALFS SO RIPPED

clay TELL SOMEONE you need to tell them. :(

i I DONT FUCK KNOW WHY clay is unintentional funny

I needed to hear that ;-;

dont bond over bryce ew

chole looks like alice from alice in wonderland and wow how haveneverr noticed that b4

he keeps standing her up ;-;

zAcHy ZaChY

ew

coffee dates bro

winston is so fucken creepy

Alex n his cane >>>

dIMPLES

omG DONT KISS

thank god

is he just gonna stay in love with zach??

i hatw this mf bro

clays pants pt. 2>>>

im sick and tired of being sick and tired of these kids not fetting happiness

wHY DOES HIS CLOSIBG LINES MAKE ME LAUGH OMG

He isnt gonna send that shit

in conclusion season 2 is still better.

#13rw #clay jensen #scott reed #zach dempsey #alex standall #justin foley #tony padilla #ryan shaver #13rw season 4 #13rw s4 spoilers

[httphopewrld]

control me (pt.2) | (f/m) sneak peek!!!

↳ part of the ‘lyrics series’

Jimin was just a guy who modeled for your art class, and someone you found attractive, nothing else. You didn’t think anything would evolve from that. But then you asked him to model for your practice sketches, causing you to see him more. That feeling towards him became more apparent as you realized he occupied your thoughts. But there’ll never be anything between us. You convinced yourself. However, that changed when Jimin asked, “What am I to you?” Maybe there was more to your relationship than you realized.

[1]

Pairing: model!jimin x reader

Genre: fluff, smut, and angst

Rating: 16+ because there’s some smuuuuuutttt

Warnings: smut, foul language, dom/sub!jimin, dom/sub!reader, oral (fem receiving), protected sex, thigh riding, fingering, handjob, dirty talk, body praising, self-doubt (discouraging one’s looks compared to others), pretty soft sex? Nothing too rough, I think.

A/N: thank you soooo much babes for the wait! I will try my best to write more. I can’t wait to show you guys pt. 2!!!!

release date: February 21st, 2020

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

The nosiness of the café bothers you. Sure, it was a public place, where people can choose their own volume of speech; but boy did it grind your gears when people spoke above a comfortable tone.

Despite the cozy warmth of the café, the cold found its ways underneath the wool sleeves of your sweater. You put your coat back on and sat back in your seat.

He said he’d be on time, but you didn’t want to count on it. He was busy, probably, modeling for other students in your human anatomy class. It was the middle of the week, so what else did you expect? He barely knew you, yet he was your “knight in shining armour” on that fateful night.

About a few days after his rescuing, you called to meet him at a café. To pay him back, you’d buy him any beverage and pastry he wanted, and hopefully, amuse him with your social skills. However, you’d be kidding yourself if you weren’t absolutely horrified to talk to him and were about to pee yourself because you were currently waiting in a pool pit of anxiety and self-doubt.

If only talking to astonishingly attractive people wasn’t complete social suicide, things wouldn’t be so scary. And if Rachel hadn’t pressured you to go out for coffee with him.

You felt your leg jittering underneath the table, and your bottom lip in your teeth. God, I wish he’d be on time.

As if on cue, Jimin jogged into the café, chest rising rapidly. When his eyes connected with yours, his whole body seemed relieved.

He sped-walked to your table, taking off his jacket and running a hand through his dirty blonde hair.

“I’m sorry that I’m late. There was traffic, and the bus didn’t arrive on time,” he sat down with a tired exhale.

“You took the bus? Where did you come from?”

“I had a model casting across town. Didn’t get anything though.” He pouted briefly before gently smiling. “Again, I’m sorry for being late.”

“Don’t worry about it.” You chuckled, finding his numerous apologies adorable.

A quick pause in your conversation made you rive with panic.

“Oh, what do you want to drink? It’s cold outside and you appear to have run for a bit.” You gestured towards the chalk menu to your right.

He read the menu before asking, “could I actually get an iced americano and a croissant?”

“Sure,” you replied as you got up from your seat.

You went up to the cashier and ordered your drinks. As you waited for them, you scanned the crowded café. Some were seated on tables or in the leather couches. Others appeared to only be using the space as shelter from the weather as they sent out a quick text or call.

You realized that your gaze always fell back on Jimin as you observed the café. It rested on his clenched jawline as he read something off his phone, and how his leg shook with, what you assumed was anxiousness.

Maybe he was nervous too? You wondered as your name was called.

You picked up the tray with your snacks and drinks and carefully walked back to your table.

Jimin’s eyes lit up when you set the tray down on the table. He grabbed his iced-americano and took a couple of desperate gulps.

You watched in amazement as you put his croissant, your muffin and hot chocolate, and extra water on the table. When you can back from returning the tray back to the main counter, he had finished his drink and was half-way through his croissant.

“I think you can breath, now,” you chuckled as he let out an embarrassed laugh and put down his snack.

“Sorry about that,” he awkwardly smiled.

“Don’t worry about it,” you assured as you sipped your hot chocolate, “you came from a modeling job in the pouring rain. Do what you gotta do.”

He nodded and began eating his croissant again.

It was a few painful beats of silence before you thought of a conversation starter. “What is it like being a model?” You took a small bite of your muffin, “It must be a lot emotionally and physically.”

He leaned his elbows on the table, “Yeah, to be honest. It’s tougher than people realize. It’s a ‘no-type-of-world’, really.” He made air-quotes with his hands before finishing off his snack.

“But I love it. Most of the time I get gigs that I enjoy. And the other models and staff are supportive and friendly.” Jimin described, smiling.

He took a quick sip of his iced-americano, “Enough about me. You’re doing alright, Y/N? After the whole party incident?”

You told him about how you didn’t remember much about the night of the party. He helped you fill in the gaps of what you missed. Both of you chatted about yourself, even laughing about dumb things you guys believed as kids.

Despite some brief pauses in your conversation, you both were able to laugh and enjoy each other’s company. You were able to chat about yourselves and laugh about the dumb things you believed when you were kids.

“Oh, how’s your anatomy class going? Last time I was there you guys were starting a sculpting unit?” He remembered, finishing his croissant.

“It’s going well! A lot of sketching on my time. We’re only allowed to practice sculpting with clay outside of class, but it’s alright.”

“Aaah,” he understood.

You took the last sip of your hot chocolate, “Oh, speaking of the project, could you model for some of my sketches? You seem to be the perfect candidate.”

Jimin feigned an honoured expression, putting a hand to his chest then saluting you. “It would be my pleasure.”

You giggled and cheered, “Awesome! What day would work best for you?”

He took his phone out and scrolled through, what you assumed to be, his calendar. “This Saturday, so in a couple of days?”

You pulled out your phone as well, check your schedule. To your relief, you were free Saturday. “Sounds great! I think my friend, Rachel, is going out that night; so we’ll have a peaceful apartment to ourselves.”

You felt your phone buzz in your hands. When you glanced down, you saw numerous texts from Rachel appear on your screen.

Rachel [4:30 pm]: hey, Joey’s over. He’s crying and he seems drunk. Could you come back to the apartment?

Rachel [4:30 pm]: I can’t handle him alone

Y/N [4:30 pm]: I’m out right now. I think you can handle Joey. He’s pretty docile when he’s drunk

Rachel [4:31 pm]: could you PLEASE come? You’re better at the emotional stuff

You looked up at a concern Jimin. He pointed at his own cell, indicating that he was wondering what was happening on your phone that caused your debating expression.

“Rachel is asking me to go back to the apartment because a friend is having emotional troubles,” you sighed, “she thinks I’m ‘better at the emotional stuff’.”

“You should go,” he suggested, “you seemed quite worried about your friend.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive,” he smiled. “And we’ve been here since two o’clock. I think we’ve had enough of each other.”

You both chuckled as you let Rachel know you were heading back to your apartment.

Jimin gave you a gentle hug before you left and insisted on putting both of your dishes away.

As you exited the café, you couldn’t help but savour the warm that his arms left around your waist when he hugged you. Maybe it was just the feeling of the embrace that made you blush? Or was it because Jimin was the one doing it?

#park jimin #BTS jimin #bts park jimin #jimin fanfic #jimin #bts #bts fanfic #kpop fanfic #bts fluff #bts smut #jimin fluff #jimin smut #bts scenarios #jimin scenario #park jimin scenarios #ficswithluv

[reddeaddamnation]

Masterlist or the new Bible of the Holy trinity Desmond, Clay and Daniel

Because the old one got messed up after I changed my URL

Dirty A-Z headcanons

Alexios

Altair ibn-La’Ahad

Yusuf Tazim

Desmond Miles

Crawford Starrick

Charles Vane

Haytham Kenway

Ezio Auditore da Firenze

Elise de la Serre

Edward Kenway

Arno Dorian

Evie Frye

Connor Kenway

Jacob Frye

Shay Cormac

Shaun Hastings

Henry Green

Daniel Cross

Clay Kaczmarek

Preferences

How they would propose to you

Spending Halloween with them

Them surprising you with dinner

When they find out your daughter has a boyfriend pt.1

When they find out your daughter has a boyfriend pt.2

Them finding your sex toys

How the assassins are when they catch a cold

When your child says they want a sibling

Messing up with them and asking for forgiveness

Training with them

When they make you cry

When they are jealous

When you say you want to go shopping

Being in a relationship with them

How they would react to your teasing [Jacob and Arno]

When you call them daddy for the first time

Playfully stealing something of their’s

Them going to the dentist

Being their ex and meeting them for the first time after your breakup

How the assassins are in bed vs. how they are outside it

Spending new year with them

When they come home drunk

When your child does something they shouldn’t have

When they find out your ex is beating you

Teasing them during a dinner with friends and leaving them hanging:

When you give him a boner while sitting on his lap

Trying on lingerie and them walking in on you

When they tease you so much you lose your mood

What color lingerie he would like you wearing for his birthday

Giving them a massage

What they would do to make things right after messing up with you

Waking up beside them 

How the assassins are when they sleep

The assassins taking you camping

When you interview them for a job

How training with them is like

How they react when you tell them you don’t want children

How they would react to finding out you aren’t the gender they thought you were

Being a rebel and the assassins falling in love with you

How they celebrate your birthday

Being in a relationship with the assassins

Being Romani and meeting them 

Being Slavic and meeting them

Being Finnish and dating them

Imagine being an Egyptian and dating the assassins

Having a pet cat that doesn’t like your assassin boyfriend/girlfriend

Having a big guard dog that doesn’t like your assassin boyfriend

How they would react to you being arachnophobic

How they would react to you getting a kiss from someone else

How they would treat you if you were anorexic

How the assassins are during an argument

When they ask you about your scars:

Giving them a handjob at the cinema

Them losing you while you’re giving birth to your child

Them singing you a song

When they’re possessive of you

How the assassins would react to you bringing home a stray animal

How they would react to you stealing a kill from them

How they would deal with you after you drank too much

When you and your ex have to go on a mission without them

How they would react when you tell them you’re pregnant

Playing horror games with them

How the assassins are when they are jealous:

Trying to get your phone back but accidentally grabbing their crotch (HT)

Imagine being gone for a long time and catching them jack off when you return home (HT)

Imagine riding them on the Animus (HT)

Imagine them having the bleeding effect but you staying anyway (HT)

HT imagine: Family dinner

Imagine: Clay, Daniel and Desmond interviewing you for a job

Stories

Being leader of a rivaling organization and trying to bring down both assassins and templars

If “Happy ever after did exist” Chapter 1 - Desmond Miles

Scenarios/Headcanons

How they would react to each other’s music taste

Being their twin sister: Ezio, Arno and Desmond

Imagine going with them to the zoo

Being married to Jacob

Imagine a highschool where:

Imagine the assassins going on a trip together

The assassins living together

The assassins living together pt.2

Assassins as dogs

The assassins as students

A very Creed-y Christmas

Dating Arno Dorian

Imagine the assassins going together on a trip to the mountains

Imagine the assassins together at the beach

The assassins as cats

Living with them

Imagine them having a water balloon fight

“I could get it, just don’t ask how”

Imagine: Clay, Desmond and Daniel as little animals and you adopting them

Playing Seven minutes in Heaven with them

Altair and Malik fighting over you

What nickname would be their favorite to call you

Haytham as a doctor

Imagine sharing a tight space with Haytham

One shots

Imagine an Assassin’s creed game set in Bulgaria

Jacob Frye

Imagine being Starrick’s daughter and dating Jacob

Having an argument with Jacob

Imagine Jacob pulling up a tent in front of your house

Being a gang leader and catching Jacob’s attention

Getting married to Jacob

Imagine being forcefully married to Starrick and having an affair with Jacob

Being forcefully married to Starrick and secretly helping Jacob bring him down

Jacob being under house arrest

Being Jacob’s lover and Jack the ripper abducting you

Being Jacob’s lover and Jack the ripper abducting you part 2

Haytham Kenway

Request

Stealing Haytham’s amulet

Haytham being your sugar daddy pt.1

Haytham being your sugar daddy pt.2

“Perfect” 

Arno Dorian

Arno saving you from the guillotine

Being Bellec’s daughter and meeting Arno

Being a Templar and being in love with Arno

Arno catching your daughter doing his mission instead of being in school

Being engaged to Bellec but having an affair with Arno

Elise dying during childbirth and you helping Arno with parenthood

“Never enough”

Being agoraphobic and Arno comforting you

Arno Dorian having a crush on you

“Turning page”

Being Arno’s lover

Ezio Auditore

Ezio Talking dirty to you in Italian

Ezio getting jealous that you talk to Salai

“The girl from the neighborhood“

Che vuola questa musica? // Who wants this music tonight?

“Perfect”

Being a Borgia and dating Ezio:

Being Leonardo da Vinci’s student and meeting Ezio

“Rebirthing”

Bayek of Siwa

Modern day job AU

Being a Roman aristocrat and Bayek saving you from getting assassinated

Car sex with him

Watching him fight in the arena

Alexios

Request

Being a falconer and meeting him

Falling in love with Deimos Alexios

Deimos Alexios watching you fight

Deimos Alexios being obsessed with you

Missing Alexios and Barnabas telling you stories about him

Being a Persian and Alexios finding you stranded on the beach

Deimos Alexios finding out you work with Kassandra

Joining his crew

Alexios doing silly things to get your attention

Otso Berg

Request

Shay Cormac

Request

Being a Portuguese Templar and Shay falling in love with you

Lydia Frye

Being a Templar and Lydia’s lover

Crawford Starrick

Crawford Starrick being your sugar daddy

Being a rebel and Starrick falling for you

Desmond Miles

Forgetting Desmond’s birthday and making up for it

“Closer”

Being Desmond’s sister

Hope Jensen

Being Shay’s younger sister and Hope being in love with you

Shaun Hastings

Throwing a surprise party for Shaun’s birthday

Being an assassin and Shaun falling for you

Clay Kaczmarek

Getting back at Clay for tricking you with his dirty talking

Clay talking dirty to you in Polish

“Whispers in the dark”

Pierre Bellec

Convincing Pierre to adopt little Arno after his father’s death

Altair ibn-La’Ahad

“I’ll be there”

“Dooset daram” / “I love you”

“Brother”

Edward Kenway

Being born on a ship and afraid of land

“Havana”

Edward Kenway being impressed with your pirating skills

Edward saving you from getting killed (sequel to the above)

Malik al’Sayf

Being there for Malik when he loses his arm

Connor Kenway

Being a Templar and running away with Connor after he saves you from getting killed part 3

Being a Templar and Connor saving you from getting killed part 2

Being a Templar and Connor falling in love with you  part 1

Being a captive of the English and Connor freeing you

Evie Frye

Meeting Evie for the first time and falling in love with her 

#masterlist #assassin's creed

[fuwafuwamedb]

Dodging Death Pt 6 (Hakuno, Caster Gilgamesh)

Previously: 1 2 3 4 5

____

Ah, of course.

Magic retainer to lover.

Hakuno stared at the man a moment before she averted her gaze to her drink.

There was nothing to fear here. No, there was a more obvious explanation, one that would explain why Cu hadn’t fully listened and why she wasn’t really reacting strong enough to someone suddenly appearing where her cat had just been standing: she was drunk.

It wasn’t a big deal.

Whatever bottle she’d been partaking in, even though it was such a small amount, was no longer going to be drank in her home. In fact, she was going to go completely and one hundred person sober from here on out. She’d eat right, no more sweets-

…Okay, like one dessert a week.

She’d have one dessert a week instead of indulging in the daily sweets. She’d exercise and train from here on out. She knew Emiya was doing archery with Sakura. Rin did boxing a bit and sojutsu with Cu Chulainn. She could do one of those things. Or maybe she could become a boxer. She could get some serious arm muscle and start really working out.

That’d be cool.

Yeah, she’d learn to box.

“Hakuno…”

The point was, she was going to be a better person. She’d finally lost it. She had imagined her cat transforming into an obnoxiously attractive guy. She was no doubt panicking because, on some level, she’d had unprotected sex with a guy who-

“Shit,” Hakuno breathed.

The man stared at her.

“…How many women do you sleep with?”

If there was a man in her house, which her hand on his chest said there was, then she had slept with someone and not somehow bruised and bit herself. That meant she’d had sex with someone with no regard for consequences.

The man’s jaw dropped, his coughing and pulling back making her feel no better than before.

“Woman, I am not explaining this to you-“

“Are you tested?”

He just stared as though she’d asked something entirely ridiculous.

“Are you tested for diseases? It’s a simple yes or no question.”

“Hakuno, there’s no testing for diseases. One asks their gods to ensure that they are not struck down by illness.”

She cursed, climbing out from under him and onto her feet.

Great. So she’d slept with a guy who didn’t know the first thing about diseases and she’d had that great sex without any regard towards her own wellbeing.

“I could be pregnant with our luck.”

Another big absolute no in her mind. They weren’t doing that. She had classes to attend. She had friends to make and friends to fight with. If someone was going to date her, it would be after they became friends and became close. Emiya had been as close to acceptable as someone had ever become. Since he was a big no, there was no one else.

So, tomorrow morning she’d go and visit the doctor. It was a Saturday. There’d be a few hours at the doctor’s office that she could sneak in during to get a complete workup. She’d ask for some medicine to help prevent this panic from happening again and-

The man’s hand took hers, the blond nearby holding it as though he’d just grasped the most fragile piece of glass in the world.

“…I was not aware that your fertility was so great…”

She shook her head.

“I’m sure I’m probably not,” she told him, pulling her hand away.

They were tabling this conversation. Yes, they weren’t going to be considering that kind of thing when there were bigger problems.

“What’s your name?”

A name would let her know who to look up the next time he came whisking into her home and then scurrying out with the sun. If he was real. She was quite determined to keep that idea far, far from close to mind.

The man nodded, clearing his throat a bit.

“I suppose that this is all quite sudden for you. I hadn’t considered, since you had taken most everything so well, that you would become a bit concerned about a proper introduction. Since I am technically courting you and intend to claim you for myself, it is only just.”

It was only just. The man helped her to sit beside him on the couch and smirked, pressing a hand to his chest.

“I am Gilgamesh, Mage King and son of the god Utu’s child Lugalbanda and the goddess, Ninsun. I rule over the kingdom of Uruk, a kingdom of great prowess and insight. We are the luminaries of the world, the keepers of the great knowledge of the ancients. I defeated the great bull of heaven. I slaughtered the great monster of the Cedar Forest, Humbaba. I partook in the bounty of Uruk’s splendor and rose the kingdom to immense heights to such a level that the gods themselves weep in envy.”

Arrogant.

He was Gilgamesh and he was extremely, unerringly arrogant.

He’s worse than his story.

Hakuno stared at him for a moment, watching him turn that gaze to hers once more as he rattled off his accomplishments. He leaned in closer, that fine face just mere centimeters away from her own.

“I’m Hakuno Kishinami. Student. Librarian. Ancient Studies amateur researcher in the making.”

“Researcher… like on the television?”

Like on…

Hakuno shook her head, “Those researchers are for solving crimes. The only crimes I solve are in artifacts and ancient times. Like- What kind of meaning comes from these old texts,” she motioned at the epic.

“Hakuno.” The man snorted, covering the smirk on his face that said she’d said something incredibly stupid. “If I had my court here, I would forever record the absurdity of your words. Despite your metal horses and your finer technology, I’m afraid you must get your head out of your books and realize that Uruk is just a mere ride or so away from here.”

“The remains of it, maybe.”

She wasn’t dumb. She knew that the remains were out there. They’d made it a historical site and one in need of preservation but-

The man leaned in closer, his frown etching deep lines upon his face.

“Excuse me?”

“Uruk. Its remains exist.”

“What are you talking about? I came from there a mere month or two ago.”

No, she’d plucked her cat off the street a mere two months ago.

“Hakuno,” Gilgamesh moved closer yet. “Uruk cannot be destroyed so easily in two months’ time.”

“This isn’t funny. You can stop this and just tell me your real name.”

The man glared at her.

“Uruk’s been gone for centuries. Millenia. It’s… Hold on.”

She grabbed her laptop, against her better judgement, and turned it on. While it was booting up, she went for her drink, but the man downed it on her, setting her glass down harder than it needed to be set down.

She pulled up a selection of images, opting for the visuals since words probably wouldn’t mean much.

The man simply stared at it.

“…What is this?”

“Uruk.”

“My Uruk has the center ziggurat. There are channels running through the districts to ensure flowing trafficking of goods from one area to another. I have districts with smithies and breweries…”

“You may have had that at one time.”

But he didn’t have that now.

The man pulled the computer into his hands, looking at the keyboard and the mousepad in a strange manner. His fingers pressed to the screen, jumping a little at the fact that she had a touch screen.

“It’s ah… Let me show you,” Hakuno offered.

The man was either a brilliant actor or insane.

As she navigated the sights, showing him the images on the screen, she found him pulling her into his arms. Anything they’d discussed before was permanently tabled. His eyes were running over the images. His face was paling to the color of bleached sheets. Those red eyes were looking at the words, his voice barely getting out the question of what everything said.

“Uruk fell.”

He felt so still.

Hakuno glanced up at him as she read through the downfall of the kingdom. She could feel those fingers digging into her person as she described what she read.

“You should know some of this. There’s a large excerpt on the death of the advisor, Siduri and about the blasphemous clay being, Enk-“

“Don’t.”

Hakuno felt him reach in front of her, closing the laptop and setting it on the floor. His arms pulled her closer to him.

“Don’t speak of this right now. You are a maiden and you allowed me the comforts of your body before. I simply need the feeling of your person against my own. I require your silence and your arms holding me right now.”

That face nuzzled her own. The man holding her shivered and nuzzled her, pulling blankets over their bodies and murmuring softly to her.

“It is always so damn cold in your home.”

“I can’t afford…” Her words stopped at the sight of the king’s eyes closed. There was a wetness that hit her face underneath his.

He’s…

The man could have done anything.

Rage, threaten, scream, grow violent, try to come onto her; all of those things would have had simple answers of calling the police and sending him out of her home. She would have had a drink, called up Rani, complained about the asshole that had come into her home, and gone on with her life. It would have confirmed that the man was insane.

Seeing someone who’d just proudly declared that he pretty much could rule a kingdom and defeat the biggest of enemies begin to look like this…

Hakuno wiped at his face, murmuring for him to release her a moment.

She cranked up the temperature in the house, grabbing the blankets from the bed and bringing them to the living room. She pulled the coffee table closer and, after making a pot of coffee, she wrapped herself under the blankets with the king.

“What is this?”

“Coffee.”

“You enjoy your coffees,” he murmured.

There was nothing not to enjoy about her coffees. She sipped at them, grateful for pouring an ungodly amount of sugar into her drink. The man at her side sipped at his black version of the drink, humming appreciatively.

She set the television to one of those music stations, where it would just play soft music and let them see something just visually pleasing. Her body ended up atop his, nestled into his arms.

“I should find you clothes,” she murmured.

“I have no need for such things right now,” the man murmured to her, burying his face into the crook of her neck. “I have dreamed about holding you for days. Allow me my indulgences.”

“You are not my cat,” Hakuno argued.

“I have seen your naked body more times than I can count on these hands, Hakuno,” the man replied, smirking into her skin. “I know every curve, every dip and inch… I’ve nuzzled this chest you have so many times when I wished to rest.”

The man purred like a cat as he said that last bit.

“Had I possessed you in my time, I would have surely been harassed less about the task of seeking rest. I would have come to my bed far more easily.”

“Mhmm.”

“I know that you don’t like if there’s too much pressure on your chest,” he continued. “You are especially weak to someone moving anything light against your belly and chest though.”

As though to prove his point, he stroked at her stomach lightly, watching her squirm and nearly knock their drinks out of hand.

The mugs were abandoned.

The king pulled her deeper into his arms, kissing lightly at the top of her head.

She wasn’t sure she wanted to argue about his being a cat part of the time. He didn’t seem all that eager to bring it up either. Without that, they were left in a moment of silence, listening to the soft music playing in the background. His hand not holding her close began to brush back her hair gently.

Those lips of his pressed lightly to her forehead, then to the top of her head.

“I found my way here,” he murmured, taking his time to move those hands of his to her back. The man was working miracles on her back, making her sink into his embrace. “I will simply need to recall the magic I used before when we resolve this transformation problem of mine and we can return to my time. We’ll save Uruk.”

“You will,” she corrected, yawning lightly.

“We. Will.” The man tilted her chin up, pausing from his ministrations to look her in the eye. “I cannot promise you that your life will be simple. I cannot promise you that I will senselessly spoil you until you can want for nothing. I learned from a young age that such things cannot satisfy a person.”

That hand stroked her cheek softly.

“What I can promise you,” he continued, “is that there will never be a moment in your life where you are without option. I can promise you the joy that you showed to me upon having your magic freed. I will spend all the time that you wish teaching you how to use that power of yours. I will show you what the ancients, what your ancestors in particular, took great pleasure in while you were forced to live as a mongrel amongst mongrels.”

“You have a kingdom to look after,” Hakuno countered.

“I do.”

“I don’t need to know how to use my magic.” Despite how fun it would be to know, she could always just take pleasure in the fact that she could be lazy about turning off light switches. “Just take care of your people.”

“We will,” he pushed again, pulling her up his person a bit, delving one of his hands into her hair and tilting her face towards his. “I have seen what you are capable of. Harnessing winds to dry my hair, changing the temperature of a space without magic knowledge, harnessing the world’s information into the device you used before; your qualities are endless.”

She had no idea what he was talking about, but it sounded nice when he said it. She leaned into that hand, finding him stroking his thumb across her cheek.

“I thank you for the coffee.”

“Coffee always helps. At least, for me it does.”

She fell asleep, deep enough that she didn’t register anything until the sun started to stream into the room. The body beneath hers began to shake, pulling out from under her and waking her up in time to see the shaking of a light golden coat and the soft mewl of her cat.

Gilgamesh was once more G.

“It was too good to be true that you’d stay human, huh?” Hakuno asked, yawning lightly.

The cool air hitting her chest made her look down.

“…Really, Gilgamesh?”

When had he taken her shirt off? Why had he taken her- But there was a bitemark on her chest, showing just off to the side of her aching chest. Shifting merely told her that she was going to be taking a shower to simmer down this morning.

“We’re having a talk about what can and can’t be done when I sleep,” she warned the pet, stalking passed him with her comforter wrapped around her person. “You can forget about any coffee privileges if you become human at all in the next week.”

She showered.

She dressed.

Taking an extra few minutes, Hakuno found herself looking in the mirror.

Other than a bit of fatigue and a couple bruises she’d need to tuck her turtleneck over, she didn’t look that bad. Perhaps magic helped…

Magician Hakuno.

Now if she could just magic some knowledge into her head.

Wait…

Can I?

Hakuno moved into the living room again, finding G swaying gently to the sound of the music on the television. Those eyes opened lazily, regarding her with mild interest as Hakuno sat down.

Wasn’t this always the dream: to simply press your head to a book and gain all the knowledge through an osmosis kind of thing? The book was filled with translations and grammar rules about Sumerian. If she managed it, then she could really talk to Gilgamesh. She’d never have to study again.

A light, inquisitive mewling came from nearby.

“Just a second, Gil.”

She had to check this out.

She pressed her head to the book lightly.

Memorize.

The rush came like the crack of a whip, like a surge of burning heat speeding through her veins. Words and sentences flashed through her mind’s eye. She could feel her mouth and her throat aching for some reason, like she’d been talking for hours and had groan hoarse. The more she tried to breathe, the more it all hurt.

She could hear G meowing nearby, but she couldn’t fully see what was going on. Opening her eyes just made the piercing migraine increase.

Her body grew dizzy.

The floor was coming up to meet her.

And the world grew black.

#drabble #drabbles

[galadrieljones]

The Lily Farm - Chapter 33

AO3 | Masterpost

Rating: M (Mature) - sexual content, violence, and adult themes

Summary: To help her process Sean’s death, Mary Beth asks Arthur to take her on a hunting trip, somewhere far away. He agrees, and on their journey to the north, they find quietude and take comfort in their easy bond. They’ve been friends for a while now, but life, like the wilderness, is full of uncertainty and complications, and as they embark on their desperate search for meaning together, they endure many trials, some small, some big—all of which bring them closer to one another, and to their future.

Chapter 33: Faith, Hope and Love, Pt. 2

It was the first of October and unseasonably warm in the state of New Hanover. The day before, the Reverend and the Mother Superior had stopped in Rhodes to see the red clay dirt and to talk of God and his many shapes and formulas. Swanson wanted to study the marriage vows as well, as it had been a long time since he’d performed any such ritual and even longer since he had thought about the meaning of love. They walked through the town, silently, getting the red dust on their boots, and they gave money to a sad veteran and then they found a little wedding going on at the chapel, between a very young man and a very young woman who both looked about eighteen years old. The young woman had a pregnant belly under her modest blue dress and there was nobody else in attendance except for them and a few worshippers only half-listening in the pews. It didn’t seem to affect anything about the way that they looked at each other. They were in love.

Swanson wondered if they had run away or if they were orphaned or what was going on. It put him in distress. He thought of Arthur as a very young man and all that had happened to him. A couple of times, he had gone with Arthur to see Isaac, when Arthur was only maybe 25. He was not the only one who had met Isaac back in those days. Hosea, too, had gone to meet the boy, and even John. Swanson couldn’t remember whether Dutch had ever gone or not, but he strongly remembered Dutch urging Arthur to bring them both back to the gang with him, where he could keep an eye on things. Dutch didn’t see anything good coming out of Eliza living alone. Of course, he had been right. He was often right in those days, but those days had gone south some time ago.

Isaac had been a serious child, and very sweet. He was shy and sensitive. But he was not sad. He just preferred caution, and solitude. He liked crayons and paper, and he liked to sing. He was happy, and he always remembered Swanson and Hosea when they came. He liked kites. Swanson remembered Isaac and Arthur going into town once to purchase a kite, and then flying the kite together on the lawn. It was a magnificent shade of red against the bright blue sky. Isaac had a very thick head of dirty blond hair, like Arthur, but Eliza’s dark eyes, and he trusted Arthur, idolized him even, despite Arthur’s limited presence in his life. Eliza trusted Arthur, too. Eliza and Arthur were good friends, it seemed, and maybe they were trying to reignite something, but Swanson did not remember them being in love. Arthur had already started up with Mary at this point, though it was new and not something anyone spoke of. Whatever he had with Eliza, it was responsibility. It was trying for a very adult arrangement, in a way, and of this, Swanson remembered being proud. Arthur tried very hard. He did the best that he could for as long as he could.

The last day Arthur went to see them, the gang was camped nearby, and he was supposed to just be gone for the night, but he never came back. Nobody knew what was going on. He was gone for several days with no word. Finally Dutch went out to find him, and Swanson and Hosea went along because they were very worried. Bad things had been happening. The O’Driscolls were a different animal in those days, and the blood feud was fresh in Annabelle's wake. They searched for a long time. When they finally found Arthur, he was lying in a creek with all his clothes off, and he hadn’t eaten, and he was half-dead with whiskey. At first, they thought he’d been kidnapped and left for dead, but that was not the case. He couldn’t speak through the booze or the weeping, but eventually he did manage a few words. They got em, he said. Got em both.

Dutch and Hosea hauled him up and got him dressed and Swanson helped Dutch ride him home while Hosea went into Butte to see what the hell was going on. When he came back a day later, he said he’d gone and found Eliza's father, learned that she and the boy were dead, robbed and killed—maybe by bandits, but it could have been debt collectors. Nobody was sure, and there was no way to know, and Arthur couldn’t tell them anything.

Nobody blamed Arthur for their deaths—other than Arthur. Eliza’s father, it turned out, had always liked Arthur. He was sick, and they were a poor silver mining family, and they didn’t think much for the law as it had provided them with very little in those days, and so he thought that Arthur, despite his reputation, was decent for all he provided to his daughter—monetarily, and in the way of companionship. It wasn’t long then before Dutch went on his vendetta, trying to find the men responsible. Of course, he failed. The men responsible were not O’Driscolls. They were nobodies, in the wind. They were ghosts, and you cannot catch ghosts or shoot them in the back.

Swanson thought about their deaths almost every day now. How random, and how needless they had been. He remembered Mary staying away for a long time after that. One night, she came, a couple of weeks after it happened, and Arthur could not face her properly because of the booze. Hosea’s wife, Bessie—she had a kind streak, and she was the one to send her away. Mary seemed ashamed and upset with herself as if the whole thing were somehow her fault. Swanson found her crying near the camp, and he asked her if she was okay and needed a place to sleep, but she just got stoic and rode away and did not come back for a long time. She was not too self-sufficient when it came to dames, and Swanson worried for her safety, but he didn’t know she had a family. One day she came back, and it was okay again. Arthur came out to see her. He was nearly sober, and it all changed, very slowly, but he never really recovered. Not for years. Swanson was certain that this had been what poisoned his relationship with Mary—more so than her father, or any of that nonsense about his lifestyle. He would have left the life. He wanted to marry her, but she couldn’t make the choice. She begged him for a child, so he could make the choice for her, but he wanted a promise, a guarantee. Few people knew this about what happened between them. Reverend Swanson was one of the few.

That day, back in Rhodes, he and the Mother Superior left the chapel wedding and went to the saloon, where they shared a pitcher of lemonade, and continued their discussion:

“Love is about more than repopulation of the earth,” said Sister Calderón, taking a big drink. “Not all those in love will have children, but that does not take away the fact that their love is true. Love is like a tree. It fills the air with life. It is necessity to living.”

That night, they took the red-eye train overnight to Emerald Station. Arthur’s money had been enough to buy them both tickets and a meal in the dining car. When they were too tired to continue, they sat in separate rows, and though Swanson slept very little, Sister Calderón seemed to fall away into dreaming with hardly any trying at all. He wondered what that must be like, to be so safe inside your faith that you slept without fear.

Swanson leaned with his forehead against the cool glass, watching the hills and the plains and the meadows go by. He thought of Mary Beth. In the days when he was so drunk he could hardly see, Mary Beth had been kind to him. She was a kind girl. She was a little like Eliza, a little like Bessie, a little like Annabelle. All of them, he thought, but she was not them. She was loud and openminded, and she didn’t get dour, but she did get pensive, and she was no moral paragon, but she got pissed off when men said the untrue thing. She brought him coffee all the time. She would try to set him straight. Get it together, Reverend. We need you, she would say. She had a good head on her shoulders. She was even teaching that O'Driscoll to read. He did not know if she was lying all those times she told him he was valuable to the gang, but even if she was, it helped. It always did. She was good for Arthur. Sometimes, he worried that after Eliza, and then Mary, Arthur would be alone forever. He had a talent for self-punishment of the likes the Reverend had never seen—outside himself, of course. The drinking, the loneliness. But now, he was not going to be alone anymore.

Eventually, Swanson drifted off to sleep with the sunrise, feeling hungry but cleansed from the day. They made an early morning stop in Valentine, where the train idled for a little while and many passengers boarded on their way up north. Swanson awoke to Sister Calderón shaking his shoulders and the loud sound of the train whistle, like a foghorn.

“Reverend,” she said as she nudged him, ceaseless. “Reverend, wake up. I cannot carry you to Mr. Morgan’s wedding. You must carry yourself!”

He sat straight up. “I am ready,” he said, feeling like he was facing fifty directions at once. “I am ready, Sister.”

“Of course you are,” said Sister Calderón. “That much was never in doubt. Now, let’s go, quickly. I need to stretch my legs! It is a beautiful day!”

Meanwhile, Arthur was out with Lawrence Winterson in the barn, feeding the hounds their lunch and talking about the minor complexities of their lives.

“It feels like the closer we get to leaving,” said Arthur, sitting in a wooden table chair, scrubbing one of the pretty mutts behind the ears, “the more loose ends we’ve got to tie. There are responsibilities pulling at me from all sides. And all of this…uncertainty.”

He watched as Lawrence finished pouring the kibble in the red bowls. The hounds all went to the bowls upon the noise. There were five in all. Lawrence was a thin man but hale, his hair very gray and peppery. He stood up and dusted his hands together. “I thought you would have been accustomed to uncertainty by now, given what I know about your life. I mean that realistically, not as an insult.”

“I understand,” said Arthur, looking down at his knuckles. “And I am accustomed to uncertainty. Just not like this.”

“You mean Mary Beth?”

“Yes.” He thought he should be asking Hosea about all this in the end, but it was too messed up. Too close to home. He was looking for objectivity. “I went from—beating down debtors for money, robbing small town banks, and just a whole hell of a lot of…what you might call mercenary work…to this. To getting married, having a baby with a girl I’ve known for four years. You know I never been able to make it work before, a better life—whatever that means—but I never really gave it the try it deserved. I should have. Many years ago. I’ve had…a lot of chances that I blew. I blew em real bad. But now, it’s different, and part of that is because Mary Beth, she’s in it with me. This—predicament. She ain’t like me. She’s innocent to a whole lot, but she’s still a outlaw. She still runs with wanted men, and she don’t got the price on her head, but she does have this sort of…thing about her.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, she’s wanted in three locals west of the Mississippi. For thieving. All petty stuff. They’d never hang her. But still. It’s all she knows. She was orphaned at twelve, almost the same as me, lived on the streets. She never had no chance. She’s lucky she made it this far. We both are. And we owe Dutch, and Hosea. They—gave us everything that we got. I mean hell, they taught me to read. They took care of me. Now, getting free—it’s like we’re untangling the roots of a thousand year old oak tree, trying to dig it up with our bare hands. It ain’t even about the money, I mean—I got money. For us. Me and John, together, we got just enough. But there are so many more. There are good people. Innocents and people who got nothing and nowhere to turn to but the goddam gang. It’s been the only family a lot of us have ever known. We leave them behind, exposed, in the lurch, I know that we will never be able to outrun that, and the guilt, it’ll tear us apart.” He took a deep breath. He’d never been able to see things so clearly in all his life, and yet the path was hidden.

Lawrence sighed and placed his hands in his pockets. He leaned against one of the heavy, load-bearing beams of the barn. He did not seem overwhelmed by any of this. He was so calm, so even as a man. “You seem very wise to your predicament, Arthur,” he said. “I don’t know what you’re looking for. It seems you know exactly what you have to do.”

“I do?”

“All I can say is,” said Lawrence, “consult Mary Beth. And remember that from here on out, you’re partners. Whatever decisions you make about your lives, like the kind of decision on whether or not you think you can leave people behind, just make sure you do it together, and that both of you are all in. You might be surprised at what happens.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, do you think I expected to end up owning a bed and breakfast in New Hanover?”

Arthur thought on it. He slouched back in the chair, placed his hands on his belt. “What was you expecting?”

“Something far more exciting, I assure you,” said Lawrence, smiling. “Then again, I’ve met you. And I’ve met Dutch van der Linde. Excitement comes in all forms, I suppose.”

Arthur found this to be tremendously funny. He took a toothpick from behind his ear and set it between his teeth as he laughed. “Well, that is true.”

The hounds finished their eating, licking their paws. Some of them licked their bowls. But then, all at once then as if on some sort of cue, they perked up and went for the barn door, scratching and barking. Lawrence slung the shotgun over his shoulder. He threw open the doors but whistled for them to disperse. They sped up the grass toward the two familiar faces coming in on foot, but then they split off, going in all directions. A few came back to lick their bowls. The rest disappeared into the tree line.

“Is that your Reverend?” said Lawrence, taking off his glasses to clean them.

Arthur stood, vindicated. “That is him.”

“Who’s that with him? A sister of the church?”

“Yeah,” said Arthur, standing now. “That there is Sister Calderón, Mother Superior at the Catholic church in St. Denis. I’m not sure what she’s doing here, but I guess it’s a good thing.”

“Another blessing, perhaps?” said Lawrence.

Arthur was chewing that toothpick to little splinters. He waved. They waved back. Sister Calderón was rushing toward him. “It’s nothing less than a blessing, I assume.”

“Mr. Morgan!” she said. She dropped her valise as soon as she got to him. To his surprise, she hugged him. Quick, but tight. She held his hands in both of hers. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you, Sister,” he said. “Now don’t shoot me, but I must say I am mighty surprised to see you here.”

“She’s with me. I hope it's all right,” said Swanson, wiping the sweat from his brow with a white handkerchief from his pocket. “She’s here for…guidance.”

Arthur placed his hand on Swanson’s shoulder. “I knew you’d come, and of course it's all right.”

“Thank you, Arthur. It is an honor.”

Arthur introduced Lawrence then who saw them both inside. But Arthur stayed out for a little while. He went to water the horses and then to brush out Sarah’s mane, as he assumed Mary Beth was busy, and he didn’t much feel like any more idle chit chat with anyone other than her. He leaned against Sarah and put some braids in her mane, and he smoked a cigarette for his nerves.

“What do I do, girl?” he said to her, patting her behind the ear. “What do I do?” She nuzzled him. He fed her a sugar cube, which she enjoyed. He smiled, comforted. Horses were simple.

Hamish arrived. He tied up Buell and came up holding a fishing tackle box that he had filled with a few things for the trip. He did not carry many earthly goods with him. A random weary traveler looking for a bed had come through as well the night before—a man by the name of Kelly—and so the Wintersons, with the unexpected presence of the Mother Superior, were one room short. John and Abigail offered to bunk in the kids’ room with Jack, but Hamish called it unnecessary. He said he’d just set up his tent and sleep on the lawn. Everyone thought he was kidding except for Arthur, who found it totally in character.

For an altar, John nailed together a cross with pieces of sawed lumber from the shed. Abigail decorated it with some wildflowers that Jack had gathered from the edges of the property, all while Lizette helped Mary Beth into her dress, and she braided her hair and kept things very simple, but pretty. Hosea gave Arthur a horseshoe he’d found in the stable and some little sleigh bells from Lizette’s sewing drawer to keep in his front pocket. “For good luck,” he said. Dutch gave to Arthur the tailored silver jacket, which immediately solved Arthur’s lack of certainty over what to wear.

“It’s…wonderful,” said Arthur, admiring himself in the mirror in Lizette’s sewing room—the same room where Lawrence had stitched up his arm many weeks before. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, my boy,” said Dutch, smoking his pipe. “A man needs to look his best on a day like this.”

“I hope you didn’t pay too much.”

“Don’t worry about that. I’d spare no cost.”

Arthur sighed. Accepting the jacket from Dutch was difficult for him. It put guilt inside him, even as he wanted to believe that it was provided free of condition. It got him so messed up. Arthur allowed himself to be flattered either way. He was impressed by how Dutch had estimated his measurements, and the jacket truly was beautiful. He didn't want to make room in his chest for more questions, even as they forced in against his will. He swallowed it all down. Learning the truth about Annabelle had made Arthur sympathize with Dutch in the way of men rather than to see him as a father, and in some ways, this made things even more difficult than before. He wanted to talk to Dutch, as friends, comrades. He wished they could find a way to unravel the many layers of subterfuge and showmanship surrounding their relationship, but he didn't know when, or how. It was so hard, planning a confrontation like that. He didn't know how, and it was not the right time. His only recourse on that day was to ask neither Dutch nor Hosea to stand beside him during the ceremony. He asked only John.

Because even after so many years of being at odds with one another, John was true. Arthur knew this, and unlike anything with Dutch, he knew he could count on it. John was uncomplicated in his loyalty to Arthur, and once he made a choice, the choice was made. Arthur wasn't great at communicating his appreciation for this, but he tried. He did. He hoped that choosing him for a groomsman would show John that he was serious—about leaving, about their friendship, about everything.

The ceremony was held at sundown. It was very simple and pretty. John stood beside Arthur, looking proud and young. Abigail stood beside Mary Beth. The rest of them all stood around watching in a half-circle with their hands clasped in front of them or behind their backs, or their hands in their pockets. There was a breeze coming through to cool their cheeks. The sky was red.

“Love is patient,” said the Reverend. He was nervous, but he was so happy for Arthur and clear with sobriety that day that he found himself growing sentimental at almost every turn. “Love is kind. It does not envy, and it does not boast. It is not proud. It does not dishonor others. It is not self-seeking, nor is it easily angered. It keeps no record of wrongs. Love does—it does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.” He looked at Mary Beth then. She looked very young but beautiful in her dress. She was sort of silly, he thought. She liked to have fun. That day, she looked at Arthur like she was both relieved and also excited. She seemed to hurry along the Reverend with her posture, standing up on her tip-toes even though she did not have to, like she was eager to get it over with so she could kiss her groom and get on with her life. She wore no veil, only a modest crown of daisies, made for her by Jack. She took an eyelash off of Arthur’s cheek, which amused Arthur. She held it out to him, and he blew it off her finger for a wish.

“Love always protects,” Swanson continued, smiling, adjusting his collar, addressing his notes, and his Bible. Arthur and Mary Beth both looked at him as the wind rustled through their hair and Mary Beth's dress. “It always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.” He then addressed his congregation, suddenly infused with a strange confidence. “A very wise woman once taught me that love is about more than procreating the earth.” He looked at Sister Calderón. She was excited. She waved at him, urging him forward. He nodded once, cleared his throat. “She said, ‘Love is like a tree.’ It is life-giving. That is what she meant. It provides. All life must end, but a life full of love is a life provided for. It affirms who we are, what we want, what we’re made of, our potential.” He looked at Arthur. Arthur was very calm. You could sort of see the gears turning behind his eyes as he contemplated this day, but it was all slow. It was very slow and even. “Love can be lost,” said Swanson, thinking of his own life, thinking of Isaac. “But it can be found again, as we witness today the union of two lost souls who have, in the time since they’ve met, found completion within one another. Life is—it is ever trying. But we cannot give up.” He blinked. He saw Dutch, standing near the front, his eyes heavy, cast down to the earth. “We cannot give up,” said Swanson. He closed his own eyes. Then he looked at Arthur once more, and Arthur nodded.

Swanson continued on to the rings after that. The rest of the ceremony came to him easily. He didn't fumble for the words, nor did he have to look at his notes. Arthur had a very pretty ring with a purple stone for Mary Beth, and Mary Beth surprised everyone, including Arthur, by having a ring for him as well, one that she had stowed away in the pocket of her dress. It was a gold band.

“I bought this,” she said to Arthur as she fitted the ring on his finger, “from an estate sale in Blackwater. Boy, that seems like another life now, don't it? Anyway, I thought it was fine, because it has a pretty filigree on the metal, and I kept it in a jewelry box, because I thought maybe one day I’d get to give it to a man that I loved. I wouldn’t wanna give him contraband. I was always dreaming. The day after you proposed, I put it in Watson’s saddlebag so that I’d always have it. I was ready for this day.” She was smiling, holding his hand in both of hers. “I didn’t know it would fit though," she continued. "That’s a nice surprise.”

Everyone laughed, even Arthur, who was looking down at the ring. He was not a man prone to ornamental decoration, but this was okay. It was pretty, and it was from her. He looked at the Reverend, full of decision then, the first real decision he had ever made in his adult life. He cleared his throat. “Let’s get on with it,” he said. “Read the vows, Reverend.”

The sun was almost down now, leaving a ring of gold over the trees.

#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #arthur morgan #mary beth gaskill #rdr2 fanfic #reverend swanson #sister calderon #dutch van der linde #john marston #abigail roberts #jack marston #hosea matthews #hamish sinclair #may have slightly retconned the time of year here #it makes no difference #and it's really not noticeable to anyone but me #unless you have a laser memory #lmao #anyway #with this ring #i thee wed #etc etc #finally! #<3 <3 <3 #the lily farm

[notstilinski]

some sailor j sentence starters pt. 2

these are sentence starters taken from videos from youtuber ‘sailor j.’ the videos that the quotes were taken from are: How to have Bedroom Eyes, How to do a beauty Vlog for Tarte Cosmetics, How To Make A College PowerPoint, and How to do College

“I’m sorry I sound like a prepubescent twelve year old boy.”

“”Don’t fret, my laundry still isn’t folded.”

“I have one window- Welcome to it.”

“Rich woman wear it to cover their shame.”

“It’s made with Amazonian clay which sounds like it’s worth my entire life.”

“Do I look wealthy? I feel wealthy.”

“What have I done?”

“Sounds wealthy.”

“Lippy Lingerie.”

“I have something upstairs in my nightstand that looks exactly like this, um, but they don’t do the same things.”

“Speaking of the coven!”

“On this week’s episode of I hate myself-“

“Oh, fucking!”

“Can our next project be about how much I hate myself?”

“Wish I picked a different course of life because this one is clearly not working out.”

“Why am I even doing this when we’re on the brink of war?!”

“Yeah, bitch, so in conclusion, I’m gonna fail!”

“Please round it up to a hundred.”

“He was loud, moody and a heavy drinker… Wow. That’s me.”

“It’s me… your favorite.”

“Firstly, I would like to apologize for that time I was getting sedated in the hospital and told you that you look like Lord Farquaad.”

“What the hell were you thinking when you let me leave home?”

“I have six papers due, all on the same day, which is tomorrow.”

“I’m tired.”

“It took me three weeks for me to realize I was in the class.”

“I have a mental breakdown at least seven times a day.”

“Why did you let me leave?”

“This is my final will and testicle.”

“Tell my dog I miss her.”

“I can do a man voice right now because, uh, I got sloppy drunk on Saturday. And still haven’t gotten my voice back.”

“There is no greater romance than being told you have bedroom eyes.”

“Nothing screams ‘fuck me’ like glitter.”

“Even by my standards… That was a bad idea.”

“What happened here?”

“When in doubt? More glitter.”

“Nothing attracts an undeserving creatine more than some sexy lashes.”

“Will you get out of here? Hey!”

“You never heard of bedroom eyes?”

#writing prompts #sentence starters #sentence prompt #roleplay starter #meme starter #roleplay meme #rp meme #sentence meme #starter sentences #ask meme #ask prompts #inbox memes #inbox prompts #youtube sentence starters

[peterpparkrr]

(Alex Standall x Reader): Mercy (pt 11)

Summary: After you heard the tapes you broke up with Alex because you thought that he was still in love with Jessica. But when you find out that he tried to commit suicide you take a look back at your relationship and realize you may have made a mistake.

A/N: More DRAMA whooo this was a trip to write

(pt 1) (pt 2) (pt 3) (pt 4) (pt 5) (pt 6) (pt 7) (pt 8) (pt 9) (pt 10) (pt 11) (pt 12) (pt 13)

By the time Alex had finally left your house that night it was late. You’d walked him out to his dad’s car and when you got back up to your room you were ready to just collapse on your bed and go to sleep. You pulled out your phone since you hadn’t looked at it all afternoon and were surprised to see a text from Clay.

Hey, we need to talk can you meet us at Monet’s tomorrow before school?

You stared at the text for a moment, trying to figure out what Clay could possibly need to talk to you about but figured he wasn’t going to let it go anytime soon so you just responded telling him you’d be there before passing out.

When you woke up the next morning you got ready as quickly as possible and made your way over to Monet’s. When you go there Clay, Justin, and Jess were already sitting at a table deep in conversation.

You walk over to their table but they don’t notice you until you’re looking over Jess’ shoulder and see some polaroids on the table in front of her.

“Jesus Christ, is that Bryce and Chloe?” You ask.

“(Y/N),” Clay says as he looks up at you, clearly surprised, causing you to realize that you maybe weren’t supposed to see those.

“What’s going on?” You ask slowly as you sit down next to Jess.

“We-uh-we broke into the Clubhouse last night. We found a bunch of polaroids, apparently, they take them of everyone who goes in there, and we found these,” Clay tells you, gesturing to the photos of Bryce and Chloe.

“You have photos of him raping her?” You ask incredulously, “Well, this is good, right? Can those be used in the case?”

“Yeah, but we need Chloe to testify that she was unconscious when it happened if we want to have any chance to take down Bryce.”

“You want to tell her that it happened and them ask her to testify about it?” You ask as you stare at him like he’s insane (because he is).

“It’s the only way. We need to stop Bryce and the others like him so that there aren’t more Chloe’s.”

“You’re insane,” You mutter as you glance between Justin and Clay, “But I still don’t get why this has anything to do with me? I’m not exactly friends with Chloe.”

“That’s uh… not why we asked you to come here,” Clay replies after a moment as he rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, “There was one of you in the box, do you remember this?” He asks as he hands you the picture of you sitting on the dusty old couch, a dazed smile on your face, drink in hand, with Monty’s arm draped over your shoulder.

“Um, I remember going to the party, it was a post-game celebration, the guys all said I had to come and Zach took me,”

“Wait- Zach took you?” Clay asks you slowly.

“Yeah, he said the guys get crazy so he said he’d look after me, but what does this have to do with anything? You don’t think...”

“Do you remember anything else from that night? Do you remember the picture being taken?”

“We got there and everyone was partying, Bryce and Monty just kept giving me drink after drink, I think I smoked a little, after that I blacked out. I don’t remember anyone taking my picture, I never let people take my picture at parties. Zach told me the next morning that he’d taken me home when I got too drunk, that nothing happened, I just fell asleep on his couch.”

“Do you think that’s true? I mean, look at Chloe…there are countless picture of girls in similar situations,” Clay points out

“You think I got raped? Fuck, Clay,” You hiss at him before pausing to think for a moment, “I...I’m gonna go talk to Zach.” You tell them as you swipe the polaroid picture off of the table before standing up and walking out of the coffee shop.

When you got to school you were still fuming.

“Zach, we need to talk,” You tell him sharply as you walk up to him in the cafeteria where he’s eating breakfast.

“Hey,” He says as he looks up at you, before he sees your facial expression, “Are you okay? Is it about yesterday.”

“No,” You reply quickly before sitting down, “It’s about this,” You tell him as you the Polaroid down on the table in front of him.

“So Clay gave this to you?”

“What?”

“I’m the one who helped him find the polaroids, I thought that they might help him get Bryce and all those guys.”

“Okay, so do you want to tell me what happened that night?”

“(Y/N), I swear to god nothing happened, I told you the truth I promise, you get wasted so I took you home, I would never lie to you about anything like that.”

You rub your hands up and down your face as you exhale deeply, “I’m sorry, it’s just… with Jess and now Chloe and all the others, I just wasn’t sure what to think.”

“It’s totally fair, I shouldn’t have even let you come, it’s bad enough that they pressure girls to get drunk and high, but what they do after that… I’m a coward for not saying anything this whole time.”

“You’re just wanted to play baseball, you can’t beat yourself up for not trying to dismantle a whole misogynistic system.”

“But I could have stopped a lot of terrible things from happening.”

“You can’t think like that.” You protest, “We need to focus on the present, how we can help change things for the future.”

He nods and stares at his feet for a moment before speaking again, “I’m going to quit the team.”

“Y-you’re gonna do what?” You sputter out. Of all of the things Zach could have told you at that moment, this was one of the most unlikely one of all.

“I’m going to quit. I don’t want to be a part of all of this anymore, I’m not going to just let Bryce and the others get away with stuff like this. I’m gonna draw the line.” “I’ll still have basketball, I’ll just focus more on that next year.”

“I can’t say I won’t be happy to see you never talk to most of those guys ever again.”

“It’s what’s best for everyone.” He replies with a shrug, causing you to grin. You picked a great best friend.

“Go get em,” You tell him as you pound him on the back.

And so after that intense conversation, you texted Jess and Clay to let them know that nothing happened. Jess replied to tell you she was going to talk to Chloe and needed you as back up so you met her outside of the study lounge, where Chloe usually was this time of day.

“You ready for this?” You ask her as you walk over to where she’s standing, waiting for you.

“Yeah, I’m just glad you’re here for support,” Jess tells you.

“I don’t know if I’m the best person to come to for that,” You tell her.

“You’re one of the most understanding people I’ve met. I mean, Nina gets me because she’s been through it, but you… you’re just nice enough to listen to me and trust what I want.”

“So then, let’s go…” You say as you awkwardly gesture to the door. Not sure how to be upbeat about ruining someone’s life with information like this.

When the two of you walked into the study lounge she looked up and rolled her eyes, “What do you want?” Chloe asks, clearly already annoyed by your presence.

“We heard you walked out of court today while Bryce was on the stand.” You reply.

“Look, I know you’re the one who crossed out all that bullshit about me in the stall. Why?” Jess asks.

“Because you were on the squad. I wanted to protect you.” Chlor replies as if it’s obvious.

“I’d already quit by then,” Jess points out.

“Do you remember going to a place called the clubhouse?” You ask her, trying to get back on track.

Chloe sighs as if to say, ‘Of course I have, who do you think I am?’

“This is going to be hard to look at okay?” Jess says gently as she pulls out the polaroids and gingerly hands them to Chloe.

“Do you remember this happening?” You ask her. As you watch her eyes widen as she looks at the images in front of her.

“You don’t remember, do you?” Jess asks as Chloe starts to cry.

“Why would he do this?” Chloe chokes out.

Jess glances over at you before replying, “Because… he’s a bad guy. He’s sick. He’s gone this to me, you, and who knows who else. And he takes pictures. Or in my case push them up on a whiteboard at school.”

“Oh god, Jess. I never… I thought those pictures would scare you into not calling out Bryce on the stand,” Chloe says as she looks up through her tear stained lashes.

“Wait you put them up?” Jess asks, clearly surprised.

“I’m so sorry,” Chloe offers.

“What else have you done?” You ask her as you share a glance with Jess. Was Chloe the one threatening all of you this whole time?

“It was just the pictures. I just wanted to believe the rumors about you were true. God, he fucking lied to me.”

“Do you want to do something about it?” You ask her after a moment.

You had just finished relaying the events of the say so far to Alex as you were walking down the hallway between classes when you and Alex hear a commotion up ahead. The two of you pushed through the crowd to see that the boys are all fighting

Before you can even react Alex starts walking into the middle of it

“Alex!” You screamed after him but he was already beating on Monty with his cane. Before you could realize what was happening Monty has Alex slammed against the lockers before throwing him down on the ground as you watched in horror.

“You guys are fucking idiots, you know that right?” You tell the boys as they come barreling out of detention, nearly running you over in the process.

“Clay said that we should meet them at court,” Zach tells you as the tree of you walk to his car.

“How’d they get out early? I saw them walk past a while ago.” You ask as you get into the car.

“Justin convinced the coach to let them leave, I’m still not really sure how it worked,” Alex tells you.

“So… are you guys okay?” You ask after a moment, glancing at Alex. The both took some nasty hits and with Alex already having a hard time you were concerned.

“I’m fine,” Alex says quickly before glancing back at where you’re sitting in the back seat and giving you a reassuring smile.

“You lost them?!” Jess hisses as you all stand in the courthouse lobby.

“Jesus. Keep your voice down,” Justin replies.

“What the fuck, Justin,” Zach says.

Justin glances around at you defensively, “Bryce took them.”

“Look, we’ll get them back,” Clay tells you all.

“How? How are we gonna get them back?” You ask as your cross your arms over your chest before you all see Chloe coming down the steps.

You’re not allowed in the courtroom because you still have to testify so you sit outside on one of the benches waiting for the others to come out and tell you what happened.

When they all file out you can tell it didn’t go well. Once they tell you what Chloe said you can’t help but sigh.

“Fuck, nothing I say is going to matter,” You mutter as you rub your hands over your face.

“Hey, hey, it’s going to be okay, you’re gonna do great tomorrow,” Alex says as he wraps your arms around you.

#13 reasons why #13 Reasons Why fanfic #13 reasons why fanfiction #13 reasons why imagine #13 reasons why reader insert #Alex Standall #alex standall imagine #alex standall fanfiction #alex standall x reader #alex standall reader insert #zach dempsey #clay jensen #jessica davis #Justin Foley

[bwwrites]

2019 Music

This list is incomplete, all lists are incomplete. But it’s a list of things that have stuck with me in 2019. There’s some recency bias, there’s some laziness on my part, but more than anything, it was a year where I just….. kinda listened weird.

My listening was often pragmatic. Fitting a mood, or background to other things, or rising and falling with my rising and falling depression and anxiety. (And if I’m being honest I really just listened to like, an unconscionable amount of Friends at the Table instead of music most of the year.)  So if stuff is below it’s because I either listened to it a lot, or listened to it not that often but adored it when I did, or you know, just found it super interesting. I make no claims to this being a best of 2019, this is just stuff I wanted to write about, primarily.

It’s two lists, top ten and ten more that I loved. Across it all I wrote too much, a lot of it tangential. Who even knows who this is for! (It’s for me, that’s who it’s for.) None of it is ordered, except for the clear number one, 1000 gecs by 100 gecs.  It is AOTY and they are a pop band, fuck off all you people who put that record in experimental lists, cowards. Anyway, enjoy too many words!

Top Ten

Mount Eerie w/ Julie Doiron - Lost Wisdom pt 2

I’ve loved Julie Doiron’s solo stuff for years and years and years. Seeing her live in Bloomington and overpaying her by one dollar for record is a story I told for awhile, in the form of oh Julie Doiron? Yeah, she owes me a dollar. Mount Eerie I’ve had a rockier time with. I liked The Microphones but never got it the way so many friends did, and have always enjoyed Mount Eerie when I’ve listened, but I’ve never been the person who thinks to pull them out when it’s time for a record.

That sort of changed with the first Lost Wisdom. I listened to that record so much when it came out. The best parts of Phil’s work were highlighted and augmented by Julie’s voice, and some of those songs still make me teary every time I hear them. And it was my entrance into really digging into Mount Eerie and falling in love.

Lost Wisdom Pt 2 is different, even while it’s sort of the same. It feels like more of a Phil record than the first, and it’s Phil in the post A Crow Looked at Me era, where his poetry has fallen away in favor of brutality. His lyrics are clear, direct, at times poetic, and often beautiful, but the beauty is raw. I love it. Their voices are still a perfect match, weaving in and out. Seeing it live was a revelation. It took it from something I liked, but worried was maybe less than the first one, and made it its equal. They are different records in some ways, but for the end of 2019, Lost Wisdom Pt 2 made perfect sense to me.

It’s good, you should buy it.

100 gecs - 1000 gecs (Album of the Year)

What if two delightful humans born 15 years after me loved nightcore, emo, screamo, trap, and, I don’t know, literally everything else(?), made a record on computers. What if? That is 100 gecs. A lot of people ended up loving this record which was a great surprise, because I initially filed it away as another thing I will freak out over that everyone will mostly hate, but these two have created something hyperkinetic and somehow both deep and shallow all at the same time. There is no greater meaning to a song about betting your money on a stupid horse and then losing all that money and then maybe.. sleeping with the horse? Or at least going home with it and smoking it out. But also, that song is a ska song, inexplicably, and that’s FASCINATING and an interesting artistic choice. So there’s no greater meaning, but it’s clear there’s SOMETHING there, you know? Even if the SOMETHING is simply a desire to kinda just fuck shit up. These two are making artistic choices, and it’s easy to wave that away, to treat this the same way people mostly treat nightcore at this point, as a good joke on the internet. But after getting up to 50 plays on this record in like a month I am convinced that it operates on both (hell, maybe every) level.

And all that said, that’s mostly for YOU the reader. Because honestly, none of that articulates why I love this record so much, and I really love it a lot. The energy isn’t positive exactly, but THEY are, and the energy IS infectious if you’re open to the hyper mood they inhabit. And it’s not some high-concept appreciation of how they’re exploding pop, it’s really just that when I hear these songs I instinctively sing along, and when I saw them live at The Hulu Theater at Madison Square Garden, a venue name that I say in full every time I mention the show, I got up and sang and waved my arms around and din’t care that I am 37 and one of the only people over 25 at the show who was not a parent. Like, they’re just good songs, you know? That’s what it comes down to. The songs? They’re good. I love them.

You should buy this one for sure. Like, this one above all the others.

Real Life Rock & Roll Band - Hollerin’ the Spirit

Andrew Weathers is a real one. When you’re a hermit you often have people who you think “aw man, I wish I was less of a hermit because this person rules and it’d be fun to be friends with them.” For most of my time in Oakland that I knew Andrew he was one of those. We had beers ONE (1) time and it was like a few weeks before he moved to Texas, haha. So, whoops to that. That all said, I’ve always loved the music he makes. Seeing AWE made me cry once, and that was cool.

I knew Real Life Rock & Roll Band would be enjoyable, but what I didn’t fully expect was this incredible collection of motorik rhythm emo rock and roll jams to just worm their way into my head.

A lot of folks try to smoosh rock and roll and weirdo music together, but often it ends up feeling like an experiment in a bad way, a little cold, a little calculated. These songs have heart, for lack of a less cliched way to say that. But goddamnit I’m right. These songs breathe and live, all chiming guitars intertwining, autotune, and locking into the groove early and often. You can tell this is the rock and roll that just came out when these people sit down to make rock and roll, and it’s refreshing, and good for the soul that I don’t know if I really think we all have. Very good, you should buy it.

Earl Sweatshirt - Feet of Clay

Listen, I get wanting the bangers. Hell. I WANT THE BANGERS. But I got emotionally invested in Earl pretty much right after I found out about him, and watching him grow from that first record that made it clear this kid is a phenom and a huge talent, but that first one is also so young, so raw, so... kinda gross? Then he went away, and when he got back, seeing him in Oldie, I watched that video so so often. He just looked so happy, and that video is such a perfect thing in so many ways. And he grew UP, and Doris was full of bangers, and I Don’t Like Shit… had fewer but was better in my eyes, and then Solace, and then Some Rap Songs and now Feet of Clay…… this is Earl in a loose mode that I really love. It feels like Earl making EARL music, and while I do still hope he gets back to some bangers, hearing Earl spread out/stretched out/streaming out can’t help but make me happy. And god the ridiculous beat on East, ugh, just pump it in my veins.

This one is also good, you should buy it.

Pancrace - Fluid Hammer

I don’t even really know where to begin on this one. I think I only first paid attention because Sarah loved it, and I trust her, and I DO love it, but god it’s just SO bizarre in some ways, but also so weirdly beautiful. It feels like a place, it feels like experiments, it feels like a peek into a world I don’t understand.

Some of my favorite music feels like the people making it are doing something I don’t really…. get…. but it’s clear they are doing it for reasons, and that I’m meant to enjoy it. And I do.

Which makes this all sound way more, uh, austere and WEIRD that I actually mean to. In some ways the weirdness is just how pleasant some of these tracks are. It’s a record made of little vignettes, musical, conversational, experimental, etc.

It succeeds the most at being exciting, which is maybe the main thing I love. That I listen to this and get excited about what they’re doing. How rare is it to feel like you don’t know what’s coming next these days, especially in what we call experimental music.

Kamran Shafii - Corpora Vilia

Kamran is a friend, and has gotten me more drunk than almost anyone else has twice in my life. Once in Seattle, and once in Brooklyn. He also put out 2 records this year that are pretty different.

Pithy & Prolix is one long track of computer scrabble, chirp and silence with stretched voice and silence in between. It’s a ride, but feels like one thing. I like it quite a bit, but really…. this one from right at the beginning of 2019 is the JAM.

Corpora Vilia is a set of 3 pieces, that all feel like they are their own entire world. Voice and field recordings and thrum and throb, combine with piano. You can tell it’s pieced together from parts, but it all works so well together, with the final piece maybe being my favorite thing out of both records.

I feel like his music is held together be a thread I can never quite articulate, but I can always feel. It reminds me, not sonically, but uh, conceptually? (maybe structurally?) of Sarah Hennies’ music, which always feels structured in a way that warrants further investigation or repeated listening, not as a puzzle to be solved but because it’s so clear there’s some substructure that every listen through I get a glimpse of, different glimpses each time maybe, but you can feel it still. And revisiting it is always rewarding.

claire rousay - Friends

I’ve said things on my twitter (that no one really reads or should read) about how I think claire’s doing some of the most interesting work out there in whatever this weird world of music is. She has released a frankly astonishing amount of music between full on releases as well as some subscriber only things that are the length of full on releases in her bandcamp sub, and the best part is that all of it is worth hearing, a feat, and the vast majority I’d say is good. The move from scattered percussion, which she was honestly very good at, to this textural, abstracted, collaged sound world that incorporates life, intimacy, bodies, confusion, and care into compelling audio has been really great to be a small part of as a listener and I guess very very minor supporter. I think most of what she’s done rules, but Friends, which came out just near the end of the year rocketed to the top of the list for me. It feels like the most sure version of thing she’s moved towards/gestured towards/accomplished before, but the span of an entire album. (See also t4t, a moment in St. Louis and a moment at the beach which are my two other favorites of hers from 2019)

In some ways it’s frustrating that the most exciting part of her music is just how personal it feels, but that is a bit of a theme I guess. Frustrating mostly because I’m just so excited to actually feel the hand of a person making the music, and sometimes that’s more conceptual, but with claire’s music sometimes it’s literal. It’s that she’s reading a sext, it’s that you’re hearing the notifications come in in real time, there’s a person there, with messy relationships and ideas and her music is stronger and more interesting for it.

D=D - Don Brown and Dan Reynolds (this one’s a book and cd)

God, this is such a weird fucking thing, and I adore it. I don’t have much intelligent to say about it honestly. Joe and Bryan have both made music that I really and truly adore, and both are categorized in my brain as people I will always want to hear from in part because I trust them as artists, trust that what they put in the world is worth paying attention to. And I think that gets at something about this year for me. I struggled with some things I assumed I’d love, I loved some things I decided I didn’t want to write about because of people and disappointments, and learned I care a lot more about taking time for things that I knew I’d find compelling or interesting, less worried about whether I thought it was the best thing of the year. In some cases the interest may just be “well this is pleasant” in other cases it’s “oh wow there’s so much going on here”. For a long time I thought experimental music should be HARD, should be COMPLICATED. And that’s a way to be, but the stuff I am pulled to is more like confounding? It makes me interested, makes me want to spend time with it, makes me feel like I don’t know the tricks it’s playing or pulling. And that’s not to denigrate those tricks even. Like, sometimes you just want to listen to a very nice thing, and also something that feels like a trick may not be a trick for everyone, but this year especially I spent time with experimental music that felt like it was trying to do new tricks, or at least employing old (to me) tricks in new ways. With D=D, it’s a book, first and foremost, and it felt new, it felt fresh, it felt like a confusing object, garish pink, with inscrutable history, and inscrutable sounds. It's also occasionally very funny.

Derek Baron - Dress of the Century

Okay, so. Frank  O’Hara. I read a really great biography of O’Hara this year that made me love him even more than I already did, and helped crystalize some things in my head about what I want out of poetry. O’Hara’s “I do this, I do that” form has grown and mutated and even in his poetry it varies from I do this, to we did that, to this happened, etc etc, and I wonder honestly if even he started it, but most important for what we’re doing here, reading more of his poems and reading about him, and how he wrote helped settle that something about that format sits so well with what I care about not just in poetry, but in art in general. His poems move so seamlessly between these mundane moments perfectly captured and profundity and sadness and joy and a winking nod, a silliness, an undermining of what came before, a hesitation, honestly, everything. But they don’t feel like whiplash to me, they don’t feel frenetic, unless on purpose, occasionally, they just feel like life, like the movement between big and small, love and hate, disgust and rage and peace and delight, all at once. Read Having A Coke With You again, go ahead and go read it….. you can read it as breathless running from thought to thought, but I read it as the ambling path a mind can take when you love someone, when you’re comfortable, when you’re letting them in. That’s all I’ve ever wanted to do with my poetry I realized, let people in.

Now, sorry, Derek Baron.

So I couldn’t stop thinking about O’Hara every time I listened to Dress of the Century. And honestly, all of the work they’ve put out recently does this for me (Recollects which they put out last year late in 2018, and Permanent Six Flags - A Festival Play for the Consecration of a Stage (which is Derek and Emily Martin) which came out on Reading Group this year, and to a lesser extent I guess the duo with Zoots Houston but that is also very very good.)

But especially with Dress of the Century. They do this, they do that, and it’s all pieced together, and sometimes it’s beautiful and sometimes it’s rough, but it’s all placed so specifically, and so perfectly. It’s not even a sum being greater than parts, it’s that the sum IS the parts, and each part sits next to the other, and it’s not a frantic movement, it’s an amble back and forth, hazy memory, overlaps, sudden clarity striking then disappearing. In the best of Frank’s poems you feel let in, not to secrets, but to a world, and that’s how Dress of the Century feels every time I play it. Like Derek is letting us all in just a bit, and it’s curated, it’s a selection, but god, that’s what letting anyone in to anything is. If you’re going to let someone in, it might as well be beautiful. And Dress of the Century is beautiful.

Shots - Private Hate

I was surprised how much I loved this. It builds on what I got so excited about with some of the early Taku Unami making-weird-cardboard-constructions-era of improv. Small sounds, space, room, the feeling that there’s something going on you’re not quite clear about, but are happy to have been given the chance to hear it. I didn’t expect to be so taken, but I’ve listened to this one a ton over the last couple months. I don’t know how to feel about non-music as a genre descriptor or trend, but I do know that if stuff keeps coming out that feels like Private Hate, which is this carefully constructed thing full of nothing in the best possible way, fascinating nothing, then I’m all ears.

Other Ten

Wicca Phase Springs Eternal - Suffer On

Is this embarrassing? Who can say. This dude is sad, and used to be in a hardcore band or something, but now is an emo goth rapper and I love this record a lot.

La Dispute - Panorama

More emotional men! I think this is their best record, capturing all the energy and frontic yelping, but it’s less yelps, and way more listenable. I sometimes miss the frantic yelps, but overall know Panaroma is a much sharper/clearer/better document than the earlier records. I listened to this record for the first time on a Metro North train up to Beacon and then walked around looking at austere art I adore listening to it a second time.

Despot - all the weird songs/snippets Despot released at various points this year on his goddamn instagram stories just fucking put out the album please man. Like…. For real.

At one point I recorded instagram videos so I could relisten and he posted a song on soundcloud for like…. 1 day, and I copped that shit too. I think he is a very good rapper and I just want to hear an entire record so so much it’s impossible to know that he has essentially recorded like three records that have been thrown out. Also he’s the brother of the main guy in Vampire Weekend so opened for Vampire Weekend and that’s hilarious.

JPEGMafia - All My Heroes are Cornballs

I don’t know what to say here and wish I had more honestly, but I ended up listening to JPEGMAFIA’s Veteran on the subway a LOT earlier in the year, and when this came out it was exciting to have more. I adore that he just went ahead and named a song “JPEGMAFIA TYPE BEAT” because it is both true and very, very funny. It’s so good though. Also sometime in Nov/Dec he and Mr. Peck below showed up in each other’s instagram stories and <3

Oliver Peck - Pony

He’s a very attractive gay masked cowboy man who sometimes plays songs shirtless on his instagram stories. And this record is full of country music that is sad and gay and I didn’t return to it as often as I expected, but I loved it a lot.

Michael Pisaro - Nature Denatured and Found Again

It’s very beautiful in the way that Pisaro’s music often is. I was surprised by how often I returned to this one, but have almost no thoughts beyond “this is pretty”. Sorry Michael!

Deb Never - House on Wheels

This ep rules. Deb is annoyed at you, and a little bored, but it’s cool that you came around to her place I guess. And you LOVE it. That’s what it sounds like. You love EVERY minute of it.

Gil Sansón / Lance Austin Olsen - Works on Paper

This one took me a bit. At first I found the narration weird and distracting and decided I didn’t like it, but at the same time when both discs ended I just started from the beginning again. I think the main reason it didn’t get more play is because it’s a music that demands some attention, and this was a year where my attention was sparse. If I put it on as background I end up annoyed, but the few times I’ve put it on and just sat and brewed tea over and over and listened to it I’ve found a ton to love. I plan to revisit this more in 2020.

Lil Peep - Moving On (song)

It would not be a list without Lil Peep. I saw the documentary and liked it a lot, but it didn’t do what I had hoped it would, which is make him a little more accessible. It made me incredibly sad though, because it’s so clear everyone, including Peep, just got so fucking caught up in his rise that no one remembered to like… take care of this poor guy who was so hurt, and so sad, and who had such dreams. Anyway, this song rules, I listen to it like three times a week. It was one of my favorites of the “new songs” from the last tour videos that got out, nice to have a recorded version.

Y2K & bbno$ - Lalala (song)

This became a TikTok song which, hilariously, is how I found it. I got this thing STUCK in my head and listened to it over and over and over for weeks, and still now months later I listen to it once a week or so. The remix has Carly Rae Jepson and uh…. Enrique Iglesias?!??!?!???!!!! It’s a very simple beat and a very dumb song in a lot of ways, but god it just settled deep deep into my brain.

[xxfanficnationxx]

Building Up Inside Me / Jeff Atkins

Building Up Inside Me

Jeff Atkins x FemReader

Masterlist

Warnings: Swearing, depressing

A/N: I have had this idea for a while now and I cant wait to bring it to life. This is a series so this first part is mostly getting to know the situation. I will try to post the second part soon. Don’t forget that I am always taking in recommendations. I love you all. 

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

      “Do not forget the heels you look fabulous in” Hannah your best friend said “I know your not looking for a relationship but why not flirt a little while were there?” she had a huge grin on her face.

      “You know you haven't stopped smiling since you and Clay got together” I said as a playful comeback. She knows you haven't dated anyone since your ex that scarred you. Not because it was an abusive relationship just because it was like you were in prison. He had to know where you were every second and if you didn't reply back fast enough, he would get mad.

      “Well I’m happy Y/N, happy for the first time in a long time” said Hannah. Shes right, she hasn’t been like this in forever and I love seeing her happy, I love to see her smile. “Tony’s here! crap” 

       We both scramble around, I grab my heels while Hannah runs out of the room quickly remembering that she forgot her phone on my bed. We finally make it to the front door while scream at my mom that we are leaving. 

       Tony of course had to make a couple jokes about how bad we looked running out the door. “So Hannah, you excited to see Clay tonight?” Tony is always proud that he brought them together, with Jeff's help of course.

        “You ask that every time we go out party's Tony” Hannah snorted. “But of course I’m excited who wouldn't be when they are going to see their boyfriend” Hannah dazes off looking out the window.

        “Were here!” I ran out of that car so fast to get to the front door, I wasn’t excited before but now I am. 

        we opened the door to the smell of puberty, which pretty much smelled like booze and sweat. It was exhilarating, I loved that everyone was free. I was free.

        “Y/N” It was Sheri trying to get my attention. “We are just starting a game of... of... wait what was it called. That one with the cards and the kissing” Sheri Snorted.

        I could already tell she was so drunk, she couldn't even walk. I joined because I still had my rush of coming in here. I was sat in between Jeff and Sheri. We started to play and Sheri started away from me. Then it zoomed off to Courtney then Zach then Jessica. Next was Jeff. I didn’t know who I was sitting next until I saw him. “Shit, Shit, Shit” I said in my head. Then Jeff went to give me the card but, he dropped it. I don’t know if he dropped it on purpose or on accident but before I knew it we were kissing. 

        Jeff Atkins was kissing me! me! reality was flooding back to me and then I felt him ginning. “haha oh my gosh Jeff, wtf!” said Justin, he pulled away and looked at Bryce and said “There I did it can I have the $20 now!” 

       I was out of there before Jeff could even blink. I was walking in the middle of the road with heels in my hand and mascara running down my face. I was done. I didn’t want to move anymore, I didn’t want to speak.

       Through the glare in my eyes I saw lights behind me. I prayed it was Tony coming to pick me up. It wasn’t. It was Jeff.

       I moved to the side hoping he was just trying to pass. but he slowed down following me. “Y/N, please let me explain i just-”

       “EXPLAIN WHAT, YOU BEING AN ASSHOLE, THAT’S WHAT YOU HAVE TO EXPLAIN” I slowly felt my body shutdown. “You don’t have to because I have already made up my mind that you are an asshole that likes to play with girls feelings.” I don’t want to pass out and make a fool out of myself evermore so I just sat down.

       I heard a brake on a car so I just put my face in my hands so i could cry in peace. “ Y/N, Y/N! Goddammit please let me explain.” I felt the acid bubbling under my skin. He stood across from me on the street, then I heard a car coming up. It was Tony, thank god it was Tony.

       “Hey, what did you do!” Tony said angrily. “ Y/n, are you alright, I swear!” Tony looks at Jeff pissed off. 

      “I was trying to explain, I was try-”

      “Yeah, I heard the story inside, what an ass move Atkins!” Tony slowly lift me up and over his shoulders.

      “No, NOO, just leave me there to die, leave me there to rot because there is nothing anymore nothing.” I scream while tears are streaming down my face. Tony places me in the back of his Mustang.

       Jeff sat there trembling, what the hell did he do. He never thought Y/N felt that way. He didn’t know he was capable of making someone feel like that.

      I just lay there crying and wanting to just sleep for the rest of my life. Tony unlocks my door. My parents are still asleep even over the loud noise I’m making. Tony lays me in bed and leaves a glass of water next to me. What am I going to do Monday

Now you’ll just have to wait for pt.2

#13 reasons why #13 reasons why imagine #13rw #13rw imagine #jeff imagine #jeff atkins #13rw fanfiction #13 reasons spoilers

[thelightningbottler]

Towns

Pt 1

At a bus stop next to a lightning  struck tree

They pulled their jacket closer in

To protect them from the cold and damp.

And protect them from the wind and rain

And protect them from the eyes of passersby

Who might stare at them and wonder why

They were at a bus stop in the rain

With bags all packed, and cellophane

Wrapped around a sandwich that

Looked quite unhealthy after the fact

And why must they look? Perceive what I am?

And then the bus arrived and then

They got onto the bus and paid their fare

Feeling rather underwhelmed at the prospect

Of a bus in the rain on another grizzly day

And the coat can only help so much 

Cause now that they are upon the bus

It’s bulky and wet and not fit for purpose

But they keep it on because anything else would be a dismal display of what could happen

If you play too close to fire too close to soot and spit it out right at the root 

And the bus drives on to pastures new

And pulls the player from their gloom

As sun. bright and crisp seeps through the clouds.

“I have no name, I have no voice”

The city promised 

“I have ways to make you hella. rich.

I have ways to serendipitously

Pull you towards that which you seek.

Do you require love and hope? 

Do you require deep affection?

Do you require pitons and ropes,

To climb away from your addictions?

We have it all”

The city lied

“ And don’t forget to bring your pride

Pride will keep you in these streets

 and keep you from the howling mob,

 and keep you from the wailing child 

and keep you from your destitution 

and keep you as it’s willing bride’

The city winked

It was not there,

It didn’t start without the sprawl

Of houses and corner shops and eateries that litter all the way to gold

Stadia and outlets and places to buy buckets of chicken, and curry houses and chipperies and many other loose assortments of places that you could be. Closed to the public for the foreseeable. 

The seconds turned to minutes, and the minutes turned to hours as the roads of hedgerows turned to buildings from the flowers

 and now it comes up all at once as they sit and ponder new beginnings, bags trussed up to their chin and grey light shining through their window and the bus shows no signs of stopping other than the obvious ports like when it pulls up at red lights or drivers make it honk its horn. 

And still the sprawl continues unabated, with churches and gardens and strange little places to hide away and have a joint if you were so persuaded. And theatres and thatch roofed cottages seem to sublimate each other with wistful glances to the past and vicious words to one another. 

Trombone humming from the corner of 5th and nowhere sparks the scent of wishes that the other might go peaceful to their bed and the bus rolled through to darkened halls lined with adverts one and all promising that this gets better in some way shape or form. And off the bus they got, their jacket clinging to dear life as the rain subsides, but not at all. As it grows heavy from the clouds and the sunlight bursting through the gaps is not enough to warm the skin and so they marched up to their flat so new beginnings begin again.

Pt 2

 “I have lived in a village that was technically a town.” she said. “I have lived in a town that was technically a city. When I lived behind the Red Wall I expected there to be more mice holding swords.”

 “That’s interesting but could you find your keys, I seem to have lost mine.”

 “My keys are in my bag, growing roots inside the lining, finding a way to fit inside with all the other detritus. My lyre, my dagger, the cold stone severed head of medusa, lockets, hand sanitizer, a hair bobble.”

 They opened the door. Behind it was another door. They opened that.

 “Is this the kingdom of heaven or the eye of the storm?”

 “It’s the place where we live whilst in between buses.”

 She put the umbrella in the stand by the door.

 “The timetable I saw said they don’t run on weekends. And only do every other evening, Monday, Wednesday and Friday.”

 Even our days are just gods whose power has been wrung from them. Attached to time and work and rest and play and other human insignificancies. This town isn’t like the other towns. It knows how to fit in. It doesn’t make a fuss. It’ll give you a handjob and a steak and never expect you to call it back.

 All the other places they had lived were inside their minds but they were also inside this town. Squint your eyes and all places look the same. A dirty blur with light behind it. The possibility of everything and nothing. The void and it’s opposite.

Pt 3

So they stepped into the void, wishing the world around them might dissipate into a thousand tiny pieces but instead they found themselves in a local park, sparking up and hoping for the best. The change in mind might change in mood and change in place and make the world good again. 

It’s a possibility at least. Or maybe this change again will just lead to different panics, different rabbit holes and all end in void again. Maybe this time they’ll choose the other. They stepped into their room and looked up at the spiralling cathedral , it’s points unseeable and unknown. 

‘Shit’ they said ‘I’ve forgotten which way is up’

So they spit and found a globule on their face. 

‘Right’

And so they ventured out into the opposite, 

They went out to feel. To feel with their feet the breadth and depth of the place. The chalk the concrete, the clay. The worms writing beneath. The bayleaf plan twisted around their fingers, the rosemary in their hair. The love and fort that such a place had to offer. And what of the other? The others kept their noses down, following the path of their feet. Not once looking up. But looking up is a strange occurrence, you see around you. You see the charity shops and the beggars and the litany of life written out before you. And that’s like… heavy sometimes. Heavy on the soul, heavy on the spirit, heavy on the way you turn your head. It creeps up and rests on the back of your spine until you don’t know why it was ever there. You spare some change, you buy some art. It’s square and modernist. It’s an abstract duck. it’s photos of grandparents that aren’t your own. It’s a wash of strange and fractured things all coalescing into a miasma of something. If you were to put your finger to it, it would disappear. Into the ether, gone for good. Or bad. They weren’t really sure. And so they trudged around the town, looking at the roots of trees, the traffic lights, the telescopic blend between. The two. 

‘New towns mean new beginnings,’ - said stevenage. Gardens make for Cities said Letchworth and Welwyn. Counties and countryside mixed with municipal buildings. Area codes around crossroads that end in 666. There’s always a sense… a brief, catatonic, sense of humour. Unposed but quietly chuckling, quietly making itself known.

‘You stupid git,’ the town said ‘ why do you dwell on things you cannot change, the parts you cannot change. The lights you cannot change, the face you cannot change. Change is inevitable but the change is roadworks, the change is more housing, the joys of Chicago, the rest of London.’ 

Sleep, soundly and still, in you soft mattress laid along the floor, for your cot is yet to arrive and you must make do with blankets and sleeping bags and satchels under your head. Your cooker has not yet arrived so make do with beans from the can. Bread from the bag, butter from the pack. Bring it all together on a low hob that is yet to exist and feed it to your gaping maw. You love it really, the squalor, the destitution. The strange men on street corners asking if you’re alright, if you know your buttons undone. Are you undone? It’s unclear. perhaps. Maybe. Who are you to ask?

They return to their flat. Strangely full of fear and loathing. But perhaps that’s just the wind. They read. They look out the window. They try to see the whole thing before it washes away in silt and rain. The rain again. Turning cold into snow. 

‘That’s new’ they think’

‘That’s interesting’

‘That might pique my curiosity’

And then they settle down to sleep. Deeply, rocked by the passing cars, the youthful shouts of deliquency and the sound of a dripping tap they can’t quite tighten far enough. 

Pt 4

They sleep through the night. A miracle in statistical terms. Do they dream? They might. But what is a dream without the memory of it? What is a story without a listener? What is a tree falling in the forest without an ear to hear it’s sound? What is a sound in a forest without a tree falling? The night passed. No one claimed it wasn’t night. The night passed. People mourned it. The night passed. The morning was the future.

 After breakfast they took things they owned out of boxes they’d borrowed (with no intention of returning). Mantelpieces were populated by ceramic and brass idols. Toothbrushes were placed in a cup on the alter of the sink. Clothes were put inside wardrobes. There was no secret world to be stumbled into. Just wood. And clothes hangers. And mothballs.

 The house began to feel like a home which is always worrying. A home is something you can lose. They visited their neighbours to ask for a cup of sugar. But neither side was sweet. So they drunk their tea unsweetened before going out to explore the town. The church with it’s cemetery full of old stones and new marble. The town hall with a clock that had told the time for longer than some people are remembered. The small shop that sold everything apart from what you wanted. The bus stop that people couldn’t even be bothered to vandalise. 

 “I used to throw nails into airport toilets and no one cared, now I can’t eat an apple without a curtain twitching. What I really want is for people to see me but not care about what I do.”

Pt 5

‘Fuckin’ A’

‘So how long you lived here?’

‘Too long, mate. Too fuckin’ long’

He took a drag of the tightly packed rollup, letting the smoke waft through his fingers, his lungs, his gullet’

‘So fuckin’ long that I remember when this was all trees, when this was all trees. Me and the missus used to go doggin here back in the day. Now we just sit and watch box sets.’

‘Right’ they said

‘Yeah this entire row of housing for rich fucks, popped up like… oh, what, six months ago?’

‘What was there before the trees’

‘Before the trees? Fuck, I dunno mate. Dinosaurs? Megafauna? Minor flora? A bus stop?’ 

The bus stop had always been here, rigid and unmolested by the teens of time.

‘Yeah but after it was trees it was just a Barron estate. Some county cunt came up and replaced the whole lot with dirt. Cut down all the trees, saw off all the animals. Planted identical trees in long pattern rows to give the imitation of a forest. Like I say it was a great dogging spot but now the only dogs that come through here wear little jackets and get groomed so that the fluff doesn’t come home.’

As if on cue, a small tumbling ball of molten dogcoat came meandering past the two of them. Making it’s way to god knows where.

‘So how long you lived here then?’ The man asked, teeth yellow with tar.

‘Fuckin… somewhere between a week and six months, I honestly couldn’t tell you’

‘Yikes’ the man chuckled ‘ yeah stars all blending together after a while, yea?’

;Yeah’ they said. 

It hung in the air like a mobile above a crib. Waiting for any sort of response.

‘Do you do Whizz?’

‘What?’

‘;Whizz, speed.’ 

‘Errr, fuckin’…. No?’

‘Oh I used to be a right wizard back in the day. My mate underneath me used to sell it for bikers. Theyd come in the morning with the gear, come back at five o’clock take it all away. Used to pay his rent to me in speed. Used to take a big teaspoon full of it an stir it into my tea. Joint in the evening to go back to sleep but that was just what we did back then you know? I regret it now. But at the time we was young. We were dumber than bricks.

‘Nah you’re not dumb’

‘Nah, nah, smarter than most of the kids round here but you know what I mean’

‘Yeah I do’

‘You do daft shit in your youth. You look back on it and wonder ...

Why I was ever that stupid, that nieche, that strange. That twisted that absurd.

‘That … fucking. Blockheaded’

‘Right’

The air staled between them, like the world wouldn’t continue to turn until someone said something. They hated this. Almost as much as being perceived. Perception. Someone rip out they eye and grant me knowledge of that which I do not wish to know. 

Pt 6

But whatever words they said would sound wrong. They’d lived all over the country. In all the countries that made up the country. In the country of the country, the village of the country, the town of the country, the city of the country. Everywhere they went they had the wrong voice. Every time they changed their accent they would move somewhere where it wasn’t welcome. They once spent an awkward hour in the back of a taxi stuck pretending to have a local voice. Their terrible impressions making a terrible impression on their driver. Unable to stop once they had begun. Everywhere you go there’s different words for bread. Everywhere you go people eat their chopped up potatoes differently. Sometimes you just want to eat your chips without being chipped away at. Your shoulders get greasy if you keep wearing your food.

 “My father didn’t riot. He got on his bike and looked for work and he kept looking ‘till he found it.” At last the silence was broken. The world continued again.

 “Maybe he should have rioted though. Maybe he should have ridden his bike to somewhere nice. The seaside or a funfare. Maybe he should have searched for something worth finding. I always wanted a golden fleece for example. Or a sword that would make me the ruler of England. Or Wales. Or Scotland. Or Cornwall. Or the Isle of Mann.”

Pt 7

Manannin wrapped his cloak around the island, shrouding it from view. The whole isle was filled with mist and mischief. His sword buried in the hill they called a mountain. Douglas in the mist rose up out of the bay. Wave to the fairies. Peel descended into the fog, marching up hills pat the palm trees and second hand stores and little shops containing knickknacks and door knobs and boots. Finding the old victorian swimming pool, long soaked into the sea, like it was trying to swallow the island back. But Mannanin put this on hold for the little thirty miles of countryside. 

“Ramsey’s not what it used to be, it’s ugly and torn apart by developers. Always developing they are.”

Crowned by hair, raised on bells and jazz, Midas sits on his throne in front of the fire. He’ll hear you out on your quest but he’ll recommend you try the kipper sandwich at the end of the pier. They looked down at their hand. The sandwich was still there, greying and greasy. They unwrapped it from the cellophane and took a bite. Smokey and buttery and full of little bones. They crunched down harder, with defiance. No bone will stop this bitch they thought. 

‘What you eating’

‘Kipper Sarnie’

‘I can smell it from here’

You can smell all sorts from here they thought. You can smell the sea, you can smell the earth, you can smell the distinct smells of gas from the petroleum rainbows that litter the streets from the passing rain. Can you offer me more ? yes. Smoke, twirling in the midday breeze, brighter than the sky. Cycle through Hyde park for a contact high. 

‘Right, I’m off’

‘Off where?’

To find the sword of Damocles, dangled above Loki’s heart or some shit. To find.a Golden Fleece in the fly tipping spot near my flat, to find god in a chip butty. I don’t know, get off my back

‘Your bus hasn’t come yet’

‘Yeah fuckit, i’ll ride’

The freedom of movement that comes from a bike, to trail between towns as fast as your wheels will carry you to become part of a machine, not subjugated behind a wheel but to put both life and limb on the line as you speed through hedgerows and splash through puddles and generally cause a nuisance to all other drivers in the area. 

Narrowly avoiding trucks, narrowly avoiding cars, completely bailing on that one pot hole they didn’t see coming. Totalled, they rolled over onto their back, staring into the cloudy skies. Grey and sunflecked, drizzling slightly. 

‘Maybe I’ll lie here forever’ they thought

‘Maybe I’ll lie forever’

Maybe I’ll lie

Maybe’ 

They groggily return to their feet, fish their bike out of the ditch and roll onwards. forwards. As fast as their legs will carry them and inertia will allow.

 Pt 8

You have to keep moving or you stay in one place. And no one wants that. A pool that doesn’t move is stagnant. A life that doesn’t change is one that’s clogged up with algae and bacteria. The fish die. And not even deep fat frying them will make them taste good.

 A policeman bobbed the beat towards them. The dome on his head was a pot always ready for pregnant women to piss in. The truncheon in his hand always ready to break a few eggs.

 Hello, hello, hello,” he said. “Here is going on.” Then, “Fifty years on from now, Britain will still be the country of long shadows on county grounds, warm beer, invincible green suburbs, dog lovers, and old maids bicycling to Holy Communion through the morning mist.”

 “Thank you officer for your contribution. We’re new here and we don’t want any trouble.”

 “Well if you see any old maids let me know. You never know what gets stolen when the morning mist comes down. There used to be a lot more dogs around here. Someone has been chilling the beer. The shadows on the cricket ground have been shortened. Someone defeated a green suburb a few towns over.”

 “We don’t know about any of that. We’re law abiding citizens.”

 “I’ll be the judge of that,” said the policeman. “Well, not me, but I know all the judges around here, and they listen to what I have to tell ‘em.”

 “It makes us feel so much safer to have you as part of the community.”

 “Just make sure you go straight to holy communion. And make sure no one mistakes you for a nun and you’re sure to fit in.”

Pt 9

Churches, where good folk fear to tread. Heads bowed in solemn silence then gathered around to natter at the end of proceedings. Men in dog collars telling you how to live life. Cringe. At best. The judge, was jury and executioner. They had talked their way in and so they let the ceremony wash over them. They stood up, they sang. They lit their candle, they said ‘peace be with you’ while shaking hands, hands shaking. They solemnly marched up the aisle, no wedding no funeral, just biscuits and wine. Just like Saturday, just like Friday. Wine and wafers. They kneel and the overwhelming tingle moves over them. Practice makes perfect. They kneel quietly as the pastor came round and into open hand placed the body into outstretched palm. Hook it down the gullet before it turns into the big boy himself. And then the priest, wiping the spit away from the last sinner, offers the silver goblet of alcohol to them. They sup, assisted, and it tastes sweet, juicy, soft, metallic and bloody. And the moment of quiet reverie is over and they return to their seat. To think for a moment. To let the lord run rampant through their soul. It’s an alien experience, but a universal one. Knotting together in the pit of their stomach their non belief and quiet exaltation battle it out for the root of their soul. Who knows who wins. But the moment of wine and wafer gave pause for thought...

‘You can buy em in bulk obviously, from amazon, cheap as chips;’

They have to come from somewhere, pre blessed no doubt, 

They lay out Tarot at the foot of their bed, mixing beliefs and mixing drinks

‘Don’t go in for that pagan shit, that’ll fuck you up’

They study the stones pulled up by their ancestors, they draw a card. 

The tower.

Fuck.

That’s a bad omen. Of things falling down, of lightning struck trees, of ruin and resilliance. Built to god and then tumbling back down to earth. 

“See I warned you”

Shut up.

And like that the lights went out. And the building began to shudder, and the earth began to tremble and sooner or later the other took hold. Grabbing at their garments, laughing at their nosing, holding them down under water to see if they would float. But burley arms pulled them up, and lifted them in smoke to a smiling green man who offered them a toke. 

‘You seem lost friend, and far from home. Even though you thought it was beneath your feet al along, Chill, your amongst your own. We have no time for the buildings or the capital or any of that shit. It’s all good baby, it’s all gravy. Just sit back, sit tight and let the love wash over you. Can you feel it? Deep in your bones. You knew we were here the whole time. The druids will take your fall, worship the earth and the weeds and the roots. The gods can’t stop you here. All is peace and change and upheaval. But you’ll get the hang of it, friend. This I know’ The green man let out a long, choking cough, eyes as red as the moon. 

PT 10

A chanting started:

 “Autumn days when the grass is jewelled

And the silk inside a chestnut shell.

Jetplanes meeting in the air to be refuelled.

All these thing I love so well”

 “But it was snowing earlier. I’m pretty sure it’s not autumn.”

 “What is time? What are seasons? What is known? What is unknowable?” the Green Man said through glutteral splutters.

 “Clouds that look like familer face

And the winters moon with frosted rings.

Smell of bacon as I fasten up my laces

And the song the milkman sings”

 “What song does the milkman sing?”

 “Ask not who the milkman sings for, lest the milkman sings for you.” The Green Man looked satisfied with his own answer despite it not connecting with the question.

“Whipped-up spray that is rainbow-scattered

And a swallow curving in the sky

Shoes so comfy though they're worn out and they're battered

And the taste of apple pie.”

 “I remember that song from assemblies. Sitting on wooden floors crossed legged. But I forgot it somehow. Until now. Until it was surrounding me. Chanted by unseen mouths. Brought up from the depths of unseen lungs. Whispered by dragons. Shaped by the tongues of ghosts and angels and fairies.

 “Scent of gardens when the rain's been falling

And a minnow darting down a stream

Picked-up engine that's been stuttering and stalling

And a win for my home team.”

 “Can you have a home team if your home isn’t your home? If you live in a house surrounded by people who don’t want you to join their team? I wondered lonely as a conker smashed by it’s home team. Drenched in pickle juices. Painted with varnish. Chipped and broken. The string snapped.”

 “Silence!” muttered The Green Man. “You cannot combine the existential with the sacred. Not unless you want to incur the wrath of creation. Let the grass grow as it may. Find yourself a garden and build the holy patio.”

PT 11

But he vanished into colour and light, into sight and sound. Into fractals and cobwebs, into sea and surf, into bright and darkness. Into tradition and religion, into chipped nails and broken hooves, into bleeting grass and wafting lambs, into donkeys and Dixie cups and carriges and smog and dust and dirt and all things benevolent. And all things reticent, and all things.. and all things 

AND ALL WAS QUIET!

Save for the bell at the end of the lane that chimed the hour past.

The reverie was lost forever, cryptically broken down as reality seeped back in at the corners of your mouth. And stung like hot sauce on the tip of your tongue and rolled like wostershire down the back of your arm. And all was well and all was quiet and all was as it should be

Except for them. They stood up shakily, wondering what happened? How had they fallen this far and this fast, and without the aid of the things that would usually dorown them. They are a lost child, a lost son and a lost daughter. and now there is no guiding post, no safety net, nothing to grab and claw as they fall downwards into the abyss. And thus they are saved not by themselves, or by the wayning waters of hope but by cold solid ground beneath their backs. They are made whole by the earth that sees them as nothing more than a bloodsac upon it. Nothing more than sinew and bone nothing more. Nothing more. They breathed a sigh of relief to be seen as they are. Rather than seen through the lens of their peers of their neighbours of their gods of their deceit. They are very much … themselves.

For now

At least. 

And the clock kept ticking away at the back of their mind, what’s left to say, what’s left behind. They pulled themselves to their feet once more and went careening as fast as they could to the door and out on the street they bellowed allowed ‘MY NAME IS NOT YOURS AND YOU CANNOT POSESS IT’ - “MY BODY IS NOT YOURS AND YOU CANNOT OWN IT” “MY SOUL IS NOT MINE, IT BELONGS TO THE SEA AND THE SEA IS A PORT IN WHICH I CANNOT BREAETHE’ I cannot breathe. I cannot breathe. Clutching at chest as the air leaves for leaves. To harness the ground and the soil and nutrients of anything that might rise up to meet it. 

So they go back indoors and slam everything down on the table and counter and mostly around the things that they wanted and now they despise like cookers and washers and grills that they buy 

To toast sandwiches for no one but themselves. To make coffee for no one but themselves. To make love with no one but themselves. Life is long, and tedious, and excruciatingly dull when there is no one but yourselves.

And they remember that lightning struck tree. And the bus stop free of that graffitti, and they think of the wizard who’s always on speed and they think back further than they can believe and they are left again with void. With nothing at all and yet that’s what’s there to greet them when they fall.

Come back dear friend, come back and embrace what you once thought was lost but is now always there. 

And the city gloated with pride and with glee that this is the mess that you ended up with. How do you now you piteous fool? Where is your pride when it comes to the fall?

Oh let me alone foul spirits and air. Let me alone concepts and things. Let me alone mown grass and patios and all of the things that won’t leave me alone. Let me snuggle up in a quiet dark hole and  bury me deep with the clay and the coal and let me just weep at the changes I made, before the terminus brings me to be. 

Prayers said to no one for nothing at all. Crimes that are wanton mean nothing at all. Bring me the mounting and bring me the stream and bring me a bottle of wine so I dream of valley in France and grapes from Cali. Of strains that I’ve never head of before. Of things that I couldn’t want for more, Oh death be silent, there’s still so much left.

Pt 12

A town is a place you move away from. And a place you move to. A town is a place you stay your whole life. A town is a place your family has always lived. A town is a place you can never leave. Every town is the same. Every town is unique. A town is created by it’s people. A town is defended by it’s people. A town attacks the people in the next town. A town is cohesion. A town is exclusion.

 When the lone samurai comes to town people are going to lose their heads. When the gunslinger comes to town bullets are going to be fired. When Theseus comes to town you’d better make sure your minotaurs are in their paddocks. You’d better make sure your hearts are tied tightly with threads thicker than spiderwebs. He’s going to find his way to the heart of your mazes no matter how high the hedges grow. He’s going to have women fall in love with him. He’s going to encourage boys to fly with wings that will melt. He’s going to leave. He’s going to only think about himself. He’ll cause fathers to throw themselves from cliffs. He’s going to take everything he can get.

 And they will erect a statue to him in the village square. They will say he was a hero. He was just. He was necessary. Without him we’d have lost to the Nazis. They will say the words he said and the actions he took are just myths you made up to discredit him.

 If you want to live in this town you’d better shag his statue. You’d better respect his stones. You’d better understand that history isn’t for you, it’s for the people who went before and the people who come after. Your job is to do what you’ve been told. To push yourself into the soil. Make your flesh into compost. Your bones into flower pots. From you will grow the new normal. From you will grow the status quo.

 And the people will rejoice.

 A town is a place. People make places. You are a person. All is as it should be. Just relax. Don’t think. Keep moving. Keep forgetting. And one day maybe you will be a statue or a flag or a cobblestone.

 Home is where the heart is. But that doesn’t mean the heart is alive. Carnivores feast on flesh. It’s the only way for them to survive.