#hey hey I drew this two weeks ago and then stuck it in drafts and FORGOT OOPS

[blujaydoodles]

“His life is not worth more than yours.” “All life is precious.”

In which Taldian promises to protect a random npc we picked up, quote, ‘on pain of death’. Needless to say, Elyss objects. 

#D&D #DnD #dungeons and dragons #paladin #paladin: *espouses paladin-like ideals* #Elyss: now hold on #what does she expect! when will she learn!! #Taldian wears full plate now and I swear I was going to draw that #but then I realized I can barely draw armor in a neutral front facing position let alone in profile with crossed arms lmao #hey hey I drew this two weeks ago and then stuck it in drafts and FORGOT OOPS #actually I think what happened is I was going to do a bunch of doodles from this session and put them all on one post #but I still haven't done the other ones I wanted to yet :B #surprise surprise #my OCs #Elyss #dungeons and doodles #Taldian #darkwind regiment

[heyyyharry]

Daddy, I see a ghost

…in which Harry is sex-starved because their daughter keeps asking to sleep in their bed. (from the Flatmate Series)

Warning: SMUT (they fuck in his office)

More on my Patreon

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“Fucking finally!”

Harry had never bounced on to the bed so fast. He crawled to his wife, yanked the book out of her hand and pressed his mouth against hers before she could protest. Instead of shoving him off, she burst into giggles as his kisses trailed down her throat and he shoved his hands under her shirt, his cold palms roaming across her heated skin. She pressed her palms against his back, her legs wrapped around his waist, drawing him closer until he was practically on top of her. His mouth found hers again, needy and messy.

“Miss you,” he murmured against her lips.

She combed her fingers through his messy hair, relishing his rough yet intoxicating touch. “We’ve lived together for ten years, baby. How do you still miss me?”

He shook his head. “You know what I mean.” Then he pushed her– well, his shirt up, catching his breath at the sight of her perky breasts as if he was seeing them for the first time. He leaned in and took a nipple into his mouth.

Ever since they’d had Ria, they hadn’t had as much sex as they used to when it’d been just the two of them. It’d been torturing recently because their baby daughter kept asking to sleep in their bed. Three days ago, Ria’s friends’ brother had told the girls a ghost story and since then Ria had been afraid of sleeping alone. Tonight, Harry had stayed with her until she’d fallen asleep so he could have some time alone with Y/N afterwards.

“I miss fucking you everywhere in this flat,” he groaned as she pulled his shirt over her head, leaving her wearing only her soaked panties. They were kissing again as she tugged down his boxers, eager to get her hands on him.

“I miss that, too,” she panted, stroking him slowly as she sucked his bottom lip and slipped her tongue into his mouth. “Do whatever you want to me. Whatever you want.”

Her words drew a rumble from his throat as he slipped his hand between them to rub her clit. He was going nuts and he thought he could actually smell her. His balls felt so heavy he was afraid he would cum embarrassingly too fast. He had to make this worthwhile.

He held her thighs apart, breaking the kiss to slide down and leaving pecks on the stretch marks on her stomach, making his way down to her cunt. He loved everything about her body. He wanted her always. Every single part of her.

Her hips jolted when his lips met her clit over the fabric, and his ego grew, missing how responsive she was. He’d missed making her feel like she’d lost control of her own body, like he knew it better than she did, and sometimes it was true. He knew she couldn’t make herself cum the way he could because she’d also got him in the palm of her hand.

“You smell so good.” He hummed, glancing up to find her watching him with half-opened eyes, her lips parted as she breathed harshly. He pushed her panties aside and licked her once, causing her hips to buck against his mouth but he drew back and held down her hips. “So eager for me,” he teased. “Can’t wait to put my cock–”

A knock on the door caused them both to freeze.

“Daddy! Mummy!”

“Shit!” Harry plunged out of bed and immediately tugged his boxers back on as Y/N grabbed his shirt, put it on, and rushed to the closet to get her bottom.

“Daddy! Mummy! Please let me in!”

“I’m coming, baby!” Harry bolted to the door, swung it open and locked Ria in his arms just in time tears started to spill from her eyes. She wrapped her tiny arms around his neck and sobbed into his shoulder. Sighing, he picked her up and carried her to the bed where Y/N (now fully dressed) was still blushing and panting as she forced a small smile at their daughter.

“Hey, love, Daddy got you,” he whispered and lay their little girl down between him and his wife. “Mummy is also here. You’re safe.”

“You left me…”

Harry felt a jab in his stomach and exchanged guilty looks with Y/N. “I’m sorry, baby,” he told Ria. “I was with you but then...I heard Mummy call for me and had to go check on her.” He hated lying to his little girl but he couldn’t tell her the truth.

Ria turned to look at Y/N, her glossy green eyes widened with concern. “The ghost hurt Mummy?”

“No.” Y/N shook her head as she smiled. “I also missed Daddy.”

Ria pouted and looked back at Harry, whose head was propped on his hand as he considered her taut face. “I think the ghost is scared of Daddy,” she said.

“There’s no ghost in our house, baby,” Harry said, brushing a lock of hair off her forehead. “But if there was, Daddy would chase the ghost away. Nothing is allowed to scare my ladies.”

“Are you...” Ria ventured. “Are you a ghost hunter?”

“That’s right. Ghosts see me and they run away.”

Assured by that answer, Ria relaxed as she snuggled closer to Harry. It didn’t take too long for her to drift off.

Harry gave Y/N a regretful look, which she returned with pursed lips and a shrug.

“Goodnight, Daddy,” she sing-songed and kissed him once on the mouth. From that grin on her face, she knew he’d called him that for a purpose. He rolled his eyes in frustration and flopped back on to his pillow, an arm wrapped around his daughter and his wife. He watched them until sleep folded over him.

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The next day, Harry got stuck at the office after almost everyone had left. It was actually a choice since he was the boss and no one but himself could make him stay overtime.

His mum and sister would always reprimand him. Y/N, however, never complained. They were as crazy about their jobs as they were about each other, so somehow they still managed to be good parents, maintain a happy marriage and run their own companies.

Whenever one of them had to work overtime at the office, the other would go home early to be with Ria, and when the busy one got home, their daughter would be asleep and they would spend the rest of the night together. But Harry knew when he got home tonight, he would either sleep alone while Y/N slept in Ria’s room, or he would find both of them in his and Y/N’s bed. He loved his daughter, but not being able to have alone time with his wife was killing him.

“You’re a good dad. You’re a good dad. You’re a good dad,” he would tell his reflection every morning in the past week after a cold shower. Thank God, he could still rely on his hands to get himself off and release some tension, but it didn’t feel the same without Y/N. Being sex-starved had somehow aged him in reverse. He probably masturbated more than he’d ever done since he’d discovered the art of masturbation.

While drafting an email, he heard his assistant’s voice saying goodbye to someone before she left.

That was weird. He’d just dismissed her because she’d been the only one here beside him. Who had she said goodbye to?

There were three knocks on the door.

“Come in,” he said.

The door creaked open. He leaned back into his swivel chair, feeling his smile reaching his eyes.

“Can I get you anything, Boss?” Y/N asked, one hand on the handle, the other on her hip. She was wearing a black trench coat and high heels, her hair in a bun. He bit his pen and beckoned to her. When she stepped in, shut the door and locked it with a click, his heart leapt in anticipation.

He pushed his chair back to make room for her between his legs and the desk. She sat on the edge of it, spreading her legs and revealing her thigh-high stockings with garters to hold them up. He wet his lips as she flicked a finger, motioning him to come closer. Without hesitation, he wheeled his chair forward, gripping her thighs and leaning down to kiss each one. Her chest was at his eye level, rising and falling with each shaky breath.

“Where’s my other baby girl?” he asked, his arms resting on either side of her as he nuzzled the exposed skin of her chest. She leaned back to give him more access to her throat.

“She's at home,” she murmured. “Maisie is watching her.”

He nodded once. His breath caught as he unbuttoned her coat and pushed it off her shoulders. She now sat on his desk in satiny black lingerie which included the bustier that emphasized her cleavage. Her arms were wrapped around his neck as she tugged him closer. He cupped her bum with both hands and pressed a kiss to one of her nipples over the bra. She shivered, her fingertips digging into his back.

He brought up one hand to fondle her other breast, glancing up to meet her lazy eyes. “I cannot believe,” he sighed, “that you left our daughter with your sister so you could come to my office and distract me from work.”

She tilted her head to the side, blinking innocently at him.

The Y/N at the beginning of their relationship would be speechless when he talked like that, but the Y/N who was his wife wouldn’t let him have the upper hand.

“I’m sorry. I can leave,” she pouted as she cupped his face. “I would never want to come between my husband and his work.”

He gave a smirk and kissed her thumb as she brushed it across his lips. He circled his arms around her waist and dragged her in, her core against his chest. “Liar. You’re not sorry.”

She ignored his remark and turned to his laptop sitting right beside her. “Why don’t you finish your email?” she said, grinning at him. “I can wait.”

He opened his mouth to object, but he was curious to know what she was up to. She nodded her head toward the laptop, telling him to go ahead. With an eyebrow arched, he reached for the keyboard at the same time she unclasped her bra. He sat frozen in his seat as she shrugged it off, and tossed it somewhere on the floor.

“Oh, don’t mind me,” she said and released her hair, letting the curls bounce down to her shoulders and bare breasts. “It’s just hot in here. You should fix the air-co–”

He shut his laptop before she could finish and suddenly stood up and pushed his lips to hers. He cupped her face with both hands to deepen the kiss while she was already working on his belt. He groaned into her neck before kissing his way down to her chest, sucking her nipple hungrily as she unbuttoned his shirt to feel his skin on hers.

“Someone might walk in,” he hissed, drawing a nervous laugh from his wife as she pushed him back to kiss and lick the swallows tattooed on his pecs.

“We should stop,” she taunted, grinding her hips. “Or do you want us to get caught? You want people to see how you fuck me, don’t you? Show them what a good husband you are. How good you fuck your wife.”

He cut her off with another sloppy kiss, his tongue sliding against hers. “Fuck, I fucking love it when you talk dirty to me.”

She nearly fell forward when he suddenly broke the kiss. His eyes didn’t leave hers, not even when he sat back in his chair and spread her legs apart. He took no time to get rid of her garters and stockings, and once she sat completely naked on his desk, he caught a glimpse of shyness rising above her confidence.

He cracked a smirk. Her stomach clenched when she gasped and flinched. Fuck, she was so responsive. He managed to compose himself as his gaze fastened on her glistening pussy.

“Stop.” He froze at the command and gaped at her. “I mean...stop s-staring at it.” She stifled a laugh, blushing with her whole body.

Something never changed.

Giving a nod, he removed his eyes from her core, but then slipped his hand between them and touched her there instead. She jolted, letting out a startled gasp. Without breaking eye contact, he dipped his fingers, now coated with her juices, into his mouth and sucked them clean.

A blush crept up to her face as she giggled, covering her eyes. He pulled her hand off and kissed it. “Are you shy, Y/N?” He acted surprised, and from the way her face scrunched, he guessed she half-wanted to slap him, half-wanted to kiss him. “Where’d your arrogance go?”

“Shut up.”

“Maybe we should stop,” he told her what she’d previously told him. However, right before he got a chance to relish his revenge, she stuck her hand between them and started rubbing herself. His mouth fell open, mirroring her expression.

She was panting and moaning as her fingers moved faster on her clit. She was so wet the sound made him go frenzy. He decided to not stop her. He let her have her fun but didn’t intend to just sit back and watch. He leaned in and kissed her neck to encourage his wife.

“That’s right, baby. Fuck yourself on my desk,” he whispered in her ear before sinking back into his chair. He pulled out his hard cock and started stroking it. Her eyes went wide. She moaned, taking in the sight of him pleasuring himself while watching her getting herself off. Her free hand was gripping her thigh because he wasn’t touching her anymore.

“Don’t–” she blurted, her eyelids fluttering. “I need...Please…”

She didn’t have to finish the sentence because he knew what she was begging for. She didn’t want him to cum first. She wanted him to finish inside her. After a whole week of fucking his own hands, he was confident that he wasn’t going to cum so easily by just masturbating, but if she wanted to play this game, he could pretend to play along.

He let out a gasp and moved his hand faster, fucking into it. He guessed he’d underestimate her effect on him, because as soon as he saw how wet her fingers were, an electric current swept right through him and he almost shot his load right there.

He could see the relief on her face when he slowed down and eventually let go of his cock. He was leaking so much precum that his dick was wet enough for him to just slide right into her.

“Get your hand off,” he demanded and she painfully withdrew her hand from her reddened pussy. He wasted no time to throw her legs over his shoulders and fasten his mouth on her clit. He ate her pussy like it was his last meal on death row, hands under her thighs holding her in place so she wouldn’t move too much when she got sensitive.

It didn’t take him too much effort to get her off because she was already on the edge when he started lapping at her cunt. As soon as he slipped two fingers into her and started fucking her, she started shaking and pulling the hair at the back of his head, her hips bucking against his face but he didn’t stop until she finished.

She was still shaking when he rose from his chair. Despite her euphoric daze, her first instinct was to reach for his open shirt and pull him in, pushing their mouth together again so she could taste herself on his tongue. They kissed clumsily as he stroked his cock a few times and positioned it at her entrance.

“Do you need a break?” he breathed against her lips. She shook her head, unable to get a single word out. He smirked and kissed her cheek. “Guide me in.”

She nodded fast, reaching between them. When her fingers closed around his erection, he groaned so embarrassingly loud that made her burst into soft giggles. She rubbed the head of his cock against her clit before pushing it into her cunt. She was so tight it felt as if she was sucking him in. Her arms wrapped tightly around his neck as they exchanged open-mouthed kisses. One of his hands was gripping her bum, the other on her breast, teasing her nipple as he pushed slowly until he was all the way in. They gasped at the same time.

“How are you still so tight?”

The way she blushed at his remark made his heart go boom. He couldn’t believe after all those years they’d been together he was still getting butterflies. They stayed still for a moment. He kept kissing her neck, and she got impatient and started moving her hips, causing him to groan.

“Give me a second. You’re squeezing me…” He laughed lowly and started with steady thrusts. She moaned his name and nibbled his ear. “Shit,” he hissed, nosing at her throat. “If I cum right now, will you go home and file a divorce?”

“Probably,” she giggled, bracing her hands on his shoulders as they moved together.

He bit his lip, his fingers digging into her bum as he thrust faster. “I’ll try to save our marriage then.”

“I love you,” she smiled.

“I love you, too,” he returned, his voice strained.

With another kiss, he held her hips and pulled out. She was so tight her body fought to keep him in. They both gasped when his cock sprung free from her core. She blinked at him, confused as he stepped back.

“Get off the desk,” he ordered.

She was so aroused she didn’t even question. He watched her slide off the desk, her legs wobbly as he grabbed her hips and spun her around. She braced her hands on the table, arching her bum toward him. He spanked her before positioning his cock at her hot entrance again. Without warning, he slipped back in and started fucking her again. She sobbed, reaching for his hand on her hip and bringing it to her breast. He squeezed it, pushing her body up until her back was flat against his chest. He could get deeper in this position but at least he didn’t see her face. He would always cum faster if he could see her face while they fucked.

They were a moaning mess now. Anyone could hear them as soon as they stepped out of the lift, and at this point, Harry didn’t give a fuck. He’d been so frustrated that if she’d asked him to fuck her in the lobby, he would probably have done it, too.

“Harry…”

“Mmm,” he hummed in her ear. She didn’t tell him what it was that she wanted. Instead, she took his hand from her chest and brought it to her neck. He could just cum right then. He squeezed his fingers slightly and felt a cry grumble in her throat. She let him fuck her with his hand around her neck until her arms gave in and she collapsed on her chest, holding the edge of the table to keep herself from slipping off.

He held the back of her neck to keep her down, his hips slapping against her bum. He moved his hands down her spine and gave her butt cheek another smack which made her pussy clench around his cock. He gathered her hair into his fist and fucked her so hard the content on his desk rattled. His pencil holder tipped over and hit the floor, sending his pencils flying and rolling across the room.

“T-That could’ve b-been your laptop,” she managed to speak and he couldn’t help but let out a laugh. From the way she was squeezing him, he knew she was close.

She slipped her hand down under, but he swatted it away and started stroking her clit as he bent forward to whisper in her ear, “Only I get to make you come. Do you understand?”

“Yes, s-sir.”

With that, her walls closed around him. He clasped her shoulder and tugged her upright. She’d started rubbing her nipples, back arched, mouth open and panting.  Bloody hell, she was so beautiful. He thrust up into her, matching her rhythm, and his fingers rubbed frantically over her clit, desperately coaxing her towards orgasm.

“Oh, oh God! Harry!” she cried out his name as she came, hips jerking, driving herself down on his cock. He grabbed her chin, tilted her head back and brushed his lips against hers. His breath caught at her slick on his fingers and how wet and tight she was when she came. The room smelled thick, like sex and sweat, and them. He couldn’t hold it any longer. His hands went tight on her hips as he held her still and thrust up and into her, hard and fast.

“Come in me. I need it,” she whimpered into his ear. He couldn’t breathe, grunting unintelligible words as he chased that feeling. With one last hard thrust, he came, pulsing into her with a groan that started as an attempt at her name. She sobbed, arching her neck to meet his lips and kissing him deeply. His hands were shaking as he held the edge of the desk, catching his breath. The thunder of his heartbeat was all he could hear. Her head fell back on his shoulder, her eyes were shut. Harry felt a bit smug at how dazed she seemed.

He stayed inside her for a few moments of silence, just softy kissing her lips until she broke the silence with a satisfied laugh, her breath hot against his face. “Should we thank the ghost?”

He rolled his eyes, laughing breathlessly. “Fuck the ghost.”

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“Thank God, you’re home!” Maisie said as soon as Harry and Y/N entered the flat, holding hands. His shirt was untucked and her hair was probably a mess because he’d pushed her against the wall of the lift and kissed her wild. If Maisie noticed, she didn’t point it out.

“What’s wrong, Mai? Where’s Ria?” Y/N asked.

Her sister was just about to speak when a little figure dashed out of the kitchen and flew straight toward them. Ria, who was wearing a cooking pot on top of her head and holding her toy gun, crashed into Y/N and wrapped both arms around her legs.

Maisie let out a sigh, “She’s been hiding in the kitchen with her ‘weapon’. She said the ghost is only afraid of Harry.”

“Daddy is a ghost hunter, aunt Maisie!” Ria said.

Y/N took the pot off her daughter’s head and got down on her knees in front of the little girl, giving her a reassuring smile. She knew there was no point trying to convince Ria that there was no ghost, so she said, “The ghost cannot hurt you, baby.”

“Why not? I’m so little!”

“Yes, you are, but–” Harry also got down on his knees and pinched her cheek “–you’re my daughter, aren’t you? The ghost cannot hurt you knowing I would destroy it if it tried.”

Ria pursed her lips as she considered him for a moment. “Did Mummy help you hunt the ghost? Is that why you came home late and your hair and clothes are messy?”

Harry and Y/N exchanged bashful looks. Out of the corner of her eye, Y/N could see her sister trying not to laugh. Her face heated even though she tried to remain composed. Harry was much better at concealing his embarrassment. In fact, he looked almost indifferent when he told Ria, “That’s right. We told the ghost to never come back here again. The ghost was so scared and had to apologize for scaring my little girl.”

“No wonder Mummy dresses like a spy!” Ria said, indicating Y/N’s trench coat. This time, Maisie let out a snort and Y/N shot her a warning glare.

Harry laughed and tousled Ria’s hair. “Do you still want to sleep with Daddy and Mummy tonight?”

Ria thought for a moment before shaking her head, schooling her face with a determined look. “No. I should practice sleeping by myself,” she said. “I want to be a ghost hunter, too.”

“You will, baby, you will.” Y/N kissed her daughter’s cheek and thanked Maisie for babysitting Ria.

“I’ll tuck her in. You should take a shower and get some rest,” Maisie said. “Come on, Ria. Kiss your parents good night.”

“Good night, Mummy. Good night, Daddy. I love you!” Ria kissed both of them and whispered in Harry’s ear, loud enough for Y/N to hear. “I won’t tell anyone you’re a ghost hunter.”

And then she ran for the stairs, holding her toy gun by her side. Maisie laughed and followed Ria.

Once they were gone, Harry wrapped his arms around Y/N’s waist from behind, his mouth at her ear. “Second round in the shower?”

She spun around and put her arms around his neck. “How can I say no to our fearless ghost hunter?”

#flatmate series #harry styles smut #harry styles #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles writing #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfics #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles one shot #harry styles one shots #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry smut #dad!harry #husband!harry #flatmate!harry

[thegalleonsnest]

Wiggle’s Muse - Short Excerpt turned into a FanFic

Yo, so, I wanted to share a small snippet of a future project I’m working on (while also delaying my current art projects). What I’ve written out here in this post was originally in a format not meant for professional writing purposes, but I said “eh, why the hell not,” and written it out in sort of a short fanfic format for you guys to read. This project btw, is not a fanfic (had to make that clear). What I am working on is a very large scale project for myself and is still in the blocking out/rough draft phases. This right here is probably my most fleshed out scene I’ve written out, and feels pretty complete as it’s own thing. Honestly, I’d appreciate the feedback if any of ya’ll found this interesting! 

Also I’m putting this in a tumblr post because I don’t have an AO3 or fanfiction account, and this is already too short for it anyway. Read the excerpt below

In front of the camera lenses, multiple grumpuses walk back and forth discussing a matter of topics but most importantly, where was Wiggle?

"Has anyone gotten ahold of Wiggle yet? She was supposed to be here hours ago,” a gruff voice coming from out of frame says. “We’ve tried calling her for over an hour, but we got nothing,” says another off camera, “do you think we should reschedule-” before they could finish, the studio doors bust open with a loud thud echoing the studio room. A tall, short armed grumpus with a boa stumbles along the room carrying an oddly shaped banjo.

“There she is,” said the gruff voiced grump, “Wiggle, whatever you got going on, you better do it now cause we got a meeting with investors in half an hour!” From the blurry view of a slightly out of frame Wiggle, she barely registered what the grump said. In a stumble, she walks to the center of the camera’s view & shakes her head, almost slurring her words, “Doooon’t worry, Darling, we’ll get you a new vest later.” “What, no, wait, that’s not what I-” before another word could be said, Wiggle readies her banjo and strikes a quick pose before strumming the strings like her life depended on it.

It didn’t take longer than a few seconds before the crew sprung into action, setting the proper lightning, mics and cameras around her. Her rhythm and measures became a lot more stable, catchy even, and then she broke into song. The next set of lyrics would become an instant, regrettable classic. 

It’s not long before the VHS tape stutters and stops, showing mostly static. A magenta furred Grumpus with some hair covering a part of eye, hits the eject button, takes out the tape and turns off the tv. “Girl, you were a right mess there!” She said with a giggle. “Tell me about it, Vrittany...” Wiggle said frustratingly, pinching the bridge of her nose. “And you’re telling me you can’t come up with anything better than that? Come on now!” “I wish I was lying, but I’m not. No matter what I come up with, nothing is topping whatever the heck my walking coma came up with instead!” Wiggle grabs her mug of coffee and takes a longing sip.

The two sit across from one another at the coffee bar. The aroma of that day’s set of cocoa beans waft through the cafe as most of the outside lamps fill out the darker spots inside. The place is nearly empty besides them, and a single muted green furred occupant sitting at a booth at the opposite end of the cafe, drawing away in his sketchpad.

“So, whatcha gonna do?” Vrittany asked sarcastically, “Stay awake for another week? Get inspired again? Hehe.” Wiggle sets her mug down, and answers, “I did try that again, but in style I fell asleep comfortably on a couch in the lobby”. Vrittany looked a bit stunned. “You’re kidding?! You’re crazy!” “Not crazy, Vrittany,” she takes another sip of her coffee before striking a pose in her high stool seat, bellowing out her voice. “Just creatiiiivly driveeeen~” “Whatever you say, darling,” Vrittany says before turning around to her bar’s sink. She cleans several mugs and glasses with gusto while preparing one last pot of coffee, enough for a single cup for later.

Vrittany takes off her apron and hangs it on the wayside of the counter as she walks around to take a seat next to Wiggle. After situating herself, she puts a paw on Wiggle’s shoulder. “Listen, pretty sure this is just a rut you’re stuck in right now,” she says. “Doesn’t every artist go through that every now and then?” Wiggle turns her head toward Vrittany, “Well..yeah, but this is different,” she desperately says. “I can’t let a song I made in my sleep be the best thing I’ve ever made! I know I can make something that’ll shake the world more than whatever ‘Do The Wiggle’ was.” 

Vrittany pulls back her paw from Wiggle to put on her best thinking cap. As deeply in thought as she was, her face immediately relaxes into a deadpan expression, “Have ya tried singing from the heart?” Wiggle cracks a smile, “HA, if only that’s how it works! It takes a musical genius to write a hit song in show biz, not just some field day with my feelings.” “Eh, worth a shot. Got any other plans?” “I’m still trying to figure that out. I need some kind of inspiration...almost like a-”

Before she could finish her thought, they both caught a glance at the muted green furred grump who walked up to them. He mustered up the words and said, “E-excuse me, you’re Miss Wiggle, right?” Wiggle turned in her seat to get a better look at the young Grumpus. She could tell he was nervous, clutching his sketchbook in his arms rather tightly. She quickly put on a more relaxed front to help calm things down, while also still showing off a bit of her excited side. “Why yes I am, Darling,” she said enthusiastically. “And I can tell you must be a fan of mine.” “Y-yeah...!” The green grump looked a little more relaxed, but still stiff in the shoulders. “Hey now, no need to be so nervous. I always got time for my fans.” “Thank you, Miss Wiggle. Um…” “No need to finish that thought, Darling, I know what you’re about to ask and I’m happy to oblige!”

Before the young man could stop to say something, Wiggle pulls out one of her many professional hand out photos that she has, and quickly signs with her autograph before handing it to him. “O-Oh, thank you, Miss, but that’s not what I was going to s-say.” he sheepishly says. “Really? Not an autograph,” Wiggle says surprisingly. “It’s usually the first thing fans ask of me.” “Sorry, I just...I wanted to show you this sketch I made…” 

The nervous grumpus slowly turns his sketchbook around to reveal a fully sketched art piece depicting a stylized Wiggle singing her heart out at the bar with Vrittany hanging out in the background cheering her on. He hands it to Wiggle to give them a closer look. It was still somewhat messy, showing a few guidelines and early roughed out shapes, but for what it was, it was still impressive to the two girls.

“Woah, that’s pretty rad!” Vrittany yelled out, leaning out from her seat trying to get a closer look. Wiggle was pretty stun, gasping at the sight of such a piece of artwork. “Darling, you drew this?! Just now,” Wiggle asked in awe. “Yeah! I was listening to some of your music and then you came in and sat down. It made me wanna draw you as fast as I could,” the green grumps says excitedly before rubbing the back of his head. “Sorry if it’s still a little messy looking though…” “Don’t be, because it is beeeaautifuuul~” “T-thank you so much, Miss Wiggle! T-that means a lot to m-me!” the grumpus says while his face lights up red from the praise. “You’re like an inspiration to me.” “Really now? Like a muse? All I do is sing the night away, Darling. You draw little masterpieces like this from me?”

As Wiggle continues to be enthralled by the young man and his work, Vrittany notices the coffee pot had finished brewing. She gets up from her seat and go back behind the counter to finish her last cup for the night. Wiggle and the green grump continue their conversation.

“W-well kind of,” says the grump, “it’s a bunch of music that inspires me when I draw. A lot of your stuff is so upbeat and fun, it gives me lots of different ideas to pump out!” Wiggle looks back, almost flabbergasted. “I’m...honestly a bit stunned that I had that kind of impact on you, Darling,” she says, almost with a melancholy tone, “...heh, kind of forget sometimes I do make some kind of impression on grumps like you.” She looks back down at the sketchbook, entranced by the creativity that sparked in the moment. That dazzling moment where it all clicked...where could she find that, when someone else can find it in her?

After an awkward minute of silence, the young grump spoke up and said, “If you like, you can keep the sketch page, Miss Wiggle?” Wiggle snapped her head back up from the sketchbook to the green fuzzball. “W-wait really? Are you sure you wanna give up this piece of art?” said Wiggle worryingly. “It’s no problem at all,” said the green grump proudly. “I already took a picture of it to save for later. I’m gonna make a painted version of it online later! Besides, it’ll make me happy if you kept it, since I was going to give it to you anyway.” “Oh Darling, you’re nothing more than a sweet one now, aren’t you? I’ll gladly keep it!” “Thank you so much, Miss Wiggle!”

Wiggle hands the sketchbook back to the green grumpus and he tears out the sketch. “No, Darling, thank you,” Wiggle says ecstatically. Vrittany returns from behind the bar with a to-go cup in hand, saying “Here’s your order, kid.”  “Oh, thank you, Vrittany. How much was it again,” the green grump asked. “Eh, don’t worry about it. Don’t feel like counting change. It’s on the house.” “O-oh you sure?” “You wanna change my mind?” “Don’t think I can, so thank you!” The green grump turns back to Wiggle and says “It was so nice meeting you in person, Miss Wiggle!”

“The pleasure is all mine, Dar-,” Wiggle catches herself before she realizes something. “Actually, what was your name?” “It’s Grite, Grite Tillsland!” Wiggle lets a genuine soft smile grow on her face. She felt a lot more at ease and happier knowing her new friend was much more relax and happy overall. She reached out her paw for a handshake, and Grite reciprocated.

“The pleasure’s mine, Grite, Darling.”

#Bugsnax #Wiggle Wigglebottom #TheGalleonsNest Writing #Fic #wip excerpt #Bugsnax Fanfic #Hope you guys enjoy a taste of what's to come #even when there's very little context #I've got multiple large scale projects lined up #this is just one of them #I hope to officially start it this year #but there is still a lot of backend work to be done #and also I got tons of art to make too before then

[boldly-ho]

Another Life - Chapter 17

Fandom: What We Do in the Shadows 

Pairing: Vladislav x Reader

Series Rating: E

Word Count: 1863

Chapter Summary: Stu finds out.

A/N: I won’t be posting next week, but I’ll be back to my normal schedule the week after. As always, cross-posted to AO3.

You woke up at a decent hour for once. Both exhausted from your nightmare and its accompanying fitful sleep, and out of a desire to avoid Deacon and Viago, you’d actually gone to bed early the previous night. For the first time in a while, you wouldn’t have to choose between eating either breakfast or lunch. Flatting with four vampires led to a lot of late nights.

Checking your phone, you found a number of texts from late last night. Petyr had sent you a loose apology for scaring you half to death when you woke him up. Viago sent a text asking if you were free next Friday for the drinking game night. You shot him a quick reply confirming your availability.

A third text was from an unknown number, received early this morning. You opened the message, reading, ‘Hey Y/N. This is Stu. I got your number from Deacon. Are you free for lunch today? I need to talk to you about something.’

You paused, thumbs hovering over the keyboard. For a brief moment you were filled with anxiety. Was Stu asking you out on a date? Not that there was anything wrong with Stu, of course, he just wasn’t your type, and you really didn’t want things to be weird. But no, that couldn’t be it. Thankfully. ‘I need to talk to you about something.’ That wasn’t a date, but it could be something bad, something serious. Was Stu in trouble? Your anxiety flared anew.

You drafted a reply. ‘Hey Stu. Lunch is fine. Does noon work? What do you need to talk about?’

His response was immediate. He ignored your question but confirmed for noon and sent you the address of a café. You thumbs-upped his text and set the phone aside, chewing on the inside of your lower lip in concern.

~

You struggled with your groceries, one paper bag in each arm. You were nearly running down the sidewalk. The condensation from the thawing ice cream was wearing the structural integrity of one of the bags, and you desperately wanted to make it back to the flat before the bottom inevitably gave out. You’d forgotten your reusable bags at home, and were now at the mercies of paper. And paper, apparently, had few mercies.

You felt the contents shifting, and further picked up your speed, probably looking quite ridiculous as you more or less sprinted down the street, clutching the disintegrating bags to your chest. It was all for naught, though, as the bottom of the bag gave out, spilling a carton of ice cream, a quart of milk, and a boatload of produce onto the pavement.

You let out a loud sigh of exasperation, startling a passerby.

You leaned against a wooden telephone post, surveying the damage before getting to work. You added what you could to the other bag, resigning yourself to cleaning all the produce immediately upon arriving home. You decided to carry the ice cream and milk in your hands, not wanting to damage the other bag with either weight or moisture.

Standing once again, with your groceries balanced somehow even more precariously than before, you resumed your trek home. Or, more accurately, you attempted to resume your trek home. Instead, you took a half a step, but were yanked back to the telephone pole by your pants. Awkwardly turning around with your arms full, you found that your pants were caught on a staple that was holding up one of the many posters covering the post.

You sighed, setting down your groceries again, and taking extra care not to tear your pants, or worse, de-pants yourself. Turning around as best you could, you began working at the staple. After a few minutes, and one near-catastrophe with a would-be splinter, you managed to work the staple loose from the post. Unfortunately, it was still stuck to your pants, now holding a poster to your backside. You tore the sheet of paper from yourself and decided to remove the staple from your clothing at home. You were about to crumple it up and toss it away when something about it grabbed your attention.

It was a missing person poster. A woman named Kura had gone missing over a year ago, and her family was willing to pay a hefty sum of money for any information leading to her safe return. While obviously sad, that hadn’t been what garnered your attention. It was the photograph, large and centered on the poster, that drew you in. The woman in the photo had bright, brown eyes, and a wide, happy smile. You’d never seen her before.

But you recognized her.

Had you known her? You reread the information on the poster. You couldn’t have known her. She was last seen just days after you moved out of your flat with Dawn. Unless you met her in that brief window of time. Would that be enough for you to remember her so viscerally, even now?

Unless, of course, you’d known her after she was ‘last seen.’

That thought chilled you.

What had you been involved in? Had she wound up in something shady? Had you? Or worse, had you been, even just partially, responsible for her having gone missing?

You couldn’t rule that horrifying possibility out.

You felt light-headed.

~

You sat alone at the café, anxiously drumming your fingers against the table. Checking your phone, you saw you there were still six minutes to go before you were supposed to meet. You looked to the door anyway, repeating this pattern for the next four minutes until Stu arrived two minutes early.

“Hi, Y/N,” he greeted, slightly redder than usual. Perhaps he had rushed here? “Have you ordered yet?”

“No. I was a little early, so I thought I’d wait for you.”

Gesturing behind himself towards the counter, he offered, “I can buy. What would you like?”

“No, no, I can buy my own,” you brushed off his generosity.

“I wanted to meet, and at the last minute. I can buy. What are you having?”

“Thank you. I’ll have a smoothie, and I’ve never been here, so whatever you recommend, I guess.”

“Sure thing.” Stu went up to the counter, placing the order and paying, before returning with his coffee, your smoothie, and two caprese melts.

“Thanks, Stu. So what’s up? Is everything alright?”

You bit into the caprese melt. Damn, Stu had good taste.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” His tone did little to convince you that this was true. He’s stared down at his yet untouched sandwich. You waited for him to go on. If he was this insistent on meeting, you trusted he’d decide to share his thoughts eventually. When he spoke again, he said, “Nick told me about the whole vampire thing last night.”

You stopped mid-chew, swallowing almost too much sandwich. ‘The whole vampire thing.’ That was certainly a fitting name for it.

You looked up from your plate, eyes searching Stu’s face. What was he looking for here? Did he still need to figure out whether or not this was all actually true, or did he just need the companionship of another human stuck in this bizarre limbo between the real and the supernatural? Until you knew where he was at, there really wasn’t any way to go forward.

“And did you… believe him?”

Stu nodded quickly. “Yeah. He showed me, uh…” He faltered.

You nodded. “It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me.” You had only known Nick for a short period of time, but in that time you were able to discern that he’s quite the showboat. So, you were willing to venture a guess that his demonstration of vampirism was a bit less gentle than Vladislav’s. “Are you okay?” you asked Stu.

“Yeah. Just shaken.”

You offered him a small smile. “I can relate.”

“That’s why I wanted to talk to you. You get on with your flatmates so well, and you’ve known about this for longer than me, obviously. I thought it might be easier to talk to another human about this than with a- well, with Nick or one of the guys.”

You smiled wider, ready to play the part of expert even though you didn’t feel it. “What do you want to know?”

“Nick told me most of what I wanted to know. There were a few things I didn’t think of at the time, or just didn’t want to ask.” He paused before continuing. “How often do they have to… drink….?” He asked, struggling to chose the correct word.

“Eat,” you answered.

“Eat, then. How often do they do that?”

“It depends,” you replied, glad you had recently learned the answer to that one. “Nick eats pretty much everyday, but that’s only since he’s such a new vampire. He’ll eat less after a few years. Vladislav, Viago, and Deacon only eat a few times a week.”

Stu looked away, down toward his very vegetarian meal. You could guess how he was feeling.

Continuing, you said, “Petyr eats even less than that, like once or twice a month, though sometimes he eats small animals in between. I don’t know if that’s just due to his age, or what. I think he might be a different kind than the others, but I don’t really know.”

A woman walking past your table threw you an alarmed look, but you ignored her.

“Petyr?” Stu asked, confused.

“Oh, right! You’ve never met Petyr. He flats with us. He’s really old, like 8000 years or more. He looks really freaky, like Nosferatu-esque, but he’s a cool guy.”

“Like Nosferatu?” he repeated. He seemed dumbfounded, but you could hardly hold that against him. “So how old are the others then?”

“I don’t remember exactly.” You realized you should put their birthdays in your phone, and made a mental note to do so. “Vladislav is 800 something. Viago is over three hundred, closer to 400, maybe. And Deacon is 150 or 160 or something like that. And, obviously, you’d know Nick’s age better than me.”

“Right, yeah. How long have you known? About vampires?”

“Not long. I was just looking for a flat. I actually figured they were delusional and thought that they were vampires, but not that they actually were,” you laughed. “It was actually the day Nick got turned that I found out it was all real.”

Any sense of humor you’d just had quickly disappeared, and you forced down the rising urge to apologize to Stu for what happened to his friend. It wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t do anything to stop it. Those words were becoming a sort of mantra to you.

“Do you ever…” he trailed off, leaving the sentence unfinished.

“Do I ever what?”

“No. Sorry. I shouldn’t pry. It isn’t really my business.”

“It’s fine. Pry away. You’re the only other human I know who’s in a similar situation.”

He smiled at you, and you returned the gesture. You supposed there were worse things to experience camaraderie over.

“Do you ever feel guilty?” he asked. “About the people they kill? Not that it’s your fault, or our faults, of course, I just-“

You interrupted him with your answer.

“Every day.”

#what we do in the shadows #wwdits #vladislav #vladislav x reader #another life #al fic

[archiveofidentityconstellations]

birds all sing | part 2

part 1

and we’re back! chapter has been revised for the better! enjoy!

August

“That’s right, give it a good hard stare. Make that menu tell you all its secrets.”

Selina’s whisper tickled his ear, which would have been pleasant if Bruce wasn’t so infuriated. The past couple of weeks had not gone according to plan. For one thing, Tim had not quit. Rather, he had reached into his resources and manipulated multiple employees as well as members of the board. Bruce couldn’t count how many visits of “good will” he had received since last week, hoping to make him “aware” in subtle terms of their position. Bruce wasn’t surprised, per se, at the actions Tim had taken. He had been a resourceful boy and now was a rather ruthless…man. Bruce adjusted in his seat. That was a trait that he had cultivated in him, and now the tables had turned. He did not regret cultivating the trait, not for an instant. Tim was the most cerebral of his sons, the one he could rely on to do what must be done, even to his detriment.

Especially to his detriment.

“Have you even tried talking to him?”

Barbara’s voice had been snappish, dry, and derisive, though lacking any real bite. Bruce had stopped by the clocktower in lieu of Tim for the monthly check-in. Bruce, being an adult, had kept the details of the situation from the family.

Which meant that Barbara had interrogated him the minute he stepped into the clocktower.

“It’s not about that,” he had told her. At her look he explained, “Tim is young. He’s young and he’s never branched out. Besides that, he never proceeds with the expected. He didn’t throw a shampoo bottle at my head and move out like Dick did. He left home by time I returned, and his lifestyle hasn’t been investigated since then.”

“You really think getting married is his act of rebellion?”

Her tone was not flattering. Bruce bristled.

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand,” he said. “Children are—“

“I think you don’t understand, Bruce, I really think you don’t,” she interrupted. “This isn’t a catch-all situation, it never is. You always think there’s a formula to these things. Why, I don’t know, especially since the fall-out is always terrible. My ears are still ringing from Jason’s tantrum in the eighth grade. You wouldn’t let him know why he wasn’t allowed to go on that D. C. field trip, remember that?”

Bruce did.

“Look,” she said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I’m not here to argue or to lecture or any of that. I don’t think you’d listen to me if I did, though I’d try my damndest to make you.”

He scoffed. She smirked.

“I just want you to consider that this isn’t about you.”

Bruce paused. “How could this not be about me?”

“You get wrapped up in yourself, Bruce.”

Bruce cleared his throat, ready to deny this, but then Barbara sighed in a knowing way, cutting him off.

"I'm not here to argue about semantics," she said, looking at him behind her glasses. "Just consider that people, your children, everyone around you—we all have our own melodrama,” she said. “And we’re the main character in it. You’re the sidekick in this scenario.”

He stuck his tongue in the side of his cheek, blinking mulishly.

Barbara sighed.  “He’s not doing this to hurt you.”

“He put Bosch in the office,” Bruce protested.

A beat.

“He’s doing this to hurt you a little.”

Tim was sending a message, and it was personal. Besides all the office machinations and manipulations, he had taken to hiding out in Stephanie’s apartment, a place he knew Bruce wouldn’t visit. Not only that, but he went out of town for his birthday, decidedly not inviting the family or even letting Bruce know his plans.

Bruce didn’t know how to feel about that.

It wasn’t that either of them were especially attached to their birthdays, but ever since Tim had been adopted things had been—well. Different. Bruce had tried, put in more effort than he realized, in recognizing Tim’s birthday every year. He knew the boy’s parents hadn’t made it home more than not, and Tim had mentioned that through the years, a sure indication that it bothered him even if he didn’t admit to it. But Tim’s twentieth birthday had dawned bright and clear, and he had ensured that Bruce wouldn’t be part of it.

If Bruce was being honest, it hurt.

He had tried, damnit, and to have that effort thrown back in his face just because of a fight—Tim was supposed to be the good one. The understanding one, the easy one.

Bruce clenched his fists. Tim was supposed to be the reliable one.

“Maybe you should take that menu outside.”

Bruce looked at Selina. She quirked a brow at him.

“What, no come-ons? No sweet nothings about how good she looks?” She reached over and twisted the menu in Bruce’s hands, keen eyes surveying the width of the menu. She whistled. “I hear she also knows how to cook.”

Bruce didn’t smile, but it was a near thing. “I’m not ignoring you.”

Selina set her elbow on the table, leaning her head on her hand. “Oh?” She dragged a finger around his temple, long, scratching nail almost making him shiver. Almost. “You haven’t been paying attention to me either.” She pouted playfully, but her moue disappeared when Bruce only hummed. Her green eyes widened. “What’s wrong?”

Bruce hesitated. But before he could answer a waiter was directing a friendly-looking couple to their table. Selina sent him a look and stood up; time to meet the in-laws. Selina and her sister Maggie had discovered each other years ago after losing contact for more than twenty years due to foster care. Maggie had been shipped off to California and adopted. It was only after she had married Simon that Selina had brokered contact, and now his fiancé was deadset on including Maggie in the wedding details. Which meant meeting the groom. Which meant Bruce.

He sighed around his water goblet, taking a swallow and pasting a smile on his face when he shook Simon’s hand.

The situation with Tim could wait. Bruce had made it this far, he could hold it together for another hour.

“So then she said, ‘I sent my draft over’ and I was like ‘bullshit’ and then he went ‘I think we can all understand that folks have been busy’ and I was like ‘BULLSHIT’ and then she said ‘It’s not my fault that you spent all night working on it’ and she knows the grade is based on a group effort, it’s not individual, so I was about to go all Solange Knowles in the elevator, and THEN--"

Tim set his head against the wheel.

Stephanie tapped her fingers against his skull. “Honey? I know that my dramatic retelling of my summer class might be boring but you need to keep your head up to see the traffic light.” She tapped again. “Chop chop, eyes on the road.”

Tim obliged. “I’m losing it, Steph,” he murmured. “I’m losing it.”

“I’ll help you find it,” she assured him. “In the meantime we can share mine. Don’t crash my car. Now, where was I? Oh yeah, the elevator. So THEN—“

"It’s just,” he began, “he is up my ass—”

“Oh wow,” said Stephanie. “I have no idea what that feels like. I feel so sorry for you.”

Tim sent her an unimpressed look. She smiled beatifically at him. He reached over and pinched her thigh. Steph gave a shriek of laughter and drew her knees up to her chest. “Both hands on the wheel, Timothy Drake!”

He laughed and returned to the wheel, eyes scanning the road.

“But really,” she said, continuing their conversation. “He’s just in one of his Moods. You just have to ride it out.”

“Screw that,” Tim muttered.

“What is up with you two anyways? Normally you let him go crazy-anal and don’t get defensive about it at all.”

“Did you just call me a suck-up?”

She stuck her tongue out at him. “Seriously, though. You’re obviously unhappy. What happened?”

“He just…he’s too much. And I’m sick of it. You know he was trying to get me to go to college?”

“Yeah, I only heard about it twenty times.”

“Well,” he flicked on the signal, “he basically threatened to fire me if I don’t do what he wants.”

“No! Wait, this is Bruce we’re talking about. Yes!”

“So I’ve basically been getting back at him at the office. And on patrol. And at home.”

“Is this why you’ve been sleeping at my place?”

He didn’t even have the decency to look sheepish. “Yes.”

“Okay, while I love that you’re using me as a tool to piss off your dad,” Steph took a sip from her water bottle, “what do I get from providing sanctuary?”

“I’m getting you a new car for your birthday,” Tim deadpanned.

“Volvo?”

“Lexus.”

She leaned over and smacked a resounding kiss on his cheek. “Mwah!”

He grinned.

“Has Bruce retaliated yet?”

“No,” he admitted, bitter and not sure of the reason why, “but then again I’ve tied his hands. I made Tam hold all my calls.”

Stephanie burst out laughing. “Oh Tim,” she gasped. “This is Mean Girls petty and I should say I’m disappointed in both of you but I’m also loving this?”

Tim gave a half-smile but didn’t respond. It had seemed fun, at first. Hitting Bruce where it hurt, like he had done to him. But after the third quasi-manic episode at the office (which had included balloons and Eiffel 65 blaring—he didn’t want to talk about it), it felt…empty. Like no matter what he did, Bruce was still going to think of him the same and there wasn’t anything he could do about it. There was no concept of a permanent sense of self, only a ‘Bruce sense of self.’ That didn’t mean he stopped the lying and manipulation; he just felt strange using Lucius for personal reasons. Like giving Bruce the finger.

Tim shifted in his seat, barely listening to Stephanie chatter. He thought about actual aggressive “negotiations” with the man. He visualized launching himself at Bruce and choking him out.  

Tim hummed, considerate. He took a left, merging onto the highway.

Not that he could really do anything. He’d just hang there, like a Tim-sized necktie.

But it’s the thought that counts.

“—And so then I’m stuck between two seats, my tongue almost touching the—hey!” Stephanie took her feet off the dashboard in surprise. “Why did you go on the 95? You know it always gets backed up.”

“Does it matter? Do you have to pee?”

“No, that’s not it.” Her eyes narrowed at the traffic. “We talked about ordering in tonight, and China Panda closes at eight.”

“I’m sure we’ll get home by—”

“You KNOW the 95 takes hours ever since they closed Doyle Pike, it takes—”

“Shit,” Tim swore. “For god’s sake Stephanie, you couldn’t have warned me?”

“I did!” she said shrilly. “I literally got into the car and the first thing I did was remind you about Doyle Pike and Mallowan Road and asked you if you had stopped off because I had less than half a tank of—”

The car gave a sputter.

Tim’s heart went cold.

“No.”

It jerked.

“Nonononono—”

It stopped.

This was hell.

Bruce examined the cutlery for the twenty-fourth time (he had counted). Silver, same as last time. It wasn’t as if he disliked his future in-laws. They were very nice people. Very…nice.

“And just think,” Maggie was saying, “after the wedding you could come visit us in California!”

“Yeah,” said Selina, face lighting up when she spotted their waiter across the room.

“And you could meet Linus!”

“Our son,” Simon explained, smiling at Bruce.

“Maybe you could even bring a friend for him,” said Maggie. She raised her eyebrows, alluding to something Selina knew about, for her sister smiled testily at her.

“Our waiter is coming,” she snapped, pushing the appetizer plates out of the way.

Maggie unrolled her napkin. “And Linus could even meet all the other kids! You have six, don’t you?”

If Bruce was surprised at being addressed, he didn’t show it. “I do.”

“You adopted, right?”

“I did.”

“I’m part of a blended family too!” she exclaimed. “I mean, besides Selina. I was adopted into a family, there were four of us until mom had Constance. I was seventeen, but I loved having a baby around, I think it really shaped me as an individual. What do you think about large age gaps between siblings?”

“Look, bread,” Selina announced. “Bruce, eat the bread.”

Bruce ate it.

Maggie moved on from her question, listing off her siblings’ names and dipping her bread with gusto, but Bruce considered it. Had his children’s ages and life experiences influenced the younger ones’ decisions? He knew that Damian was far more tactile due to Dick’s impact, and he likely would not be that way had he only been involved with Bruce. Perhaps that was what was going on with Tim. Perhaps there was some outside influence at work here, something (or someone, he thought to himself bitterly), that made Tim so stubborn. He knew the boy didn’t used to be this bad. He used to be able to wait him out. He remembered a specific scenario, giving Tim a look and Tim had immediately come clean, sniffling all the while.

Granted, he had been twelve at the time, but still.

There was something to this situation, an aspect Bruce hadn’t considered.

“What date for the wedding were you thinking?” asked Simon, stepping in when his wife paused for breath. “Have you set one yet?”

“Not yet,” Selina replied. “Look, food.”

Their waiter set down their entrees. Bruce unrolled his napkin amidst Maggie’s excited report on flexible venues.

“—And after a year or two the booking is still good!” she exclaimed. “So if anything comes up—”

“Nothing will. Bruce, steak.”

Bruce obligingly cut up his steak.

Although, perhaps an outside influence wasn’t the answer. Perhaps the answer was that Timothy felt that lies and manipulations were a viable tool of communication. Perhaps Timothy believed that respect was not warranted, not to his family, and not to Bruce. Bruce, you know, the man otherwise known as his father? Perhaps Timothy felt as though he should be able to do things with zero consequences. Perhaps Timothy thought that Bruce was stupid. Perhaps Timothy thought that it was funny that Bruce cared about him, that he wanted to see him succeed. Perhaps Timothy should be forced to cooperate, should answer his questions that he hadn’t bothered to ask because Timothy would feed him lies, all that boy did was lie, he woke in the morning and thought “How can I lie to Bruce today?” because lying about sleeping and his caffeine intake and his plans for school and where he was going to live and whose ring was in his closet—

“Bruce, chew.”

Bruce chewed angrily, snapping his jaws together.

“It is a lot,” Maggie was saying. At that point Selina had decimated all the breadsticks, wheat corpses mangled across the tablecloth. “I mean, I’m exhausted,” she admitted. “I’ll never sleep the same again, I swear it. But Linus is just so amazing. I can hardly believe that God gave me a baby, and that I get to have such a wonderful one. Especially after we struggled so much.”

Simon met his wife’s eyes, smiling reassuringly at her.

Selina paused. Her face gentled. She set her hand on her sister’s arm. “I have no doubt that you are a great mom, Maggie.”

Maggie bit her lip to cover up its tremble. “Thank you,” she whispered. She then cleared her throat and picked up her wine glass. “All in all, children are such a blessing,” she concluded.

Selina returned her hands to the table, face pinched again. She took a sip of her water.

Bruce twisted the napkin in his hands.

“I mean, what could be better than children?”

Sip.

Twist.

“I mean, they really are such a blessing!”

Sip.

Twist.

“Don’t you think, Selina?”

“Unf,” agreed Selina around a huge gulp of water. It spilled out of her mouth.

Twist.

“Plus, Simon and I are enjoying all these firsts of parenthood,” Maggie continued. “First time they roll over, first time they coo—”

Twist.

“First time they smile,” Simon added. They smiled at each.

Twist. Twist. Twist twist twist twist twist—

“And we’re so excited for what comes next!” Maggie squealed. “The first time they crawl, the first step, the first word—”

“The first time they set up an elaborate lie and tell you that they’re going to live with an imaginary uncle.”

The table went silent.

“PUSH!”

“I am pushing!” he bellowed.

Stephanie stuck her head out the window, eyes fixed upon him and definitely not on the road. “Push harder!”

Tim rolled his eyes. He planted his hands against the back of Steph’s 2003 Toyota Corolla and pushed. His heels lifted from the exertion, but he kept going. Sweat dripped and fell on the black tarmac. Cars inched forward behind him, growing more and more discontent.

Step by arduous step, they crawled up the highway.

Of course this would happen on the hottest day in Gotham City since 1999.

Of course today, of all days, this would happen. The climax of the truly spectacularly shitty summer. The summer a la Bruce, with special appearances by judgement and paternal harassment. Of course Tim would forget to fill the car up with gas. Of course. Of course! OF FUCKING COURSE.

“Do you want me to push?”

Tim leaned to his left, meeting her eyes.  “No. Keep your eyes on the road.”

“Are you sure?”

“Steph!” he shouted. “Keep your eyes on the goddamn road!”

“Okay fine!”

Her head disappeared inside. Tim hissed, hands slipping off the hot metal. “Shit,” he muttered, throwing his weight into the next push. The car behind him hovered, then quickly cut into the next lane. Horns immediately started blaring. “Let them in!” he shouted, in a rare show of traffic consideration. “We’re not going anywhere, let them in!”

Gotham’s heart must have grown three sizes since Tuesday, because, miraculously enough, the car in the next lane let them in. A line of cars merged over like a shiny caterpillar in the sun. Tim wiped his brow on his shoulder, arms straining with effort.

This was shit. Complete and utter shit. It wasn’t even funny in that cosmic, haha, look at this human fail, what does he know sort of way. It was shit. That’s all it was. There wasn’t a bright side or a “trial of soul” as Jason liked to say. It was just shit. His life was shit, his relationship with his dad was shit, his job was going down the tube, everything was shit.

Tim grit his teeth. The next lane’s goodwill had worn off, so cars were piling up behind him again. It really was a matter of time before he was run over, and at this point he would welcome it.

The driver door slammed open. He looked up.

“Switch!” Steph yelled, popping out of the car and racing around it, “Switch!”

Tim, without knowing he was doing it, dashed to the front seat. “This is a dumb idea!” he said. He adjusted the seat.

“Keep the windows rolled down!” was the reply. “Sometimes the wind picks up and you get a faint breeze!”

“Steph!”

The car suddenly heaved forward.

“What did you do?”

“I kicked it!”

“Don’t kick the car!”

“It’s my car!”

“I’m going to push again!”

“No!” Another heave. “It’s my turn! You rest!”

The car was moving faster than it was before. Tim tried not to let that rankle. Of course he would fail at pushing, he couldn’t do anything right nowadays. If he ever had. He groaned, slamming his head back against the headrest. It was bull self-pity, but at this point it was all he had. Bruce had basically already kicked him out of the family, and now was attempting to get him out of Gotham. Which, you know, pissed him off. Gotham was his home too, and he didn’t go around ordering people out of it. It was like Jason said, they all served the same mistress. Helluva lover, though. Tim brushed his knuckles over his jaw; he winced. Since fighting with Bruce he hadn’t bothered to check in, not even for patrol, which had resulted in no back up with some rather nasty bruises to show for it. Was it immature? Yes. Did Bruce absolutely deserve it? Yes. Tim couldn’t believe that he had had to hide at Stephanie’s apartment to escape him. He had been wearing the same business suits in rotation for a week, too scared to go back to his place and be immediately jumped and shipped off to Oxford. He imagined himself stuffed into a suitcase, strapped down to the luggage area of the batplane. Tim frowned.

And yet on the other hand, why was he fighting this at all? Bruce had made it clear, been explicit when he threatened to fire him, that he didn’t want Tim around anymore. Which, he’ll be honest, hurt his feelings. A lot. (He may have laid face-down on Steph’s couch and emitted dying squirrel noises at low moments, couldn’t be sure.) Why did Tim always do this? Why did he stick his nose into places where he was unwanted? Why did he slide into places with no room and insist he be allowed to stay?

This…wasn’t what he wanted. None of this was what he wanted. Maybe it was better he just take the hint and go. He wasn’t legally part of the family anyways, having been emancipated years ago. After Bruce got his way, there would be nothing holding him here.

“This sucks,” he whispered.

“HUH?”

“I said this SUCKS,” he shouted out the window.

“It’s all right!” she shouted back encouragingly. “It’s just like my eighth birthday! You get to live a day in the life, rich boy!”

Tim closed his eyes. Hot tears gathered around his eyelashes, but he didn’t let them fall.

Bruce always got his way. One way or another, Bruce always got his way. It was like the universe was curved to suit him and all the rest of the sorry bastards had to fight for the scraps. It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair. Nothing was ever fair, and that sucked.

Life sucked, Bruce sucked, Tim sucked.

“Tim!” shouted Steph. “Hon, you’re veering!”

Quick as a jolt, Tim opened his eyes and righted the wheels in the nick of time. Stephanie crowed in delight and the car heaved forward again from her kick.

Everything sucked.

But Stephanie didn’t.

Stephanie had been great about everything, like she always was. She hadn’t pushed him to explain and she made him coffee in the mornings, even gave him that stupid red mug that was made more for soup than coffee. She dealt with his stupid crap and mood swings and insisted that they go buy more suits for him because he was “starting to look like a business gigolo making ends meet” and had even made him laugh when he was being fitted because that’s what Steph did, she made everything brighter and happier and made the world not seem so bad.

Everything sucked, but Stephanie Brown didn’t.

“Switch!” he yelled suddenly, hopping out of the car, foot caught beneath the seat. He stumbled. “Switch!”

“No!” Stephanie yelled, but she was already halfway there.

“My turn!” Tim insisted, hair flopping in his eyes. He rounded the trunk, skidding into position. “Don’t worry, it’s my turn!”

Bruce always got what he wanted, but not this time. It was his turn. He pushed the car, ignoring the blisters on his heels.

Tim was staying.

“And they think you don’t know, they think you’re over the hills and simply believe them when they say they’re not doing what you know they’re doing. They think you’re an idiot that goes, ‘huh, they must be telling the truth because in this family we honor our word and respect each other enough to be honest.’ HAH!”

Maggie dropped her silverware.

“And you wonder, how long has this been going on? How long have you been going behind my back and doing EXACTLY what I told you not do!”

The couple at the next table looked over. Bruce didn’t notice.

“’Well, Dad, it’s been three weeks,” Bruce said, parroting a teenager’s voice. “And you haven’t confronted me so I’m going to assume that you’re alright with me lying to your face! Ha ha!’”

“This is really good,” Selina commented, taking another bite of her food.

“’Ha ha’?” Bruce repeated incredulously. “‘Ha ha’? How about I ground you for two months, that’s a ‘ha ha’ for me!”

“It’s got like this…” Selina quirked a brow in thought. “Lemony texture? It’s really fresh.”

“But you can’t do that, because while you were living your life, trying to ensure that everyone is doing alright because you can’t just let things go—”

“No kidding,” muttered someone behind them.

“Is that Bruce Wayne?” said another.

“—like others do! You know what happens when other people let things go?” He waved his hands. “Nothing! You know what happens when I let things go? Cataclysm!”

“What?” asked Maggie, puzzled. She leaned closer to Simon. He took her hand under the table.

“So while you were trying to prevent another cataclysm, they go off and grow up! So you can’t ground them, you just have to look them in the eyes while they smile and wreak havoc and tell you everything is fine.”

“So good. I’m definitely getting dessert.”

“And you just want to…” Bruce mimed closing his hands around a neck, “wring them by their skinny little neck and say ‘I know you’re LYING to me, you little SHIT!’”

The couple jerked.

“‘I know you’ve been lying to me,’” Bruce continued, caught up in his fantasy. “‘I know allllll your lies! But I pretended not to notice, because I wanted you to be comfortable! Well, fat lot of good that did!” He slammed his hands on the table. The glasses chinked. Selina chewed on her calamari. “’Because now, NOW? You’re screwing up your own life!’” He yanked the wine glass and downed the contents.

The room was silent. Simon cleared his throat while Maggie shifted in her seat. Selina waved their waiter over and asked for another entrée to go.

Bruce closed his eyes, letting the wine fill his senses as a reprieve. “But yeah,” he said after a moment, “Other than that. Kids are great.”

Was the I-95 made out of fucking lava? He could hardly feel his feet, they felt like they had been freezer-burned like old strawberries.

“Switch!” shouted Stephanie. Tim gratefully sprang forward and dashed into the front seat. He would feel bad, would feel like he was slacking, but he knew his turn would come again. He and Steph had managed the time required to catch a breath before switching. Tim had expected to do it all by himself but Stephanie hadn’t let him. And he was glad of it.

Steph was just…wonderful. In good times and in bad, Steph supported him. Even when he was being an idiot.

He was…glad to be taking this next step with her. Taking the plunge. After all, if not now, then when?

The feelings bunched up in his chest, shooting down his veins, so he stuck his head out the window. “Steph!” he shouted. He sat up further, tucking a knee on the seat. “STEPH! Steph, I love you!”

“Thank you!” she shouted back. “And here I thought you were only with me for my ass!”

Tim shook his head. “No listen,” he instructed, leaning out as far as possible, “I love you! I really, really do!”

The car stopped.

“Really?!”

“Yes!”

The car began moving again.

“I love you too!”

Tim grinned. “I think this is going to work!” he shouted again. “What we’re doing, I think it’s going to work this time!”

“Us or the car?” she shouted.

“BOTH!” he hollered. “SWITCH!”

Tim hopped out and Stephanie ran forward. Instead of going around the front, Tim circled back and almost smashed into her. They both laughed, breathless and exhausted.

“September,” she reminded him, shaking her hair off her face, halfway in the car.

“September,” he repeated, already making his way to the back.

They smiled.

BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP.

A beat.

“Is this guy seriously honking?!”

“So when I said, ‘Let’s have lunch with my sister and her husband, tell ‘em about the engagement, really let them get to know you,’ you heard ‘have an absolute meltdown at the table; just fuck with them,’” Selina said, laughing. She swiped at her smeared lipstick and shut the sun visor mirror, leaning back and scrunching her hair in one hand. Bruce groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice muffled. “I really screwed that up, huh?”

“Nah.” She popped one of the complimentary mints in her mouth. “I told them you thought you were Christian Bale, today is your method acting day.”

He looked up. “You did not.”

“Nope.”

“Selina.”

She giggled, leaning over to massage his shoulders. “What’s the deal with you today? You’re so tense,” she complained, fingers digging at a muscle knot.

He sighed, but not in pleasure. Selina frowned. She pinched him.

“Ow,” he said dully, yet didn’t bother to push her away. She sat back anyway.

Selina huffed. “Really, what’s going on?” she asked, crossing her arms. Bruce didn’t respond. “Don’t make me pinch you again,” she threatened, holding her fingers like pincers.

Her fiancé turned on the car, grumbling, “What do you think is going on? I just told every staff member of Vivace about my problems, not to mention my new family members.”

“Tim? Still?”

He frowned at her incredulity. “Yes, Tim, still,” he said, taking a sharp turn into traffic. A horn blared behind them.

“Aw, baby.”

“He’s just,” Bruce sighed. “I can’t…”

“I know,” she murmured. “Have you tried talking to him?”

He frowned.

“Bruce?”

No response.

“Bruce.”

“He won’t answer any of my calls,” he admitted irritably. That fact stuck like a thorn. Worse than a thorn. More like a two-by-four. And he had been hit by them before, he knew what it felt like. “He told me to stay away from him.”

“Did you?”

He didn’t reply.

Tim didn’t want to be around him. Every instance of Tim’s new life, every personal decision, from age seventeen onward, had created distance. At this point, Bruce would believe that it was purposeful. But just what had he done so wrong? What had made Tim wake up one day and decide to schedule Bruce out from Monday to eternity?  

Had Bruce failed? Worse yet, had Tim realized that and moved on?

Bruce wasn’t a proponent on fairness, but he did believe in justice. And justice was fair. And that meant that Bruce would get another chance, would get to see his son succeed and not be stuck choosing something he thought was right, something he had trained for. Something he thought was meant for, something that had made sense at a young age but wisdom and experience and death had tempered. Something that broke him, warped him, made him unable to recognize himself through the bruises. Something that was a lifelong mission and that sounded so grand at twenty-two, but at thirty-two it stings and at forty-two it aches. Something that made him less than what he was, what he should have been, if he only had just…taken a moment.

“Are you sure it’s the ring you’re worried about?”

Bruce blinked. “Pardon?”

“Is it marriage that concerns you?” Selina asked, peering at him with keen green eyes. She then smirked. “Should I be worried about that?”

“I just…don’t want him to do something he’ll regret,” he said, throat tight. Tim was still young. Too young. Tim was his, and Bruce had barely had him. To lose him to marriage, to adulthood? After everything? He didn’t think he could bear it.

“Well, look on the bright side,” Selina teased. “You haven’t heard from him. He could already be married. Then you have nothing more to worry about.”

Something caught his eye.

Tim’s location blinked on his phone. Bruce looked at it. He twisted the wheel.

“I’m going to confront him.”

“Okay, babe. I support you. Now, can you drop me off first before you—”

Bruce drove past her apartment.

“–okay.”

“Merge onto I-95,” instructed the GPS. Bruce flicked on his turn signal.

“You do realize I was just kidding about them eloping, right?”

Bruce didn’t reply.

Selina sighed, slipping on her sunglasses

“Here we go��”

#Batman #batman fanfiction #batfam #batfam fanfiction #Tim Drake #Bruce Wayne #birds all sing

[preyed-llama]

Wordless

Ship: none 

genre: angst no happy ending

word count: 1329

Summary: No one listened, they didn’t care he was there. He was silent not by his own choice. Patton centric

Authors note: I don’t know if i’ve posted it already but I’ve found it in my drafts

Warnings: food mentioned, no happy ending, neglectful behaviour, crying (let me know if I missed anything)

-----------

Patton came bouncing down the hall, his newest drawing in hand. The world was bright and happy. It felt nice. He had spent all night on a drawing of Roman fighting a dragon, it certainly wasn’t the nicest, but hopefully Roman would appreciate it.

He pulled to a stop in front of the couch where Roman sat, his gaze stuck on his phone. He was reading something. Patton cleared his throat and smiled warmly. “Good morning, Kiddo!” Patton said happily.

Roman jumped slightly and looked up, a dazed look on his face. “Morning, Padre.” He looked down and started to read again, completely disregarding Patton’s presence. Patton tried to hide the hurt that curled up in his stomach. Roman didn’t mean to be rude, he was probably just reading something really good.

“I… I made you a drawing?” Patton tried, the smile struggling to stay in place. “I spent all night on it.” Roman still wasn’t looking up. He wasn’t paying any attention. Patton considered setting the drawing down and walking away before memories arose of times he’d stopped speaking only to have the others complain about him never being able to finish a thought. “Roman?” Still no response. The paper felt heavy in his hand. The hurt grew.

It was fine. Roman didn’t mean it. Patton smiled brightly again and held out the picture. “Roman, I drew a picture-.”

“Roman, I require your assistance with an idea.” Logan called from the doorway. Immediately Roman’s head snapped up. He gazed at Logan and put his phone away. Patton felt the hurt claw at his lungs. He kept the smile up as Roman brushed passed him like he wasn’t there. The moment the two left, Patton let his gaze drop to the now ruined drawing. It was scrunched up by his shaking hand. He disappeared into his room before the tears could fall. It was okay, they didn’t mean it.

Several days later, he was sitting on the couch with Virgil. He was talking about steven universe. It was nice to have someone listen. Virgil watched the screen, occasionally glancing over to him as he talked about the resent storyline and characters.

Someone else entered the room. He didn’t realise until Virgil spoke up. “Hey, Roman, are we gonna watch disney movies tonight?” Patton fell silent. He couldn’t hear the conversation over the thoughts in his head. Roman and Virgil were talking. Virgil was standing up to be near Roman. Virgil was engaged in the conversation.

Was Virgil even listening to him earlier?

It didn’t matter. He didn’t mean it. He just needed to check with Roman. Now they were talking about something else. A show they liked. Patton must’ve been boring him.

The forced smile didn’t quite stay until he entered the room, but with no one else around, he let himself sink into himself.

He didn’t leave the room for several days, when he did leave, he realised no one had noticed. Roman, Logan and Virgil were sitting at the table talking. They looked up and acknowledged his existence. But they quickly went back to their conversation… about how to best better Thomas… wasn’t he meant to be helping with that.

He sat down and tried to engage in the conversation. Every time he opened the mouth he’d be cut off by someone else, no one listened to a word he said. Slowly he walked away from the table, a smile on his face. It was fine. They didn’t mean it. He just wasn’t worth their time.

With several cookies in hand, he disappeared back to his room. It didn’t matter. They didn’t mean it. He was just being sensitive. He was just being dumb.

The next person he attempted to talk to was Logan. Logan had humoured him at the start. He’d asked questions for a while… before he just stopped responding. Patton tried for another minute before he just walked out of the room. He didn’t try to force a smile and didn’t say goodbye. Logan didn’t know he was gone. He didn’t notice. He’d stopped noticing his very existence a minute ago. It was like Patton was on a different plain of existence. They just didn’t care about him. It was fine. He was fine.

At family dinner he tried again. “So I discovered when Thomas had first played…” He trailed off. No one was listening. He didn’t matter. It was fine. Everything was fine. He dropped his gaze to his untouched food. When he looked up he noticed all eyes on him.

“What? Hurry up and continue, Bubbles.” Roman said, a mouthful of food. Patton felt like he should be happy. They noticed he was talking. But he felt his heart crack. He tried to keep the smile up at tears bloomed it his eyes. They threatened to fall, to join his food on his plate.

“Sorry, I didn’t realise you were listening.” Patton said with a smile. Everyone looked down to their meals. They looked bored. He picked up his barely touched food and disappeared into the kitchen. The moment he looked out at the dining room, he could see their eyes watching him.

“What’s the issue, Patton?” Logan asked. Patton bit down on his lip as tears flowed. No one dared to move as he looked up at them, hurt and anger in his eyes.

“What’s the problem!?” Patton shouted. His voice wavered as tears poured down. He could taste salt in his mouth. The shocked looks on their faces made him recoil into himself. “The problem is you never listen to me. You act like I don’t even exist. And it’s fine, because I know you don’t mean it.” He couldn’t help but cry more when his voice cracked at ‘fine’. “But it hurts! Then you have the audacity- see I know long words too, Logan, I’m not boring or stupid- to seem shocked when I finally give up. This isn’t the first time it’s happened. Over the passed week none of you have even acknowledged me, usually it’s only one or two times a day, but to be disregarded by you. And you discuss Thomas’ wellbeing without me! What? Do I not matter! Am I not interesting enough!?”

The moment the words escaped he dropped his gaze to the floor and bolted. He said what he needed to. He needed to stop crying before he faced the others again. The others were shouting after him. He didn’t turn around. The moment he entered the room he sealed it off.

The door vanished from sight. The only way to enter now was with help from Thomas, they wouldn’t pester him. Patton wasn’t interesting enough to be of use. He clearly wasn’t smart enough to amount to anything. They didn’t need him. They didn’t even listen to him. He had no one.

The dark sides wouldn’t accept someone as worthless as him. They had no use for him. He could just stay here alone, no one listened to him anyway.

The ground wasn’t the comfiest. He sobbed into his hands. His legs couldn’t hold him up. He’d been living this hell, never in the real world. Never with the others. They didn’t even care enough to acknowledge his existence! They were meant to be family… famILY. They possibly just didn’t have room for one more.

He put on Winnie the Pooh and lilo and stitch. He spent the rest of the night watching movies from when they were younger. The room was cluttered with nostalgic items, but the air wasn’t brushing away the bad feelings anymore. It didn’t make him happy. For once it made him feel angry, like there was fire under his skin, like spikes were just waiting to burst through his skin and destroy everything.

His eyes had dried, and his cheeks were stiff from the tear streaks. He fell asleep partway through one of the movies. The floor was hard, and his cardigan made a terrible pillow.

#patton sanders #logan sanders #virgil sanders #roman sanders #sanders sides #ts sides #ts patton sanders #ts logan sanders #ts roman sanders

[redheadedramblings]

Holding Cell (oneshot)

Title: Holding Cell Paring : Bucky x Reader Summary: Bucky gets arrested and you are there to bail him out word count: 2176 warnings: sad Bucky, fluff? A/N : Here is another fluff piece that was in my drafts that i thought i would post, its not the best in the world but eh, its still fluff. This story goes along with this one I wrote a couple months ago. (Also, I suck at coming up with titles lord help me.)

masterlist

Bucky was in a cell, a holding cell to be more specific. This was the second time he had been in a cell this month, the first being a couple weeks ago when Bucky and yourself had been held by French authorities when they mistook you for bombers. But this time was different, you weren’t with him and he wasn’t sure if he should be happy or upset about that fact. On one hand if you were with him he knew you were safe, you would be right at his side were you belonged. He could protect you if the time came and he didn’t have to worry. But on the other hand you would be in trouble because of him and he did not want you to tarnish your name just for him. He felt guilty for wanting you at his side, and silently wished that you were far away some where safe. The cell was small and dark, the bars, which he could easily rip off the walls, led up into the ceiling. Everything was gray and dirty, the floor was fitly and the small toilet that sat in the corner of the room smelled. Guards would patrol ever so often and peer in taking a good look at him as he sat there with his hands on his knees. The cell across from him held low offense criminals, he would catch them staring at him. Bucky was uncomfortable, but he didn’t show it. He could easily break out, everyone knew it, but he didn’t because of you. Because he knew that you wouldn’t be happy when you found out. So he remained in his spot and didn’t budge. He hadn’t the slightest idea of how long he was sitting there, time seemed to disappear as the hours dragged on. He was being held on false pretenses, he had witnesses a robbery on the way back from his apartment in the Bronx. Two men had broke into a convenient store and robbed the clerk at gun point. Bucky chased the two men down while the owner called 911, he had caught them fast and disarmed them and held them while the police came. But when the cops came that when things went south, the store clerk had mistaken Bucky as one of the robbers and he was arrested before he could get his own word in. He was taken to the local police station and they immediately found out who he was so they threw him in his own cell. Bucky had tried explaining to them as calmly as he could who he was, and who to contact but the police were having none of it and refused to listen. Bucky found himself feeling very alone. He wasn’t sure how long we would be in the cell, hell, he didn’t even know if he would ever get out. Heavy footsteps caught his attention and he listened as the steps echoed down the hall. The men in the cell across from his stood up and peeked to see who it was. A heavy set officer stepped in front of the bars and Bucky looked up to see an angry scowl plastered on his face. Unclipping some keys from his belt he opened the cell doors and the creaking of the door made him wince. “Barnes.” He said in a harsh voice. “You’re free to go.” Blinking a few times he remained seated thinking that this was some sort of joke. Surely they weren’t letting him out. Standing up slowly from the bench Bucky carefully walked out of the cell. The officer took a step back away from Barnes keeping his distance, this for some reason made him self conscious and he stuck his metal hand in his pocket. As he walked down the hall all the other prisoners in the other cells watched him with a mixture of fear and anger in their eyes. They reached the end of the hall and the police officer pushed in front of him to unlock the door, Bucky stood patiently behind him waiting. A whisper drew Bucky’s eyes downward to a man sitting on the floor just behind the bars of one of the cells. The man was a low life, tattoos covered his face and he reeked of alcohol. The man leaned his head forward and spat on Bucky’s shoes and showed his teeth at him. “Russian pig.” he said cocking his head back up. Ignoring it, he walked through the door that the officer was holding for him and walked into the main lobby. The atmosphere became quiet the moment he walked in, his figure towered over everyone else. Every cop instantly had their eyes glued to him as the officer led it though the room. Suddenly feeling so small he averted his gaze as he walked to the front desk. The woman behind the computer looked up at him and adjusted her glasses on her face and let out a hmpf. She walked into a room to the side and came back with a plastic bin and set it on the counter in front of him. Peering in he saw his wallet and his phone that were stored in his jacket that they had taken away from him the moment he got there. Stuffing them back in his pocket he turned to follow the officer and walked to the door to leave the building. The man led him out of the building and stopped right when he reached the steps and turned around to face him. Confused Bucky looked up suddenly to see you standing there a few feet away. The sky was gray, rain was pouring violently from the skies, you stood there under an umbrella waiting for him. Your jacket and your pants were wet and your shoes were soaked, your damp hair was hanging loosely down your shoulders. A smile grew on your face when your eyes met his and you took a couple steps forward walking in the puddles that splashed under you. The officer looked at you and nodded and you returned the gesture as he turned and walked back into the building. Bucky was frozen in place, you were here in front of him, you came for him. To be honest hadn’t even thought about how he would get home, he was pretty far away from his apartment. He didn’t think that far ahead. You were here and that was all that mattered. He stood in the rain, water droplets ran down his hair and cheeks. Walking up to him your eyes roamed his face in search for any harm, once you were right in front of him you stopped. Holding your hand out you lifted the umbrella up a little in the air and cover him it sheltering him from the rain. “Hey.” you whispered. He could hardly hear you over the sound of the rain falling from the skies. He didn’t say a word and continued to stare at you still in shock that you were here. “Lets go home.” You began to walk away but after a few steps you realized that Bucky wasn’t following you. “Come on Barnes.” you motioned him with your hand but something was keeping him from moving. He didn’t know what it was if it was your presence or the fact that a voice deep down was telling him that he didn’t deserve this, that he didn’t deserve you coming for him. Chuckling you shifted weight from one foot to the other and looked at him standing there in complete silence. “Bucky.” you called out again but he still didn’t move. Trotting back over to him you linked your arm though his and began to gently pull him along. He let you drag him though the parking lot, the rain seemed to be getting harder and you squished into him more as they two of you hid under the umbrella. The two of you finally reached your car and you led him over to the passenger side and held the umbrella up as you opened the door for him. Feeling slightly embarrassed his eyes dipped down and he slid into the seat and you shut the door behind him. Another wave of guilt hit him again as he watched as you ran around the car and closed the umbrella and hopped in the drivers seat. He should have been the one to help you into the car first. Buckling you started the car and put your hands on the steering wheel and turned to face him. “How?” was all he asked as he looked down at his hands. “My cousin is a cop, I found out what happened and he was able to call in some favors.” “oh.” he softly said and nodded. He didn’t mutter a word to you the entire ride back, not even when you took a different exit to get off that led to his place. Bucky knew where you were taking him, you were taking him back to your apartment. Both of you got out of the car and he followed you up the stairs and down the hall way always a step or two behind you. Unlocking the door of your apartment you let him step in first, following him you walked into the bathroom and grabbed a towel to dry off your hair. He walked into your room and began to strip off his wet clothes and throw them in the hamper, before going through your drawer to find some of his clothes that you often keep there when he spends the night. Walking out of the bathroom you look around expecting to see him standing around in the living room but to your surprise he isn’t. Moving from room to room you search for him until you stop to see him laying in your bed, he laid on his side back facing you, he changed into a short sleeve shirt and loose sweat pants. Walking over to your dresser you strip off your clothes and throw them down on the ground a quickly pull a night gown over your head. Shivering you trot over to the bed and lift up the sheet and crawling in next to him curling up near his back. Sticking your nose into his spine you breath in and press your hands to his back stealing his warmth. He lays awake, his eyes glued to the window watching the raindrops stream down the glass. Bucky’s body is stiff, his fists are balled up clenching the pillow cover. The two of you lay there for a while, you wait for him to speak but he stays silent next to you. “They are afraid of me.” he finally says. His voice cracks, his voice shakes. “What?” You ask him pulling back a bit. “Everyone is afraid of me.” he says again, and your heart shatters. “Buck…” you begin. “Whats wrong with me Y/N?” “Hey, Hey, come here.” You grab his shoulders and turn him around. He faces you and you swallow hard when you see tears streaming down his cheeks. Leaning in close you grab his face with your hands and begin to wipe the water away from his face. “There is nothing wrong with you Bucky. They fear you because they just don’t understand you.” His eyes wader your face as you stroke his chin with your thumb. “Why do you care about me Y/N? I am a monster. I have done such horrible things, you shouldn’t be around me.” His words hurt him more than they hurt you, you could see it all over his face. He often did this when he would get upset, he would push you away, Bucky felt like he didn’t deserve you. “Don’t say things like that. They don’t see what I see. I fell in love with James Buchanan Barnes, not the winter solider. Don’t listen to them.” Rubbing his chin with your fingers you watch the tears begin to fill up in his eyes. He lets them fall and you wipe them away with your fingers tips, inching toward you grabs hold of you and holds you close. He realizes something when your words fall from your mouth that you are the only one who truly understands. You love him unconditionally and he knows that will never change no matter what. “I love you Y/N. I love you so fucking much it hurts. I don’t know what I would do without you. No one see me like you do.” “I love you too. Don’t let them get to you. They don’t understand you. They fear what they don’t understand. Its alright. Everything’s going to be okay.” Silence took him over for a few minutes as you kept stroking his face until he finally smiled at you and your heart nearly popped out of your chest. Smiling back he laid his head into your chest while wrapping his arms around you, you held him for the rest of the night.

#writings #writers #My writing #writer #writing #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky #bucky x you #bucky fluff #bucky imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #winter solider x reader #winter solider imagine #Winter Solider #winter shoulder fluff #marvel #marvel fan fiction #marvel imagine #marvel fic #captain america

[pitifulmagicalocs]

Flashback Chapter

Scene: Kyle Trauma Flashback

Characters: Kyle Hausman (Age 11), Peter Hausman, Theresa (Minor)

Words: 4590

Status: First Draft.

Comments: I feel like boiled crap right now. So I’m gonna lift my spirits by sharing this lovely horror scene. (Some feedback would make my life.)

WARNING: Gore, violence on a minor, cussing.

“Forty-four Willowmead Road.”

Kyle repeated the address for the hundredth time, all the while staring back at the grisly and peeling home that bore a rusted sign that boldly echoed his words.

‘44 Willowmead Rd’

Kyle swallowed hard. He’d never been to this part of the community before. Sure, his first home was quite close to the edge of the community, but this neighborhood was quite literally on the edge. He could actually see the community wall off in the distance, but close enough to walk to.

But this was it. This was where his father was living now. His dad had promised to show it to him at some point, but he never got the chance. Or, rather, Kyle’s mother never gave him the chance. At this point, he truly wished he had a guide.

But he was alone. He’d made the decision to go alone. He wasn’t going to turn back, wait for the next bus, go home to a tongue-lashing and permanent grounding from his mother until he saw his father, if only for a few minutes.

So he swallowed a second time, shifted his backpack up his shoulder and started up the walkway.

“You lost, sweetness?”

The voice was warm and gentle, but it nearly gave Kyle a heart-attack. He pressed a hand to his chest and spun around.

An older woman, whom Kyle would guess to be in her mid-to-late-60s, stood by the end of the walkway in a grey track-suit, her sweet smile not at all hiding the way she eyed Kyle up and down.

“Um, no, I,” Kyle stammered, motioning over his shoulder towards the house.

“Oh! Don’t you have a sweet face! You’re Kyle, aren’t you?”

Kyle dropped his brow. “Do I know you, Ma’am?”

The woman laughed and waved a hand over her head. “Sorry, hon. I’m Theresa. My son and I helped your father move in. Pictures of you were the first thing he wanted put up. I remember faces.”

Kyle felt himself smile a little at that. “Really?” He stepped back towards Theresa and held out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Theresa. I’m Kyle Hausman.”

“Oh, very polite!” Theresa beamed, shaking his hand.

“Is my dad home? Do you know?” Kyle pointed to the driveway. “His car’s out front, so…”

“Oh.” Theresa sighed. “I don’t doubt it. I haven’t seen him go anywhere in—“she shrugged. “—months? I saw him in the yard a couple nights ago, though.”

“Yeah, my—“Kyle shifted his weight. “Nobody’s heard much from him, so I’m visiting.”

Theresa lifted a brow. “And your mother’s okay with this?”

“Oh yeah,” Kyle lied.

Theresa looked from him, to the house and back.

“How old are you, sweetness?”

“I’ll be eleven in a couple weeks,” he answered. “September twentieth.”

“Alright, well—“Theresa started to move along at a slow pace. “I live right next door. House number forty-five. Come over if you need anything.”

“Absolutely! Much appreciated, Theresa!” Kyle waved her off, and then headed back towards the house again.

“Didn’t think old ladies actually called kids ‘sweetness’ in real life,” he whispered to himself as he walked. “Unsettling.”

He jumped up the steps, avoiding a couple that looked less than trustworthy. Although the ones he did put his weight on still sunk threateningly under it.

“What a dump,” he mumbled, approaching the front door, which luckily seemed to be fashioned from a sturdier wood. He knocked.

“Dad!” he shouted at the door. He counted thirty seconds of silence, eying house forty-five out the corner of his eye. Theresa was still lingering on her front step, watching him with both hands on her hips.

He stood on his tip-toes and put his mouth less than an inch away from the dusty stained-glass window that decorated the door.

“Dad!— I know you’re home! Your car is in the driveway!” He hollered. “Your neighbor said you’re home. Open up!”

How long had it been since his father had seen him? Had his voice changed? He was growing pretty fast. He pushed a hand against his throat and hummed. Did the vibrations seem—deeper? Maybe his father didn’t believe it was really him? It’d make sense to be cautious in this kind of neighborhood.

“Dad! It’s Kyle!” He shouted. “You know; your son? Open up!”

Kyle dropped back down onto his heels and he looked back to where Theresa stood. She waved to him and then beckoned for him to come over.

“Come on, Kyle! You can use my phone! Call your mum!”

Kyle shook his head. “Nah! I’ve got it handled! Thank you!”

He leapt the entirety of the stairs back down, and then he swung down, hand on the railing, until he was kneeling beside the rickety steps. He held his breath, braced himself, and then reached his arm underneath the steps, cringing at the sticky sensation of ancient cobwebs.

When his fingers brushed against something dry and plastic, he smirked and bit down on his lip.

“Maybe my voice changed—” he grunted, pulling the old peanut can out from underneath the steps and popping it open, dumping a silver key from the inside onto his open palm. “—But you sure haven’t, Dad. You’re practically begging for an intrusion.”

He stood back up and rushed up the steps, this time forgetting to be cautious, but luckily taking no spills.

“I found the spare key!” he announced to Theresa, who shielded her eyes from the sun.

“You’re too smart for him!” she called back.

“Guess so!”

He unlocked the door and pocketed the key.

“Dad?” he called as he cracked the door open. He gave one last wave to Theresa, who hesitated and then waved back, and he popped inside, shutting the door behind him.

“Ugh!” he grunted, putting his forearm over his nose. What was that smell? He couldn’t quite pinpoint anything to compare it to, but it made the inside of his nose burn.

“Repulsive,” he sighed, kicking his shoes off. “Just nasty.”

He looked down at the rug, and smiled at his sudden discovery. A dirty old pair of work boots as familiar to him as own name.

“Found your boots, Dad! I know you’re here!”

He sat in silence for a moment, listening for something, anything. But the only sound that could be heard was the clanging of what sounded like a basement furnace, which suddenly made him realize how hot it was in there. Why would he have the furnace on in early September?

Kyle fanned his neck and stepped further into the house.

Clang. Clang. Clang.

Kyle skidded past the open basement door. He may have been grown, but a bizarre noise from the basement was still something to be avoided.

He slid past the cluttered living area, and into the cluttered kitchen. Just as Theresa had said, there were plenty of pictures hung up. Most without frames and therefore sloppily taped to the walls or stuck to the fridge, but hung up nonetheless. Kyle leaned in for a peek at one of the photos; himself during his first year of hockey. Next to that, his seventh birthday, when his mother had done her best to shape his birthday cake to look like an astronaut.  He didn’t remember it looking that terrible.

Kyle smiled warmly, and then swept his eyes over the rest of the photographs, school awards and souvenirs. His dad really needed an update. Most of them were old. Although he did have last year’s school picture, and a recent photograph of Kyle and his mother on the wall by the cabinets, although the latter appeared to be printed out on plain white paper.

“Dad?” Kyle called as he crept his fingers along the countertops, pushing aside newspapers and folded-up cereal boxes. “You gotta do the recycling!”

A sudden ringing sound sent him jumping a couple inches into the air. He spun around and glanced around the room with wide eyes until the ringing sounded a second time, and drew his eye to an ancient-looking phone and answering machine, sitting on top of even more paper.

He cautiously approached, as if it would jump out at him, and he read the number on the tiny, illuminated number.

“Crap. Mom.”

Kyle shifted his eyes around the room, and pressed down on the ‘transfer to voicemail’ button.

There was a moment of silence, and then a loud beep, followed by a male’s droning voice.

“Hello, you have reached Peter Hausman— I am away at the moment. Please leave a message after the tone. If you are calling about a service, please leave your name and number and I will get back to you as soon as I can.”

Beep.

Although it was expected, his mother’s panicked voice still made his chest tighten.

“Peter? Peter. It’s Janet. I don’t know what to do here. Ines just called. Kyle hasn’t shown up to her house yet. The boys say he got on a different bus. I— I don’t know where he is, Peter! I don’t know where our boy is! Our baby! Please just, tell me he’s with you. Please pick up. Tell me you know where he is! Just… please. I don’t know what to do.”

Click.

Kyle rolled his eyes to the ceiling and he hovered his finger over the ‘delete button’.

“I’m fine, mother,” he huffed. “You need a lesson in overbearing.”

‘You have ten new messages.’

The answering machine’s electronic voice gave Kyle a second jolt. He pulled his finger away and squinted.

“What? Weird.”

Without thinking, Kyle’s finger slid to the ‘play’ button, and pressed down.

‘Message: One’

Another beep, and then an older woman’s voice began to speak.

“Hello Mr. Hausman. This is Anette calling from Doctor Bedi’s office. I’m calling to inform you of a missed appointment you had scheduled at the office on the third of July. Since you’ve only missed one, we’re not going to fine you, but I am warning you that there is a small fee should you miss another appointment with us. Thank you.”

‘Message: Two’

A man’s voice.

“Hey. I’m calling because you came by to fix the lighting in our basement last week and—it’s really not any better. I don’t know if you even did anything down there. It just—“

Kyle tapped ‘next’. He had no interest in customer complaints.

‘Message: Three’

“Hello Mr. Hausman. This is Anette. I’m calling from Doctor Bedi’s office to inform you of a missed appoi—“

Skip. He also had no interest in hearing the glitch old machine play the same message twice.

‘Message: Four’

“Hey! Petey! Buddy! It’s Isaac. Remember me? Uh, I don’t know if your cell is busted or you’re just being dramatic, but… errrr… fuckin’ uhhh… Right! Brent and I are going down to… fuck! I’ve forgotten what we were doing, man. I am half in the fucking bag right now… I--“

Skip. Plus a quick glance around the room to make sure his father hadn’t picked up all those f-bombs.

‘Message: Five’

““Hello Mr. Hausman. This is Anette. I’m calling—“

Skip.

“What the--?” Kyle whispered.

‘Message: Six’

“Hello Peter. This is Doctor Bedi—“

Kyle dropped his brow and leaned on the counter.

“— I’m calling because I’m a bit worried about you. You’ve missed three scheduled appointments and the last time we spoke you said some things that caused me some concern. My receptionist also says that she has made numerous attempts to reach you and hasn’t been able to. If you’d no longer like to receive treatment, please inform us. I’m not going to fine you. But I do believe you should continue treatment for your own best interest. You can contact me at the usual number. Take care of yourself, Peter.”

Kyle thinned his lips and huffed out through his nose.

“You said you’d keep going—“he whispered. “You promised Mom, asshole.”

‘Message: Seven’

Kyle shook his head, and he pressed ‘stop’. The machine barely had the time to let out the first syllable from a female voice before falling silent.

“No! God dammit!” A man’s voice hollered from below his feet, and Kyle sucked in a breath.

“Dad?” Kyle called.

No answer. But Kyle knew he’d heard his father. He was in the basement. A slow smile crept across his face.

“I heard you!” he shouted with laughter in his voice. He stepped around the counter and made his way back down the hall.  He skidded to a stop in from of the basement door and looked down at the steep, wooden stairs, lined with tools and stockpiled laundry detergent that turned and disappeared around a corner into darkness.

“Uh… Dad?”

Clang. Clang. Clang. The furnace’s banging and sputtering was the only answer he received.

“Dad! Are you mad I’m here? I just wanted to see you. You said you wanted to see me, right? On the phone?”

Clang. Clang. Clang.

“I’ll tell Mom it was all my idea.” Kyle leaned in the doorway, peering down into the darkness. He reached overhead and yanked the cord for the light bulb overhead. It flashed and died instantly. Kyle grunted and grabbed hold of the door frame again. He sucked in his gut and hollered.

“Dad! Don’t ignore me! Or I’ll just go and— then you won’t see me at all, Dad!”

A long silence, more clanging, and then finally— a voice.

“Kyle?”

Kyle beamed, and he took a couple hasty steps down.

“The one and only!” he called. “Well, not only. There’s about ten Kyles in the community, but—“

“Where are you?”

Kyle tilted his head. “On… the stairs? The light bulb’s busted. Want me to grab a new one?”

“Come here.”

Uh oh. He was definitely angry. Oh well. His father was rarely angry at him, and when he was, it lasted mere seconds.

“Alright. I’m comin’.”

As he descended the stairs, the rattling and clanging grew louder and louder, until he had to hold his hands over his ears.

When he reached the basement, and stepped down onto the cold concrete, he was happy to see that it was at least dimly lit by a few more light bulbs overhead, yellowing and aged as they were.

He was happiest, however, to see the back of the man standing by the furnace. He was scrawnier than before, and his hair was disheveled and growing over his ears. But it was his father. He almost called out to him, but his attention was grabbed by another loud pop, like a gunshot, coming from the furnace. He examined it further and his mouth dropped open to see the machine had been half disassembled. Pipes and nails strewn around it as it hissed out steam and strained trying to do its purpose. A monkey wrench hung limply in his father’s hand.

“That’s not—even the right tool. Dad, what are you doing?” Kyle took a few steps forward, hands still over his ears.

His father’s head perked, and Kyle watched with squinted eyes as Peter glanced over his shoulder, and then slowly turned, placing upon him two murky, yellow eyes.

For a moment, it felt as though Kyle’s brain was malfunctioning. It refused to turn what he was seeing into a coherent thought. Even as his father stared back at him with those telltale eyes, shirt stained with rot, and skin etched with fat, black veins, his mind would not put the pieces together.

“Dad?” Kyle breathed. It was more like a squeak.

“K-kkk-k!” Peter choked, dropping the wrench to the floor with a bang that was drowned out by the sound of the furnace. A splatter of ink gushed past his lips and onto the concrete below, creating a puddle that he then stepped into as he began to stagger towards Kyle.

Move! He screamed to his own legs. Move! But the best they could do was carry him a couple of staggering steps back. It didn’t stop his father from closing the distance between them, so as his father’s cold hand clamped down on his upper arm, Kyle could only scream.

He screamed as hard as he could, until Peter pressed a clammy, rot-slick hand to his mouth. He continued to scream against Peter’s palm, and struggle weakly against his grip, until he ran out of breath and had to reduce to a muffled groan. The smell of decay burned in his nose and sent bile to the back of his throat.

“Shhh,” Peter hushed, a few flecks of rot spraying from his gritted teeth. Kyle shuddered and struggled to draw in breaths despite the paralyzing fear in his chest. Peter dipped down until his face was inches away from Kyle’s, those sickening eyes examining his face up close.

Kyle squeaked into Peter’s palm, and he tried to jerk away, but his father held him there with a vice-grip on his arm.

“Kyle,” Peter croaked, slowly dropping his hand from Kyle’s mouth. Kyle opened his mouth and tried to scream again, but all that came out was a squeaking hiss. “You f-found me.”

So instead, he sobbed. He bared his teeth and squinted his eyes, trying to hold it back, but still he sobbed.

“Kyle,” Peter repeated, tilting his head and looking him over in confusion. “Shh.”

He pulled Kyle closer by the arm and brushed a hand over his hair. Kyle winced and sniveled.

“Shh,” Peter soothed in a rasping voice. “It’s—alright… I’m here.”

“P-Please— Don’t hurt… me.” Kyle didn’t urge those words to come. They just crept out past his trembling lips.

Peter’s brows dropped and he stared back in silence for a while before he stood, joints crackling, and he began to lead Kyle back towards the furnace by the arm.  

“Wha- What?” Kyle sputtered, digging his heels into the floor, but his socks provided no grip.

“No!” he screamed, pulling back. Peter dug his grip in harder, crushing his thumb into Kyle’s arm. “No! No!”

“Kyle. I have to work,” Peter grunted. “I have to—watch you.”

“Let go!” Kyle screamed. “Let go, you’re hurting me! Dad!” His knee buckled underneath him, and he twisted and strained and squirmed to no avail. Still Peter yanked him one step at a time towards the spitting heat of the furnace.

“Stop!” Peter barked.

Kyle screamed louder, his throat burned, but not nearly as much as his arm, which had started to go numb.

“Stop!” Peter shouted a second time, halting and giving Kyle a firm shake.

“Let go!” Kyle howled again, yanking all of his weight back.

At first, Kyle didn’t realize when he’d been struck. He just felt his head fly back, felt his neck crack and saw the room spin. It wasn’t until he was hanging limply by the arm, and a throbbing, stinging pain spread all throughout the left half of his face, that he realized his father had punched him.

“What is your problem!?” Peter screamed by his head, adding a sting in the ear to his list of things that hurt. This, his voice dropped. “Just like your mother; you know that?”

Kyle could only spit out nonsense syllables.

“Come,” his father demanded. This time, Kyle had no choice but to go along. He let Peter drag him across the floor, away from the furnace this time, and lift him into the air with both arms before dropping him down on something hard. Kyle rolled his head down and saw that he had been seated on an old crate.

“Stay here,” Peter ordered. Kyle sat silently, but it didn’t seem like Peter wanted a real answer. He immediately turned and shuffled back to the furnace. Kyle strained his vision trying to see only one of him, but a blurry double sat unmoving on the right side.

Kyle curled in on himself atop the crate, cradling his aching cheek tenderly in his palm and trying to take some of the weight off of his stinging neck. His skin was hot and swollen against his hands, which he noisily wept into.

“I need to fix this damn thing,” Peter grumbled, picking the wrench back up off the ground. “Broken.”

He swung the wrench up over his head and it came clanging down against the side of the furnace. Kyle flinched at the sound and sobbed out loud.

Peter froze, and then he slowly spun around again. Kyle yelped and shrunk in on himself further, trying to be small.

“Don’t cry,” Peter demanded more than eased.

Kyle shuttered, and tried to blink away some of the blurriness.

“Please,” he begged. “Please let me go.”

Peter took a hard step forward. “You want to leave me?!” he shouted, dead magic hissing on the surface of his skin.

“No!” Kyle screamed, pushing himself back against the wall. “No! No! Please don’t!”

“You can’t leave me!” Peter continued approaching. “I can’t lose you too!”

“I won’t!” Kyle sobbed. “I won’t! I won’t! I promise!”

Peter stopped moving, and he stood a couple feet away from Kyle, chest heaving with wetted breaths, hissing magic calming to gentle whisps around his fingertips.

“My boy,” Peter mumbled, a second dribble of rot falling from his bottom lip.

Kyle held his breath and waited. But soon enough, Peter turned back around and returned to the furnace.

Peter hammered against the metal for a while longer, occasionally pulling a broken piece away and throwing it to the floor. Kyle sat in silence, save for his shaky breathing, which he couldn’t control if he tried. His eyes stayed glued to his father, only taking a break to glance at the storm cellar door. Safety could be just outside those doors. But he couldn’t be brave enough. He couldn’t even bring himself to unwrap his body from the fetal position as he sat atop the crate, listening to his witched father spit out cuss words as he tried to fix a machine he was actively destroying.

“I want my mom,” he whispered helplessly to himself as he tried to replay the message she’d left on the answering machine in his head. Was that the last time he’d ever hear her voice? The idea made him whine out into his arms. “I want my mom!”

He imagined his mother at work, panicked, calling everyone in the town. He should have just gotten off the bus and gone straight to Ines’ house, like he was supposed to.

“God dammit!” Peter hollered as he pulled away another pipe and tossed it to the ground. The clanging sound abruptly ceased, but the sputtering noise remained.

Kyle’s eyes popped back up to the storm-cellar door. He mentally wished for the power of teleportation. But his only chance to get out, to live, to see his mother again, would be to run.

He clenched his eyes shut. Well, the one that wasn’t already swelling shut on its own. He silently willed himself to be brave. As brave as he could be. Then he spoke:

“Dad..?”

Peter banged the wrench against a pipe.

“Dad!” Kyle cleared his throat of tears and saliva. “Dad! Can I help?”

Peter still didn’t answer. Kyle swallowed hard, let out another shuttering sob, and he lowered his feet onto the floor, forcing his unsteady hands out in front of himself.

“C’mon,” he whispered to himself. “You can do it.”

Gradually, he pushed physical magic along his arms. It crackled underneath his fingernails and put a ruby glow in his veins. But his hands still shook, and he couldn’t aim, no matter how he tensed his muscles, or how firmly he planted his feet on the ground.  So he gave up on that plan, and instead just turned and ran.

Peter let out an infuriated roar, and Kyle felt adrenaline shoot through his legs as he bolted for the cellar door. It was so close, yet it seemed to be moving further away from him. Still, he ran as fast as he could, feet slipping over the cold flooring.

He’d almost made it, almost brushed against the bottom step, when the sound of energy crackled in the air and something sharp struck his spine. Dead magic tore through his body like an electric shock and sent him crashing to the ground, landing on his one uninjured arm.  

“No!” he screamed breathlessly as Peter’s hand dug into his shoulder and roughly tossed him over onto his back, slamming him back down against the floor and knocking what little breath he had left out of him.

“Please!” he pleaded. “I’m sorry! Please! Don’t hurt me!”

Peter brought his hand down to Kyle’s leg, and he clamped down on his calf with full strength. Kyle squawked out and tried to jerk away, but he was in another vice-grip.

His father’s face was inhumanly bestial. He snarled with grey teeth and his eyes were intense with anger, the black veins in them pulsating as he slowly lifted the wrench up in his free hand.

“No!” Kyle squealed. “Please! I don’t wanna die, Dad! Please! Please, I’m scared! Stop!”

Peter looked him dead in the eye, nostrils flaring and chest heaving.

“You’ll never leave me again!” he growled-- and brought the wrench down hard on Kyle’s ankle.

This pain didn’t lie, or wait to arrive like the blow to the face. This pain was sudden, and unlike anything he’d ever thought possible. It ripped a scream from his breathless lungs. It twisted his spine and threw him back, convulsing against the floor. It erased all the pleading he had yet to speak from his memory. It even took the fear of dying away. For a while, it was just white noise and the unimaginable pain.

When the searing agony eventually dulled to an unbearable ache, clarity slowly began to return to Kyle’s mind. He choked on tears and opened his eyes to find himself face-to-face with Peter once again, still wearing that murderous expression. The wrench clattered to the floor, and Peter grabbed hold of Kyle by the neck, not squeezing, but still far too rough. Kyle was helpless, unable to beg anymore. Only able to sob and whimper as he was lifted painfully into the air, balancing on the toes of his one uninjured foot. The other foot hung uselessly, feeling like glass shards piercing up into his leg. He grabbed hold of his father’s wrist, trying with that little strength he could muster to relieve some of the strain on his neck and shoulders, but he couldn’t struggle. Not only did he lack the energy, but each movement beckoned that searing pain back up his leg and into his whole body.

He couldn’t breathe. But couldn’t do anything about it but cry pathetically as he watched his father watching him, eyes still wild, teeth still bared.

“Da-Dad…” he choked out. His last feeble attempt at survival.

Peter stiffened, his grip tightening and then loosening, and then tightening again. The anger melted from his facial expression and was replaced with a pained grimace.

“Kyle,” he croaked, stumbling to the side with Kyle dangling limply from his grasp. Rot bubbled at the corners of his mouth, the words he spoke gurgling out.  His free hand rose and clumsily brushed down Kyle’s injured cheek.

“You’ll be— alright…”

With those final words, Kyle was flung through the storm cellar doors. He crashed through the wood and directly into something solid on the other side. Another sharp pain ripped through his arm and a second pounded into his skull, both mixing in with the fire in his leg. But it only lasted a moment before darkness swallowed up his consciousness.

#Writing snippet (PM) #Kyle Hausman #Peter Hausman

[viraljournalist]

Luck retires, calls decision 'hardest of my life'

New Post has been published on https://viraljournalist.com/luck-retires-calls-decision-hardest-of-my-life/

Luck retires, calls decision 'hardest of my life'

INDIANAPOLIS — In a shocking development Saturday night, Indianapolis Colts quarterback Andrew Luck announced his retirement from the NFL, saying constant injuries have taken away his love for the game.

Luck, who turns 30 on Sept. 12, had met with Colts owner Jim Irsay earlier to tell him of the decision.

The Colts played their third preseason game Saturday night in Indianapolis against the Chicago Bears. Luck already had been ruled out of the game due to an ankle injury, but he was seen on the sideline, laughing and conversing with teammates.

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After the game, Luck announced the retirement decision during an impromptu, 25-minute news conference. He said an official announcement wasn’t planned until Sunday afternoon, but he changed course once news broke during the preseason game.

“I’ve been stuck in this process,” Luck said, stopping several times to gather his emotions. “I haven’t been able to live the life I want to live. It’s taken the joy out of this game … the only way forward for me is to remove myself from football.

“This is not an easy decision. It’s the hardest decision of my life. But it is the right decision for me.”

Luck’s early retirement ends what started as a promising career for the No. 1 overall pick in the 2012 draft, chosen to replace Peyton Manning. Luck led the Colts to the playoffs in each of his first three seasons in the NFL, including back-to-back AFC South titles and the AFC Championship Game in 2014.

But his career took a bad turn when he suffered a shoulder injury in Week 3 of the 2015 season. He ended up missing 26 games — including the entire 2017 season — due to shoulder, kidney and rib injuries. It was during the 2017 season while out that Luck questioned whether he would be able to continue his career.

But Luck returned in a big way last season.

It was supposed to be just a regular Saturday night in the preseason. But then Andrew Luck announced his retirement, sending shock waves across the league. A look at how some of the QBs whose teams played Saturday night reacted to the news: Deshaun Watson: “It was mind-blowing. It was something that of course caught everyone off guard. But, hey, he can control his own future. He’s a great player. He’s a great quarterback. One of the top five quarterbacks in the league. And he’s doing it for the right reasons. For himself.” Drew Brees: “I think I’m probably like everybody else. A bit surprised and stunned, too. We heard it when we were on the sideline, actually — somebody had gotten wind of it during the game. Listen, Andrew’s a friend. I’ll exchange text messages with him from time to time. So I’ll be reaching out to him to check on him.” Dak Prescott: “I mean helluva player, helluva player. Helluva guy the little bit I know of him being able to talk to him before a game and sharing a little bit of things. … So respect his decision, wish him the best. Just know that he was one of my favorite players to watch around the league and learn little things from. Hate to see a great player like that leave the game, but like I said, don’t know the details, don’t want to speak on that. I’m not entitled to an opinion on that.” Patrick Mahomes: “Knowing Andrew, he’s a great football player, but he’s also a great human being. I haven’t seen the full [scope] of the news, but I know he’s going to make the right decision for himself and his family.”

He threw for 4,593 yards and 39 touchdowns to win NFL Comeback Player of the Year and lead the Colts back to the playoffs for the first time since the 2014 season, showing he remained one of the top quarterbacks in the league.

But injury hit Luck again earlier this year when he suffered a calf strain that kept him out of the team’s offseason activities and minicamp. Luck took part in only three days of training camp — none as a full participant — before it was announced that he was shutting it down because he had difficulty moving in the pocket.

“I’m in pain; I’m still in pain,” he said. “It’s been four years of this pain, rehab cycle. It’s a myriad of issues — calf strain, posterior ankle impingement, high ankle sprain. Part of my journey going forward will be figuring out how to feel better.”

Luck told reporters Saturday night that he first started thinking about retirement two weeks ago, and general manager Chris Ballard said the sides started discussing the potential decision early last week.

“It was Monday,” Ballard said. “We all sat down and had a talk and continued through the week. Emotional talks on our parts. Not any negative emotional talks. Just some real honest talks. But did not get a sense. I watched Andrew go through the shoulder, his routine and how he rehabbed and worked through things. He was going through the same process all the way from when he walked in the building. He came in Monday and started working through this.”

It’s stunning news for a Colts team that went to the second round of the playoffs last season and that, in the eyes of many, had a Super Bowl-caliber roster in 2019.

“It’s very difficult,” Luck said. “I love this team, I love my teammates.”

Luck finishes his career with 2,000 completions, 3,290 attempts, 23,671 yards, 171 touchdowns and 83 interceptions. But some Colts fans seemed to forget those numbers, instead booing him as he walked off the field following Saturday’s game.

“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t hear it,” Luck said of the boos. “Yeah, it hurt.”

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Colts fans react with a wide range of emotions after Andrew Luck’s retirement becomes public, including boos for Luck as he leaves the field.

Now, the Colts will turn to Jacoby Brissett, the 26-year-old quarterback acquired from the New England Patriots in 2017.

With Luck dealing with a variety of injuries in 2017, Brissett started 15 games for Indy, throwing for 3,098 yards, with 13 touchdowns and seven interceptions. The Colts posted a 4-11 record in Brissett’s 15 starts, and he ranked 27th out of 30 qualified quarterbacks with a 43.3 Total QBR and 30th out of 32 qualified QBs with a 58.8% completion percentage.

171: Career passing TDs, the most of any player not to play a game after his 30th birthday. 86: Number of games he played in the NFL out of a possible 112 (he missed 16 in 2017 due to shoulder; 1 in ’16 due to concussion; 7 in ’15 due to kidney; 2 in ’15 due to shoulder) 39: TD passes last season, most by any QB in NFL history after not playing previous season 33: Wins in his first three seasons, tied for the second most by a QB in their first three seasons during the Super Bowl era (Russell Wilson 36; Dan Marino and Matt Ryan 33) 19.6: Average fantasy points since entering league in 2012, third-most PPG among QBs during that span 3: Luck’s ranks in Colts’ all-time history in pass yards (23,671), pass TDs (171), completions (2,000) and QB wins (53) —ESPN Stats & Information

But Luck, Ballard, Irsay and coach Frank Reich all threw their support behind Brissett with the regular season two weeks away.

“We’ve got a good football team. This is a good football team,” Ballard said. “We are young. We are good on both fronts. We have some good skill players. And a good young quarterback. We are not going to ask Jacoby Brissett to be Andrew Luck. Andrew Luck was a unique, unique player. But Jacoby Brissett is a winning football player in this league and, I think you heard what Andrew said, Jacoby Brissett is a rare, rare leader. He is. He’s a rare human being, man. That locker room loves Jacoby Brissett.”

Sportsbooks reacted quickly to the Luck news, taking the point spread on the Colts’ Week 1 road game at the Chargers off the board and lengthening Indianapolis’ odds to win the Super Bowl, the AFC and the AFC South.

The Colts had been four-point underdogs to the Chargers. Caesars Sportsbook moved Indianapolis’ Super Bowl odds from 12-1 to 30-1, its AFC odds from 7-1 to 15-1, and its AFC South odds from -135 to +210.

But that mattered little to the Colts on a franchise-changing night.

“We have nothing but gratitude and thankfulness for the blood, sweat and tears he spilled as No. 12,” Irsay said. “Part of our heart is broken tonight. We know we must go forward.”

Information from ESPN’s David Purdum and Adam Schefter was used in this report.

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