#It stayed like that too for several hours

[wosoamazing]

Rescue

Barça Femeni x Teen!Reader (Mainly Alexia)

Based off of this request. (And also vaguely off of Lauren Daigle's song - more so just the title, but it kind of under lays the fic I guess.)

WARNINGS: Attempted Sexual Assault References (flack backs), Abusive Father (physical and emotional), drinking/drunk, slight mentions of implied sick (doesn't happen). Let me know if anything else

The team were always suspicious about your home life and what it was actually like but you always brushed them off when they questioned and no one had tried to push further until recently.

“Y/N, we missed you last night, what happened?” Lucy asked you as she walked in, most of the team following behind her.

“Oh, sorry I was going to message but I must’ve forgotten, I felt a little sick so I thought it was best to stay home,” you told them, causing Alexia to move towards you with her hand out, which you dodge, “but I’m fine now,” you smiled at your captain and she gave you a fake smile back.

That was far from the truth but you didn’t want to tell them what happened. You were in your room making some finishing touches before you left to go out with them, when one of your Dad’s friends had walked into your room, you thought you had locked your door but you must’ve forgotten. He walked up behind you and his body was pressed against yours before he slinked his hand up under your dress and brushed his hand over your upper thigh. You snapped around and punched him before you ran, you could hear him yelling at you afterwards, and you Dad yelling at him, but all you could do was run, and to the safe place you knew no one would come looking for you. Thanking the heavens above that Jona somehow gave you a pass that meant you could go to the training grounds at all times. You quickly got changed into your training kit and took off your makeup before setting an alarm on your phone and falling asleep on one of the couches.

That day during treatment you flinched every time one of the physios touched you, and when he moved his hand up to your thigh you felt your body tense up and your breath becoming laboured, when he applied pressure to start working you bolted straight out of the room, the touch bringing back all the feelings from the night before. You found yourself in a room, full of your teammates, who all worried over but when you finally calmed back down they all left except for one, your captain. Who gave you a pointed look as you made contact with her eyes.

“I’m fine” you reiterated to her for probably the 100th time that hour.

“You know you can talk to us anytime, about anything,” Alexia reassured you.

“Si, I do, but I don’t need to because I’m fine,” she gave you a very unconvincing nod before walking out, leaving you to be by yourself. The team knew you weren’t fine. You constantly showed up to training with bruises that were slightly too dark or too big to be caused by whatever your excuse had been that time, but you were clumsy so they never really questioned it. However Alexia had kept a mental note of when they happened and what your excuses were and she couldn't help but see that there was a pattern. Then there was the incident last week when you were calling some of them and your Dad started yelling at you, and calling you names. You tried to convince them that it was because he had tripped over because you had left your boots and bag and other stuff all over the floor which caused him to stub his toe, however they all felt that it was a very poor excuse to yell at your child in such a way but you just brushed them off.

One week later you found yourself laying on a yoga mat in the gym, you were flat on your back as you stared straight up at the ceiling. Alexia had come over and placed a mat down next to yours, she didn't say anything but just laid there next to you on her back, as the team filtered out to go to the pitch for training neither of you made an effort to move. 

Several different thoughts ran through your head as you laid there next to her for quite some time. You were having an internal battle in your head of whether you opened up to her or not, maybe she would help, maybe this wasn’t normal. But maybe she would tell you it was your fault, you had a short dress on that night, that was slightly slutty, were you asking for it? Had you deserved all of it, all the yelling, the hitting.

“He-he, tried to touch me,” you blurted out, one side of the fight winning, your words caused her to bolt straight up, sitting crossed legged on her mat facing you.

“Who did? Your Dad?” she asked.

“No one of his friends,” you said, shaking your head.

“Did he?” she asked, concerned. “No, not really, I mean he put his hand up my dress, he was leaning forward into me and he touched my thigh, but I quickly moved away from him and punched him and ran, while I was running he was saying something about reporting me for hitting him, but I don’t think he did because I could hear Dad saying something about them finding out if he did because the police would show up to the house,” you said as tears started to flow out of your eyes.

“Find what out?” Alexia asked, confused, wondering what had been happening.

“That he abuses me, they would see the holes in the walls from where he would try and punch me but miss, the shattered mirror that I glued back together, it smashed because he threw it at me, but they wouldn’t see the emotional things, they would only see the physical things. The name calling, the swearing, they couldn’t see that, it would be his word against mine,” you continued as your shoulders started to shake as your cries turned into harsh heavy sobs, “I’m sorry,” you cried out as you rolled over onto your stomach, head resting in your arms as a puddle formed on the underneath you.

“Oh Nena,” Alexia sighed as she went to place a hand on your back, “please don’t touch me,” you asked and she obeyed, quickly retracting her arm, “b-but, please, s-stay” you hesitantly asked her. You felt broken, like there was something wrong with you, how didn’t you notice it wasn’t normal. You thought you had a broken home but at the same time, you never spoke about it so maybe everyone had a broken home and just didn’t talk about it, but since being at Barça you slowly started to realise that what was happening in your home wasn’t normal and wasn’t okay, but it was normal to you, to you being called an idiot, or a stupid bitch was normal, being told you were too lazy or not good enough was normal, being scared to take a step in your own home was normal. Constantly living on the edge and not feeling comfortable in your own home was normal. It was normal in your extended family as well, you came from a long line of toxic men, there was no one to show you that what you were experiencing was abnormal, until now. Men drinking until they passed out was normal. Men controlling the house was normal. Women only dated Men, even in a different universe you would never see a Woman dating a Woman in your family. But somehow Barça had shown you this wasn’t normal.

Alexia’s heart ached as she watched sobs rack your body, she just wanted to hold you tight and tell you it would all be okay, but she couldn't. She had to respect your boundaries and give you some control back.

But you soon found yourself sitting in her lap, your body having gravitated to the warmth and safety she seemed to provide. Your hands clutched to her shirt.

“Nena, can I hug you?” She asked not wanting to do anything against your will, you nodded into her chest and she wrapped her arms around you. You suddenly felt safe, cared for, loved, it suddenly all came crashing down, this team loved you, you had never really experienced that before, and you broke down even more. You were now gasping for air as your body shook, Alexia’s concern for you was rapidly growing.

“Nena, I need you to breath, you’re going to make yourself sick,” She told you, “I-I can’t” you told her as you struggled to suck in air, “Yes, you can Nena, just in and out, focus on my chest moving up and now,” you managed to slightly calm down, but it was barely, your were still shaking and your sobs still racked your body, but you were no longer gasping for air. Alexia put her headphones over your ears and made sure to turn on the noise cancelling feature, she needed to call someone for help but didn’t want you to have to listen in, you didn’t mind, you kind of liked the quietness they provided you. She called Mapi.

Mapi, I need you and Ingrid to take me and Nena home now.

#woso #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso x reader #barca femeni x reader #barca femeni #barca women #barcelona femeni #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas

[softspiderling]

illicit affairs - part two | r.c

summary:

"Speaking of, why don’t you stay over tonight? It’s late, and I don’t want you walking home by yourself.”

“You’re not gonna drive me?” You asked with a pout and he rolled his eyes.

“I’m too tired, don’t make me. Just stay over.”

“What? And leave in the morning like I’m one of your hook ups? Please.”

OR; Rafe makes an outrageous suggestion and you? You give in.

pairing: rafe cameron x reader

warnings: mention of drugs, talk about sex (nothing graphic yet) but the later parts will have smut, so 18+ MDNI!

word count: 2k

author's note: pt. two out so soon?? there's gotta be smth fishy going on 🤭we finally get into the PLOT! i hope you enjoy my lovelies, don't forget to leave a comment/like/reblog or share your thoughts with me in the inbox.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

pt. two: "it's born from just one single glance"

A week after the party, it was the first Friday in a while where the four of you didn’t go to a party. After spending a day out of the sea to test out Topper’s new boat, you got picked up some pizza and settled down in Rafe’s living room, where you were still in the same spot several hours later. The empty pizza cartons were stacked on the floor and the four of you strewn out on the couch and various seats.

“You want another drink?”

Rafe was waving his empty glass in front of you, a lonely ice cube clinking in it, an expected eyebrow raised.

You squinted at him, nodding. “Can you get me a coke please?”

“Sure.”

Kelce perked up in his seat at the prospect of another drink. “Hey, can you get me another beer?”

“No,” Rafe answered, without even looking back as he left for the kitchen. “You know where the fridge is.”

“What?” Kelce muttered with a frown, looking over to you as he slumped back down. “You know where the fridge is, why is he getting you a coke?”

You only shrugged with a grin, making yourself comfortable on the couch now that you had more space, while Topper clapped Kelce on the back in consolation.

“Come on man, you know she’s his favorite.”

“Hey!”

Grabbing a pillow from the couch, you shucked it at Topper, making him yelp when it hit him square in the face.

“Don’t talk about me like I’m not right next to you,” you scowled. “And I’m not Rafe’s favorite.”

“You’re a clown if you actually believe that.”

“Fuck you, you’re a clown.”

Topper tossed the pillow back at you, narrowly missing your head by an inch and the pillow fell to the floor behind the couch, landing just in front of Rafe’s feet as he returned.

“I was gone for five minutes, what are you guys fighting about now?”

“Precious over here thinks she’s not your favorite.”

You glowered at the other two boys, while Rafe settled back on the couch next to you, pressing a can of coke into your hands. He took a sip of his drink, eyeing you briefly and shrugged, pursing his lips in agreement.

“Nah, you’re definitely my favorite.”

You stuck your tongue out at Topper when he gave you a knowing look, instead focusing on opening your coke. “Whatever. It doesn’t mean anything, you two shitheads don’t make it hard for me to be anyone’s favorite.”

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” Kelce grunted with a frown and you raised a brow at him.

“You literally had sex in Rafe’s bed last year,” you said, before turning your attention to Topper. “And you’re still obsessed with Sarah.”

Rafe let out a noise, making clear that he was fully agreeing with you. “What she said.”

Topper, while satisfied he had proven his point, still rolled his eyes and Kelce crossed his arms, annoyed.

“I hate it when they team up like this.”

“Shut up and get your beer.”

The next couple of hours passed easily, just as it always did when the four of you came together to talk shit. While you did enjoy going to parties every now and then, you really appreciated just hanging out with your friends and talking about everything and nothing in the safety of the four walls of Rafe’s home.

Only you and your boys. Just the way you liked it.

“Alright, I think it’s time for me to go,” Topper said, breaking up the group with a yawn, shaking his head to stay awake as he sat up. “I’m beat.”

“Can you give me a ride?” Kelce asked, standing up and Topper nodded, turning to you.

“Do you need me to drop you off too?”

You stretched your arms, legs long draped over Rafe’s lap as you laid lengthwise on the couch. It was nearing one am and you really should make your way home, but you were far too comfortable to move, having spent most of the day in the sun, which was catching up to you now.

“I think I might stay for a while longer, thanks though.”

Topper clicked his tongue, ruffling your hair, messing it up for good measure as he and Kelce said their good byes, their voices getting quieter as they strolled to the front, the door shutting in its hinges. It wasn’t long after until you could heard Topper’s truck start, and then pull off the estate grounds.

Finally, it was quiet enough for you to hear the music, which was drowned out by Kelce’s constant yapping. You loved him but he was such a chatter box when he drank beer.

“Isn’t Sarah coming home tonight?” you asked into the sudden quietness, combing through your hair with your fingers, trying to get rid of the knots that have formed since you’d laid on the couch for the whole night. The estate had been quiet apart from the four of you causing raucous in the living room.

“Please,” Rafe scoffed. “She’s staying with John B more nights than not, I’m this close to kicking her out for real.”

“Oh come on,” you laughed, leaning up to shove his arm a little. “She’s in love. Leave her alone. And don’t act like you don’t enjoy being the man of the house and having it all to yourself.”

Rafe grinned to himself, shrugging his shoulders a bit like you weren’t absolutely right. Like you said, you knew him. “Eh. Maybe. House tends to get a little quiet sometimes... Speaking of, why don’t you stay over tonight? It’s late, and I don’t want you walking home by yourself.”

“You’re not gonna drive me?” You asked with a pout and he rolled his eyes.

“I’m too tired, don’t make me. Just stay over.”

“What? And leave in the morning like I’m one of your hook ups? Please.”

“Give me a break,” Rafe huffed. “You know damn well you’re not one of my hook ups. They don’t get to stay till the morning,” he paused, turning his head to look at you inquisitively, and you knew that look all too well. He was about to be nosy. “What about yours, anyways?”

“My what?”

“Your hook ups, precious. Haven’t seen anyone around since Jack.”

You shrugged. “Cuz there wasn’t anyone else since Jack, you know that. And he wasn’t a hook up, he was my boyfriend.”

He was quiet, but you could basically hear the gears in his head turning. “I know you’re not into hook ups and shit, but don’t you need to get off sometimes?”

“And risk hooking up with weirdos like Moany? No thank you. I don’t need anyone else to get off.”

Rafe rolled his eyes. “I know, jesus. I’m just saying… Sex by yourself isn’t as good as sex with another person. If you know what they like. Not everyone has freaky requests like Monique. And if you’re compatible, you know the sex can be insane.”

You eyed him suspiciously, not sure if you liked which direction this was going. He wasn’t about to suggest the two of you having sex…. Right? Because that would be just crazy.

“… jus’ getting sick of having to get to know a new girl every time, ‘s exhausting.”

“You know you can have sex with a person more than once right?”

Rafe scoffed, leaning his hands behind his head. “Yeah, but then they start getting comfortable. I don’t need that right now.”

You waved your hands around, trying to stop Rafe’s train of thought before it could get any further.

“Rafe, stop beating around the bush. The fuck are you on right now?”

He swirled his drink around, downing the last of it before shoving the glass on the table, looking at you.

“What if… We fucked?”

“What?” you stared at him incredulously, like he had just grown a second head.

“I mean, not relationship wise. Casual. Friends with benefits.”

“Friends with benefits,” you echoed, dryly. “Are you insane?”

Rafe scoffed, shaking his head at you, not bothering with a reply. You thought that was the end of it, trying to calm your heart down, as it was nearly jumping out of your throat, when you felt Rafe’s hand splaying across your bare legs. His fingers brushed your inner thigh, making you tense and you glared up at him.

“Seriously Rafe?”

“Seriously Rafe?” Rafe mocked you, reaching out to tuck your hair behind your ear, the other hand starting to trace circles into the skin of your thigh, like it was the most normal thing for him to do. “We both know that if you didn’t want me touching you, you’d have kicked me half ways across the room already.”

You wanted to protest, but your words died halfway down your tongue, knowing it was no use with the way Rafe was looking at you. Also, he was a 100% right. Turning away, you stared at the ceiling, trying to ignore how his finger tips left your skin tingling, thinking of the most random things to calm yourself down.

There was no use of lying to yourself, a part of you wanted to say yes.

You knew Rafe didn’t do relationships, has never had a girlfriend in all the years you’d been friends. What if being friends with benefits was the closest thing you could be for Rafe? Not only his best friend, but a step further? What if this was all you could get with him?

“This is a bad idea.”

“Why?”

“You’re my best friend.”

“Exactly. You’re my best friend, I don’t have to tell you anything because you know exactly what I like and what I don’t.”

“Not when it comes to sex!”

“Okay okay, calm down, I was just making a suggestion.”

Rafe trailed off, dropping the topic, his fucking hand still on your thigh. He wasn’t looking at you, but you could tell that he was biting back a grin, and you hated to think that you were going to give in.

“We’re not telling anyone, you hear me? Not a single soul. Especially not Top and Kelce, they would never let us live this down.”

He turned his head, the corner of his mouth ticking up knowingly. He was your best friend after all, he knew what to say to convince you of his argument. “Those two knuckleheads don’t need to know everything we do,” Rafe said as he leaned in, but you stopped him halfway, your hand on his chest.

“If this affects our friendship in any way, or or…. If it gets awkward or someone… Just, we stop, okay? No lying to get your dick wet.”

“Have I ever lied to you, precious?”

“Uh, yes. Remember when you, Top and Kelce snuck into my gard- oomph.”

Your sentence was cut short when Rafe pressed his lips against you in a soft kiss, his hand cupping the back of the neck. He pulled away, his breath hot on your face. Your lips parted a bit, shock coursing through your veins. You had wondered how it would feel to kiss Rafe for so long, and you had to admit, that the real deal was so much better than anything you could’ve imagined.

“You talk too much,” he mumbled against your lips and you rolled your eyes, brought out of your haze. This was still Rafe. Your best friend.

“Shut up.”

Fisting his shirt, you pulled him closer to you, lips hot as they interlocked. He leaned forward, both of his knees bracketing your waist, one hand moving from the back of your neck to the front, so he could cup your face. Suddenly, you were surrounded by him and if you weren’t so distracted by Rafe’s tongue slipping into your mouth, you’d be freaking out right now. This felt like a fever dream; your hands moving automatically down his torso, sneaking under his shirt, nails grazing his chiseled abs and when Rafe let out a honest to god whimper, you knew you were done for.

There was no going on back.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

author's note: am i sorry about the cliffhanger? ask me later👀

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron imagine #outer banks #obx #drew starkey

[creative-caramel-coffee]

The Spiders Sister - Chapter 5

Summary: Reader gets ready with her girls for a stark party.

TW: mentions / discussion of overstimulation, mentions of parties (ew)

Words: 2.4K

A/n Sorry for the late update, I started writing this at 2am on two hours of sleep and then my grandma ended up in the hospital and I had to drive eight hours to see her. Oh… and uni went back so I have like ten assignments.

You had been sleeping for about an hour and a half before beginning to stir. You shifted in your sleep a few times indicating you were close to waking up.

Wanda had been reading because you were still curled around her leg like a baby sloth and despite having no issue with being your personal pillow, it did mean she was unable to leave without waking you.

The redheaded witch had one hand nestled in your hair as she gently massaged your scalp while holding her book with the other hand and using her magic to turn the pages.

You had one leg thrown over her calve as your arms were wrapped around her thigh with your cheek resting on the top of it.

As you begun to shift around more you had began detangling yourself from Wanda, she took note of your waking state and placed the bookmark into the spine of her novel before turning and setting it down on the bedside table.

She sent a quick text to Natasha to let her know you would be up soon, before shifting her gaze back to you to admire your sleepy expression.

While you slept your features were so much more relaxed, your guard was down and the small crinkle in your brow was gone. Wanda had to hold herself back from running her thumb between your eyebrows at the sight of the usually tense skin sitting smooth and flat.

She knew you had a small headache most of the time just from the way you acted. The way your hands drifted to your temples to massage them when it got bad. The way your brow never sat flat unless you were sleeping. Or maybe it was the way you winced when Thor was being too loud that had tipped her off.

Regardless as to what it was that had alerted her to your hidden headaches, she could figure out or at least assume it was due to what pepper had said about your powers.

With them dialling up your senses it must be the cause of your day to day discomfort even if it had seemed to trigger worse than normal at the mall today.

It seemed like something that you had just accepted, after all you didn’t have a permanent solution as of yet.

It also seemed to be something that shifter day to day hour to hour in terms of its severity.

As Wanda had gotten lost in her own mind, you continued wriggling on the bed beside her drawing her attention back to present day you laid beside her.

You mumbled something incoherent before rolling over with a small tired groan that sent Wanda’s heart tripping over itself as your eyes fluttered open.

You sleepily pried your headphones off which had miraculously managed to stay on while you had slept.

Wanda smiled down at you and reached out, rubbing your back gently as she continued drinking in your tired and sleepy expression.

You gave her a slightly crooked grin that did things to her she wasn’t going to repeat.

“Hello sleepyhead.” She said softly, unsure of how you were feeling and also relived she hadn’t tripped over her words. She was optimistic that you were feeling better as you had removed your headphones of your own accord which made for a good sign.

You mumbled out a short “good morning” which made Wanda laugh softly.

Before the two of you could continue there was a light knock on the door. Wanda softly called for them to come in and Nat slipped through the doorway and into the room.

She came and sat down on the bed beside you so you were between the two women.

“Hey Y/n/n, how are you feeling?” Nat asked.

“‘M alright. A bit tired still, but my headaches gone, and it doesn’t feel like everything’s too much anymore.” You mumbled rubbing a balled fist at your eyes tiredly.

“That’s good.” Wanda said with a smile.

You sniffled, sitting up properly.

“Are you feeling well enough for a party?” Nat asked.

“What party?” You asked sitting up a little taller.

“Tony’s throwing a party to welcome you to the team.” Wanda said.

“That’s why we went dress shopping dumb-dumb.” Nat said rolling her eyes playfully.

You simply looked at them and blinked.

“Y/n? You ok?” Wanda asked.

“I think we broke her.” Nat said masking her mild concern at your lack of reaction.

“I’m fine.” You said snapping out of it.

“So?” Wanda asked.

“So?…” you asked.

“The party. You excited?” Wanda pressed and you shrugged non-committedly.

“I guess.” You said.

“You guess?” Nat said sounding exasperated. “What does that even mean?”

“I don’t know, I haven’t really been to many parties. I’m more of a stay in and watch a movie kinda girly.” You said.

“If parties aren’t your thing you don’t have to stay for all of it.” Wanda said, “But you do have to make an appearance, because Stark’s throwing it for you.” She said looking apologetic.

“Wait a second,” you began looking panicked. “I don’t want people to know who I am. How will Stark throw a party to welcome me to the team without everyone finding out who I am. I mean I wouldn’t hate it but I don’t want people to know and it puts peter at risk and-“ you rambled.

“Y/n.” Wanda said but you continued to spiral. “Y/n! Listen to me.” She said taking your hands in hers. Your eyes snapped to meet hers. “Calm down. It’s not a huge party, its just the avengers and anyone else who is important to the team as well as a few SHEILD agents. Only people who already know peter is spiderman. It’s a small thing.” She reassured and you breathed a sigh of relief.

“Oh?” You asked feeling a bit better. “Who’s coming?” You asked getting a little curious as to who knew of your little brothers alter ego.

“Well Carol is going to swing by because she’s in the area. I think the guardians are busy. All the avengers will be there some of which I don’t think you have met yet. Peppers coming. Director fury is coming by to congratulate you, I think. Maria, an old friend of Nat’s. Doctor strange avoids us at all costs since the last time New York needed to be deep cleaned with his magic so he won’t be coming I don’t think. Shuri is probably busy. Rhodey one of Stark’s friends will drop by probably. Scott lang and his daughter my be coming. And Thor is bringing his brother Loki who sometimes stays at the tower. He’s kind of an honorary avenger. Bruce will probably be hiding in his lab. I think stark invited your aunt. And of course…” Wanda said trailing off to look at Nat who rolled her eyes.

“My sister, Yelena and her best friend Kate bishop.” Nat finished for Wanda.

“So… a few people.” You said with a chuckle.

“You could say that.” Wanda smiled.

“And all these people know my brother's real identity?” You asked.

“Yes. They’ve known peter for a while most of them since the incident in Germany, but some only met him more recently when we fought the big purple grape.” Nat pitched in.

“About that…” you said looking at Nat.

“Oh … you're wondering how I survived when practically every channel on the TV was saying I died?” Nat said looking amused.

“Um… kinda, yeah.” You said. “Is that rude?”

“No. After Tony snapped, I returned with the others who blipped, and we used the time stone to go back and save Tony.” Nat shrugged.

“Okay…” you said nodding slowly. “So just another day in the office?” You grinned.

“Pretty much.” Nat said mirroring your look with a bemused smile.

“Now.” Wanda said clapping her hands. “No more stalling. The party is in two hours and we need to get ready.” The witch looked very excited at this revelation and the idea of getting ready with you and Natasha.

“Alright.” You smiled, “what are you thinking wands?”

“Well Nat is amazing at braiding so she can do hair while I do makeup.” Wanda was practically buzzing where she stood looking like she had just eaten three kilos of sugar.

“Who’s first?” You asked looked between them.

“Wanda can start on your makeup while I braid my own hair first.” Nat said with a fond smile.

“Sounds good to me.” Wanda said getting up off the bed. “Where do you keep your makeup?” She asked looking around the room.

“Um … about that … I don’t have any.” You said and Wanda looked surprised for a second before perking up again.

“I think I have some in your skin tone.” She said “I’ll be right back, stay here.” Wanda grinned before taking off out the door to presumably head to her own room.

“She love this stuff doesn’t she?” You said turning to Natasha who was expertly separating her hair into sections with her nimble fingers.

“Oh yeah.” Nat said looking amused. “She lives for this kind of thing.”

“Of course she does.” You said playfully rolling your eyes. “She’s stunning even without makeup.” You said not meaning to let that slip as Nat raised an eyebrow in amusement.

“Oh yeah?” Nat asked.

“I-I mean you are too. Don’t get me wrong. Your both hot and…” you said before groaning and covering your face with your hands.

“Thanks, hot stuff you're not so bad yourself.” Nat grinned patting your leg with her hand while the other held her partially done braid together.

You must have looked like a tomato by the time Wanda came back. She laughed when she saw you sat there looking flustered.

“Oh, Nat what have you done.” She chuckled sending shivers down your spine. “I don’t think I have that skin tone.” She joked and you covered your face again.

Wanda sat beside you on the bed and gently reached out to pry your hands off your face.

“None of that, show me those pretty eyes baby.” Wanda said softly and you pouted at her with a little frown.

“Your too cute.” Natasha said as she finished one braid off with a hand before starting on the next. She planned to pin it into a fancy up-do when she finished the two braids.

You sat up on the bed, folding your legs under you in a Criss-cross pattern while wanda mirrored the pose facing you.

“Alright.” Wanda said. “What kind of look do you want to go for?” She asked.

“I don’t know much about makeup so whatever you think would be best.” You shrugged and Wanda nodded thoughtfully.

“Alright.” She said after a minute of deliberation. “I have an idea. Close your eyes we’re starting with the eye makeup.” Wanda said as she fished around in her makeup kit before pulling out some tape.

Wanda cut and short piece and lined it up tin the edge of your eyes before lightly dusting some black eyeshadow over it. When she brought her finger up to blend it out your breath hitched slightly at the feel of her fingertips on your skin and you prayed she didn’t notice.

Wanda continued working silently. Putting silver eyeshadow on and continuing to blend with her finger.

She removed the tape and curled your eyelashes before adding a waterproof mascara.

The concealer was cold when Wanda applied it and it was refreshing in a way. The way it covered the space under your eyes made you seem much less tired than you normally looked as an ever long suffering insomniac.

Once she had dusted your cheeks with a light blush and put on the finishing details you took note of how her lip had made its way between her teeth, wether from concentration or admiration you were unsure but it was cute regardless.

“Done.” Wanda said and you sighed, not realising the close proximity of her fingers ghosting over your skin had made you subconsciously hold your breath in anticipation.

“You look stunning parker.” Nat said with a little smirk.

“She’s not wrong. You look three-hundred shades of hot right now.” Wanda said and held up a mirror.

Your own breath almost hitched at the person in the mirror.

Wanda had done dark eyes with smoky eyeliner and silver eyeshadow. Your cheekbones were defined and covered in a light blush that shimmered slightly in the light. Your eyelashes looked long and dark bringing out the colour of your eyes.

“Do you like it honey?” Wanda asked.

“I love it.” You said taking your eyes off your reflection to beam at the witch who seemed to preen under your praise.

“Im glad.” Wanda said.

The rest of the time spent getting ready was rather uneventful. Nat’s fingers felt amazing as she grazed your scalp while segmenting and braiding your hair into three sections which Wanda then pinned up into a beautiful spiral.

In the end you were stood dressed in a black dress with an open back, it hugged your curves and showed just the right amount of skin. It had an ankle cut with a slit that reached to your mid thigh. It was strapless with a black ribbon holding the back together in a way that exposed plenty of tanned skin.

You had black heels with silver rhinestones which matched your silver jewellery. You wore a think silver chair and simple hoop earrings. Your rings and jewellery were all your own that you never took off and you always paired it to your outfits and not the other way around.

Wanda placed a hand on your shoulder startling you out of your own thoughts.

“You look amazing stop fretting.” She said. “If you want you can stay with either Nat or I the whole night if it helps with the anxiety.” She posed looking slightly hopeful you would agree to spend the night on her arm.

“I would love that.” You said softly and Wanda nodded happily.

“Then it shall be so my lady. Right this way.” She said swooping into a low bow and taking you on her arm and leading you down the hall.

The party wasn’t as loud as you had been expecting. Part of you had been worried of another issue with your spider senses in such close succession to the attack earlier today, but it seemed that would not be an issue today at least.

@tia-thesimp @lizzielillvr @leenasayeed @justarandomreaderxoxo @sycamorelibrary754 @dorabledewdroop @redwolfqueen19 @sadlesbeansstuff

Im sorry to anyone i missed on the taglist it was saying it couldn’t find some of the blogs i was given in the comments (this happens if you change your name as well)

#wandanat x r #wanda maximoff #natasha romanov #natasha romaoff #reader #reader insert #sicfic #whump #fluff #comfort #marvel #fanfic #wandanat #wandanat x reader #fic #spiderman #spiders sister #y/n parker #peter parker #avengers #avengers tower #avenger reader #the spiders sister #tony stark #pepper potts #may parker #stark party #stark industries #peter Parker’s sister #peter has an older sister

[jewish-vents]

I was adopted by Jewish people and converted to Judaism when I was a teenager. The morality Judaism offers has guided me through navigating my personality disorder, my severe alexithymia, my impaired judgment and my bouts of irrational paranoia. My original family lost custody of me because they beat me senseless, starved me, burned me, broke my bones and actually killed my sister by beating her to death. My girlfriend, a goy, texted me images of alleged victims of the IDF that a single reverse Google image search would have showed her are victims of US military intervention in Syria. And she honestly said, "Sometimes I think it would be better if you hadn't been adopted so you weren't technically sort of part of Israel."

I've never been to Israel but I have been up all night and now, as the dawn breaks, I've come to the conclusion I need to cut her out of my life. My whole life I've struggled with outbursts of anger, it's a part of most Cluster B personality disorders. When she said that I wasn't angry. I felt hollowed out. It feels like she ripped the personhood out of me. Because if you care about a person's well-being, you would never, EVER look at them and go, "I think it would be better if you had stayed with literal child murderers rather than be Jewish, which I am going to conflate not just with Israel but with the image of the IDF spread online". I can't be angry because it's so cruel I can't wrap my mind around it. It seems unreal. I kept checking for hours, convinced I must be having a break from reality because of the stress. I kept thinking it must be a visual hallucination. I keep thinking I'm going to wake up and this is going to be a very strange dream.

I know breaking up with her is going to hurt her very badly no matter how nicely I do it. We've been dating a very long time. But I want to have kids someday and I can't do it with a woman who would rather I be dead than be Jewish. I'm not a guy who does the whole "my partner's beliefs have to match mine" thing but I can't raise Jewish children with her. I can't even trust her to see me clearly.

It's taking everything in my power not to say anything to her until I can calm down enough to approach this from a stable place. In my entire life, I don't think a single thing someone has said has ever messed me up so profoundly in my life.

I'm sorry I'm rambling. I can feel that I'm all over the place. Feel free not to publish this if it's too long. I can't imagine how much stress running this blog is. You probably get a bunch of hate and garbage on top of the already hard job of reading everyone's pain. I hope you're taking care of yourself. Thank you for running this blog.

I'm so sorry for all of that. I think you're making the right decision to cut her out. It's very reasonable to worry about how she might treat any children you have in the future, but that was also an indefensibly cruel thing to say to you.

Breaking up might hurt her, but that isn't your fault. You need to take care of yourself. -🐞

#jewish vents #antisemitism #tw: child abuse

[anyarose011]

Too Late To Turn Back Now {Angus Tully x Reader}

Summary: A dislocated shoulder, an insult to end all men, a few lies, going out to eat, and an unwanted revelation about Angus Tully. What a perfect way to celebrate Christmas Eve-Eve.

Part 4 of ?? (Part 1, Part 2, Part 3)

Warnings: Swearing, descriptions of arm injury, mentions of underage drinking, minor harassment, and discussion of cancer.

This was one of the more lighthearted and fun as hell chapters to write, so I hope you all enjoy it!

Word Count: 5.0k

Apparently, Angus Tully had gone on another adventure without you. One probably shouldn’t call it an adventure if he went to the chapel, and merely stared at the photo of your dead friend for hours on end.

“Do you think he was praying?” You asked Mary after she told you that while you were helping her make lunch.

“I think he’s just as religious as you.”

You scoffed. “He’d never become a priest.”

“You’d make a lousy nun.”

“I’d be a fun one.”

Once the four of you sat down to eat, your father tried to give you cookies you knew for a fact were given to you by Miss Crane. You also knew they were a week old at this point. Still, to spare your father’s feelings, you broke off a piece. You then put it in your mouth, nodding with a smile before bringing your napkin to your lips as if to clean them, when really you just spat the cookie into it.

Immediately, Angus asked to go to the bathroom, and you knew he wasn’t doing that, but you couldn’t blame him.

“I’m trying.” Your father shrugged, and all you and Mary could do was laugh.

You helped her was the dishes after that, and went back out to the dining hall, still seeing your dad sitting at the same table, alone.

“Everything alright?” You asked.

“Yes, just waiting on Mr. Tully.”

“You honestly can’t force him to learn today.” You scoffed, leaning against one of the chairs. “It’s Christmas Eve-Eve.”

“You always had lessons on Christmas Eve-Eve, and you didn’t complain.”

“I did.” You laughed, rolling your eyes. “Several times.”

He sighed. “I’ll let him out early by an hour; if you attend as well.”

“Never mind, let him rot.”

“I thought so.” He got up from his chair. “Where on God’s green earth is that boy?”

You watched him leave through the doors Angus took ten minutes ago, and as you were about to go into the kitchen to (lovingly) bother Mary some more, you heard shouting. Now of course, you were (and still are) a nosey bitch, so you had no choice but to also go through the doors leading out into the hallway. You heard Angus first.

“There’s nobody here, okay? Just us two losers, a grieving mom, and your-.”

His face and words fell once he saw you enter, and your father turned to see you standing in the doorframe, looking as if you wandered into something you shouldn’t have. Then, you threw on the attitude.

“What am I now?”

He looked away. “Nothing.”

“Oh, wow!” You began with fake enthusiasm.

“I didn’t mean-.”

“-No, no of course you didn’t.”

Your father stepped in. “That’s enough from the both of you. Mr. Tully, I can forgive you for using the phone without permission if-.”

“-If what?” He interrupted. “No, let’s cut the shit: You stay out of my way, and I stay out of yours.”

Of course, your father had detention slips in his back pocket, and of course he threw one up. “That’s a detention.”

Angus pushed past him, groaning and walking fast down the hall. You pursed your lips. “You really showed him.”

“Stuff it, Lady Macbeth.” He scolded, then called Angus. “You just earned yourself a detention, sir. Now, get back here!”

Angus looked back. “Being here with you is already one big fucking detention!”

“Son of a bitch, that’s another detention!”

In response, Angus knocked over a trash can, which caused your father to run like you’d never seen him run before. You should be ashamed that your first instinct was to laugh, but you weren’t and you still aren’t.

You should also have felt like a fool for deciding to run after them as if it were a game. Again, you didn’t feel like one then, and if you were to do it again as an old woman, you would in a heartbeat.

You saw as Angus tore off posters from the wall and would stop at corners just to taunt your father. Then, after running around more than half the school (you had no idea how much honestly, but it was enough for you), you stopped outside of the gym with the both of them. Even with Angus’s back turned, you knew he was contemplating the unthinkable.

“Don’t you even think about it, Mr. Tully.” Your father warned, panting from running. “You are a hair’s breadth from suspension. I’ll wash my hands of you, you hear me? Wash my hands.” Angus ignored him, stepping into the gym.

You followed your father as he kept going. “Stop right there, you know the gym is strictly off limits. This is your Rubicon. Do not cross the Rubicon.”

Angus took one look at the gym equipment, then back to the two of you. “Alea jacta est.”

He winked at you before springing towards the trampoline, bouncing off of it and over the balance beam. When his body landed with a hard ‘thud!’, you and your father were stricken with tense silence.

Which was then broken when an inhuman scream ripped from Angus’ throat.

Still, as your father looked on in horror, you said (being completely unbothered). “He’s faking it.”

When his screams didn’t subside, and you only heard them grow louder and he threw in more explicate language, your smile fell. It was when he got to his knees did you see how mangled his right arm looked, and you felt like you were going to throw up.

Angus Tully was one step ahead of you in that department, and that’s all we should say about that (not that he nearly puked on you; if anyone ever says that, they’re lying and should be shot on sight).

So, that was how, on the afternoon of Christmas Eve-Eve, you came to be standing outside of your father’s shitty 1964 Nova. You and Angus, who was crying while wearing half of his jacket, were shivering violently, waiting for your father to scrape off the car.

“Hurry up!” Both you and him would beg.

“I am hurrying!” Would be your father’s only response, and you saw his face grow redder every time either of you would yell.

Luckily, he managed to (somehow) scrape it all off and you three piled into the car. Even though you were going to anyway, you father insisted you sit in the front (more than likely because he knew you and Angus would probably try to kill each other in a high tense situation, and who would’ve figured he was right).

“I was on thin ice already.” Your father panicked at you as he stepped on the gas to the hospital. “If Woodrup finds out, the facts won’t matter, he’ll make it my fault.”

“It is your fault!” Angus cried from the back of the car, trying to hold his mangled arm up. “You were supposed to be looking after me!”

“I told you to stop!”

“You said you washed your hands of me!”

“No, I meant it metaphorically!”

“Of course you meant it metaphorically. What were you gonna do, actually go and wash your hands?!”

Your father turned back to the road. “Unbelievable. Unbelievable, I said I will wash my hands, never once did I say it in the present tense!”

“I don’t know, Pontius Pilate.” You shrugged. “This Jesus guy makes a good point.”

When he hissed your real name, you nearly shrank into your seat. “I don’t need any more of this from you. You were the one to tell me he was faking it anyway!”

“You said that?!” Angus yelled. “Jesus, I knew you hated all men.”

“Not true.” You turned around to look at him. “I would’ve said the exact same thing about a woman, especially if I heard her screaming from your room!”

Out of all the times you made a man cry and left him speechless, this one was and forever will be your favorite (obviously he was crying from his arm, but you liked to think your comment also did that). Your father scolded you for your foul mouth, but it was 100% worth it.

There you three sat in the emergency room, waiting for over an hour for a nurse to let you in, when your father started monologuing to himself.

“This is the end. They’ll inform the school, who will inform your parents, and then it’s curtains. You’re gonna get me fired; you.” He looked at Angus, then you. “I hope you like sleeping in the snow, Josephine.”

“I love it more than life itself.” You rolled your eyes.

Angus grumbled. “I’m the one about to lose an arm and all you can think about is yourself.”

“Hey, he was worried about me.” You pointed out.

He turned and glared at you, and you actually felt bad for the first time that day.

A nurse soon approached you, handing your father a clipboard and pen. “If you could just fill this out, please. Admissions and insurance.”

Your father, hesitantly, begins to fill it out. It sounded like a joke at first, having to sleep somewhere else, but honestly what were you going to do? You and your father lived in the faculty housing ever since-.

“-Excuse me?” Angus asked the nurse as she was walking away. “Is there any way we could skip this whole insurance thing?”

“It’s just standard procedure.”

“I understand. But look, we were over at Squantz pond playing hockey, and I slipped on the ice.”

Your father whispered. “Angus, what are you doing?”

But he kept going, glancing at you for a moment. “Our mom told him not to take us, but I made him. Our folks are divorced, and we don’t get to see each other very often. She’ll be mad as a hornet if she finds out.”

The nurse still didn’t let up. “Okay, that’s your business. But we just have certain protocols.”

“Yeah, protocols.” Your father tried to warn.

Angus didn’t listen to either. “Please, we ever get to see my dad. It was my fault, all mine. I don’t want to get him in trouble.” He looked at you. “We can’t have her dragging him to court again.”

You shook your head, swallowing a pretend lump in your throat. “No. Last time was…oh god.”

He looked back at the nurse.  “Can we skip the whole insurance thing? We can pay cash. Right, Dad?”

What a sucker; it took you and Angus to do ‘Kicked Puppy” eyes for a minute, and she was brining the three of you in to the see the doctor in three.

When they were removing his shirt, they told him first look away from the arm, but they didn’t inform you.

“Is it that bad?” He asked upon hearing your audible disgust.

“Not the worst thing I’ve seen in a hospital.”

Your father slugged you, but not hard enough for it to hurt. Still, the whole thing was a blur as they popped Angus’ arm back into its socket. It was dislocated, not broken, and a part of you selfishly wish that it had been just to spare you from the disgusting noises. That and also Angus’s screaming, as if you hadn’t been objectified to that enough.

The three of you were leaving after Angus' arm was tied in a sling, when your father spoke up.

“Barton men don’t do that.”

“Do what?” Angus asked, readjusting his sling.

“Well, I had momentum.”

“Mhm,” he looked at you. “what’s your excuse?”

You shrugged. “I don’t go to Barton, and I’m not a man. Thank God, by the way, considering I hate all of them.”

Even though you said that sarcastically, neither of the men said you were wrong.

When you three made it to the pharmacy, and your father handed over the prescription, the pharmacist went to search for it. Angus lowered his voice, saying to your dad.

“You said that if Woodrup finds out, you and her screwed. So now he won’t find out.”

“What if your parents ask?” You questioned.

“Never going to happen. Trust me.”

Your father raised his brows. “Okay, then. This all remains entre nous. Got it? You know what entre nous means?”

“Oui, monsieur.” He smirked “Now you owe me.”

“Owe you?” Your father gasped. “Do not try to leverage me, Mr. Tully.”

“All I’m looking for is little thank you that I did something nice for you. That’s all.”

You shrugged, deciding you wanted a treat too. “It is Christmas Eve-Eve.”

Your father took you all out to ‘The Winning Ticket’; the classiest tavern within 50 miles. Classy being the less dingy, place in Barton. As your father and ‘Friend of Some Sort’ had a minor debate on underage drinking, you saw the last waitress you wanted approach.

“Miss Crane, as I live and breathe.” Your father sounded amazed as if he saw Aphrodite herself. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, hi guys!” She laughed “Yeah, I always pick up a little extra work over Thanksgiving and Christmas.”

“Well uh,” he gestured to Angus. “This is Mr. Tully.” Then to you beside him. “And this is-you already know my daughter.”

“Yes,” she nodded. “quite well. My niece knows her too if you can believe that.”

He laughed a little louder than he should have, and you wanted to crawl under the table and bang your head against the metal support until you split your skull open.

“Oh, and sure, I know you.” Miss Crane nodded to Angus.

“Angus Tully,” he smiled. “we met outside of Dr. Woodrup’s office. I was wrongly accused of blowing up a toilet.”

“Well, I didn’t know about the ‘wrongly’ part. I just know that miss Hunham talks a lot about you when she visits.”

Aaand now you wanted to just take any of the silverware off the table (even the spoon would work) and stab yourself.

“Does she?” He teased.

You were quick with a comeback. “About how ridiculously annoying you are. I was baking cookies and Elise nearly crawled into the oven because the things I said about you were just too horrible for her to hear.”

“Now be nice.” Your father said.

“When have I never?”

The three of you ordered (after another discussion about alcohol and underage drinking with Miss Crane this time), and it did not escape you or Angus how your father’s eyes were still on her even after she left.

“Ouch,” Angus smiled. “you two have chemistry.”

“That’s the Percodan talking.” Your father pointed out.

“I don’t know, seeing her like this, I think she’s pretty attractive.”

You gagged, not even having the will to come up with a good comeback, you were so disgusted. Thankfully, your father had one.

“Listen, you hormonal vulgarian, that woman deserves your respect, not your erotic speculation.”

You never gave it much thought; your father dating women after your mother died. He just never truly seemed that interested in anyone, and he said it himself, he never goes out. Still…while you do want him to be happy, the woman of interest is your best friend’s aunt-.

Angus pursed his lips. “May I at least go to the bathroom? Sir? “

“You mean the payphone?” Even when he saw Angus’ eyes darken, your father still was not stirred. “Jo March, accompany him, please.”

You sighed. “Why do I have to be his keeper?”

“Because I, Pontius Pilate, washed my hands of him, remember?”

With that being said, you walked with Angus over to the bathrooms, and waited outside with your arms crossed like a child being punished. After a few minutes, he came back out, and the first thing you asked was.

“How’d you lie so easily?”

He gave you a look. “When?”

“The hospital.” You clarified. “You came up with a whole story on the spot that was so convincing, you had a nurse wrapped around your finger within a minute.”

Angus shrugged, beginning to walk away. “You were honestly the icing on the cake.”

“Oh, thank you.” You spoke with sarcasm, following him. “But honestly, you-.”

“-Are you any good at pinball?”

Okay mister ‘Trying to Change the Subject’, you’d play this game (literally and figuratively). “Yeah, I think so.”

He grabbed two dimes from his pocket. “Wanna bet?”

“I guarantee you that’s all the money you have, so there’s nothing to bet.”

“Not exactly.” You both wandered over to the machines. “If I win, you owe me something, and vice versa.”

“And if I wanted you to get out of my life?”

“Done and done, but only If you win, which you won’t.” He put the dimes on top of the machine a guy was playing on.

“Sorry, kid. Next game’s taken.” The many said.

Angus furrowed his brow. “But I just put some dimes down.”

“Don’t care. My buddy’s up next.”

“That’s not how it works.”

“That’s how it works in here. Why don’t you go shoot the other fuckin’ machine?”

“Because I don’t want to shoot the other fuckin’ machine.”

You put your hand on his non-injured arm. “Angus, it’s fine.”

Before he could retaliate, the man lost the game, sighing. “Thanks for fuckin’ up my mojo. Kenny! You’re up.”

“Bullshit.” Angus shook his head. “I put my dimes down, so we’re up next.”

“What was that?” You both looked and saw ‘Kenny’, a drunk man with a hook for his right hand. Shit… “Hey, kiddies,” he snapped his fingers at the both of you. “my eyes are up here.”

His friend snorted. “Look at these fucking kids; spoiled little Barton boy and his prissy girlfriend.”

Not the first nor the last time you were a smartass to a man where it will almost get you killed. “I’ll have you know, gentlemen, he is not my boyfriend; he is the reason I hope every day I become an only child.”

“You know what?” Angus stepped in before Kenny could respond. “You can just take my dime.”

“Take it?” He taunted. “You want me to take your dime? Like it’s charity?”

“No, what I mean is, we could play together.” and let this be known that Angus Tully was not always great at thinking on his feet. “Yeah, you could be my left arm.”

“The fuck did you just say to me?!”

Flinching at his tone, you decided to actually use your brain, for once. “Oh my gosh, I think I hear Dad calling us.” You took Angus’ hand without thinking. “Come on Fitzwilliam, you fucked everything up as always.”

You didn’t care that two, pissed off men were following and yelling at you, you didn’t even care that you were holding Angus’ Tully’s hand and having him trip over his own feet as you pulled him back to your table, you just needed to get out of there.

“Papa,” you call out to your father. “can we go please?”

He hummed at your arrival (and the term of endearment, which you only use if something has gone array).  “Why?”

“Our favorite asshole got us in trouble.”

“Hey!” Kenny shouted at you and Angus. “Why’d you run off? We were just talking to you. Do they teach you manners at that school?”

Hook for hand be damned, your fight or flight instincts kicked in when he put his hand on Angus and you were about to be the reason he’d lose it. Then, Miss Crane stepped in.

“Kenneth, leave them alone, they just came in for some food.”

Still, he looked like he was about to charge the both of you.

Your father stepped in next. “Kenneth, is that right? I don’t doubt that he did something to offend you. It’s his specialty. Perhaps I could purchase you gentlemen something to imbibe, and we could let whatever this unfortunate incident is go the way of the dodo.”

“The what?” The first guy playing pinball asked.

“The dodo,” Angus said. “it’s an extinct bird.”

“What he’s trying to say is,” Miss Crane translated. “he wants to buy you guys a beer.”

It didn’t take long for the two men to consider it. Kenny nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

“Same here.” His friend agreed. “I’ll have a Miller.”

“The champagne of beers.” Angus smiled, nodding.

It was when everything final cooled down, and as the two men and Miss Crane left to get their drinks, did you notice you were still holding Angus’ hand. Which you let go of as if you were holding fire in the palm of your hand.

He went back to his moody self after that, as you were walking back to the car after finishing dinner (no connection of course).

“Why’d you buy those guys beer? They’re assholes.”

Your father shrugged. “That’s one way to look at it. Here, catch.”

He tossed him the keys, which he caught. Your father continued his lecture, walking ahead of both of you.  “How many boys do you know who have had their hands blown off? Barton boys don’t go to Vietnam. They go to Yale or Dartmouth or Cornell, whether they deserve to or not.”

Angus glanced at you. “Except for Curtis Lamb.”

“Except for Curtis Lamb.” Your father repeated his words when they stood outside the car.

“Were you ever in the military?”

“Yes, I tried to enlist in ‘41, but was rejected-I have to get in over there.” He said after failing to open the door on the driver’s side. He walked over to the passenger’s (which you begrudgingly allowed Angus to have this time) side that Angus unlocked. “They made me an air raid warden. Gave me a whistle and everything. Helmet. Arm band.”

You opened the back door and slid into the seats, but Angus stayed outside, asking. “Before we get going, can I be candid with you?”

Your father already was used to that question from you, so he didn’t even look scared when he hummed his approval.

“You smell.” He got into the car. “And it’s really noticeable toward the end of the day. I even smell it on your coat. Mind if I crack the window?”

He didn’t even wait for his response before rolling the window down anyway. Before you could say something snarky to defend your father, he spoke first. “Trimethylaminuria.”

Angus furrowed his brow. “Huh?”

“Trimethylaminuria.” He repeated. “Means my body can’t break down trimethylamine. That’s the smell. And uh, yes, more toward the end of the day.”

“Wow…your whole life?”

Your father nodded.

“No wonder you’re afraid of women.” Angus said your name, glancing back at you. “How did he marry your mom?”

Your jaw dropped, and only inaudible noises came out at first before you settled on. “I’m too sober for that conversation.”

“For the record,” Your dad interrupted, stunned. “I am not afraid of women, and you shouldn’t be asking a girl personal questions after insulting her father. Jesus.”

Angus nodded. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything. Dr. Getler says I should give more consideration to my audience.”

“Who’s Dr. Getler?” You asked.

“My shrink.”

Your father decided to jump in. “Has Dr. Gertler ever tried a good swift kick in the ass?

He scoffed. “Okay, now your turn. Go ahead, tell me something about me. Something negative.”

“Something negative about you?”

“Sure, just one thing.”

“Just one?” You and your father questioned.

He nodded, preparing for the absolute worst, but it never came. Your father merely turned back to the front, started the car, and began to make the long drive back to Barton. You weren’t even out of the neighborhood when Angus then asked.

“Fitzwilliam?” He looked at you. “What kind of name is that?”

Your father snickered. “That’s what you called him?”

You shrugged. “The guys thought he was a stuck-up rich boy, but he’s really awkward and looks like he wants to kill himself every time someone looks at him, I had to.”

“He strikes me more as a Hamlet.”

To anyone who didn’t know anything about Shakespeare, that would be a compliment. To you and your father specifically, it made you laugh. Of course Angus Tully would be one of the most overdramatic characters in theatre.

“Seriously,” the boy in question said tiredly. “who the hell is Fitzwilliam?”

Your father shook his head. “My advice, Mr. Tully? Brush up on the classics; Pride and Prejudice would be a good place to start.”

None of you had the strength to do much more that night besides spending time in your rooms before bed. It was as you were a few chapters into Little Women, did you wonder.

“Why were you and my dad yelling at each other this afternoon?”

Angus looked up from his copy of Popular Mechanics to see you in the doorway once you asked that question. You both were both just wearing your pajamas and socks; outfits you had only seen each other in for either a short number of times, in dimmed lighting, or with jackets over.

It felt different this time…stranger, even.

“Hello to you too.” He greeted, setting the magazine down.

“Well?”

Pursing his lips, he didn’t look at you at first before saying. “I was calling a hotel.”

“Your mom’s?”

“No, one in Boston.”

“Why would you…?” The look on his face said it all. That look of regret and pity that you didn’t understand what he meant right away. “Oh…”

You wanted nothing more than to have said it with disgust, but it was disappointment that laced the word. Then, with a mix of anger and even hurt.

“Am I that insufferable to be around?”

He shot his head up. “What? No.”

“Seems like it.” You scoffed, beginning to pace around the room. “What happened to ‘Friends of some sort’? I asked you if we were fine because I felt like you’d gone quiet, and you said we were. I get it; you asked me to tell you the craziest thing that happened to me, and I should’ve just said ‘I got slightly drunk at a party’, not everything. You barely tell me anything about yourself, and then I just go and throw out the shittiest things that have happened to me. It’s not fair, and I’m sorry-.”

“-My father’s dead.”

Nothing could’ve gotten you to shut up faster.

It caused you such a shock, that you sat down on the bed beside him, staring at him. His gaze changed in a matter of seconds; when he first told you and you looked at him, you’d never seen anyone surer. Then, as shock settled into you, discomfort did for him. You let the quietness between you linger for a moment, terrified of your own response.

“I…I had a feeling.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You were expecting him to immediately respond, but he didn’t. You debated on just sitting in the silence, or crawling back into your room and pretending this didn’t happen, when Angus finally spoke up.

“I was thirteen, he was…really, really sick for some time but then it just happened so fast and…I don’t really like talking about it, I’m sorry-.”

“-No, I shouldn’t have pressured you-.” You relented first, and ff the circumstances weren’t bleak, it would be funny how you both spoke over each other.

“-You weren’t, you told me something about yourself and I should’ve-.”

“-You aren’t in debt or some bullshit to share anything with me-.”

“-I just haven’t really told people that before-.”

“-Your arm wasn’t the worst thing I saw in a hospital.” You decided to break the loop, and it was successful. “My mother was sick too and…” You chuckled, but felt tears prick your eyes all of a sudden at the thought. “God, she’ll haunt me for this, but she was so skinny the last time I saw her…Cancer. She and my dad were debating on if I should see her like that before she goes, and I won the argument in the end that, yes, I needed to say goodbye. I’m glad I did, no, that’s not what I think of when I think of her but…it scared me. I was eleven.”

He nodded, listening without interruption; a skill that seemed he only acquired during these small moments of vulnerability. Well, you wouldn’t necessarily call yourself vulnerable; you were merely answering his questions truthfully based on your experiences (of course; no vulnerability whatsoever. You didn’t open yourself up to others outside of your father and Mary, why would you to Angus Tully?)

“I went to the chapel before anyone else woke up and I just couldn’t stop staring at the picture of Curtis Lamb…I can’t even say it got me thinking about death or anything like that I just…I don’t know.” He shook his head. “I felt weird and wanted to run away.”

“I get that.”

“I’m sorry for trying to get a hotel by the way,” he apologized again. “if that matters.”

You gave him a smile. “It does.”

For the first time in a while, you thought you saw him smile too; a genuine one, mind you, not the shit-eating grin he often gave you and everyone else. It was then you decided to get up and head to bed, bidding him goodnight. Then, again, you stopped in the doorway from another thought.

“What were you going to call me?”

“Huh?” He perked his head up.

“When you were crying about being stuck over here for Christmas?” You alluded. “You and my father are losers, Mary’s a grieving mom, but what am I?”

His eyes drifted in thought, then back to you. “‘Your know-it-all daughter.’ That’s what I was gonna say.”

“Yeah,” you nodded, smiling as you backed out into your room. “I do know all, Angus Tully.”

You couldn’t see his face anymore when you went to your bed, but you heard his sarcastic ‘Goodnight’ with him saying your full name, and your chest felt lighter than it did the night prior to talking with him.

…What the hell was happening to you?

You were giddy, you giggled to yourself about nothing and had to hide your mouth under the blanket so Angus wouldn’t hear you in the other room. For a moment, when asking him what he would’ve called you, you wanted him to say ‘pretty’. So much shit happened that day, but the one thing, the one thing that your mind goes back to is taking his hand, and not letting go until you realized-…

…No…

No…

Oh, what the fuck?!

Oh god!

Once you were happy about having a newfound crush on Angus Tully, and now you were in absolute agony.

What a wonderful way to spend Christmas Eve-Eve.

#angus tully #angus tully x reader #paul hunham #mary lamb #the holdovers #Youtube

[avastrasposts]

Big Sky Country - ch. 2

Part two of Cowboy!Frankie and the OFC AIsling meeting as Frankie comes to New York to sort out things with his "maybe ex-girlfriend."

Mature, angsty, some fluff, dark themes.

Series Master List

Warnings contain spoilers and can be found here.

Aisling watched Frankie answer his phone from the corner of her eye as she stacked the clean glasses. Maybe it’s because she’d spent a few minutes talking to him, watching his face change from troubled to smiling, but the way his eyebrows bunched together as he looked at the screen for several long seconds, she knew the call brought him back to the mood he’d walked into the bar with. He pressed the phone to his cheek, eyes hidden under the peak of his cap, as he answered. A few words were exchanged, his shoulders crept up towards his ears, and then he slid off the stool and bent down to grab his duffel bag. He walked to the door without a look back, but at the last moment, he turned and caught Aisling’s eyes, lifting his chin in a small nod goodbye as he pushed the door open with his back. She gave him a quick wave and a smile, before the door closed behind him. 

As her shift ended, she grabbed the tray of dirty glasses and brought it to the back of the bar, loading the dishwasher. It roared to life, the old machine rumbling behind her as she got her bag and jacket. It wasn’t a long walk back to her small apartment, stopping at the bodega for a sandwich, before she could finally close the door on the day. Her place was small, a sublet, and not really her own. A room and a bathroom and nothing else, the partially obstructed view of the river the only forgiving feature. It’s also what’s going to force her to move sometime soon, the land value far too great to ignore, and another piece of Brooklyn would transform into luxury condos while people like her moved further out. 

People like her. And Frankie. Her mind turned back to the quiet man in the bar, something about him felt familiar. She thinks it’s the way he turned up in New York with only a duffel bag, his life packed into it. She could easily fit the things she cared about into a duffel bag and just leave. If she had somewhere to leave too. Would she have his courage to pick up and travel two days across the country to a new city? She wasn’t sure. This was her city, Brooklyn was where she was born and raised. She’d stayed even when her parents broke up and her mother found a new man in a Long Island suburb that Aisling hated. Both the man and the suburb. She’d stayed with her father in a tiny one bedroom apartment close to the river in Red Hook rather than move out to the big house with a pool. 

When her father died, her senior year in high school, she lost her family, and Brooklyn became family instead as she moved from one small semi-legal rental to another. She made some sort of life working in the endless bars, clubs and restaurants, and a new family was formed, made up of the friends who, like her, worked long hours, surviving on tips and bodega sandwiches. Her small world in Brooklyn became a place where people like her looked out for their own. And Frankie felt like one of their own.  

She hoped he’d return to the bar, hoped he’d find a job and stay around. He intrigued her, as well as tugged at a deep hidden physical attraction, his soft eyes, broad shoulders and large hands. She could easily imagine how it would feel to have him closer, to have him settle his weight on top of her as she wrapped her arms around those solid shoulders. She didn’t easily fall for anyone, but she didn’t mind finding temporary release with someone and Frankie had all the attributes she craved. She fell back in bed, thinking about the way he’d rubbed his hand over his soft looking curls, the strain of the jeans around his thighs as he picked up the duffel bag, and it made her legs clench together, seeking relief. 

In another part of Greenpoint, Frankie was buzzed in through the door of a much nicer building. Eva opened the door as he reached third floor, and let him in. 

“You look like shit, Frankie,” she said by way of greeting as he dropped his bag on the floor, “And you smell like the bus.” 

“Nice to see you too,” he replied, pulling off his cap and she presented her cheek for him to kiss. 

“Take a shower, we can talk after dinner, I bought Korean.” 

She left him standing in the small hallway as she disappeared into the kitchen, “I put out a clean towel for you.” 

With a sigh he zipped open his bag on the floor, digging out his shower gel and a clean change of clothes. He didn’t know if he’d be sleeping on the couch or not so he didn't take any chances, leaving his bag on the floor of the hallway until he knew where his bed was tonight. 

His hair was still damp from the shower when he pushed back the empty take out container and slumped back on the couch a little bit later. 

“I thought we’d talk about it,” he said, fighting to keep his voice quiet and calm, “I know timing is bad, but we should at least talk through the options.” 

“We can’t raise a baby here, it’s barely big enough for one person, Frankie,” Eva said, waving her hand around the apartment. “And I can’t afford a bigger place in Greenpoint and you’re not even working.”

“I have a job. In Montana. And that could be an option too, I could get a job on a ranch closer to town, we’d be able to afford a much bigger place out there.” He leaned forward, reaching for her hands, needing her to understand that he was serious about this, “I know it won’t be easy, but this is our baby, we can make it work for her, or him.” 

“So you want to get me back to that hell hole? I let you trap me there once before, now you want me to go back with a baby!” Eva stood up, ignoring the way he reached for her, his pleading voice as she paced the living room, “I don’t know how you can stand living there, all alone. I would never raise a child there, they’d be a fucking psycho, all isolated, and, I’m sorry Frankie, but surrounded by fucking hillbillies” 

“So then we stay here, we can move a bit further out, I’ll find work and we can afford a bigger place. I can fix it up, you know I can, make it the way you want it,” he turned so that he could keep looking at her as she continued her pacing, “It doesn’t have to be Montana, we can move wherever you want, but we can make this work for the baby.” 

“You’re so fucking delusional, Francisco,” she stopped in front of him, “we’re not even together any more, we broke up, remember? What makes you think we should raise a child together?” 

“Because we were good once, Eva, it was good, wasn’t it? I know I got you to move to Montana and you weren’t happy there, but we could be happy again, maybe here in New York and the baby-” 

“You hate New York, Frankie, you couldn’t even stand two months here, nothing’s changed because of the baby.” Her face softened slightly as she shook her head, “You still have your problems, your brain still won’t shut up here, the baby will only make that worse.” 

“The baby won’t make it worse,” Frankie protested, “I know I can’t live here, right in the middle of it, but if we move to a quiet area, just a bit further out, then I’d be fine, I know it.” He wasn’t sure at all, but it was all he had, the only alternative to Montana.

She chewed her lip and looked out through the window, the late night city noises drifting in.

“Cariño,” he said, his voice soft now, as he stood up and moved closer to her, “We were good, before Montana, we were even happy there right? In the beginning?” He carefully took her hand in his, stroking his thumb across the soft skin, “we can still be good together.” 

Eva turned towards him, his soft brown eyes looking down at her as his fingers wrapped around her hand, “I still love you,” he lied and she sighed, shaking her head. 

“I don’t know, Frankie,” she mumbled and she didn't say ‘I love you’ back. 

The unease settled in the pit of his stomach, the lie he told her, her non-response. Maybe he should’ve been relieved, if she didn’t love him then maybe his lie meant less. But he wanted to love her, wanted her to love him back, so that this child could be a second chance for them, another new start. 

She let him sleep in her bed at least, let him crawl between the sheets and curl his body around hers. But when he reached for her, pressing a kiss to her shoulder, she feigned sleep. Frankie soon rolled over onto his back. He found himself staring at the ceiling while his ‘maybe girlfriend’ faked sleep next to him. As the city continued to move and live outside the bedroom window, she drifted into actual sleep and he fought the urge to leave, his feet itching. But his body could only fight sleep for so long, and in the early hours of the morning, when the traffic dropped to a minimum by Greenpoint standards, he drifted into an uneasy rest. 

When he woke up, Eva had already left, the only message a key on the kitchen counter. His body itched in a way it hadn’t since he left Florida, and it drove him out of the apartment. When he walked he could at least focus on just keeping control over his surroundings. He just needed to assess the situation in front of him, and then leave it behind as his long legs moved him past it and onwards. The compass in his head took him around Greenpoint in a big circle, it took several hours and by the time he drew close to the river again his feet were aching, not used to walking for hours on the hard streets. 

He found himself on the same street as yesterday, the sign of the bar just a bit further down, and he tried to tell himself it was a coincidence. But he knew his mind had been dwelling too much on the bartender. 

Aisling, with the red hair and creamy skin under her shirt, with a smile just for him. 

He knew it was ridiculous, because it’s her job, but the way she saw him, read him, and knew what he was when he walked in, it made him feel a connection. And now that draws him back to the bar. Maybe he was just such a pathetic man that he needed to be seen by a pretty woman, wanting her attention, for her to notice him. He scolded himself, took longer strides and kept his head down as he neared the bar. 

He wanted to walk past it, determined to go to the apartment, to talk to Eva again. But then he glanced in. And she was behind the bar, smiling at a couple as she put down two beers on the counter in front of them. The woman said something and Aisling laughed, her nose wrinkling as her shoulders shook with giggles. 

He stopped, caught in the way she squinted her eyes when she giggled, disappearing as she closed them and leaned forward, holding onto the bar for support as she laughed with her whole body. He swallowed, tried to move his feet again, but she straightened up and pushed her hand through her hair, her cheeks puffing out as she drew a deep breath to control her giggles. She still smiled brightly as she glanced out through the window, maybe sensing his eyes on her. And he tried to move again, but his body only obeyed hers. She lifted her hand in a wave, and before he knew it, he waved back at her as beckoned him inside. 

“Hi Frankie,” she called to him as he stepped through the door, as if he’s a regular, someone who belongs. She’s still smiling at him, only looking away briefly to nod at the couple who’ve taken their beers further into the bar.

“Come in, how’s your day?” Aisling asked as he walked over to the same stool as yesterday, the one where he can have a corner behind him. 

“It’s alright,” Frankie replied, her smile impossible to not match, and he felt himself lighten as she looked at him, “Been exploring around Greenpoint a bit.” 

“Do you like it?” she asked, leaning her hip against the counter. The bar was almost empty, early afternoon and she liked his company. The way he smiled, dark eyes softening as his face crinkled, the deep dimple prominent on his right cheek. 

“Honestly?” he replied, “Not at all, I fucking hate the city.” The corner of his mouth pulled up in a crooked smile as he chuckled at her expression, her eyebrows shooting up into her hairline at his candid confession.

“What’s wrong with New York? It’s the greatest city in the world.” 

“I’m sure it is, but it’s not for me,” he shook his head, “I used to be able to handle cities but now…the noise, it just grates on my ears, makes my skin itch.” 

“Montana is different I guess,” she said and he knew he was reading too much into her remembering where he’d come from. 

“Yeah, it’s very different. I’m not from there, but I moved out after I left the army, needed a change of scenery,” he said, truncating his story, “And the life out there, it’s easier, at least for me.” 

“How so?” she asked, her gaze held on to him when he tried to duck his head, and all he could do was shrug, maintaining contact with her green eyes. 

“It’s open, quiet, no crowds, no traffic, just open sky and land going on for miles.” 

“I don’t know if I’d feel relieved or scared,” she smiled, “I’ve never really left New York. I can’t imagine being somewhere so open,” she leaned closer to him, tapping her finger on his phone that he’d placed on the bar, “Do you have pictures? I’d love to see it.” 

“Yeah, yeah sure,” he said, unlocking it and opening his photo folder, “I don’t take a lot of photos but sometimes the sky is just really beautiful, but the photos never do it justice.” 

He held up his phone, showing her a picture of his cabin, the mountains dark with the  sky burning in bright pinks and orange streaks behind them.

“I took this a week ago, just at sunset,” he said as she took the phone from him, her eyes widening. 

“Wow, that’s incredible,” she said, her voice reverent as she studied the photo. The small log cabin drew her in, smoke coming from the chimney, a pick-up truck parked in front and a pile of cut wood next to a chopping block. The scene was domestic, as if Frankie had just stuck the ax to the block and stepped back to snap a picture of the burning sky. It looked like a proper home, like homemade stew on the stove and lazy evenings in the hammock on the porch. She could see him there, kicking the hammock into a swing with one long leg on the porch while the evening closed in. 

“Is this your place?” Aisling asked him and he nodded in response. 

“Yeah, I work on a ranch and the cabin comes with the job, it’s kinda stuck on the outskirts, the prairie is in front, here,” he swiped his finger across the screen and showed her a second photo, “That’s the view from the porch, just open land.” 

She looked at all the space in the photo, just the darkening sky, a few low shrubs and the horizon. 

“It’s endless, so much…air,” she whispered and she didn’t know why, it was like seeing where he was from, what a contrast it was, made her want to protect him in this cramped world they’re in now. Keep her voice low so as not to grate on his ears like the rest of the city. 

“It makes me feel unrestricted,” Frankie said in a low voice that matched hers, studying her face as she studied the details of the photo. His fingers twitched, he almost reached up and pushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear, it’d fallen over her cheek and she blew a puff of air to shift it, “Makes my mind go quiet and it makes me calm, it’s easier for me to live with myself out there.” 

She looked back up at him, their eyes meeting, and he bit his tongue. He’d spilled more than he intended, exposed himself to her, but she just gave him a soft smile. 

“So what are you doing here, Frankie? It’s all cramped and noisy, no place for a cowboy.” 

He shrugged, “I don’t know to be honest, just looking for a new start maybe,” he lied. 

He should tell her about Eva, tell her he has a ‘maybe girlfriend’ that he’s trying to work things out with for the sake of a mistake that they both made and is now waiting to be born. But he doesn’t, he tells himself Aising wouldn’t be interested in his messy personal life, but he knows that’s another lie, she would listen to him. 

“I just thought maybe I could make some more money here, go back to Montana and maybe buy my own place,” he shrugged again and she smiled at his plans. 

“That sounds like a plan worth going for,” she replied, glancing over her shoulder at her colleague who’d just walked in behind the bar, “If you ever go back, let me know, I wanna come visit and see all that open sky.” 

“Yeah, sure,” he answered, counting his third lie in just as many minutes. 

Aisling thumbed behind her, “My shift is over now, and I know the best place for bodega sandwiches, if you’re hungry?” 

Frankie should say no, he knows he should say no and go back to the apartment, maybe Eva is home already. But instead his head nodded, and he heard himself say ‘yeah, that’d be great’. 

Aisling gave him a smile that turned his insides warm, and told him she’d be out in a couple of minutes. 

She met him by the door to the bar, watching him tug at his cap and give her a small smile as she hooked her arm into his, pulling him down the street. 

“Tell me more about Montana, what’s it like to work on a ranch?” she asked, just to get him to talk, to listen to that deep voice of his. He’d been close to her ear at the bar when he told her about the photos, and the timbre of his voice had sent shivers down her spine. Now she held her hand around his solid arm, the warmth of it seeping into her fingertips, as he chuckled and shrugged. 

He said there wasn’t much to tell but then kept her entertained all the way to the bodega with a story about how he helped his favorite mare foal out on one of the trails when she went into labor too early. 

Aisling glanced up at him as he went deeper into the details, she’d asked, and his brown eyes were suddenly more alive than she’d seen them in the bar, his free hand waving around as he described the newborn’s unsteady gait. 

“I didn’t think the foal would make it, but he was fine, just took a bit longer to get to his feet once I’d dried him off properly.”  

He smiled down at her, the pride evident in his voice, and before she knew what made her do it, she stood on her tiptoes and kissed his lips. He froze for a second, and she panicked, pulling away. But then his hand came up and wrapped around the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her long hair. And he pulled her with him, his back against a wall, making her take a step closer, as he pressed his mouth to hers. 

For a few seconds she didn't know what to do, his lips were warm and soft, his mouth slightly open and she could feel his hot breath on her skin. But then he shifted, his arm circled her waist, pulled her closer to his solid body, the buttons of the suede jacket dug into her stomach, and she opened her mouth to him, searching for his tongue. With low groans, they had a first taste, teeth clashing as he ran his tongue along hers. She thought he tasted of burnt coffee and toothpaste but it didn’t really matter because above all else, he kissed her like he was drowning, curling his tall frame around her as he licked into her mouth, fingers digging into the back of her head and heat shot through her body.

It was like his brain had shut down, her lips on his, her body against his, and he moved before he could think. Pulling her with him, closer, getting her closer to his mouth so that he could feel more of her, more of that soft mouth against his rough lips. And she moved with him, letting him hold her tight as she opened her mouth and tasted him. He thought she tasted of grapefruit juice and gum and her hand on his arm clenched, anchored him to her when he sucked on her bottom lip. His head should be buzzing, guilt should be shouting at him, but it shut up, silence filled the windings of his brain as her scent filled his nose and his tongue slipped into her mouth.  

She could keep on kissing him, his mouth addictive in the way it felt on hers. But she wanted him to come with her, take him back to her apartment that was just around the corner and make him put that soft mouth on all of her skin. She can feel herself tingling at the thought of having more. So she pulled back a little, reluctantly leaving his lips and opening her eyes to find him already looking at her with a confused expression. 

“That was nice,” she mumbled, pressing a small kiss to the corner of his mouth with a smile, relishing the feel of his soft beard under her lips. 

He nodded, but his eyebrows were pulled together in a look she couldn't quite place, as he caressed the back of her head, his fingers running through her hair. 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that,” he said and when she shook her head in confusion he let go of her. 

“I kissed you, Frankie, it’s fine, I wanted you to kiss me.” 

“No, it’s not that, I’m…just sorry,” he said, moving around her so that she was against the wall, and he could start walking away, but her hand was still on his arm. 

“Frankie…?” she asked, the sting of rejection starting to burn inside her chest as he dipped his head, looking at his stupid cowboy boots. “I’m sorry, the kiss was great, you’re great…I…I,” he floundered, shifting his eyes around the street but not at her, “I’ve got to go, I’ve got to be somewhere.” 

And with that he left, long legs quickly carrying him away, almost running, leaving her with kiss swollen lips on the sidewalk like a fool. 

Aisling cursed him under her breath, ducking into the bodega next door with her cheeks burning, anger began to bubble up in her chest. By the time she got back to the apartment she was seething. 

Fine, whatever, he wasn’t even that cute anyway, she thought to herself, tossed her jacket on the chair and flopped down on the bed, just some random guy who was alright at kissing. 

She stared at the ceiling, finding the crack that looked like a cartoon mouse and glared at it. Who was she trying to fool? The kiss was incredible, she could still feel the gentle scratch of his mustache on her top lip and how damp he made her panties. And then he just ducked out and left her turned on and frustrated. 

Fuck Frankie Morales. 

She rolled over in her bed and buried her face in the pillow, groaning in frustration, giving it a punch for good measure. His stupid face didn’t even flinch, just smiled at her with that dimple deep in his cheek, soft brown eyes that crinkled at the corners. The phantom grip of his arm around her waist, pulling her closer against his chest, was still there. She could feel the way he tugged her in, he’d kissed her back and pulled her in. With a groan she shoved her hand down between her legs, just to get this fucking man out of her head. It wasn’t hard to imagine what his solid body would feel like over her, pressing her down into the mattress and with a whine she bucked her hips. The release came embarrassingly fast, leaving her panting on the bed, but still pissed at Frankie fucking Morales and his stupid curls.

Fuck!

Frankie stalked towards the apartment, an all too familiar guilt creeping through his body. The same feeling he always got when he’d made a mistake, let someone down. He’d never cheated on a girlfriend before, never been that guy. But the feeling was the same as all the other times he’d failed himself and those around him, guilt gnawing and making him recount all the other times he’d fucked up. 

His feet itched, and that all too familiar pull for a line of white powder lodged itself in the back of his head. He knew, rationally, it would only make him feel worse, make the guilt all that much worse. But the noise of the city assaulted his senses, worse now that he’d found a temporary reprieve in a kiss with a woman who was almost a stranger to him.

Fuck. 

He stopped and turned around, made it five steps back towards where he’d left Aisling, and then he stopped again. Turned back towards the apartment where Eva should be waiting. 

Fuck! 

He felt the pull between the two, one type of man would go back to Eva, starting a new life with the mother of his unborn child. Another type of man would go back to Aisling and lose himself in her warm body. 

With a deep groan he sank down on the stoop of a brownstone, his head in his hands. He could only see the feet of the people walking past him, no one slowing down or stopping to ask why a grown man was groaning with his hands clasped over his capped head. No one gave a fuck. 

No one gives a fuck about you, Francisco. 

With a deep sigh he pulled his phone from the pocket of his jacket and dialed the one person he knew would at least try to help him. 

“Hey Herb,” he said as his sponsor picked up.

…

“Yeah, it’s me.” 

…

“No, New York is kicking my fucking ass, it’s not good.” 

…

By the time he pulled himself up from the stoop, his butt was numb and his legs stiff. But he felt calmer, Herb’s sage, cut the bullshit, advice always seemed to get him off the ledge at least. The rest he had to do himself. 

He turned his back on Aisling, pushed her to the back of his mind, and walked with determination towards the apartment. He had a mission to complete, he was here to take responsibility for something he’d done, and he was not about to involve another person in that mess. 

He used his key to open the apartment door when he got back, and found Eva flat on her back on the couch with a heat pack over her belly. 

“You alright?” he asked her, his eyebrows pulling together in concern as he saw her pale and drawn face. 

“Food poisoning,” she mumbled, “I think.” 

He shrugged out of his jacket and crouched down next to her, putting his hand on her clammy forehead. 

“Can I get you something? Pain meds? Pepto?” he asked, but she shook her head. 

“I already took some, I can take more in two hours.” 

“Some tea maybe? And I’ll sort dinner, don’t worry about it,” he gave her cheek a small caress but she turned her head away from his hand, towards the couch. 

“No, just let me sleep, I’ll be better in the morning,” she muttered, closing her eyes. 

“Alright, but I’ll make some Chicken Alfredo, your favorite, just let me know if you want some,” he stood up and pulled his jacket back on, “I’ll go get some groceries, just message me if you need anything, ok?” 

Eva didn’t respond, just turned further into the couch and Frankie left. Under the harsh overhead light of the local convenience store he scanned the shelves for saltines, the yellow gatorade and extra ibuprofen, just in case. 

She seemed to be sleeping when he returned to the apartment, and he cooked the chicken, trying to keep the noise down. As he sat down on the couch next to her, she stirred and woke up. 

“Do you feel like some food?” he asked but she shook her head, “Here, have some crackers, then. It’ll make you feel better,” he held out the packet to her as she yawned. She shrugged and accepted it and he went back to his meal. He ate in silence, one of the reality shows she loved rolling on the tv, and after he’d cleaned up, he passed her another ibuprofen and the bottle of gatorade. She took it without a word and then curled back up, her head away from Frankie. 

He leaned back against the couch and pulled off his cap, running a hand through his hair as he tossed it on to the coffee table. There was a memory in his head, about how it used to be when she was sick or had cramps. She’d curl up against him, her head in his lap while he stroked her hair, or gently rubbed her back. Now, not even her feet touched him, and she’d pulled the blanket so high up over her shoulders that he couldn’t even see her face. They had a long way to go, but he won’t bring that up tonight while she’s sick. 

“I’m going to bed,” she said, pushing off the blanket and standing up, leaving him sitting on the couch without a backwards glance. 

“Do you want me to sleep on the couch?” he asked and she shrugged as she left the room. 

“Do whatever you want, Frankie.” 

She disappeared into the bedroom, and although she didn’t close the door, she only left a crack open. So he stayed on the couch, kicking off his boots and stripping out of his jeans before he pulled the blanket over himself. 

But sleep didn’t want to find him tonight either. The street lights cast strange patterns on the walls and he felt his heart rate pick up as sirens howled past on the street below. He twisted his tall body, too tall for the couch, and buried his head in the pillow. Aisling’s face floated up into his mind, smiling up at him, as she leaned in for a kiss. Frankie growled under his breath as the memory of her lips assaulted his restless mind, the way she felt pressed against him, soft lips, soft hair, soft body. 

Fuck. 

He moaned as his cock twitched, pressed against the couch beneath him, demanding attention. Shoving away the memory of her, he twisted again, picturing Eva under him instead, how she’d felt when they shared a bed back in Montana. But when he closed his eyes again, Aisling’s face was the one he saw, pink mouth open, head thrown back, moaning his name as he fucked himself deep into her. 

Fuck! 

He twisted again, his cock hard now, pressed against the cotton of his boxers and he pushed his palm against it, relieving some of the tension. It felt too good and he gripped it tighter through the fabric, tugging. Just needed to get this out of his system, get some release, he lied to himself. Pushing down his boxers he gripped his weeping cock with his bare hand, hissing through clenched teeth at the first slow, dry, stroke. 

He couldn’t help it, he shouldn’t, but Aisling’s face floated in his mind as he jerked himself off, the image of her smooth skin as she reached up, the feel of her soft breasts against his chest this afternoon, her taste. He groaned into the palm over his mouth as thick ropes of cum splash onto his belly, coating his hand. With a sigh he cleaned himself up, shoving down the guilt that crept up his throat again, listening to Eva’s soft snores from the bedroom. 

He twisted again, landing on his side, squeezing his eyes shut. Aisling’s face floated up in his mind and he sighed and accepted it. He’d deal with it in the morning.

Chapter 3

tag list: @harriedandharassed @inept-the-magnificent @sheepdogchick3  @readingiskeepingmegoing @noisynightmarepoetry @survivingandenduring @vabeachazn @amyispxnk @oberynslady @vabeachazn @amyispxnk @thewiigers  @lady-bess @missladym1981 @peppermintfury

#frankie morales #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal #frankie morales fanfic #triple frontier

[inawickedlittletown]

You've Got the Love to See Me Through - 7x06 coda

Read on Ao3

Summary: Tommy's pov of 7x06...or just let this man get some rest.

Words: 4,769

-

“Go home, Kinard. Get some sleep. Remember, you’re on standby tonight.” 

Sleep. Right. Tommy was definitely not going home to get sleep despite how much he might want to. He could have called Evan and made his excuses, but Evan had already texted him twice that week to make sure he was coming to Chimney’s Bachelor party, so Tommy really couldn’t miss it. Not even because his shift had wound up running something like four hours long or because he was on standby. It was part of the job, he’d had longer nights they just usually ended with him passed out on his bed, not driving to a karaoke lounge. Considering it was the night before the wedding, Tommy figured things weren’t going to get out of hand or go too long and he’d get to his bed eventually. 

He headed into the building and had to walk down a long hall until he finally made it to the room Evan had reserved. He saw Eddie first, giving him a high five. Then his eyes landed on Evan. He looked good and seeing Evan took away some of his exhaustion, especially when they hugged and he could smell his cologne. 

Tommy was glad, when he could sit down and get something that resembled rest. He would have preferred it if Evan sat down too, instead they all got to watch him as he paced and glared at anyone that dared to try to go near the sliders. He’d lost count of the number of times that Evan had already tried to call Chimney and kept himself entertained watching Eddie play bartender, when he wasn’t watching Evan. 

Time had ceased to have much meaning for Tommy some three hours back, so he had no idea how much had passed when Hen stood up, her wife following suit. And others started to follow their lead despite how much Evan tried to keep them. 

Of course, that’s when he got the call to go in. So much for getting any sleep.

He could see the disappointment on Evan’s face, and Tommy wished it was different. He wished he could stay behind and maybe convince Evan that they could still have fun, but he was on standby and he wouldn’t be called in without reason. 

“Be safe,” Evan said. 

Tommy held onto that. He felt a little odd, too, because though he’d known it would be different to date a fellow first responder, he still hadn’t really understood, because as disappointed as Evan was at his departure, he also got it. 

He caught up to Hen and Karen, making their way to the exit. 

“You’re leaving too?” Hen asked. 

“Got called in,” Tommy said. 

“Does that mean you’ll miss the wedding?” Karen asked. 

“I’ll try not to. So, Chim really didn’t want this party?” 

Even without looking at her, Tommy could tell that Hen was rolling her eyes. “Buck wore him down. Or, maybe Chimney got tired of saying no and never intended on coming.”

Karen made a noise of agreement. “He’s probably enjoying his hotel room. I don’t blame him.” 

Tommy said his goodbyes and got to his car. In an effort to keep himself awake, he drove to a starbucks on the way to Harbor and downed most of the drink before he arrived. 

Lucy was getting out of her car as he parked and she waited for him. 

“Hey. They called you in too?” She called out to him. 

“Sure did,” Tommy said, and tried to fight a yawn. 

He was in the air within fifteen minutes, flying out solo to drop retardant over the fire. When he landed, he had to wait for the chopper to be filled up again which meant his priority was getting to the coffee maker for more caffeine. He pulled his phone out and took it off airplane mode as he went and watched as several texts landed in his inbox.

Evan: No Chim. How’s work? Stay safe. 

Evan: Partying with people. Still no Chim. 😔

Evan: SHOTS!! 

Evan: Eddi says we gotts toooo song 👨🏻‍🎤🎤

Another text came through as he was fixing his coffee. 

Eddie: yo misssss all tge fun adinkamsc 

Tommy couldn’t help but snort. Oh, they were both going to regret their night. 

He had just enough time to drink his coffee before he was back out in the sky. When he got back to the station, he ran into Lucy. 

“We’re gonna fly out there and help from the ground,” she informed him. “The retardant is helping, but they need more bodies. There’s been a few injuries. This thing is huge.” 

Their captain confirmed as Tommy made it inside. 

He checked his phone on the way to the locker room. 

Evan: wHet lik boo y 

Evan: takhujns par tee to cim 🥳

Eddie: UBEr!1!!!1

Evan: No 🔑 🧑🏻‍🚒🧑🏻‍🚒

Tommy was far too tired and busy to actually decipher what Evan could mean. 

It was rare for him to have to use his turnout gear. He was a pilot, his skills were best used in the sky, but sometimes it was about going where they were needed. He carried the gear out rather than putting it on. Lucy joined him and Tommy flew them back out, this time dropping the water that had been loaded on. Lucy did the work of reporting what they saw from the air and it didn’t look great. The sky was tinted orange and gray and it could have looked beautiful if it wasn’t so destructive. They were directed to reload more water to drop and that was how it went for a while. 

Tommy had no idea what time it was when they were told to just bring down the chopper and join on the ground. It was night, but that was hard to tell with the orange and yellow flames and the clouds of smoke that flew into the air. They landed pretty far from the fire itself, and would have to walk past all the trucks and cars. They put on their gear, Tommy taking his flight suit off to replace it with the heavy pants and coat, and then they were on their way. 

“You look beat, Kinard,” Lucy said. 

“I already worked OT on my last shift. Now this.” 

“Ouch,” she said. 

“And I’m supposed to be going to a wedding tomorrow.” 

She winced. “That’s tomorrow? I don’t think you’re gonna make it.” 

He just laughed. He’d sort of given up on that prospect. The suit he’d left hanging off his closet door would just need to be put back in the back of his closet unless he got out of there in time to join everyone at the reception. Sometimes the job just wasn’t fair, but the closest to having the day off that Tommy had managed was staying on standby. It was also why he’d taken the shift he’d just got off of. 

“I know you were looking forward to it, Tommy,” Lucy said, patting his shoulder. 

Tommy shrugged. There would be other dates with Evan, but this had felt special. Not just how Evan had wanted to include him in something so important, but because it was Evan showing everyone who he really was. 

“One good thing is he’ll understand why you aren’t making it,” Lucy added. 

That just reminded Tommy of the disappointed look on Evan’s face when he left the karaoke lounge.

They got their orders from the battalion chief and Tommy found himself falling into the rhythm. Anytime he had to get down on the ground, it reminded Tommy why he loved the sky, not that he really minded the change in pace. He did gain his second wind as he worked which helped keep him going. 

Tommy didn’t get a chance to check his phone again until he was on a break. Grabbing a protein bar to snack on and drinking water for his very parched and dry throat. 

He had a voicemail from Eddie as well as a few missed calls and several texts. 

Evan: 🛏️ 🤵🏻‍♂️

Evan: 🚁

Eddie: 🍾🍾bavcnjklo’s!!

Evan: i mus u…com e bcksjm pldne

Eddie: yo boyfrienddd owens 👚

Tommy just smiled. He was going to have so much fun when he saw Evan again. He didn’t bother with the voicemail, because he had to save something to amuse himself with later and then returned to the job. 

As the night wore on, he was sent back to Harbor to fuel up, and fill up with retardant. It was apparently the type of fire that just kept fueling itself up. They were doing some work fighting it and keeping it from spreading, but he could tell it would still be hours before they were close to getting it put out. 

The next time he checked his phone there wasn’t anything new and he hoped that meant that Evan had gone to bed. At least one of them was getting some sleep. 

A few hours later found him clutching at the tiny paper cup of coffee he’d been handed by a stressed looking boy. It wasn’t gonna do much, but anything to stay attentive. He pulled his phone out and it was getting really close to wedding time. He might be lucky if he made it to the reception. 

Evan: Chim is missing 

Evan: Sorry for all the drunken texts.

Evan: Last night was insane. We thought Chim was sleeping…he wasn’t here all night. 

Evan: He wouldn’t leave Maddie at the altar. Something has to be wrong. 

Evan: Found Chim’s phone

Evan: No Chim 

Evan: Maddie is going to dispatch to look for him. Sending people home from wedding. Guess you won’t be missing it after all. Be safe out there. I’ll keep updating. 

Tommy suddenly wondered why none of them had actually bothered to check in on Chim the night before. How long had he been missing? 

“Hey, what’s up?” Lucy asked. 

“Looks like Chim is missing,” Tommy said.

A text came through just then. 

Evan: He got on a bus going downtown. 

“They find him?” 

“Not yet,” Tommy said. 

“Keep me updated, alright?” 

Due to his lack of rest, Tommy was kept working on the ground. The fire just didn’t seem to want to die down. He’d lost count of how many companies had been brought out. After his second wind, he did gain a third, and it kept him going. When he could, he checked his phone, looking for the good news that Chim had been found safe and sound. 

Evan: Pretty sure Chim has viral encephalitis

Evan: Out on the street looking for him. He helped triage a bunch of people. We think he doesn’t remember what year it is. 

Evan: He went to the Lees. They’re taking him to the hospital. 

Evan: Drs pretty confident he’ll be fine.

He felt relieved and yet he also knew that Evan was probably hung over, worried, and dealing with his sister’s emotions and worries as well. He wished, more than anything, to be there for him and give Evan a shoulder to lean on. 

On his next break, while he tried to stomach a granola bar, he got a good look at his phone again. The fire was more than 80% contained. A lot of the companies already making to depart. 

Evan: He’s awake and he wants to get married anyway. Have to do it before visiting hours are over. Ceremony starts in like an hour. 

He’d attached a location pin. 

“Hey, did they find him?” 

Tommy looked up. “Yeah. They’re having the wedding at the hospital.” 

Lucy made a face. “Seriously? I guess that’s fitting for them.” 

“Is Kinard texting his boyfriend again?” someone else asked. 

Tommy turned and found James, who wiggled his eyebrows. Lucy laughed. 

“Yes, actually. He’s sad he’s not gonna make it to the wedding.” 

“Oh, shit, that’s today?” 

“Yeah…but, you know, fire. And now it’s happening at the hospital, so…”

So he wasn’t going to make it there and Evan would probably make that pouty disappointed face and Tommy was the one that had put it there. Not on purpose, and maybe Evan would understand, but he would still be responsible for it. 

“So he’s gonna be moody all the way back to Harbor,” Lucy said. 

They were given the okay to go when they got back from their break and Tommy couldn’t have been happier. He still wouldn’t make it. He and Lucy were gonna have to catch ride back to Harbor and then even if he didn’t stop to get changed, he’d still have to drive to the hospital. 

Lucy solved the problem for him, getting him a lift on the ambulance taking a couple of firefighters with minor burn injuries. He didn’t care that he was a mess and that he still had all his gear on.  

Tommy: Heading over to hospital. Not sure I’ll make the ceremony, but I’m coming. 

Evan texted when they were around the corner from the hospital. 

Evan: They just got married. 

Evan: Tell me when you get here.

Tommy: Emergency entrance in a few minutes. 

Evan: I’m coming. 

“Go get your boy,” the firefighter with a nasty burn down his left arm said when the ambulance parked. 

The paramedic and the firefighter both made kissy noises at him. It was the result of a long night, they were all tired and loopy. Tommy didn’t even bother to respond. The driver just grinned at him when Tommy threw him a thank you. 

Tommy felt weary down to his bones. He was sore and a headache was brewing right behind his eyes. The time he’d been sitting for the drive had only tired him out more. He walked quickly, regardless, past the doors that slid open and then he saw him. Evan was in a soft looking blue hoodie. 

“Sorry I’m late. That fire was a beast,” Tommy began, ready to offer more explanations. 

Evan didn’t look upset. 

“So are you,” Evan said which Tommy didn’t even understand.  

The next thing Tommy knew was Evan’s hand on his shoulder, climbing to his neck and his lips pressing insistently on his. Tommy fell into it, he kissed back, unable to keep a moan from getting buried between their lips as he pulled Evan closer by the waist, losing himself entirely to Evan and not quite believing that this had been his welcome. The first kiss, the one that Tommy had replayed in his mind too many times to count, it had been soft and sweet and lovely, but this was…it was mind-melting. It was wet and messy and hot…so so hot. 

It was only when the doors opened behind them again, that they both realized where they were. The blush on Evan’s face was partially hidden by the soot that had got on him and Tommy cracked up into a laugh. 

“What?” Evan asked, smiling still. 

“You’re covered in soot.” 

Evan touched his face and brought his fingers down, rubbing them together. “I’m used to it,” he said and then, narrowed his eyes on Tommy. “Wait, why are you covered in soot?” 

“Wound up helping on the ground.”

He was glad that Evan didn’t question it or ask for an explanation like someone else might. Tommy was exhausted and he was feeling it more and more, but he let Evan lead him further into the hospital. 

“You’re not gonna clean up first?” he asked, conscious of what it would look like. 

Evan just shot him a grin. If anything, it made the soot even more obvious. “Nah. There’s cake. Come on.” 

Tommy was too tired to do anything to stop Evan. Then again it was his face even if it was Tommy’s soot. 

Chimney’s room was full of people. Too many for him to take in at once, so he focused on the newly weds. Chimney was propped up in the hospital bed with his new wife. Their very adorable daughter — Evan’s niece — at the foot of the bed. 

Evan cleared his throat. “Hey,” he said, “look who almost made it.” 

“Congratulations you two,” Tommy said. “I’m sorry I missed the ceremony.” 

He could see it on Chimney’s face, the toll of the day and yet the happiness that managed to still shine through. He did look between him and Buck a few times. Tommy caught Eddie’s gaze too and saw that Eddie was fighting to hold in laughter probably at some attempt at being supportive. Evan was never going to live this down. 

“Looks like you were…busy,” Chim said. 

“Cake?” Evan asked. He was simply amazing. 

Tommy was by his own admonition, confident. He hadn’t always been, and there were still certainly things that made him unsure and nervous. When he first realized that Evan was completely new to liking men, he’d assumed that it would take time for Evan to come to terms with it and to come out and to be ready for acting on it. He’d wanted to fully remove himself from the equation so that Evan wasn’t pressured into more than he was ready for. Maybe Evan just processed things at a speed Tommy wasn’t used to, or he was actually far more prepared than Tommy had expected. 

Evan brought two plates with cake over and their fingers brushed as Tommy grabbed his. He saw Hen and Karen looking at them and Hen gave him a nod that looked more proud than anything else. Another couple was staring, they were older and if Tommy hadn’t been so tired, he would have noticed the resemblance and put it together at once. It took him until he saw them interacting with Evan’s niece. Her grandparents — Evan’s parents. 

He focused on eating cake, too tired for anything else. It was sweet and far tastier than anything he’d had to eat all day. Evan kept close to his side, only leaving for a few minutes to speak to Christopher before he was back, taking his empty plate and getting rid of it before returning, this time stepping even closer to him. 

Tommy was aware that he was covered in soot and ash and sweat and that he probably smelled like smoke and burning trees. As much as he wanted a shower, he wanted a bed more. 

“We can leave after pictures,” Evan whispered to him as Karen started taking pictures of Maddie and Chim. 

Tommy leaned his shoulder on the doorway watching the different combinations. It didn’t take very long and then he saw Evan hugging his sister and then Chim before heading his way. He didn’t go to his parents, but he saw him share a smile with Hen and Bobby gave his shoulder a squeeze. It was clear who Evan’s family was. 

“Thank you for coming, Tommy,” Maddie said, loud enough for him to hear it at the door. 

Tommy gave her a nod and he waved at the room as he walked out with Evan. Tommy didn’t know if he was the one to reach out or if it was Evan, but at some point, Evan’s hand found its way into his. 

“Did you drive here?” Evan asked. 

“Caught a ride on an ambulance.” 

“Okay. Good. So we won’t have to come back and get your car.”

Evan got him to his car and Tommy was surprised when Evan actually opened the passenger door for him and then closed it after Tommy got in before rounding the car and getting in. 

“Your place?” Evan asked.

“Please.” 

Evan chuckled. “I’m going to need your address.” 

Tommy just pulled out his phone and opened google maps and hit home before handing his phone over. He put his seatbelt on and then leaned against the door, trying to fight off the sleep that threatened to take him. 

“Rest,” he heard Evan say and then felt the touch of a hand in his hair and cheek. 

When the car started moving, he sighed and let his eyes close fully. The next thing Tommy knew, he felt hands cupping his chin and thumbs brushing his cheeks. 

“Tommy. Tommy. We’re here, Tommy.” 

He blinked awake and felt all of it hit him again. The headache that was starting earlier was full blown. He was sore and tired and his eyes literally stung, too dry and eyelids too heavy to keep open. It took everything in him to get out of the car and he stumbled once his feet hit the ground. 

“Seriously, how long have you gone without sleep?”

Tommy heard the question, but he didn’t process it. 

“That long,” Evan said and there was something unreadable on his face. “Keys?” Evan asked. 

Back at Harbor, he realized and groaned until he remembered the flower pot. After two instances of having to break into his own house and having to replace a lock in the one instance and a door in the other, Tommy had figured out he needed a hidden spare key. He had a fake rock in the flower pot. He pointed it out to Evan who dealt with taking it out without damaging the flowers and then opening the door. 

For some reason, he didn’t know why he’d expected Evan to just leave him there once he’d made it inside. He wasn’t exactly fit to be company, not when all he really needed was to crawl into bed, the ash and soot and sweat to be dealt with when he woke. 

Evan walked inside with him, though, and stopped him when he tried to walk further in. 

“First you’re getting all this gear off,” Evan said. 

Tommy grunted. He tried to fight his jacket off, but it didn’t want to budge. Evan’s hands were deft as they helped to pull the whole thing off, dropping it right in the entryway. Tommy fumbled with the pants, but Evan pulled each suspender off his shoulders, his hands soft and careful and then the pants were pooling at his feet. Evan knelt and helped with his shoes and then his pants. He was down to just his base layer and Tommy could have just crawled into bed just like that. Evan had other ideas. 

Tommy found himself in his bathroom. Evan seemed to have no problems undressing him and Tommy was too tired, even when he was down to just underwear. All of it was a bit of a blur, but later he would remember how nice it felt to have someone else wash his hair, or how he’d had more than cold tile to lean on while soap washed away everything. 

He remembered the feel of a towel on his skin and the light touch of a hand on his bare back and then how it felt to get into his bed, the sheets clean and nice and cool. He remembered a kiss on his forehead and a hand that he grabbed onto and a warm body that contrasted nicely to the cool sheets. 

Tommy woke up slowly, aware that he was in his bed, but that he wasn’t alone and that there was too much light coming from the windows where the shades hadn’t been drawn. His mind supplied very little in explanation for why he would have forgotten his shades and even less about why he wasn’t alone. His eyelids were too heavy to open, and he felt stiff and more than a little sore.

“Sleep,” Evan said. “It’s early, still.” 

Evan. Evan was in his bed. His back to Tommy’s front, and his hand on the arm Tommy had around him, fingers gently running over his forearm to his hand. 

He drifted, not fully asleep, but certainly not awake. Fell back asleep. 

A while later, he woke alone. He’d been on his side, but he dropped onto his back, blinking at the ceiling. It felt like a dream. A kiss at the entrance to a hospital and Chim getting married in a hospital room. Evan in his shower. 

Wait…Evan in his shower?

The hospital? 

He heard footsteps and as he started to sit up, Evan walked in. He brought a bottle of water and a plate with toast and eggs and potatoes. Tommy’s stomach growled. Evan chuckled and wait, was Evan wearing one of his shirts? 

“Hungry?” Evan asked. “You slept for almost ten hours.” 

He’d probably needed it. Didn’t keep him from being quite a bit groggy. Tommy watched Evan as he set the plate down on Tommy’s bedside table. He handed him the water, though, and Tommy hadn’t realized how thirsty he was. 

As he was drinking, one thing came to him. 

“Evan, did you kiss me in the middle of a hospital?” 

Evan’s face went pink. “It wasn’t the middle. More like by the entrance.” 

“Oh.”

“Eat up,” Evan said. “It’s gonna get cold.” 

Tommy took the plate when Evan handed it to him. His first bite of toast made him groan. When he wiped crumbs off his chin, he stopped. Chin. Soot. 

“Soot,” he said.

Evan just laughed. “There’s pictures, don’t worry. Just eat. And then I’ll explain and we can be lazy for the rest of the day. I wasn’t sure if you’d want coffee? I still don’t know how you take it.” 

Tommy chuckled. “No. No coffee.” 

“Okay. But I’ll get you more water, then. Fruit?” 

“Sure, Evan.” 

Tommy didn’t know what to expect. He ate his breakfast with gusto, was glad when Evan reappeared with what appeared to be a bowl of cut up fruit that Tommy wasn’t entirely sure had been in his kitchen and a few bottles of water. And yes, it was definitely Tommy’s shirt.

“Last night—”

“We were both very tired, and you were very sooty and I know from experience you don’t want to go to bed like that. I’m sorry if I overstepped, but I don’t know that you wouldn’t have fallen asleep in your shower. How are you feeling today?” 

“I’m fine. Thank you, Evan. You didn’t overstep.” 

“Good. We’re both off today so unless you want to be alone…how about a movie?” 

It wasn’t that he hadn’t ever had other partners that cared about him — it was just that Evan did it differently. Like he was trying to find Tommy’s boundaries and electing to respect them despite how much he’d already done the night before and despite staying with Tommy and sleeping in his bed. 

“A movie sounds great,” Tommy said. 

It was much later, after they watched a few movies and Evan ordered them a pizza that he had the thought to check his phone. A lot had come back to him, including the litany of texts he’d received from a drunk Evan and Eddie. He found the voicemail he’d put off listening to and put it on speaker before hitting play while Evan was in the bathroom. 

Music came through first. Eddie’s voice yelling something and then Evan. 

“I like you so so so so much, Tommy. Soooo much.”

“Calling your boyfriend, Buck? Buck? Everyone, Buck has a boyfriend!” The sound of something breaking and then, Eddie again. “His name is Tommy! Say hi to Tommy!” 

A chorus of “hi, Tommy!” shouted by what could only be some kind of drunk crowd. 

“You’re…you’re like a guy…a guy’s guy. Strong. Want to kiss you again and hold your hand. Eddie…Eddie, did you know he has really nice hair? And a cleft chin?”

“Shhhh, Buck’s on phone with boyfriend,” Eddie’s voice came through. 

“Miss you,” Evan said. “Eddie, I’m gonna kiss him.” 

Eddie laughing. “Kiss him!” 

“Like kiss him kiss him with tongue and…and—”

More shouts and then the voicemail cut off. 

Tommy found Evan, face buried in his hands, standing in the doorway.  

“Hey, you did say you were going to kiss me,” Tommy said. “And for the record, I like you so so so so much too.” 

Evan rushed back to Tommy’s bed, crawling from the foot to where Tommy lay. Earlier they’d gotten up to make it up, but they’d been lounging atop the covers in a way that Tommy very rarely did. Evan was on his knees and he leaned over and reached for his face, thumb ending right over the cleft on Tommy’s chin and though he took a moment to stare down at Tommy, it didn’t take long before he was leaning down and they were kissing. Tommy pulled him closer, bringing him down so Buck’s weight rested half on Tommy. Evan hummed into it and when the kiss broke, Evan dropped his head to Tommy’s shoulder. 

“I really do,” Evan said, turning his face so he wasn’t speaking into Tommy’s shirt. 

“What?” 

“Like you.” 

#911 abc #bucktommy #911 fic #bucktommy fic #tommy kinard #7x06 coda #buck x tommy #kinley #tevan

[lilac-witch]

If My Wish Came True, It Would've Been You - Azriel x OC

CHAPETR ONE: ALL YOU HAVE IS YOUR FIRE AND THE PLACE YOU NEED TO REACH

word count: 1.1k

synopsis: Koschei's forces are growing stronger by the day, and the fae of Prythian need an answer to their prayers. Thankfully, the Most Handsome High Lord is full of entertaining ideas.

warnings: strong language.

a/n: the above media work is not mine and I have no idea who to credit 😢 if you are the owner/know the owner, please let me know so I can credit their work or replace it should you/they not wish to have it displayed. also, the plot of this series may not align with the writings of SJM completely, and that is because I am taking creative liberties to lead the story in the direction I want it to go 😁

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Formal meetings had never been Azriel’s strong suit. Too many fae and no shadows to hide in and watch from—forced to sit in an uncomfortable chair not made to accommodate his wings—subjected to the flamboyant disagreements of those who held power.

“If you sit any straighter your spine may stay fixed in that position.”

Azriel’s head swayed slightly to the right, meeting the amused violet-blue eyes of his High Lord. “It’s not my fault that these fucking chairs make it feel like someone is busy shoving a stick up your arse.”

Azriel’s keen eyes caught the slight uplift of Rhysand’s mouth despite his cool, composed posture.

“Such vulgar language, Az! I think you’ve been spending too much time with Cassian and Nesta.”

Azriel resisted the urge to give Rhys the finger, so as to avoid an uncomfortable conversation with the company they presently shared.

For the last several hours, Azriel had found himself sharing a space with not only one, but seven High Lords. The bi-annual High Lord’s meeting—the only time of the year when one could expect to find all of the great powers of Prythian in one room together.

“Are you going to bring it up?”

Rhys’s eyes narrowed in displeasure, face souring ever so slightly.

“Yes, in a few moments. We can’t delay the inevitable, I suppose.”

Azriel watched his High Lord for a moment before responding. “You’re not to blame. You know that right?”

Rhys's head bobbed—in agreeance or thanks, Azriel wasn’t completely sure.

Rhys cleared his throat, gaining the attention of the bickering High Lords scattered around the table. “As much as I enjoy watching the lot of you nip at each other's tails, there is a much more… pressing matter to discuss.”

“And what would that be Rhysand?” the red-headed lord mused. “Here to tell us you are the mother’s gift to us all? That we ought to bow before your feet? Name you King?”

Azriel snarled in warning, only to be waved off by Rhys. Beron, High Lord of the Autumn Court—and the greatest waste of space Azriel had come across in over 500 years of existence.

“That’s right. Call your dog off,” Beron said, lips parting to reveal that smug smile of victory. Cauldron, it made him want to knock the arrogant redheads’ teeth out.

“As I was saying…” Rhys drawled. “There are signs of Koschei’s troops gathering in great numbers. We assume they are planning to attack. The question begs as to when.”

“And you learnt this from the shadows that whisper in your dog’s ear, I presume?” Beron questioned, the remark causing Azriel’s fists to clench.

“He’s a prick. Don’t let him get to you.”

Azriel took a deep breath as Rhys’s voice infiltrated his mind. In. Out. In. Out. Slowly, his hands relaxed, settling palms down on his leather-bound knees.

“Elain has been having visions,” Rhys revealed as Azriel monitored shocked expressions litter the faces of those who sat around the table.

“Well…that is most concerning,” Thesan breathed, slouching back in his chair—chin finding the cup of his palm.

“You’re certain it’s Koschei she’s seeing?” Helion asked, leaning forward to rest his weight on his onyx forearms. Azriel couldn’t recall a time when he had seen the High Lord of Day look so serious.

Rhys nodded. “We’re almost completely confident that Elain is seeing the death god–”

“And what would you have us do, Rhysand? Our troops are a little thin after the last war you led us into.”

Azriel resisted releasing the primal growl that rose up through his chest—threatening to rattle his ribcage like one of the musical shakers he’d seen being played in the street of Velaris.  “You seem to be misinformed about your own cavalry, High Lord. From what my sources tell me, your troops were barely dented by the war, unlike the rest of the courts.”

Beron snarled at him, eyes ablaze with that raging fire that ran through his Autumn Court veins. A compulsive liar—just like his eldest son.

“So, another war is upon us, and we are low on means of muscle and protection,” Kallias stated, rubbing at the skin between his stark white eyebrows. “What do you suggest as a solution? Will the mortal queens aid us?”

“Vassa might, but Mother knows Koschei will do everything he can to tighten his noose around her.” Rhys leaned back in his chair, and Azriel noted his attempt to appear nonchalant despite his growing agitation. “There is another option…”

Azriel knew that pondering look on his brother’s face too well. That was a look of scheming—of plans that may or may not get them killed…again.

Rhys took a breath before continuing. “A few months ago, the Night Court received a visitor from a distant land. A very distant land.”

Azriel’s breath caught in his throat. No… Rhys would have to be out of his god's damned mind to be suggesting this.

“Her name was Bryce Quinlan. Fae, although not completely like us, but not entirely different either. She possessed the power of a star. And she fell through worlds…”

“Are you meaning to tell us that you had a fae from another world land on your doorstep?” Helion blanched, his deep-coloured skin seeming to glow with excitement. “Why in the name of all things good are you only telling us this now!”

It was Azriel who spoke next. “We didn’t know who she was, what she was, and what she was capable of. We didn’t want to take the chance of word getting out, and the issue becoming larger than what it was.”

Rhys looked to Thesan, whose intelligent eyes were combing through this newfound information. “She’s back on her home planet, where she belongs. Her stay was brief, but her impact… tremendous.”

“You wish to seek out her help.”

“Yes,” Rhys confirmed. “She mentioned great powers that protected her world from harm. Warriors of unparalleled strength. She called them Valkyrie.”

“That’s not possible,” Helion countered. “The Valkyrie died out centuries ago.”

Rhys simply nodded. “They did. In our world.”

The silence that followed was almost painful. No one dared to utter a word—as if fearing that everything would shatter like glass.

Surprisingly, it was the Lord of Spring who broke the spell. “Let’s say your idea holds value. How do you plan on contacting this… Bryce Quinlan, when she is worlds away?”

Rhys’s lips turned up in that arrogant smirk that had earned him his nickname—prick. It was then that Azriel realized. Rhys had been thinking about this for a while—a long while. And he had formulated a plan that he was seemingly confident about.

“My second in command has some incredibly useful qualities,” Rhys hummed, threading his fingers together. “Why don’t you leave the details to me.”

Eeek!!!

I'm so happy to finally be uploading this! I've been mulling over this idea for ages and it feels so good to finally put pen to paper... kind of. I hope you guys love it, and I can't wait for the chapters to come!

Tag List: @mybestfriendmademe @lilah-asteria @talesofadragon

#acotar #rhysand #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #crescent city #bryce quinlan #azriel x oc #helion #thesan #kallias #tamlin #beron vanserra #azriel x reader

[ju-vondy]

The text I wish I could draw to every Elriel shipper:

What Azriel feels about Elain is lust. The need to fill a void and nothing more. He's desperate because his loved so-called brothers found their mates who ironically were sisters but the third sister wasn't give to him. But what we do know is that Azriel WANTS a mate: this has already become clear at several points in the narrative of the books.

The mating bond is SO much deeper than lust. It's so BEYOND. Azriel will never feel a mating bond snapping with Elain, and guess why? Because she ALREADY HAS A BOND WITH ANOTHER FUCKING MALE. That is true: everyone can smell it, even Azriel can.

So, let Azriel kiss and f*ck with Elain how many time he wants... That will NEVER be a mating bond (that he desperately wants) at the end of the day. That will never be the connection he wants. And I wouldn't bother to see a scene of them going to bed together: I've seen Feyre having s*x with Tamlin, Aelin with Chaol, etc. etc. But did that EVER influenced the end? No. Once them found their partners the past didn't mattered anymore, for God's sake!!

And SJM has already made it clear that when she thinks about "pairing mates together" she always looks for who has the most things in common and also the two people must have a dynamic where one CHALLENGES the other. Like that dog and cat dynamic. Sarah loves writing "bunters."

Do you really think Elain will challenge Azriel, seriously? HOW?! She doesn't fight. She hates violence. She has zero personality. She has no interest in training (seriously, she could have literally shown up at the House to visit Nesta and signed up to participate in the training... But she didn't, clearly because taking care of the garden is more interesting than learning to defend herself, right? LOL). Elain likes SUNSHINE, flowers, baking, gardening, delicate things. Azriel has NOTHING to do with that.

Now: Gwyn is one of those hyperactive people, with orange cat energy. She is the total opposite of Azriel when it comes to communication hahaha and that would be REALLY COOL to see. She being plugged in at 220W and he getting lost thinking "Damn, how can this beautiful thing talk so much?" 😄👐🏻 Gwyn, with this personality, would simply take Azriel out of his comfort zone. Isn't that what SJM likes, after all??! People who challenge each other.

Not to mention Gwyn has a very good sense of humor. That day of the Solstice, Azriel could have simply been rude to her, but he decided to stay and start a conversation with her, joking: "Are you kicking me out?" And soon after, when Azriel said that he had forgotten his dagger and couldn't sleep without it, Gwyn didn't think twice before joking "Ah yes, a comfort for every growing child" and Azriel laughed. Gwyn has a sharp tongue and it would be lovely seeing Azriel losing his mind to it.

Gwyn, like Azriel, is interested in combat. She became the first Valkyrie after hundreds of years (Azriel himself looked at her with admiration when she was about to cut the ribbon) Gwyn likes to sing, Azriel too. She was PISSED when Azriel sneered saying that they wouldn't be able to overcome the obstacles and therefore hadn't thought of a prize for them. Gwyn is competitive and we know that Azriel is too, as Cassian and Rhysand have never managed to defeat him in snowball fights in all these years. Azriel is a master spy, Gwyn spent literally hours sitting up in the trees spying on opponents and monsters when she was in the Rite.

That's and we're the reason why after reading ACOSF I stopped thinking about being Elriel and I'm rooting for the little redhead to be the boy Az's endgame.

She's so much more compatible with him! I liked the idea of Elriel because he had that "forbidden thing" going on and all, but honestly? It would be too cruel to Lucien. And Azriel is too loyal to Rhysand to disobey his orders. Azriel himself said that he didn't go that far with his plans, the only thing he thought about was bitching.

In other words: Az only thinks of Elain as a source of pleasure. But a partnership bond is not that. A bond of partnership is someone who challenges you, complements you and supports you. That's what I want for Az: someone he looks at and admires for who she is, and not just because he feels horny and wants to see how the female will react when he's inside her 🙄😮‍💨

Another thing: I don't want to see him getting some female whose his shadows DISAPPEAR when she is around. That would be too boring! Literally, the bonus chapter already gave us everything: on one page we see the shadows shrinking through Elain's breath and minutes later one of those same shadows intertwines with Gwyn's condensed breathing. And it wasn't just Azriel who calmed down after that conversation, it was the shadows too.

I'm not here saying that Azriel ALREADY DIES IN LOVE with Gwyn, for God's sake! How do you have selective interpretation, right, sweet Elriels?! Guys, Gwyn just appeared in the story (and has already attracted more attention than the plant in 4 books LOL, cry less!) And it's clear that she still has so much to develop! The whole thing just started, you know?

Sarah said she's leaving "crumbs" and "clues" along the way, and clearly the vocabulary says it all. What examples of hints can we notice? The "spark" Azriel felt in his chest and the image glowing quietly even if he buried it down deep. Sarah at one point in the narrative emphasized that Gwyn was "willing to erase Azriel and Cassian's arrogant smiles. Especially Azriel's." Why not let the narration die there in the penultimate sentence? Why did Sarah add *especially Azriel's*? Look at the DYNAMICS there my people 🗣️🗣️🗣️🤏🏻

Also, when Nesta hear Gwyn's singing she describes as if Gwyn's voice was claiming to be freed, to let go! As if there's something inside Gwyn that need to be developed. And Sarah has never been one to leave things loose. Anyway, let's see what fate awaits us!

#gwynriel #pro gwynriel #gwyneth berdara #acosf #azriel #sarah j maas #anti elriel #elucien #acotar

[rosanna-writer]

we said hello and your eyes look like coming home (20/?)

Summary: A canon-divergent AU where the bond snaps for Rhys on Calanmai, Feyre unwittingly accepts it, and Fire Night magic proves to be more transformative than anyone bargained for. Feyre drags a mate she hardly knows out from Under the Mountain, then puts him back together as war with Hybern approaches. Warnings: dubious consent, canon-typical sexual violence, canon-typical violence Rating: Explicit Chapter Word Count: ~5k

ch. 1 - 10 | ch. 11 - she underestimated just who she was stealing from | ch. 12 - no amount of freedom gets you clean | ch. 13 - stay stay stay | ch. 14 - call it what you want to | ch. 15 - even when you're sleeping, keep your eyes open | ch. 16 - you drew stars around my scars | ch. 17 - do you remember all the city lights on the water? | ch. 18 - and it smells like me | ch. 19 - your mom's ring in your pocket | ch. 20 - she is here to destroy you

Content warning for canon-typical violence and animal death. Some text in this chapter is taken directly from A Court of Mist and Fury.

Read on AO3 or you can find the twentieth chapter below the readmore.

Mud didn't seep through Illyrian leathers. A small mercy, perhaps, but after sitting in it for a few hours, the cold was infinitely more tolerable when I stayed dry. I couldn't move, not without scaring away the ducks that were finally beginning to forget that I was sitting on the edge of the pond.

And I'd been dispatched to find dinner.

We'd fanned out to cover more ground—someone in Windhaven must have tipped the rogue war-bands off, and they'd retreated deeper into the forest. Rhys, Cassian, and Azriel took turns flying circles overhead, looking for signs of movement.

We'd likely be out here several days, too long to carry enough food to last the whole time. Though I knew it was to put some distance between me and an initial confrontation with hotheaded warriors with a hatred for humans, I didn't mind. The work needed to get done anyway.

I still hated hunting, but being out in the woods alone cleared my head. There was a quiet and stillness that was impossible to find in a city, even one as lovely as Velaris. I let my mind wander, and I considered how to best capture the dappled sunlight on the water if I ever painted this view. Filling a full canvas still felt like a long way off, but…perhaps a landscape would be the way to ease back into it. Maybe I'd paint a mountain before I tackled everything that had happened under one.

But I could only think of painting for so long, and the ducks were still flitting about too nervously for my liking. I sat a bit longer, and my mind drifted to other things.

Rhys never told me if he was proposing or not. I hadn't asked again. In truth, I had no idea what I was supposed to do after recovering the ring—return it to him? I couldn't wear it openly, at least not without inviting questions we weren't ready to answer. But I hadn't seen a faerie wear a wedding band or use a surname or even known someone else with a mate.

And if faerie funerals were so different from mortal ones, then I supposed weddings would be, too. Especially when a High Lord was involved. Gods, the only person I'd talked to about the difference between marriage and mating had been Tamlin—there was no reason to believe anything he'd told me was accurate.

I was out of my depth. But the ducks had finally settled, so I did the one thing I was good for and let an arrow fly. It speared a bird through the neck, killing it instantly.

The rest of the flock alighted—I had to move quickly. Half on instinct, I aimed, accounting for their speed and direction as I shot down three more, one right after the other. Every arrow found its mark, and the unlucky ducks dropped to the ground as the rest soared away.

My hips and knees barked in protest as I stood; crouching in the mud for so long had left me stiff. At least nothing had gone numb this time.

I felt better, though, even with the tedious task of retrieving, cleaning, and cooking the game ahead of me. In the Spring Court, I'd gotten comfortable and let my guard down far too easily. I'd never felt safer or more taken care of in my life than I had in these last two weeks with Rhys in Velaris, but…I'd worried, on some level, that I'd gotten soft or lost my skills because of it. Bagging those ducks proved I hadn't.

Being loved didn't make me any less a wolf.

I gathered the birds and made my way to the place we'd agreed to meet up at sunset. Without wax or even a large pot of water, I'd either have to breast them out—which would waste some of the meat—or pluck the feathers one by one to roast them whole. And we needed to get a fire started.

I was still plucking the first bird when Azriel arrived. There was a smear of blood on his leathers, and that told me enough—whatever had happened resulted in no survivors. Wordlessly, he grabbed a carcass, sat down next to me, and began ripping the feathers off, too.

No one had ever done that for me. Not my sisters or my father, not even when I'd asked for help.

Cassian landed not long after that, grim-faced and slightly bloodied. He nodded a greeting, then crouched and began coaxing a fire to life. "We're lucky to have a professional around," he said, indicating the carcasses with a jerk of his head.

"Did I catch enough?" I said.

"More than enough to ensure we don't have to listen to Cassian's stomach growl all night," Azriel said.

Knowing that none of us would go hungry set me at ease. The duck in my hand felt like even more of a tangible contribution, proof that it hadn't been a mistake to bring me to Illyria. I smiled to myself and kept ripping out feathers.

I hadn't heard him winnow in, but I felt the familiar darkness of Rhys's power reaching for me again. I turned to see him walking towards us through the trees. As he got closer, my eyes drifted to a scratch on his cheek. Then all my attention locked onto it.

Hardly a scrape—whoever had done it hadn't even broken the skin, and his magic was already halfway done healing it. My blood boiled anyway. Someone had gotten close enough to get a talon or a weapon on him.

"Who," I said, though the word was more growl than speech.

"They're dead," Rhys said.

I was on my feet without even realizing it, closing the distance between us in long strides. "Good. Did you—"

"Yes. All by my hand."

The scratch had faded completely, but I reached for the place it had been. Rhys caught my wrist and tugged me to him. The momentum made my greeting more collision than kiss. I nearly knocked us both over, but Rhys was solid and steady as his other arm twined around my waist to crush me against him.

We'd only been apart a few hours, but someone had almost drawn blood from my mate; an utterly irrational wave of guilt that I hadn't been there to stop it and relief that he was fine had swept away my good sense. I was already pawing at him with my free hand.

The pointed clearing of a throat cut through the mating-bond-induced madness. Without looking up from the bird he was still plucking, Azriel said, "I'd like to remind everyone that we agreed no sharing bedrolls on this mission."

I didn't have it in me to feel embarrassed. Perhaps I couldn't feel ashamed of anything when Rhys had an arm around me. I interlaced our fingers and pulled him back towards the fire.

We sat down, and Cassian dug a rag out of his pack and tossed it in our direction. I reached up to catch it, but it snagged on one of Rhys's talons.

Cassian grinned. "That's for Feyre. I can tell she's dying to clean you off."

Rhys narrowed his eyes, flicking a finger towards the rag, and it dissolved into mist. "I'm not an invalid," he grumbled. On my other side, Azriel chuckled.

Cassian took over the rest of the cooking after that, and one knowing look we shared across the fire was enough to tell me he'd made do with unseasoned game and campfires plenty of times before. Roasted whole, the duck wasn't half-bad.

Before long, night fell, and we were divvying up shifts to keep watch. I took the first, then had no trouble falling asleep—not in the open air, underneath the stars. The next day was more of the same as we tracked the rogue war-bands deeper into the forest.

On the third day of hunting, I was crouched up a tree when a glint of something bright green tore my attention away from the forest floor. I'd assumed the shape circling above had been a bird, perhaps a hawk or a vulture, and hadn't thought much about it.

But birds didn't sparkle. That was an emerald-colored siphon.

The path the Illyrian was taking brought him closer, but I didn't think he'd spotted me. I froze. He flew closer, almost in range of my bow.

I didn't dare even breathe too loudly. Keen faerie senses were difficult to hide from, and even if I stayed hidden, his looping flight pattern would send him back in the opposite direction and I'd miss an opportunity.

He came closer. And closer. There was no time to run.

I grabbed an ash arrow and took the shot.

The arrow ripped a hole in one of his wings, and the Illyrian plummeted to the ground like a stone in water. I scrambled down from my perch and barreled through the trees. As I ran, I pulled another ash arrow from my quiver—a fall from that height could have been deadly, but if not, an injured Illyrian warrior could still find a way to bury a dagger in my belly.

I heard him moaning in pain before I stepped into the clearing where he'd fallen. He'd landed on his back, torso twisted and his legs bent at unnatural angles. A shattered pelvis at the least, maybe even a snapped spine. Healing magic was the only thing keeping him alive. The siphon on his chest flickered weakly, like a heart struggling to beat.

At the sound of my footsteps, his head turned. His eyes burned with hate as he reached for a knife strapped to his belt. I nocked the ash arrow, aiming directly for his face as I took a step closer. His hand stilled.

"Tell me where the others are hiding," I said. "Don't bother lying. The High Lord is on his way."

"I won't take orders from Rhysand's human whore," he spat.

"The best outcome you can hope for is a mercy kill before he arrives. Give up their locations, and I'll consider it."

For a long moment, he said nothing. My arm began to ache from keeping the bowstring pulled back, and I prayed my fingers wouldn't start shaking. I said nothing either, just tried to emulate Azriel's deadly, stone-faced resolve.

The Illyrian's hand twitched, but his fingers never closed around the hilt of the knife. Instead, through clenched teeth, he recited the litany of names and locations I was after. I believed him—I doubted he was in a state to lie convincingly.

As I listened, I gave one insistent tug on the bond and dropped my shields so Rhys could hear it all, too. The beast that had once rested in my mind became a furious thing growling and snapping its jaws.

The clearing plunged into darkness. I couldn't see where Rhys was, but I felt his power sliding along my skin all the same.

"Is that all?" I said, my voice so cold I hardly recognized it as my own.

The Illyrian whimpered something that might have been "yes." I loosed the arrow; even under the cover of Rhys's darkness, my aim stayed true. The point landed in the Illyrian's eye, buried deep enough in his skull to render him still and silent forever.

Just like Andras.

Even with the threat gone, the darkness didn't clear. I glanced up, and my vision had adjusted enough to make out Rhys's silhouette, his wings flared and hands shaking.

"You should have called me the moment you spotted him," Rhys said, voice ragged.

"I handled it," I said simply.

Rhys growled. At me. And the fact that I was too human to properly bare my teeth and return the favor—rage bubbled under my skin. If he'd been closer, I would have shoved him.

"Then why bring me here?" I hissed. "Just to humor me?"

I felt like such a fool for not having realized it sooner. Killing a few ducks was hardly a real contribution—they might as well have patted me on the head and told the High Lord's little human mate she'd done such a good job. Shame made my cheeks go hot.

"Don't be stupid, Feyre," Rhys snapped.

The darkness rippled and churned around us, like a storm at sea. The tendrils seemed to lap at me, pressing close then retreating, even as they skittered down my spine. Magic thrummed in the air.

I crossed my arms. "I'm not."

"You could have gotten yourself killed. Even Cassian won't run into a fight without backup if it's available. There were three of us who could have gone with you, but for reasons I can't even begin to fathom, you waited until the very last second."

I'd never seen Rhys this…undone. Not even when I'd first gone Under the Mountain. His breathing was ragged, and there was a note of panic in his voice I'd never heard before.

"I…I didn't think to ask. At least not at first. I called for you as soon as I remembered." As ridiculous as it sounded when I said it aloud, it was true. But the habit of doing everything on my own was a difficult one to break.

Rhys sighed, his shoulders slumping as the fight went out of him. The darkness seemed to lift, but before I could be sure, he'd winnowed closer and pulled me against his chest. I couldn't see much other than his wings cocooning me.

He pressed a kiss to the top of my head. "I love your fearlessness just as much as every other part of you, but please remember that you're not alone anymore. I can't lose you, Feyre."

"I love you too," I said, voice thick. I set my bow down and hugged him back.

Both ends of the bond seemed to settle as we held each other. I savored it—the heat of him against me, the sun shining through his wings, the soft scrape of the scales of his leathers against my cheek.

"You are your own person, and I will not dictate your choices. Ever." Rhys picked a twig out of my hair; it must have gotten lodged in my braid when I'd climbed down from the tree. "If you'd told me what you were doing, I would only have asked you to allow me to come with for my own peace of mind."

I'd never asked why he'd gone alone to that cursed party fifty years ago. Maybe he'd insisted on it; maybe he'd also forgotten to ask for backup, then paid a terrible price. It seemed better not to bring it up.

"You aren't alone either," was all I said.

There was a pulse of something down the bond that I couldn't quite identify, then he stepped back, tucking his wings in tight. His expression was unreadable—a wall had gone back up.

"I've passed all the information on to Azriel, and his shadows are scouting out the locations we were given. Will you be able to keep going? It's alright if you're rattled—you did just kill someone."

There was nothing but a howling void where my guilt should have been. Perhaps I'd lost that piece of myself when I'd killed Andras. If anything, I just felt…numb. "He deserved it."

"I don't disagree."

Rhys let me into his mind as he conferred with the others. I relaxed when Azriel's shadows confirmed that the information I'd gathered was correct—at the very least, I'd saved us time trekking through the woods. I wasn't useless, hadn't been brought here for nothing after all.

Once the first war-band had been hauled back to Windhaven, Rhys wanted me to stay there. I didn't mind. Another set of eyes and ears on the camp was prudent, and I was still technically his emissary.

It was barely even noon when we returned. On Rhys's orders, Devlon's men had set up a line of wooden poles at the center of the camp, the area used for public gatherings. A small crowd had already begun to form. Among them, I spotted Devlon and the warriors who'd been flanking him earlier.

Cassian had wanted those poles burned. And after this, they would be. For the last fifty years, females had been tied to them when their wings had been clipped. The sight of them alone turned my stomach.

Rhys loosened his grip on his power, and from my place next to him, I could feel the magic radiating off him like heat. A gust of night-kissed wind had every member of the rebel war-band silent and tied to the posts.

"There is no tolerance for treason in the Night Court," Rhys said. His voice cut like a knife through the murmuring of the crowd. Pure command—the voice of the High Lord of the Night Court. "And to bow before an invading general who would butcher and enslave humans is particularly heinous. It spits on the graves of the soldiers who died for the mortals' freedom during the War. I'll leave your fate up to the human in our midst, Feyre Cursebreaker."

Every single set of eyes slid to me. The attention had my heart hammering in my chest, but I forced myself to mimic the small, cold smile I'd seen on Amren's face from time to time. When I'd yanked the ash arrow out of the dead warrior's eye, I hadn't bothered to clean it off, just returned it to my quiver.

The gore peeking over my shoulder was message enough.

"I'll make a final decision when the rest are captured. Flaying their skin from their bones seems merciful, but perhaps there's some creature in the Middle that might enjoy hunting them for sport," I said, making myself sound bored and aloof.

The spark of Rhys's approval down the bond bolstered my confidence for what I'd planned to do next. I stepped closer to one of the bound Illyrians and circled my hand around the thin, delicate bone at the edge of his wing, then snapped it in two.

I'd know that cracking sound anywhere. The air reeked of Wyrm shit again, mud clung to my skin, and the slithering behind me was getting closer and closer.

I was running, and—

It's over, Feyre. We got out.

Rhys's voice in my head jolted me out of the memory. I gripped one of his talons and pulled myself back to the present.

I'd survived. And no matter how much of a monster it made me, I'd ensure that no one, not even the most powerful faerie, would hurt me or anyone I loved. Not again.

Before Rhys could fuss, I was breaking the bones in the next Illyrian's wings. I gritted my teeth and ignored their cries of pain until I'd rendered every single one of them incapable of flight.

We locked eyes when it was done, but Rhys's beautiful face was an impenetrable mask I still hadn't learned to see past. "I'll be waiting here for you to bring me the rest," I said. No title or honorific—I'd let them all wonder why he hadn't misted me for speaking to him like that.

Rhys nodded once. He said nothing, but there was a question in the hesitant brush against my shields.

I'm fine. Really. Just bring me the rest so we can finish this quickly.

For a moment, the bond thrummed with wicked delight. Try not to burn down Windhaven while I'm gone.

He took to the sky. Without carrying a passenger, the movement was all perfect, lethal grace, and sometimes I wondered how I could possibly forget that Rhys was anything but an absurdly beautiful predator. I watched until he was out of sight, marveling that he was mine.

The crowd dispersed, and for a moment, I just stood there, unsure what to do with myself. Perhaps I'd spend the rest of the day being ignored by Illyrians. I wouldn't blame them for that—as faeries went about their business, I caught a few wary glances in my direction.

But I supposed I should probably clean off the bloodied arrows in my quiver. And my hands were badly in need of washing.

I made my way to the water pump at the center of the camp. An Illyrian female—around my age, if I had to guess, though it was impossible to be sure with immortals—had just started using using it. Large, brutal scars ran down both of her wings.

"I'll be a while. You can go first," she said, sliding her empty bucket out of the way with her foot. Now that I was closer, I spotted a bruise darkening her cheek, too.

"There's no need. I wouldn't want to waste your time if there are chores to be done," I said.

"You'd be doing me a favor—I'll take any excuse to be out of the house for a little while longer."

I understood—there had been countless days I'd dragged my feet because I hadn't wanted to face Nesta's barbed insults, my father's sad eyes, or Elain's clueless whining. And none of them had even raised a hand to me.

I gave the female a nod, pulled the bloody arrow from my quiver, and rinsed it off under the stream. Silence fell. The female said nothing else, and perhaps it would have been best to let the quiet stay unbroken. The chances were high a trip to gather water was a rare respite for her.

But I could feel her assessing gaze, and I struggled not to squirm under it. "Illyria is very beautiful," I blurted out awkwardly.

"It's a shithole."

"My shithole across the Wall didn't have mountains. It's prettier here, at least," I shook the excess water off the newly-clean arrow and slid it back into the quiver.

She snorted, lips tugging upward at the corners. "I'm Emerie."

"Feyre."

"I know. You're the Cursebreaker." Not awed, just matter-of-fact, which was a bit of a relief.

I scrubbed away the last of the dirt, dried off as best I could, then offered a hand to shake. Emerie took it, and I wasn't surprised that her grip was like iron, not with that straight-backed posture and sharp stare of hers.

I stayed while Emerie filled up her bucket, just talking a bit about Windhaven. She didn't offer up much about herself, and I didn't pry. But by the time she returned home, I'd learned what spices were in the Illyrian dish Cassian had brought to the townhouse the day I'd first trained with Rhys. Emerie had barked a laugh when I told her not to bother with advice on preparing it because I was an utterly hopeless cook.

Maybe I'd made a friend. But I'd also thought Lucien was a friend and he'd turned out to be assisting my kidnapper—I wasn't sure I trusted my judgement on that front anymore.

By the end of the day, Rhys, Cassian, and Azriel, had rounded up the rest of the rogue war-bands, and I'd broken the wings of the survivors. And as much as I wanted to go straight to the Weaver's cottage, I knew it was foolish to go so close to dark. Cassian planned to stay in Illyria, and Devlon was loyal enough not to release the prisoners under his nose in the dead of night or allow anyone else to manage it.

Rhys and I returned to the townhouse in need of a bath, so we took one together. We were both utterly exhausted—his eyes roved over me as I shucked off my leathers, but for once, he was silent.

I'd still snatched the long-handled sponge out of his hands and washed his wings for him. Even drained of energy, I wasn't about to forgo an opportunity to get my hands all over them. I took my time, appreciating the way the powerful muscles in his back rippled with every brush of my fingertips.

And once we were clean, he laid me out on his bed and licked until he'd wrung so much pleasure from me that I drifted into an easy sleep in his arms.

It had been exactly what we both needed. I could guess how he was feeling about a trip to Illyria with still-healing wings, and my mind was unable to keep replaying the sound of bones cracking when Rhys's tongue was sliding inside me.

My dreams were still horrifying—a bone-spear lancing through Rhys's eye, my hands covered in his blood—but I slept through the night and kept my dinner down. I woke alone in Rhys's bed that morning, which meant he'd probably slipped out once I'd drifted off. I suspected he'd had nightmares of his own, too.

I was pulling the belt of knives from my dresser when he winnowed behind me. "Allow me," he purred, right into my ear.

"I can do it myself," I said. After I'd mentioned chucking that knife at Tamlin, Azriel had showed me how to strap it on as part of my training to go Under the Mountain.

"I'm aware. That doesn't mean you have to."

He had a point, so I let him take it from me. I turned, and for a moment, we were chest-to-chest. He inhaled, drinking in my scent, and I lifted a hand to touch him.

But he dropped to his knees before I could. Flashing me a roguish grin, he spread open the web of leather and steel. My toes curled in my boots.

"Remind me of what you've been briefed on," he said as I stepped through the loops.

I did my best to ignore the steady brush of his hands as he set about adjusting and buckling and tightening things. "Knives only—no sword or bow or arrows. Don't touch anything that doesn't belong to me. Take my time to think about loopholes before agreeing on a bargain. Call for help if I need it. And stay alive before everything else," I recited.

"Precisely." He braced those strong, capable hands on my thighs and looked up at me. "You are more valuable than any treasure the Weaver could ever posses. If you need to leave the ring behind to come home to me, then that's what you do."

"I won't let it come to that."

Rhys got to his feet and kissed my cheek. "I believe you."

He winnowed us into a wood that was older, more aware, than any place I’d been.

The gnarled beech trees were tightly woven together, splattered and draped so thoroughly with moss and lichen that it was nearly impossible to see the bark beneath. The trees groaned—though there was no breeze to shift them. No, the air here was tight and stale.

So this was the Middle.

I followed Rhys through the trees, and the only sound was our footsteps. No birdsong or the snapping of twigs, nothing I was used to hearing in a forest. Just unnatural, ancient stillness.

We stopped before a clearing. A small, whitewashed cottage with a thatched roof and half-crumbling chimney sat in the center. Ordinary—almost mortal. There was even a well, its bucket perched on the stone lip, and a wood pile beneath one of the round windows of the cottage. No sound or light within—not even smoke puffed from the chimney.

I could hear faint, pretty humming coming from the cottage. Soothing, almost mesmerizing—it would have set me at ease if I didn't already know it was coming from the monster within. The sort of thing that might lure quarry into a snare.

But I was not prey. No—I was a huntress. A wolf. It took much more than that to fool me.

I started down the mossy earth path that paved the way to the door and didn't look back once. When I reached the threshold, I could hear her voice through the door. The Weaver's voice was sweet, clear, and beautiful.

“There were two sisters, they went playing, To see their father’s ships come sailing… And when they came unto the sea-brim The elder did push the younger in.”

I'd heard the song before, from humans. It was a favorite of the traveling musicians who sometimes passed through our village. And perhaps…she knew that, and the familiarity was intended to lull me, too.

I stayed perfectly still on the threshold for a long moment, the same freeze-watch-listen pattern I fell into as I hunted in the woods. Along with her voice, I could only hear the clatter of some device. So she was alone, then.

“Sometimes she sank, and sometimes she swam, Til her corpse came to the miller’s dam.”

I raised a hand to knock, but the door swung open on silent hinges, as if she'd rolled out a welcome mat just for me. I didn't move, just peered inside. My chest went tight, and I forced myself to keep my breathing even.

A large main room, with a small, shut door in the back. Floor-to-ceiling shelves lined the walls, crammed with bric-a-brac: books, shells, dolls, herbs, pottery, shoes, crystals, more books, jewels…From the ceiling and wood rafters hung all manner of chains, dead birds, dresses, ribbons, gnarled bits of wood, strands of pearls…

A junk shop—of some immortal hoarder.

I waited to feel power calling out to me, but…nothing happened. Perhaps, as part of the bargain, I'd need to ask her to hand the ring to me directly. If she even remembered where it was.

The Weaver of the Wood herself sat with her back to me. In the gloom of the cottage, I could just make out the ancient, cracked spinning wheel I'd heard along with her singing. In the cottage, it was far too dim to make out the thin white thread she was spinning. Was she blind, like the Wyrm….or could she see in the dark?

My eyes drifted to the soft fiber she was feeding into the wheel. It looked like wool, but some deep-seated instinct in the back of my brain told me it was not. The question wasn't what she was spinning, but who.

The shelf above her head was filled with cones upon cones of thread, and large bolts of woven fabric filled up the space next to her. Mother above, she must have made it from entire cities, whole armies or even nations. A handful of rebel Illyrians suddenly seemed like a pitiful offering.

But I still, I had to try. And if there really were some power for me to detect, perhaps I needed to be a bit closer. Out here, nothing was pulling me towards one object in particular.

As silently as I could, I took a step into the cottage. I froze, waited, breathed. Nothing. I took another, and then the door slammed shut.

The Weaver turned her face toward me.

Above her young, supple body, beneath her black, beautiful hair, her skin was gray—wrinkled and sagging and dry. And where eyes should have gleamed instead lay rotting black pits. Her lips had withered to nothing but deep, dark lines around a hole full of jagged stumps of teeth—like she had gnawed on too many bones.

Her nose—perhaps once pert and pretty, now half-caved in—flared as she sniffed in my direction. "Well met, High Lady."

#feysand #feyre archeron #we said hello and your eyes look like coming home

[lotus3985]

Everyday I have to keep thinking this so i won't distort before Canto VI

#limbus company #lcb heathcliff #heathcliff lcb #heathcliff limbus company #limbus company heathcliff #limbus heathcliff #limbus memes #I am not normal about Wuthering Heights #Nor Heathcliff and Cathy #Canto V's ending made my standards for Canto VI even higher #I was literally hyperventilating at the end of Canto V... #It stayed like that too for several hours #I should've played Canto V after dinner #Because now I ended up feeling full and only ate a little #I'll have to deal with the consequences of waking up and feeling extremely famished

[aceofthegreenajah]

Thinking about Mountains of Mourning got me rereading it again for the millionth time. Every time I think, 'surely by now it has no hold of me? I know every turn it takes, can damn near recite parts of it.' And here I am, sobbing.

The story itself is beautiful, the language is gorgeous, but there is also something in the setting that speaks to me personally.

Our family farm is in a community smaller than silvy vale, and has been in the family for at least a couple of centuries. It's in the least populated and most backwater part of the country. And my country itself is small and insignificant, sparsely populated, mostly wilderness. In the eyes of some we may be backwater forest folk, tough as our land and just as stuck in our ways.

And I am a very tied-to-the-earth person. I am at home barefoot in the forest, fishing in the lakes, foraging in the swamps, working with animals, chopping wood. These forests are my forests, this land is my land. I was born on it and if I have to be buried, I want to be buried in it. I've never wanted to leave for better pastures. I've wished I could hold my home and my people up.

So though I cry for the beauty of the language and the message, and the grief of the plot, I also cry for the happy ending that Silvy Vale receives.

#Ah I miss our family land #I remember staying there for months as a kid and never once seeing an outsider #the community has been bleeding out people longer than i've been alive #when my mom was a kid there was still a school and a general store in the closest town now those are gone too #no-one wants to stay where healthcare may take hours to get to and there are basically no jobs #catching/gathering our own food during summer was what we did when i was a kid because we were poor #(mom and me in spesific not all of the family #but none of them were rich) #but doing it year-around is a shortcut back to starvation times #anyway i get why people wanted away - i don't live there for several reasons - but i wish it was different. i wish i could move back. #i wish there was someone still running our family farm. it's still our land - though some of mom's cousins own it now - but it's abandoned #(it is also a place where once upon a time #hurts and crimes could only be committed by family #and could go unanswered just like in the tiny Dendarii mountain towns. Mom's therapist knows all about it.) #vorkosigan saga #mountains of mourning #mountains of mourning spoilers #vorkosigan saga spoilers #probably

[hoppinkiss]

forced to do my bedtime scrolling on mobile browser bc the app still doesn't work. the horror

#also I stayed up too late playing a game that's not any of the games I planned on playing #I remembered F.TL: Fa.ster than Li.ght exists and stared at it for several hours #it's a 2d pixel topdown thing. you control a spaceship crew and manage the ship's power and resources to use systems like weapons oxygen et #and you encounter lots of text based adventure type scenarios that can result in gaining or losing crew/resources/upgrades #if you have to fight another ship you can target their weapons systems so they can't fire back but the enemy crew will repair them #just like they can target YOUR systems and you have to frantically tell your crew where to go so they can repair them (not text based) #there is a pause button so you can take a breather and think but even then it can be a rush #I dont think I've ever BEATEN it? but I beat my high score today and I had fun #harper has spoken

[running-in-the-dark]

okay so I got up.. less than 5 hours ago (yes it was another slept-all-day day)

annnd all I wanna do is go back to bed 🙃

#it's partially because I'm (very) tired but also.... #I need to spend several hours thinking about hugging Jenkins #just need that man to hold me okay. #sigh #anyway so now I don't know if I keep sleeping so much because something's wrong with me (I mean that's pretty likely either way) OR if it's #just that.. 'I've lost my mind and real life doesn't exist anymore' stage of being obsessed with someone. because that's also very likely #I vaguely remember that every time I woke up today (it happened a lot) I just kept closing my eyes again to think about Jenkins and/or Dan a #little more.... (and then I inevitably fell asleep again) #yeah sure maybe the fact that I'm at my in-laws' place and I hate it here and I don't really have anything to do has something to do with #it too... but eh 🤷 whatever. either way I'm thinking about that old man. #damn how do I stay awake. I keep almost falling asleep in my chair (unfortunate side effect of The Thoughts...) #I guess I'm gonna force myself to. idk do something. I could paint. or #no I can't think of anything else. so it'll have to be that I guess. #personal

[crimeronan]

i wanted to write but decided if i was feeling well enough to write then there are more pressing priorities so i got up and got a load of dishes going and tidied a tiny bit. then fumbled thru a phone notes outline real quick. this was not as gratifying as writing would have been but it was the important adult thing to do and i'll be glad to have clean dishes. <-said thru gritted teeth while shaking and growling like a neurotic dog

#i'm basically just trying to stay afloat between supernova migraines fucked-up lungs and chronic inflammation everywhere #i have to make a million fucking health-related phone calls on monday during business hours and there are no clean dishes in the house #i counted eight empty monster energy cans in the bedroom bc i have been too sick to clean for Weeks #in amidst all this. it would be stupid to spend time on writing. my energy needs to go into keeping the apartment biohazard-free #and trying to get work. but CHRIST i wish i could use my snatches of clarity to do creative stuff instead #feels a bit like being a severance innie. blackout fog followed by work followed by fog followed by chore and work and chore #and very little else. christ. #at least i'm getting back to the pool. that's Something. #autoimmune tag

[useful-boy]

Hate when bitches at this store try to tell me "Ummm I need you to start the audit already, we're supposed to leave by 11" like damn that's crazy maybe if you left me a better store or did anything to help me out I wouldn't be starting so late after picking up all your bullshit

#literally the first thing i did was walk the entire store to see what all still needed doing and then i told the manager who still had #Several clerks on the clock 'hey the womens bathroom needs to be hit and all the counters need to be wiped down' and she went 'okay!' #then of course. wouldnt you know. when i get back in from my lot sweep (basically picking up excess trash or emptying trash cans #that got full after they took out trash earlier) (of which there were a Lot tonight. very unusual when most nights i can get by #without changing any of them) #none of the things i told her about had been done <3 And the kitchen was a fucking disaster #'you got clerks for that you coulda made them clean it' 'no ill do that later they did a lot today' okay sweetie whatever you say #they always wanna leave Me a shitty store to come into and then get an attitude when they have to stay late because again #I am spending more time fixing things that they should have taken care of already before i got there #wasting Both our time on clerk tasks just to get the store down to manageable levels of filth before i do the audit #and then you wanna complain like its My fault? whores #only One of the managers here ever leaves me a decent store (not Perfect but its still a huge improvement over other days) #and no matter how many times i give the same feedback to every manager i relieve or who relieves me in the morning #shit does not get better #i love it!!!!!! #meh. #mild vent #i guess #its just me bitching about work so whatever #also? you Told me you were gonna stay an hour late already? why are you fucking complaining about me being 'too slow' #to start the audit. bitch