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just-a-poor-boy-queen · 3 years

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I've had a really hard day today and I saw someone wanted more Jimary crack, so I decided to write it to cheer myself up. I hope three fics in a row isn't too excessive. (All credit goes to the anon who suggested this.)

‘She’s drunk.’ Joe said very matter-of-factly, lifting his wine glass to his lips, only to discover there was nothing left in it.

‘Very drunk.’ Replied Phoebe, reaching for the bottle nearby and giving them both a refill.

It wasn’t as though they had never seen Mary drunk before. She was usually all giggly and bouncy after a few drinks, perhaps more talkative than usual and, in Joe’s opinion, far less uptight. But they had never seen her like this; her eyes heavy lidded, downing her wine like it was water and clumsily swaying to the music that filled the busy lounge, stumbling every now and again to keep her balance. She was clearly taking her break up with Piers very badly.

‘Freddie’s livid.’ Joe murmured, glancing over at the singer who appeared to be deep in conversation with Peter Straker, but kept glancing over at the intoxicated woman who was trying to coax Brian into dancing with her, much to the displeasure of Anita. ‘Prepare yourself for a screaming match later on.’

‘I already have the popcorn ready.’

Mary eventually gave up on Brian and loudly announced she was heading into the kitchen for another bottle of rosé, almost stepping on Delilah as she staggered through the door. She surveyed the kitchen a moment, the room spinning as her alcohol consumption finally caught up with her, before she noticed Jim sitting alone at the kitchen table, trying unsuccessfully to uncork a large bottle of champagne between his knees.

She had always been a little jealous of Jim. Before he came along, she had always held out hope that Freddie might return to her one day, discover he wasn’t actually into men or something daft like that. But then this Irishman appeared, who wasn’t like Freddie’s other boyfriends; for the first time, it seemed like Freddie was in love and ready to settle down, happy in a way she had never seen him before. It had been hard for her to accept; but when Piers had finally had enough of her obsession and left her, she realised that she would never be able to properly move on with her life if she kept latching on to the past. She had to let Freddie go. She had to accept that, while they would always be friends, Freddie was gay and what they had all those years ago was over.

Jim noticed her hovering and looked up, giving her a small smile. ‘Enjoying the party?’

Mary hummed in response, going to the cupboard where the booze was kept and digging around until she found the rosé she was looking for. When she looked back at Jim, he still hadn’t managed to remove the cork and was quietly cursing under his breath in his thick Irish accent.

It was quite a nice voice, her inebriated mind told her.

‘You have a lovely voice.’ She suddenly said aloud, her words slurred. She wobbled up to him, heels clinking against the kitchen tiles as she unscrewed the top of the rosé bottle. ‘Where is it you’re from again?’

Jim blinked at her dumbly. He wasn’t used to Mary initiating conversation like this; she was usually so reserved. ‘Um, a town called Carlow. It’s near Dublin.’

‘It is, isn’t it?’ Mary drawled and without any warning, she suddenly plopped herself down in Jim's lap, making him jump in surprise. ‘Ireland is sss-such a lovely place. Lots of sheep there.’

Jim’s face went red, and he carefully set the champagne bottle down on the table. ‘Yeah, I suppose there are.’

Much to his horror, Mary put the bottle of rosé to her lips and began downing the drink ruthlessly, not stopping until it was almost half empty. When she finally stopped, she carelessly abandoned the bottle next to the champagne and turned around to stare Jim directly in the eyes, her smile disturbingly wide.

‘You have beautiful eyes.’ She garbled, moving her finger as if she was going to poke them out, but she instead ended up giving him a weird boop on the nose. ‘And your arms are so big.’ She reached down to squeeze his bicep, giggling like a schoolgirl. ‘I bet you’re really strong. Remember when you lifted me up at Freddie’s birthday party?’

Jim remembered. He was so plastered that night he had almost dropped her on her head.

‘Are you feeling alright, Mary?’ he asked warily, not comfortable with how close their faces were.

‘I’m wonderful, Jim.’ Mary giggled again, though it sounded a little manic. ‘I really, really want to dance. Will you dance with me, Jim?’

‘I’m not much of a dancer, Mary.’ Jim coughed, glancing over his shoulder in hope that someone might come through the kitchen door and save him.

‘That’s not true! I’ve seen you dance!’ Mary insisted, pulling at his hands, ‘come on.’

Jim didn’t have the energy to argue with her, already a little tipsy himself, and he allowed her to drag him into the middle of the kitchen, face filling with colour as Mary threw her arms around his neck and sagged all of her body weight against him. He realised rather quickly that if he let her go, she’d probably fall face first onto the floor and never get up again.

The next five minutes had to be the most uncomfortable of his entire life, as he swayed in awkward circles with his husband’s ex-girlfriend, mindfully trying to keep his hands off her waist. He wasn’t a religious man, but in that moment, he prayed to every God in existence that someone would call him from the lounge and rescue him from this predicament.

Mary suddenly lifted her head from his shoulder and whispered in his ear. ‘Marry me, Jim.’

The Irishman stared down at her, eyes comically wide. ‘Beg your pardon?’

‘Marry me.’ Mary grinned at him, leaning so close that for one horrible moment he thought she might try to kiss him. ‘We can have lots of beautiful Irish babies together.’

Jim sighed. Next time they had a party, he was going to replace Mary’s wine with Ribena. ‘I’m very flattered by your offer, but there are two problems; I’m gay and I’m married to Freddie.’

‘Oh bugger.’ Said Mary, as if she had forgotten that detail. ‘You can still marry me though. We can run away to Cardiff together.’

‘Carlow, Mary.’

Her face suddenly fell and she stepped away from him, looking betrayed. 'Is it because of the cats?'

'The what?'

‘That's why you don't want to marry me, isn't it?’ Mary's lip trembled as if she was about to cry. ‘Freddie has cats and I don't!'

‘Mary, I’m going to get you some water.’ Jim replied, making a beeline for the sink.

‘No, don’t leave!’ Mary grabbed his sleeve, trying to tug him back. ‘Stay with me, Jim. I'll buy you all the cats you want!’

‘You’ll feel much better after drinking this.’ Jim said firmly, pouring a glass of water and turning around to hand it to her. As soon as he did, her lips were suddenly pressed against his own, arms locked around his neck so there was no escape as he yelled against her mouth in surprise.

‘Mary!’ he roared, as soon as she released him, half the water having spilled onto the floor during the struggle. ‘What the bloody hell are you playing at?!’

Mary grinned; lipstick smudged across her face, so she looked like the Joker. ‘I’ve never kissed an Irishman before. Does that make me Irish now?’

Before Jim could even answer, she suddenly dry heaved; he grabbed her and stuck her head into the sink as she vomited up the contents of her stomach.

‘What the fuck happened?’ Freddie demanded, as Jim walked into the lounge, his shirt ruffled, a smear of red lipstick on his mouth and a very drunk Mary giggling uncontrollably in his arms.

‘Your ex-girlfriend asked me to marry her, then threw up.’ Jim replied, as if this was a normal occurrence. ‘I’m going to put her in one of the guest rooms so she can sleep it off.’

He turned and walked out of the lounge before anyone could respond. Freddie clenched his glass so hard it was a miracle it didn’t shatter in his hand.

‘I’m going to murder her!’ he growled, lunging towards the door, only for Phoebe to grab him from behind and hoist him up. ‘Let me go! That backstabbing homewrecker is trying to abscond with my husband!’

‘Take it easy, Fred.’ Phoebe said calmly, holding onto the man effortlessly. ‘You can kill her tomorrow.’

‘Yeah, we haven’t even had dessert yet.’ Said Joe, holding onto Freddie's legs to stop him from kicking. ‘I spent all fucking day slaving over that baked Alaska, you’re eating it whether you like it or not!’

Firstly, I am so sorry you are having a hard day. I feel terrible that whilst you are doing so much to entertain us with this outrageous crackship, you are not having a good time. I can just hope that writing these stories bring you as much joy as they bring us.

And now, the fic. I AM WHEEZING. First of all, I fucking love Joe. Even though we've never heard him speak, or ever listened to his words through his own perspective, I feel that your characterisation is so realistic. His dessert comment slayed me lmao.

And oof, Mary being drunk off her ass is my new favourite trope. And lmao her thinking that Jim doesnt want to marry her because she doesn't have cats😂😂😂 Leave him alone, Mary. He doesn't want to have irish babies with you.

And hahahahaha Freddie's reaction is as epic as I had envisioned. And god, this is another nightmare that Jim isn't going to recover from soon.

This is such a fantastic crackship, omg. I absolutely loved this💙💙

(More drabbles by writer anon)

Also anon, if you ever want to talk, you can always dm me, if you are comfortable of course🧡

#ask response #jim hutton #freddie mercury #jimary #crack ship #anon writing #phoebe freestone #joe fanelli #brian may #anita dobson

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intrepidmare · 3 years

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MARE'S RECAPS ~ THE MANDALORIAN: CHAPTER 9 "THE MARSHALL"

Oh wow! It's been a while since I've done something like this. Last year, I caught up with season 1 about 2 days before the finale, so I didn't have the opportunity to write reviews/recaps. This season, though, I'm going to 😀 so here it is the first one!

For the folks that haven't seen the premiere and don't want spoilers, scroll past this, fast and furious, because it's full of them. If you want to blacklist tags to avoid spoilers from me, I suggest that you add #mando spoilers, #the mandalorian season 2 spoilers, and #mare's mando recaps to the list.

I've seen the episode a few times (yeah, I'm that obsessed with the show) so some of my reactions are more visceral than others since I was too excited the few first times I watched it and I missed a lot of details (another reason to rewatch the episode more than once). This recap is loooooong, which is an indication of how amazing it was.

So this my final warning to those avoiding spoilers. Stop reading, right now. The rest of you… enjoy and let me know if you share some of my opinions. I'm always open to chat 😊

Chapter 9 ~ The Marshall

So it begins! It's so exciting!

I knew that Mando and baby Yoda walking in the street at night was going to be the opening scene. I started to think about it after watching the second trailer, and I'm glad that I was right.

It turns out that the red-eyed creatures were not jawas as I saw some people saying.

Baby Yoda was not happy with the little excursion to the fighting arena. Not walking on the streets nor inside watching the fight. I still laughed when he locked himself up in the pram, even if I've watched the trailer like a gazillion times by now and I knew he was going to do it.

And talking about the baby, he's getting more vocal I think. He's making a few new noises, whimpering more, which I'm not sure if it's a good or bad thing. That he complains more means that he feels safe with his buir and isn't afraid of retaliation for it as he probably was with others in the past and the reason he didn't cry much in season 1. But it breaks my heart that he is stressed. And that child is anxious, I can tell you that much.

The fight with Gor Koresh's thugs was awesome! The gamorrean flying to squash Mando and failing had me cracking up. And omg! Din'd moves! Using his helmet as a weapon and throwing his vibroblade. And leaving Gor Koresh to be eaten! Man of his word, he didn't kill the guy.

On a side note, I would've never guessed it was John Leguizamo who gave voice to Koresh until I saw the credits. Of all the actors who could play the part, I never thought of him.

Umm, I'm curious about the time Mando has spent in Tatooine, which according to him it's been a lot and it makes sense since he knows so much about the Tuskens, their language and culture. I'm guessing he spent a while among them. He had to learn all that somehow.

When I speculated that Mando was going back to Tatooine after watching the trailers, I said that I was going to riot if he didn't visit his favorite mechanic. Thankfully, I didn't need to worry. I loved Peli in episode 5 of season 1 and I loved her even more now remarking on Din's dislike of droids and trying to keep the baby for herself. Not to mention she complaining about not getting good help these days 🤣

And I ADORE the (improvised?) Birikad Din got for the baby. Of course, the baby is safer in the pram, right (guessing that's why he used it when he met Gor Koresh), but there's something sweet watching him carrying his son so close to him.

And I tell you, Mando has been spending credits lately in baby stuff. I mean, he got a new pram (which I initially thought it was the original that he had somehow retrieved from the garbage in Nevarro, but no, it's not the same, and neither it's the one that Kuiil made) and he also got the bag/birikad thing, which looks brand-new. I wonder what else he bought.

Watching the droids doing maintenance of the Razor Crest makes me think it's all for nothing, knowing that in a few episodes (it might be even in the next one) Mando is going to crash the ship. More than once perhaps.

😆 The baby still loves speed! I think riding on the speeder bike was the only moment that he truly enjoyed in this episode. Look at that happy face

When they arrived at Mos Pelgo and Din went into the cantina, leaving the baby outside, I was like: Din! That's not responsible. How can you leave your son out in the inclement sun, alone! Then baby Yoda peeked in and I went: never mind. I take back what I said.

Oooh. Cobb Vanth! I love him! For a moment, I thought it could actually be Boba but it seemed illogical and that's what Mr. Feloni and Mr. Favreau wanted us to think. I was correct.

My gawd! Din's shock when Vanth took the helmet off. I just knew he would freak out the moment Cobb asked for drinks and I said to drink they need to remove their helmets and Mando is going to lose it when this guy does. And the standoff! Was so good! "Take it off or I will" is going to become a quite popular phrase in fics from now on, not in the same context, but yeah…

The krayt dragon… oh shit! Or rather Dank farrik! We can't see Mando's face or expression but I can imagine which one was when he saw the dragon eating the bantha the first time.

Oh my goodness. The baby hiding in the pot! Too adorable!

I know every hardcore SW fan lost it watching Vanth modified speeder because is a callback to the Phantom Menace and Anakin but my first thought was: is he compensating for something? Sorry, I couldn't help it

The dog-lizard creatures were kinda scary at first but then became adorable. Almost as much as baby Yoda getting out of hiding

Baby Yoda doesn't like dog-lizards things. He looked afraid to be eaten I think. Poor little guy.

And look at that! Din showing such growth! To think he was the one incensing others in negotiation 😆 this is a total callback to the jawas in Arvala-7. And I gotta tell you, Din freaking loves his flamethrower. He doesn't waste the opportunity to use it.

The krayt dragon eating the Tusken raider instead of the bantha was quite of a plot twist 😆

When they were planning the attack on the dragon, Cobb Vanth's face when Din told him that the bones and pebbles were to scale, and then when he had volunteered the villagers to help… priceless!

I like the fact of banding together with others for a greater good, relying on others to accomplish something is going to continue being the theme of this season. It started last season but I think it's going to be stronger this time around along all of the episodes.

😳😲😳😲 this thing vomits acid?! What. The. FUCK?!!!

Cobb: I don't think it's dead

Mando: me neither

Me, at the same time as Din: yeah, nope it's not dead

Oh yeah! Teaming up with jetpacks!

When they showed the bantha with the remaining explosives my first thought was why didn't they use all those before?! That's why they didn't kill it!! Of course, it was just an excuse to grant Din a more grand win in the end, but you know, it's stupid not to use everything you have to kill the monster on the first try. Just saying

Wait, what? Din! What are you going to do? No! Taking care of the child is your responsibility, not Cobb Vanth's! I hate this plan of yours, Din Djarin!! Whichever it is!

Oh! Nice callback to the flaw on that jetpack. But makes me wonder, do all the rising Phoenixes have the same flaw? Cuz unless Din knows Boba in person and that it's his armor with that particular flaw, it means it's a common problem for all and I don't like it.

Get away, Din! Get away, Din!! FLY AWAY!! AAAAAAAHHHHHH! NOOOOOO!

There he is! Damn, Mando! Don't scare me like that! Altho, it was a nice move.

Okay, but now I want someone to explain something to me. If the dragon's acid melted people at contact before, how the hell is Din so whole? I mean, sure for argument' sake let's say his beskar armor provides some protection, but he's not entirely covered in it. His cape and undersuit seem just fine, albeit sticky. Where's the logic in that?

The tuskens getting the pearl reminded me of the jawas and the mudhorn's egg, chanting zukka, zukka (or however egg is spelled in Jawa).

That's quite a piece of meat. The baby is going to be happy eating off it for days🤣

😮😮😳😳 BOBA FETT!!!!! Yesssssss!!

Okay, I've seen other people's thoughts and some think that Boba was after Cobb Vanth because he had the armor, but I don't know. If that was true then why he hadn't gone to Mos Pelgo and got it? It seems to me that it's more likely that Boba is following Din somehow because it's the second time in as many Mando's visits to the planet that they sort of cross paths. Could they know each other? Have some score to settle? It's possible. Din has spent much time on Tatooine -his words, not mine- so it wouldn't be so out of consideration that they actually know each other. That if Mando knows Boba is (fake?) Mando, I don't know. Probably not, but who knows?

Extra thoughts

I gotta say that Ludwig Göransson is killing it with the score music! Oh. My. God! So so so so good! I could tell from the trailers that it was going to be awesome this season but it astounded me in chapter 9. Gorgeous, absolutely gorgeous! My favorite piece is when they're going to the dragon's cave to kill it. The orchestral sound of the already familiar music blew my mind!

#mare's mando recaps #mando spoilers #the mandalorian #the mandalorian season 2 spoilers #the mandalorian season 2 #din djarin #baby yoda #cobb vanth

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velmalav · 5 years

Text

sister: part two {r.t.}

warnings: angst

synopsis: continuation of part one. reader is brian may’s sister and roger is secretly in love with her.

word count: 2.8k+

***

Tomorrow arrives in the blink of an eye. You stand outside of Roger’s flat with your hands in the pockets of your denim jacket, tapping a boot against the sidewalk. The sun is just rising – sky a pastel yellow and blue, the dreary morning air dewy and cold. You bask in the emerging sunlight until Brian’s car rounds the corner, instantly instilling a slight panic in the pit of your stomach. The feeling only worsens as he pulls up to the curb and steps from the vehicle, his body language less than welcoming.

“Bit early for this,” he complains, but holds his arms out to hug you anyway. You fall into him immediately, nose buried into his chest. His heart is beating equally as fast as yours, giving you a little peace of mind.

“I’m so sorry I let you down, Bri,” you spout immediately, unable to hold back the word vomit. You spent the whole night thinking of what you would say to him, yet you threw all those plans out the window the second your mouth opened. “I should’ve told you as soon as I’d made up my mind about school. There’s just been so much happening and I didn’t want to disappoint you. And telling Roger before you, God that was so stupid and I didn’t even mean to, but he knew something was up and I couldn’t-”

“Y/N, take a breath, would you?” Brian murmurs, a slight chuckle leaving his lips at your rambling. He curls his hands around your arms and pulls you from him, his features gentle now. “As upset as I was and still am, I was too harsh on you yesterday. I’m sorry for some of the things I said, for making you stay with Rog. I needed time to cool off.”

“I know,” you sigh, cheeks flushing in exasperation. “But you were right to be angry. I fucked up.”

Brian cringes at your swearing, but doesn’t vocalize his distaste. “I hope this means you’ve thought about going back next term. I’d still like you to go back to school. It’s what’s best for you right now.”

Your face drops at his assumption, eyes darting to the pavement. Always the observant one, your brother picks up on your body language - and he definitely knows that your minds are in entirely different places, yet he patiently waits for you to admit it.

“Actually, I don’t think it is. I’m going in blind, Bri, and everything just feels like a waste. What’s the point of going to school if I’m going to hate whatever it is I end up doing?”

“Then what are your plans, your highness? I hate to be the one to remind you how impractical this all is, what truly, what do you expect? The world to just stop and wait for you?” Brian questions, the same tone he used yesterday slowly resurfacing.

This time; however, you understand where he’s coming from. You know he only wants the best for you, and you know that your situation is undeniably impractical. Besides, you can only imagine how frustrating it must be for your sibling to tell you they’ve given up on their seemingly bright future for one completely unknown.

“I was hoping you’d have me on tour for now,” you begin, earning a double eyebrow raise and quiet scoff from Brian. It’s a lot to ask, especially the morning of, so the lingering acidity radiating off him now is far from surprising.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Y/N,” Brian exhales. And although his aura screams, ‘you’re utterly demented,’ you can feel the gears turning in his head. He’s actually considering it.

“Think about it, Bri. Our family is all about music. Dad worked for a record company, Grandma competed in all of those singing competitions, hell, even mum played the guitar for her girl band back in the day. Maybe that’s why nothing’s speaking to me! I could just watch behind the scenes and figure everything out and see what appeals to me the most.”

Brian grunts in frustration, hands traveling to rest on his hips and his head lowers to face the ground. When he looks back to you, his eyes are austere. “And what if you’re still unsure even after tour? What will you do then?”

Now the gears are turning in your own head, but the solution is clear. “I’ll go back to school. Just like you want me to,” Brian’s demeanor perks up.

“You’re serious about this,” he says it merely to convince himself, though you confirm it with a nod.

“As long as you’ll have me along. Just one chance is all I’m asking for.” In an act of compromise, you hold out your hand as if you’re in the midst of closing an important business deal.

Brian rolls his eyes and takes your hand in his, giving it a good shake. “Alright, you’ve got yourself a deal,” he concedes, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips. “But you’re going to be the one to tell mum. Even if you somehow find your true calling and become a bloody billionaire in the next seven months, she’s still going to murder both of us.”

You draw in a sharp breath at the mere thought of ringing her. “Yeah, that’s a conversation I can’t wait to have.”

Brian shrugs, a mockingly casualness washing over him. “Might want to wait until we’re a safe distance away before you make that call, sis.”

You decide to ride back to Brian’s with him after your chat, not so much as a word to Roger before you go. You know he’s still asleep, but the thought of him waking up alone ignites a sinking feeling in your chest. The feeling only perpetuates as you remember the other thing you need to disclose with your brother.

“Hey, Bri,” you murmur, head lolling against your seat. Brian’s eyes flicker over to you and then return to the road, humming in acknowledgement. “You’re not still angry at Rog, are you?”

Brian sighs as he turns right at a red light. “No, no. I mean it’s still a bit frustrating that he never told me, but I guess I understand. Probably should apologize to him, too, shouldn’t I?”

“Yeah, maybe,” you reply, hands a bit sweaty as you take a deep breath. Now or never. “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about actually. About him,” you continue, watching his reaction closely.

“If it’s about what I said about you two getting too close, I’m sorry if that was awkward for you,” Brian apologizes again, teeth nipping at his bottom lip. You can tell he’s still milling over everything that happened yesterday.

Your mouth opens to diffuse his words, but he’s not finished. “Rog is family. I want you to feel comfortable telling him things, too. I know he’s like a second brother to you.”

You deflate, the sudden rush of confidence crushing under the weight of one single sentence. “Wouldn’t call him that, but yeah, I guess we’re close,” you whisper, scared that if you speak any louder Brian will hear the disappointment in your voice.

“Close is an understatement. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you guys were attached at the hip since birth,” Brian’s chuckling now, and you know he means it to be sweet, but you can’t help the intense tremble that runs down your back at his words. Somehow you manage to change the subject physically, even if your head is still mentally repeating the words “brother” and “attached since birth” over and over again.

The remainder of the car ride is tense, or at least to you it is. Brian doesn’t even notice and fills you in on the first show tonight in Manchester, but you’re hardly listening.

Your head is swimming in the memories of the previous night. Roger’s forbearing touch as he held you to him, fingertips running along your clothed stomach, eyes boring into yours as he told you all of the things he looked forward to for tour, one of them being having you along. His glowing smile as he did so. The way he would dip his head down to pepper heavy kisses on you, especially on the places where your skin tinted red.

It all felt so right last night, so why did all of it suddenly feel so wrong?

The tour bus is massive compared to the little cars passing it on the street, all black save for a splash of grey across the side. You, Brian, and Freddie are standing just outside of it waiting for Roger to show up. John’s already inside chatting with the driver.

“I’m absolutely delighted you decided to come along with us!” Freddie exclaims, pulling you in for a hug. You laugh against his shoulder as he pinches your ass, and with a wet peck on your cheek, releases you.

You turn to see Brian cocking a warning eyebrow at his band mate, to which Freddie responds with a wink. “Too bad I’ve got Mary with such a pretty little thing in my orbit,” he teases further, a hand slipping around your shoulder.

“Hands to yourself, Fred,” Brian forewarns, but he’s smiling to signal that he’s caught on to the joke.

“I don’t know if I can help myself, Bri,” Freddie dramatically gushes, his hand snaking into your braid. You roll your eyes with a fleeting laugh, wrapping an arm around his waist to further the teasing.

In a cruel twist of fate, Roger approaches from behind Brian, a giddy expression already on his face at the sight of you. He unfurls his arms like he’s about to request a hug when Brian cuts him off with a, “My sister’s off limits to everyone, if I have to remind you lot,” mainly at Fred, unknowingly informing the man behind him as well.

Roger’s face falls, arms descending to his sides. You simply stare down at the concrete to avoid his disheartening gaze. Your mind is racing. You are the one that initiated this, you think, and now you are the one ending it just as quickly. Your eyes are still fixated on your shoes when Roger finally speaks, voice a lot more chipper than expected. “Y/N’s joining us?” as if he didn’t know.

Brian nods, leaning against the tour bus. You glance up with a fake smile, one only Roger sees past as he practically drags you into a hug. His lips touch your ear, tone low, “Off limits to everyone?” he mutters, and as to not draw suspicion, forces an eager smile to his face when you break away.

You sadly stare at him, swallowing hard. When you’re sure the other boys aren’t looking, you mouth a quick apology, one he furrows his eyebrows at. John clambers down the steps of the bus and waves you all in, and as you file up and inside, you feel the familiar touch of Roger’s hand on your lower back. There’s an unspoken rigidity between you two – which is not surprising – as the bus rolls down the street, and you know you’re in for a stressful night.

You don’t realize just how chaotic things can be before a show until you are tossed into the middle of it. People run past you left and right, speaking orders to one another and dragging equipment from backstage to onstage, while others are double checking the lighting and sound. Everyone is so enveloped in their work that they don’t even notice you observing it all, peering over shoulders and even asking the less busy workers quick questions. It’s a madhouse, but it has certainly sparked your interest. The only thing uncertain is where to start.

When you run out of employees to annoy, you back yourself into a corner near the lighting deck. Your eyes follow the operator’s fingers as he memorizes his cues, his eyes stuttering on certain pages as his motions ghost over the controls. You stand on your tiptoes to get a better look at the page layout, to see if you could possibly understand the directions, but it’s too far out of reach.

You huff a bit and lean back against the wall, eyes drifting around the backstage area. Speakers are being rolled on carts, pieces of Roger’s drum kit also being moved to the stage. Your focus follows it, imagining it all set up, drumsticks pounding down on the cylinders, beer flying up. You remember seeing Roger doing that years before, at the only gig you ever witnessed Smile play. At first, you deemed it gross (mainly because Roger would jump off the stage and try to hug you while he was all sticky), but the more you thought about it, the more it intrigued you.

You’re so far in your thoughts that you almost don’t hear Roger approach. “Anything catching your eye?”

His features are impossibly still as he stares over at you, arms folded across his chest. You look to him wearily, a nervous pounding erupting in your stomach. There’s a moment of unexpressed tension that you swallow down swiftly; you hate confrontation, and you really don’t know what to expect from him right now.

You shrug. “Not yet. It’s pretty crazy right now.”

“Always is,” Roger says as he steps closer. He takes a quick look around, presumably to check if any of the boys are around, and then turns his complete attention to you. “Maybe next show we can get here earlier before all of the madness, so you can check everything out.”

“I’d like that,” a smile wanes at the ends of your lips, but deep down, you’re confused.

Why was he being so normal? After all, you did spend a four hour bus ride acting like he wasn’t sitting five feet away from you, like he hadn’t had you in his arms ten hours before, like everything was exactly how it had been the morning before.

Roger’s eyes flicker from yours down to your lips, and just like you’d expected from the beginning of this exchange, his expression falters. “I’m guessing your conversation with Brian didn’t go exactly as planned.”

You sigh, shaking your head. “No, not really. I went to tell him, and he said something about you being like my brother, and I just kind of panicked,” you explain, gulping.

Roger grimaces at the word just as you had earlier, eyes suddenly interested in everything but you. “So what’s the plan here?” he murmurs, meeting your eyes with a look of contrition. “Are you-are you going to tell him?”

Your mouth opens and closes repeatedly, mind messily searching for the right thing to say. But the truth is, there simply isn’t. “I don’t know how to do this,” you bite the inside of your cheek as you await his reaction.

“Do what?” Roger asks, eyes saddening even more. The question is pointless, because just like Brian said earlier, you two knew each other all too well. “Tell him about us or tell me that there isn’t an us?”

You run a hand through your hair and then down your face. It’s so frustrating, being in this position. You want to try things with Roger more than anything, but the idea of it ruining him and Brian’s friendship is incorrigible. You had been so willfully ignorant last night when you kissed Roger and convinced him to try things out, and now that conversation feels so far from reality that you can’t even believe it happened. You settle with a, “I don’t know, Rog. I don’t know what to do.”

There’s a stiff pause. “You never do,” he mutters under his breath, a thought he surely meant to keep to himself, but you hear it loud and clear.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you’re already detaching yourself from his gaze as the words soak in. Roger already knows he’s made a mistake by the hurt etched onto your face and tries to grab your hand, but you step back.

“Y/N, that didn’t come out the way I wanted it to. Please—“

You feel pathetic when tears brim your eyes. It’s not just what Roger said, or the way he said it, it’s that he said it. The one person you thought would always have your back, even if he himself didn’t agree. The one person who would go against the opinion of his best friend to make you feel better.

“If that’s how you feel about me, fine. But please don’t try and spare my feelings and just be honest next time, okay, Rog?” you muster out, successfully holding back all of the emotion that so desperately wanted to claw its way out.

“No, no, no,” Roger sputters out as you begin to walk away.

You turn down an empty hallway, Roger hot on your trail. You decide that if you are going to cry, it will surely not be around heaps of people. He takes your hands in his before you can rip yourself away, his look pleading. “That’s not how I feel, love. I’ve told you how I feel about you, about your decision to come with us. I want you here. I want you to find what makes you happy.”

The tears finally fall. They’re not out of anger, though; they’re out of frustration. You want so badly for there to be an easy solution to your problem, for your mother to just get it, for your brother to not be so overprotective, for Roger to be able to kiss you without the fear of repercussions. You want so many things that you can’t have, and it’s slowly ripping you apart.

“Don’t cry, please,” Roger takes you in his arms, palm rubbing warm circles on your back. You can feel his eyelashes flutter against your forehead, lips doting on the space in front of your ear. “I know it’s all frustrating. I’m frustrated, too, but everything’s going to be okay.”

You pull back a bit so you can look at him. He wipes some of your tears away, a crooked, sympathetic smile playing at his lips. “Rog, I’m really sorry, ‘cause I’m the reason for all of this. I asked too much of you. I was stupid to think--”

Roger shakes his head, thumb rubbing under your eye. “You’re not stupid. A bit unrealistic, but definitely not stupid.”

You instinctively lean into his hand, but quickly catch yourself. “Why couldn’t we have just run into each other at a supermarket or something? Things would be much easier that way,” you ponder out loud. “Wouldn’t be so difficult.”

“Wouldn’t be the same, love. I’m still glad to have met you, even if it means keeping my distance,” Roger replies, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Let’s just...let’s just take it back to how it was. We’ll just know a little bit more about each other, s’all.”

“You’d be able to do that?” you furrow your eyebrows, bottom lip grinding between your teeth. “You don’t think Brian will notice that things are...different?”

“Wouldn’t worry about that, love. I’ve had a thing for you for years and Brian hasn’t a clue,” Roger admits with a chuckle, though it’s full of discontent. He brushes some hair from your face, slanting to press a chaste kiss to the corner of your mouth. “I can pretend as long as you promise to keep making fun of me. I live off of that shit. And...”

“And?”

“You’ll let me hold your hand sometimes,” Roger’s cheeks now a light pink hue.

He finally gets you to laugh at that. “That’s a bit extreme, don’t you think? Hand holding?”

“Those are my conditions. Take them or leave them,” Roger beams down at you, and for a moment, it really does feel like normal. How could you possibly say no to that? But at the same time, how could you pretend not to long for it, knowing that you he wants it just as bad as you?

“So what do you say, Miss May?”

“That I’m not particularly fond of rhyming,” you quip, earning yourself a laugh from him as well. “But yeah, deal’s a deal,” your eyes travel down to where your bodies meet, Roger’s arms still securely around you. “Maybe we should…”

“Yeah,” Roger agrees, but is slow to peel himself from you. You both sigh at the loss of contact, but are both smiling sheepishly at one another. Because even though your little love affair only lasted less than twenty-four hours, it was a damn good one.

***

part 3 // part 4 // masterlist

permanent taglist: @im-a-sheerheartattack, @queenbbarnes, @dreamerofzaldrizes, @idontbelievethiss, @sheridans-dynamos, @perriwiinkle, @culturefiendtrashqueen, @fangirlcore, @fatbottomedboi, @b-hardys, @alessandra-elle, @vee-ndetta, @getagriponmyboyracerrollbar, @anaaronescu-blog

sister taglist: @virtualsheepeat, @ohmygoditsanthonyedwardstark, @everybodyplaythegame, @jennyggggrrr, @obsessedwithrogertaylor, @captain--americanna

#roger taylor x reader #roger taylor imagine #roger taylor blurb #roger taylor fic #roger taylor fluff #ben hardy!roger x reader #ben hardy fluff #ben hardy x reader #ben hardy #roger taylor #roger taylor angst #ben hardy angst #brian may #queen fics #borhap #sister #requests #apseventy

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elizaviento · 6 years

Text

Higher Power

My dear Anon -- this prompt was perfect and I thank you for the delicious images that subsequently invaded my mind. I hope this meets your expectations, as well.

Note: This story features Rick/Reader D-74 from Assimilation because, you know, they’re my babies and I just love them so.

Higher Power

(Rick Sanchez x Reader)

NSFW -- 3200 words with lots of romantic type feely feels.

(FYI: Assimilation can be found in the Rick Fic Masterpost link in my blog description.)

*****

It was Jerry’s idea to go camping. I only agreed because I knew how much he loved it. Rick only agreed because Beth guilted him into it. So, you can imagine how much fun we were having while huddled around Jerry’s poor excuse for a campfire.

“Okay! Who has a scary story?” Jerry asked much too cheerfully while violently ripping open a bag of jumbo marshmallows that proceeded to spray outward, hitting him in the face before tumbling to the ground.

“Don’t worry, I brought another bag” I said before the kids could groan in disappointment. I knew Jerry better than he knew himself so the second bag of marshmallows was just a metaphor for my knack for bailing him out.

Rising from the ground, I quickly dusted off the seat of my jeans before shuffling toward my tent a few yards away, which was more difficult that I had initially taken into account. The sky had managed to fade from the soft hues of pink and blue to pitch black in the half hour that we’d congregated around the fire and I found myself stumbling on twigs and small rocks more than once before reaching my destination.

Once I’d finally made it to my tent, I felt around for and quickly unzipped the entrance flap -- the metallic hiss of the zipper sounding as loud as a freight train in the all encompassing darkness. Then, crawling inside on my hands and knees, I continued to navigate by touch until my hand closed around the plastic bag containing the fluffy cylinders of sugar.

When I felt something bump my ass from behind, I opened my mouth to scream the very second a hand materialized out of nowhere to engulf it.

“Jesus fuck! Calm down!” Rick’s rough whisper floated toward my ears from close by. “You -- y-y-you’re too fuckin’ jumpy” he chided, releasing my mouth so I could breathe a sigh of relief as he crawled inside the tent beside me and flopped down on his back.

“What are you doing?” I asked as he gripped my upper arm and tugged until he’d pulled me on top of him. I could feel, rather than see that our faces were within an inch of one another as his warm breath wafted across my skin.

“Humm?” was his only reply as he closed the short distance and pressed his lips to mine. Even in the complete blackness, his aim was perfect and I wedged one hand between his neck and the floor of the tent to hold him in place. That is, until I remembered that we were mere feet away from the remainder of our family. Pulling back, it was my turn to place a hand over Rick’s mouth to prevent him from connecting our lips once more.

“As much as I’d love to be defiled among the majestic beauty of nature, I’d rather not scar Jerry and Beth for life. Or the kids.” I removed my hand from his mouth expecting something witty in retort. I wasn’t disappointed.

“Baby, you can only be defiled once and I -- uh -- I’m pretty sure I took care of that looong ago” he purred, squeezing my ass for good measure. I needed to nip this encounter in the bud, right now, or I’d never have the willpower to resist. So, I pitched my body to the side until I landed on my back beside him.

“We need to get back before Jerry assembles a search party” I warned, hoping that the threat of my brother happening upon us rutting in a tiny tent would deflate his libido.

“Ugh. For some -- someone so hot -- so sexy, you sure know how to kill a boner” he complained. My eyes were just beginning to adjust to the darkness so I could faintly make out the movement of his lanky form as he sat up, his spiky hair swishing across the vinyl ceiling of the tent.

----------

What felt like hours later (but was in reality only 45 minutes), Jerry had run out of cheesy campfire horror stories and was grasping at any straw to keep each family member’s attention.

“Come on, Dad” Summer whined as she pulled her cell phone from the pocket of her hoodie for the 247th time that evening on impulse, the ‘NO SERVICE’ message on the screen mocking her time and again. “Can’t we just, like, go to bed now?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Jerry asked, plunging another marshmallow on the end of a twig and thrusting it directly into the fire; only to pull it free when it had transformed into a block of flaming ash. “It’s only 9:00 o’clock! The night’s still young! Rick, you must know some spooky ghost stories with all that planet hopping, right?” Adjusting my gaze beyond the flickering flames, I caught a glimpse of Rick and Beth sitting directly across from me, rolling their eyes simultaneously.

“No, Jerry” Rick spat, his face screwed up in disgust as he took a swig from his flask. “I don’t have any spooky ghost stories ‘cause they -- g-ghosts don’t exist.”

“Well, how could you possibly know that?” Jerry countered, shoving the charred marshmallow into his mouth before spitting it right back out with a whimper. “Ow, that’s hot!”

“It was practically smoldering like a brick of coal, Jerry” Beth explained with a sigh, wrapping her arms across her chest. It was, indeed, becoming increasingly chilly as the evening progressed and I felt a smile tug the corners of my lips when I spied Rick draping an arm across her shoulders in an unconscious bid to warm her. No fatherly instinct, my ass, I thought, making a mental note to point out his adorable display of affection at a later time.

“Yeah, Rick. How do y-you know ghosts don’t exist?” Morty chimed in as he speared a hot dog on his twig and very carefully hovered it above the flames.

“Be -- because there’s no such thing as a soul. Or god. Or the devil. It -- it’s just us, all alone fuckin’ judgin’ and -- and -- and killin’ each other in the name of some ‘higher power’ that, if it did exist, wouldn’t give two shits about any of us anyway.” He paused long enough to take another pull from the flask. “Does that -- uh -- does that answer your question?” he finished, standing from the fallen log he and Beth were sharing in some type of mic drop-esque grand gesture.

Narrowing his eyes in the way he does right before he says something stupid, Jerry countered, “I think you do believe in a higher power, Rick. But in your case, it’s yourself."

“Yeah! You -- y-y-you know what? You’re absolutely right, Jerry!” Rick said, throwing his hands in the air while Beth lowered her head and pinched her brow. I could second her reaction as I also stood to make my way back to my tent. “‘Cause -- uh -- you know --” he continued, suddenly jabbing an index finger in my direction, “-- your sister screams -- calls me GOD every single night!”

In that very moment, everything fell eerily still and silent. Even the crickets seemed to halt the ritualistic rubbing of their hind legs as each pair of eyes that didn’t belong to Rick grew to the size of teacup saucers.

“Uhh…” Jerry hedged while trying and failing to formulate an adequate come back.

“Seriously, Grandpa Rick?” Summer interjected while stomping away, presumably toward the tent she’d be begrudgingly sharing with Morty. “Just… gross!” Tentatively, Morty rose to join her, the inky blackness swallowing him whole like the gaping maw of some type of mythical sea creature.

Feeling like I could vomit at any second, my eyes flicked toward Beth. The look on her face could only be described as mortified as she also gathered up the remainder of the food and tossed it in the cooler. “Thanks a lot, Dad” she spit sarcastically, actively avoiding eye contact with me.

Then, as if suddenly realizing what an absolute horrid thing he’d just allowed to fly from his mouth, Rick slumped forward and groaned -- scrubbing a hand down his face before fishing the other in the inner pocket of his lab coat again for his flask. Or should I say crutch.

“Look. I --” he began, but the damage was done and I was already striding toward the sanctuary of my tiny tent with unshed tears of humiliation and rage stinging my eyes.

----------

He didn’t come after me. At least, not right away. He knew he’d managed to piss me off royally and that if he didn’t give me time to cool off, I wouldn’t be above socking him in the jaw.

So, I lay in the dark -- staring up at the ceiling of my tent with the sleeping bag zipped up to my chin. Once securely inside, I’d let the tears silently fall from my eyes as I seethed and seethed and cursed his name. How could he say something like that? In front of the kids? In front of BETH?! Did he really think so little of me that he wouldn’t think twice before blurting something so fucking crass in front of our family?

Eventually, the burning sensation in my face began to cool along with the tear tracks drying on my cheeks. Rick knew to let me be when I was truly angry because he also knew that I wasn’t one to hold a grudge. However, perhaps he deserved it this time. Perhaps having a legitimate grudge held against him would serve him right.

Mulling the thought over, I yawned and let my eyes drift closed. The crickets had resumed their delightful chirping and I allowed them to lull me into a peaceful sleep.

----------

“Shhh” a raspy voice hissed with lips pressed to my ear when I was suddenly jolted awake. After a second or two, my brain registered the voice with the vision of a man with blue spiky hair and a perpetual scowl.

“I’m still mad at you” I whispered while I attempted to wiggle from his grasp. I was trapped in the sleeping bag with Rick’s arms wrapped tightly around it.

“You’re not” he challenged, his voice low enough that only I could hear while his lips still pressed and feathered across the shell of my ear.

But, I actually was. And, his arrogant insistence that I wasn’t…

Freeing my arms from the cocoon of the sleeping bag trapped in Rick’s arms, I forcefully shoved him away. Wishing there was even one speck of light to see the, no doubt, shocked expression on this face, I wiggled from the sleeping bag completely and sat upright with my knees pulled up to my chest.

“What the hell?” he harshly whispered from the other side of the tent. I could faintly hear the whoosh of polyester fabric as Rick blindly groped his hands across the sleeping bag, searching for me.

“Don’t you dare, Rick!” I spat, my voice straining as I tried to project a whisper in a manner that adequately portrayed how upset I was with him. “Don’t you DARE try to get in my pants after that little stunt you pulled!” He groaned in obvious annoyance and the rage burned within me fresh and hot. He had no right to be annoyed with ME. “Get out” I demanded, pointing toward where I thought the flap of the tent was located even though it was much too dark for him or I to tell.

Without a word, I felt the tent pitch and sway as he attempted to crawl toward the exit. Again, I could hear the swish of his hair as it made contact with nylon and I began to snicker as it became increasingly obvious that Rick couldn’t locate the flap.

“Wait” I said, my voice softening as his exasperated sighs only managed to endear him to me in the most inopportune moment. I had promised myself I’d hold a grudge, but I was failing. Now that I was free of the warmth of the sleeping bag, the chill licked at my exposed skin and the deep seeded adoration and yearning for Rick began to bubble up from the pit of my being; that coil nesting in my stomach slowly unfurling to extend to my arms as they searched for him in the darkness. Recognizing my tone, he immediately sought me out again, as well, and soon we were comfortably entwined.

“I’m sorry” he whispered into my hair and he sounded more sincere than I could ever recall.

“You know I’m not good at expressing my feelings --” I began and he scoffed as if to imply ‘yeah, me either’ before I continued, “-- but that was fucking brutal, Rick.” He pressed a tender kiss to the top of my head and I knew I wasn’t angry any longer. Turning to press my face to the crook of his neck I whispered confessions of love against his skin while balling my fists in the lapels of his lab coat.

“Sweetheart --”

But, I deftly cut him off by pressing my lips to his while tilting and raising my hips, effectively tipping him flat on his back. Now straddling him, I settled my bottom on his upper thighs while my hands worked the buckle of his belt. Even in the darkness, the practiced movements came so naturally that I’d soon pulled it from the loops and began the task of loosening his fly. And, while I undressed him, he undressed me -- lifting the oversize t-shirt from my body before I trailed my hands under his sweater until he lifted his arms so I could do the same.

We were quiet. Silent as the night. Neither of us above a whisper as our humid breaths heated the small enclosure that protected us from the elements. And when I finally rose to line his cock to my entrance, I suppressed a sob as I slowly took him fully inside.

“Oh baby -- oh fuck, you feel so good” Rick groaned before capturing my lips just in time to swallow my moans and gasps.

“Rick” I breathed, nestling my face in the juncture of his neck and shoulder as I buried one hand in his hair. “Rick, please.”

He knew what I wanted. He was always hesitant to utter the words even though we both knew them to be true. He hitched a breath as if to prepare but I decided perhaps now wasn’t the time. Perhaps I wanted the words to come of their own volition instead of from my gentle prompting.

So, I began to fuck him. Slow and deep -- alternating between pressing kisses to and planting my teeth in sensitive flesh behind his ear. And, still we were quiet. Silent as the night. Neither of us above a whisper as we rocked together, his fingers digging bruises into the flesh of my hips while my fingernails pressed crescent grooves in the flesh of his neck and scalp.

“Oh my -- fuck! -- oh god” he released in a strangled whine as I quickened my pace. The slight slapping of skin on skin ricocheted between the nylon walls of our enclosure as it mingled with muted grunts and gasps and the occasional soft moan that I allowed to escape when Rick’s cock hit my sweet spot just right.

“Who’s the higher power now, huh?” I asked in the sultriest whisper I could muster before trapping the shell of his ear between my teeth.

“Sweetheart -- baby...” he whined, gripping my hips tighter in silent question. He was teetering on the edge of control and I nodded my head in approval, excitement already overtaking me as my body tensed in preparation for the pounding I knew I was in for. And as he bent his knees to firmly plant his feet on the floor for leverage, he moved one hand from my hip to roughly grip the back of my neck and pushed his pelvis upward until the head of his cock pressed heavy, direct and consistent pressure on my g-spot.

“I love you.”

The words were so sudden and unexpected that my body immediately responded, tensing further as my cunt violently clamped around Rick’s cock and I came -- hard -- sinking my teeth in his shoulder to silence the scream that threatened to rip from my throat. Each contraction seemed to be stronger than the last as it pulsed and pulsed through me, the endorphins flooding my bloodstream at an alarming rate. And, as my climax began to ebb, Rick lowered his hips only slightly before forcefully slamming them upward again and again and again. Limp as a rag doll, I allowed him to fuck into me as another orgasm began to build deep inside. No longer possessing the mental capacity to sexily moan and croon for him, I only dropped my head to his shoulder as he whispered the praise he knew I cherished so well.

“Oh, fuck, my perfect girl. You -- you know I love you, huh? Y-y-you can feel it, yeah? Feel how much I fuckin’ love you? -- oh shit!”

I came again -- quietly sobbing and drooling against his neck and I clung to him; sweaty and trembling.

“Thaaat’s it, my sweet girl. You -- you’re pussy’s so goddamn perfect, baby. Fuck, I’m gonna cum” he growled directly into my ear, probably a little too loud at this point but I was far too gone to care. He fucked up into me -- hard and deep -- once, twice, a third time; clenching his teeth, a forceful inhale whistling past them as he filled me up. Hot and thick and perfect.

“Holy god, fuckin’ christ” he gasped as his muscles relaxed and the death grip on my neck and hip loosened. I only hummed in response letting my full weight settle on his chest for only a moment before I rolled and plopped down beside him.

“Leave it to Jerry to pick a campground that doesn’t have showers” I quietly joked and snickered as the product of our coupling leaked to the floor of the tent.

“I -- uh -- I’ll portal us to the house in a couple of hours” he rasped. My eyes had somewhat adjusted to the darkness once more and I could faintly make out the motion of his sweeping hand through his hair as my mind burned the evenings activities into my memory bank. “But, remind me to tell Jerry he was actually wrong. Yet again.”

“About what?” I asked suspiciously, furrowing my brow as I hoped he wouldn’t say something completely idiotic to ruin the moment. But in the safety of the darkness, he said something that nearly knocked the wind from me --

“My higher power is you.”

The End.

#rick and morty #rick sanchez x reader #rick sanchez #fanfiction #sister smith series #higher power #fanfiction request

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writehardwhumpharder · 5 years

Text

Deadly Class Fic. because we need more Marcus whump

King’s Dominion - prison, school, slaughterhouse, and now home. Marcus just knew that it wasn’t the street and that’s all that mattered. The fact that he’s any safer here than on the street was highly debatable, but at the school he had regular meals and a clean, warm place to sleep every night. But old habits die hard, and he found himself stuck in survival mode. Sleeping with one eye open and a knife under your pillow was a very good idea in a place like this, but taking half-eaten lunches out of the trash and hoarding whatever he could get his hands on earned Marcus some strange looks. However, there was one major downside to his new living arrangement, the strict no drugs or alcohol on campus policy. Here he was, laughing with his new friends, eating fresh food, wearing clean clothes, it was everything he could have wanted. But still, as the days stretched into weeks, the itch under his skin, the need to get high, never went away.

The students weren’t locked in the school at all times, technically he should be able to go out and score any time he wasn’t in class, but the walls had eyes. Eyes that followed him out onto the street at night, eyes that kept him in line. But that was about to end. When Marcus and Saya received their assignment in AP Black Arts to successfully stalk someone — not kill, thank god — naturally he chose the best drug dealer he knew.

“What are we really doing here, Marcus?” Saya whispered from where they were crouched behind a building. “I thought you said this guy was some kind of rapist, but for the last three hours we’ve been trailing him, all we’ve seen is a couple drug deals.” She saw right through him. Marcus didn’t even know why he bothered to lie to her.

“He is.” Marcus continued with his story. “He just uses the drugs to lure the girls, or boys, into dark alleys where he can make his move on them.”

“You, can tell me, Marcus. Did this man touch you inappropriately?” Saya teased with fake sincerity.

“Oh shut up.” He snapped. In all fairness a few have tried, but Marcus learned to take care of himself a long time ago. They continued following him to an apartment complex on the edge of town.

“I think that’s where he lives.” Marcus said, pointing to a decrepit building. Sure enough the man hobbled up the steps and went inside. Saya took the lead, edging towards the door with silent footsteps. Marcus wasn’t nearly as graceful but with the crying babies and loud shouting coming from above, he doubted it would really matter. They stepped into the stairwell which reeked of piss and cigarette smoke, the front door was not only unlocked, but it didn’t even close all the way. Their assignment was to follow someone without being seen and to get some token of proof which the pair planned to take from his place. It was ambitious, but Marcus had his own reasons for wanting to get into that apartment. They slowly walked up the stairs to the door they saw him enter. The sound of a T.V. carried out into the hallway, nearly masking the light snoring but Saya caught it and took it as her cue to enter. The drug dealer was fast asleep in front of the T.V., he most likely drank himself into oblivion. How he did it in the few minutes after he got home, Marcus didn’t know. But it sure made stealing from him a lot easier.

“Look for something small to take and be quick.” Saya said before they split up. Saya silently rummaged through the junk on his table while Marcus headed for the bedroom. He knew just where to look — under the mattress, under the nightstand, the bottom drawer of the nightstand, the closet, and if all else fails, the medicine cabinet. He found the small tin almost immediately and slid it into his jacket pocket without checking the contents. On the dresser was a thin “gold” chain, if you can even call it that. The initials RT hung from the middle. The man would definitely notice it was gone but he’d probably think he just misplaced it so Marcus held onto it and tiptoed to where Saya was still looking. He held it up for her see then made for the door. Neither wanted to spend a second longer in that shithole than they had to. Once they were safely on the street, walking back to the school, Marcus handed her the necklace.

“It’ll definitely get us an A, right?” He said smugly. “It’s not exactly proof of how much of a dick he is but that’s a stalking job well done, my friend.” Saya still seemed skeptical of the whole thing but if she noticed what he took, she didn’t say anything. Marcus knew that all she really wanted to was to ace the assignment so when they got back to their dorms they went their separate ways.

Marcus’s closet of a bedroom was only temporary but he relished every second of having his own room. Once he got properly assigned any chance at privacy was long gone. He locked the door and emptied his pockets. Opening the container was a nice little surprise, after all, he’d take anything he could get. Weed, crack, acid, heroin… heroin. Not his first choice but it would do, and he had everything he needed right in front of him. Marcus wasted no time heating up the poison and tying his arm off. Luckily there was a clean needle in the container so he didn’t hesitate to inject the heroin into his bloodstream. The effects were almost immediate. He wanted to just give in and let the drugs take him away but he forced himself to put everything back in the container and hide it before he drifted off. After weeks of being clean, this was pure bliss. The numbness spread through his body like a warm, heavy blanket. Marcus closed his eyes, dead to the world.

He woke up a few hours later, still night. But something felt… strange. He flicked the light on, only to be assaulted by a blinding pain behind his eyes. Bad idea. He turned it back off. He’d been careful about how much he took, but now that Marcus thought about it, he had no idea what the stuff was cut with. If the heroin was as dirty as the dealer he was in big trouble. Marcus’s mind still swirled with the effects of the drug, and if not for the insistent itch in the crease of his arm, he probably would have let the darkness take him again. Pulling a hoodie on to cover his arms, Marcus slipped out of his room into the dark hallway. His limbs were fuzzy and difficult to move but he powered through. It wasn’t until he was halfway down the hallway that he realized he didn’t know where he was going. He needed help, but who the hell could he trust to help him? Marcus couldn’t think, didn’t want to, but the high from the heroin was fleeting and left in its wake the feeling of poison shifting through his veins. The dim hallways were a mercy to his aching head, although they did nothing to quill the growing sense of nausea. The kind of nausea where you don’t know up from down and everything spins too quickly to keep up with. His vision swam in front of him but he managed to keep himself upright as he made his slow trek to Willie’s room. It was the last place Marcus wanted to go right now but Willie owed him, making him Marcus’s only real option.

How he didn’t get caught before he got to Willie’s room was an absolute mystery but man he couldn’t have been happier to see his scowling face towering over him. It was clear he wanted to have nothing to do this. Marcus leaned heavily on the door frame, trying in vain to appear normal and not like a drugged out homeless kid cowering at his doorstep.

“The hell do you want, Marcus?” Willie growled. “Get lost.” It was the reaction Marcus expected.

“Remember… remember that one time, when I sav-“ Marcus started, playing the only card he had left. Willie had heard enough to know that this problem wasn’t going away that easily so he pulled Marcus into the room shutting the door quickly. Apparently Marcus wasn’t prepared for the sudden movement because once the doorframe was out from under him he found the floor rapidly approaching his face. Willie sighed, out of both annoyance and discomfort. He was out of his element.

“God damn it, Marcus. You wanna tell me why you’re stumbling into my room at 2am, coated in sweat and looking like actual death?” Willie demanded.

“That bad huh?” Marcus mumbled from his place on the floor. “I think I used some bad shit.”

“Bad what? What are you talking about?” Willie was getting more and more nervous by the second.

“Heroin, some bad heroin.” Marcus said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world while tugging at his left sleeve to inspect the inflamed puncture site. The sight of it almost made him gag. Willie didn’t say anything for a few minutes. In fact, Marcus was already starting to fall asleep when he felt strong hands lifting him onto something soft, a bed, he figured.

“Okay first we’re gonna clean that, and maybe get some water too.” Willie said, wetting a tissue with some vodka he pulled seemingly out of nowhere. “Look man, I don’t know how to deal with this shit. So you’re gonna hang here and try not to go into the light while I go get Saya and Maria.” Fire raced up Marcus’s arm as soon as the alcohol touched his skin. He hissed, suddenly much more alert.

“Wait, don’t… Saya ‘ll just… and Maria. Wh- Why?” The words jumbled in his mouth. Willie gave him a strange look and opened his mouth to say something but next thing Marcus knew he was gone. Naturally he tried to get up to go look for him. Only succeeding in turning over face down on the bed. The movement was just enough to send his nausea over the edge and vomit trickled down the wood frame of the bed, most of it ending up on the floor. He’s gonna kill me for this, Marcus thought as he drifted away again.

“Oh my god?! What the hell happened to him?” Maria whisper-shouted upon entering the room.

“I think I know.” Saya said. Her eyes trailed over Marcus’s limp form on Willie’s bed. He was deathly pale and visibly coated in a thin layer of sweat. What was most concerning was that he’d either fallen asleep or passed out with his hand left in his own vomit. “I knew I should have kept an eye on him when we were at that drug dealer’s apartment.”

“I’m sorry, when you were where?” Maria questioned as she strode over to the bed. She took a nearby water bottle and emptied it over Marcus’s head, gaining little reaction besides a slight stir. “This is bad.” Saya reluctantly placed a hand on the boy’s forehead, eyes widening in shock as she felt the heat radiating from him.

“Okay, new plan. Willie and I will take him to the showers, you can go sneak into the poisons classroom and get that stuff Mr. Denke keeps for emergencies.” She said to Maria.

“We didn’t have a first plan.” Maria pointed out as she quietly snuck out into the hallway. Now all Saya had to do was figure out how they were going to drag Marcus halfway across the school without being seen.

“I got it, just open the door.” Willie said, throwing the limp boy over his shoulder with ease. Saya went ahead of them, making sure the coast was clear every time they turned a corner. When they got to the showers Maria was already there waiting for them. They stripped his hoodie and socks off before leaning him against the tiled wall.

The cold water yanked Marcus back to reality in maybe the most unpleasant way possible. His first thought was that he was drowning, but his surroundings slowly came into focus. Shaking from the cold, Marcus fought to get out from under the stream of ice cold water but someone held him there. A second person started shoving some foul tasting sand into his mouth. Marcus swallowed some against his will before spitting the rest out as soon as the person, — no, Maria — let go of him. He still felt awful but whatever she had given him seemed to be working.

“What’s going on?” He said through chattering teeth. It wasn’t until he looked down at his exposed arms that he remembered what happened. Saya, mercifully, turned the water off.

“Welcome back to the land of the living, you stupid capullo.” Maria said, crossing her arms in annoyance. Saya and Willie had similar looks. Marcus stared down at the last of the water swirling down the drain, letting the shame and embarrassment sink in. He wouldn’t meet their eyes and instead brought his knees up to his chest, curling in on himself.

“Feel free to come clean up my room when you’re done sulking.” Willie said as he turned to leave, Maria right behind him. When Marcus looked up again it was just him and Saya left in the shower room.

“What are you still doing here?” He asked. Saya looked like she genuinely didn’t know. Part of her cared, the other part just felt obligated since she was the one that convinced him to join King’s Dominion. “I guess you were right.” Marcus said after a few long seconds.

“About what?”

“I’m not alone.” He said, his voice barely a whisper. Saya was caught off guard when he reminded her of their intimate moment on the tower.

“I’m always right.” She said, unable to agree or disagree, because either would require some expression of emotion. While tossing a dry towel at him something that looked dangerously close to a smile spread across her face. “Come on.” Marcus dried his soaking wet clothes as best he could and followed her out.

#deadlyclass #marcus lopez #saya kuroki #drug abuse #passed out #mostly physical but some emotional whump #whump #fanfic #i did this instead of homework

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distant-rose · 6 years

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Seal of Fate Ch. 1 (2/8)

Notes: I actually love this chapter a lot for all of the wrong reasons, mainly because I’m kinda turning this entire selkie thing on its head. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do. Please note there is a lot of discussion on the icky side of the male selkie myths which I find problematic and have decided to voice here. So, yeah, there’s talk of dubious consent and sexual harassment but nothing overtly triggering in my opinion. A special thank you to @aerica13 who is my amazing beta and a godsend because I’m shit at editing my own work. Also a thank you to @shireness-says and @katie-dub for being my cheerleaders. I really appreciate you guys. Also a special thanks to @cssns and @drowned-dreamer for making my CS Supernatural Summer pretty epic. Kerry did an amazing job making me art for this story. Check it out below! It’s absolutely gorgeous and unfortunately the kiss in this chapter isn’t as romantic but we’ll get there. Summary: Emma Swan is looking for only one thing - answers. Abandoned outside a police station in Menemsha, Martha’s Vineyard, Emma has dedicated her life to finding out where she comes from and why she was given away. She finds an unlikely partner in Killian, a selkie she inadvertently summons in a fit of frustration over her cold case. Word Count: 4,600+ Chapters: Prologue | One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Epilogue Rating: T+

Emma hated the Vineyard. Though she wasn’t a people person, she preferred the anonymity that came with living in the city and the phenomena of being alone without actually being alone. It was easy to lose yourself in the hustle of the city, to turn your brain off and just walk aimlessly until you found something to distract you from the world for a while. There was no word to describe Menemsha except empty and she could feel that emptiness echoing inside her. While she had found some sort of companionship in Ruby whenever she went to the diner, it never went beyond casual conversation. Emma wasn’t necessarily looking for friendship - she was a loner by nature - but she found she couldn’t lose herself in Menemsha the same way she lost herself in Tallahassee, Boston and Portland. The silence of the village amplified the violence of her thoughts and her mind had become a torturous reel of her darkest moments. She couldn’t sleep with the echoes of the loud piercing shriek of a baby she would never hold, the compassionless voices of police officers reading her Miranda rights and the false platitudes of the countless foster parents who gave her away ringing in her ears. Normally when her demons came to bite her in the ass, Emma would throw herself into work but she found no solace in researching on her own case.

Emma knew when she decided to finally look into her own case that it was going to be a difficult and thankless job. She knew that it was possible that her attempts to unearth the truth of her past might end in disappointment and failure. It was a fact that hung over her head like guillotine. She had been born into an era before computers and in an age where social services was less than careful in their documentation. It was possible that what she was looking for didn’t exist or, even worse, had been destroyed.

Menemsha was a small village and technically a part of the town of Chilmark. Though it had a police station, it did not have a town hall, a library or even a post office. Rather, Memensha had more restaurants that it needed, a fish market, one bed and breakfast, a general store and an art gallery that belonged to the Mills family. The more essential amenities were located in Chilmark which was a twenty-five minute trip by car. Normally such a distance wasn’t such a bother to her but when gas was five dollars per gallon, Emma couldn’t help but be a little resentful of it. Though, the librarian at the Chilmark Free Public Library had been helpful and had campaigned on her behalf to give her access to the archives in the Town Office.

Emma had nearly cried when she saw the state of the archives. She didn’t have high expectations to begin with but it was literally a hundred boxes of old documents that had been shoved carelessly into a musty basement to be forgotten about. On top of the distant lack of organisation, there was obvious water and mold damages to some of the boxes which made her nervous at the state of which actual documents inside were in.

It took her more time than she would have liked to go through all the boxes and pick out all the files marked 1983 but once she was able, she was left with four boxes out of the bunch. She didn’t bother asking for permission when she loaded them up into her car. It wasn’t worth the headache and Emma strongly suspected that they wouldn’t be missed considering the state of the archive.

Nearly a week into her time in Martha’s Vineyard, Emma found what she was looking for.

Or so she thought.

Her heart nearly stopped when she found the thin file that had been marked with the her case number. It was covered in watermarks and already she could feel her optimism fade away as she noted how thin it was. There couldn’t have been more than a few documents in it.

The sight of her Chapter 46 Section 1A certificate was nothing new. The documentation that marked her as an abandoned child had long since been in her possession and she was still fighting with the Massachusetts Department of Children and Families for them to release documents made by her social worker in regard to the circumstances around her initial adoption. Despite the fact they were nearly thirty years old, the Department had a tight hold on them and wasn’t at all sympathetic to her cause.

Aside from her foundling certificate, there was only the police report. It wasn’t a long one but it was written in messy shorthand that seemed to convey the officer’s disinterest just as clearly as his words. Under the description section, they had written: “Just another unwanted souvenir most likely left behind by one of the fishing boats coming in from down south. No point in interviewing them, they’ll just deny it anyway.”

She read the lines over and over until her eyes blurred over, breath shortening and skin feeling too tight over her bones. Suddenly, Ruby’s house which had felt too big before now felt suffocating. Every cell in her body was screaming at her to run.

Without bothering to put on her shoes or her coat, she sprinted out of the house and ran out onto the beach. She stumbled when her feet hit the sand, entirely unfamiliar with the sensation and lack of give. She collapsed along the shore line, pressing a hand to her throat and vomiting into surf.

When she was finished, she stared out at the ocean, trying to calm herself. It was nearly dusk and there was no one around to witness her hysteria, something which Emma was incredibly thankful for. She didn’t need her nosy neighbors to witness her existential crisis.

As her panic attack subdued, Emma closed her eyes and reviewed once more in her mind the callous words on the police report.

An unwanted souvenir.

The term brought tears to her eyes once more. She had to bite her lip to keep back the scream that was burning her throat. She couldn’t remember the name of the man who had written the report, only his words, but she had never felt such an intense hatred for another human being before, not even when Neal had set her up and sent her to prison.

How dare he! How dare he not think she was worth investigating! She wasn’t a souvenir! She was a person! A person who deserved a real investigation and deserved to know the truth! This man, this nameless officer who had become the focal point of Emma’s anger, had robbed her of the truth, of the justice that an abandoned little girl deserved.

More angry tears slipped down her cheek. Emma didn’t bother to wipe them away as she stared out at the setting sun, more heartbroken and more alone than she had never felt in her entire life.

“Hello love.”

Emma jumped, she hadn’t realised she wasn’t alone. However when she saw her uninvited visitor, she let out a loud yelp. A pale man was emerging from the surf, naked as the day he was he was born, and coming towards her with purpose. She stumbled backward into the sand, wincing as her ass landed on a decidedly sharp shell. She grabbed an abandoned beer bottle and tossed it at him. She missed by a mile.

“You’re naked! Why the hell are you naked? Does Menemsha not follow any public decency laws or something!” Her eyes bulged as another thought occurred. “Oh god! Is this a nude beach? Is my house in front of a nude beach? What the fuck!”

The man stared at her in a mixture of startlement and confusion. He tilted his head to the side, regarding her the same way a dog did when it realised its master had tricked it out of a treat.

“In all of my years, I’ve never gotten that reaction before!”

“Dude! For real! You’re naked! Put some goddamn clothes on!”

The man ignored her. Instead, he advanced forward. She took a few steps back but his stride was longer than hers. He touched her arm gently with one hand and framed her cheek with the other, thumb wiping away a stray tear.

“Your sadness called to me. I couldn’t ignore it.”

“What the fuck are you doing?” Emma asked in a harsh whisper, trying to pull away.

“I can make it go away…if only for a little while…” he murmured before leaning down and shocking the hell out of Emma by capturing her lips in a fierce kiss.

She let out a shriek of surprise before pushing him away with all of her strength. As soon as she broke free, she struck him against the face with a closed fist and then raised her knee to strike him in the groin. He let out a groan of pain before crumbling to the sand and swearing violently at her.

“Bloody fucking hell! What was that for? You nearly destroyed my nadgers there, love!”

“Because you’re a fucking pervert!” She hissed hotly at him.

“Not a pervert! I’m a selkie!”

“What the fuck is a selkie!?”

“Do you not know your legends, woman? Have you never heard of the seal folk?”

“Am I being punk’d?” Emma looked around, trying to find any hidden camera men but there was no one around. She looked down at the man still keeled over in pain with narrowed eyes. “What the fuck is going on!?”

“You dropped seven tears in the ocean…”

“And what does that have to do with the price of tea in China?” She asked, placing her hands on her hips.

The man let out a pain chuckled, still holding his tender parts as he looked up her with a look that was caught between amused and disbelieving. “You honestly know nothing, do you?”

“I know how to work a taser and frankly, I think that’s all I need to know at the moment.”

“I don’t know what that is but it sounds menacing.”

“You bet your ass it is. Start talking. Now.”

The man licked his lips for a moment, eying her warily. “You really are a fearsome lass.”

“And you’re stalling.”

“You dropped tears into the ocean, love, and not just any tears. Tears of genuine distress and loneliness. Selkies are attracted to loneliness. It’s a siren’s call to us. We thrive on turning loneliness into pleasure.”

“Right,” she replied with a snort. “Pull the other one.”

“It’s the truth,” he replied seriously, looking her straight in the eye.

Emma studied him closely. Though he was complete pervert with zero sense of personal space, he didn’t seem to be lying. If he had, her superpower would have picked up on it.

“You know I’m not lying,” he whispered.

“I know one thing and that’s that you believe all of this. That doesn’t mean it’s true. What it means is that you’re certifiable and there’s probably a mental institution nearby.”

“I’m not from a mental institution,” he frowned.

“Maybe not,” she said before she finally noticed the wet pile of black fur next to him. Her eyes widened as she realised it looked exactly like one of the seat pelts hanging on Mr. Gold’s property. “Maybe the local jail? Considering you’re a thief and all.”

She reached out to pick up the pelt but the man let out an inhuman snarl and snatched her hand than she could blink. When she looked up at his face, his eyes looked more black than blue.

“I would prefer if you didn’t touch that,” he said in an eerily calm voice. “I find myself in less than ideal circumstances when a woman touches my pelt.”

“You’re not human,” she whispered, fear rising up her throat.

“No,” he agreed as he released her hand. “I’m not.”

That’s when Emma’s self-preservation kicked in. As soon as she registered his words, she ran back to the safety of the beach house. She proceeded to lock the door and all of the windows, parking herself on the ancient loveseat located in front entrance. She toyed with her cell phone, passing between her hands as she kept her eyes trained on the door.

If she were anywhere else in the world, she would have called the police. However, Menemsha only had three cops whom Emma had met and found incredibly lacking. She had more faith in a mall rent-a-cop than she did in the men who were supposedly Menemsha’s main law enforcement. She could always call the Chilmark police but she had a sneaking suspicion that they were just as helpful.

On top of that, what was she going to say? She highly doubt that they would believe the naked man on the beach wasn’t human. They would probably just brush it off as the ramblings of a woman who had blown the issue of a nude bather out of proportion.

Instead, Emma went to sleep with her bedroom door locked and her gun underneath her pillow.

When she awoke the next morning, she found neither the windows or locks on the doors had been disturbed. Satisfied, she made her morning hot chocolate and nibbled at a strawberry poptart before deciding to finally retrieve the Vineyard Gazette , which had arrived faithfully at her door everyday despite never applying for a subscription.

She almost screamed when she saw the man from yesterday sitting casually on her front porch, stilled naked save for the pelt that was draped over his lap, and reading her newspaper.

“Staying attuned to happy accidents is a part of art, don’t you agree?” He said, not looking up from the newspaper. “Or at least that’s what the local potter is saying about the newest design on her trade. She calls it ‘the Wave,’ because it’s a deep blue glaze with a white line through. How original. Though, as someone who is more intimately acquainted with the ocean, I can tell you right now that water isn’t truly blue.”

She stared at him in disbelief. “What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you.”

“Why?”

“Because I answered your call.”

“I didn’t call you,” she replied in annoyance, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

“Ah, but you did when -”

“My tears went into the ocean. So you said,” she cut him off. “I didn’t mean to call you. I didn’t want anyone in that moment, let alone a naked weirdo.”

“I’ve gathered that,” he muttered, finally looking up from the paper. “I feel I must apologise for yesterday. Normally, I’m better at sorting out which type of company women want. I should have known you’re a lady-loving lass.”

“Wait. What?” Emma stared at him in confusion.

“Yesterday. You were not receptive when I kissed you. I’ve never seen that happen before but there’s a first time for everything.”

“Me not wanting you to kiss me has nothing to do with my sexuality!” She hissed, clenching her fists. “That was me not wanting to be sexually harassed!”

“Sorry,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Normally the women I come across are quite happy to be kissed by me.”

“You must come across some strange women then because most I know don’t like being randomly kissed by a stranger no matter how attractive they are!”

He perked up at this and a sly grin crossed his face. “You think I’m attractive?”

“You entirely missed the point of what I was saying and I’m seriously not afraid to tase you.”

“You keep using that phrase...tase...what exactly does it entail?”

“It entails me shocking you with 50,000 volts of electricity, mate ,” she replied, mocking his accent on the last word.

“That doesn’t sound particularly pleasant.”

“That’s because it isn’t.”

“I going to reaffirm my previous statement and say you’re quite a fearsome lass.”

“And don’t you forget it,” she responded, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Look, I need you to leave, dude, because as wonderful as this conversation is, I would really rather my neighbors not see you and ask uncomfortable questions.”

He raised his eyebrows at her, newspaper crumpling under his tight grip. “Oh, lass, you really think if I was able to go back to the ocean, I would be on your porch right now? If I was capable of that, I would have left last night after you ran away.”

“What?”

“I cannot return to the ocean until you feel some form of happiness,” he said seriously.

“You gotta be kidding me! No way!”

“I’m afraid I’m quite serious. That’s how it’s done. That’s how it’s always been.”

“That’s some Grade-A bullshit!” She protested.

“It’s never been a problem in the past,” he said with a huff.

“Well, it is now. Look, how about this? You leaving? It would bring me tremendous happiness.”

“It doesn’t work like that,” he replied, looking mildly offended.

Emma sighed and rubbed at her temples before looking at her watch. It was nearly seven in the morning and the few people who actually lived in the neighbourhood would be up and about soon. She really needed to get him out of sight.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this…” she said with a shake of her head before opening her door. “But get your ass in here.”

“How hospitable of you,” he remarked sarcastically before tidying up. He grabbed his pelt and slung it against his hips the same way any man would with bath towel, except the pelt was much larger and pooled around his feet.

“Just get inside.”

He obeyed her, following her into the house. She didn’t miss how his curious eyes seemed to drink in the style and makeup of the interior. When he met her gaze, he raised both eyebrows at her in question.

“This is….quite cheery, love.”

“It’s not mine,” she replied shortly. “Listen, have a sit in the kitchen and don’t touch anything. I’m going to into the basement and see if I can find you anything to wear.”

It was a long shot but Emma was hoping that there was at least something he could wear. She didn’t know how much longer she could handle talking to him while he was just in his birthday suit. It was making her uncomfortable and his complete nonchalant attitude towards it wasn’t helping.

She couldn’t help but feel like she was retreating again as she descended down into the half-finished basement of the beach house. The cement floor was uncomfortable underneath her feet but she braved through to peruse through the plastic bins next to the washing machine. It was a little invasive to be going through Ruby’s things like this but Emma reasoned that if she left them behind then she wouldn’t mind too much.

There wasn’t much in the top bins except blankets and table clothes but the bottom one held some promise in the form of old sweats. Much of it looked too small to fit her uninvited guest but she found a tent-sized cat sweater and a large pair of hot pink sweatpants. They looked as if they belonged to a robust-sized grandmother and smelled like mothballs but Emma figured beggars couldn’t be choosers.

When she returned to the kitchen with the clothes, she found the man hunched over her kitchen table and looking over the files she had left there from last night’s research. Her face coloured in annoyance.

“I said not to touch anything.”

“I’m not touching, I’m reading,” he replied airily.

“Same concept. It’s rude to read someone else’s stuff.”

“Sorry, love. Though, if it’s all the same to you, you shouldn’t be leaving things like this out for anyone to read.”

“I wasn’t expecting company,” she snapped, shoving the clothes in his lap. “Look, put these on, okay?”

He raised them up, inspecting them with a look of disgust. She couldn’t help but feel so much satisfaction at his obvious irritation.

“These are ghastly,” he stated, wrinkling his nose.

“They’re temporary. Quit whining and put them on.”

He made a frustrated noise before standing up and unceremoniously dropping the pelt around his waist right in front of her. Emma’s jaw dropped.

“Dude! Seriously!”

He gave her an amused look, lips tugging up into a smirk that made her want to smack him. “I’ve always found it amusing how human beings get so hung up over nudity. Nakedness is natural, clothes are not.”

“Spoken like a true nudist.”

He didn’t reply, merely pulled the cat sweater over his head and down over his torso. Emma knew that it had been large but it practically dwarfed him with the sleeves limply hanging over his hands and the stretched out collar went nearly half way down his torso. She held back a snicker.

“Can I ask you something?” He asked after he had pulled on the sweatpants.

“I’m pretty sure you’re going to anyway.”

“Who was he?”

Her eyebrows furrowed at the question. “Who?”

“The man who broke your heart and abandoned you…”

In her mind’s eye, there was a flash of crinkling brown eyes, dark hair and the sound of rich deep laughter. She turned away from the stranger at her kitchen table under the guise of turning on the kettle.

“Who said it was a man…”

“So, it was a woman then.”

Emma opened the cabinet, pulling out two mugs and placing them down on the counter a little harder than necessary. She emptied Swiss Miss packets into them instead of giving a response to his comment. After filling the mugs with water and half-heartedly mixing them, she returned to the kitchen table and shoved a mug in his direction. He caught her wrist, the sudden stop causing the hot chocolate to slosh over the rim and splash across his front. He didn’t pay it much mind, but rather kept his unnervingly intense focus on her face.

“You’re an orphan.”

“Was I?”

“Not was. Are. You’re something of an open book. You’ve got a look in your eye. The look you get when you’ve been left alone for too long.” He released her hand and tapped his fingers against the police report. “And this. This is you, isn’t it?”

“I’m a private investigator,” she responded.

“It doesn’t make this any less about you,” he said softly, still studying her face with such severity that she had to drop her gaze.

“What are you doing?”

“Waiting for something normal to happen.”

“What’s normal about this?”

“Normal would be you kissing me, love.”

“You’re going to be waiting for a long time then.” She snorted, placing his hot chocolate in front of him and putting some distance between them by sitting in the adjacent seat. She clenched her mug with both hands like it was a lifeline.

“Human women, especially women attracted to men, normally aren’t so resistant to selkie charm. You’re unique.”

“Or maybe you’re not as charming as you think are,” Emma shot back.

“I don’t think you quite understand…” he said with shake of his head, drumming his fingers against the table in agitation. “We aren’t like your human blokes. We, as a species, have a...it’s sort of a hypnotic charm, if you will...to make women more receptive to us...it sort of a preservation technique…”

“Sounds more date rape-y to me,” she replied, narrowing her eyes at him.

He jolted at the accusation. “We never take what isn’t freely given.”

“You say that but you’re basically “dazzling” them into sleeping with you. How is that not sketchy?”

He ran his fingers through his hair, looking distraught by the very thought. Emma watched him warily, wondering if leaving her gun upstairs was a bad idea. He let out a huff, pushing his mug away.

“I..I see your point...but rest assured that was never my intention...you’re immune to the “dazzling” as you say, so you need not worry about that and you need not worry about me placing an unwanted hand on you.”

“Oh, I’m not worry,” she responded with a snort. “If you did, I would tase your ass so fast that I would be serving fried seal at my next barbecue.”

“You’re quite fond of that threat.”

“It’s very entertaining to see a scumbag get shocked with 50,000 volts.”

“I will take your word for it.”

Silence fell between them and they sat, drinking hot chocolate and studying each other. Since the moment she met him, Emma had avoided looking at him. However, now that she had the chance to, she could slightly see why the women he spoke of weren’t so quick to kick him out of bed. Even while wearing stained grandma sweater and hot pink pants, he was attractive; messy dark hair falling over startling blue eyes, feminine lashes and a strong but sharp jawline. He looked lost though, a fish out of water in this situation just like her.

“What would make you happy, love?”

“Emma.”

“Pardon?”

“My name is not love, it’s Emma,” she said, looking back down at her mug. “I would prefer you to call me by name rather than love or sweetheart or any annoying pet name you could come up with.”

“Alright, Emma,” he affirmed with a nod. “I’m Killian.”

“Killian,” she repeated, testing it out. “It’s...unique.”

“It’s a name,” he shrugged. “But, really, Emma, what would make you happy? Because it’s obviously not sex. You’ve made that quite clear.”

She snorted at his bluntness. “I know you’re a seal but I’ve gotta tell you, sex rarely ends in happiness as far as I’m concerned. It leads to disaster.”

“I’m sorry you think so.”

“I don’t think so. I know so. It can be great, don’t get me wrong, but once that high is gone, you’re back to square one. It doesn’t solve anything. If anything, you find out he’s married and his wife’s on her way back early and it’s just messy.”

“We’re getting off topic,” he said, looking uncomfortable and fidgeting slightly. “What would make Emma happy?”

She pulled the police report out from underneath his elbow, staring at the callous words scribbled messily across the page.

“The truth,” she said, meeting his eyes. “The truth would make me happy.”

“What truth do you seek?”

“I want to know who they are and why they left me. I want to look them in the eye and make them remember me, to remind them that I was a person, not something that could just be left behind.”

“Okay. How do we do that?”

“We?” she looked at him in surprise. “When did this become a we?”

“When you called me, Emma. Haven’t you been paying attention? I can’t go back until you’re happy and if that means finding your parents then it means finding your parents.”

“And how the hell is a fricking seal going to help me?”

He smiled at her and it was a smile that was so blinding that she wondered for a moment if he had succeeded in finally dazzling her.

“Oh, love, I think you’ll find that I have an honest knack for reading and research.”

#captain swan #cs ff #cs fic #cs fanfiction #cs fanfic #captain swan ff #cssns #my shit #my fic #seal of fate

119 notes · View notes

simplekpopstan · 5 years

Text

Love

**There are a lot of warnings for this fic, please read at your own discretion. Some of these themes are hard to stomach. I do not condone this type of relationship. If you are experiencing something similar to this please, PLEASE talk to someone and get help. In no way do I actually believe any of the boys would ever treat their significant other like this.**

Pairing: Kim Namjoon x Reader

**Warning(s)**: Emotionally abusive relationship, sort of physically abusive relationship, graphic drug use, forced drug use, implied cheating, skewed view of love, manipulation, dubious consent, sadism, mentions of sex, alcohol/drunk mentions, suicidal thoughts, angst

Summary: He controlled your life, the beating of your heart, the consistency of your breathing. Your life was in his hands and he played with it like a puppet master.

Genre: Angst to the absolute max, there is no semblance of fluff or etc. in this. (unless you got a fucked up view of love too)

Prompt: “You’re my toy.”

Song Inspiration: The Moment I Said It - Imogen Heap

Word Count: 1,427

Infatuation, love, the feeling of butterflies in your stomach all synonymous with the idea of unconditional care and compassion. A faithful emotion that all of mankind is looking for in some shape or form.

You thought you found all of those things, someone who made your blood sing with just a glimpse. He was the center of your world, taking up every centimeter of your being and each second of your day. Nothing could compare to the way he made you feel regardless of his disinterest for your beating heart. He effortlessly took over your mind and home. He was everywhere, yet nowhere at the same time. His time devoted to you was fleeting, he knew you were hooked by the moment he crossed the threshold of your apartment. You were caught in his headlights with no place to hide, you were done for.

His mood change happened during fall, you could feel the shift in him as the leaves shifted from green to shades of yellow and orange. Life had been good, amazing until this point, the two of you went out on dinner dates every Friday - happy just being in each other's company.

Everything was darker once winter's chill appeared, the shade of his hair, the color of his liquor, the bruises littering your skin. He stood perfectly straight, looking down upon your crippled form. Beyond proud of his newest painting on internal bleeding, a new masterpiece lying before him.

This was his love.

Pushing yourself up from bed to inspect the new lacerations across your back from his nightly game of pain, wincing as a harsh slap resounded through the bathroom. You must have woken him up too early. "I'm sorry sir, it won't happen again." Quickly left your mouth to avoid another session of torture.

His hands pressed softly against your back, the devil's eyes scanning the expanse of your body in the mirror. "This is what love looks like, you should be proud to bare these marks. It proves that someone cares about you in this world." Nails dug into your flesh as searing pain registered, he would never get tired of your cries. Nothing was more amusing than the sobs that wracked your body when he finished his painting. It was beautiful.

"How about you make me breakfast? Then I'll teach you more." Your neck moved on it's own accord, obediently nodding affirmation. He placed gentle peck to your temple, smirking at the control he had over you, a demon controlled your life, sucking away anything that made you an individual.

This was his love.

"Where do you keep getting these bruises from?" Your mother spoke up as she looked over your exposed arms. She glanced from you to Namjoon, meeting her gaze proved to be the challenge of a century. Fortunately, your caring boyfriend always at the ready with a new excuse to explain away his artistic creations. "Actually she just went to the doctor for a check-up, turns out she's extremely anemic, but she's on iron pills now. Nothing to worry about."

He brushed your mother off like a joke, watching as she relaxed into the couch - happy to know her daughter was far from danger. "Thank you, Joon. Taking such good care of my baby." She placed a hand on your shoulder, none the wiser to the way you moved from her touch. This monster had another one wrapped around his fingers with just a few honey glazed words, god his game had no flaws, everyone played swimmingly into his trap. He was untouchable.

Namjoon found the idea of spending a dinner your parents rather bland and unsatisfying, his mind was crying for him to do anything to get you to squirm at the dining table. While still holding conversation with your parents he crept his hand under the table, easily finding his fleshy target. Your skirt hiked up as his nails found purchase in your skin, leaving crescent shaped indents in its wake.

Your parents smiled and laughed as the devil played with their daughter under the table, enjoying the stupidity of those around him. This was all his fantasies coming true, no one knew better than to follow his charming features and lilted voice into the depths of hell.

Shaking from the fear of what your parents might notice, you attempted to pull away from his calloused touch. The reaction wasn't what he wanted, he abruptly pulled back at your disobedience - a scowl contorting his face into an unreadable mask. "I'm afraid we'll have to cut this short, (Y/n) and I have an emergency back at the apartment." His delicate tone covered any trace of undoubted anger.

He more or less ignored your parents as he rushed you to the car, only one thing occupied his mind. God he wanted you dead. Upon reaching the car out of sight of your parent's house, he pulled his fist back.

Moments passed as you felt the pain of knuckles meeting your jaw, the flashes of blood shook you to the core. As you crumbled to the ground, his touch hauling you into the backseat almost felt like that of a lovers - gentle and loving. But you knew better.

This was his love.

Clubs were his favorite place to show his power over you, he had forced you to drink more shots than you could count - each of them burning a hole in your throat.

Clubs were also your favorite place when it came to being near Namjoon, you were someone else when smashed between bodies and so drunk off your umpteenth shot that is was easy to forget the man you would be spending the night with.

Even Namjoon could take away your high with one quick swipe of the arm, leading you to a lounge that was far from friendly. You know this corner well even with your lack of steady, conscious thoughts - these people were beyond life, ascending every idea of heaven, their blood was singing with a rotten substance you had attempted to avoid your entire life.

The point of pulling away from the cruel male had come and gone, this way your fate for the night. Maybe God would take pity on you, maybe Namjoon would put too much in the syringe, maybe you would just pass out and feel the claws of the true devil digging into your arm, dragging you to the undeserved spot in hell.

You were so far gone, you could only watch on as he tightened the band to bulge out your veins, he was an expert. The syringe was filled to the perfect amount, pristine and ready to penetrate skin. Even your vodka buzz couldn't save from the initial pain of the prick, but you knew it would quickly wash away and ascend into a euphoric hallucination. Your fidgeting easily gave way to the force Namjoon was using to keep you in place, maybe this was love. He could take away the pain with a simple pin prick, truly he must have meant well if he was doing this for you, right?

Everything was beautiful, a spinning world that held gems like Namjoon - ready to hold onto you all night. You loved this feeling, you were free, maybe not as high from other substances but you felt blessed. The affliction of Namjoon's presence had finally changed to something pleasant, he made you feel heaven for once in your relationship.

Namjoon couldn't help but chuckle at your tinted cheeks, you were gorgeous with this new substance running through your veins. He leaned down to your ear, gingerly brushing his lips against the lobe. "Do you want to have some real fun, baby?" His breath reeked of alcohol as it whistled through his teeth. "You want to watch as I find a new toy? You'd like that wouldn't you, doll?" Glistening teeth lower to the taut skin of your neck, eventually smearing with blood as incisors broke skin. He was the personification of death but god did you love it.

"Anything for you." You were fully aware of the bitter taste of Namjoon and its affect on your life. But you couldn't imagine life any other way. You had already submitted to rotting away, at least you wouldn't be put in the ground alone. Your personal devil would be six feet under holding your hand at every step. Beatings, sex, and drugs - this was how he proved his love, you the willing victim always at the ready to accept his intimacy.

You loved him and you couldn't help it.

A/N: Honestly I hate how I ended this, I had planned on adding more to it but I couldn’t really bring myself to do it. I’m not fond of myself for writing this, it leaves a bad taste in my mouth so we’ll see how long I actually keep this up for. Once again I do not believe any of the boys would ever put someone through this, I was given a prompt and I wanted to write something so here it is. Sorry. Also this is slightly unedited so I would like to apologize for that and as my final note I am currently looking for a beta reader - I unfortunately can not catch all of my mistakes and there are major parts of writing where I lack finesse. Tbh I really liked how this read in the first few paragraphs and then it turned it to useless word vomit :/

#kim namjoon #kim namjoon x reader #bts #bts fic #bts imagines #bts drabble #dubious consent #trigger warning #tw #cheating #abuse #drug use #alcohol #angst #bts angst

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ifridiot · 5 years

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1 3 12 19 for fanfic asks

1. favorite fic you wrote this year

oh god this is difficult. Hmm. I have a few, because... I have written over a hundred short stories this year, and I honestly can’t pic just one. Sticking with what I posted on AO3, I am quite pleased with the entirety of the Let Them Eat Flesh series, especially The Widening Gyre and Wretched and Joyful. Delicate was such a monumental effort for me, and I think i could have done better at capturing the emotions it was meant to evoke, but it’s still quite solid and I’m pleased with it. Things Change, My Dear is quite good, if only because of the discussions we’ve had about the AU and the work you’ve done from the foundations I knocked together. I am maliciously fond of Never, if only because of the disgust I’ve received in response to the idea of Frank Castle having, of all things, a gun kink. Of course, Memento Mori, Puncture Repair, and Come Home really laid the ground work for how I wanted to present my takes on these characters.

For fandoms that are not The Punisher, I’m particularly pleased with Protector, because I quite enjoy Nate and Wade calling each other out on their bullshit. Science is Cool was just a lot of fun to write and I absolutely adore seeing people’s reactions to it -- a lot like Memento Mori, honestly. Owned and Jarmed in the Target Jathroom were both supremely enjoyable to write. I loved doing the stupid ass puns in Jarmed, and Owned is of course about War, so what’s not to love? A Green Eyed Demon is... well, it’s just a lot of things I like, okay. Jealousy, pining, Nate knowing Wade way too well... it’s fun and sexy. And of course, the first published fic of the year deserves a mention, because I got to write an old, old love of mine, so Drunken Lament, there you are.

GONNA HAVE TO DO THE REST UNDER A CUT, YOU BASTARD.

3. favorite line/scene you wrote this year

Jesus christ. Okay. I’m going to try to be reasonable here. One or two lines from only the Best Fics. Oh who the fuck am I kidding...

“You smell,” Kakuzu says by way of greeting, “like expensive sake. And self-pity.”

(from Drunken Lament)

"Fuckin' cunt," he snarls, "you stupid fucking," blood dripping down his face, all over the carpet, all over Wade, and Wade musters half the strength in his body and throws Nate off over his head. His body makes a satisfying thud on the dingy carpet, and Wade launches at him, pins him again, always on the stomach, and this time he bites Nate's neck, leaves uneven pinpoint marks where his teeth have been, not drawing blood though he could, he could so very easily. Nate groans.

(from Glittering)

It becomes easier to avoid him. Only go over when he needs something, and even then, scurry away at the first sexy sign emanating from the apartment, stop going on missions together unless Nate comes asking him to help out. A man can only jack it so many times behind a dumpster before he starts having unhealthy associations with the smell of hot trash. He can think about getting fucked six ways to Sunday by everyone’s favorite scowling soldier in his own room, thankyouverymuch, and it’s nicer to jerk off where there are clean tissues on hand.

(from A Green Eyed Demon)

“Would it be easier to come if I were fucking you like you don’t matter?”

(from A Green Eyed Demon, also fuck that is a Horny Line)

“The jurtains,” he whispers, and Nate gives him a look, which just seems to make him even more pleased with the find. “We need them. Those are what we want. Good eye, honeypie.”

“What the fuck,” Nate says slowly, not sure he wants to know, “are jurtains?”

“Curtains but denim,” Wade replies with utter earnest sincerity. “It’s – don’t give me that face – it’s basic English.”

(from Jarmed in the Target Jathroom)

Okay so I would basically be copying the whole back half of Jarmed, but... Pretty much all the dialog while Nate’s jerking Wade off is just Good. All the denim puns.

Once, when he’d been another man, a weaker man, he’d loved Wade.

In his own way, he still did; loved him and wanted him safe and kept and all his own. But it was easy to hate him, too; his arrogance and selfishness and constant cries for attention.

But Wade belonged to him now. And in a way, owning him was better than loving him alone had ever been.

(from Owned. I really love how crisply this highlights the difference between War and Nathan.)

When he finally thrusts into the tight, pliant heat of Wade’s body, he focuses on his TK, stripping the scarred flesh from muscle from bone down Wade’s back. Wade moans, smothering the wet tearing sound of the mutilation, his tone dripping with lust and excitement, audibly delighted over the flesh flaying from his body. As it comes free, the blood and tissue is held by telekinetic force all around them, extending out from Wade in a gory fan.

(from Owned. This is just disgusting and I live for it)

“Fuck you,” Wade says pleasantly, and then groans beautifully at the sensation of the raw muscle and nerve of his back being torn open again. “This? This is all for me. If you were really punishing me, I wouldn’t get dick, pun very much intended; you’d leave me all alone for a few more fuckless days, and if you ever thought for a goddamn second about me anymore, maybe you’d figure out why I keep trying to run away so often.”

(from Owned)

It’s all Wade’s fault, he thinks furiously as he digs his fingers in hard enough to feel something crunch, blood welling under his fingers, clutching hard to the skin under his fingers and squeezing until the frustration leaks out between his knuckles. It’s Wade’s fault. Because Wade’s skin feels like it’s burning, always, imprinting on War’s back and hips and thighs as he futilely tries to cling. Because Wade doesn’t say anything he doesn’t mean, doesn’t try to placate him, doesn’t make him feel like any more of a man even when he’s bucking under him and making strangled, incoherent noises like he’s drowning, they’re both drowning, and he can’t get enough air or enough of War. Because when it’s done, and his heart is still stuffed up somewhere in his throat, War knows Wade will beg him to stay for cuddles he hasn’t got time to indulge in, like they’re just two of a kind, two normal people living normal lives together.

(From Owned. Love that War still has so much complex emotion)

Bearded Nate isn’t just taller, his version of the TO is cleaner, somehow, sinking in a smooth line under his flesh, swallowing his arm and dancing down his side, his hip, his leg. Short!Nate is more organic looking, very nice with the scars and the proud flesh and the jagged lines of metal bursting from under his skin. He’s got a thick vein of TO running up his dick, and Wade’s mouth waters at the sight, his brain going hazy at the thought of getting that inside him. As soon as possible, yes please.

(from Science is Cool)

Laughter bubbles up out of him like the kind of vomit you get after drinking too much soda too quickly, frothy and jagged.

(from Science is Cool. Such a Wade line

“Is curiosity really going to kill the Cable?” He asks, closing his eyes again. He’s very tired uddenly. He liked not remembering. He wants to get back to that. “Bodyslide outta here. Your Wade is in another castle. This is not the Wade you’re looking for. Good fuck though, thanks for that.”

“Wade.”

“War is coming. That’s what you go by here. So get the fuck out. Please.”

(from Science is Cool. I know this is a spoiler for the whole fic, but god i love this line)

The more they start to work together, once things get rolling, the harder it is to find his disgust for this man, this man who ruined lives trying to do the right thing. The sickest part, to Frank at least, is that one day he’s thinking about that, about how David ruined so much just trying to do the right thing, and realizes he’s proud of David. David did what a lot of people would have refused to do, David took initiative, David tried his damnedest to do right. And it had destroyed everything, there had been no justice, no grand revelation of corruption.

(from Come Home)

He watches Frank like he knows the kind of pain he’s in and wants to spare him and when he realizes that, he responds the same way he always had when he’d caught Maria with that look on her face. He forces himself to act more put together, forces himself to get over the bullshit. Because Maria hadn’t deserved the concern he’d tormented her with, and maybe David didn’t either.

(from Come Home)

They’re drinking one night when David leans over and kisses him. Frank makes a point to never have more than a couple fingers of anything harder than beer, but David gets white girl wasted when he’s upset.

(from Come Home. The phrase ‘white girl wasted’ makes this)

It’s some time later that Sarah kisses him. Between the two of them, the Liebermans are going to give him some kind of fucking complex.

(from Come Home. GOD, POOR FRANK LMAO)

I can’t take it if you go, David is saying, though he’s beyond words. I will die, if you die.

He wants to tell him how wrong he is. He knows from experience. It might feel like you’re dead for a while, and you might wish you were dead for even longer, but the loss wouldn’t kill you. That was the cruelest part of it.

(from, you guessed it, Come Home. Im sorry)

Frank watches David disappear into his house and drives away before anyone else can come out and try convincing him to stay. It’s a bittersweet parting – David deserves to go home to his family. Frank’s not sure what he deserves, but he’s starting to think maybe this unending loneliness isn’t it.

(from Come Home. The good news is, that’s the end of the fic.)

(the bad news is, now it’s time for Puncture Repair)

Sarah missed Pete, maybe. Missed someone who’d snuck in, like a thief, to get close to her, to have something to hold over her husband. Who had offered comfort in a hard time. Somehow she’s missing the part where Frank could have gotten her husband killed for real. She’s missing the part where Frank’s blood brother had abducted and could have murdered her and her son. She’s missing the part where Pete was an act (until he wasn’t) and hadn’t ever been meant to mean anything to her.

If he’s honest with himself – and he’s trying to be that, more often now – he’s terrified of seeing her again, of seeing her realize how bad an idea it is for him to be around them. Because Sarah is smart, Sarah is brave and determined and wants to keep her family safe. She’s not like David, too close to see the danger.

(from Puncture Repair. Love Frank being terrified of Sarah hating him, acknowledging that she has cause to.)

And maybe that’s the right thing to do. Maybe hurting David now will help the dumbass get over this. Because Frank loves him, and he knows what his love does to people. He sees it every time he tries to sleep. He can’t stand the idea of seeing it happen again, here, in waking.

But when has he ever done the right thing where David is concerned? David had given so much to Frank; his trust, his affection, his fucking blood, pumping through Frank’s veins. Frank takes and takes because he doesn’t know how to stop. He’s greedy for what David offers, for the chance to spend some time being alive after so long of being dead.

(from Puncture Repair)

When David’s hand comes to rest, gently, on his arm, his whole body tenses up, reflex curling his fists as he snaps his head toward David, face an angry mask, warning. David doesn’t even flinch. He looks concerned, though. Not afraid – David’s not afraid of Frank because while David might be a certifiable genius, he’s still an idiot. Frank could kill him in fifteen ways without breaking a sweat, and David knows that.

His hand strokes over Frank’s arm, and Frank holds his breath. Lets it out. Breathes again.

He’s working on a lot of things. Sometimes, it even seems like he’s getting better.

(from Puncture Repair)

“It’s called a spare room, Frank,” David says, patiently and patronizing at the same time, forcing the air in the room to lighten with his stab at humor. Frank’s lip twitches. “Some even call it a ‘guest room’. Guests are people you invite into your house to –”

“I know what guests are, asshole.”

“Well, I just wonder, you know, since you act like you were raised outdoors.”

(from Puncture Repair)

He needs to leave. He should leave. He stands and glares at David instead, feet planted, hands curled. It’s like being back in the power station basement, when he had no where else to be. Part of him knows he can go at anytime, the rest of him is stripping gears in a war over whether he needs to destroy this thing happening between him and David before it gets David hurt.

(from Puncture Repair)

“You ever get tired of punishing yourself, Frank?”

David’s voice is so gentle and so tired, laced with a bitterness that is so familiar. Frank is used to people giving up on arguing with him. He knows what it sounds like.

“No,” He says sharply, because it’s easier to deny than acknowledge that there’s even a chance that David’s got him figured out.

“Now who’s lying?”

(from Puncture Repair)

“You gonna hit me, Frank?” David asks. Frank just pushes him harder against the wall, face twisted in a snarl. David smiles very gently, as if, up close, he’s seeing something too. Frank really does flinch when fingers stroke over his cheek, David reaching up to gently frame his face in his hands. “See, I don’t think you are.”

“You don’t know me, David, you think you do, but you don’t know –”

David drags him in, and Frank lets himself be dragged. The kiss is hot and inevitable and somehow furious. David hums, the sound surprised but accepting when Frank bites at his mouth. His death grip on David’s shirt relaxes, until his hands are just resting over David’s chest, holding him to the wall as David steals his breath. His eyes are blue, so blue; Frank could never look in those eyes and imagine he was with anyone else. No one had eyes like that.

(from Puncture Repair. Damn, David)

David deserves better. Frank still doesn’t know what he deserves.

(from Puncture Repair. Frank, stop being a jackass please)

“You never shut up. You tellin’ me this is all I gotta do to make you quiet?”

A little whine, indignant, helpless, and Frank chuckles. “You still think about me suckin’ you off, David?” He asks quietly, moving his hand to pull, carefully, at the button of the fly. The zipper, when he jerks it down, sounds loud in the quiet room. “What was it again? Rough, behind a dumpster? Real romantic imagery, there.”

David’s dick is hot and hard in his hand when he shoves his way past the waistband of his underwear, gripping him firmly. Fingers clutch back to his shoulder, David’s hips twitching into his touch. He leans in, so he’s talking against David’s hair, feeling the softness of those curls as he mutters in David’s ear. “What’s it gonna be, huh? There’s no dumpster, but I know you got a vivid imagination.”

(from Puncture Repair. :Eyes Emoji: amirite?)

“Lemme do this for you, Frank,” David says softly, and he’s begging, quiet and restrained but it’s still begging, pleading to be allowed to touch him. “You’re always giving for me. You never take. It’s not right. Lemme do this.”

(from Puncture Repair. Love this throwback/contradiction to Frank’s obsessive thoughts over how he’s always taking from David.)

David stands at the top of the steps, looking out at the street like he’s waiting for something he knows isn’t coming. He’s slouched more than usual, one arm wrapped around himself, half a hug, and the other held at his side, something glinting in his hand. Frank wonders if he’s drunk, and watches him turn back towards the door and decides both yes, he is, and also that he’s not too drunk. And the ridiculous urge to get out of the van passes when David turns away and opens the door, tossing back the end of whatever’s in his glass as he crosses the threshold. Frank turns the engine back on and pulls away before it can come back.

(from Memento Mori)

If asked why, Frank would never in a million years be able to answer. It’s like asking a half drowned man, why breathe when he’s offered fresh air – because it’s a need. Because he had to. He had to step in closer, bringing his hands up to brush away those tears. And when David surges against him, kissing him? He had to wrap his arms around that shivering frame, had to kiss back.

(from Memento Mori)

Frank remembers Maria touching him much the same way when he’d first come home, and god, that hurts. Hurts his heart, but maybe not as bad as it should, and he doesn’t know if that means he’s healing or not. He doesn’t even know anymore if healing is a good thing – without the pain, he’s not sure he knows how to define himself anymore.

(from Memento Mori)

What they end up doing on the floor, which is hard and cold and not exactly the ideal place, is sloppy and needy and rough. It’s months of pent up frustration, it’s finally allowing something that both had wanted and neither had dared address. Its fast and dirty and satisfying, David’s breath on Frank’s neck rabbit-quick and sharp as they grind together, shirtless, their pants hitched low. Frank thinks he’s got the feel of the hardwood against his back memorized, the way it digs and drags with every thrust and roll of David’s hips.

(from Memento Mori)

He’s thinking about wants and how they creep up on you. He’s thinking about needs, what each person in the world needs to survive, and if affection – not love, not desire, but honest affection – is one of those needs. He’s thinking about his children, dead and buried, and sleeping upstairs.

(from Memento Mori)

By some miracle the kids actually obey, letting Frank loose and running off to go chatter at David a million questions – When had Frank gotten there, where had he come from, was he staying, how long was he staying –before the tears rise in Frank’s eyes. He’s shoving them away with the heels of his hands, trying to play it off as rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, but when Sarah envelops him in a hug of her own, he knows she knows. She holds his face against her shoulder, curled over him as he sits, and combs her fingers through his hair.

(from Memento Mori)

That’s how he ends up with a fully furnished house – not just a couch and a bed to sleep on, but a table to eat at, an easy chair David likes to lay across the arms of rather than recline in normally, a coffee table he puts his feet on and Sarah, when she catches him, slaps him on the shin to make him stop, despite it being his.

(from Memento Mori. I know this is a dumb bit, but like... domesticity...)

That’s all the justification Frank needs to bring her home, and then – well would you look at that. The house, it’s… well. With Molly to come back to and a bed to sleep in, a kitchen he feels obligated to keep stocked with food because why else should he be paying for the electricity to power the fridge, a living room he entertains David’s family in sometimes – all the sudden, it’s not just a house. It’s home.

He has a home.

He blames David for that. Blaming is easier than thanking.

(from Memento Mori)

Home is three blocks away, with his dog and his own bed, but sometimes home is here, too.

(from Memento Mori)

When he’s home, though, he’s known. He is Frank, just Frank, and he is loved. He loves in return, and god – god but it’s good. It’s about the living, it’s about the living.

(from Memento Mori)

He doesn’t say he loves them, but he shows it in everything he does. He’s working up to it, working up to externalizing the things he feels so deeply. This is his family, and he won’t let anything happen to them this time. He has a second chance and he will do it right this time.

(from Memento Mori, also WHY DID I DO THIS)

Something crashes in the kitchen and the laughter cuts off as everyone turns to look at Sarah. Frank meets her eyes as her skin darkens and breaks. He’s on his feet and she’s crumbling, blowing apart in the barest breeze. Leo screams, and Frank’s head snaps back to the table, away from the horror of Sarah turning to dust, to look at his little girl and see – “no, no, no” – her skin going dull, her outstretched hand crumbling to ash as she reaches for – “no, no, no” – David, who sits in stunned shock, looking at his own crumbling hands and then up at Frank, those piercing eyes pleading in a way they never had before, and he breathes the softest curse, almost a laugh, before his face is gone and Frank looks across the table and there’s Zach – “no, no, no, wait, no” with his hands pressed flat to the table, all eyes as he watches, helpless, alone in the way the solemn child often seems to be, and slowly falls apart.

(from Memento Mori)

When he opens his eyes, he’s alone. Some trick of the breeze stirs the ashy dust in the air, drawing it toward him so his dark clothes are filmed with a fine coating of it, so he’s breathing – he gags and covers his mouth and nose, struggling.

The dust – the dust which is his family – is so thick now, floating aimless in the air, directionless as the breeze from the open door settles again. There are piles around the table and on the kitchen floor, piles of dust that he can identify by location but by no other factor as his – “oh god.”

(from Memento Mori)

When he feels a cold, wet something press against his ankle he jumps, startled, whipping around to find the threat, something – but it’s only Molly. Molly, looking scared, shivering, but whole. Molly is still here and he clings to that as he goes through the process of finding her leash, putting it on her. They need to leave the house. He can’t be here, he can’t keep – the dust is in the air, the dust is them and he can’t hold his breath so he’s breathing –

(from Memento Mori)

Memento mori, he hears David explain to him, deep in his head, in his memory. You will die.

Except it’s never him that dies.

For the living, it was for the living, the living.

Someone has done something monumentally stupid, and whether it was intentional or not, they’ve hurt his family. They’ve taken from him.

For the living, memento mori

He pulls out his phone, the very same one David left for him so long ago now, and he calls Curt. There is no answer, and his fingers leave dusty prints where the brush the numbers. He chokes out something approximate to ‘Call me ASAP please’, but he doesn’t think Curtis is in a way to make phone calls.

(from Memento Mori)

Well, Frank knows monsters, and he knows they can die.

Memento mori.

He knows he can put them down.

You will die.

He can only hope.

(from Memento Mori)

“Here in public?” David intones, thoughtful and pleasant, miles away from his old habitual nervousness. “Think about all the attention we’d get. You wanna get Pete in the papers? Maybe someone with a camera phone and a steady hand get you up on YouTube; Brave Man Fights Off Would-Be Gunman. The text doesn’t point out your pretty necklace, but everyone sees it. Everyone knows, and when the smart ones watch, they recognize the way you move. Is that how you wanna get back in the public eye, Frank,” David murmurs, smug and calm, gun pressed steadily against his spine, “everybody wondering who’s bitch you are?”

(From Never)

He thinks about the bullet tearing through, shattering everything in its path. This close, it’d be a horrific mess. Almost certain death.

His cock is hard against the sheets, and what that says about him, he doesn’t want to examine much.

(from Never. I fuckin love how fucked up Frank is)

David hasn’t known any touch but his own in almost a year. The little bit of contact he’d gotten from Frank up to now had been accompanied by pain. No wonder he’s trembling. No wonder his hands are white-knuckled fists on his knees.

(from Things Change, My Dear)

When David touches his wing, just the trace of fingers over the upper curve, he flinches away. It’s almost the same, sharp denial he’d shown Karen, and he feels his breath catch in his chest. The was a new war inside him; what he thought he deserved versus what he knew he needed. But ultimately, it was a glance over his shoulder, the sight of David’s face, so sad and so alone and so willing to just accept that Frank wouldn’t allow this after all, that makes him steady himself on his feet and lower his wings, slow and deliberate.

(from Things Change, My Dear)

A kiss is communication. It can say different things. This kiss is soft and questioning, not quite chaste. It says I’m hungry, it says I can wait. It is a promise, and a dare, and an assurance. David never takes more than is offered; David can be a selfish little shit, but he respects boundaries.

So Frank pushes his wings open, a sudden show of force that knocks David back, so his own wings flutter, just barely keeping himself on his feet. Frank turns on David, rounds on him with his wings raised, posturing without meaning to. Later, David will describe to him the way he looks in that moment, his face set, his wings aloft, stepping toward David ‘like the wrath of God’, and he’ll say that, his tone torn between amusement and awe, and Frank will have no choice but to punch his shoulder call him, affectionately, a jackass.

(from Things Change, My Dear)

Frank thinks about pulling away, and all the ways a man can do that. He thinks about loneliness so vast and dark that you were blinded by it. He thinks about the softness of a man and all the ways he could be hurt, all the ways it does and doesn’t show. Eyes so blue they can’t be real, glistening with tears, shining with fury, bright on him with delight.

At some point, he falls asleep too, and that’s better.

(from Things Change, My Dear)

You know what, i’m done, thats all i have in me. next question blease

12. favorite character to write about this year

Frank Castle, David Lieberman, or Wade Wilson. Had fun with all of ‘em.

19. any new fics to start next year

hmm, i don’t really think that far ahead. I plan to finish the last two Important, Main Plot stories for Let Them Eat Flesh before New Years. I have an idea rolling around for more Cablepool/Liebercaste crack and yes you read that correctly, so maybe that.

#meme me baby #fanfic meme #saulsgoodman

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womenofcolor15 · 4 years

Text

Andrew Gillum Says 'I Identify As Bisexual' In Tearful Interview About Miami Incident + Wife R. Jai Says He Told Her Before They Married

Andrew Gillum spoke his piece this morning on "The Tamron Hall Show" and he revealed he is a bisexual man, and his wife revealed he told her before they ever married.

See inside everything The Gillums had to say about that night in Miami, the fall out, the status of their marriage and Andrew's future in the political world.

Former Florida Gubernatorial candidate Andrew Gillum told Tamron Hall in his only interview since that hotel incident back in March the events that led up to him facing the lowest point of his career, according to him.

He says nothing happened with the other man who was found overdosing in the same Miami Beach hotel room as him that night he was found naked on the floor and in a pool of his own vomit. In fact, Andrew says he did nothing wrong at any point before, during or after the night of the incident, other than trusting someone he thought was a friend.

What Andrew interestingly didn't state during the interview, was that this friend - that he says he met in a bar months ago and caught up with after a day of drinking - is allegedly a well known gay male escort.

Here's Andrew's recount of how things unfolded that weekend in Miami, where he was in town from Tallahassee to officiate a wedding. He says he was drinking for approximately 4 hours - solo - on Miami Beach while waiting for his friends and wife to land. He revealed he was there early because his team had set up some meetings for him in the city, which gave him time to partake in something he had been doing often:

“I had an aid to help me sort of numb that. And that is, I took to, you know, to drinking at a level that I had never done before. In the morning when I would have my coffee cup, somebody might think coffee was in it, but it was really whiskey.” When asked if he was hiding it from his wife R. Jai, Andrew said, “Absolutely.”

He left the bar scene he was at and went to another bar - where he runs into the person (whom he changed from naming as a friend to naming as an acquaintance) we spoke about earlier. He says he had another drink at that bar. Andrew, choosing his words carefully, says the drink was “prepared for him” and he doesn’t remember anything that happened in the next 3 hours following that. He basically alluded to being drugged by someone he trusted. The next thing he knew, he was being woken up, naked, in a pool of his own vomit by police who told him his friend was in the other room overdosing.

Andrew said he took no drugs and did not have any tryst or threesome with anyone that night. He actually didn't seen see the pics of him until he was in rehab days later, and he says he didn't even recognize himself.

He thought he would be taken to the police station to answer questions as he thought his friend had died, but he was driven to the home he and hiw wife and friends had rented for the weekend. His wife was asleep by the time he arrived home and didn’t wake her up. He didn’t tell her what happened until the next morning, and by that time, the report was blasted everywhere by Candace Owen. He said he had a few choice words for her as well.

Tamron said she didn’t want to ask him the “are you gay” question because, to her, it’s not relevant. The issue she sees is why he allowed himself to be in this position. Andrew's answer: "The reason I went into that room with that man is no different than what anyone would do with a friend."

He said he understands how it looks. But it was not pornography, or a sex act. And, with that, he revealed something he said he's never shared publicly before:

“I don’t identify as gay, but I do identify as bisexual."

Here's a clip:

Former Florida governor candidate Andrew Gillum tells Tamron Hall he's bisexual: "That is something I have never shared publicly before" pic.twitter.com/prUW7NPk1C

— The Recount (@therecount) September 14, 2020

As for his initial gut reaction to seeing THAT photo:

“I’m still here, but he grace of God. So much of my recovery is trying to get over shame….I didn’t know that was out there. I learned about it in the best place I could have learned about it - in rehab. I cried because I didn’t recognize that person. I didn’t know it could get that bad.”

Still, Andrew feels he was taken advantage of and did nothing he wasn't supposed to do that night. But he said when he finally saw the photo, he didn’t recognize himself in that photo on that floor.

“That’s a person who was in a vulnerable position. Somebody decided to use a moment where I was literally lying in my own vomit.”

He told Tamron he wasn’t sure if he wanted to live after this because of everything that was being said about him. It was most hurtful to be accused of living a lie in his marriage. He said, "We’re all allowed to make mistakes without everything else in our lives being invalidated....The authenticity I tried to lead with was all in question at this point."

youtube

He then credited his wife with helping hom get back on track. Andrew was brought to tears when discussing his wife’s unyielding commitment to him saying, “I've always known about R. Jai's -- her resilience. Her strength. How much she's believed in me. How much she's always had my back.”

View this post on Instagram

Happy Birthday, @andrewgillum! In a time when so many things are uncertain, there is one thing that I know to be true for you: the best is yet to come.

A post shared by R. Jai Gillum (@rjaigillum) on Jul 26, 2020 at 10:02am PDT

He continued:

“And for us, I think we will both admit that we both gave up on each other over the course of 2019. We have problems just like everybody else has problems. And I did not do my part in making sure that we could keep the unit together in the way that -- in the way that we needed it to be. So when it comes to she and I, please believe if R. Jai wanted to end our marriage, she would bring that to me and that's something we would have to reckon with. If we're no longer growing together in the way that we've committed to each other, we're gonna be the two to tell each other first.”

“What helped me through it more than anything was the grace that I received from my wife. The grace that I received from R. Jai was -- this is without us knowing whether or not there would even be a future Andrew and R. Jai -- at this point, this was her caring for me as a human. And I know people won't understand that separation. But when you -- I think your marriage is based first off of a deep friendship, but then beyond that you get to a place where you love that person so deeply, their hurt is your hurt and their pain is your pain. I think she felt that for me. And she wanted me better. She knew that in my natural state, when I'm in my full being, when I am in my full authenticity, a person who she's known all about for nearly two decades, when I'm fully in that person, that I'm not this drunk guy laying in puke on the ground.”

When his wife R.Jai sat down with Tamron solo later in the interview, she revealed she had called him 50 times that night and didn’t know where he was. She thought either he had a DUI or was in a depression, as the couple had been dealing with their own marital issues since the 2019 election fall out.

View this post on Instagram

Happy Valentine’s Day to the loves of my life (including a very unhappy Davis )!

A post shared by Andrew Gillum (@andrewgillum) on Feb 14, 2020 at 8:33am PST

She said about seeing the harsh photo the first time:

“It was hard to see. My husband. The strongest man I know. It was hard to see....That he was helpless. Honestly, I got angry. I thought he was taken advantage of. If this had been a woman the narrative would have been different. If a woman was lying on the floor naked, would a tabloid have run that? Would the pics have even made it out?”

As she revealed she was adamantly opposed to talking about this to anyone, but still wanted to talk to Tamron, Andrew was seen off camera, head hanging and crying, while his wife spoke on his behalf.

“It’s always been the protection of the intimacy of our relationship,” R. Jai said.

She says Andrew told her long before they were married that he is bisexual. They are private and protective, and didn’t feel it was anybody else’s business, so that’s why it was never spoken about publicly. She also believes people don’t understand bisexuality.

She went on to explain that she is not sure if she would have gone through with the marriage knowing that their covenant would eventually be revealed sharing:

“I mean there are couples that have open marriages, there are couples who have all different kinds of covenants with one another that everybody else doesn't know. And at the point where you have to reveal your covenant to the world, to then be criticized or questioned with good intentions or bad, that's a lot of pressure. And so I've told him before, saying that yes was solely about me and you. It wasn't about me, you and the world. So, I don't know, you know someone has asked me before, would you have made a different decision and I had to say, I don't know. I think perhaps, being as young as we were, you know I wasn't even 30 yet, I may have said no because at that age, I know I wouldn't have had the maturity to say, while I am privately okay with this, I don't know that I have the strength to continually defend my relationship or my marriage to anyone who doesn't understand.”

As for what R. Jai wants for her husband: “Peace. It’s hard to be comfortable in your own skin. It’s hard to show your true self to people. No matter how high you are, we all have insecurities.”

Does Andrew want to re-enter politics and does he think he could win: “I do if I put my mind to that. DO I think it would be hard? Absolutely. But Donald Trump is President. You have folks who maybe aren’t laid out on a hotel room, but are terrorizing people’s lives and they wear it as a symbol of pride.” He knows his contributions to politics could take on a totally different form.

"I firmly believe that in the years to come, whatever the second or third act will look like, that it's going to move me closer to what my destiny, what my contribution is supposed to be. Should have, could have, would have, you know, meeting everybody else's expectations, that's Andrew of March 11. It's not Andrew of today.”

View this post on Instagram

Fatherhood suits you, @andrewgillum. Jackson, Caroline and Davis are so blessed to have you as their Daddy.

A post shared by R. Jai Gillum (@rjaigillum) on Jun 21, 2020 at 10:03am PDT

Andrew said about their marriage, "I fell in love with the person I chose and chose me back. In making that decision, we take the good and the bad.”

Tamron asked after the interview aired, "Would Andrew Gillum be a political star if he disclosed 20 years ago that he was bisexual?"

We would hope the answer would be yes, but is this the actual main issue at hand here?

There are mixed reactions on social media, of course. Some praising Andrew for owning his truth publicly, some feeling like the bisexuality revelation is more of a political spin to something more immoral - like cheating on your wife. Not everyone buys this was simply an incident of a solo Andrew - even in his big position of political celebrity - being taken advantage of by someone who is reportedly an escort that he maintains is just a friend.

View this post on Instagram

Amen

A post shared by R. Jai Gillum (@rjaigillum) on Sep 13, 2020 at 11:31am PDT

Either way, we wish the couple the best and we hope they find peace however they can.

Photos: Andrew's Instagram

[Read More ...] source http://theybf.com/2020/09/14/andrew-guillam-says-i-identify-as-biexual-in-tearful-interview-about-miami-incident-wife-

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natg1rl-blog · 7 years

Text

Life Lessons

Chapter 2 Part 1 of ‘Little Black Book’.

First term of year eight finally came to a close and what an adventure it had been. I was still saddened by the fact I had been knocked down from my pedestal and was no longer considered one of the ‘cool kids’. Even my ex boyfriend from primary school and his best friend Murphie ran with Millee’s crowd. You would think they would have had my back, but apparently even in High School it’s every man for themselves. No matter what the situation, I had to remain thankful for the friends I had – old and new. On the last day of the first term for year Eight, the girls and I decided to do a celebratory lunch down at Pizza Hut. It was all you can eat for $9.95, best deal around. Initially it was just Renee, Sarah, Marley and I who had the lunch date… but when Pamela caught wind of it there was no way she was letting us go without her. When the bell rang at 1pm the five of us couldn’t get out of class quick enough. Two weeks of freedom sounded like the best thing in the world to me. Getting away from that school, those awful girls and not to mention Scott and Pamela’s putrid relationship was the only thing that kept me going. Unfortunately however I had to spend one more afternoon with her and my patience was running thin...

‘Oh… my… god, I can’t believe we haven’t come across any hot guys yet!’ Pam obnoxiously blurted out on the side walk of a busy main road.

She was the epitome of embarrassment.

‘You have a boyfriend.’ I snarled.

That didn’t stop her though.

‘It’s okay to look.’ She shot back.

I rolled my eyes.

‘Well it probably doesn’t help that you’re with us.’ I said meanly.

I couldn’t control myself, it was like word vomit. All of the girls laughed, including Pam. I guess she felt it was easier to laugh off an insult than to believe that I had actually meant it.

When we reached Pizza Hut the five of us approached the lady behind the counter.

‘Can we please get the kids works?’ Marley asked the lady before she even looked ready to deal with us.

‘Sorry girls, lunch finishes in ten minutes.’ The lady informed us.

All five of us looked at each other with the same kind of reaction. The unanimous one was disappointment.

‘Unless you think you can manage that?’ The lady interrupted.

Before either of us even had the opportunity to say anything, Pam felt her input necessary.

‘C’mon guys, we can totally stuff our faces in ten minutes.’

I could not even believe she went there.

‘Pamela don’t be stupid.’ I snorted.

I felt like her mother.

‘Hungry Jacks is just over the road, maybe we should go there instead?’ Marley suggested.

All of us felt as though that was the next best option, apart from Pam of course but she was victoriously out-voted.

We all made the short trek across the road to Hungry Jacks. Once we sat down with our meals it didn’t take long for the discussion to turn south.

‘I wish Scott were here.’ Pam groaned.

I swallowed hard in my throat. I felt Renee’s eyes on me, looking for a reaction. I could tell she was worried that Pam’s comment upset me, and it did. At that moment a group of young boys walked into the restaurant. Every single one of us girls went silent, including Pam. As they emerged closer I noticed that a couple of them looked familiar to me. I turned to Renee and could tell that she knew them too, that’s when it clicked.

Earlier that year a few of us went to our first High School Blue Light Disco. It was one of the best nights I had ever had. I ended up meeting a guy who was friendly, charming and somewhat cute. The two of us had an instant connection and we spent the most part of the night dancing with one another. His friends were associated with a few of Renee’s friends so she had seen them out from time to time. Our groups migrated into the night and I felt as though it may have been the beginning of a beautiful romance. A couple of days after the disco Renee texted one of the guys she knew to dig up any information that might indicate that the cute guy may have also been into me. His name was Cahile. He was short, but taller than me, and he looked very Country - red hair, freckles, and dark brown eyes. He wasn’t melt-your-soul hot but he still had that cuteness about him that sparked my interest just enough. The moment that truly shattered my opinion of the opposite sex was when Renee broke the news that Cahile had absolutely no interest in me whatsoever. He had told his friends that I was gross and that just brought me back to the primary school days when girls had ‘cooties’. I was glad that Cahile wasn’t with the guys now.

‘Hey Renee, how’s it going?’ One of the familiar guys approached whilst the others decided to proceed to the counter.

I was a little taken aback that he even approached us; I guess he was more acquainted with Renee than I had originally thought.

‘Hi Drew, not bad yourself?’ She responded politely.

He stood there a little bit awkwardly for a moment as though he was waiting for an introduction. Luckily Renee caught on quickly before it got too weird.

‘Oh, these are my friends,’ She started to point us all out.

Here we go, I thought to myself.

‘Marley, Sarah, Pamela... and you know Bella?’

Dammit.

Drew looked at me blankly until something registered in his brain.

‘Oh, yes. You’re the girl who…’ I cut him off before he could finish that sentence.

‘Please don’t remind me.’

Drew chuckled. He seemed nice enough. I was thankful that he left the situation alone.

‘I better go join my mates, nice to meet you.’ He ended whilst turning around to join his friends.

I never knew a Thirteen year old boy to be so polite.

‘He was really cute.’ Marley commented once Drew was out of sight.

‘Isn’t he?’ Renee shyly agreed.

‘I actually think his friend is hot, the one with the scruffy brown hair.’ I had to admit.

Drew’s friend was also there the night of the Blue Light Disco. I remember thinking the same thing then but I was too caught up in Cahile to care.

‘Oh my god Bella, I was just thinking the same thing. We have the best taste in guys!’

Oh great, Pamela had an opinion. I tried to ignore her whenever she spoke. I often just faked a smile and let that be that.

After lunch the girls and I decided to take a walk to the shopping centre and do some window shopping before saying goodbye for the day. As we headed to the Plaza, Pamela took the lead with Marley and Sarah, whilst Renee and I trailed behind.

‘You okay?’ Renee asked.

I smiled at her concerned nature.

‘Yeah, I’ll get over it.’ I promised with a smile.

There were plenty more fish in the sea. At least that’s what they say.

I couldn’t help but notice Pamela walking like an absolute weirdo. She used to be a child model and from the looks of things she was desperately trying to rehash her glory days.

‘Pam we’re not on the catwalk!’ I taunted.

Pamela laughed off my insult once more. Nothing seemed to faze her. Either that or she knew how to hide it well. When we reached the shopping centre the five of us took rounds in calling our parents. Pamela went last and I didn’t even bother.

My mum was a cool mum. I had grown up my whole entire life with just her and my brother. She used to tell me stories about my dad and how he never wanted us kids. My sister allegedly turned around at the innocent age of four and told my mum to go fuck herself. Where she learned that kind of language, I have no idea. That was the straw that broke the camel’s back in mum’s eyes and she made our dad take Mila away to live with him. I never knew a life where my mum and dad were together. They split up when I was about 2 years old. One of the stories mum told me that will always stay with me was that when I was very young she won a car through the local radio station. Her and my dad had already split at this time so he was jealous of this victory. She told me that because of this reason my dad came around to our place when mum was at work, kidnapped my brother and me, let the dog out from the side gate and then blackmailed mum into giving him the car. If she didn’t he swore she would never see us kids again, and it was too late for the poor dog. From what I knew of my dad, he didn’t seem like the kind of person who would do that. I knew my dad a little. I never got to see him often but he and mum stayed in touch and she would often seek refuge from him at times of struggle. But why would my mum lie? It wasn’t until much later in my life that I discovered that was unfortunately mum’s go-to. She was a compulsive liar and it was destined to become a big problem in the future. Because mum and I were so close in the early days she did have a lot of trust in me. So on days that I decided to do a little bit of shopping with friends, or go to the movies with my sister, she trusted that I was responsible enough to take care of myself. A lot of people would continuously comment that I was older beyond my years. I knew what was black and white, right from wrong, good from evil – can’t say the same for everyone. I didn’t need a strict parent like some kids do, so our relationship worked well.

Pamela didn’t have the same kind of parent. When she got off the phone from speaking to her dad something was different about her. She had this fear behind her eyes and it almost looked as though she was struggling to fight back tears.

‘You guys, I can’t stay. My dad’s really mad.’ She explained.

‘Why is he mad?’ I wondered.

I was surprised at my genuine concern.

‘Because I told him we were going to Pizza Hut and he was meant to pick me up from there. He is really angry that we’ve been walking the streets without a parent with us.’ She went on.

‘Pam we’re thirteen, not five.’ I seemed to be the only one who had an opinion on this matter.

Pamela didn’t have a come-back; she sort of just let her head drop down with her mouth in a pout. I felt bad for her.

‘Okay so what’s happening?’ I asked.

‘He’s coming to get me… will you girls wait?’ She sounded desperate.

I wasn’t overly keen but before I could say anything Marley answered for the group.

‘Of course we will.’

Time was passing so slowly. It felt like it had been several minutes since Pam got off the phone with her dad and I knew for a fact they only lived down the road. The four of us were sitting on one of the benches outside the shopping centre whilst Pamela nervously stood watch over the car park.

‘I thought you said your dad rushes.’ I mentioned, less than thrilled that we were wasting valuable daylight.

‘When he’s mad he usually does.’ She promised.

Just then her dad’s four-wheel drive came roaring around the corner. The four of us stood up ready to say goodbye. Pam headed toward her dad’s car but momentarily stopped to turn back toward us.

‘Is anyone coming?’ She pleaded.

I knew she only asked because if one of us went with her it would prolong her lecture until she and her dad were in private. None of the girls were willing to play the bad guy so I chimed in.

‘No sorry, we’re all staying.’

‘Okay,’ disappointment clouded her voice before she turned back and headed for her dad, ‘bye.’

As Pamela hopped into the vehicle and her dad drove away I breathed a sigh of relief and turned to the girls.

‘Can we please go and have some fun,’ words that I had been waiting to utter all day.

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