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withoneheadlight · 3 years

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| billy & will + pre-harringrove | full fic in spanish |

There’s an in-between. The high school and the middle school. A bare piece of land, yellowed from the lack of grass and the rough kiss of the sun and, right in the middle, an old shack.

It's a shabby thing that accumulates lack of re-paintings and excess of humidity but that’s out of sight, in that way of things that are just there but no one wastes time looking at anymore are.

That's where they meet.

Billy lights up a smoke. Slides his ass up an ancient, long retired desk, pasture now of the damp and rot, and leans against the peeling wood. Front and back-row seat to the long column of trees the wind’s rippling along on the other side of the wire fence. The ember warms up his lips as he inhales a deep puff and exhales a,

“You’re getting soft, Billy Hargrove”

He leans his head back and closes his eyes, ears on that ceaseless chirping of the bids that sews together the slow-passing hours of the days and nights of Indiana, and on the delighted screams from the middle-schoolers, remembering that, somewhere in there, there's a bunch of kids who will still be laughing just as hard, just as happy, a few years down the road. That maybe even Max could be one of them, if Billy hurries. That maybe he will too, if Billy is able to control that instinctive reaction that pulls his skin inward and screams at him to stopstopstop, that the soft skin shreds, falls apart so easily.

But maybe it can be both of them, if Billy manages to clench his teeth hard enough and keep on softening.

‘Cause soft skin hurts when it breaks but,

"Hey!"

Sometimes it’s worth it.

Will’s smiling wide. Stops running, abruptly, and then just stands in there, panting. He’s got a funny nose and giant eyes. The kind of bangs that make you wanna blow them out of his eyes even though what they're is too short, actually, and Billy’s always thought he'd do better in life if he didn't. Notice things. If he didn't see that widewidewidewide smile and could read it so easily.

"I've been dying to show you this!" Will kneels down into the grass, chopping out the words in between exhalations. Pulls at the zipper of his backpack, chest heaving, and he doesn't realize he's going to get dirt on the knees of his jeans or that Billy can read it. His relief. Of finding him in here and not just an empty desk. Of how for a kid every single day more means 'You care’.

(About me)

It was early December. Friday right after last period and one of those silly things that only happen in movies. Something so like scripted and choreographed that Billy nearly considered looking up at the ceiling to make sure John Hughes wasn't silently watching them, taking notes from above. They crashed in the middle of a corner. Billy sped up ‘cause he was in a hurry and the only way to catch Max in time lately was to intercept her right out of class. Will ‘cause he's always going like that, Billy knows now. Always a thousand miles per hour. Always verging on time-jump speed to then being the kind of kid who seems so quiet it's scary. They crashed. Hard. In the middle of that corner. Papers flying all over and a curse (Will) and a muffled groan (Billy) and they ended up pulling at the same paper one from each corner. A drawing. Trolls and wizards and a castle and an emerald-green light. A star in the distance, auguring bad omens. Billy forgot to be frightening and Will must have forgotten he was supposed to be frightened when he blurted out a,

"Fuck, Byers. This is frikin’ fantastic."

No fear or reticence or that way he sometimes has of bumping into words and stumbling, just a "Really?" eyes huge and bangs brushing against his eyelashes as he blinked when Billy also forgot he was also supposed to― well, supposed to be Billy Hargrove.

"’Got more?"

So now he skips English instead of Algebra, every Tuesday and Thursday. Sneaks off to that in-between place he knows no one wastes time looking at anymore to light up a smoke, same time as Will has his recess. And the kid doesn't always manage to shrug off of his flock of nerds but he’s lucky, some days.

And he brings the drawings.

Orcs and goblins and enchanted mountains on the northwest and it seems to Billy that there are more princes than princesses and that if there are any, they’re almost always sorceresses, almost always queens and that your attention gets hooked on their burning eyes, not in the clothes they’re missing and Billy feels like it's a small grain of sand, this thing they’re doing. Knows that someone’s already keeping a solid ground under Will's feet ('Joyce' he says it’s her name. And it stings, the way he manages to fit so much love, into such a tiny word). But it also seems to him that maybe it doesn't take much more, for Will, just a few grains of sand, to replace those that being a strange kid in a small town sick with apprehension for what it finds strange, takes every day away from him.

So Billy’s gotta have to clench his teeth ‘till his gums start bleeding ‘cause is that, or let his skin toughen up again. Is that. Or fucking everything up.

And ave María, Billy doesn’t want to fuck it all up again.

So he sucks on his cigarette. Hooks up an eyebrow. Waves his hand to hurry the kid up.

“Mmm. That’s how good you think it is, dickwad? ‘C’mon, got my next class in twenty”

Will flies over the papers. Head nodding and fingers skimming fast. Finds what he’s looking for and yanks it out, raises it up triumphantly in his hand. It’s the sword in the stone and he carries it up to Billy with wet knees and just a little mud-staining. It’s February and the sun’s burning brightly over all the wetness the night’s spent crying. The drawing is a huge dragon, wings made of leather and cartilage, spread out in eclipse in front of the moon, only a few silver rays illuminating the dark knight in front of it. Blue eyes lined in black, blond curls cascading down his back and Billy was clenching his teeth but they part now, ‘cause the figure looks too much like him to be a coincidence. A smile devours his whole mouth. Soft. A joke itching on the tip of his tongue. He grunts a,

“I’ve been called many things. But never this, Byers”

Only half his expression’s visible, eyebrows covered with those thick bangs, and Billy has to once again fight the impulse to blow them out.

“¿Hum?”

“Knight” he says, drawling the teasing tone out “In shining armor”

And It’s such a loss, all that hair. Because it’d pass unseen, if you don’t know him. The way his eyebrows spike up underneath and it burrows in between them, the eagerness of teasing back. But Billy’s lucky, ‘cause it’s been more than two months like this and Billy―

Knows him. Well enough at least. So it doesn't pass unseen to him.

“You know the drill, William. Spit it out. Can see you’re holding it up from miles”

Will purses his lips out tight. Looks like he’s trying but. Nah.

“Wouldn’t be that shiny '' scrunches his nose. Throws a meaningful glance at Billy’s disheveled looks. More thoughtful than not, way more intentional. But that's something he'll figure out when he grows up.

Billy cackles. Will's smile widens, satisfied. Hops onto the desk next to his. Billy offers him the cigarette.

“And―this?” Will shrugs inwardly. Glances up at him. Then down, at the exchange between their hands. Takes the cig in between two fingers and it doesn’t burn but he barely presses them against the filter, anyway, as if he’s afraid it would, all of a sudden.

"Retaliation," Billy half grunts, half laughs, and Will huffs, but swallows a deep breath to gather strength. Exhales. Takes a tiny puff and―

"Argg," coughscoughscoughs "This is. Ugh. It's awful. I don't know how you―” almost throws the cigarette back to him "Ufff, what a―" he hesitates "Yuck"

Billy snorts. Thinks about Max inhaling deep, no more than two weeks ago, eyes pining his in place. Breaking into a violent cough only a second later.

Billy pats Will’s back too.

“That’s good” he says “You better not like it” Will scrunches his whole face “And this too” Billy adds, shaking the drawing a little “This is good, too. Amazingly good, man”

Will. Stares. At him. One. Two. Three long seconds. And Billy hurts a little. With every single one. Three sharp stabs with that newly freed sword. A different kind of ' you care' each one: 'it seems so impossible to me (that you care)'. 'If you think so, maybe it's true (and I do care, that you think it)’. 'Thank you (for caring)'. And then. Those hidden eyebrows. Will’s cheeks puffing out a little when he bites the tip of his tongue and―

"Billy?" his eyes glint, heavy with ill-contained malice.

"Uh?"

"You're the dragon"

"You fucking ass―!"

Billy shoves him sideways. But Will just sways. He doesn't lose footing on that firm ground he’s standing on. Looks back at the drawing, hunches a shoulder up.

"But you’re the knight, too"

He says it in a tone that cuts straight through Billy’s chest Thank you he thinks, even though his soft skin is hurting. And he still doesn't blow hard on that bowl fringe from where it covers Will’s whole forehead but―

Stirs up all his hair instead.

“Eh!!”

“Hey, shitbird. Wanna see the one I’ve made?”

Will nods quickly. All contained-speed and reverberating and sometimes Billy doesn't know how so few people can see it, how big he is for his own skin and he thinks I wish, wish he'd accumulate enough grains of sand to raise up that firm ground under his feet, and get really, really high.

“Sure!”

He keeps it tucked away in the breast pocket of his jacket. Folded in upon itself. Same way he keeps everything else. Folds and layers and at the bottom of pockets no one ever looks at but.

He unfolds it to show it to Will Byers.

“Wow” Will says, and smiles up at Billy like Two months since we crashed against each other and I feel like I know you a little too, Billy Hargrove and Billy hit rock bottom but now at least Max and him sing AC/DC in chorus on the rides back home and Will's voice sounds like 'You're good' as he runs his fingertips over the graphite outlines of the skull and repeats, "Wow"

“Gonna have it done” Billy inhales a deep drag of Marlboro and 'Four Months to Eighteen' and for a moment it’s like he could feel the smoke curl up inside his lungs before blowing it out. The image is as pretty as it’s stupid. He glances at the open jaw of the drawing and thinks maybe he'd like a drag too "Have it healed for summer and―"

“What’s happening here?”

Steve.

Harrington.

Hand on his hips, preppy pastel polo lapels up, Ray-Bans holding up that way his hair swirls without really taming it. The twelve o'clock sun is shining sideways from his back and he's pretty. Painfully pretty. And Billy’s sure it's impossible that this redneck raised on corn and money amassed in dubious moral business is the most beautiful thing he's ever seen but sometimes he forgets. That it is impossible because. Fuck. It so seems like it. Light flicking on the ends of his hair where it curls. Under his ear. In the long curve of his neck. And the world doesn't halt and the birds don't stop chirping and the clouds don't part and no preternatural shit happens because this is the black hole where all the world's shit goes, Indiana. But. It so seems like it and,

Billy.

Knew how to breathe but that’s another thing he keeps on forgetting. Every time Steve Harrington passes him by.

He’s gotta force himself. To nod. To stop choking. When Will looks up at him with those big eyes. Questioning.

Apologizing.

Billy Hargrove, from freshly crowned local terror to―

“I was―” Will starts. Inhales. Presses his lips together right before blurting out the truth ‘cause he knows it's the only real way out "Showing Billy my drawings. Sometimes we―"

―the softie whose pride goes high up in his throat every time an eleven-year-old kid says 'Billy, this is good. It's very. Very good, Billy’.

"Sometimes we. Uhm. We―"

Will's already huge eyes get bigger, rounder. As if he’s just realizing that where he's stuck his foot keeps getting muddier, trapping himself all the way in. And Billy smiles lightly at him, sideways, so it’s hidden. From Steve Harrington. From all the world beyond. ‘Cause of that thing about facades and how hard they’re to maintain, when on one side is pressing what you're supposed to be and on the other, relentlessly, what you're hiding.

But Steve’s asking,

“Sometimes―what?” and Will’s eyes are fixed on Billy, two wide-open I’m sorrys and Billy thinks Fuck it, Hargrove. C’mon. Stop hiding.

So he’s the one who says,

“We share our drawings, Harrington”

And Steve.

He’s got those eyes.

They're like a troubled ocean in the heart of winter, those eyes. Hard, hard, hard. Imposing. But soft. So fucking soft. When something catches him off guard. Rolling stones in the breaker. And Billy wants to get swept up in them, like falling along the curve of a wave. Steve looks at him, and at the drawing in his hand, his eyes a swirl and, when he looks up, the calm. And Billy feels as those times when it seemed to him the waves wanted. To wrap around him. To catch him. Soft as the reflecting clouds. And Billy feels as those times when he’d let them. Carry him. Drag him to the shore. Safe and sound.

“Is that yours?” Steve frowns. When he does that. He looks the prettiest. And Billy's heart breaks. In tiny tiny pieces. Thinks This is what it takes, thinks Fuck, thinks, This is how things hurt when you let your skin get soft.

What you don’t have. What you want. What you could―

Fuck.

What you could love so bad you'd rip your own skin off, so they could touch your heart right with their own hands.

Billy nods. Will smiles. Steve’s frown softens and― waveswaveswaves. On an autumn morning. Waves lapping at the surface of an ocean of calm.

And now. Billy sings AC/DC with Max. His heart taking on water when his voice falls off-key and she clutches at her lungs, choking on laughter. Now, he sits in the back of an old shack halfway between who he is and who he should be and so, so very carefully turns at the pages of Will Byers' sketchbook.

And Billy Hargrove hit rock bottom one day in late October. Hit rock bottom and beat into pulp that pretty face he can't stop seeing in his dream. When he's asleep. When he's awake. Hit rock bottom and that's where he's going to stay. It's either that. Or risk coming up to the wrong surface. And it's easier, here at the bottom. Easier to see what matters, when you look up.

Here, Billy takes a breath. Deep. Deeper. Holds onto that air so he has something keeping him alive underwater when Steve snatches the drawing off his hands. Studies it carefully. Says,

"It's―Uhm. Well―" Grins "It's not. Beautiful. Like, conventionally." He eyes cut back to Billy and something in them breaks into whitewater, into that softness he can't help, as if everything else is as much of a lie as 'Billy Hargrove' and all those imaginary walls "But―"

He says ‘But’ and then. The bell goes off.

"Oh!" Will bounces on the spot "I have to―" he yanks the backpack shut "Class!"

He takes off. Running. Turning around right before the corner of the shack to wave at them, flashing one of those smiles Billy has involuntarily categorized as 'the good ones', wide and already almost panting again, before disappearing at the speed of light towards school and to, Billy hopes, be one of those few kids who are still going to be laughing just as hard, just as happy, a few years down the road. If they’re lucky.

(If Billy’s lucky)

Steve Harrington is still there, planted in front of him when the alarm stops.

"Can I bump one of those?" he asks, chin pointing to the smoke Billy's squeezing between his fingers. In the drift of his hair the Ray-Bans stay afloat, capsizing.

Billy bangs the base of the pack against his thigh, pops out a cigarette. Offers it to him. Scrapes his thumb along the wheel when Steve takes it to his lips, leaning forward and― It's broad daylight but in the thin glow of the flame it almost feels like it’s that exact instant when the world begins to fade, darkness turning wide-open spaces into narrow little universes: Steve Harrington and his red lips around the smoke and a small ache in the pad of Billy's thumb from keeping alive the fire and from wanting things with a bigger kind of ache, his heart cauterizing from holding inside the rage of knowing he's never, ever going to have them but―

"But?" Billy asks.

Steve grabs his wrist. Hollows out his cheeks. Inhales deep. Takes him a moment when he pulls away. To let go. Long enough that his fingers could read the way Billy's pulse is raging in his wrist, if he wanted to.

“But” And he’s smiling. Lopsided. He slips into Will's seat and stretches his neck toward the sky. Prolongs the wait. Exhales. "It's cute."

And then his gaze cuts down and he’s searching for him, with those eyes of his. For Billy, who can never stop looking at him so, when he finds him, finds him looking back already.

And Billy―

Billy.

"Cute?"

Billy. Blinks. His hand stops halfway from getting his own cigarette to his mouth. Stops his heart and it feels like time’s stopping too, in this narrowness Steve's presence has reduced the moment into. And he’s smiling big now. His eyes soft. Soft. So fucking soft. And Billy thinks,

You're getting soft too, Billy Hargrove. You want to let him shred off your skin, when Steve says,

"You," snorting a soft laugh, sun melting in his eyes like honey "With Will. Drawing."

Billy wants him to never stop looking at him like that. Wants to lean in, and kiss him.

"Shut up and smoke your fucking cigarette, Harrington" he growls.

And Steve rolls his eyes in a way that screams 'Gotcha, Hargrove', but leans his back against the peeling wood of the shack.

And does as he’s told.

(Next Tuesday, it's not just Will who shows up, when the bell starts ringing)

i just finished translating this and, since i had originally written this part as and stand-alone thing. here it is. idk if it's worth the work of translating it whole, or if i really feel like it but, we'll see!. i've been at war with life and writing this past few weeks but i've been missing you so much, fandom <3<3<3. hope you've been doing well.

also billy + will + drawing is one of my fav hcs and there are a few tiny things more that i wanna write? hopefully i will 🌟

#harringrove #billy hargrove #will byers #steve harrington #stranger things #billy x steve #steve x billy #billy & will #xharringrove

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sharkmobster · 3 years

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more funtime found family au stuff but this time focusing on funtime freddy and michael's relationship. it's incredibly rambly and turns into off-kilter dialogue but i gotta get this off my chest.

tw mentioned child abuse/death

• doesn't actually like michael (at first) even tho i draw them hanging around each other a lot

• bon bon is the only reason he does loaf around him. (bon bon and bonnet being the only ones who like Michael in the beginning.) They're attached to each other so it's inevitable that they would hang around mikey.

• ft freddy plays really mean spirited jokes on michael bc he's not allowed to harm him. he has to get real creative. (ft freddy has a lot of anger inside of him. people write him off as being dumb and goofy but really that's just a mask that he put up so he didn't scare people away. of course the funtimes know how he is, knows who he is right to his core bc they're all connected on a deeper/technological level.)

• (slaps funtime freddy. this bear can fit so much trauma and abandonment issues in him!)

• can be incredibly vindictive when he wants to be and takes out a lot of his agression on Michael. michael shares the afton name (bc he sure as hell doesn't look like william in my au lol) and that alone is enough for ft freddy to bully him.

• (the funtimes blame william for abandoning them so ft freddy takes it especially personal when his ankle biter comes around to "liberate" them. and on some deeper level freddy is just terrified that michael will abandon them all, just like willy did. he never voices this of course. opting to show his apprehension and fear in a more destructive way, pushing Michael further away.)

• canon ft freddy: sinister but still goofy and knows how to have a good time

my ft freddy: goofy and repressed anger issues, doesn't know how to enjoy himself without causing someone some kinda pain.

• michael gets fed up with being terrorized eventually and confronts him, and ft freddy drops the silly act for a bit just ready to blow up at him. (he can't even place why he's still so angry at michael when really he's been nothing but hospitable and accomodating to their wants and needs but fuck he's just so wound up he doesn't know what to do) michael compares him to william during the argument (cruel and vindictive just like william wanted) and ft freddy nearly rings his neck, absolutely seething but bon bon doesnt let that happen of course. (idk if this is confirmed canon but bon bon was designed to placate freddy. he raises his voice even slightly and bon bon's petting his face, stopping him from getting even more agressive)

• ft freddy shuts down after the confrontation ends (emotionally, anyway) and the blow out itself is completely anti climatic, nobody getting hurt. he ends up isolating himself from the others with bon bon hovering around like a concerned mother hen. Baby and the others give him space but michael (after he cools down anyways) won't leave him alone.

• See the thing is: Michael understands. Michael understands more than anyone what it's like to feel so deeply, what it's like to hate and hate and to keep hating until that rage is your whole life. It's suffocating. and he had to deal with that all on his own, choking on his own grief and rage without anyone to guide him. (his brother is dead bc of him and he carries that with him everywhere he goes, in everything he does.)

• They're living in the countryside of France at this point in time, far off from any wandering eyes, a thick forest surrounding their home. Freddy has a few hiding spots that he scouted out within the first few days of staying there. And that's where Michael finds him, hiding out in a small alcove by the a creek, throwing rocks at the trees (and sometimes wildlife).

• freddy doesn't aknowledge him, ignoring him like a child would and bon bon frets nervously between them, not wanting another fight to break out. Michael tells them that he's not here to fight anymore, he just wants to talk. you like to talk, don't you? and freddy doesn't say anything, running his fingers through the dirt, absentmindedly.

• michael asks bon bon to leave so that they can have a private convo and bon bon freaks out like absolutely not, he might hurt you and michael asks freddy directly like "are you going to hurt me?" freddy still isn't talkative, and he's rigid when he shakes his head no after a bit of silence. Bon Bon asks if he's alright with him leaving and freddy just shrugs, still staring at nothing in the distance. bon bon hesitates for a few moments before finally leaving, telling Michael to call out to him if he's in danger but michael rushes him along.

• it's just them now, nothing but the sounds of nature around them. michael asks how he's feeling and freddy shrugs again. Michael strikes up a one sided conversation, stepping closer and closer to him over time not really getting any kinda response out of him but eventually, during his rambling, freddy finally looks at him and says "Y-You just don't get-get it." and then goes back to the silent treatment.

• Michael's quiet, having made his way up to standing right next to freddy (he's only a tiny bit taller than him when he's just sitting like that). he nods his head, considering something for a while until finally he goes "Did I ever tell you about what it was like? Ya know. Being William Afton's golden child?" freddy doesn't say anything but he pauses from drawing circles in the dirt, tilts his head just a fraction to let mikey know he's listening.

• michael stares at the creek. "He wasn't the most outwardly loving father. Wasn't really the nicest one, either. But, I wanted his approval so bad, I'd do anything for it." Freddy slowly turns his head to watch him carefully. that's got his attention. "I did a bunch of stupid shit back then, all cause I wanted to be noticed by him. But all that attention went to my little-" and michael draws in a sudden breath, pained. stays silent for a moment, working up the courage to speak. "I did something awful to my brother. All for my father. And it's an awful thing to say but his death didn't matter. Pops didnt bat an eye and Mom was too far gone by that point after Elizabeth...." he looks back in the direction of the cottage. "Well.... you know what happened to Elizabeth." Freddy's stare is hard and unyielding. "He's gone now and I was the only one who cared enough. His fuckin' abuser cared more for his passing than his own father did."

• "He threw me into the basement. Did you know that?" Michael bounces from one foot to another, anxiety written into his very bones. he's lost in his rambling now, having never spoken these words out loud to anyone. "I killed his son and he locked me away in the dark for three years." Freddy fully turns to give Michael his undivided attention, stock still, hanging off of his every word. "I got out. Eventually. I ran away and lived on the streets for years until someone got a hold of me. Told me my old man was missing, presumed dead. Got a pretty penny from the fazbear business he co-owned with Mr. Emily. Things were going good, I guess. I was overwhelmed for the most part, didn't do anything other than bounce around from hotels every few days. In some way, I felt like he was still out there, watching me. I just kept running. And then i found out about you." He glances at freddy and looks away quickly when he finds an unblinking visage staring back. "Found out about all of you. Locked away in a storage facility for over 30 years. In the dark. All alone." an incredibly long silence stretches out between them, freddy fidgeting, hyperaware of every noise going on around them.

• "You think I don't get it. But I do. I think I understand you more than anyone could." Michael's staring back at him, raw emotion across his face, eyes soft with empathy and that's what makes Freddy turn away from him. Suddenly uncomfortable. "I don't want to fight with you. Not you. Not Ballora, or Foxy, or Eli-" He visibly winces, but regains his composure. "...I just... need you to understand that I want to help."

• Freddy's never been so quiet, and it's such an odd sight. Michael's not sure if he should say anything else or if he should leave the bear alone. the bear speaks up, finally "W-We could've kill-killed you."

• "That was always a possibility, yeah. I woulda deserved it." Freddy's not sure if he likes the way Michael talks about himself sometimes. "I needed to get you guys out of there, though. That was more important than whatever could've happened to me." Michael huffs. "Besides, if I hadn't bailed you guys out then I would've never gone to Paris. Ballora has good taste in real estate, I think." and despite everything, freddy lets out a sudden breath that could've been mistaken for a sensible chuckle. Michael smiles anyway.

• Things settle down afterwards, though there's no bite to Freddy's jokes now. They're not as close as Michael wants, Freddy still keeping his distance, keeping his walls up but it's something.

• Freddy starts watching horror movies with him late into the night and until dawn. Doesn't let Michael sleep in afterwards and he might just regret this but it makes Freddy happy. Things go back to normal in the cottage, as normal as things can be for a motley troupe like them anyways. Michael starts laughing at his jokes more.

#funtime freddy #michael afton #ft freddy #fnaf #sorry for the long winded ramblings but i love these two and wanna develop them in thr au #long post #robot talks #funtime found family au

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de-profundis-ad-astra · 3 years

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Misty Mornings

Pairing || William Miller x Reader Rating || M Warnings || Implied smut Word Count || ~900 Prompt || Anonymous Request: Breaking the kiss to say something, staying so close that you’re murmuring into each other’s mouths. Taglist || @firefeatherx @goldenhour-goldenboy @mandoplease @mylifeliterally @phoenixhalliwell @havenforafrazzledmind @living-reminder @beatriz-silva-00 @pascalz @worldominatorx @givemethatgold @agirllovespancakes @lilacyennefer @dignityneeded @veuliee @briskywalker @the-bird-suit @mapache-lector @skylyknightly (let me know if you want to be added/removed!)

The misty morning found you crouched by the stream near where you and Will made camp. The patter of rain trickles through the leaves of the woods you’ve decided to make your getaway. The gurgle of the stream nearly drowns out the sound of the drizzle.

You’d woken early and, unable to go back to sleep and unwilling to wake Will, you snuck out from the tent to enjoy the peaceful, quiet morning.

You extend a hand over the rushing water, breathing in the chill mists and fresh rain, dragging them deep into your lungs. The fresh air awakens something in you, filling your head and heart with clarity you can only find in the wilderness. The tips of your fingers touch the rushing water. It’s so cold your skin goes numb almost immediately.

The camp is still just within view. As far as you know, Will is still sleeping. Your soul gutters at the realization that you likely won’t be able to build a fire with the morning so damp.

Soggy leaves crunch behind you, and you know it’s only because Will wants you to hear his approach. He could easily sneak up behind you, push you into the freezing water, and you would still be none the wiser.

“Which one of us was responsible for checking the forecast before we came out here?” you grouch. You and Will were supposed to spend a whole week out here, but if that was going to be punctuated with rainstorms then you weren’t so sure you wanted to keep this up anymore. “I’d give anything for a hot bath right about now.”

Will’s eyes dance over you as you ease to your feet. He lifts a brow. “Should I be concerned that you’re so chatty this early in the morning.”

Huffing, you turn once more to look over the stream.

Strong hands slide over your waist, tugging you into his warmth. Will’s lips graze your neck, right under your ear.

You arch back into Will while his mouth roves across your throat, heating your chilled skin. “Good morning to you,” you breathe.

Will’s responding grumble sends your toes curling.

“If you want to take a bath so badly,” murmurs Will against your neck. “We could always just bag it and go home.”

You run your nails down the backs of his hands, up his forearms. “And waste all the money we spent to come out here? I don’t think so.”

Will’s teeth scrape the sensitive part where your neck meets your shoulder. You dig your fingers into the powerful muscles of his forearms, savoring the strength there as he turns you to face him.

“Then it’s time to go back to the drawing board,” says Will, nipping at your ear that makes it hard to think. “Because I’m not adequately prepared to deal with a cold and a tired Y/N in the middle of the wilderness.” Featherlight kisses brush over your jaw, your cheek.

“Better think fast.” It’s an effort to keep from taking one of his hands and guiding it up to your breasts, to beg him to touch, take, taste. “Because I’m starting to feel grumpier by the moment.”

Will hums, tugging you a bit harder against him, letting you feel the evidence pushing with impressive demand against you. His body goes still as he kisses the corner of your mouth, the bow of your lips, the other corner. Soft, teasing kisses, designed to see which of you would yield first.

You do.

You grab Will’s face and tug him down, slanting your mouth over his, deepening the kiss until your knees threaten to buckle. His tongue brushes yours. Laze, deft strokes that remind you precisely what he is capable of doing elsewhere.

Your heart strains, and you stroke his cheekbones under your thumbs. Will reads the softness in your eyes, your body, and his own inherent fierceness slips into a tenderness few ever see.

You kiss him gently this time, his hands again locking around your hips.

He pulls back enough to breath the kiss, but his lips are still against yours, a barely-there touch that makes your cells sing.

“We gotta get you warm,” he says onto you mouth, noticing now how badly you’re shivering against him.

“And how’s that?” you say onto his.

Will rumbles a laugh, his mouth quirking against yours in a way that speaks volumes more than the words he could ever say. He kisses you again, long and deep and possessive.

“I have a few ideas,” he whispers, the words curling in your mouth.

Your hands are just finding purchase against Will’s shoulders when he grips your thighs and heaves you up over his shoulder. You hope that if anyone relatively near by has made camp, they’re still far enough out of earshot as Will carries you back to the tent.

#triple frontier #triple frontier fanfiction #william miller #william ironhead miller #william miller x reader

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ufonaut · 4 years

Note

Sportsmaster/Icicle + ISA - OBLIVIOUS -"What does Crusher have to do to make Jordan understand what he wants? After dropping numerous hints, Crusher decides that subtlety is not his style." [BONUS POINTS: The other ISA members thoughts during Crusher's prowl. Amused Paula, Haughty Henry (He's been dropping hints for YEARS and all this blonde lunk has to do is flex, dafuq!?!?!?!! and a reluctant Ito who unwittingly gets caught up in it all]

i (unfortunately) present sportcicle: origins. takes place somewhere early on

---

“I’m just saying, babe, if I died I’d want you to be gettin’ it on, y’know?” Larry says, momentarily muffled underneath the resounding crack of the nose he’s just broken. Councilman Spencer’s face, meet bat.

Guaranteeing William Zarick’s reelection is the work of minutes, playing with the would-be candidates-- well, Larry can go all night. Steven’s even agreed to watch the kid, on the one condition that Artemis refrains from pulling on Juniper’s tail. Repeating last time’s unpleasantness, and both cat and girl had been firmly at odds with each other then, would supposedly result in a lifetime ban from the Sharpe household. It’s hard to tell whether Larry minds.

“Yeah but you’re... you,” Paula helpfully offers, hypnotising in full Tigress regalia, as she delivers a roundhouse kick to the councilman’s gut. It’s their third in two nights and particularly pathetic, if the whimpering’s anything to go by. “It’s been, what, three years? Jordan’s probably still moping around. He’s one of those.”

“That’s what I’m talkin’ about! Someone’s gotta step up and--” Their target’s started sniffling through the usual promises of please, I’ll do anything and other sob stories. Larry’s heard it all before. “Do you mind? I’m trying to have a conversation here, pal!” He nods to Paula and finds that the crossbow does a more than sufficient job of shutting up the councilman.

Playtime’s over sooner than intended.

“God, that always gets me going,” Larry laughs and wraps an arm around Paula while he’s at it, relishing in her answering smile.

---

For the most part, he lets it simmer. There’s missed opportunities every now and again, vague frustration when lingering hands and obvious glances lead nowhere but, ultimately, fact of the matter is that Larry always gets what he’s gunning for. It’s that simple.

Couple weeks after Paula encourages him to keep at it, not that he’s in dire need of the reassurance, Larry finds his footing.

He’s been patient enough, he thinks, well accustomed to stalking his prey.

“Larry, you’re-- very early,” Jordan remarks, shuffling whatever paperwork he’d been working on a couple more times than would be deemed strictly necessary. He’s looking right at home in the here and now, all immaculate in his suit and tie, sat at the table that takes up the vast majority of the ISA meeting room. Very little of the damp and drafty tunnels reaches them.

“You know me, love them meetings.” Larry’s grinning wide, shark-like and nearly giddy with a manic sense of victory. “And hey, call me Crusher.”

“Right.” Jordan nods. “Crusher.”

Dissatisfied with the art of subtlety, Larry helps himself to a seat right next to Jordan, dragging the chair along until there’s barely any space left between them. That’s more like it. “Listen, Icy, I think you know we gotta talk,” he says, amicably sing-song.

Perplexingly, Jordan stiffens, rigid like he’s bracing himself for a blow. Something to look into, then. Larry keeps on smiling. “If this is about Cameron drawing Artemis with horns, I don’t know what that’s about and I had a talk with him but, Lar-- Crusher, they’re in the second grade and it’s hard to explain these--”

“What? No!” Larry chuckles, shaking his head as he places a firm hand on Jordan’s knee. “Slow down there, bud,” he adds, bizarrely fascinated by the sting of ice underneath his palm.

“Oh.”

The cold, against reason, faintly recedes. If it’s emotion that gets Jordan freezing up, he’s willing to see what else he can inspire in him. “You know ol’ Crusher’s here for ya, right?” He rubs at Jordan’s knee as he meets his eyes -- blue on blue, though Larry’s bright with glee. “Say, if you’ve been feeling lonely lately, you’d tell me, wouldn’t you?”

Jordan, carrying all the allure of a cornered animal, looks down at Larry’s hand like he’s seeing it for the first time. He tries for a smile, though the act’s always looked painful on him. “I guess--”

“Uh-huh, uh-huh, listen, buddy, I just gotta tell you,” Larry starts, exceedingly indulgent in the way he’s managed to scoot even closer, “you don’t look good. I’m thinkin’ a trip to Ripped City would really work wonders on you. Get those muscles moving, right? I know a good workout always cheers me up.”

And maybe Larry’s got a different kind of workout in mind but he doesn’t let the thought deter him. The gym’s win is his, too. Then again, he’s sure he’s got Jordan all the same.

“I’ll, um, think about it,” Jordan allows and as he makes to stand up, Larry grabs his wrist. It’s a loose hold, functionally mild in the grand scheme of things. The glint in Larry’s eyes is anything but. There’s more Sportsmaster than Larry Crock in the way he’s holding himself, the predatory quirk of his smile -- rarely glimpsed beneath the mask.

“Or, and here’s an idea, I could make your mind up for you.” Out in the field, it might very well be a threat. Here, Larry merely tilts his head, perfectly genuine.

---

Jordan’s sitting on the table right in the middle of the ISA headquarters, legs spread wide to accommodate Larry standing between them. His hair’s a mess. “The meeting’s gonna start soon,” Jordan whispers, visibly breathless as he grips at Larry’s shoulder, fingers digging in when he’s rewarded with a kiss high up on his neck.

“C’mon, bud, we’re all friends here,” says Larry, grinning wide, as he steps back just enough to get a good look at Jordan and whistles. “Whoa, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”

There’s patches of ice here and there, skin curiously gone crystalline where -- Larry assumes -- Jordan might ordinarily be flushed. If he’s finding it difficult to maintain eye contact, Larry’s got no such problems. He pulls him by his undone tie into a rough kiss, breathes some life into the frozen landscape of Jordan. It’s not too long until they part, Jordan’s lips gone all red. A moan escapes him when Larry offers a hand to grind into where he’s straining against the fabric of his pants. “Just what you needed, huh?” Larry asks, though he’s got an inkling of the answer already.

It’s then Jordan flinches at the not-so-distant conversation drifting through the tunnels. “Crusher, we need to-- stop. We need to stop,” he gasps out and he certainly reaches for Larry’s hand, a valiant effort when he’s sounding like it’s taken everything he’s got to give, but merely holds it in place, unwilling to let go.

Larry laughs, gleefully manic, and lets Jordan rock against him for a moment longer, considers unzipping him just as Dr. Ito steps through the door.

“Spoilsport,” he remarks, thoroughly amused.

Feeling especially generous, Larry even helps Jordan off the table, stealing one last kiss in the process. “You should come over! My turn to cook tonight and Paula says I do a mean grilled salmon,” Larry adds, perfectly casual.

There’s little Jordan can do but nod, eyes fixed on their arriving teammates.

#jordan mahkent #larry crock #paula brooks #stargirl #icicle #sportsmaster #tigress #sportcicle #fic #I DESPERATELY HOPE THIS DOESNT SUCK IM SORRY IF IT DOES #anon #ask

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twdmusicboxmystery · 4 years

Text

TWB 1x03: The Tyger and the Lamb

All right. Sorry this is so late this week. There were actually a LOT of TD symbols in this past episode of TWB. They seem particularly heavy around the character of Silas. And I gotta say, as soon as I saw him in the pilot episode, I kinda liked him. I thought he was interesting and kind of felt drawn to him. And that was before I really knew there would be much TD symbolism around him. I think I liked him because he’s big and quiet, and kind of a loner. In a way, he’s sort of the underdog, and who can help but root for that, right?

So here’s a run-down of the symbols we saw.

First of all, his name is Silas. That’s a biblical name. New Testament. He was Paul’s missionary companion. Not sure what other specific ties there might be, but I’ll let you know if I find any. Also, at the end of this episode, Silas is listening to a recording he has from his (presumably deceased) grandparents, and they quote a scripture in Isaiah (Old Testament) to him. So, definitely some biblical ties going on.

The thing about Silas is that he seems to, at some point, have killed someone he regretted. We don’t actually see who it was in this episode, but he has flashbacks of pretty much being on top of and beating someone. We also see flashes of him sitting in an ambulance, looking down at his hands, and there’s blood on them. So I’m assuming he got angry and killed someone and now has some demons about that. He also told Iris that he doesn’t fear the walkers so much as he does himself, and the anger that can take over when he starts killing them.

He had a flashback where he was listening to headphones (lots of music around him as well) and the Walkman dies (battery theory). In that flashback, the walls are bright yellow (Beth color) and the song is all about the rays of the sun. (See what I mean about Beth symbolism?) When the Walkman dies, he hears two other kids talking about him and calling him a monster. It reminded me of Michonne & Carl’s “I’m just another monster” theme.

@wdway made a good observation about part of his arc in this episode, too. Once again, Silas is a big, strong guy. At one point, a bunch of tires nearly fell on the group but he got under them and held them up so everyone could pass safely. Kind of like Sampson in strength? I’ve been harping a lot on the Eugene/Sampson theme in last months, and this would fit right in.

We identified plenty of other small symbols around him. Colors (pink and green), lights shining on him in the same way they did on Beth, etc.

At one point, there’s an emphasis on a pink, Easy-Bake oven.

I know that sounds random, and I agree. It’s a very random symbol to put in a show like TWD, so it must have been purposely placed. We’re thinking that, much like the Bisquik reference we saw at Grady, it may represent life or resurrection in general. @wdway explained it perfectly: “So in other words something goes in lifeless and after a long time under a bright shining light it comes out something different and delicious.”

Other random symbols: We saw a huge British flag near Julia Ormond (Elizabeth). It was emphasized enough to catch our attention. We were thinking that the British flag may have been included because it has a cross on top of an X on it.

They also recited the poem, The Tyger, by William Blake. If you read that (below), it’s replete with possible Beth symbols. Obviously the burning and fire symbols. Tiger can’t help but remind us of Shiva. I especially like the line, “when the stars threw down their spears, and watered heaven with their tears.” It just screams Sirius symbolism to me.

Oh, which reminds me. There was a “serious” mention in this episode as well.

If you’re wondering about the episode title, I did some research and William Blake, who wrote “The Tyger” also wrote kind of a sister poem to it called “The Lamb.”

I read through both poems but haven’t done any extensive research to draw ties to the episode. I’m actually wondering if this theme will become more clear as we move along. Like, I’m kind of assuming Silas is meant to be the Tyger, but is he also the Lamb (two sides warring within him?) or is someone else the Lamb? I’m not sure, yet. But at the very least, we have more biblical imagery here.

I didn’t write down in my notes who said this, but someone said, “No goodbyes, okay?” Which reminded me of Beth and her “not saying goodbye” theme.

In terms of the plot, it was a very interesting episode. I’m still liking the stories and the characters and where they’re taking it. We did learn that Julia Ormond’s group (the helicopter people or CRM) have 200,000 people in their community. That’s a LOT. So it will be interesting to see where they take this.

I think that’s all I have for this episode. Definitely some things to keep an eye on, and I’ll keep watching and interpreting them for you. ;D Thoughts?

The Tiger by William Blake

Tyger Tyger, burning bright, In the forests of the night; What immortal hand or eye, Could frame thy fearful symmetry? In what distant deeps or skies. Burnt the fire of thine eyes? On what wings dare he aspire? What the hand, dare seize the fire? And what shoulder, & what art, Could twist the sinews of thy heart? And when thy heart began to beat, What dread hand? & what dread feet? What the hammer? what the chain, In what furnace was thy brain? What the anvil? what dread grasp, Dare its deadly terrors clasp! When the stars threw down their spears And water'd heaven with their tears: Did he smile his work to see? Did he who made the Lamb make thee? Tyger Tyger burning bright, In the forests of the night: What immortal hand or eye, Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

#beth greene #beth greene lives #beth is alive #beth is coming #td theory #td theories #team delusional #team defiance #beth is almost here #bethyl

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trashmenofmarvel · 4 years

Text

Devil’s Backbone - Chapter 22

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x S.H.I.E.L.D. agent!Reader

Summary: With your team dead and your mission failed, you’ve been taken by the assassin to an unknown location and are at the mercy of your cruel tormentors. (This fic is explicit, 18+ only, dubcon in earlier chapters)

Chapter Warnings: Violence, blood, references to past sexual abuse, general Hydra creepiness

Word Count: 2.7k

AO3

(gif by @dailymarvel)

Step three: Once the highest threat is identified, eliminate it.

You rounded the corner and pulled the trigger over and over, giving Rumlow zero opportunity to return fire. You charged forward and quickly took cover behind a desk to your right; wood and glass dividers shattered above your head from bullet impacts.

On your knees, you shot around the corner of the desk in his direction, pulling back when you saw movement from his side. Even with the fresh pistol, you soon ran out of ammunition, but so did he. Once silence filled the room, Rumlow shouted.

“You’re out!”

“So are you!” you yelled back.

He chuckled. “That’s my girl.”

You saw red. The hurt, the betrayal, all of it flowed into your spine, and all you could imagine was Rumlow’s body at your feet.

“No! You don’t get to say that! You betrayed S.H.I.E.L.D.!”

“We are S.H.I.E.L.D.,” he responded in an amused tone.

“Then you betrayed our team! You betrayed me.”

Your voice shook from the force of your anger, and that was fine. What you hated was how easily the hurt bled into your words. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing how deep his betrayal had wounded you. Because it hurt fucking bad.

“This isn’t what I wanted.” There was a pause in which you thought you heard Rumlow sigh. “You were supposed to be with us by now.”

Your vision blurred and you blinked away the tears, refusing to shed them on his account.

“Did you do it?” You wanted him to say no, even now. “Did you order the hit on the convoy?”

His voice drifted over to you from across the room, and for a moment, he was your commander again. You could almost see him in your mind’s eye, pacing in front of the team with his hands clasped behind his back as he gave a mission briefing.

“Kartal was working for us. Or he was, until he got cold feet, or a conscience, or whatever the fuck. Pierce couldn’t have him going to the feds, though, could he? And I needed to weed out the weaker members of the team who I knew wouldn’t make the cut. More importantly, I made sure you were kept alive. I had you spared, Williams, because I knew you’d come around. With some persuasion.”

Your stomach roiled and your throat burned.

“I will never be a part of HYDRA,” you spit out.

“Kid,” he laughed, “haven’t you been paying attention? You’ve been HYDRA all along. You just didn’t know it.”

You couldn’t listen to one more word or you would scream. You pushed off from the desk you had been sitting against and stepped out into full view.

Maybe he heard you, or maybe he just knew you that well, because Rumlow did the same. He pulled the combat knife from his belt, twirling it between his fingers, his voice almost sympathetic. “It’s not too late, you know. Pierce wasn’t lying when he said he was impressed.”

Another twirl of his fingers, his smile just as razor sharp.

“Of course, he doesn’t know how sentimental you get. You’re a scrappy little shit, like a mongrel that just won’t die no matter how often it’s kicked and starved. First I thought it was really fuckin’ sad, but then I saw the one thing no one else did. Your potential.”

You tried not to react—failed—and your frown turned into a grimace. Rumlow’s smile widened to a grin.

“But in order to get there, you had to have the softness beaten outta ya. So I toughened you up, cut off all the baby fat. You gonna resent me for that, kid? After all I’ve done for you, you’re gonna turn this around and pretend I didn’t make you the best damn agent since Romanoff?”

His grin faded and dark clouds gathered over his eyes.

“You fuckin’ owe me everything, girl.”

Something within you broke, and you launched yourself at him before you could rethink your strategy. Your ferocity caught him by surprise; he nearly dropped the knife when you kicked at his arm. Rumlow held tight to his weapon and moved backwards, dodging out of range of your attacks.

You knew what he was doing, drawing you out and trying to exhaust you. The only way to counteract that was to close the distance, but then there was the knife to consider.

You picked up a filled three-inch binder from a desk, charged at him, and used the book to shield and deflect the slash of his knife.

It was no vibranium shield, but it worked; you got close enough to kick him hard in the gut. Rumlow rolled backward and stopped at a crouch, slowly standing up as he wiped the blood from his torn lip. His expression wasn’t so controlled now—there was real anger there.

“Pierce had such high hopes for you. You were gonna be our golden goose. HYDRA’s greatest project in history, until the asset went fucking nuclear and killed everyone on the goddamn medical team.”

The asset. The phrase stuck in your throat, tarry and sick and foul.

“What did you do to him?” you asked hoarsely.

Rumlow raised his knife again, readying himself for another round. You didn’t think he was going to answer, until he did.

“Same thing we were gonna do to you,” he said with a smirk. “Pump you full of super soldier serum—a special Soviet blend—and break your mind into itty-bitty pieces.” His smirk faded into a frown. “But then he fucked it all to hell, and we still don’t know why.”

He lunged.

You had been so shocked by his words you didn’t react in time. You managed to deflect his knife once before he slung his arm around your neck and pivoted you around, slamming you against his chest.

You wheezed, barely able to breathe as he held the knife in front of your face.

“How’d you do it, huh? How’d you get inside his head?” His warm breath hit your ear and you tried to twist away, but he held you in an unbreakable vice. “The asset was compliant one day, batshit crazy the next. Pierce was gonna wipe him that night, you know. Said you were a goddamn nuisance, a distraction. Some fuckin’ bullshit that was, weapons don’t get distracted. They have a purpose. They get used. And boy, did we use that fucker until he couldn’t be used anymore.”

Icicles trickled down your spine. Your mind couldn’t grasp the meaning of his words, wouldn’t grasp it.

“He killed the doctors, the technicians, almost everyone in the prison. I expected they’d find your body in a ditch somewhere, battered and broken, but there you were at the safe house, alive and whole. So, how’d you do it? How’d you take control?”

Rumlow’s warm breath hit the side of your face and you turned away, wincing. You struggled again but he had you trapped, helpless to do anything but listen to the horrible things he was saying.

“The guys on duty did say he visited your cell a few times. Is that why he’s outside right now, tryin’ to help Cap? You femme fatale’d him into obedience?”

You said nothing, baring your teeth and trying to pull his arm off your neck. It was pointless, given that the limb was almost pure, corded muscle.

Rumlow gave a bark of sharp laughter so sudden it startled you.

“Or… no. No, you didn’t do anything to him at all. It’s what he did to you.” Another laugh, delighted in a way that made your stomach twist. You said nothing, more focused on clawing at his arm then entertaining his nasty accusations. He ignored your struggles, you wondered if he could even feel the bite of your blunted nails.

“Shit, I didn’t know he had it in him,” he continued on, grating. “Christ. If you had any idea what Pierce had in store for you two, you’d realize how fuckin’ ironic that is. He got his dick wet and they didn’t even have to order him to do it. I mean… shit. That’s all sorts of perverted—“

You slammed your elbow back into his ribs and felt a satisfying crack. He howled in pain but somehow still held on as he stumbled backward, his grip even tighter now around your neck.

You wanted to cover your ears or scream or do something. Anything to make him stop.

And still he kept fucking talking.

“Yeah, got under your skin, didn’t I?” he growled through his staggered, labored breaths. “Not that it matters. The asset ain’t gonna remember you once we get our hands on him again. I can’t tell you how many times his brain has been scrambled. It’s a goddamn miracle he’s not a drooling vegetable at this point.”

You would have screamed at him if you had the air for it, but Rumlow had shifted his grip and the edges of your vision were starting to recede. The world was going quiet, distant… but not enough for you to miss the sensation of Rumlow gently stroking your hair.

“You don’t gotta worry about that, kid. I won’t let any of ‘em touch you,” he murmured into your ear. “When you belong to HYDRA, I’ll take good care of you.”

He fisted your hair tight enough to make the burns on your scalp light up with electric pain. You gasped as he slightly shook his fist, tears blurring your vision.

“And then,” he murmured, low and sinuous in your ear, “you’ll finally learn some fuckin’ gratitude.”

The thing that took hold of your body wasn’t you. It couldn’t be, because no single person could contain that much hatred.

You grabbed his wrist and jabbed it downward. The knife sliced through your side and cut straight through your jacket and down into Rumlow’s thigh.

Rumlow’s earlier scream was tame compared to the wild noise he made now, and he released you on reflex. He also made the mistake of letting go of the knife, and you yanked it free of his leg and whirled around, slashing at his shoulder. He stumbled backwards, red flowing over his corded muscles and smooth skin like a river through a dune sea.

You coughed and gasped for breath. Your face felt like a mask, unfamiliar and tight, and you couldn’t imagine what was across its surface.

He grinned at you, a red-tinged smile from his busted lip.

You could do it, right now. End it. He was off-balance, wounded, and no matter how disciplined he was the pain would slow him down.

Adjusting the knife if your grip, stalked forward, chest heaving as your muscles bunched for the attack—

A shadow blotted out the sunlight cast through the windows. It was moving fast, alarmingly so, and you skidded to a stop when you saw what it was.

A Helicarrier hurtling out of the sky at a steep angle, directly toward you.

Without a second look at Rumlow, you dropped the knife, spun and stumbled on the smooth tiled floor, and bolted. You didn’t turn to see if he had spotted the impeding airship.

You stabbed a finger into your ear comm and shouted, “Wilson! Please tell me you’re nearby!”

“Where the hell have you been?!” he shouted back, sounding very put-out. “We’ve been looking all over for you! Tell me where—“

The impact of the Helicarrier slamming into the Triskelion was enough to make you stumble and skid across the tilting floor, and it was more than enough to give Wilson his answer.

“Shit! You still there, Agent?”

“Not for long!” you yelled as you somehow managed to avoid a collapsing pile of building falling from the ceiling. “Forty-first floor! Northwest corner!”

There was no time to wait for confirmation. You hurled yourself at the window and curled into a ball just before impact. The glass shattered around you, the sound drowned out by the massive airship cleaving into the side of the building.

Your stomach twisted as you free-fell through the air, the ground rushing up at an alarming rate—

Wilson appeared just below you, rolling onto his back and grabbing you as you slammed into his chest. He managed to wrap his arms around you as he flew out from under the shower of collapsing tile and glass.

“Jesus Christ!” he yelled over the comm despite the fact he was also right in your ear. “Are all your S.H.I.E.L.D. agents this crazy?!”

“What happened to the Helicarriers?” you shouted, ignoring his first statement. You tried to twist your head around to look, but you couldn’t see anything but the river below. Panic rose in your throat. “Where’s Bucky?!”

Wilson banked and you gripped him tighter, feeling like a small lizard clinging to a very large bird. From your new vantage point, you saw there was only one Helicarrier still airborne, and it had been the one that had just sliced through a portion of the Triskelion and was now heading directly over the Potomac River.

“We’re still onboard,” Rogers answered, sounding out of breath.

“What? Why!” you cried out. “You’re heading for the river!”

“There was… falling debris,” he said, voice strained. “Bucky’s trapped. I’m digging him out.”

“Why are you doing this!” Bucky yelled over the comm. “Leave, Rogers!”

“Not gonna happen, Buck,” Rogers responded, his voice oddly soft. “Not without you.”

“We have to get to them!” you shouted to Wilson.

He must have agreed because he yelled, “Hold on, man!” He held onto you tight as he tilted through the air, the wind hitting your face and making your eyes water as he picked up speed. “We’re coming!”

“No, Sam, you gotta stay back. It’s too dangerous. This thing is falling apart around us.” The same resignation that had been in Bucky’s voice earlier was now in Roger’s.

“Don’t ask me to do that,” Wilson responded quickly. He sounded as anxious as you felt. He was approaching at a parallel angle to avoid the smoke and falling debris, and you could see the underside glass dome of the bridge and the damage inside.

“Move closer!” you yelled.

“I can’t!” he yelled back. “Too much shit in the air!”

“I don’t care!” You shouted hard enough to crack your voice, struggling in his arms now, trying to twist around so you could see the carrier better. “Move us in!”

“Woman! Knock it off or you’re gonna get us both killed!”

Despite his protests he angled his wings and banked toward the drifting carrier.

“Rogers!” you yelled into your earpiece. “We’re almost there!”

You were fifty feet away, close enough to see details inside the dome. It was a warzone, strewn with heavy crossbeams and collapsed walkways as the air filled with smoke and tongues of flame.

“There’s no time!” Rogers yelled, suddenly urgent. “You have to—“

An explosion ripped through the back of the ship. It was so hot and expansive that the shockwave hit you and Wilson like a solid object, causing him to tumble back through the air. He gripped you tightly around the waist and all you could do was hold onto his arms as the world spun sickeningly around you.

By the time he was steady again, the Helicarrier had split in two.

All the air left your lungs. The horrific sight above you blotted out the sky with fire and falling debris.

Wilson descended and landed on the riverbank nearby. You wanted to scream at him to take you back up, that it wasn’t too late. Instead, you watched the Helicarrier fall in broken pieces into the river. Your legs gave out and you collapsed onto your knees.

“Steve?”

Wilson’s voice was shaking. Desperate and pleading.

“Steve… are you there? Come on, man… Answer me.”

You touched a trembling finger to your comm to make sure it was on.

“Bucky?” Your voice was even more broken than Wilson’s. “Bucky, say something. Please? Bucky?”

You were both met with the finality of silence. The only sound that floated to you on the wind was the quiet rumble of the remnants of the Helicarrier falling into the Potomac.

Next Chapter

#devil's backbone #bucky barnes x reader #the winter soldier x reader #bucky barnes #brock rumlow #the winter soldier #bucky barnes fanfiction #reader fanfiction #the winter soldier fanfiction #hydra trash party #htp #sam wilson #steve rogers #captain america the winter soldier #shield #hydra #my writing #my fanfiction

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alleiradayne · 4 years

Photo

Merry Christmas, Ya Filthy Animals

Summary: Sam and Dean watch Home Alone as they near Christmas. Warnings/Tags: All sorts of Floofs, funtimes, brotherly moments. Characters/Pairings: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester Word Count: 1,188 A/N: For @katymacsupernatural‘s 6k Golden Challenge, I picked image #10.

“Okay, after binging all of Die Hard in three nights,” Sam started as he slumped into his chair. “Can we lighten up the mood a bit?”

From across the table, Dean’s flat stare caught him off guard.

“What?”

“Don’t you ever speak ill of Die Hard ever again,” Dean ordered. He shifted in his chair to reach for his beer and set the popcorn down in its place. “Tonight’s no less epic.”

A pointed press of the remote started the movie, and Sam leaned back in his chair as the dark screen illuminated with blue text. Sam recognized the curious strings and low, thrumming brass without a second thought, John Williams’ score beyond notorious. As the focus pulled back from the tiny blue silhouette of the house, he grinned.

“Home Alone?”

“You’re god damn right, Home Alone.”

Behind the bowl of popcorn, Sam picked up a cookie from the array they had taken the time to decorate earlier that day. “This was a great idea. We needed a break.”

Dean shoved a handful of popcorn into his mouth and nodded. “We deserved a break.”

Sure. But he knew as well as Dean that “deserve” and “Winchester” belonged in the same sentence as little as “break” and “Winchester”. Except that had changed, Sam thought. Everything had changed irrevocably after Chuck. And Jack. Even then, he wasn’t quite sure what had happened. Chuck had definitely died. Or at least, that’s what he thought. A strange gap in his memory yet troubled Sam. Jack had returned at the eleventh hour, as was the Winchester way, and saved the world. And yet, the further he got from that day, the less he worried about it.

Dean’s barking laughter ripped Sam from his thoughts. On the screen, Kevin had been blamed for ruining everything and was being sent to bed early. Something about the innocence of the movie and Dean’s pure enjoyment settled the unease in Sam’s heart. Thirty-seven years. After nearly four grueling decades of survival, of clamoring for a scrap of normalcy in such a chaotic way of life, they finally had a chance to breathe.

“I’m pretty sure this movie taught me a couple new tricks to protect our motels,” Dean started as they watched Kevin walk through the empty house the next morning.

“I don’t recall any flying paint cans,” Sam teased.

“No, but I did use a torch on the door once,” Dean replied. “Roasted a ghoul. To this day, I’m surprised it worked. Son of a bitch came right through the front door.

Sam snapped his glare to Dean. “Why wasn’t the door locked?”

Dean had the audacity to appear chastised. “I wanted the trap to work! Had to bait the thing as best I could. Don’t look at me like that.”

Typical. Sam scoffed as he turned back to the TV to find Harry and Marv casing the house. “You know, we went on a hunt in that neighborhood once.”

“Really?” Dean asked. “That house just sold for like a million and a half. Where is it?”

“Winnetka. Just north of Chicago,” he said. “Oh, I think this is my favorite line in the whole movie.”

Dean turned back to the screen. “Buzz? C’mon—"

“Sh!”

Buzz explained to his cousin the various reasons why Kevin would be fine by himself. Three reasons, in fact. A. 2. And D. Sam laughed, most of all for Buzz’s third reason wherein he explains that they live on the most boring street in America and nothing remotely dangerous will ever happen. If he only knew.

“Why is that your favorite line? Not, ‘Merry Christmas, ya filthy animals’? Not ‘Better come get me, or I’ll call the cops!’ Not ‘Polka, polka’? Why that one?” Dean asked.

“Because,” Sam started as the scene continued. “Buzz is so damn innocent. He has no clue just how dangerous that town really was, even in the fictional universe. And then I also find his bullet point system hilarious.”

Dean looked to the TV, then back to him. “Wait, what?”

Sam grabbed the remote and rewound the movie a minute. “Listen.”

“Holy shit,” Dean barked with laughter. “That is fucking hilarious, why didn’t I catch that before?!”

Sam laughed with him. “It’s subtle.”

“That is a damn good line,” Dean agreed as he shoveled a handful of popcorn into his mouth.

Sam let well enough alone, rather than rib him any further. Instead, he savored the moments each as they passed. But it wasn’t until the movie finished that he remembered. He no longer needed to cherish every precious second he breathed. He no longer needed to cling to the ease in his heart. He no longer needed to worry about Dean taking care of him, protecting him at all costs. The curious man with the guitar on the beach had assuaged all Sam’s concerns, assuring him that the end had finally come to pass. That after nearly forty years of survival, Sam and Dean could finally rest.

Dean popped another cookie into his mouth as he spoke, drawing Sam from his thoughts once more. “You know,” he paused as he chewed, “this has got to be my favorite tradition. Always has been.”

Sam nodded as he regarded the still-scrolling credits. “Yeah,” he sighed as he sipped from his beer.

When Dean stood, he waited for him. “What’s got your goat? You got quiet there.”

Had he? Sam stood and shook his head. “I’m good,” he stated. “Just thinking.”

Over his shoulder, Dean’s quirked brow scrutinized him. “About?”

“I dunno.” He scratched the back of his head. In the hallway, he took a deep breath and said, “I’m still… processing.”

Dean’s glare cased the hallway before he spoke. “Home Alone isn’t exactly—”

“No, dude, not the fucking movie. The…” Quiet again, Sam shifted on his feet as one hand reached for the other. His thumb dug into his palm where he felt the tight scar tissue pull across the muscles of his hand. “We just wasted a week of our lives watching Christmas movies. I’m… not used to it yet.”

Softened, Dean’s face smoothed. A confident hand grasped Sam by the shoulder as he said, “I get it. I’m not really used to it yet, either. Hell, I’m still waitin’ for the other shoe to drop. But until it does, I’m gonna enjoy the time we have. When that shoe drops—and it will, no doubt about it—we’ll put on our big boy pants and handle it like we always do.”

He was right. Regardless of when or how, their reprieve may end. But until it did, there was no use worrying about it.

For the last time, Sam eased his thumb in his palm and released his hand. “Thanks, man. I needed that.”

He clapped his shoulder once as Dean turned for his room. “No problem, Sammy. Now, go make some more popcorn. We’ve gotta watch Kevin blow some shit up in New York City! That kid was like a baby John McClane…”

As Sam headed for the kitchen, he couldn’t help but smile. It would be a Merry Christmas, indeed.

Feedback is appreciated! Feel free to reblog, too!

If you want in on any of my tags (Sam/Jared, Dean/Jensen), send me a DM or an ask!

ALLEIRADAYNE’S SPN MASTER LIST

The Whole Thang:

@atc74 @hannahindie @bevans87 @meganwinchester1999 @oneshoeshort @jonogueira @andkatiethings @elfinmox @wonderfulworldofwinchester @princessofthefandomrealm @just-another-busyfangirl @jmekitchens @81mysteriouslyme @dolphincliffs @seenashwrite @canadianspnhunter @meowmeow-motherfucker @staycejo1 @hobby27 @pretty-fortune @mypopculturediva @fanfictionjunkie1112 @sandlee44 @4llmywr1tings @claitynroberts @maddiepants @donnaintx @blackeyedangel9805 @rainflowermoon @winchesterprincessbride @lazinessisalliknow @the-is13 @waywardafgrandma @keymology @sister-winchesters99 @amanda-teaches

#alleiradayne writes #spn fanfic #katy6kgolden

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thevoilinauttheory · 4 years

Text

Music Profile

Rules: For many of us, music is a source of inspiration for our characters, so I want to know what songs inspire and/relate to your muse! Choose between 10-15 songs, compile them into an album and tag some friends to share the beat!

As tagged by @lukawarrioroflight so very, very, very long ago. You made me do a bad thing - which was spend at least 3 hours compiling a list of 10 songs for each of the characters I roleplay the most. M’nhea’s will come first - since I haven’t thought too much about songs for him - and all the others (Maximiloix, Danny, and Amosis) will be listed under the cut. These songs aren’t in a specific order~

I’m going to pick up the tags again for once, so I’m tagging: @renofmanyalts, @jasleh, @amdapori, @prodigalsong, @spotofmummery, @journeybetweenworlds, @astralyehga, @houserosaire, @cadrenebula, @ever-searching, @munchix-home-cooking, @egrine

M’nhea Tia:

Silhouettes - Of Monsters and Men

There's nothing that I'd take back But it's hard to say there's nothing I regret Cause when I sing, you shout I breathe out loud You bleed, we crawl like animals But when it's over, I'm still awake

Coming of Age - Foster the People

When my fear pulls me out to sea And the stars are hidden by my pride and my enemies I seem to hurt the people that care the most Just like an animal, I protect my pride When I'm too bruised to fight And even when I'm wrong, I tend to think I'm right

RUNAWAY - half.alive

I hold my life out in front of me, dreams of who I want to be I'm seeing every empty page But I find that everything I am is everything I should be I don't need to run away I don't need to run away Yeah I don't need to run away

The Phoenix - Fall Out Boy

Hey young blood Doesn't it feel like our time is running out? I'm gonna change you like a remix Then I'll raise you like a phoenix Wearing our vintage misery No, I think it looked a little better on me I'm gonna change you like a remix Then I'll raise you like a phoenix

Knights of Cydonia - Muse

No one's gonna take me alive The time has come to make things right You and I must fight for our rights You and I must fight to survive

It’s Not My Fault, I’m Happy - Passion Pit

It's not right, it's not right How am I the only one who sees us fight? What are we? Who are they? Who says those bastards don't deserve to pay? Well it's enough, it's just enough 'cause we don't stand a chance So long you stay around, you're just another song and dance It's not fair, it's not fair, it's not fair, it's not fair Still I'm the only one who seems to care

Hunger - Of Monsters and Men

Hungry for the kill, but this hunger, it isn't you Voices disappear when you are speaking, in somber tunes I will be the wolf and when you're starving, you'll need it too Hungry for the kill, but this hunger, it isn't you It isn't you, it isn't

The Best - AWOLNATION

I'm hardly perfect I'm barely good Just shy of greatness Ah-ah I'm heavy metal And hollow wood Just shy of patience Ah-ah

Titanium - David Guetta, ft. Sia

Cut me down, but it's you who'll have further to fall Ghost town and haunted love Raise your voice, sticks and stones may break my bones I'm talking loud, not saying much

I Just Wanna Shine - Fitz & The Tantrums

So I wake up I get out of bed, and stay up Stay out of my head 'Cause it's dangerous And I don't wanna lose my mind, no

Maximiloix:

Warrant - Foster the People

Fear is like a fake friend It warms you up and takes you in You mouth the words but no sound comes out Fear is like your best friend Manipulates and takes you in You mouth the words No sound again

Choke - I DONT KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME

Now shut your dirty mouth If I could burn this town I wouldn't hesitate To smile while you suffocate and die And that would be just fine What a lovely time That it would surely be So bite your tongue and choke yourself to sleep

Punching in a Dream - The Naked and Famous

All the lights go down as I crawl into the spaces Fight, flight, or the screams, life tearing at the seams Wait, I don't ever want to be here Like punching in a dream, breathing life into my nightmare

I Am a Nightmare - Brand New

So come shake your Zen out And give me pure energy My heart is glowing fluorescent, I want you to possess it I’m not a prophecy come true I’ve just been goddamn mean to you So what is this thing laced with Please, don't replace me I surrender, embrace me Whatever I'm faced with

Crystals - Of Monsters and Men

I know I'll wither so peel away the bark 'Cause nothing grows when it is dark In spite of all my fears, I can see it all so clear I see it all so clear

Crown of Love - Arcade Fire

They say it fades if you let it Love was made to forget it I carved your name across my eyelids You pray for rain, I pray for blindness

Thank God I’m Not You - Himalayas

You could call me narcissistic You could say I'm of no worth You could call me the scorn of Satan But I could be so much worse

To My Enemies - Saint Motel

You know that talk is cheap Keep talkin' as I turn my cheek You know that no one really cares (Did you know that, did you know that?) It wasn't that long ago You wanted to slit my throat To find out if my blood bleeds blue (Did you know that, did you know that?)

An Honest Mistake - The Bravery

Sometimes I forget I'm still awake I fuck up and say these things out loud My old friend... I swear I never meant for this I never meant...

Forgive Me Friend - Smith & Thell

'Cause I fell in the hole, in the hole, in the hole My heart was turning cold, turning cold, turning cold I never wanted this to end, can you forgive me friend?

Danny:

Upside Down & Inside Out - OK Go

I wish I had said the things you thought that I had said Gravity's just a habit that you're really sure you can't break So when you met the new you Were you scared? Were you cold? Were you kind? Yeah when you met the new you Did someone die inside?

Houdini - Foster the People

Got shackles on, my words are tied Fear can make you compromise With the lights turned up, it's hard to hide Sometimes I wanna disappear

Dance Dance Dance - 65daysofstatic

[Instrumental]

Cradles - Sub Urban

Tape my eyes open to force reality (Oh no, no) Why can’t you just let me eat my weight in glee? I live inside my own world of make-believe Kids screaming in their cradles, profanities Some days I feel skinnier than all the other days Sometimes I can't tell if my body belongs to me

Fire - Barnes Courtney

Oh, a thousand faces staring at me Thousand times I've fallen Thousand voices dead at my feet Now I'm gone, now I'm gone, now I'm gone

Meet Me in the Woods - Lord Huron

I have seen what the darkness does Say goodbye to who I was I ain't never been away so long Don't look back, them days are gone Follow me into the endless night I can bring your fears to life Show me yours and I'll show you mine Meet me in the woods tonight

Simmer - Hayley Williams

Control There's so many ways to give in Eyes closed Another way to make it to ten Oh, how to draw the line between wrath and mercy? Gotta simmer, simmer, simmer, simmer, simmer down

Rawnald Gregory Erickson the Second - STRFKR

All my life There you go Oh please stay Just this once Anyway

Cigarette Daydreams - Cage the Elephant

Funny how it seems like yesterday As I recall you were looking out of place Gathered up your things and slipped away No time at all I followed you into the hall Cigarette daydream You were only seventeen So sweet with a mean streak Nearly brought me to my knees

In the Woods Somewhere - Hozier

The creature lunged I turned and ran To save a life I didn't have Dear, in the chase There as I flew Forgot all prayers Of joining you

Amosis:

Vy från ett luftslott - Kent

Där missilerna möts De viskar: hålen i himlen ska bli våran död Ovanför molnen Där djävulen bor De viskar: hålen i himlen är från hans klor

Where the missiles meet They whisper: the holes in the heavens will be our death Above the clouds Where the devil lives They whisper: the holes in the heavens are from his claws

Panic Station - Muse

Ooh, 1, 2, 3, 4 fire's in your eyes And this chaos, it defies imagination Ooh, 5, 6, 7 minus 9 lives And I know that you will fight for the duration Ooh, 1, 2, 3, 4 fire's in your eyes And you know I'm not resisting your temptations Ooh, 5, 6, 7 minus 9 lives You've arrived at panic station

Destruction - Joywave

I wanna know who you told 'til they're all laying on the floor Frozen to the core I wanna know who you told 'til it's nobody anymore Nobody anymore

Little Dark Age - MGMT

I grieve in stereo The stereo sounds strange You know that if it hides It doesn't go away If I get out of bed You'll see me standing all alone Horrified On the stage My little dark age

The Wolf - SIAMÉS

I’m out of my head Of my heart and my mind 'Cause you can run but you can’t hide I’m gonna make you mine Out of my head Of my heart and my mind 'Cause I can feel how your flesh now Is crying out for more

It Doesn’t Matter Why - Silversun Pickups

You hear us come and go, we know You wonder if we're not alone, we're alone You think about us all the time, don't Because it doesn't matter why we're known We're just known, we're just known

Sleep Alone - Two Door Cinema Club

He sleeps alone He needs no army where he's headed cause he knows That they're just ghosts And they can't hurt him if he can't see them, ohh And I may go To places I have never been to just to find The deepest desires in my mind

still.feel - half.alive

So when I lose my gravity in this sleepy womb Drifting as I dream, but I'll wake up soon To realize the hand of life is reaching out To rid me of my pride I call allegiance to myself

Iron - Woodkid

This deadly burst of snow is burning my hands I'm frozen to the bones, I am A million miles from home, I'm walking away I can't remind your eyes, your face

Content - Joywave

I'm searching for the difference between What content and content can bring Maybe they're no different 'cause they look the same (They look the same) Maybe I'm just an algorithm with a given name (A given name) But... trying to find the difference The difference, the difference, the difference

#tagged answers #character music #about: M'nhea Tia #about: Maximiloix Voilinaut #about: Danny Harold #about: Amosis #the cold truth: tagged

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antiquechampagne · 5 years

Text

Beastly Kingdom - CH 9 - Greatest Show on Earth

( Photo by Aleksandar Pasaric from Pexels)

Liz loved watching the bustle around the park for the nearly invisible signs of her plan showing themselves. The invisible cogs quickened their pace when she received word the General was on his way from Sanctuary. Everything was coming together, even better than she had anticipated. As the General entered the park late in the afternoon, her sealed final instructions made their way to the respective gang leader. Liz decided to put Nate up in her penthouse for the night, satisfied with Dixie and Gage standing guard so no one would dare to try any funny business. The General wasn’t too happy about spinning his wheels for the night, but Liz had a few more final touches to complete before the show could start.

The sun rose in a hazy sky, but Liz had little time to sit and enjoy it, she had been up for hours. Dragging nearly ever raider to one place was a serious pain in the ass. The only venue large enough to house everyone was the main Nuka-Town square, right outside the circular market. A rudimentary stage had been built to add height and extend the 'map alcove', allowing those on stage to look down at the gathering crowd. Liz counted on the long-standing animosity to prompt self-segregation between the gangs. All she had to do was seed the prospective areas with the certain people to make sure each gang stayed in the zones she designated: Operators to her left, the Pack to the right with the Disciples milling about in the middle.

It was growing close to eleven when Liz got word that everyone was in attendance, the final few drug to their spots by an ornery Gage. She stood at the side of the stage as Mason and the rest of the leaders shuffled around off stage, trying to hide their boredom but keeping a cool eye on Nate. The crowd was getting restless. Liz let them stew a few minutes longer than was strictly necessary before ascending the steps, the other leaders trailing behind her.

Standing at center stage with her entourage flanking her, Liz looked out, quickly scanned the faces and belted out, “ALL RIGHT! EVERYONE, SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

The crowd fell silent. She felt her voice could carry to the very corner of Nuka-World.

“I know what you assholes want to hear, but you… and the General…“ She glanced behind, glancing Nate up and down. "Are going to have to wait.” She heard a shuffle as, on cue, Mason guided Nate to upstage right, Mags and Nisha backing to the other.

“I want to make it absolute clear to each one of you sons-of-a-bitches here, that what we have here in Nuka-World is something unique… something fucking special. You aren't going to find anything like this anywhere else. And, as your Overboss, I'm not going to let anyone or anything take Nuka-World from us. I will do anything to keep us safe.” The crowd was drinking in her words. She decided to step it up a notch.

“Who’s going to keep you safe?” A weak chorus answered. She gave a death-glared down at the crowd, arms crossed. “Who?”

“The Overboss!” That was better.

She wanted more. “WHO?”

Nearly everyone was on their feet now “THE OVERBOSS!” Their answer thundered, followed by whoops and flailing weapons.

“That’s how I expect a true Nuka-World motherfucker to answer!” Liz puffed her chest out. “And who’s the baddest motherfucker in Nuka-World?”

“THE OVERBOSS!”

She thrust her hands out, quieting the cheering crowd.

“You’re damn right.”

She couldn't stop a smirk from spreading over her scarred lips. Time to make them shit their pants.

“Now, I want you to meet the newest member of the Nuka-World family.” She slapped her thigh, as if calling a dog to her side, only instead of a whistle; she let out a low growl.

The crowd glanced around nervously, confused. In the distance, a deep rumbling growl answered. Liz's smirk bloomed into a full on grin as she watched the audiences faces fill with fear. They all knew that sound. She just stood and drank it all in.

Behind the stage, a huge black clawed hand rose from inside the closed market and grasped the roof. With a swift feline-like grace, Big Mama made her entrance. Vaulting herself over the structure, the huge glowing creature landed with a thump next to Liz, snarling. The scattered screams and horror-filled eyes staring from the crowd was totally worth clearing out the market in the dead of night to lock Mama inside with a huge pile of meat.

Liz casually scratched Mama’s chin. “Say ‘Hi’, Big Mama” she prompted.

Mama trumpeted loudly, a supersonic shock wave knocking back the throng, several people in the front blown over by the force. The crowd semi-recovered, but were still frozen, unsure how to react.

In a distant corner, a single triumphant roar rippled across the impromptu theater.

"Fuck YEAH!"

The sound seemed to break the spell, as the entire crowd broke into a raucous applause, shouts and gunfire. Liz let the audience party as she directed Mama to stay behind her, motioning to her underbosses to join her by her side. The crowd, having released some nervous energy, naturally calmed down to where she could address them again.

“Now,” She walked to the edge of the stage. “Let’s get down to serious business at hand. There are only two organizations that pose any real threat to Nuka-World: The Minutemen and The Brotherhood of Steel. Our very existence is a bloody thorn in the side of the Minutemen's peaceful and flavorless vision of the Commonwealth. The Brotherhood, on the other hand, would cream themselves if they got their hands on all our pre-war tech and fire power. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure that shit out. I'd been planning for since we started to expand outside of the park."

"Here, imagine my surprise when the Minutemen’s very own General Popsicle walking through the doors, offering a deal nonetheless.” Liz walked over to Nate, stretching her arm over his stiff shoulders. “Gotta hand it to’em, that took balls. More than I thought any Minuteman might have.” She gave him a little squeeze as her other hand slipped her knife out of its sheath on her hip. "But this deal, it got me thinking. -Thinking hard- about the future of everyone here. Here we are sitting pretty in our park, but how can we become something even stronger... spread our influence over the all Commonwealth, maybe even further? Would an alliance with the Minutemen be worth it?" Letting go, Liz began to pace next to Mason, picking at her teeth with the blade. "Just ask Gage... I thought about all this shit ‘till my brain was leaking out my ears. Then, I locked myself up tighter than Bradberton's hidden office bunker to figure all this out."

She made her way over to where three of raider leaders stood. This time she hung herself between the Black siblings, one arm draped over Mags' shoulders, the other over her brother. She still held her knife loosely, weaving it idly through the air under William's chin as she spoke. "I talked to all my underbosses about it, feeling everyone out. Getting their input, as it were."

Liz pursed her lips as if in thought for a moment, every movement calculated to pull in the audience's attention. With a disappointed shake of her head, her blade straightened itself on William's the stubble-speckled neck. "I hate to say it, but one gang just wasn't on-board with my plan." Her free hand gripped Mags metal clad shoulder. "And that is just unacceptable. I won't stand for it." It was so hard not to smile as she watched the shock and fear once again creep over the watching crowd.

Without another word, she swiftly turned the blade away from William and plunged it straight into Nisha's neck. Blood gurgled to her lips. She slumped to the floor. Mason grabbed Nate, whisking him off-stage to safety. On cue, the trusted senior members of the Operators and Pack in the audience unleashed a deadly storm of bullets on the Disciples sandwiched between them, slaughtering many before they even had the chance to draw their own weapons.

"NO!" Dixie sprang on Liz, her blades already drawn, her shock quickly dissolving into a murderous rage. "YOU DOUBLE-CROSSING BITCH!"

Liz didn't even have to move. She watched and grinned as a giant clawed hand effortlessly pinned Dixie to the boards. With a guttural snarl, Mama's giant jaws latched onto Dixie's metal-strapped helmet, crushing the life out of her lover in a matter of moments.

"Careful now, Mama," Ignoring the occasional projectile, Liz coaxed Mama to reluctantly let go of the twitching body. With a few quick slashes, she removed a few choice bits of metal armor. "I don't need you getting anything unpleasant stuck in your teeth. There you go, sweetie. Go to town." She gave an affectionate thump on the deathclaw's luminous hide.

A bullet grazed the Overboss's shoulder, causing her to wince. Turning on her heels, she faced the crowd, searching for the offending shooter. Once she locked eyes on the desperate man, she quickly dispatched him with a knife to chest.

"Ugh, seriously?" Fussing over her bloodied sleeve, she returned to Mama, who was happily munching away in the middle of the stage. The screams and gunfire began to wane. She gave the glowing creature a scratch before returning to the edge of the stage, looking at the bloody, body-filled ground where hundreds of people had once stood.

"Where were we... ah, yes. The plan. The remaining gang leaders have been briefed on the plan and have agreed to the terms." She motioned to Mason to bring Nate back on stage. He was looking decidedly greener around the gills. "Those terms being as follows. The Nuka-World raiders will aid the Minutemen in their offensive to end the Brotherhood. We will withdraw all our settlements and cease any expansion into the Commonwealth, keeping to Nuka-World." Liz pulled a cigarette from a pocket and lit it "In return, the Minutemen will share the spoils, as well as give us access to all established trade routes, along with exclusive and complete control to all chem trade and mercenary contracts within the Commonwealth," she nodded to the Blacks and Mason, respectively.

Nate, recovered, nodded in agreement. He stretched out his hand. Liz grabbed it, pulling him in close. "You're gunna love this next bit... soldier boy..." she whispered to him, pulling a lung full off the cigarette.

Liz gave a nod to Mason, who pulled a cowering Dr. Mackenzie up on stage. Liz reached into her pocket and pulled out a chunky black remote. Mackenzie gasped. The doctor knew a bomb collar detonator as soon as she saw it.

"Not only are we going 'legit', but, as an act of good will...“ Liz opened a compartment on the side, slipping a key into the waiting slot. As she turned, the red light on the detonator and Mackenzie's collar turned dark, the lock sliding open with a clunk. "All of the traders are now free to go and do as they please." She puffed, releasing a long stream of smoke. "However, as an incentive to stay and help Nuka-World grow, I am officially setting aside the town Bradberton as an area for anyone who wants to settle down in, under the complete protection of the Pack, of course."

Mason released a bewildered Mackenzie. All she could manage was to nod of comprehension, slowly skittering off stage as soon as Mason let go of her shoulders.

Liz turned back to the crowd. "And just to be crystal clear on this... anyone not on board with my plan..." she opened her arms dramatically before the sea of bullet ridden bodies before her, "can see my established termination policy." The whole park was as quiet as the grave, all except for the wet crunching of bone and meat from Mama and her meal.

"Seems we are in agreement then! Who's up for making the Brotherhood and the Commonwealth our little bitches?"

Every corner of Nuka-World rang with their thunderous answer.

#beastly kingdom #fallout #fallout 4 #fallout4 #fanfic #fan fic #Ghoul #raiders #violence #gore #nuka world #ao3

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beeupsidedown · 6 years

Text

Eyes Full of Stars - Billy Hargrove

Billy Hargrove never knew what love was until he found himself underneath the stars with her.

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x Female Reader

Warnings: Language(?)

Word Count: 1.6k

The music was faint, barely a hum to be heard to the ear. It wasn’t particularly good music. It was more along the lines of cheesy romance songs that were often sold on cassettes, waiting to be ordered from the number off the television set. But it was music nonetheless against an otherwise uneventful and quiet night in Hawkins, Indiana.

It was enough to draw Billie’s attention. He’d been tossing and turning all night, unable to sleep in the heat that tormented them that summer. He considered his options for a moment- either lay in bed in his own sweat or step outside and attempt to find the source of the music in what he could only imagine would be a considerably cooler temperature than his house was at the moment. The latter choice was the obvious way to go and so he slipped on some sandals, opting to forget about socks and leather boots for the night.

Billy had lived in Hawkins for months now but he’d never truly bothered to explore it. Now he wished he would have tried a little more as he stumbled through the trees that cut off his backyard, unsure of where he’d end up. The cool breeze was his only comfort as it caressed his skin softly as if to assure him he would be alright. He followed the trickle of music until he stumbled into someone else’s backyard.

His presence wasn’t immediately noticed and so he took a moment to observe the scene. There was cheap patio furniture out, nothing more than a small table and a few chairs made of wicker. One was occupied by a familiar face. A girl who he’d come to have great conversation with and actually considered a friend.

“Y/N,” he called out, grabbing her attention. She nearly fell out of her chair at the sound, a small laugh escaping her lips as she realized it was only him.

“Hargrove. Trying to give me a heart attack?” she asked with a small grin. “What are you doing here?”

“Heard the music,” he explained briefly as he pointed at a small portable radio that sat on the table.

“Ah, Yeah. Sorry if that woke you. I tend to listen to it when I can’t sleep,” she motioned for him to take a seat across from her.

“Yeah, I can’t sleep either.”

He took a moment to look at her. Her face was clear of makeup, either washed off before bed or melted off from the heat of the day earlier. The slight sheen of sweat made her face a little shinier than normal but in the moonlight, Billy couldn’t help but think she looked quite radiant.

“Heat’s a bitch, huh?” she laughed as Billy chuckled and nodded. “The cold is amazing. You’re freezing so you just throw on layers, sleep in blankets. But this heat? I could be naked and still want to take my skin off. It’s awful.”

Billy nodded in agreement. The mention of being naked caused him to give her a once over. She wore a loose t-shirt and a pair of shorts that were cut dangerously short. The sight of her skin caused a typical male reaction down in his loins that he wouldn’t have expected.

Y/N was a friend. A real friend who he enjoyed talking to instead of trying to sleep with. It wasn’t that she wasn’t pretty, because she was stunning in Billy’s mind, but something about her had always made him feel as if it simply wasn’t right to try and make a move on her. He’d followed his instincts and instead had been rewarded with someone whose company he enjoyed.

“I didn’t know you lived this close to me,” Billy admitted as he looked around. Her house was simple enough from where he sat, probably an exact replica of his own inside.

“You’re too busy driving around town to ever think about my house,” she replied with a small shrug. “But you’re welcome back whenever you want. I’m usually out here at this time.”

“This late?” Billy asked slightly alarmed. It must’ve been two in the morning now.

“Yeah. My house heats up like the devil’s ass cheeks. I fall asleep out here half the time.”

Billy grinned wildly, partly at her choice of words and partly at imagining her falling asleep on such an uncomfortable chair. He could already picture her in the mornings when the sun woke her, running inside to shower and get ready for school.

The two sat in a comfortable silence for a while as they listened to the music that flowed through the air. Y/N was a bit surprised that she’d ended up spending the night seated next to Billy Hargrove, but it was a welcome change. Sitting outside, while nice, was also often lonely. Before long she had twisted herself into her usual sleeping position on the chair with her legs dangling over the side of it.

“So, tell me, what’s up with you?” she asked with genuine interest. Billy shrugged, unsure of what to say.

“Not much. The usual. Working on my car, working out,” he replied with a flex of his arms. Y/N rolled her eyes as his biceps bulged through his cut t-shirt.

“You’re boring,” she replied with a smirk. He scoffed. He was the least boring person in Hawkins.

“You’re the one who’s boring,” he grumbled, unable to think of a better comeback. She laughed heartily and nodded.

“Oh, I’m absolutely boring. I thought you knew that by now.” She tied her hair up into a ponytail and sighed, content to have her hair away from her face.

“Nah, you’re probably the best person in this town. Everyone else is so…”

“Boring?”

“Yeah, boring.”

He was being honest. Of all the people in Hawkins she was the one person who he felt the most connected to. He hadn’t felt real friendship like the ones he’d had in California, and people like Tommy were merely replacements, people meant to fill in the gaps. He didn’t actually feel any attachment to them. But Y/N was interesting, and so he’d kept her around.

“Yeah well, they’re a little less boring when you’re beating them up, right?” she asked as she referred back to the fight Billy had been in just two days before. He was frightening when angry, and a part of her really wondered where his violent tendencies came from. Despite everyone’s advice and genuine concern, she’d remained friends with him.

“You gonna lecture me again?”

“You know I don’t like violence.”

“But you like me. So it works out.”

Their eyes met and it was as if a small exchange of understanding passed between them. She sighed and slumped into her seat, her eyes fixated on the stars above. Billy followed her gaze and found himself taking a moment to appreciate the beauty of living in such a small town. The stars were mesmerizing at night.

“You’re lucky you’re the most interesting thing about this place, Hargrove.”

“You know you can call me by my name, right?”

“Okay, William,” she grinned devilishly and thoroughly enjoyed the glare he shot her way.

“On second thought, you can just call me Hargrove.”

Billy watched with a curious smile as her eyes fought to stay open. They’d probably killed another hour out in the open with their conversation and he could feel his own exhaustion begin to set in.

“I should head home,” he stood and the chair creaked at the sudden weight change. “I’ll see you at school?”

“Hmm, if I wake up in time,” she replied with a small yawn. Suddenly it made sense why he’d always seen her run into class late. She always overslept out in her backyard.

“Want me to swing by and pick you up?” he offered.

“In your death trap?” she asked as she eyed him, a small playful smirk on her face. She knew how much he loved his car, he’d talked about it often enough, and so she knew he’d resent her comment. He simply smirked knowing full well of the reputation he’d garnered from his love for speed.

“It’s the death trap or being late to Mrs. Hamwell’s class. Again.”

She frowned at the emphasis he put on the word. Their english teacher was strict on punctuality and she’d already accumulated enough detentions from her. Which coincidentally was where she and Billy had their best chats.

“I’ll be fine,” she replied with a shake of her head. “The sun will wake me.”

“Alright,” he didn’t bother to argue anymore, “I’ll see you then.”

“See ya, Hargrove.”

He made his way back to his house and opened the door as softly as he could. The last thing he wanted to do was wake up his father in the middle of the night. He already knew what would come if he disturbed his sleep.

“You’re barely getting home?” a soft voice asked, startling him.

“I just went for a walk, Max,” he replied. “What about you? What are you doing up?”

“I came to get a glass of water,” she lifted the cup in her hands to show him, the glass already sweating condensation from the number of ice cubes in it. “It’s too hot to sleep.”

“Yeah, well you gotta try. Now go before Neil wakes up.”

She nodded and hurried off to her room at the thought of having to face her step-father. The heat irritated everyone and it wouldn’t be a good night to cause problems. Billy sighed as he felt sweat begin to trickle down his neck once again. He couldn’t help but envy the fact Y/N was sleeping out in the cool breeze.

#eyes full of stars #let me know if you wanna be on the taglist!#new series #Billy Hargrove #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove fic #billy hargrove imagine #bh #stranger things #stranger things 2 #st2 #dacre montgomery

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ladye11e · 6 years

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Deception pt 32

The conflict between the Assassins and the Templars is getting out of hand. Lies, deceit and subterfuge, now you must pick a side...

Sorry for the late update peeps, Tumblr was being it's usual crappy self and wouldn't post! 😣

Tagging @geekgoddess813 @sweet-flash @ermergerd517 @i-wontgivein @imakemyownblog 💕💕

Link to the full fic so far is Here.

Pressing your hand against the stitch in your side after running down thirty eight flights of stairs, you burst through the exit and slammed it shut, leaning up against it while the others pushed up a dumpster, blocking it entirely so the dozen odd guards couldn't continue pursuing you.

"Well, that didn't exactly go as planned," Desmond panted, resting his hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath. "Hopefully we got what we needed though. (Name), you coming with?"

Nodding as you figured you had better tag along; so you didn't raise any suspicions, you caught his spare helmet when he chucked it at you, tugging it on and sliding onto the back of his bike. Quickly winding your arms around him, you burst out laughing and held on for dear life as he apparently thought it would be amusing to race Altaïr, when he pulled off with a wheelspin in his Camero.

Just managing to pry your white knuckles from around Desmond's waist when he pulled up to the Homestead in record time, you cursed under your breath before taking off your helmet, as you hadn't managed to nab the memory stick out of his hoodie pocket thanks to his Moto GP style riding.

"Are you sure you went fast enough Desmond? We aren't supposed to draw attention to ourselves, remember?" Altaïr chided as he got out of his car about a minute later.

"Says you who burned rubber on the way out. You're just a sore loser!"

Biting your lips so you didn't laugh at Altaïrs glaring, you followed them up to the manor and walked straight past the guards; as Desmond just waved them off, and down a corridor to the right, somewhere you had never been since the renovations.

"Can't tell at aaaall you're back, whats next, blood sample?" You scoffed, after passing the palm reader and retina scanner to the central security office.

"Given the circumstances, that might not be a bad idea (name). This way."

Taking in every little detail as you were led through the security room; that now looked somewhat similar to the facility hidden above the suit shop, your mouth dropped open in awe when you came to a large console at the end, standing behind Desmond when both the men took their seats at the desk respectively. Twelve state of the art screens were attached to the large framework in front of you, each one with a different purpose. Flight plans, a list of active members in the field, security footage of the night of the ball and suchlike, until they all went dark when Altair took the USB off Desmond and plugged it in, cracking his knuckles before typing at his usual slow and steady pace.

"Well, looks like it weren't a total loss, there's something on here at least."

You gripped the back of the chair when several folders popped up onto each of the screens; including the Warehouse 25 and video files, and they began opening them one by one, dismissing anything irrelevant like nondescript business-related matters, schedules or banking documents.

"So boys, you gonna tell me about this traitor then? I didn't have a chance to get filled in with everything going on."

Altaïr stopped what he was doing and spun his chair so he could face you; gesturing for Desmond to continue working on the files, his eyes flickering to your hands that were unconsciously on the verge of ripping off the back of Desmond's chair.

"Firstly, you can tell me why you are so, fidgety?"

Letting go and flexing your fingers when you realised what he was looking at, you scowled at the screen when Desmond had already reached the halfway point of his perusing, putting one hand on your hip while wafting the other at the monitors.

"Traaaaaaitooooor... Aren't you just a little bit pissed off?!"

"A valid point. We have noticed some wrongdoings for some time now, and the situation has become progressively obvious. The Templars always know what we are up to, and then there was the theft. I am assuming that you don't know, but after your mission in London, the money that you retrieved was stolen from the safe house mere days later?"

Raising your eyebrows and shaking your head, you glanced back at Desmond's progress and clenched your jaw to act as if you were annoyed at this information, running several scenarios in your head that would distract them enough to stop what they were doing, but none of them seemed feasible at this moment in time.

"No, I didn't. That's not all you've got to go on, surely?"

"Of course not," Altaïr grumbled irritably, leaning over the desk to pull over a thick file and flicking it open. "We had a contact at Templar headquarters, until recently. She informed one of our members that she heard Kenway and Lee conversing, well more, arguing, about the risks of having an assassin spy. That is why we were there, to see if Kenway kept any information on this defector. I'm assuming you remember Arno?"

"Vaguely, one of your friends that came over from Europe last year?" You mumbled, your attention almost entirely focused on where Desmond was one away from opening the Warehouse folder.

"Yes. He relocated to over here because he was seeing a woman, who just happened to turn out to be a Templar. Elise, I think he said her name was, one of Kenways assistants. Well, before they broke up, she was the one who told him this information, and of course, Arno contacted us straight away."

Your eyes widened when he passed you the folder; which was a dossier on the apparent informant, your gaze settling on the photograph of the redhead that you had a slight encounter with earlier today, wishing you had done more than nearly snapped her finger off now.

"Hey, there's a thought! How about I set you up with Arno? I know you like them tall, dark and foreign."

Slapping Desmond on the arm with a scoff when he spun around and wiggled his eyebrows at you, you handed the folder back to Altair and chose to reveal your 'relationship', as if anything, it would keep him distracted for just a little while longer.

"I appreciate the sentiment, but I've already got someone. Thanks though."

"What? Who?! Since when? It's not that bloke from before, is it??"

"It is actually," you huffed when he frowned at you in disapproval. "Bit of crossed wires after all that, it wasn't him that was dicking about. Found out that it was actually his friend I caught doing the dirty."

"That is enough of this idle chatter you two. We came here to gather intelligence, not to discuss our personal lives."

Pulling a face behind Altaïr's back and mumbling jealous cos you haven't got one; which Desmond chuckled at before turning back around and carrying on with the computer, you lent over his shoulder when he finally opened the warehouse folder, screwing up your nose when it was nothing but list upon list of eleven digit numbers and letters.

"What the... Those look like the numbers of our shipping containers down at the docks?!"

Your eyes didn't once leave the screen as Desmond scrolled through the list, familiarity swarming through you as he went past a sectioned off block, placing where you had seen them before a split second later. They were from the message William Johnson had asked you to give to Haytham, urgently. Before you had any chance to ponder it further, all of the screens jumped about in a flash of green and yellow before going black, loud trumpet fanfare ringing through the speakers. You quickly bit your lips together, so you didn't laugh when Woody Woodpecker filled the monitors, but you failed to keep your composure when Wile E. Coyote followed, sitting on an Acme rocket with a devious grin before lighting it up and splatting himself against the screen.

"You find this amusing (name)?!"

Wincing when Altaïr glared at you as if you had just insulted his mother, you cleared your throat and lowered your head ashamed, but still grit your teeth together with a smirk when Elmer Fudd crept on the screen and pretended he had a Tommy gun and, was shooting towards you.

"No, sir. Not the situation, I was laughing at the cartoons. Don't you like them?"

"No. I do not. Only a weak mind would find these funny," he scolded while throwing Desmond a filthy look, who was now staring at the Tv's and grinning. "Didn't you run the antivirus software??"

"Hey, don't you blame me for this! Of course I did, if you don't trust me, you can do it yourself next time."

Altaïr waved his hand irritably before picking up another report; thinner this time, eyeing you up dubiously before handing it to you.

"As I was saying before this disaster, Arno contacted us straight away, and also helped us compile a theory. We believe that the person we are looking for had to be at both theft locations, which narrows the pool down significantly."

Flicking through the paperwork and reading it at your usual rapid speed, you trailed your finger down the sheet when you came across a list of the people that were in your group in London, all of the names crossed out, apart from three. Henrys, Jacobs, and your own.

"As you can see we have narrowed it down to less than a handful of people, who had the opportunity to contact the Templars, due to a, disappearance during each event. I have my own idea of who it could be."

You rolled your tongue in your cheek as you carried on reading times and dates of when you were all unaccounted for, until you glanced up through your eyelashes to him staring at you blankly.

"Y-you think it's m-"

"Henry Green."

Dropping the file on the floor and wholly gobsmacked for a moment, you fell to your knees so you could pick up all of the documents that were now scattered about, bursting out into hysterics when you snatched up several surveillance photographs from London.

"Henry?! Really? You've gotta be kidding," You blurted when you finally managed to calm yourself down slightly and catch your breath. "He's the last person I'd suspect, the man doesn't have a devious bone in his body!"

"Do you have another suggestion then?"

Shaking your head quickly as his eyes narrowed and you felt like you were under a microscope, you finished stuffing all of the papers back into the folder and handed it back, now rather eager to get out of here as soon as humanly possible.

"No, sir. But I do think you're wrong. Why him?"

"He cannot account for his whereabouts for a portion of the ball for starters, while you were dancing I believe? And then there is the fact he has access to all of our intelligence, plus numerous contacts and allies all over the world. It was also he that suggested that specific safe house in Whitechapel. All of the evidence is against him. Desmond, fix this. Now. Or so help me I'll have you scrubbing toilets for the next week."

Satisfied you were in the clear for now, you slowly began inching your way towards the door as it looked like the men were about to get into a full blown argument; and you didn't want to be caught in the middle, freezing to the spot when they both suddenly stopped mid-sentence and turned to face you as soon as you turned the door handle.

"Where are you going?!" They both chanted simultaneously, Altaïr irritably and Desmond pleading.

"Umm, home? Not exactly much I can do here as it looks like a virus has wiped what we've stolen, and it is gone three in the morning."

"I'll give you a lift."

You didn't even have a chance to reply before Desmond jumped up out of his chair and grabbed you by the arm, almost giving you whiplash as he dragged you out of the manor in his haste to get away from his boss.

As soon as you made it to your apartment, you ran inside and slammed the door behind you, slumping down it and rubbing your face in your hands vigorously. This was all going so very wrong, and there was not a chance in hell that you would let Henry take the fall for this. Pulling out your phone and seeing that it was nearly eight in the morning in London, you stared at the wall after going through your contacts list, trying to think of what you could say as the ringing continued in your ear.

This is the voicemail of Henry Green. If you would be so kind, please leave a message after the beep.

Oh for fuck's sake .... "Henry! You need to call me back asap! It's urgent!"

Hanging up your phone and dropping it down on the floor next to you, you banged your head on the door out of habit more than anything else, wincing when you jumped and did it again; harder this time, as your ringtone blared in the air.

"Henry?!"

"(Name), what's the matter? Are you in trouble??"

"I'll explain in a minute, you need to answer me something first. Achilles birthday, you ran off for a bit while I was dancing? Where did you go??"

You rubbed your temples when only silence returned, but you knew he was still there as you could hear him breathing down the line.

"Henry. Come on, this is important!"

"Okay. I was with Jacob, trying to calm him down when you went off with Sergei. His temper was through the roof, and I was afraid he was going to do something stupid. Well, more stupid than normal anyway. What does it matter?"

"Can anyone else vouch for you?"

"I don't think so, other than Jacob. Are you going to tell me what's going on?"

Great. The only person who could help dig Henry out of this just happened to be the one other that was being suspected of treason. You didn't care about yourself anymore, your only goal was to get Henry's name cleared as this was all of your fault in the first place.

"You're being investigated as a potential traitor, working with the Templars."

Holding your phone away from your ear when he began yelling down it; saying that was absurd and he would never betray anyone, you pressed the loudspeaker button when you couldn't get a word in edgeways, and to save your eardrum from exploding.

"Henry... Henry! HENRY! Will you shut up for one damned second!! Thank you." You grumbled when he finally stopped being hysterical.

"I know it's not you, I told them as much. It's all a big misunderstanding okay? Right, now here's what we're gonna do..."

Dragging yourself up off the floor and stomping over to your kitchen, you flicked the kettle on, to prepare yourself for yet another sleepless night.

#assassin's creed #assassinscreed #fanfic #modern au #reader insert #desmond miles #altair ibn la ahad #altair #sfw #henry greene #henry green

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twiststreet · 6 years

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Mission Impossible 4: Ghost Protocol Blogging, Chapter 3

I’m blogging about the 4th Mission Impossible movie, Ghost Protocol. The blogging starts here.

Paula Patton is the perfect member for the team to infiltrate the Kremlin. Her job is to fly a balloon over a vent and then drop some bullshit into the vent. She got the highest grade in her balloon class at IMF School. Her teachers: “You are the one they spoke of on our balloon scrolls, before they popped.”

(Come to my blog for the full frontal male nudity; stay for the balloon humor. I’m very proud of “Before they popped,” though. I felt good about that one...)

Annnnnd that’s all Paula Patton does for the first mission. Except she doesn’t even really do that right-- she’s slow to drop the balloon thing so it takes a while for Simon Pegg’s “fake being a Russian general” widget to work...? This movie’s rough on Patton...

Then between 23:15 and 23:56 is nearly a minute of Simon Pegg and Tom Cruise just walking while Russians-are-spooky music plays. They walk all sorts of places--in a hall, in a big room, in the same big room except at a different camera angle. About 40-seconds of just pure walking content. They’re not talking as they walk even-- it’s not a walk and talk-- just taking a leisurely stroll in the middle of the action movie.

There’s like 4 or 5 different shots that somebody had to light. “What are we lighting today, Phil?” “Another walking scene.” “Why aren’t we married yet? My mom’s starting to ask questions. How long are we going to be engaged?” “This isn’t the time for that. We’re in the middle of an entirely unrelated point being made through the magic of hypothetical dialogue.” “Excuses, excuses! Always with the excuses.”

I get it though -- When you get older, walking becomes the most impossible mission of them all. :(

We’re now at one of my favorite parts of this movie -- when the IMF invests about $5-7 million dollars in US taxpayer dollars to create the most elaborate way to walk halfway down a hallway humanly conceivable.

The IMF has to invent a handheld machine that creates the realistic sound of water dropping -- but then the machine has to be like a fucking gun so that it looks like water is coming from where the wielder wants that sound to originate from.

Then, the IMF has to invent a device that generates a photo-realistic image of a pre-existing hallway, from the point of view of a person sitting behind a security desk. Now, how the IMF collected enough data seeing as they don’t have access to the hallway or the desk or data about the desk, is well beyond the scope of this blog post. But again, an extremely sophisticated and expensive piece of technology. To get ... halfway down a hallway.

Here’s the thing: a tranquilizer costs about... $4.

They could just shoot a tranquilizer at the security guy. All this technology, it’s all overkill. Tranquilizer, Poof, done. Instead they build the most amazing technology ever and then just leave it there, cause fuck keeping that shit.

Sure, you could say “well if they used a tranquilizer, that’d show up on the security cameras.” Except they could hack those because this is a movie, anything can be hacked. Also, you know what else would show up on security cameras? Tom Cruise and Simon Pegg setting up a floor to ceiling fucking greenscreen in the middle of the got-damn Kremlin. Don’t be giving me no “Security camera” shit. I ain’t gonna be fooled by no banana in the tailpipe, man.

(ALSO: Tom Cruise has gone there dressed as a Russian general. Why wouldn’t a Russian general be able to go and just walk down the hall wherever he felt like it? Or why did he bother to dress up as a Russian general if it wouldn’t let him walk down one whole fucking hallway without getting harassed by security?? I saw Death of Stalin-- after that movie, fuuuuuck, I’d let anyone in a Russian military costume walk into your mom’s sex closet, without even trying to stop them or the pals they brought with them, to make group-love to your mom...)

I love this scene though. It’s just the dumbest heist scene. But even the dumbest heist scene’s still a fucking heist scene. I always want there to be one of those in a Mission Impossible movie... Every one of these movies has the same plot-- “some bad guy just got me disavowed so I gotta do a heist so I can be avowed because it’s important for a man to be avowed”-- but it’s a good one. It works. It’s more of a spy plot at least than James Bond’s one plot, which is just “I got a mission, but hey, I still make time to get totally laid.” I like that plot, too, because it teaches a good lesson to the kids, but I’m just saying MI’s one plot feels more rooted in the spy genre, is all...

But the bad guy knows they’re there and deviously sets them up for bombing the Kremlin.

Want to know how the bad guy knows that the IMF is there?

Want to know how the bad guy even knows what the IMF is, considering it’s a secret organization whose existence is not known to the public?

Want to know how the bad guy knew he had to go scrub the Kremlin of his identity?

Want to know why the bad guy didn’t feel like he had to scrumb the Kremlin of his identity before that, even though he was actively trying to buy nuclear weapons?

Want to know why it’d even be bad for the bad guy to have his identity known? Like, what’s the IMF going to do with his name -- look him up in the White Pages?

Neither do I. This is the key for me to this movie -- Pleasure>logic. If only the campaign managers of Clinton-Kaine 2016 had listened to that message! Viva Le Revolucion. Welcome to my propaganda abattoir-- the Mission Impossible content was just a ruse to lure you in, much like the Russian General costume that Tom Cruise is wearing in this thrilling scene. Now I convert you to being a Bro!

Tom Cruise runs away from the Kremlin exploding.

A+.

I’ve never seen this movie and not gotten confused how Simon Pegg isn’t dead after this scene. That’s my personal theory about the movie, is that the rest of the movie is all what Simon Pegg imagines is happening, as he’s dying under a bunch of rubble. It’s Simon Pegg’s Vertigo.

Another character who only gets to mix it up in one movie. Not as sad a thing as it is with Kittridge, the tough Spy Boss from Mission Impossible 1. But I like that they created an Inspector Zenigata to Tom Cruise’s Lupin in these movies. I’ve always figured that for being Bird’s little nod to Miyazaki, though that kinda character’s pretty common to these kinds of movies anyways. Zenigata’s just where my mind goes to, I guess...

Of this movie’s additions, I’d have been happier to see him come back in other movies then Jeremy Renner.

Who ... you know, I liked him in the Hurt Locker and The House. He doesn’t irritate me the way a Jai Courtney does. I’m not 100% anti-Renner-- maybe someday, someone will figure out what to do with that guy, even though what that could possibly be is not really immediately obvious.

But he’s just got an impossible job being likable in these movies. Because he’s got no function-- they already have a cool, action-smart guy-- that’s Tom Cruise. So anytime Jeremy Renner has to say anything, as an action analyst, he has to say the wrong thing, to show that Tom Cruise is saying the right thing by comparison. Because the only rule in these movies is “Tom Cruise is going to be awesome at whatever he’s doing on-screen.” So if there’s an argument, it’ll always be like

Tom Cruise: You need to trust me. I know how to win on this Blue Rose mission, and defeat the evil of Judy once and for all.

Jeremy Renner: We can’t. Waaaaah. Even though we know you’re awesome, we’re going to not trust you because I went to Big Brains College and... oh no, I forgot that a degree from Big Brains College isn’t as good as your real world experience, whoops. OH NO I just peed in my own mouth in the bathroom. I’m a big dummie!

Tom Cruise: I guess trusting me sounds like a much better idea now, doesn’t it, audience? Yay! Quick-- to the dynamite factory.

That’s a tough role to play. On the other hand, we get to go to the dynamite factory-- they go to the dynamite factory in these movies. So who’s got time for any sympathy? Not me!

I’m going to have to go through this bit slowly because I get confused here...

So, Tom Cruise rendezvous’s with The Secretary and his quant William Brandt. Instead of shaking Jeremy Renner’s hands (because gross! he probably just spunked with those hands), Tom Cruise starts badgering him for a pen.

Brandt gives him a pen and then Tom Cruise draws the face of the bad guy on the palm of his hand-- after Tom Cruise walked by him for 5 seconds... That’s the kind of memory that having your thetans Zoofrau-Cleaned lets you have.

Tom Cruise shows him this drawing and then says “Who is he?”

Really overestimating his art skills, Tom Cruise. Really has a high estimation of his doodling.

This is what Baby Boomers think all millennials are like. “We gave Tom Cruise too many participation trophies and now he thinks he’s the frickin’ Norman Rockwell of palm-scribbles.” I thought “it’s the worst thing in the universe to teach kids to feel okay about themselves and have good self-esteem” was Brad Bird’s whole entire point in The Incredibles, but here he seems to be taking the opposition position. Sell-out bitch.

I mean, you draw on your hand o-kay Tom Cruise, but I’m more into a kind of Todd McFarlane artstyle. Put some chains on that guy; try some crosshatching...

Okay, so now they know who Cobalt is. It’s Kurt Hendricks...

Here’s Jeremy Renner’s description of Hendricks:

190 IQ. Served in Swedish Special Forces. Professor of physics. Stockholm University. Specialist in nuclear endgame theory. Asked to resign... Well, because he’s crazy.

So do you happen to remember why they had to infiltrate the Kremlin to begin with?

In your absence, IMF has learned that Cobalt is or was a level-1 nuclear strategist for Russian intelligence.

In other words, IMF knew that (a) Cobalt was a nuclear strategist and (b) knew that Kurt Hendricks was an insane-genius nuclear endgame theorist with Special Forces training, but somehow couldn’t figure out that (c) Cobalt was Hendricks. This isn’t Finkle being Einhorn -- I would think that would be a pretty easy solve. I guess what I’m saying is ... M-maybe I should be on the IMF? Mission accepted.

Anyways, then Tom Cruise says something that...

“Cobalt. You have to alert the Kremlin that one of their strategists has a nuclear launch device. And one of his operatives has the codes to activate it.”

Okay, so the codes... that was the file that Sawyer from Lost got killed over, but...

When did Cobalt get a nuclear launch device? What nuclear launch device is he talking about? Where did Tom Cruise get that info from?

Cruise explains: “I saw him, leaving the executive armory, bag in hand.” So-- remember why they had to infiltrate the Kremlin? They had to infiltrate the Kremlin to get records before Cobalt got there first. But now, that wasn’t Cobalt’s plan-- his plan was to get a Nuclear Launch Device.

Which they just keep down the hall from the personnel department.

The Kremlin’s Human Resources dept. doesn’t have the same level of resources as the IMF Impossible HR Department does, I guess...

Oh, then Tom Wilkinson’s got a flash drive.

Gee, I wonder what’s on the flash drive?

The Secretary gets killed, an action scene involving a daring underwater car hooplah scenario ensues, until Tom Cruise and Jeremy Renner get to a train that the IMF has decked out.

Finally, we can see what’s on the flash drive.

Oh, it’s a video of Hendricks.

The bad guy.

Who ... the IMF was unaware was the bad guy ...

Until Tom Cruise saw him at the Kremlin.

The Secretary had video of the bad guy before Tom Cruise had found out who the bad guy was.

The Secretary had a flash drive of the bad guy on his person, even while fleeing from Russia, just coincidentally.

In a folder marked “Tinder Matches.” That’s not an Impossible Mission. The Secretary just swiped right.

This is also a video the IMF just kept around of Hendricks giving a speech about how much he liked nuclear war and blowing people up with nuclear weapons. The IMF couldn’t figure out that was Cobalt, the nuclear weapon loving intelligence analyst, after watching that video? Couldn’t piece that one together? Okay. Okeydoke.

Maybe all the missions are impossible because *they’re not very bright.*

It’s like that saying how if everyone around you is an asshole, maybe you’re the asshole, or however that one goes. It’s like that-- maybe if all the missions are impossible to you, maybe you’re the one that’s impossible. BOOM-- Oprah!

youtube

#Ghost Protocol #The Very Spookiest of All the Protocols

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blackcoffeeandteardrops · 6 years

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Precipice (6/7)

Almost done! This story has been really fun to write. Previous chapters can be found here as well as AO3. Chapter 6 is also available below the cut:

Mulder watched helplessly as Spender pulled William back towards the SUV. He heard a stifled sob coming from Scully's direction and leveled the gun, weighing his options. If he let the smoker take William he knew Scully would never forgive him, even if it meant letting her live, but he didn’t want his son to be taken by him either.

“I promise you guys, I’m really not worth it,” William said, tired of all the fighting. Exhaustion seeped from his pores and he closed his eyes, trying to imagine himself in a place far away from those who wanted to poke and prod him, treating him differently just because of what he could do. “Just let me run off into the woods and stay there. It’d be better for everyone.”

“No, it won’t. Don't say that,” Scully pleaded, trying to ignore the panic that threatened to make her come unglued.

“You'd really take a son away from the only parents he has left? Instead of working toward a peaceful resolution that leaves everyone satisfied?” Reyes asked. It was an attempt to draw attention to herself, to distract and perhaps stall Spender long enough for the others to try and formulate a plan.

“I always did wonder, Monica. Why you agreed to help me so easily, to willingly side with someone you were aware had caused your friends so much pain,” Spender mused, tightening his grip on William when he tried to pull away. “You had the potential to become someone truly great, to have a seat at the table once everything comes tumbling down. But you've wasted that chance by betraying me like this. Pity,” he continued, shaking his head as he looked back at Mulder. “And you, Fox. You won't take the shot. You love your Agent Scully, and she loves the son the two of you share, thanks entirely to me. You won't risk either of their lives just to get a shot at me, will you? Get in the car, boy,” he said, letting go of William just long enough to open the passenger side door. He turned his head to look at the guard. “And you. Hold onto her until we’re out of sight. You know what to do from there.”

Mulder locked eyes with William over Spender's shoulder. He wished so badly that their lives had been different and none of this had happened. Still, something in the air snapped and William nodded, ducking his head just slightly. He hadn't heard his thoughts--hadn't experienced that in far more years than he cared to count--but somehow he still sensed what the younger man was thinking.

“Now,” William said, his voice barely audible as he stepped back from Spender, kneeing him in the shin and digging an elbow into his back.

A bullet burst through the small space around them, landing squarely in Spender's chest. The two that followed as he fell backwards into the grass probably weren't necessary, but as Mulder watched blood spill from the man’s lips, he knew they were worth it.

Scully kicked backwards, digging her heel into the guard's shin, ignoring his cries of pain. She pried apart his arms, desperate to break free. It wasn't clear at first where the gunshot came from, but when she looked up, Monica's gun was raised in their direction and the guard lay at their feet. She watched as the woman lowered it, satisfied that things were safe, at least for now.

“Should we...should we call somebody? We gotta call somebody, right?” William asked, hating the tremor that shook his voice. He watched as Spender’s chest rose and fell, staring as the man drew a rattled breath, and tore his focus away when the man's eyes glazed over. “Is he dead?”

“I sure as hell hope so,” Mulder replied, considering pumping more bullets into him for good measure. He beckoned William closer, eager to get him as far away from Spender as he could. “Come on, we should leave before anyone else shows up.”

“We can't leave. There's kids inside. Like me,” William replied, hating how small he sounded. “Maybe. I don't know exactly, but those people were treating them like science experiments. We can't just leave them here to die.”

“He's right,” Scully replied. She recalled the children she’d seen as she hurried to find William. At the time she'd been so bent on finding him that she wasn't able to process what she'd seen, but now that she had, she knew there was no way they could leave them behind. “We’ll need an ambulance. Several, actually. We have to help them, Mulder.”

“I’ve already contacted A.D. Skinner. I called him when I was searching the house for you,” Reyes replied, looking to Mulder. “Help should be on the way from a local Bureau branch, and soon.”

“How'd he react to hearing a blast from the past?” Mulder asked.

Reyes shrugged. “Who do you think it is I’ve been reporting to all this time? The call didn't come as too great a surprise.”

As if on cue, sirens wailed as several agents drove onto the property. William tensed up, relaxing only as Mulder's hand settled against his shoulder. “What's gonna happen to me?”

Scully cleared her throat, unsure of what to do with her hands as she took a cautious step towards him. “You should go to the hospital. Make sure you're okay. We’ll keep you safe, Jackson. Please, let's go.”

“Just--” William started, squeezing his eyes shut when Scully grabbed his hand. It was impossible, that much he knew, but somehow he saw a chubby infant hand he knew was his own, clinging tightly to one of Scully's fingers. He would've been far too young to remember such a thing, and yet William understood it was a memory. The sirens grew louder and he could hear doors opening. He nodded his head, wanting so badly to believe she was telling the truth and that he’d be safe. “Yeah. Okay. We should get the hell out of here.”

Scully pulled away, reaching with her thumb to wipe away a smudge of dirt on his cheek before she could consider how her action would be perceived. “You're right,” she replied, smiling sadly when he didn't recoil from her. “Just stay close. We don't know who else might be nearby.”

Once at the hospital, both Scully and Mulder were hesitant to leave William’s side, but were assured that the proper tests would be run and supervised with the strictest protocol. The doctor didn't necessarily understand why they were so afraid, but had lowered her voice and said something along the lines of “I have a son, too. No matter how old he gets, he’s always my baby.”

Scully had nodded at that, fingers grasping the cross on her necklace and clinging to it as a source of comfort. She’d taken to wearing the quarter pendant along with it, and as she looked into the hospital room, she couldn’t help wondering what her mother would think about all of this.

“Anything?” Mulder asked, sidling up to Scully outside the hospital room. Through the small window in the door he watched as the doctor pulled a penlight from her lab coat, and he stifled a laugh when William restrained from rolling his eyes at apparently again being asked to follow it. Physically, he was proving to be relatively fine. He didn't want to think about the psychological scars that might remain.

“Thank you,” she said, grateful for the styrofoam cup of coffee he handed her. He’d grown frustrated at the lack of an update and so she'd suggested he slip down to the cafeteria to grab something to eat. He’d been reluctant to go, but had trusted she’d alert him at the sign of any changes. “And no, nothing yet. She’s in with him now,” she said, pointing towards the room. She closed her eyes and took a tentative sip from her coffee. The adrenaline that had fueled her from the moment she found out William had been taken was beginning to ebb away, and she stifled a yawn, knowing she had to remain alert in the event she was needed. “This is what I was afraid of, Mulder,” she whispered, inching closer to him and tucking into his side. It was a move born both out of the need for comfort and need for privacy. “I didn’t want him to grow up afraid, or be put into a position where people in power would manipulate him to do their bidding. He deserved so much more than that.”

“He still does,” Mulder replied, leaving little room for doubt. He cast a glance behind them as a nurse walked down the hall. He gingerly grabbed Scully’s arm and pulled them closer to the wall. “He’s our son, Dana,” he said, cupping his cheek with his palm and wiping away a tear with his thumb. “It’s not the most ideal of circumstances, but we’ve been given an opportunity to reconnect with him. To make things better.”

Scully nodded and shrugged her shoulders. As much as she wanted him to be right, she knew better than anyone that things weren’t always that simple. “He ran away before. What if he doesn’t want that? Doesn’t want to come home with us?”

Mulder breathed in deep, letting the air fill his lungs until he nearly felt like they could burst. He cast a glance into the room and watched as the doctor continued a battery of tests. William complied, speaking and moving as asked, but the exhaustion the younger man felt was evident. “All we can do is ask, Scully. We can offer him a place to stay. The things he’s been through would be a lot for anyone, and he’s still just a kid.”

“A teenager,” Scully mused. She nudged him in the side before tucking a finger through his belt loop, inching him closer. “Do you really feel like we’re ready to be parents to a teenager?”

There was fear in her voice, but there were notes of excitement and maybe even hope. He didn’t want to think about what would happen if William said no. “A kid with your keen sense of survival and my stunningly good looks? Come on, Sculls. We trained for this.”

“I told you not to call me that,” Scully teased, playfully slapping his chest. Mulder’s attention focused on the room behind them and she quickly turned, trying desperately to read the look on the doctor’s face. “How is he?”

The doctor held a tablet and nodded politely at a nurse as he passed before turning her attention back to Mulder and Scully. “As both of you are aware, he has been through quite an ordeal. That having been said, physically he appears to be fine.”

“He informed us he’d been injected with something. Did the bloodwork indicate anything regarding that?” Scully asked, trying to keep memories of an infant William faced with a similar circumstance at bay. She peeked into the room and watched as William fiddled with his hospital bracelet, and she was thankful that he was old enough now to tell them if something was wrong.

The doctor shook her head. “If he was injected with something, it certainly wasn't harmful. You can bring him back in a few days for follow up if you’d like.”

“Maybe,” Scully replied. There was no way for the doctor to know they weren't even sure if they’d be in contact with William in a few days let alone later on in the current one.

“Very well,” the doctor replied. If she sensed that anything was amiss, she certainly didn't show it. “I’m going to get started on the discharge paperwork. Someone should be with you all shortly to go over everything, but then you’ll be cleared to take your son home.”

Scully watched as the doctor walked away, feeling as if the walls around them were closing in. She stared down at the polished floor and blinked away hot tears. “Mulder, when we go in there, it’ll be the first time we’ve all been alone since--”

“I know,” Mulder replied, his voice shaking slightly as he took her hand and gave it a squeeze. Aside from the time William had spent in a cold morgue pretending to be a corpse, the three of them hadn't exactly had much time together. “A few months ago, you said you felt like you were gonna fall off a cliff. Scully, I’m getting that feeling now.”

When he tried pulling his hand away, Scully held tight. She locked eyes with him and smiled sadly.

“We should...probably get in there. Before he figures out we're standing out here talking about him. Unless you, you know,” Mulder said, tapping his temple with one finger.

“It doesn't work like that,” Scully replied, thinking again of how she didn't exactly understand how it worked. Reluctantly, she let go of Mulder's hand and pushed the door open.

“Hey,” William said, weakly waving at them as they entered. “The doc says I’m fine. I take it you guys are here to break me out?”

“We could do that, if it's what you want,” Mulder replied, thinking that his son's ability to crack jokes and make light during serious situations might have come from him. He hoped to get the chance to see what else they had in common.

“Those kids,” William replied. He lowered his gaze and picked at the hospital bracelet again, wanting to take it off but thinking he probably wasn't supposed to do that just yet. “What's gonna happen to them?”

“They're being taken care of. Doctors are checking them out, making sure they're okay,” Scully answered. Her hand flexed at her side, aching to touch him again, as if doing so would be proof he was truly there.

“Their parents,” William said, darting his tongue out to moisten his lips. “Those people told me stories. About how the kids’ parents gave them up. They wanted those people to take care of them, but they treated them like an experiment instead.”

“William,” Scully replied. “Sorry. Jackson,” she continued, afraid to look at him for fear of seeing proof that he didn't approve of her slip up. The name his adoptive parents gave him was like an unpolished stone as she rolled it around in her mind; jagged in some places, more flat and rounded out in others, but something she figured she could get used to it if given the chance. When she glanced up his eyes were on her, open and waiting, but at least a little cautious. She guessed that she earned that. Mulder pressed in tight next to her, ready to step in if need be, but she cleared her throat, knowing this was her story to tell. William hadn't been accusing her when he brought up the parents of the other kids, not exactly, but she knew that he had questions. “I didn't give--”

“I know,” William interrupted. He sighed, flopping back onto the pillows behind him. He clasped his hands on top of his stomach and shrugged. “I guess I don't really know, but I felt it.”

“Felt what?” Scully asked, cursing herself afterward. Their son was opening up to them, at least a little, and she didn't want to rush him.

“This, I guess. Whatever weird brain thing that happens between us,” William replied, waving his hand between them. “I’d see you sometimes. Or feel you. I didn't always get why, and I didn't know who you were at first, but once I did…” he trailed off, surprising himself with how much he was opening up. His stomach fluttered and he rubbed at his forehead, thinking of his parents who were in a graveyard somewhere thanks in part to him, and he felt sick.

“What's wrong? Do you need me to get the doctor?” Scully asked, rushing to press a cool hand to his forehead.

William shrugged, not entirely hating the way she held her hand to his face for a second before taking it away. “I’m sorry for making you guys think I was dead.”

“You probably won't believe me, but you're not the only one in this room who's pulled that trick. Albeit under different but nonetheless dangerous circumstances,” Mulder replied. He hoped to keep the mood light, at least for a time. They could go more in depth on serious topics when they weren't in a public place with the risk of someone else interrupting them.

William sat up in the bed, crossing his legs as he pushed the blanket back. He picked at a hangnail on his thumb, aware they were watching him but not feeling the pressure that he had before. “I killed someone. Maybe several someones. You guys can't pretend that didn't happen.”

“No, we can't,” Scully replied, her voice laced with sympathy. She knew all too well the guilt he likely carried, and she wished not for the first time that she could hug him. “Official reports can suggest the railing was faulty, maybe it was already cracked--”

“Why are you protecting me?” William asked. He uncrossed his legs and shifted his position, letting them dangle over the side of the bed. If he reached out his arm, he was close enough to touch her.

“Because you're…” Scully hesitated, shrugging as a sigh escaped her lips. It was hard, trying to mesh together the image she'd held of him for years, of an infant cradled safely in her arms, with the one sitting before her.

“Because it's the right thing to do,” Mulder said, stepping forward and resting one hand against the foot of the bed.

“How do you know that? How do you know they won't come after me again?” William replied. He shook his head and drew his bottom lip between his teeth, blinking back hot tears. “It's not safe.”

“But it can be,” Mulder insisted, wanting so badly to step in and reassure the younger man. “The man, Mr. Y or whatever the hell he insisted on being called? He's gone, too. I found him in an office downstairs. He fired a round, but he missed. I didn't,” he continued, glancing toward the closed door to make sure they weren't about to be interrupted. “You're safe, Jackson. I know you might not know us very well yet, but we can help you.”

William nodded, slowly taking the information in. He glanced up at the two of them standing guard and laughed softly to himself. “It bothers you, doesn't it? Calling me that.”

Mulder looked to Scully, waiting to see if she'd intervene. He recalled all too well the moment all those years before when she'd happily told him she'd chosen to name their son William. Up until a few months before, and even longer if he was being honest, that's the only name he knew him as. Still, he wanted his son to be comfortable, no matter what he was called. “It's your name, isn't it? It's what we should call you.”

William swung his legs back and forth, kicking at the bed, realizing he probably needed to answer him. Jackson had been the name his parents gave him, some family name of an uncle he’d never even met, and it only happened after they needed to move and keep him safe. Protecting him at the time by changing his name seemed like a good option. Still, things were different now, and no change of name guaranteed safety. Hearing Jackson from Mulder and Dana was strange, like a puzzle piece that didn’t exactly fit, although he wasn’t sure if William did either. “Is it okay if I don’t know the answer to that question yet?”

Yet. A small but unbelievably big word. Scully nodded, feeling more hopeful than she had in a long time. “Of course.”

“So what happens now? To me?” William asked. He could fend for himself, get a job if he had to, but he suspected they had other plans.

“You can come home with us. If you want, that is,” Mulder replied, not missing the way his son’s eyes lit up. Life on the run couldn’t have been easy on him. “We’ve got a room you can sleep in, a big screen in the living room, and a dog that is particularly fond of chewing on my shoes.”

“My mom was allergic to dogs, so we never got to have one,” William replied. “What’s his name?”

“Dagoo,” Scully replied. She cleared her throat and leveled her gaze at him. “So, what do you think? We don’t want to push you, but you’re always welcome.”

He could say no. He could decline now, rip the band aid off, and wish them all the best in the future. But sitting so close to the parents he’d spent his whole life wondering about reminded him of all the questions he had, all the things he wanted to know, and he knew he couldn’t turn down their offer. “I guess that doesn’t sound too bad.”

“You hear that, Scully? Not too bad,” Mulder replied.

“If you guys have a decent shower, you’ll be better than the last motel I stayed at,” William said, hoping they’d take it as the joke it was intended to be.

“Aha, so it’s you then,” Mulder replied, making a show of smelling his own shirt sleeve, only to have Scully nudge him in the side. “What?”

“It’s okay,” William replied. The smile on his face was genuine for the first time in a long while. It wasn’t as if all of the details were ironed out, but they were getting there. It was a start. He pushed himself off the bed and then clapped his hands together with a sense of finality. He pointed to the door and raised an eyebrow, ready to get everything going. “You guys gonna lead the way?”

#msr #william #txf #fanfic #precipice #mulder is 100% the kind of dad who makes dad jokes okay #i said what i said #it's just facts #also #let dana scully know her son 2k18

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spageddiekaspbrak · 6 years

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The Perks of Being A New Kid

Summary; Ben Hanscom was lucky enough to find himself welcomed into the losers’ club before his first day of school is even over. The one problem is Bill Denbrough, star baseball player and certified fuckboy. And The Bowers’ Gang. And gym class. Maybe there's more than one problem.

Word Count; 2019

AN; I fucking love fuckboy bill and I fucking love denscom. And steddie and British Richie. Don't even get me started on Ben having a southern accent. Anyways hope y'all like it, I worked pretty damn hard on it

Masterlist

“Aw fuck! Jesus Christ, fucking hell.” Ben recognized the British accent from earlier. It was Richie Tozier, a tall and lanky boy who had moved to Derry from Manchester, England three years ago and knew how it felt to be a new kid with an unusual accent. Ben had been touring the school with Stanley Uris, the student guide the office had assigned to him, when Richie has appeared out of nowhere and started a friendly sort of fight, the sort of fight Ben figured best friends often had with each other. Richie seemed nice enough, despite his punk clothing and how loud and trashmouthed he was. He had, after all, picked Ben fourth with a kind grin on his face, after Stan, a tall black boy named Mike, a redheaded girl named Bev.

A shrill whistle sounded and the dodgeball game stopped, everyone frozen except for Richie and his friends. A small boy sprung up from his seat on the bleachers and nearly sprinted over to Richie who was laying on the ground, a hand clutched to his bleeding nose. “This is why we aren't supposed to play dodgeball, Coach Ganley! People get hurt every single time! No wonder my mom makes me sit out! If I had gotten hurt, she'd be getting your ass fired.” The boy’s face was red through his freckles as he dug through his fanny pack, pulling out a cotton pad and shoving it up against Richie’s nose.

“Language, Kaspbrak!” Coach Ganley scolded before stepping in between the two teams, looking at the one opposite to Richie’s. “Who threw it?” Most eyes went to a tall, handsome, and toned boy who had his arms crossed. His shirt was snug around his biceps and he had a snapback set backwards on his head.

Before the gym teacher could get out a word, the boy from earlier spoke up. “Who do you think, Coach? William ‘gets away with everything because he's a star baseball player” Denbrough. Who else would it be?”

The kid now known to Ben as William smirked, sending a wink in the angry kid’s direction. “I get away with thuh-things for a very different reason, s-swe-e-sweetheart, I think you kn-know why. F-From those, uh, about four months we were suh-sleeping together?”

“Shut up, Denbrough! Back off my boyfriend!” Stan piped up, drawing himself to his full height and glowering at the other boy. The kids from earlier, Mike and Bev, stepped over, grabbing Stan’s shoulders. Ben was slightly offended Stan hadn’t mentioned he was dating someone, but figured Stan had assume from his southern accent that he was against gay people, most people did. He wasn’t though, for the record.

Ben felt like he had whiplash from looking from William, to Richie and the angry kid, Stan and his captors, and Coach Ganley who had a unhappy but amused smile on his face.

Before anyone else could say a word, the bell rang. Eddie pulled Richie up and dragged him towards the locker room. Stan and Mike followed suit, Mike gesturing for Ben to follow them. Bev split off, not before whispering something in a low voice to Mike and waving at Ben sweetly. His face reddened and he followed after Mike like a lost puppy.

The five boys grabbed their things and holed themselves up in the bathroom, Mike pushing the large door shut behind them and locking it. Richie hopped up onto one of the sinks, pulling the red stained cotton away from his already swollen nose. Eddie was already attacking him with wet paper towels, dabbing at the dried blood and the fresh blood that was joining it.

Stan was the first to start talking. “Mike, Eddie, you guys know how I told you I was gonna be the new kid’s student guide,” he didn’t wait for an answer before continuing. “This is Ben Hanscom, he moved here from Tennessee. Ben, you’ve met Richie, but this is Mike Hanlon and Eddie Kaspbrak.” There was a moment of cautious silence. “Eddie is my boyfriend.”

Ben smiled shyly, reaching to shake the hand Mike had extended to him. “It’s nice to meet y’all. Sorry it had to be on such bad terms.”

“Not your god damn fault Bill Denbrough is the worst fucking person on the planet.” Eddie sponged at Richie’s nose a little too hard and Richie hissed, snatching the paper towel away and tending to his nose himself.

Stan grabbed Eddie’s elbow gently, pulling Eddie towards himself and looking down at Eddie with a soft smile. Eddie’s face and body immediately relaxed as the two gave each other heart eyes. Ben had to resist gushing and cooing over how cute the two were. “I gotta ask, is it William or Bill?”

“Bill. Everyone calls him Bill, but his full name is William.” There was a moment of silence. “He and Eddie have….history. He’s kinda the worst. Total asshole.” Mike finally released Ben’s hand and gave him a half smile, plus a shrug.

“Stay away from him Benjamin, stay far far away.” Eddie warned, the left side of his face pressed against Stan’s chest as Stan rocked them from side to side gently.

“Yes sir.” Ben gave a little salute to Eddie and Richie snorted.

“I like you Benny, welcome to the losers’ club.” Richie got down from the sink, his nose finally done bleeding even though it was still large and a little purple.

“What?”

“The losers’ club. It’s what we call ourselves. Me, Bev, Eds, Mikey, and Stanny.” Richie pulled off his gym shirt and shorts. Ben snapped his eyes shut, face brightening at seeing Richie in his boxers, even if it was for a second. “And now you. So welcome.”

“Thanks,” Ben squeaked, feeling like his face was on fire. He could hear everyone else changing, but he stayed still and kept his eyes shut. At his old school, they hadn't been forced to change for gym. Ben wasn't one to complain, but these gym uniforms were uncomfortable and small and were an unflattering red against his yellow hair.

After a few minutes of silence, just the soft rustling of clothing and zippers being unzipped and zipped again, a hand tapped his shoulder. “You're good, Ben.” It was Mike’s voice. Ben liked Mike and sure hoped Mike wouldn't worry that he was a bigot or anything bad. He open his eyes, face still hot as he blinked away the blurriness.

“Thank you,” he mumbled, fixing his eyes on the tiles. He tapped his foot four times, pausing only to tap it four more times, then continuing the pattern.

“Do you want us to…,” Eddie’s voice trailed off. Ben nodded and kept his eyes downcast as the other four boys trickled one by one out of the bathroom. Mike squeezed Ben’s shoulder on the way out, pulling the door shut as he ended the parade leaving the bathroom. Immediately a weight fell off his chest, he didn't want to change in front of his new friends, nor anyone else.

Three lengthy and boring periods later, Ben was sitting around a lunch table with the rest of the “losers’ club” as Richie had called it earlier. He really liked these kids and was glad to already have found his niche in Derry. He was sandwiched between Bev and Eddie, Stan on the other side of Eddie, Richie next to Stan, Mike next to Richie, and back to Bev again. Not that Ben would admit it, but this was the biggest group of friends he had ever been in. Well, he hadn’t really had more than two friends before.

It seemed like Mike and Bev were dating, or at least talking, to Ben. Mike had an arm slung over the back of Bev’s chair, eating chips with his free hand as he smiled down at whatever she was doing on her phone. Ben could see Stan and Eddie’s knees pressed together on his other side and he blushed a little, feeling strange and boxed in. Richie flashed Ben a giant smile, stuffing a handful of Mike’s chips in his mouth.

“Don’t worry, I’m forever alone too, my darling Benny Boy. We’ll find your sweetcheeked self a pretty girly,” Richie spewed little bits of wet chips as he spoke, still chewing in between words. Everyone gave him a disgusted look as he leaned across the circular table, pinching Ben on his cheek.

“It’s uh..,” Ben coughed shyly after Richie let go of his face, “I don’t...you know…I kinda don’t swing that way?”

“Welcome to the club,” mumbled each and everyone of the losers. Ben did a double take and opened his mouth to speak before Richie cut him off.

“I put the bi back in little bitch, Mikey and Mrs. Marsh are fellow bisexuals, and the spaghetti man-“

“It’s Eddie, god damn it!”

“Stan and Eddie are gay obviously.” Richie and Eddie sent venomous looks to each other. Richie broke first, crossing his eyes and sticking out his tongue and Eddie giggled at that.

Ben tried not to notice the protective gesture of Stan putting his hand on Eddie’s knee and squeezing it. Stan’s hand barely lasted a second before Eddie was batting it away, still smiling casually although his body had tensed up.

All of a sudden, a tall boy with a blonde mullet was behind Eddie. He licked his hand and slapped it down on Eddie’s neck with an evil smirk playing on his lips. Eddie jumped to his feet, hands held up in the air like jazz hands as they trembled. His eyes were scrunched shut as Stan hurried to unzip his fanny pack and grab out some hand sanitizer.

As Stan rubbed the sanitizer into the back of Eddie’s neck, the kid scanned Ben up and down. “Fat, Pac Man shirt, baby face, fairy hair, hmph, you’ll fit right in here at the twink table.”

Richie was on his feet, reaching out as if he was going to throttle the kid. “I’m gonna fucking kill you, Henry Bowers. You absolute fucking twat!” Mike grabbed Richie by the back of his waistband and pulled the british boy back into his seat.

Henry gave all of the losers a shiteating grin before strolling away. Eddie and Stan moved too, presumably to the bathroom. Ben knew not to ask about it and stared at the salad his mom had absently shoved into his hands that morning.

“So! Has anyone invited Ben to Star Wars night tonight?” Bev asked, straightening up in her seat. Mike’s arm was no longer resting on the chair and her phone was face down on the table. It was clear she was trying to lighten the mood and ask as a distraction.

“No not yet, Mrs. Marsh, but now we have to!” Richie clucked his tongue, obviously joking when he shook his head and gave Bev a dismayed look. Richie scooted over into the chair that Eddie had previously occupied, slinging his arm around Ben’s shoulders and pressing a wet and joking kiss to Ben’s cheek. As gross as it was, Ben felt good about the kiss on the cheek. It made him feel warm inside. Not because he liked Richie, but because he hadn’t even been at this new school for an entire week yet and he had already been accepted into a new group. Not only accepted but he had been invited to a group hang out. “It’s at 7, the big red house on the corner of Turner and Pine. Lemme think of a landmark….if you go to Jerry’s Hard Liquor, it’s three blocks down then a left, all the way down and to the right. Stanny and his mommy just moved in with his stepdad.”

“We basically eat a pizza dinner with other snacks and soda, Star Wars music playing in the background. And then we usually do some trivia or a themed board game. Then a marathon, but only the first three movies. They’re the only good ones obviously.” Mike’s arm was back to its normal spot on Bev’s chair.

“It’s so much fun. You’ll love it, Ben.”

Tag List

@groovy-wyatt @kanewsies @themysteriousworldofvia @wyatt-ohheleft @missingstanleyuris

#denscom #fuckboy!bill #baseball!bill #ben hanscom #bill denbrough #southern!ben #british!richie #richie tozier #side steddie #steddie #Eddie kaspbrak #stan uris #mikexbev #beverly marsh #mike hanlon #henry bowers #it 2017 #it fandom

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prettieparker86 · 7 years

Text

All For You Part 2

Part 1, Part 3, Part 4 & Part 5

Pairing: William “Cap” Hatfield X Reader

Warning: Mentions of death and murder

Gifs: Are by the following talented bloggers @artemisms @cluehunts Full credit to them. They are incredibly talented.

A/N: As someone who works in the mental health field, I really tried to apply what I know about grief and depression to the flashback in this chapter. And how both grief and depression is really life changing and make us do and become people we never thought we would. This story picks up where the last one left off, with the conversation at the Hatfield homestead, after Will, you and, Johnse went outside. Flashbacks at the bottom.

And if you want to read it as a character, not “reader”, it can be found here

HERE

I hope this storyline makes sense. I prefer to imply things rather than throw them in your face, but if there’s any confusion, please let me know.

As soon as Johnse was outta ear shot, you turn to Will.

“Why ‘re you doin this?” You asked plainly, keeping your voice purposefully low as you search his face for answers in the dimming light.

Will looks down at you suddenly, finally meeting your eyes, and all you see is stubborn and steel staring back at you.

“S’ones gotta.” He answers curtly, before moving swiftly across the porch, his boots heavy against the old boards.

You let out a heavy sigh. Damn him. He’s too good to you. Too good of a man. Too loyal for his own good.

He’s been there for you through every tribulation in your life and you can see now he’s determined to see you through this one too.

Following him over to the side of the porch, you lean your back against the railing Will’s arms rest on, facing him.

Sweeping your gaze all around to make sure no one’s nearby to hear you, you turn back, your hand reaching out for him.

Your fingers gently take hold of his firm jawline, the tiny hairs pricking at your fingertips as you draw his face to yours.

“Will.” You call before he meets your gaze willingly.

“It’s not yer mess” You tell him softly, your eyes reaching out to him.

Without a word, Will reaches for your hand, drawing it to his mouth where his lips sweep gently across your knuckles.

A slow smile tugs on his face as he gazes upon you, the one that always makes you weak in the knees.

Releasing you hand, he tenderly sweep his thumb across your cheek.

“It’s my kin though, ain’t it?”

You bite your bottom lip to fight back the tears that wanna form under the weight of his stare, under the weight of his tenderness toward you, as you steadily nod your head in response.

You love this man. You’ve loved him since before you knew what love was. And that’s why you can’t bear to let him sacrifice himself and his future for you.

It was always supposed to be you and Will ending up together. You knew it since the first time you imagined yourself a wife, but this changed everything.

Letting him take you and this baby on. Letting him raise it as his own. You loved Will too much to put that on him.

“You don’ know what yer doin. Don’ know what yer signin’ yerself up for.” Your breath quivers as you try to set him free while he’s insisting on throwing himself in the line of fire for you.

“You ‘member that time when we was just kids ‘n I took my Pa’s gun ‘n went down by the river without askin?” Will asked, changing the subject so quick it took you a minute to follow and then recollect what he was talking about.

As the memory came back to you, you slowly nodded unsure where this was leading.

“Pa was madder than a hornet’s nest when he figur’d that one out.” Will recalls with a low whistle.

“but you lied, tellin’ ‘em it was your idea. Said you begged me to do it. I still got a whoopin’ but it wasn’ nearly as bad as it woulda been.” Will wraps up his story and you finally understand the point he’s trying to make.

“Will we was just kids and that was a silly lie. This is yer life we’re talkin about here.” You said, trying to make him see the two were not comparable.

Will lets out a heavy sigh, slowly shaking his head from side to side as if you don’t understand, he was in this with you.

Lifting off the railing of the porch, he turns to you fully. His hands suddenly around your cheeks, gently cupping your face as he stares down into your eyes with such sincerity and intensity you can’t look away.

“I saw the look in yer eyes that night. When you said you couldn’ marry ‘im. Said you couldn’ bear it… Now ya don’ have to Darlin’.” Will finished unflinchingly, his eyes reaching for you before he leans down to place a soft kiss upon your forehead.

Pulling back, Will moves to the front of the porch. Moves down the steps till he lowers himself onto one.

His eyes scanning out over the field and into the dense woods as nightfall takes hold over the ridge.

Four And A Half Months Earlier…

You hadn’t spoken much in days besides to Cotton. It was your job to watch over him now and you took it very seriously.

You did your chores without complaint. Helped Levicy anyway you could around the house and with the kids since they took you and Cotton in.

Kept your hands busy. Little time for your mind to idle.

But your mouth… your mouth didn’t have much to say these days. This was something words couldn’t fix.

You don’t sleep much either.

Can’t close your eyes without seeing that hot musky room, pungent with the stench of your Pa’s blood.

The sound of your Pap’s labored wheeze every time he struggled to take a breath.

Lying cold and clammy on that bed with stab wounds and a bullet hole littering his abdomen.

His blood smeared all over his pale skin, staining everything it touched, staining you.

The fear of God in your brother’s eyes as he sat steadfast beside you by his bedside until your Pa’s strong chest stopped trembling anymore.

You keep your head down and your grief to yourself. There’s no room for weakness in this family. Though you know you ain’t the only one feeling the loss.

You care for your brother with envy. He’s so much stronger than you, so much more resilient. He misses your Pa something desperate, he tells you often, but he’s coping.

That big light of his too bright for anything to snuff out. Even losing Pa. You wish you were as strong as him.

It’s Levicy who suggests Will take you, Cotton and the younger ones down to the river. The day was hot and the water would be cool. Chores were done and dinner didn’t need to be started yet, timing was right.

Your aunt was a good woman, she could see the pain you were struggling with in your eyes, and you could see the concern in hers.

Everybody knew if anyone could coax a smile out of you, it’d be Will.

The sun was hot that day and the air thick as you rested on a rock along the river’s edge.

Watching as Nancy and Mary tip toed along the water covered stones giggling as they went, while Robert E and Cotton tried to catch crawfish along the murky shore. Will had wandered off, you weren’t sure where.

You weren’t much for laughing and carrying on these days. Sitting on the sidelines, watching as life carried on for others was enough for you.

Lately everything felt too dull and gray to light a spark in you. You didn’t see the point in much anymore. You went through the motions, doing what was expected of you, but none of it mattered, very little brought you joy.

A shadow suddenly towered over you, blocking the sun that was warming your skin just before you felt a hand slip into your own.

Giving your hand a gentle tug, you turned to see Will smiling down at you. That big toothy grin of his that could make something inside you come back to life if only for a moment.

His lips curled as he pulls you to your feet and tugs you toward him. You’re not sure what he’s doing, but you let him take the lead, because whatever it is, he seems pretty eager.

You willingly follow until he starts pulling you away from the water and towards the tree line. Only then do you start to pull back.

“I don’ wanna leave Cotton by the water.” You tell him. Your heart starting to hammer in your chest with the mere thought of it.

Ever since losing your Pa a week and a half ago you’ve been plagued by terrible thoughts of losing Cotton too.

Every time he’s near something that could go awry, you heart starts pounding, your breath picks up, your mind always stirring up just how badly things could turn. Whipping you up into a panic.

You couldn’t bear it if something happened to him. You couldn’t bear to lose him. He was all you had left.

The look in Will’s eye softens, seeming to see your worries. Reaching out, he gently strokes your cheek with his thumb.

His callused skin rough enough to remind you your still alive.

You swear Will sees more with his one good eye than most do with two. And ever since your Pa died, he’s been keeping close.

“Nance!” Will hollered, looking over your shoulder. You glance back to see Nancy’s face whip up and look your way before you hear Will again.

“Keep an eye on ‘erybody. We’ll be right back.” He calls.

“A’right” Nancy hollers back, but you can see the question in her narrowing gaze as Will start tugging you toward the trees.

“Gotta show you somethin’.” He explained as you turn back. Will leads you into the trees, old, thick, and as tall as the eyes could see.

You clutch his hand tighter and feel him return your squeeze.

He leads you just a litter further, you can still clearly hear the river running nearby, the sound of your brother’s laughter breaking through the forest, setting your heart at ease, before Will stops and turns to you, something mischievous in his eye.

You wait unsure what’s got him so excited, till he steps to the side and you realize it’s a raspberry bush behind him.

“Yer favorite.” He says, grin spreading on his face as he watches you, waiting on your reaction.

You nod feeling touched. “You ‘membered.” You say almost breathlessly as a smile fills your face.

Surprised he would remember something so simple, but he’s been trying so hard lately. Trying to pull you out of the hole you’ve found yourself face first in.

“Course,” Will nods, as if it’s a given he’d know your favorite berry.

His gaze fixes upon your every move. Watching you like you hung the moon as his smile turns to a deeper smirk.

The weight of his stares makes your belly tingle as you pluck a few berries off the branch.

“I missed that.” He says suddenly, a glint in his eye as his smirk holds steadfast.

“What?” You question, glancing back up at him, unsure what he means.

The look in his eyes takes you captive, nearly steals your breath before he speaks again. “Yer smile.”

You feel your cheeks grow hot, your belly fluttering against the look in his eyes. He always has this unmistakable way of getting to you.

Dropping your gaze down to the bush, trying to contain the blush on your cheeks, you plop a berry in your mouth and savor the taste.

Sweet and tart all at once, your favorite. Your Pap’s too. He always said you got that from him.

A memory filled your mind with the thought. A memory from a long time ago, on a hot summer day in the Appalachians, when you and Cotton was just kids.

Sitting out under the sun on a blanket while you and Cotton took turns trying to toss raspberries at your Pa and seeing if he could catch them in his mouth.

You could still hear Cotton’s high pick laugh mixed with your Pa’s hearty chuckle as he bobbed around the blanket, missing more than he caught.

Your Pa was always laughing, always smiling.

Your throat instantly tightened, your heart physically ached within the confines of your chest…

You were never going to see that smile again…

You were never going to hear that laugh…

Your Pa’s death felt like a hole cut out inside you. A hole nothing and nobody could fix. It felt like an unrelentingly void sucking up everything good.

Losing your Pa changed something in you. Something a part of you you didn’t even know was there until it was gone and all you could do was feel it’s absence.

You can vaguely feel the warmth of tears streaming down your face, but you don’t really realize you’re crying until you feel Will pull you against him, wrapping his arms tightly around you.

A shuttered breath rips past your lips and rattles your chest as you bury your face in Will’s flannel covered chest.

You feel his arm wrap tightly around your back, his other hand slipping into your hair, cradling the back of your head.

His cheek nuzzles your hair, he surrounds you, so close you feel his warm breath on your scalp.

“Shhhh… I got you.” He tries to sooth as you feel his lips on the crown on your head.

You cling to him, fisting the flannel shirt at his back. Burying your nose deep against Will, sucking in his scent of gunpower and pine, and something distinctly him.

“What happen’ that day justice was served?” You asked, never pulling back from the comfort of Will’s arms.

Wanting to hate those McCoy brothers after what they stole from you, what they stole from Cotton, but hate is a tricky thing that does little to sooth your grief.

You feel Will’s muscles tense slightly around you before he shakes his head lightly against yours.

“Is’ done.” He answers, holding his secrets to himself.

Will did what was expected of him, you’re pretty sure he’s never killed a man before that day and knowing Will the way you do, you know that’s got to weigh on him.

He’s strong, silent, but you saw the subtle change after he came back from those woods. You don’t want to pry, but there’s things you feel you need to know.

“Did they have remorse? Did they say ‘nything?” You asked, pressing it a little more.

Will was silent for a long time. So long you almost thought he wasn’t gonna answer you.

“They didn’ say nothin’, but they was scared.” He finally admits on a low gravel breath.

His fingers digging into your scalp as he nuzzles the crown of your head as if it comforts him in some way.

His answer doesn’t bring you solace. The same way it didn’t when you first learned justice had been served.

That’s the funny thing about justice. It settles the score, but it don’t give you back what you lost.

Your heart feels heavier, knowing Will’s carrying the weight of what he did. Knowing in some part he did it for you. Took on that burden and carries it for you.

Pulling back just enough to find his face, you reach up to cup Will’s cheek, scruff scratching at your palm as your eyes find and hold one another.

“I know that wasn’ easy for you. Hope ya know yer still a good man William Hatfield.” You tell him, pressing your words, hoping they sink in.

“Always be a good one in my eyes.”

Will gazes upon you deeply for a long time, the look in his eyes doing that thing that always makes it hard for you to breathe naturally.

His gaze has a way of being so intense sometimes it’s almost hard to take. His hand leaves your waist to cradle you face while the other stays tangled in your hair.

He leans down slowly, your belly tightening, unsure what he’s going to do till he gently brushes his nose against your own.

Your eyes fall closed with the intimacy of his touch as you clutch him tighter, brushing his nose in return.

He rests his forehead against yours, you feel his breath picking up under the closeness.

You feel him guiding you backwards a few small steps till your back rests against a tree trunk. Will completely surrounds you.

You’re lost in the feel of his thumb tenderly stoking your cheek, his fingers weaving through your hair as his hands cradling your face.

You can feel his heavy breath on your lips, his forehead resting against yours as he gently nuzzles your nose with his once again, his mustache tickling your skin.

Then he’s just holding you, you holding him, all tangled together. A deep breath shared between the two of you as his lips hover so close you can feel the ghost of them.

You’ve never felt so close to him. Never felt so close to anyone. It’s an intimacy you’ve never known before Will. An intimacy and connection you’ve been so desperate to feel since losing your Pa.

“Yer the only one…” You whisper, the thought unfinished, too hard to define.

He was everything, the only one who could make this pain bearable, the only one… Your heart pounds for him as you hold him tightly, breathing him in.

“I’m here,” Will whispers back, before moving up your face, smothering his lips against your forehead in a way he knows he shouldn’t with your mouth.

Clutching you tight, stroking your cheek one last time before he pulls away. Stepping back from you completely.

There’s a darkness waiting for you in Will’s eyes again when you open yours, the one you saw in the woods the day of the election.

It sends a shiver down your spine with the sight of it. Your starting to understand what that look means.

After breaking your gaze, Will looks anywhere but directly at you, trying to refocus himself. Being the gentleman you know he’s trying to be.

Your heart starts to sink with a new set of emotions… guilt and remorse.

Finally having a moment alone with Will for the first time since your kiss sends all your secrets floating up. If he knew what you had done the week prior, you’re pretty sure he wouldn’t of been holding you like that.

It’s never been spoken between you two, but you know what you and Will have means something. Will’s different with you than anyone else. Always has been, but even more so now.

Losing your Pa, watching him slowly suffer and die had changed something in you. And the grip this grief has upon you has changed you too.

You’re not who you were before and nothing proves that more than the unspeakable thing you did a week prior. Guilt surges through you with a vengeance when you think about your soiled hands.

You should of never followed Johnse up to his cabin by the still. Should of never drank some of his whiskey when he offered it. Trying to drown your sorrows like two fools. You didn’t know how to hold your liquor.

You should of never been alone with Jonce, not in your right mind. But your Pap had died three days prior. Been savagely murdered trying to keep the peace while you were off kissing Will. Maybe you being there wouldn’t have made a difference, but you’ll never know and that’s what haunted you.

Trying to nurse twenty-six stabs wounds and a gunshot as you watched the life drain out of your Pap broke something inside you.

Misery loves company and Johnse was in no better shape. Always a soft heart, he was sinking under the weight of his guilt over what he and your kin had done to Roseanna’s brothers as retribution. Knowing she’d never forgive him for being a part of killing her brothers. He hadn’t even been allowed to see his own baby.

A week ago you and Jonce hadn’t shown up home till well after dark. Will had already gone looking for you and your uncle Anse had been blinding mad.

Johnse had lied that night, said you showed up at the cabin upset and fell asleep after a fit of tears. Said, you were so upset he didn’t want to wake you and that’s why y’all got home so late.

Will showed no signs of disbelief, but Uncle Anse and aunt Levicy had doubt in their eyes when the story was told. Anse had more than a few words to say on the matter, but settled on making it clear to Jonce y’all weren’t to go off alone together again.

You figured they were letting you off lite on account of everything you’d already been through that week. When all was said and done, you and Johnse shared a silent promise that night to never speak of the incident again.

And you intended to do just that, steering clear of your oldest cousin ever since.

As the days passed, you pushed that secret down deep inside you. So deep you hoped one day it would disappear entirely.

Be erased, undone like you wish it would, but as Will takes your hand and starts to head back toward the river, you’re starting to realize it ain’t that easy or simple.

What you did, is like losing your Pa, it can’t be undid. And you’re struggling to live with it all.

Stopping suddenly, you force Will to as well. He looks back at you in anticipation before you speak.

“Why ‘re you always pullin’ away first?” You boldly ask a question ladies aren’t supposed to, searching his eyes for truths. Not sure you have a right to call yourself a lady anymore anyway.

You know Will isn’t sinless. You know he frequents the tavern with Jim and Johnse, full of whiskey and whores. Whores you know he’s is no stranger to.

And after the line you crossed last week, a part of you is mad, mad at yourself and maybe little him too. Knowing if you were gonna tarnish yourself, it should have been for him. And needing to know why he can cross that line with others, but never tries to cross it with you.

Will looks at you long and hard, something undefinable stirring in his eyes as he gazes down on you before he finally speaks.

“Cuz I don’ trust myself ‘round you ‘n I couldn’ live with it if I did you wrong.” He answers honestly, the shift in his eyes as he speaks sending heat washing over you.

That look and his words echo of things his lips won’t say, that what you share means something, you mean something.

And knowing that weighs heavy on you. You know the truth would hurt him and the last thing you want in this world is to hurt him.

Turning back before this conversation can go any further, he starts toward the river, tugging you along, your heart heavy.

Wishing you could take it all back, terrified of losing him completely.

#boyd holbrook #boyd holbrook imagine #cap hatfield #william cap hatfield #cap hatfield imagine #donald pierce #donald pierce imagine

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