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esamastation · 7 months

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Part thirty-one of Shizuroth, aka, the SOLDIER General's Self Saving Shizun.

Ao3 link.

Previous parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty

They've landed in Wutai after a frankly miserable plane ride in a windowless, seat-less troop carrier - which, why even call it a troop carrier when it's clearly not designed to be carrying people? The thing is filled with boxes and stuff, there was barely enough room to move!

Guess that's what happens with last minute takeoffs - you get what you get.

The first few minutes onboard were fine and kinda novel - being on a plane at all was kind of a mind trip, because, heh, plane, Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky, eat your heart out! But then it became just hours upon hours of boredom in a rattling tube of metal. Sword flying is clearly a superior mode of transport.

"We will have your things delivered to wherever you're going to be staying," Reno says, waving them off the plane, hiis attention fixed on one of the bigger boxes. "Rude, come give me a hand with this…"

"We should -" Rude starts to say, looking at the SOLDIERs.

"Yeah, yeah, now come give me a hand with this."

Angeal gives them an awkward, slightly relieved smile and then claps Sephiroth on the shoulder. "We better get out of the way," he says, and together they exit the plane.

Sephiroth had been bracing himself for a warfront, Angeal had even told him what to expect, but he… didn't actually know what that entailed.

Shinra troops had taken over a small town at the foot of Tamblin Mountain sometime in the past and are now using it as their forward base. That's where they land - in a dirt runway cut into the forest, just by the town. And it's…

It reminds him of old movies, the mixture of vaguely mixed Asian style buildings, with these modern canvas tents pitched in between them and on the roads. There are trucks that totally aren't jeeps that have worn grooves into soft streets, unprepared for such traffic, making everything messy and muddy. They've erected fences all over the place, sectioning parts off, and there are floodlights everywhere. There's also robots patrolling the place.

In the distance, on the rolling hills somewhere to the west, there are rice paddies and behind them mountains. All around them there's a lush wall of green that looks almost like a rainforest. It actually might be rainforest! It would fit the allegory!

The mental, ethnic vertigo is so strong for a moment that Sephiroth doesn't know which way to turn to look. He doesn't know what to think. Mostly he just feels kinda… unnerved.

Angeal returns to his side before he even realises he'd gone somewhere. "I talked to the Colonel. Come on," Angeal says, clapping him on the shoulder. "They've set up a place for us. We'll… debrief there."

"... Hn," Sephiroth answers, and follows him.

There's a lot of Shinra troops milling about, infantry mostly, but some SOLDIER Seconds and Thirds too. They all stop to stare. Some of them look excited, but most just look tired and dirty and worn.

Sephiroth wonders if the Colonel is in charge of them. Actually, it might be that they're now in charge of everyone here! They're SOLDIERs First Class. Isn't that the highest rank? He can't remember if Sephiroth being a General was fanon or canon, but hasn't he been involved with the war since the beginning?

Would he have to give orders now, orders to march, to fight… to kill?

Angeal shows him to a house that was clearly someone's home before Shinra took the place over. It's a single room with tatami floors and rice paper walls, and the military bunks clash with the aesthetic horribly. Their pillows are clearly seat cushions.

There's a fancy looking kimono stand that's being used to hang bags and ammo satchels.

"What happened to the people who lived here?" Sephiroth can't help but ask, staring at the stand and wondering where the kimono had gone.

"They abandoned the town ahead of the troops," Angeal says.

Sephiroth looks at him and then at the room. Did they really, or is that a nicer thought than they were all executed? "... Right," he says and picks up the seat cushions from the bunk, piling them up in the corner - wondering if there was a table here, and what happened to it.

"Are you alright?" Angeal asks.

Probably not! "What's our mission here?" Sephiroth asks, picking up bags and satchels from the stand and carrying them outside.

"... We have a day to acclimate. After that, there's a number of things that need to be accomplished," Angeal says, subdued, and takes out his phone. "We can start slow - there's no major engagements being planned just now, no one will mind."

"Mn, and what does starting slow mean?" Sephiroth asks, as he picks up stuff around the hut and gets rid of it.

"Well, there's a number of monster extermination requests around here - Wutai wildlife is high-level, and it's rumoured that they're being intentionally bred by Wutai people. They've been attacking patrols."

Sephiroth gets rid of most of the random crap in the hut and then considers the bunk beds. They're ugly and probably unpleasant, but… they have to sleep somewhere.

It takes just one swing of Masamune to improve the situation immensely.

"Um," Angeal says as Sephiroth finishes separating the beds and moves one of them to the other side of the hut. "... Why?"

"I am not sleeping in a bunk bed," Sephiroth says simply and looks around. "... Do you think they have folding screens around here?"

Angeal arches his brows. "I don't know for sure. I suppose we could ask around? I think there's a storage house where they've put the collected, um," he clears his throat. "Things that will be sent to Midgar eventually. Maybe we can requisition some of it."

Things to be sent to Midgar… that's nice. That's a nice way to say the spoils of war, huh.

Sephiroth looks away. It's the way of war, he knows that, nothing unusual about it. It happened in PIDW too - cut out all the smut and stupidity, and all Binghe did was plunder and loot and pillage. When he wasn't being handed tributes, anyway. It's just par for the course! Right? Right…

"You…" Angeal starts and then sighs and puts the phone away. "How about I'll go get a screen for you, if there's any available. Do you want anything else?" He sounds very indulgent and understanding.

"Two screens. And a table," Sephiroth says without facing him, feeling like a sullen little kid being placated. "... Thank you. Can you ask someone to get rid of the - stuff outside?"

"I'll take care of it," Angeal promises. "You just… take a moment to make yourself comfortable, okay? There's no rush."

Aka, pull yourself together, man, you're looking really pitiful right now. Thanks, Angeal-bro.

Sephiroth's waits until Angeal is gone before sinking down to sit on one of the beds, putting his head in his hands.

Though they'd not seen much from the plane, what with it not having windows and all, he can see it in his mind's eye now. Burned villages smoking in the jungle, scorched fields, muddy paddies ruined. He'd never cared much for any kind of war stuff, but he'd seen his share of first person shooters and letsplays.

It all feels very real all of a sudden.

And he's supposed to be the Big Bad here! The Demon of Wutai! Who knows how many people he's already killed in this war! And sure, it is a war, and that's what happens, and yeah, he has killed before as Shen Qingqiu, but -!

Going to war on behalf of the America-allegory of the situation? The invader, the hostile occupier, the - the evil planet-sucking dystopian megacorporation?!

Dragging his hands down his face, Sephiroth sighs and looks up.

There are calligraphy scrolls hung up on each side of the door. One reads Integrity and the other Honour. Sephiroth stares at them miserably for a long moment.

Yeah.

He's so going to end up defecting here, isn't he? Four days, four days in this world, and he's doing to fuck up the whole plot, right here and now. It must be some kind of record! But where the fuck will be even defect to? The Demon of Wutai, hello?! The locals probably want his head on a spike!

"I am so fucked," he mutters wretchedly and hangs his head.

#Fanfiction #ff7 #ffvii #svsss #Sephiroth #shen qingqiu #shen yuan #angeal hewley #reno of the turks #rude of the turks

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wheresjonno · 10 months

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It's Wednesday my dudes! It's also been 10 days since we last heard from our Good Friend Jonathan Harker! Do we trust him to have stayed put that long? Did someone leave a window open? Will he have tragically died just before being reunited with his True Love? Do we expect a little thing like that to stop him? Is Hungarian Nun the new (old?) Nigerian Prince? Are the Girls throwing him a Batchelor Party? Can the Rule Against Perpetuities protect Mina from the consequences of possibly tesseracting her way across the continent in her ardor? Is Stoker likely to tell us?

For that matter... where's Mina???

#dracula daily #where in the world is jonathan harker

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darling-i-read-it · 1 year

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Reunion

Trevor Philips x fem!reader

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: smut, unprotected smut, gta5 story spoilers,

Author’s Note: I am very aware this is the randomest thing to post. I have been replaying gta5. I am in love with Trevor. He’s my best friend, he’s the funnest to play, and I need him (nefarious motives). I unironically have a part 2 to this I’ve half written where the reader and Trevor meet up with Michael so let me know if anyone is invested <3 This is partly inspired by me going into the strip club to go to the atm and then going batshit insane. i am no better than a man but it is never the women im objectifying.

Summary: The reader did the original heist with Brad, Michael and Trevor. Afterwards, when everyone got split up, Lester told the reader that both Trevor and Michael were dead. After the jewelry store the reader wonders if he was lying about both of them. The reunion is filled with anger and also long lasting tension.

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director/creator

(not my gif)

“You see him at all? After the incident?” Michael’s voice trailed off into a feign disinterest. Lester and him both knew; this is what the conversation had been leading up to. The conversation had dissipated away from the task at hand, casing the jewelry store. Neither of them seemed to care.

“I kept tabs on him for a while. Needed to know that he didn’t blame me,” Lester complained, reminding them both of the idicotic ways of their former friend.

“Yeah, where’d he go?” Michael questioned, trying to be nonchalant.

“North, south, east, west. Wherever there were liquor stores to turn over and hitchhikers to disappear.” There was a beat of silence as Michael climbed further up the roof to get a better vantage point. The words could have remained in the air, if Michael hadn’t pushed further.

“Where did they bury him?”

“They buried him? Not as far as I know.”

He wanted to ask. He knew he had to.

“You see her?”

Lester was glad Michael couldn’t see his face. It was a knowing look. Oh God, Michael wanted to talk about her again! Something so familiar that it didn’t even seem out of place, not even after everything.

“No. She left all together.”

“She still…she still around?”

“She’s alive if that’s what you’re asking. Moved, made a better life for herself. Better than he could’ve gaven her. Or you for that matter. Still got the bullet wound to prove she was there though. Physical therapy for months on that shoulder.”

Michael was hit with a sudden pang of nostalgia. He thought about the pandering, the vein attempts to make himself look better for you. The fight’s he and Trevor used to have all the time, arguments on who deserved you and who would get you. He had hoped you were oblivious. Now he wasn’t so sure he believed that.

“I told her he was dead.”

Michael paused on the roof, his movements only momentarily stunned.

“You feel bad about that?”

“It was the only thing to do. She would’ve found him. They would’ve found you. Bad for everyone.”

“And especially your cover.”

“Especially that.”

You were living a life where both he and Trevor were dead. You had moved on because it was the only thing you were able to do. He yearned to know what it could’ve been like if things hadn’t gone to hell. The danger was intoxicating but never as intoxicating as you.

He thought about Amanda. How she had never been you, how that’s the reason he was never able to love her the way he wanted. Clearly she had never loved him quite as much either, as was the case from her tennis performance. You were out there somewhere.

“I don’t wanna know,” he decided. If Lester told him even the smallest thing, a job, a marriage, a kid…he would go looking. He knew himself better than that.

“I wasn’t gonna tell you if you asked.”

Another short beat. He was almost to the highest vantage point.

“She deserved better than both of you. But you have to know she would’ve always chosen him.”

“There’s no need to hash up old shit okay? I was just asking to see who was still around. There’ll never be a better get away driver than her.” Even his deflection felt fake and vein. Lester saw right through it but decided to let it be. Michael thought of Franklin, diverging his thoughts. He could have him work, train him, mold him. He huffed as he got to the highest point.

“Now just to take a picture of the vent up there,” Lester said, evenly. The conversation was over. They wouldn’t talk about you or Trevor again today.

You were sitting at the small dining room table of your apartment. It was more of an island honestly but you called it the dining table because it was the best you could get. Los Santos was an expensive city and you were lucky to have found a place you could afford at all. Not that you weren’t doing well here.

The television was on to the news, though you weren’t necessarily paying attention. You poked at your mashed potatoes, proud of yourself for making anything tonight. You grabbed the remote with the intention of changing it to a shitty reality TV show when the screen shifted. ‘Breaking News’ painted the bottom of the television in red. A man was speaking but the volume was too low to hear it. You turned it up, out of sheer curiosity. You were reminded of a life before this one, a bang of guilt in your chest that you had desperately tried to get rid of.

Was it the guilt that brought the nostalgia forward? Or was it the way they reported it to be set up? Was it the cars, the hacking, the timing? Was it the sheer familiarity that made you sit forward? Or was it the fact that looked exactly like a Michael Townley job?

“You forget a thousand things everyday,” the witness said, shaken, “make this one of them.”

Your food was forgotten. Your face had gone blank with confusion.

“That motherfucker,” you muttered. The urge to throw something came back with his face in your head, the funeral you went to, the life you left. You saw his face on a big portrait and cried in front of it, wishing you had been faster. You left before ever seeing if anyone held a funeral for Trevor but now you wished you had stayed. What if you had spent all this time alone when they were out there, somewhere. What if Trevor was still alive?

The TV was now a ghost. It was now a time long forgotten. It was the bullet wound in your shoulder that now ached, something you hadn’t felt in a long while. That jewelry store was in Los Santos. It was here. Michael was here.

Lester told you him and Trevor were dead.

You searched for your phone. You didn’t have his number anymore, you couldn’t. He had changed it. He was too smart to keep the one he had years before. You recklessly searched anyway, knocking over the chair you were sitting in, tossing your pillows aside. Finally you grasped the phone in your hand, frantically searching in your contacts. His name remained, under L, and you called the number. It rang and rang and rang. You were already starting to think about how you would find him when the line picked up. Your breath caught.

“Y/N.”

“You fucker. You motherfucker. You fucking fucker.” You almost didn’t recognize the voice coming out of your mouth, you were so dedicated to the rage you felt. It was almost Trevor’s, almost the same cadence that you had picked up from him. It was amazing how fast all of that came back to you. How, just like that, you were her again. You weren’t her anymore, even when you took a turn too fast or knew the fastest routes out of an issue.

“What are you talking-”

“You know what I’m talking about,” you seethed. You failed to think about how he had kept the phone just for you, just in case you needed him one day. It didn’t even cross your mind that Lester had loved you too, that they all had. You were friends in the purest sense of the word. You were all each other's people. Now, you hadn’t heard or talked to Brad since he was arrested. Now you were a different person.

Lester was laying low but he still answered your call.

“I don’t know-”

“Is he dead?” You couldn’t say his name.

“Michael? “

“No.”

“I don’t know.”

“I don’t believe you.” There was a bitterness in your voice you almost didn’t recognize. Her, her, her. When did you stop being her? “Lester tell me the fucking truth.”

“I don’t know. I used to follow him but there was no use.”

“What do you mean you used to follow him?” There was a long pause. Too long. “What do you mean?” You sat down slowly on the chair by your island. You grabbed the edge of the counter. Your knuckles were strained. “Did he live?”

Silence.

You were gonna kill Lester. You were gonna kill him and you were gonna enjoy it.

“Where did you see him last?”

“Sandy Shores. But that was ye-” You hung up the phone. You should’ve asked about Michael, you knew you should’ve. You wanted to but the anger was too much. If you saw Michael now, you’d kill him with your bare hands. Sandy Shores was not a large place. And you were a determined person.

Trevor looked in the mirror at the tattoo he had for Michael Townley, his dead best friend. His formally dead best friend. On his other arm was a tattoo for the only girl he had ever really loved. She was supposedly dead too.

He broke the mirror with a fist. His knuckles started to bleed from the glass cuts. He ignored it. Ron was standing in the doorway, shaking, leaning over. Trevor almost made a shitty joke about his posture but for some reason, he didn’t. He had already sent Wade to find Michael Townley but he had kept you to himself. He wanted to find you but he’d do that with his own two hands. No one else needed to know you were out there. If you were out there. A Townley job did not mean you were still alive. Just because Michael lived didn’t mean you had.

“What the fuck do you want Ron?”

“Sorry boss.” He moved out of the doorway, down the steps outside. He looked around eagerly, glancing back at Trevor but not holding eye contact too long. Trevor followed him outside and walked past him. “Bikers had been scoping out here while you were gone.”

“Did you tell them to fuck off?”

“No?”

“Well next time, tell em to fuck off!” Trevor approached his truck with the intention of going to the city himself to find Michael. Michael would know if you were alive.

Trevor thought about that time little. He thought about leaving his friend, about the bullets that flew past him, the moment he knew he would never see you again. He thought about the bullet wound in your shoulder, the one in him, the wounds that will never fully heal. A constant reminder of the near death experience he lived through and shouldn’t have. In drunken nights he always wished it had been you who was in his place. You would’ve made a life. Had you made a life? Had you done it without him?

He hopped in the truck. He needed more booze.

“Where ya going boss?” Ron questioned.

“Bar.” He started the engine. It rumbled to life underneath him and it was already hot from the heat. He turned his head to Ron. “Get lost Ron.”

Ron nodded eagerly, already starting to stumble away. Trevor needed to clear his head. He needed to cloud his head some. He pulled away, mentally going through the map closest to him. If he went to a strip club, he was extra sure not to think about anything else. But the better booze was always cheaper at just a bar. If he went all the way to the city he could search for Michael at the bottom of a bottle.

All of those options seemed like good options. He wanted to beat the shit out of somebody. He should probably stay in Sandy Shores to do that. But where’s the fun in doing what you’re probably supposed to do? He made a sharp turn, almost running over a girl crossing the street.

“Hey don’t you see I’m driving here!” he yelled, feeling better already knowing he had probably ruined someone's day with their near death experience.

“Watch where you’re fucking going! Jesus Christ, some people don’t know how to fucking drive,” you called, anger lacing your voice.

The cogs turned at the same time.

You were standing on the side of the road, in the dust of the truck. You stopped walking completely, replaying that voice in your head again like it was your favorite song. The familiarity ached at you. You knew it the second you heard it.

Trevor had gotten about half way down the road when he hit the brakes. Hard. He was in the middle of an intersection. People were honking at him but he just sat there, both hands on the wheels, eyes squinted in confusion.

With ease he put the car in reverse. Much to the dismay of the few drivers around him, he backed up. You were staring at the truck as it did so, not sure if you should laugh or cry or yell or have any reaction at all.

He stopped beside you, head turned. You stared at each other for a moment. Eyes so familiar it was like coming home after a long time away. Like the feeling of your own sheets but someone else had made the bed.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost sweetheart,” he hummed, his voice as cocky as it had always been. “Which can’t be true because if I remember, you’re my ghost.” Your lips parted. You approached the truck and he let you, wordlessly. You were in shock. You were stunned. There had to be a word for seeing a ghost from your past you thought was dead. You wrapped your fingers around the edge of the door.

“You motherfucker,” you whispered, in awe.

“I’m the motherfucker?”

“Yes.”

“I’m not the motherfucker.” You wanted to hit him. You wanted to kiss him. You wanted to slash his car tires. You wanted to take him home.

“I thought you were dead. I mourned you, Trev.” The car behind him honked. Neither of you had even noticed they were there. You both turned and it was like you were possessed by your respective ghosts.

“Can’t you tell we’re having a fucking moment?!” Trevor yelled. They honked again. Trevor pulled out a handgun. You watched him wordlessly. He shot the window. He missed. The car quickly diverged around and was gone in the dust again. You opened up the car door, his gun still smoking. He watched you, eyes curious. He thought he had memorized your entire body but now that you were there in front of him he realized his memory had never done it justice. You shut the door behind you and turned to him. The hand with the gun was slung against the passenger seat.

“I need a drink,” you muttered. He chuckled lowly.

“My girl.” He started to move forward again. Closest bar would do, he decided.

Lester wasn’t sure if he should even tell Michael. It was probably for the best that none of them had any contact for a while after the robbery. He had set that rule himself. They would lay low, stay straight, stay away from each other. Still, after the phone call with you it seemed stupid to not let Michael know, in some capacity, that you were going to be looking for him. Maybe he was more worried about you finding Trevor and then dealing with the aftermath of the havoc the two of you could bring.

Lester stared at his phone. He could text Michael. He could call. He could drop a place to meet. He knew that his friend would come if he asked, ever the rulebreaker. If you and Trevor remerged together that would be bad for everyone. That was bad for this whole thing.

Lester finally picked up the phone. He decided a text would do.

She knows.

Michael picked up his phone. He had been desperately attempting to hide from his kids and Amanda. He was glad for it, honestly, that the life he had chosen had chosen him back. But when he saw the text from the number with no photo with it, his jaw tightened. He had told Lester he figured Trevor was dead but now a risk was going to have to be made. You were out there and you were either looking for him (which was bad) or Trevor (which was worse).

Trevor and you were better off thinking the other was dead. The world was better for it. The money, the people, the general crime rate were all better for it.

“I want the TV,” Tracey said, approaching him. Her voice was muffled. It was like he was hearing her from underwater. “Dad. Give me the remote.” He looked up at her then, eyes still wide from worry. She made no note of his mood. He handed her the remote. He stood up, grabbing his car keys from the side table.

“Where do you think you're going?” Amanda questioned when he ran into her in the hall. He didn’t come up with an excuse fast enough and the judgemental look in her eyes creeped in.

“Gonna try and find an old friend,” he admitted.

“Yeah? How old?” Amanda dripped in annoyance. Did he mean a stripper? Did he mean a criminal? Somehow she knew it would negatively affect her.

“Old.” He pushed past her. Amanda looked at him and knew there were only two options to that answer. Neither were good.

Michael opened his phone to Lester’s number.

Where?

You sat beside each other in a bar that wasn’t memorable, drinks in hand you didn’t know the name of. You sat as close to him as you could get, legs touching. You didn’t want to ever not be touching him again.

“I had no idea,” you told him. “Lester told me you died.”

“Fucker.”

“I know, I know. Trust me, I’ve got a bullet with his name on it.” You took a sip of your drink. He looked at you, watching eagerly. You looked different. Well, you looked the same, but the clothes you were wearing were different. You must’ve had some sort of office job that required clothes on you he had never seen before. You used to steal his shit all the time, when it was clean. “I’ve got seven bullets for Townley. I’m makin sure that motherfuckers dead this time.”

Trevor smiled.

“Fuck girl, I thought you bled out from that shoulder wound. I thought I left you there.”

“You did leave me.” He glared at you. You had told him to leave and he did, only after you begged. “Lester told me you were gunned down in the escape.”

“You saw the fucking jewelry-”

“Yup.” You shook your head. “Bold of him. Really bold.” You finished your glass. You pulled down your blouse at the shoulder, revealing the bullet wound scar. He put his hand on your shoulder. He hadn’t touched your skin since seeing you again. It made you shiver. He poked it, making you roll your eyes. “Don’t be a dick.”

“All I know how to be.”

He rubbed it with his thumb, shaking his head.

“Looks like it hurt.”

“Yeah well.” You put your sleeve back up.

“So you haven’t seen him?”

“Nope. Went to find you first.”

“I’ve always been your favorite,” he bragged. You rolled your eyes, a sly smile playing on your face. It was true. It had always been that way. “You got any leads?” You were more reliable than Wade.

“Lester know’s where he is. I was gonna pay him a visit anyway.” “Well there’s no time like the present,” he offered. You gave him a look. He couldn’t read it. People skills had never been something he was particularly good at. You tilted your head.

“You haven’t seen me in nine years and you wanna go find Michael right now?”

His eyes went wide.

“Nine years and she finally admits it.”

“You knew it then. Don’t pretend you didn’t.” He did remember it. He remembered all of it, every second of it. He leaned in.

“I’ve got a shitty trailer with a shitty bed.”

“That sounds like heaven right now Trev,” you said under your breath. He had been wanting to kiss your lips as long as he had known you. It took so much of him not to do it all the time when you saw each other regularly. After he thought you were dead, he regretted not doing it every chance he had.

You threw money at the bartender, too much he noted, and piled into his truck. Your lips were on each others before the car even stopped. You crawled over the middle of the truck, wondering if you would even make it to the bed, wondering if you even needed to.

Ron came rushing out of the front door, talking before he registered, “Boss the bik-” He stopped, literally putting a hand over his mouth. It wasn’t odd to find Trevor fucking a girl in his truck but Ron knew he didn’t like to be interrupted. Trevor left your lips for only long enough to speak.

“Get the fuck out of here Ron!” He nodded, scrambling away. You popped open the truck door and slid out. You weren’t touching Trevor for a mere moment and he grabbed you again, pulling you towards him. “You’re not getting outta here again,” he promised, voice low and threatening. You smiled brightly.

Ron opened the door to his place nearby and peaked through the window. You were dragging Trevor behind you, hands interlocked, a puppy dog look in his eyes. Ron was used to seeing Trevor with girls. He wasn’t used to seeing Trevor with girls he liked. He lost the two of you as you entered the trailer.

Trevor’s lips didn’t leave yours, even when the door hit him from behind. He hugged you close to him. How close could he get to you? How close could he make you so that you never left him again?

You hadn’t expected Trevor’s lips to taste so good. You expected beer or weed or unbrushed teeth or something shitty but something about them was intoxicating. He had a firm grip on your ass, pulling you closer to him. You tripped over something on the ground. You pulled away to see where you were going.

The trailer was a mess. There were beer cans littering the ground, half naked girls on the walls, unwashed dishes in the sink. He let go of you just to move shit off of his unmade bed. He grabbed the pictures he had of girls and tore them off his wall.

“Disrespectful,” he grumbled, kissing you again. And just like that you could have been anywhere in the world and it didn’t matter. You had waited long enough.

He was clawing at your clothes with one hand while the other dragged up your back under your shirt. You shoved him down onto the bed. He chuckled, falling onto his back.

“I think I’m in love with you.”

“Think?” You crawled on top of him, cupping his face in your hands. Why hadn’t you done this before? Why hadn’t you done this so many times? His hands reached for your shirt and it wasn’t until then that it hit him. You were alive. You were here. You were in his arms. He had beat the stupid longstanding fight him and Michael would always spat about over drinks. You were here, with him. He took off your shirt.

“God woman.” He cupped your breasts, eyes wide like they were gonna pop out of his head. You put your finger under his chin.

“Eyes are up here Trev.” He kissed you like he would never be able to do it again. He needed to be on top. The rising tension in his sweats were hard to ignore as you sat on top of him. He could feel your every movement. You slid your hands slowly up his shirt and then down again, fingertips electric. You hummed as you trailed kisses down his chin. While you were distracted he flipped you onto the bed. You made a surprised noise that caused him to chuckle.

“My girl.” He took off his shirt. He couldn’t remember the last time he had slept with a girl and wanted to make it last. When was the last time it was less fucking and more something else, something he could barely remember the name to? You gripped his shoulder. There was a tattoo there, your name in faded ink. Your eyebrows softened. He didn’t seem to notice. “My girl,” he repeated, whispering against your skin.

“Trev,” you whined. He was already shimming down his pants. He kicked them off the bed onto the floor. You could feel his hardness against your clothed core. He fixed his fingers around the loops of your jeans, pulling it down with ease. You raised an eyebrow at his expertise but he was so caught up in the taste of you he didn’t notice.

“God!” You arched your back, looking up at him with wide eyes. He couldn’t wait any longer. Without warning he was inside you, all of him. You gasped at the sudden change and then eased. He gave you no time to calm down or adjust but he was leaning over you and his lips were permanently on your skin and it was like the room had gotten ten degrees hotter in the span of five minutes. You could probably fuck around all night. Trevor could go again and again but he needed to do this right now.

He placed a finger on your clit. You gasped, eyes locking with his. He grinned smugly. You kissed him to shut up whatever he was about to say.

Your breath hitched as he sped up, moving his fingers wildly and without care. Somehow he managed to hit just the right spot.

You came together, plagued by moans and spasms.

Still inside you he smiled, self satisfied.

“Never thought a dead guy would make you cum huh?” You snorted, eyes shut tightly.

“Fuck you Trevor.” You were laughing through your words.

“Haven’t gotten enough yet?”

He collapsed beside you. You found the bed more comfortable now in your bliss. You grabbed a pillow, placing it under your head.

“Get me a beer T. I can go all night.”

When Trevor woke up you were still in bed. He had a hand on your thigh, now clothed, much to his dismay. He had no idea what time it was. You had thrown on one of his clean shirts, one of the rare ones. You were hunched over your phone, sitting beside him. He rubbed his eyes. You turned your head, realizing he was awake.

“Mornin’ sleepy head,” you said, a pleasant smile on your face. Your hair was a mess of the night. He could still feel it on the tips of his fingers. He could still taste you on his lips.

It hadn’t been a dream. You were here. You were with him. It wasn’t a wet dream, it was reality. Just the thought made him dizzy.

“Let’s get drunk and get hitched.” You laughed gently.

“Now that’s an idea.” He sat up and kissed you aggressively, throwing you off but not by much. Your phone fell from your fingers. You turned to him. His girl. His girl. His girl. You pulled away, much to his dismay. “I think I know where Michael is.”

He groaned.

“You had to remind me.” He fell back onto the bed with a flop.

“Los Santos. There’s a Michael De Santa with two kids and a wife. Amanda.” He perked his head up.

“You check the plastic surgery records?”

“I did not but I have a rough estimate.” You stood up. The bed was cold without you. Couldn’t you just live forever like this? Why go find Michael at all?

And then he remembered his anger.

“They’re living in a mansion, Trev,” you said. You hadn’t taken any money from that robbery. You couldn’t, it wouldn’t make any sense. But Michael was out there and he was using that money somehow. He had taken it all for himself.

Trevor’s anger intensified. He was here in the slums of San Andreas in a shitty trailer. He had put his life on the line. He had lost everything he cared about. Michael got the house and the family and the life they had all risked it for. He had lost you for nine years.

He tossed you the truck keys.

“Start it but don’t drive it,” he said. You rolled your eyes.

“You think you’re a better driver than me T?” You both sat in the memories of you driving away with money, evading the cops, knowing nothing but the danger in your speed.

“I’m the only one that drives that truck.” You put your hands up in surrender, backing out.

“Yes sir.”

God he wanted you back in bed.

Part 2

#trevor philips x reader #trevor philips imagines #trevor philips x fem!reader #trevor philips fanfiction #grand theft auto imagines #spicy tag

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whoyacallinyellow · 3 months

Note

Borrowed Time hurt me a lot omg- Now I offer you even more angst.

It's sad that Javier became the very thing in 1911 that he swore to destroy (working as a hitman for a tyrant government) but it would be even sadder if (as a part 2 ig of borrowed time) Javier and his love meet again but this time, he was there to arrest her and bring her to town to hang.

Borrowed Time II

Javier Escuella x F! reader

Spoilers: major RDR1-2 events Content: 18+, low honor Javier, angst, betrayal, loyalty, dramatic, possessive, referenced/implied sex, canon typical events & violence, possible unintentional spelling mistakes, google translated Spanish Type: I-II changed to second pov (wc - 4133) / pc: pinterest a/n: i can feel this request in my veins, so here’s my mediocre yapping! live, laugh, angst

Summary: Following the events of Beaver Hollow and your departure, Javier falls into work with Allende. After your reunion he reflects on his time with you, to only turn you in by nightfall.

It was a warm day in New Austin, the orange rays blanketing the barren dirt landscape, and not a cloud in the sky. Javier only imagined finding himself wandering these lands again, but yet he returned on what seemed to be borrowed time.

A few years had passed since he last saw you at Beaver Hollow. The man could not bear to show his face, the embarrassment of being wrong about Dutch was an ego check it say the very least.

Yet your note lived in the far corner of his mind, a small cabin just north of MacFarlane's Ranch from his understanding.

It did not take the man long to find it, local cowpokes cowered at the sight of the large Mexican outlaw sitting upon an even larger steed, interrogating them about a maiden. It was almost as if the best pieces of you resembled him, immediately reminding the folk of who it was he was searching for.

Boaz grunted against Javier’s spurs, digging deep into the loose red dirt below. The sunbeams which crept through the dry pine trees created quite the atmosphere, allowing Javier to get lost in his head, even if it were just for a few moments of bliss.

Despite the directions given to him, Javier hoped you had moved on after all these years, fled somewhere safer, started a new life, perhaps changed your name as well. Somewhere he would never find you.

Boaz continued to race down the winding path, feeding Javier’s anticipation against the warm breeze. As it gusted past the side of his head, loose strands from his tied hair tickled his ears, merely reminding the man how badly he needed a haircut.

The starving grass which bordered West Elizabeth held a yellow tinge, the land rolled and waved, flourishing with birds and wildlife. Javier reckoned he has not been to the area before, but you were not lying about how appealing it was— a perfect home for you two.

Upon whipping around the corner, abruptly revealed a small cabin with songbirds singing to him in the trees. The place was quiet, cozy, and seemingly inhabited, with small smoke stacks exhausting from the brick chimney.

Bringing Boaz to a halt, there was no sign of you— but sure enough a big black cloud skulked in the nearby pen, following you wherever you wandered like a burden.

Javier stiffly slid off Boaz, his knees nearly giving out from under him as his boots crunched onto the dirt. The beast was grazing on hay as he approached the fence post

After whistling and calling your shire a few times, Javier was promptly ignored, perhaps the slow and ominous brute heard the man call him el diablo one too many times.

He was still a strong believer the only reason the horse broke for you was out of pity— you looked like a child struggling to climb him every endeavor. Maybe the beast had a soft spot for you, just like himself.

But now the old shire was relieved from his saddle, serenading in the New Austin sun, not bothered to obey the envious man’s command.

Javier leaned against the corral post, admiring what he could have had with you, the thought of being a family man loomed over his shoulders and displayed no signs of leaving.

You and Javier ran together prior to joining Dutch, less for money and more for survival. Your past crimes covered bounty boards and train stations as a permanent reminder, never forgetting the wrongs that were written. That price only increased once Mexico inevitably caught wind of all the messy jobs in neighboring lands.

He drowned and you sank with him, the price of his sins were bricks added to your back. Being his accessory, the government saw you as a pawn, smart and knowledgeable, if caught— Javier would come for you, and they would be ready for him.

Those days were nearly from another lifetime.

Now under Allende’s ruling fist, he offered him a twisted plea deal of sorts; protection at the cost of something the man held more dearly than life itself—you. Your capture was not about the money nor status, but simply a test of his loyalty to Allende; if Javier did this job, he’d do anything.

The poor man’s convoluted loyalty never got him far, proving time and time again, leading him only to dead ends and false hopes. Charismatic attributes and big promises was something Javier foolishly gave everything to with a blind eye, something you always warned him about.

“Javier?—“

Your voice could have made him leap out of his own skin. As he hesitantly turned towards you, his gut twisted into something mean. You were beautiful as ever, after all these years you waited for him— just like you promised.

“Never thought I’d see you again, especially in the west.” You spoke again in disbelief, rag wiping your hands clean of a job he should have been doing.

Your voice only lived in his memories, hearing it again nearly whipped Javier back into shape, feeling sick for your puppy love he desperately relied on so long ago.

“Home sweet home.” The man swallowed dryly, throwing his arms out awkwardly and gesturing towards the open lands around you both.

Before his thoughts could catch up to the moment, you ran to embrace him, flinging yourself into his arms with a long awaited kiss. Javier grunted softly against your lips, staggering back to support you, the extra attention only reminding him how saddle sore he really was.

Just for a moment things felt normal, a feeling he was searching for since you split. He had a place in this cruel world once again, everywhere had a price on his head, no place to retreat to besides you— you were home.

Perhaps he could head tail between his legs back to Allende, saying you disappeared.

Maybe he could take you to Canada, or a tropical island— oh, anywhere but Guarma.

We must leave,

Javier’s unsaid words pricked beneath his skin, prodding relentlessly at his deepest desires for redemption.

“Oh—amor.”

Was all the man could choke out, the words exiting pitiful and weak, a near cry for help you assumed was just your bittersweet reunion.

Leaning away you smiled coyly at him, admiring your lost cowboy;

Your time apart was not easy on Javier, his hardened stare and the chip on his shoulder now set in stone.

The constant blazing sun of Mexico, along with surviving off rationed canned beans really took a toll on the man. His face was dull and lacking the usual pigment he wore so handsomely when Mr. Pearson cooked for everyone.

Javier’s newfound demeanor only put emphasis on his sharp brows peeking from under his bowler cap brim, residing above dark cunning eyes, ready to match any cowpuncher who dared challenge him.

Over Javier’s shoulder was where his mount rested, hoove digging into the dirt at the end of the cabin’s path.

“—and Boaz?” You began after a shared silence, slowly approaching the overworked horse.

“Still kickin’.” He uttered gently, a large hand scratching the back of his neck.

Boaz never really liked you, or anyone besides Javier that is. It wasn’t until the gang hunkered down in Colter for the stubborn bastard to take a liking to you.

The weather and unpredictable circumstances was not easy on the gang, including the horses, causing rations to be small among the mounts.

You always carried treats in your satchel to gain Boaz’s affection, and your efforts would eventually succeed in Colter. You would secretly slip him sugar cubes every time you left the shack, he must have appreciated the extra attention. Javier barely recognized Boaz trotting up to him in the snow, you mounted on top wearing a proud grin.

You wore a similar grin now, full of satisfaction and pride that he returned to you— with warmth flowing through him, his heart rapidly thumped in his ears, all the pent up feelings for you were reopening like floodgates.

“What’a nice feller, huh.” You cooed to the mount after a slow approach.

Showing no distress Boaz allowed your kind pats and rubs. Tenderly nudging you, the horse’s chops tried sneaking its way into your pockets, searching for the snacks you usually held after a long journey.

“Ai, fácil!”

Javier exclaimed, quickly guiding Boaz’s large snout away, the loving gestures nearly toppling you over.

“Guess I’m glad he still remembers me.” You beamed, tipping your hat lower to shield yourself from the beating sun.

“Or perhaps your donations, amor.” Javier quipped softly, his eyes wandering meekly.

Something besides time passing seemed different about him, you could not quite pinpoint it. Javier was always a timid man at first when it came to his lover, maybe your time apart presented this old side of him.

You knelt slightly, peeking under his sunken head which hung towards the ground.

“Javier? You don’t look so good.”

Your soft words managed to dig their way through his ringing ears, the man squinted his eyes tightly before swiping his lids with rough fingers.

“Uh— maybe you oughta sit for a bit, I think you’re overdressed for this heat.”

Your words broke through once again, giving a small tug on his poncho, his disoriented vision cluttered with black floating spots as you guided towards the porch.

As his vision continued to warp, the cabin doubled and skewed while you put him in the shade.

Javier knew you were speaking, your voice fading in and out irreguarly, piercing his ears every so often.

The words felt like they were being consumed by the ocean, his head bobbed up and down as if he were drowning. All he could think about was Dutch’s screams over the storm and waves, as he was about to be consumed by the large void.

But Dutch snagged him before being swept away, yanking him upon the tiny rowboat that threatened to tip from the added stress. Javier’s senses were waterlogged, rejecting the mean salty water from his lungs. As he gasped for air; the only thing he thought of was you.

“S’alright, son, You’re not dying today!” Was the first thing he heard. He faded in and out of consciousness as Dutch beat the sea water out of him, his ribcage rattling under each and every smack.

Javier sometimes wonders if Dutch should have just let him die, abandon him and allow the dark waters to engulf him whole, repaying his sins to his maker. Maybe his death would free you of your burdens.

He felt like his time had withered before Dutch had saved him anyways. Being a prisoner in Guarma is what convinced him that he would never make it back to you, sealing the deal. Your previous words borrowed time scratched at his skin again, yearning to be acknowledged.

“Ah well, I knew you’d come crawling back, you’re here for a reason.” You would always say to him after a particularly dangerous run with the gang. He would dismiss you with a mumble and a kiss, but always knew he was lucky to be alive as more of his brothers began to fall.

Sometimes he would catch you talking to a disgruntled Arthur as he packed his horse.

Upon inquiring about your words, Arthur being a somewhat vague man would shortly grumble;

“Jus’ focus on the job, and returnin’ to your woman, Javier.”

—and he always did. Javier knew you did not worry about him much, at least outwardly. But he did notice Arthur’s presence whenever trouble presented itself.

“Javier— some water.”

Your words along with a canteen dangled in front of him, the prior hallucination of a watery grave was almost enough to empty his stomach.

Javier stared back towards your shire lounging in his corral, his mind once again wandering back to the life he could have had with you.

In the midst of his tunneling vision, a lean coyote lingered through his gaze, stalking towards him, icy eyes sending daggers into his before diminishing.

“Javier. Say something.” Your words were now much clearer to him, breaking through his consciousness, the ringing disappeared from his mind fog.

“‘M alright.” He muttered, spitting out the bitter taste from his mouth.

“I reckon you oughta take it easy, being an old man n’ all now.”

Javier frowned at you and blinked a couple times, jaw agape, processing the pun you made at his dismay.

“Ha— so sorry, chica, ‘suppose I’m no longer the young buck you remember.”

He replied sarcastically, his voice both bold and hoarse as he raised back to his feet, every step whining for rest.

“Ride with me?” Javier suddenly asked as if nothing happened. It took you by surprise, he had just arrived after all.

“Alright.” You obliged shortly after a pause. “Let me grab my belt.” You continued, motioning towards the missing holsters on your frame.

“No need.” He cut you off quickly, his voice leaving traces of urgency.

“Boaz is packed.”

You eyed him up, watching the man shutter under your antagonizing gaze, how he hoped you were not suspicious of his intentions after all this time. But rightfully so, the man was yellow-bellied.

But you had no reason not to trust him.

You were not exactly sure where Javier was taking you, but for now his company was enough to keep you satisfied. The ride was eerily quiet, even for his standards, being a man of few words.

After riding a little down south he brought you to a small mountain that overlooked Mexico. He perched you both on a small flat area, just in time for the sun to sink below the land.

Javier stared over the horizon, he never really did think about how big the south was, yet how small he felt in comparison. A glimmer caught onto his peripheral, turning towards the shine was the pendent he had given you, when you both first started running with the gang.

The feeling presented itself again, feeling so small in the world— you were the home he had been searching for since the gang's fallout. It was always you.

He sank into his memories, a vessel of his former self was all that remained.

You two were quite away from your newly shared camp, with all the members and leads, the moments you had alone became quite sparse.

“What do you think, Javi?” Your sudden presence caught him off guard.

“The gang?—“ he pondered your words, leaning against a shady oak.

“I suppose they’re family for now, señorita. We’re much safer, and they’re good to us.” Javier replied, a hand brushing over the stubble on his jaw. You smiled gently with a nod, making your uneasiness all too obvious.

“It’s just temporary, amor, once we have the money to get on our feet— it’ll be the two of us again.” He reassured, a polite arm sliding around your waist.

Javier remembers the look in your eye, doubtful and full of sorrow, but you still trusted him, knowing he would never lead you astray. The same he thought about Dutch.

Repositioning himself behind you, he dug a necklace from his pocket, draping it over your chest and clasping it. You fidgeted in surprise against his movements, gazing down at the beautiful silver pendant that glistened off the very same sun. Before you could say a word he planted a kiss on your lips, gentle and quick before mounting Boaz.

“I promise!”

He called out. After blowing a kiss to you, he was off to assist the gang. He didn’t have much money at the time, but Javier always knew how to make things work—

Oh how naive of him— bright eyed and lovesick, he wanted to make a woman out of you, settle down. That is, before Dutch’s plan captivated him. Which ultimately led to this mess, but who is he kidding, he never really had a chance anyways.

Javier thought back with immense regret, wishing he was more romantic with you in a way, officially making you his chica earlier on, instead of prolonging it due to the possibility of death. He always feared that courting would further your heartbreak if something bad were to happen.

It was his own unaddressed way to cope with the harsh reality of survival and being an outlaw, he always prioritized your safety over intimacy until joining the gang. When he looks back on it, your shared time at Horseshoe Overlook and Clemons Point were some of the best times of his life.

Around that time of riding with the gang was when your relationship with him really began to evolve. The potential competition of other men drove Javier and his intimacy up a wall— his usual gentle lips ghosting over yours turned into small nips, and purple blotches he would mark on your neck late at night. A tight palm covering your mouth which muffled the moans of his name, words the man would kill to hear in such an uncaged manner. He entertained no confusion of who you belonged to; even if he did not make things official until that night at the lake.

Javier had nearly forgotten the sun had already set, and he somehow had no recollection of it. He looked down at you, only in a thin shirt as you gazed longingly off the mountain side.

The final sunset you shared was simply a ticking clock for him.

“Cold?” He whispered, words he could barely choke out.

“A little.” You replied, big doe-like eyes staring up at him, holding so much love for the man. Love he was not sure he ever deserved.

Forcing his gaze away quickly he arose, soles of his feet vibrating and pulsing with each step. After approaching Boaz his shaking hands freed his bedroll clasps, attention locked upon his rifle poking out of the saddle.

His head spun, finally digging himself out of his trance. After returning to you, he draped the cloth over you in vain.

“You okay?” You suddenly asked, your hush voice startling him, he sighed in despair.

The words you said to him at Beaver Hollow replayed through his mind,

Leave with me. Let’s run away.

But he could not get them out, his chest quivered under the constraint of his uneven breaths.

“Course.” He managed to form the word, you nodded in contentment, fresh air filling your nose.

His response would have to do for now, you decided to cut him some slack since he returned to you, after all.

By now you knew him well enough. Some nights he would stay up and collect his thoughts before laying beside you. You always respected his space, he had his demons, like everyone else. Soon enough in your slumber you would feel his protective arms drape around you, his steady breaths hitting the nape of your neck, tense body encapsulating yours— those were the nights you felt the safest, and knew he was going to manage just fine.

Other nights Javier would stay up while you were by your lonesome. He always feared something would kill the both of you while asleep, reluctantly you agreed. But the man always let you rest, you needed it more, that is for putting up with him all day round.

It was those nights he always coaxed you to sleep, you insisted he shouldn’t be awake alone, but eventually would give into the soft lulls he would sing, wordlessly agreeing that there was no point for the both of you to be cranky and tired in the morning.

—But there he sat, only to turn into the monster he swore to protect you from.

“I love you, Javier.”

Your words racked his brain, digging and clawing invasively into each one of his bones. Javier thought he imagined them until he looked over to find you staring this entire time. You knew there was something seriously wrong, but surely he would tell you within due time.

Javier’s voice was lost, swallowing suppressed sobs down his dry throat, he nearly felt like he was drowning once again in the frame he called a body.

Just like the days he would not say it back while pursuing a lead, with doubts he would not make it back to your arms— but he always did, it was the least he could do. It felt like lifetimes ago to him, how could the man choke out a te amo before sending you in?

Instead, he planted a kiss on your soft lips, lingering there for a moment, knowing it would be your last.

Looming below in the shadows, trailing to the border resided monsters he used to protect you from— two Mexican soldiers camped out by the tracks. Their lanterns flickering softly in the distance, patiently waiting for the man to arrive at the agreed meeting spot.

Javier shivered, feeling like a young boy again. His eyes fixated on the stock of his rifle that Boaz held.

Your breaths became shallow, harmonizing with the warm night’s breeze as you fell into a slumber. You trusted Javier’s judgment on setting up camp or heading home, you perhaps allowed yourself to get a little too comfortable.

It all happened so fast for him, and there was no going back. Javier’s mind blurred as he rode, Boaz fussing and fighting under his control. His very own horse feared the monster he had become, maybe poor Boaz thought he was Javier’s next victim.

He rode fast— but not fast enough to flee from himself.

A coyote lurked around the darkness, gazing at Javier from behind the two Mexican soldiers who taunted him, puffing on their big cigars from Uncle Sam.

The coyote disappeared as Javier reached for his revolver, patiently waiting for the man to shoot him— but he never did.

The soldier simply laughed, knowing Javier’s bark had no bite. While under Allende’s power, he was simply a coward a soldier would not even match out of pity.

Soon enough the two men fled into the night, banter that could be heard a mile away through the ravines. Anyone could have mistaken them for sick hyenas.

He could hear their stallions riding hard in triumph, with a new prize Javier held so close for many years, he watched the soldiers grow smaller and smaller over the uneven land until the darkness swallowed them whole, taking a piece of him along.

The nighttimes ahead would find Javier in a one horse town saloon, nodding off more times than he could remember. His glass turned from full to empty until his vision doubled.

Javier was not sure how many days had passed, the whiskey dulling his mind and senses, but the thoughts still ate him alive.

Did you think he would come for you? Or would you be envious, spilling everything you could before meeting the gallows.

Javier hid in his palms, knowing he got it all wrong— it should have been him.

It did not take too long for the man to get kicked out from the saloon due to his drunken stupor, not even the bartender wanted his dirty money.

Javier took Boaz to what he thought was east, the coyote returned to accompany him, lurking around on the monotone forest floors he traveled.

The night breeze made Javier reminisce of the times at camp, the very same breeze that whipped through your hair as you would drag him off somewhere secluded, your mischievous grin reflecting off the summer night's moon as you snuck off into the bushes.

You gave everything to each other— all for nothing it seems.

Javier sank lower into himself before eventually staggering off Boaz. It only took him a few unsteady steps to empty his bowels on the dirt path, elbows hoisting him up on his shaky bent knees.

Peeking out from his jacket cuff was a scar he once wore proudly on his wrist. A scar he earned in some honky tonk town just because another man looked at you wrong. The mere thought of it worsened his nausea.

All signs pointed to you, and you were gone because of reasons he barely understood himself— He feared he didn’t know what loyalty was anymore. Or what he stood for in fact.

Your blind love killed you in the end, and it was his cross to bear.

The sky was dark and dull, which was just as familiar as a bottle and a glass. Not a single star in the sky greeted him, leaving him to fester alone.

The wind howled violently through the trees, causing the leaves to rustle and sway. A northern was quickly sneaking upon the lands of New Austin.

His lone coyote joined him on a distant cliffside, coat black as sin, mocking the cowboy who lingered below.

#rdr2 headcanons #javier escuella #x reader #javier escuella x reader #headcanons #red dead redemption 2 x reader #rdr2 x reader #rdr x reader #red dead redemption fandom #tried using metaphors and connecting it to both the in game lore and part 1 #i think i like it???#low honor #but could be occ still?

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samgirl98 · 9 days

Text

Mending a Family 39/?

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What's this, two chapters in one day? Your comments gave me inspiration to write faster, so here's a second chapter as thanks

Jason snorted at the corny flyer he had just put up on the coffee shop’s bulletin board. What was even his afterlife?

Jason sighed and put down the few flyers he had left.

After his heart-to-heart with Jazz, Jason decided to try to fill his days (and lack of a complete family) with other hobbies.

Roy suggested that he pick up new hobbies.

“Maybe archery, Jaybird. I could teach you!”

Jason had scrunched his nose at that. He respected Roy, he did, but guns and bazookas were more Jason’s style.

(Not to mention, Bruce had ingrained Green Arrow disrespect deep in his bone.)

“Maybe start with something you already like. How about a book club?” Raven had suggested. “Find other like-minded people to discuss books with.”

“Yeah, that’s a great idea,” Roy said as he ate some of the brownies Jason had baked. “Then you can leave me alone about how the gothic elements of Wuthering Heights contribute to the selfish love between Heathcliff and Catherine and how Brontë showed their twisted love through the environment.”

“That’s because she did, you uncultured swine.”

Roy had smiled, a piece of brownie stuck between his teeth.

So here Jason was, putting up flyers for a book club. He had asked Ghost Writer if he could host it in his bookstore.

“Of course you can, Jay! I would be delighted. Oh, that means I have to set up a little area so that members have a place to sit. Maybe I can order some refreshments. Oh, do you know which book you want to start with? I can place the order.”

Ghost Writer’s words became muffled as he went deeper into the store.

Jason had designed the flyer and decided to put up a few in different shops and restaurants after getting permission from the owners. He doubted many people would show up, but at least one other person who had Jason’s love of literature would be nice.

Jason looked at the time and decided he had enough time to pick up Danny and relax at the coffee shop. He ordered a coffee and a chocolate croissant and sat down where he could watch the bulletin board. He saw a few people reading the flyer. Most of them were older or middle-aged women, with one or two guys thrown into the mix.

After keeping an eye out for a while, Jason felt pleased as punch that he would have a few people at his new book club come Tuesday. He couldn’t wait.

Soon after he left, a certain blond showed up and read the flyer. She took a picture of it, ordered her latte, and left.

____

Raven felt him before she saw him.

“Batman, to what do I owe this pleasure?”

She was alone in a rarely empty Titan Tower. Everyone else was either out or staying somewhere else.

“You know where Jason is,” he stated.

“Maybe. Why do you need to know?”

Raven turned and stared at white-out eyes glaring back at her. She could see how Batman could be terrifying, but she had fought against her father, Trigon. Batman was just a man to her. A man who was in emotional pain. She hardened her heart. She knew what Jason was also feeling, and most of the emotional hurt was caused by the man before her.

“I know Roy Harper is in contact with Jason. However, neither Dick nor I can find how he can travel to wherever Jason is without any vehicle. I did find something interesting, though.”

“Please, do share, Batman.”

“Whenever he goes, there is a surge of your signature power, and most of the time, you are also gone. I can’t seem to trace where your power signature ends up, and I only find out when you’re back because there’s a surge here on the West Coast. So, don’t try to deny you know where my son is.”

“Truly, you are a great detective. I don’t deny it; I know where Jason is. That doesn’t mean you’ll get his address from me.”

Batman glared at her.

“I wasn’t here to ask where he is,” he said through gritted teeth. Raven raised an eyebrow as she sensed the truth of Batman’s statement.

“Then why are you here, Bruce Wayne?”

Batman’s glare deepened, and he scowled when he heard his civilian name. Then, with some hesitation, he took off his cowl. Before Raven was a strong and formidable man, but one with deep bruises in his eyes from lack of sleep. One who’s shoulders curved under an invisible weight.

Bruce took out a recorder that was still in its original packaging.

“I know you can sense when someone is lying to you. There are no trackers, tracers, or anything else in this recorder that can lead me to Jason. I want to send my son a message; I want to apologize.”

Raven raised an eyebrow, incredulous.

“You expect me to believe that you gave up trying to hunt Jason down like a rabid animal?”

Bruce flinched at Raven’s choice of words. Good, he deserved it.

“You tell me. Am I lying to you?”

“There are ways to trick my senses. I do not doubt that the man with a plan for everything doesn’t know how to circumvent my powers.”

Bruce let out a weary sigh.

“The man who has raised me, who is like a father to me, has chewed me out a few times about Jason. I am not an easy man to get along with. I’m stubborn, and I have control issues; I know that, but I love all of my children. However, I tend to do more damage than good when I think I know what’s best for them. That can lead to fights—to estrangement. I’m sure you remember Dick when he was younger.”

Raven nodded. Dick had been a ball of fury and resentment.

“I want to tell Jason that I see the error I have made. I shouldn’t have pushed him out of the family. That was my fault. However, I also want to let him know even if he doesn’t want to speak to me now or ever, I will always be here, but I will respect his boundaries.”

Raven stared at Bruce. She felt no lies. This could be good for both Bruce and Jason. She sighed in resignation.

“Let’s get comfortable, shall we? I don’t promise Jason will hear what you have to say, but I can give him the recording.”

She held out her hand, and Bruce Wayne gave her the recorder. They sat down opposite each other. Raven opened the recorder.

“Let’s begin,” and she pressed play.

Bruce apologizing? What's the world coming to?

Anyway, I have a question for you guys. Do you want Avril and Jason to become kinda friends with a friendly rivalry and let them bond over books, or would you rather they stay enemies? Let me know in the comments. I could write it either way.

DISCLAIMER: I HAVE NEVER READ WUTHERING HEIGHTS, SO IF THAT PART DOESN'T MAKE SENSE, LET ME KNOW. I JUST GOT THAT OFF THE INTERNET!

Thanks for sticking by me so long!

@itsberrydreemurstuff @idontgetpaidenoughforthisshit @skulld3mort-1fan @theauthorandtheartist @emergentpanda-blog @jaggedheart11 @fisticuffsatapplebees @booberrylizard @fantasticbluebirdfan @thegatorsgooseoose @cyrwrites @kjoboo91 @crystallicedart @amaramizuki666 @spekulatiusmuffin @meira-3919 @kilasmess @bubblemixer @lexdamo @wonderland-daisy @mj-arts-n-stuff @amyheart19 @dolfay @the-church-grimm @undead-essence @aph-mable @lizisipancardo @purrloin77 @writer-extraodinaire @charlietheepic7 @sinfulloccultist @nootherusernameworked @coruscateselene @chaoticchange @itsberrydreemurstuff @gmkelz11 @feral-bunny31 @paroovian @thatonegaybitch68 @d4ydr34min9 @overtherose @fandomwandererer @vipower001 @thordottir45 @blackrabbitt3t @rosecinnamonbun @bianca-hooks123 @epilepticnerd @dat1angel @consouling @flamingenchiladadragon @all-mights-asscheeks @ender-reader @fuyu-bitch @ravenswife

#Mending a Family #dc x dp #dp x dc

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agp · 6 months

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started flipping tables in my head again like those old rage comics cause cbc published another article on solidarity with palestinians that presents 'from the river to the sea' as a call for the ethnic cleansing of jewish people, but that 'its meaning and use is more complicated'. ill click the link on the part of the sentence that says 'experts told cbc' (its complicated) when i feel like flipping tables again but in the meantime lets try working with one instead of dropping the whole thing.

from the river to the sea palestine will be free from jews is an antisemitic position, one that is no different from the same calls for the ethnic cleansing of jewish people antisemites around the world call for in their own countries. a problem arises in that israel benefits from antisemitism in what it maintains as diasporas, antisemites and zionists have worked together for over a century to tie jewish people to this particular colony in palestine, and the notion of jewish people as necessarily foreigners wherever they may be maintains its legitimacy specifically through the exception that is israel.

to belong somewhere is too often not to belong elsewhere, and in the case of zionism, belonging is employed in a way that existentially ties the struggle against antisemitism, the ongoing genocidal process that targets jewish people, with zionism, the ongoing settler colonial process that targets palestinian land and produces a genocidal relationship between its settlers and indigenous people. for jewish people not to belong 'here' and not to 'belong nowhere', they must 'belong somewhere', and for them to 'truly belong' (the american way), they must put into question the belonging of everyone only to fall back on settler bourgeois property relations. that is why the right to return of palestinians is something zionists refuse to concede to, and fundamentally can not: because the unbelonging of palestinians from their land is a necessary function of israeli sovereignty, through the colonial establishment of bourgeois property rights.

the violence capital has wrought on the body of the earth has been given a special attribution to jewish people for a long time. so called socialists have historically tempted to solve the contradictions of capital by means of scapegoating jewish people. the violence committed in the name of israel is not uniquely jewish in character: it is colonial, imperialist, capitalist violence being committed by people who are jewish. even though israel is a product of global antisemitism and a pervasive cultivated desire in the west to expel jews, the israeli economy and its settler bourgeois property relations is its material raison d'etre, and this, again, is not uniquely jewish, it is simply another segment of the bourgeoisie being bourgeois. what one calls a national bourgeoisie

from the river to the sea palestine will be free. from apartheid. from genocide. from settler colonialism. from imperialism. from capitalism. but right now it is not. the sun will set on israel one day, just like canada and the us, just like the so called thousand year reich that only lasted a handful of years because of its imperialist colonial and genocidal relationship to its volk, lebensraum, and whoever and whatever was next door.

to fill the gap of 'what does freedom involve' with 'the ethnic cleansing of jewish people' shouldnt be considered more reasonable when the topic is israel and palestine. it should be rejected as an antisemitic position, and yet it is so often being presented not only as a reasonable conclusion but as the only way it could be. as common sense. of course freedom means kill the jews, and to question this is the real antisemitism. of course this is all the palestinians could ever mean by freedom

when mel gibson was screaming about freedom in that movie do you think it was about getting back to committing pogroms? that jewish presence was his characters real problem with the english? idk ive never seen it but why would it necessarily be the case with israel and palestine? there being a greater need to expel jews because there are a higher proportion of jews is just antisemitic reasoning. it being a colony that is so jewish it explicitly considers itself as such shouldnt be a reason for us to implicate every jewish person globally as a collective in punishment and further buy into and reproduce zionist propaganda.

to abolish israel would not only liberate palestinians, it would also liberate jewish people from zionist claims of an existential relationship to apartheid in palestine. to believe that without zionism jewish people could not culturally or biologically survive is to take the zionist claim regarding existentiality and colonialism to those degrees.

the liberation of palestine is historically inevitable. it will happen. this process necessarily involving the ethnic cleansing of jewish people is an antisemitic lie that serves a dual function: rejection of palestinian resistance based on essentialist claims of antisemitism and rejection of antisemitism based on essentialist claims of zionist interest. zionism puts the interests of jews and palestinians in conflict, and only a free palestine can allow for actual jewish safety there.

from the river to the sea palestine will be free from collective punishment. but right now it is not. palestinians are experiencing genocide at the hands of israel and its supporters. the end of apartheid is a historical necessity: it will eventually happen. you cannot stop it from collapsing, only delay it. israels days are numbered, just like canada and the us. every day without a ceasefire is another particular form of breath of existence for israel, and another set of breaths taken away from palestinians. ceasefire now.

#the term settler bourgeois is redundant imo like saying a rectangular square #but i dont think most ppl read bourgeois to necessarily imply settlement even when its the etymology of the word #ngl i was thinking of marc labreche flipping tables because im rewatching le coeur a ses raisons #specifically deleuzes notion of a table #or particular kind of table ppl consider unsavoury #a loosely organized stack of ideas

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cleolinda · 7 months

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"Strength (Bell Donner Gives Her Word)"

I posted this short story on LJ back in 2007, and I said I'd repost it here for Halloween. I did an audio reading 15 (!) years ago that I'd like to redo in better quality in the near future; I'm also curious to see what it would sound like now that I'm the age I imagined the main character to be. This version is lightly revised, but the story is mostly the same.

That fall a number of people in Chesterville were mauled to death by some kind of wild dog or coyote—the kind that apparently wasn’t too afraid to go right up to people as they took out their trash at night, or let their own tame, domestic dog out not too long after dawn. But it was a small town out in the sticks, verging on farm territory: quiet. Not like a wild animal was marauding up and down Times Square or anything. Not like it was in plain view. So people just started being more careful—not venturing out alone until midday, or not venturing out at all without a loaded shotgun—and things were all right for a while. Then, in late October, the animal came back, and this time, someone survived.

An old lady by the name of Edna Mayhew—well, yes, she lost her arm from the elbow down, but she came out of it a damn sight better than any of those who’d come before her. And she said that it was a wolf, definitely a wolf, but it had come at her on two legs, and when she had smacked it in the face with a veiny little fist, it had held her down with two arms and bitten her forearm clean off. The only thing that saved her, she declared, was her neighbor Bill “Thursday” Thurston, who had heard her screaming and come out with both barrels blazing. He claimed that the thing he saw ran away on four legs, but that it was, in fact, Goddamn Huge. This was about the time that that new photo of Bigfoot lumbering around on all fours came out, which several professors and scientists swore up and down was just a bear with mange. Eddie at the Red Brick printed out the picture and taped it up by the bar, and the next time Thursday came in for a beer, he said, yeah, the thing he chased off Miz Mayhew kinda looked like that. Maybe it was a wolf with mange. Mange was a terrible thing, after all. He’d managed to hit it with at least one shot, though, so he didn’t think it’d trouble people too much after that.

So, going into November, that was where things stood. Whatever it was, it had mange, and it had probably gone off and died quiet somewhere. Bell Donner wasn’t terribly worried about it when she went outside one morning to get more wood for her kiln. She threw artisan pottery out on a little farm a few miles to the west of Chesterville anyway; every week or so, she’d go into town for groceries, mail out her online orders, maybe stop at the Brick for a burger and a drink, and hear what was to be heard. She had little to tell about herself, but folks like to tell their stories, and she knew Miz Mayhew from the post office. She learned that people were keeping their guns out, their doors locked, and their pets inside; she heard the recitation of tales. But whatever the thing that Bill Thurston shot had been, it and its mange were not likely to bother Bell. Or so she thought, until that morning when she was piling kindling into the crook of her arm, looked up, and saw it standing at the edge of the yard.

It didn’t have a human face, but it was standing—on two long, lanky legs that curved back into hocks like a dog’s. One—arm?—was held close to its belly. Probably protecting wherever Thursday shot it, thought Bell, her brains feeling thick and logy. That was the best reaction she could dredge up: Yeah, six-foot man-shaped wolf thing hunched over in my yard, probably not feeling too good right now. It didn’t have a human face, but it did have a very human expression—desperate, she thought, and cranky. Maybe resentful, even. And hungry.

Bell put down her armful of kindling and picked the axe back up.

The thing staggered forward a step or two. It was still a good twenty feet away.

“Go on, now,” she said. “Get. Ain’t nothin’ here you want.”

The thing gazed at her, its eyes watching the axe; it almost seemed to—calculate? She’d seen it, after all, and it was hungry. A human murderer wouldn’t have let her live, and this wasn’t even human.

Bell hardened her voice and rode over a quaver like it was a speedbump: “Go on now. I won’t tell nobody if you just go.” It was on the tip of her tongue to offer it some food—she had a pot roast from the other night, and she was still knee-deep in leftovers—and then she thought, You dumbass, you feed it once and you’ll never get rid of it. “G’on now,” she said, her hands tight on the axe handle. “Just get. You got my word. I won’t tell nobody.”

It was still standing there, reckoning. And then it stepped back, making a tactical withdrawal into the brush at the back of the yard. She saw it drop back down on four legs and lope away awkwardly towards the thicket out behind the farm, a scrubby bit of forest that led into some of the foothills. Probably some good caves in there, she thought. The wolf-thing wasn’t the only one out there who could calculate. And when the attacks started in Chesterville again, and then moved a bit north—northeast of Bell’s farm, and then back down to Chesterville, and then southeast of her farm, and then back to town again—she knew it was being careful. It knows better than to shit where it eats, she thought to herself. Or eat where it slept, more precisely, but the saying held the same. There were some people at the sheriff’s office who probably would have given a lot to know about a thicket in the foothills west of Chesterville, particularly since Edna Mayhew was still the only survivor. But Bell Donner had given her word; she valued her word almost as much as she valued her life, and they were pretty much the same thing in this case, she decided. After all, it’s one thing to know where something lives. It’s another when something knows where you live, and a deal was a deal where Bell Donner came from.

#my writing #first look on patreon #ye olde livejournal #fiction #werewolves #spooky season

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bi-widower-dads · 3 months

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bi-widower-dads' February Fic Rec: AUs

Thank you to everyone who submitted recs for us! We've done some sorting and collating, and we've got two posts for you: AUs and Canon-'verse - and a whole load of excellent fic for you to get stuck into while we wait for Barduil Month in April! So without further ado, here are the AUs for you, with a little bit about why our recommenders love them...

Header image by mod @piyo-13!

(a note about tags and trigger warnings: tags are selected from those on AO3 as being those that best describe the story for the purposes of this event; trigger warnings are supplied by the recommenders and may not be comprehensive - your mileage may vary. We've tried our best to include Tumblr handles wherever we can, but if we've missed yours out and you want it included, just let us know!)

One-shots

In the Wake of the Second Horseman by EldritchMage / @eldritchmage | M | 2272 words | tags: angst with a happy ending, implied/referenced drug use, post-traumatic stress disorder - PTSD, implied warfare/violence | trigger warnings: mention of drug use, mention of violence in a war zone, PTSD, nightmares

Summary: When addiction threatens to consume Thran, his lover Bard is desperate to help - but Thran isn't. Yet in ending his relationship with Bard, Thran savages both of them, not just himself. Four years later, Thran's about to discover what remains from his cruelty. What he finds is a surprise - and humbling. What do you love about this fic? Even when things fall apart, redemption is possible if you give it half a chance. Out of tragedy comes hope and a chance for a better life.

love remains by likethenight / @nocompromise-noregrets | G | 11,093 words | tags: alternate universe - modern setting, grief/mourning, Thranduil never sailed west, mythical beings & creatures, folklore, alternate universe - reincarnation | trigger warnings: none

Summary: There is a legend in Dale, that somewhere deep in the forest that borders the city lives the forest king, an ancient being with a special care for archers, and for all things that grow. Bard, camping in the woods after his finals, finds a place that isn't on any maps and begins to dream of something - someone - familiar; and years later, after the heaviest loss he has ever had to bear, he goes back out there again, hoping to find something that might help him recover. What do you love about this fic? Absolutely beautiful fic, such a touching story and excellent writing!

Petrichor by b_ofdale_archive / @beesinspades | G | 14,598 words | tags: alternate universe - reincarnation, alternate universe - modern setting, alternate universe - bookstore, books and cats | trigger warnings: slight mention of past life character death

Summary: It's been six thousand years since Thranduil last laid eyes on his husband - Bard. The world has changed and the great Elvenking with it, lingering in the shadows of Men; as hope for a miracle festers within his heart that grows weaker with every passing day, the only thing keeping him going is a promise he made, many moons ago. What do you love about this fic? I love its overall theme, and the thought that Thranduil will meet Bard again. A lovely and poetically written reincarnation AU, well worth the read!

Multi-chapters: in progress

Love in a time of change by myeaglesong / @myeaglesong | M | 22,840 words | tags: eventual relationships, eventual romance, elf/human relationships, fluff, romance, slow burn, alternate universe - regency, oblivious Bard | trigger warnings: none

Summary: For the longest time, Thranduil has wanted to find a good match for his son, Legolas, to marry. His search leads him to consider Arwen for Legolas to marry, but what if Legolas has already got his eye set on another match that Thranduil may not approve of? What will will happen when Legolas finds out about his father's intentions to marry him off? What would happen when the question of if Thranduil were to marry again was to come up, who could he marry? What do you love about this fic? I am not usually one for Regency AUs but this one is so adorable, and between the kids and the dads there is plenty of potential for shenanigans and some tentative romance! I'm really looking forward to seeing how events unfold…

The Moth Effect by BiSquared / @scary-grace and Dogblessya / @dogblessyoutascha | M | 35,658 words | tags: mothman is real, mothman Thranduil, mothbaby Legolas, park ranger Bard, non-graphic violence, but there is still gore so you've been warned, twilight references | trigger warnings: mothman lore, gore

Summary: (in chaos theory) the phenomenon whereby a mothman moving into your place of employment can have a large effect on the rest of your life. What do you love about this fic? I love the Supernatural/Horror element to it and Park Ranger Bard trying to make sense of all the really weird s**t that's happening around him. Lovely bits have to be the introduction of Mothman Thranduil and adorable Mothbaby Legolas. But best of all is that Mothman Thranduil isn't the weirdest thing happening in Olympic National Park 👀….

Vena Amoris by Patch / @patchoffeathers and Piyo13 / @piyo-13 | M | 72,843 words | tags: crossover with Dracula Untold, alternate universe - vampires, Bard is Dracula, canon-typical violence, slow build, alternate universe - some people live/not everybody dies | trigger warnings: none

Summary: Bard has a secret, one that stems from far to the east, in lands far forgotten and times long past. It's one that no one must know—but times are changing for the people living on the lake. Even for those who, technically, aren't alive. What do you love about this fic? The author does such a great job at merging Luke Evans' two characters here (Bard and Dracula) while still keeping Bard distinctly canon-shaped. Because Dracula!Bard is an immortal, there's a unique comparison of mythological immortalities and the relative costs of them that reflects back onto the plot.

show a little faith, there's magic in the night by BiSquared / @scary-grace | M | 342,922 words | tags: alternate universe - modern setting, slow burn, music industry AU, indie musician Bard, opera singer turned pop star Thranduil | trigger warnings: none

Summary: Bard Bowman's not the type to give up on his dreams easily, but when DJ Smaug's dirty tricks leave his family band stranded in Denver with a forfeit fee the size of Mt. Everest crashing down on their heads, there's really nothing to do but drink about it. The last thing Bard expects is to meet a beautiful stranger in a similar predicament -- and the last thing either of them expects is a rescue. Luckily for them, Thorin Oakenshield's feeling heroic this evening. What do you love about this fic? I am such a sucker for the rock scene (I've spent my entire adult life kicking about there) and it's not often I see it portrayed so realistically in fic (or indeed in original fiction). The characters are all beautifully drawn, the humour frequently makes me chuckle, and Bard going head over heels while trying to tell himself he isn't, it's not happening, not really, because he can't believe his luck, makes my heart go all funny.

Multi-chapters: complete

Followthrough by ofplanet_earth / @ofplanet-earth | M | 26,737 words | tags: alternate universe - modern setting, alternate universe - military, alternate universe - spies & secret agents, snipers, sniper Bard, military captain Thorin, mob boss Smaug, revenge, character death | trigger warnings: violence

Summary: Bard and his children have been living in a little cabin on the edge of Laketown for five years, hiding from Bard's dangerous past. But when that past comes back to haunt them, Bard will have to team up with Thorin and his company to face down his demons, confront the man who killed his wife, and fight to save the people he loves. What do you love about this fic? Great spies/military AU with Bard and the gang!

The grey sea and the long black land by Black_knight100 and Blueberryrock / @blueberryrock | T | 29,702 words | tags: alternate universe - modern setting, alternate universe - cruise ship, first kiss, angst, fluff, angst with a happy ending, eventual romance | trigger warnings: quite angst filled but has an eventual happy ending

Summary: Bard Bowman is thirty-seven years old, widowed and heckled, and he's had enough. If his children want a cruise trip with their lottery money, then so they will have. Bard will only have to work twice as hard to take them out of their little corner of the world. It has been three years. Three years of him raging, and sobbing, and grieving. Three years in which he has turned away from his children. Three years to reach this ship, to put together whatever snapped that day. And the first morning, Thranduil wakes up late. It is going fabulously. Or, in which the two meet on a ship, and there are ups and downs. What do you love about this fic? Thranduil and Bard getting together in the end

Modern Love by Shampain / @abner-krill | M | 65,267 words | tags: alternate universe - modern setting, alternate universe - coffee shops and cafés, alternate universe - human | trigger warnings: none

Summary: Bard is a down on his luck single father working a thankless job as a courier, eternally worrying over when his daughter is going to start sneaking out of the house with boys. As if that wasn't bad enough, his assignments delivering files to Greenleaf Acquisitions puts him in contact with Thranduil, a stern businessman whose only champion is his assistant, Tauriel. And finally, to make matters worse, his friendship with Bilbo Baggins sends everything else into a tailspin. The summer is just beginning, and it's going to be a weird one. What do you love about this fic? Lovely, lighthearted modern AU that is a delight to read!

hands; eyes; voice by bishkebab / @bishkebab | T | 70,163 words | tags: slow burn, alternate universe, accidental cottagecore, governess/single dad romance but make it gay, autistic Thranduil, Thranduil and Bard both have physical disabilities | trigger warnings: mention of autism, fire accident, PTSD

Summary: An isolated life in a too-small cottage was never what Bard dreamed of for his children – especially sharp, scholarly Tauriel and sensitive, insightful Tilda. But school is a distant dream for a large family living off the land – at least until a storm and the subsequent house fire bring a former scholar to their doorstep. Wealthy recluse Thranduil could never have anticipated leaving his family's manor for a shack in the woods and a single father with five – FIVE – children who can barely write ten words between them. But when disaster strikes, he is left with little choice – and maybe close quarters with a handsome widower won't be so bad after all... What do you love about this fic? This is a rare work of art in which Bard is the loveliest dad ever, stubborn, strong and gentle and Thranduil is an introverted autistic lonely lad. The author writes their story in a very poetical way and family is the main protagonist of the story, as is their small cosy cottage. I do love the gentle feeling this story conveys from the start. It feels like a warm cup of tea after a very rainy day and each word is carefully written. This story deserves to be read and reread and rereread. Slowly. (With a nice cup of tea. <;3)

Those Colours We Share by b_ofdale / @beesinspades | M | 84,709 words | tags: alternate universe - soulmates, alternate universe - post-war, set in 1956, Bard owns an animal shelter, slow burn, fluff and angst, disabled character, asexual characters, period-typical homophobia | trigger warnings: none

Summary: Had anyone told them, Thranduil Oropherion and Bard Bowman would never have believed they would see the world painted in colours again. Until that fateful day of December 1956, when one little boy entered a former soldier's animal shelter. What do you love about this fic? I'm a sucker for two lonely people who find each other and forge a new life together.

Beast by Nuredhel / @nuredhel | M | 132,354 words | tags: alternate universe - modern setting, all humans, Bard is a cop, Thranduil is a profiler, mentions of suicide, slow burn, crime and investigation, bonding while working, romance, past problems | trigger warnings: gore, violence, abuse, human trafficing, child abuse, murder, suicide

Summary: Bard Bowman is the leader of a team of investigators trying to solve a very complicated case, when the serial killer they are chasing proves to have a far longer history than they expected the feds call in a profiler. Bard has never believed he could feel attraction again but now he does, how can he express what he feels when they are chasing a beast which seems to defy the very laws of nature? Can Thran feel the same way? The road to love can be bumpy, in special when it is surrounded by murders. What do you love about this fic? It is very exciting, very romantic and intense.

seeking a friend for the end of the world by BiSquared / @scary-grace | M | 238,799 words | tags: alternate universe - modern setting, apocalypse, road trips, family issues and family bonding, opera singer Thranduil, Bard and Thranduil are good parents who are having a bad year, or years | trigger warnings: disease-apocalyptic setting, zombies, major character death, medical injections

Summary: Between dealing with his boss, getting over his ex-wife, and keeping his kids fed and clothed, Bard has more than enough on his plate. He doesn't have time to worry about the frightening rumors coming out of New York City or the lunatic in his service bay who tells him to take his kids and run. But when he stops to help a mysterious stranger on the side of the road, he gets a lot more than he bargained for -- a sexuality crisis, a partner in crime, and maybe, just maybe, a chance for all of them to make it out of this mess alive. What do you love about this fic? Incredible worldbuilding and an edge-of-your-seat plotline! The bonds between all the characters are just beautiful, and it has great worldbuilding. The action is also really well written, and it does tension/dramatics right.

In The Woods Somewhere by Ias / @hubristicfool | M | 249,074 words | tags: alternate universe - modern setting, vampires, vampire Thranduil, mechanic Bard, blood drinking, slow burn, dark, angst, violence, horror, psychological horror, unhealthy relationships | trigger warnings: vampires, blood, angst, sexual content, violence

Summary: These country roads were rarely traveled by any that didn't need to. When Thranduil pulled up beside the man's stopped vehicle and offered him a smile and a ride, there was no one to see the man's grateful expression as he slipped into Thranduil's car. No one to stand by and call out a warning as the taillights were swallowed by the dark branches of the trees. What do you love about this fic? The writing is excellent

Angels and crooks by Nuredhel / @nuredhel | M | 259,072 words | tags: sequel to Beast, alternate universe - modern setting, all humans, Bard is a cop, Thranduil is a profiler, solving crime, family, violence, drug abuse, everyday life at a police station | trigger warnings: violence, abuse, dark stuff, murder, blood, evil, deviousness

Summary: Bard and Thran are getting used to their new life as a married couple, and their new responsibilities as a family. But they still have their jobs and my oh my does that bring some interesting situations and challenges into their existence. Having both experience and special gifts does help, but at times reality can be more bizarre than anyone can expect. What do you love about this fic? It is a good story with very interesting twists and many great characters

When The Pale Swan Flies by EldritchMage / @eldritchmage | E | 290,646 words | tags: alternate universe - modern setting, circus performer Thranduil, cabinet maker Bard, Thranduil's name is Luka, Bard's name is Taliesin (which is Welsh for Bard), slow burn, Thranduil needs rescuing and Bard is happy to do it | trigger warnings: sexual abuse mentioned, underage sex mentioned, prostitution/pimping mentioned

Summary: A year ago, when a carpenter met a caged bird, his good intentions left despair in their wake. Is he a fool to hope he can atone for his missteps? What do you love about this fic? It's got circus acts! It's got two sad men learning to trust and love again! It's got an epic visit to a grocery store! It's got bad guys getting their just desserts, and everyone else getting delicious Spanish teacake! It's got a cute little boy who finds his voice while making puppets! There's a sad short-story prequel to set the stage, as well! And who doesn't like a parade?

Season of Light and Shadow by EldritchMage / @eldritchmage | E | 914,703 words | tags: alternate universe - modern setting, Thranduil is a ballet dancer, Bard is a building super and welder (and artist), slow burn, NSFW, blended family | trigger warnings: momentary violence, momentary mention of drug use, adult bedroom games

Summary: It's the week before Thanksgiving. In an apartment building somewhere in the middle of New York City, the mood is far from festive. Upstairs in Apartment 5B, an injured ballet dancer is having a rotten day. He's lost his job, he's had to walk home in the snow and rain, getting thoroughly soaked and frozen in the process, and the radiators in his rooms are as cold as the New York City streets. He limps downstairs to vent his fury on the night super who didn't fix the heat. Downstairs in Apartment 2A, the night super is also having a rotten day. No money, three overtired and cranky children, a slapdash boss, and not nearly enough sleep. And now someone is pounding on the door like a SWAT team. When an angel knocks on the door of a saint, neither finds what he expects. But with a little luck, the upcoming holiday season might give them both something to treasure. What do you love about this fic? It's two lonely men forging a blended family! It's got ballet! It's got home renovation! It's got four cutie children! It's got cooking! It's got an artist regaining the wherewithal to make his art! It's got lots of cool side characters (ten points to everyone who spots all the Dwarves :-). It's got lots of steamy love! It's even got 3 short follow-up stories! What's not to like?????? This was my introduction to the world of modern AUs with these two, and oh, it's SO GOOD. The kids are brilliant and so realistically drawn, and the dads are - well, they're incredibly hot. XD And the development of the relationship between them is beautifully done, as they go head-over-heels for each other while trying to take things slowly for the sake of the kids…oh, it's great. :D

#barduilmonth2024 #barduil month fic rec february #fic recs #the hobbit #the hobbit fanfiction #the hobbit fanfic #barduil #bard/thranduil #barduil fic recs #long post

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tgmsunmontue · 20 days

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Caring, Keeping and Collecting Transformers - A Guide 3/?

Maverick is unknowingly surrounded by Transformers. He knows something is up though. Just not quite what it is exactly.

Bradley and Jake, having never met, are embarking on their own journeys and will have to learn to deal with the fact that they've both been adopted by Transformers.

Despite having years more experience, Maverick is no help at all.

CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

“I have heard rumors of this place, a haven, for those from Cybertron. A place with a skilled technician, even if they are human. We will need to check there, see if Jetfire’s wings have maybe made it there. I know there are… others there.”

Jake gets the feeling that he’s not quite getting the whole story but he is more worried about the logistics.

“Do you know where it is?”

“I can fly there.”

“Great for you. Do you need me to get there with Jetfire? Because I’m going to need a bit more than your gut instinct.”

“I will guide you. It is West of here. And North.”

“North West. Which leaves most of the entire fucking continent ahead of me, but sure, let’s get to work. I only have four more weeks of leave.”

He organizes to borrow one of the large equestrian truck and trailers, says he’s taking the plane to a specialist welder, which isn’t that much of a stretch when he considers it. In the dead of night he watches as Starscream simply lifts the pieces of Jetfire into the back and wishes he had that much strength at his disposal. He’s pretty sure Starscream will only do as he asks for as long as it serves his own purpose, and that purpose right now is getting his friend fixed up. And for that he currently needs Jake.

… … …

Maybe his friends were right and his car is possessed. He had fallen asleep once and when he’d woken up they’d been over halfway back to California. Even if he doesn’t have to buy gas he’s getting very sick of simply zig-zagging across middle-America. He puts his feet on the brake and while it doesn’t respond immediately it does slow down and pull over and Bradley gets out and walks for a bit, ignoring as best he can that the car is following him at a crawling pace. He’s pretty sure kicking the tires is not a good idea.

“Look… I want to go home to Virginia Beach.”

Something is wrong with my baby… the radio crackles out, and then Something is wrong is repeated and he doesn’t like the way all the little hairs on his forearms suddenly prickle up.

“Okay. Okay. Message received loud and clear. Get us back to… wherever it is you need to go. Uh. Do you need me there? Cause I could just leave you to it if you like?”

I still want you by my side…

“Man your taste in music really sucks.”

You’re not better than me.

“You aren’t making a good argument…” Bradley mutters, but he gets back in and resigns himself to going wherever his car wants to take him.

… … …

“I am not a robot and I cannot drive non-stop!” Jake hisses at Starscream. He’d punctuate his words with a finger to the chest, except he feels like he’d likely break a finger. Also having to reach that far up probably makes the gesture just look silly. “I am a human and I need to eat and sleep and take fucking toilet breaks. Go and hide yourself in a field somewhere if you’re meant to keeping a low profile. I am getting food and then sleeping for eight hours.”

Starscream stalks off muttering about pushy humans but Jake cannot bring himself to care. He’s been driving for over fourteen hours, and he’s used to pushing his body to its limits, but he cannot drive another five minutes. His eyes are gritty, body stiff and his stomach is grumbling. His bladder is also screaming at him and he quickly enters the diner, orders food and then makes a beeline for the bathroom. His body slumps with relief and he heads back to eat and enjoy his food. He’s also refueling the truck, another thing Starscream doesn’t seem to appreciate.

He pulls himself into the back of the truck, runs his fingers over the body of Jetfire, the vibrations under his fingers still there and he knows he’s probably not imagining it now. He pulls out the bedroll and camping mattress he’d packed, not prepared to pay for accommodation when he could bunk in the truck. The smell of horses isn’t anything that bothers him. He falls asleep and doesn’t feel the rocking motion of movement.

… … …

He wakes up feeling rested, glances at his watch and yep, seven hours sleep exactly. He leaves the bedding where it is, knows he’s likely going to need it again and unlocks the door, pushing it open. He’s expecting to see the truck stop, other trucks pulled in for a rest. Except that’s not where he is at all. He’s somewhere else, nothing but tussocky grasslands stretching in every direction, mountains in the distance. There’s a road, long and straight in both directions and he groans. He has no fucking clue where he is, or where he’s meant to be going, or where Starscream has fucked off to. He walks around the side, and hunched in the shadow of the truck, trying to conceal himself, is Starscream.

“Oh, there you are. Did you… drive us here?”

“Carried. I had to stop and hide often, but the cover of darkness helped. I had to stop when dawn approached.”

“Of course you did. Where are we?”

“California.”

“Okay. So I’m guessing no more West. Just North now?”

“We are close. Less than an hour travel.”

“Oh. Cool. Uh. You have any more instructions you can give me?”

Starscream tries his best, or at least Jake hopes he’s trying, but then he mentions he can land there as a plane and Jake looks at him in disbelief.

“So it’s an airstrip?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, then there’s likely to be signs, and wind socks and other things I can use to guide me.”

“There are buildings, shaped like this,” Starscream says, drawing a semicircle in the dirt and Jake nods.

“Hangars. There are hangars. That’s to be expected.”

“One is… newly painted. That is the one we want,” Starscream states and then pauses. “It may not be a warm welcome.”

Jake groans.

“Now you tell me.”

“You will be fine.”

Jake raises a disbelieving eyebrow, he has no real choice but to go along with it, his curiosity almost at fever pitch. Also he wants to see if he can get Jetfire up and working again.

He drives.

… … …

When he starts recognizing things his stomach starts sinking, unable to believe that he’s heading towards Maverick’s hangar. There’s a chance that, however slim, that they’ll blow past the turnoff, but nope, the Bronco is slowing and the turn signal is flashing and he crosses his arms, feeling justified in his sulk. He can’t believe he’s been abducted by his own freaking car, which is now moving very slowly, and Bradley is starting to feel uneasy, because it’s like his car has suddenly gotten cautious, like it’s expecting something. And not something good.

It stops by the hangar and Bradley reaches for the door, but then the locks all slam into place and Bradley slams his hands on the dash.

“Seriously?!”

“Be quiet.”

His jaw drops, because that was definitely a voice, not music coming from the radio, not something he could even begin to pass off as his imagination. He doesn’t know if he could make noise now even if he hadn’t just been told to be quiet. Then he sees the large horse truck driving down the road that is parallel with the airstrip, and he wonders what about it seems to have his car effectively pacing in front of the hangar doors. Then the doors are opening but his attention is drawn to the plane coming into land. He’s pretty sure it’s an F-15 Eagle, and god, he wouldn’t put it past Maverick to have collected yet another fighter jet, and he doesn’t know if he’s ready to face Maverick himself.

Then the unthinkable happens, the plane seems to crumple midair as it comes to land, and he thinks it’s undergone catastrophic failure before realizing it’s reforming into something else and is landing on two legs rather than wheels and he’s blinking fast, trying to double check his vision isn’t making things up. Then he feels his car move around him and he’s tossed, semi-gently and then his car is also on legs rather than wheels and he just gapes up at it, mind racing.

… … …

Holy shit.

Holy fucking shit.

There are so many of them.

Nearly everything that he can see is changing form and suddenly looking a fuck load more aggressive and he shrinks back, presses himself into the leather of the seat. He thought he saw someone else, a human someone else, not a robot someone, because he’s seeing dozens of them right now. Wonders a little hysterically if this is some type of convention, and if it is, what they all discuss. Can they all talk? Sucking in a deep breath he decides he needs to get out and ask questions, even if the welcome is so far a little frosty. Starscream had predicted this.

“Human. They will not hurt you. Me however…” Starscream shrugs then and Jake has gotten pretty good at reading his expressions, and he’s not comfortable right now. While he isn’t the friendliest of… robots, he hasn’t threatened to anything bad, and Jake isn’t going to let a bunch of other robots take him down. Not that he can really stop them if they decide to.

“Look, uh, hi? My name is Jake… we’re hoping we might get some help to fix our friend, Jetfire?”

“Decepticon scum, you come here asking for help?” the blue robot which had been a Bronco only ten minutes okay spits out and Jake looks to Starscream, because he doesn’t understand Decepticon, but he does understand scum and the tone leaves nothing to the imagination. Saying it might not be a warm welcome was maybe underselling it a bit he thinks.

“I do not come seeking help for me. The human speaks true. We have the body of Jetfire. I thought here might… be the best place to bring him.”

It’s a staring competition between Starscream and the Bronco-robot and Jake’s reminded of stand-offs between some guys in high school, waiting to see who will blink first. He’s pretty sure the fallout from these two exchanging blows would do considerable more damage.

“Neither of you rule here, this is my space, and you will not begin anything. Do I make myself understood?”

Jake doesn’t know who the new robot is, but the tone of voice is sharp, commands respect and seems to rebuke both of the other robots despite the fact they’ve both taller by at least a foot. He’s not sure what kind of vehicle they’re meant to be, but it’s more similar to Starscream than the Bronco-bot. Regardless, he can’t help but be impressed.

CHAPTER FOUR

#Caring Keeping and Collecting Transformers - A Guide #hangster #Top Gun Maverick #AU #TF and TGM crossover

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cloverdaisies · 1 year

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SLOW IT DOWN: LEE JUYEON pt 1

✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩ ✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩ ✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩ ✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩

# Slow it down, make it bouncy, 지금부터 fly좀 다른 spicy, 청양고추 vibe

✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩ ✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩ ✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩ ✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩

a lee juyeon x reader imagine

contains mature themes e.g risks, violence, dangerous driving, suggestive themes reader discretion is advised.

✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩ ✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩ ✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩ ✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩

hi (your name) you’ve been invited to play RACEFORTIME!

… \

Do you accept the invite YES OR NO?

✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩ ✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩ ✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩ ✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩

… \

CONGRATS! you chose the right option and escaped permanent elimination let me search for a party to put you in…

… \

FOUND! you are now apart of party 11.. enjoy the game…

��y/n i know you didn’t just join that fucking game” kevin, your best friend looked over your shoulder to the computer screen resting on the desk beneath.

“why not? it looks fun.” you replied with a chuckle watching as his face exploded in horror.

“it’s not fun until you’re either- you know- killed by it or I DONT KNOW killed doing something for it.” he choked on his words slightly, pacing the room and throwing his hands dramatically in the air.

“that’s just a myth, some people just get addicted to it and end up being killed because they go to far.” you rolled your eyes, turning around to scroll through the game rules.

"that's because you literally cannot the leave the game! do you not remember johnny? he tried to leave the game so he could go to his math exam and suddenly dropped dead in the theatre?- LISTEN i’m not even meant to mention that in case they end up coming for me for talking about it! why? why did you do thi-”

“listen kevin, it was my idea and johnny already had existing health problems it was just a coincidence, plus since school is over i’m bored and want some fun in my life.” you laughed at the boy’s concern and patted the top of his peachy little head.

“listen if you do this to yourself i want no part in it. you might be my best friend but i’m not risking my life for that game.” he sighed, but was shortly cut off by a jovial tune that hummed from the speakers of your laptop.

…/

hey! (your name) you have your first task to complete! remember there’s clues all over the city! don’t skip any pointers!

../

- find the key hidden in a mailbox the west corner of 67th street

…/

- your mode of transport is linked to a chain and lock near the bike shelter on west avenue.

../

- hop on and join a specific competition in town as a rider and win

…/

- meet player #109 without explicit mention of racefortime

../

you have 3 hours to complete!

WIN OR LOSE? good luck!

✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩ ✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩ ✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩ ✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩

“kev, you have to take me to 67th street now.” you turned around with a glimmer of adrenaline lighting up in your eyes.

“i’ve literally just said i’m not getting involved.” he folded his arms in an indefinite refusal, but softened his posture as your soft puppy eyes shone back up at him.

“i can’t drive! and there’s no way i’d get there in time without you. plus if things were like you said, wouldn’t i die if i didn’t complete the task.” you were using his own words against him, in a cruel way but yet you found it still unconvincing that a game had some sort of sorcerers ability to kill people

“fine. but that’s it! i’m out.” he grabbed his car keys, observing the 2:58:54 that lit up both your phone and laptop screen.

——

kevin drove you into the city, picking up speed wherever he could as the dark night had settled in and by the time you guys had reached 67th street the timer hit 2:36:43.

“it could be any of these mailboxes y/n! this is a death wish!” kevin put his face in his palms out of stress before exhaling and parking his car on the curb of the west corner.

“it’s a branded game kevin, there has to be a clue somewhere.” you laughed observing each mailbox, as you strolled past them until you saw a smiley face sticker with the eyes crossed out with graffitied handwriting which read “good luck!”.

“calabunga.” you smiled, using the lever to open the box and retrieve the black key placed inside. “let’s go.”

kevin huffed as you sprinted back to the vehicle eager to feel the adrenaline seep through your veins.

——

kevin dropped you off at west avenue, giving you a hug before explaining his reasons for not being able to stay.

“take care of yourself and don’t get hurt. please call me if you need me.” a line he had gotten used to saying at this point considering your lifestyle he was used to your flighty antics. but it seemed like this time you’d gone a little too far.

there were multiple bikes chained up near the bike shelter on west avenue, but it wasn’t like you had time to eliminate each one. one motorcycle stood out in particular, it was jet black, clearly a brand new build with a huge silver smiley face pad lock attached to a clunky metal chain on the side.

you inserted the key in hopes of it being the right one and sighed in relief when the chain loosened and lock burst open.

“nice bike.” a butter smooth voice hollered from behind you, you turned to see a pink haired boy behind you, covered in tattoos and piercings.

“thanks. just got it.” you replied with a chuckle, pushing the bike forward out of the shelter.

“do you know how to ride it?” he asked cocking his eyebrow up slightly.

“not really but my dad used to ride em, so it can’t be there hard.” you laughed nervously, swinging your leg over the seat and settling on board.

“how about i drive you into town, since i think i can see what you’re playing and you take it from there?” he suggested, watching your face contort as you battled the decision in your head.

“i don’t know. i think i’ll be fine.” you replied, not trusting his sinister appearance and judging eyes.

“how else would you get there without having a clue how to ride it?” he made suspicious eye contact with you, his facial expressions seemingly trying to tell you something.

he’s a player.

he must had been told to pick you up and take you into town.

“ah. i get it. yeah, sure you can take me into town.” you smiled, clocking his nervous movements and sigh of relief at your acceptance of the offer.

“thank you.” he puffed out in gratitude quickly hopping on the bike, and handing you the singular helmet hung on the side.

“do you not need this?” you asked hopping on the back behind him. he turned around with a look on his face that read “are you serious right now?”

“no, who where’s those? now quick we only have 1 hour and 50 minutes.” he shrugged off your words and with that he started the engine, waiting for you to pull the helmet over your head and place your hands around his waist before speeding off onto the main road into town.

——

hollering, yelling, the sound of smashed bottles and a heavily a intoxicated crowd lit up the nightlife in town as they all gathered round main street gearing up for one of the most exciting street races in town.

pulling on the brakes, the pink haired boy slowed arriving at the riders bay at the beginning of the street, there were multiple boys who were just like him, accessorizing in tattoo sleeves and thick silver jewelry.

“okay, the main race starts in 10 minutes. don’t talk to anyone, there’s some wrong people around here.” he told you within a genuine tone, seemingly as he frowned.

“why are you-” you were about to ask why he was telling you this information before he started the gas on the bike again.

“i’m sorry.” he spoke just above a whisper in remorse.

“for what? you’re not stealing my bike, are you?” your tone rose slightly, eyes lighting up red in the reflection of the brake lights.

“RIDERS GEAR UP.” a loud voice chanted through a megaphone as each motorcycle began lining up down the street.

“i have to.” he laughed, driving away from you as you attempted the run after the boy.

“shit.” your legs soon grew tired and it was no use running after him at this point considering he was driving away at what felt like 90mph.

if what kevin said was true, you were dead.

you had no bike to race with and time was ticking down like sand, 1:05:34, the clock on your phone read with a sad smiley face beneath it. “uh oh” a robotic voice echoed through your speakers. it knows my bike was stolen?

you shrugged it off, watching as girls jumped on the back of their boyfriends bike ready for the race to start. you ran past each rider, asking if you could just by any chance, hop on the back of their bike for the race. but you knew you couldn’t mention the game, or the time you had left in your phone and most of them refused laughing at you pathetically.

“hop on mine.” a sultry sweet voice beckoned from behind you, a jet black haired boy with sharp facial features and a silver lip ring faced you, seemingly catching a glimpse of your phone screen which read 1:0:30.

without a second thought, you stuffed your phone in your pocket and slid on to the back of his bike.

“thank you.” you sighed in relief, looking around for a helmet to wear but there wasn’t one. “do you not have a helmet?”

“RIDERS YOUR RACE BEGINS IN… ” the megaphone voice echoed through the street, riders reviving their engines and the crowd spitting, hollering in excitement.

“no. just put your arms around me. hurry the fuck up there’s no time.” his tone grew serious and you rushed to wrap your arms around him as the traffic lights flicked between red and amber.

“READY.”

“SET.”

“GO.”

each driver released their brakes, shooting down the street at speeds above 100mph with no fear of consequences.

that rush of adrenaline you craved, rushed through your vessels as the motorcycle sped through the night, passing each street lamp at exhausting speeds, eliciting high pitched whistles and screams from the crowd behind the barricade.

the kind boy driving you wasn’t rushing yet, he capped his speed at 90mph for the first lap falling to the back of the hoard of vehicles crowding at high speed.

“we’re behind. we have to win.” you yelled into the boys ear over the overwhelming sound of roaring engines.

“i know but just wait until-” he shouted back but was largely cut off by the sound of screeching metal and a silencing crash as two riders brutally collided.

“THAT. that’s why you want to be behind.” he silenced you as you looked back gobsmacked at the fatal scene. shards of metal and bike parts still flying in the air almost decapitating you and the boy.

it was almost the final lap, riders being eliminated by obstacles one by one, crashing and setting fire to their vehicles.

turning the last corner, the boy picked up speed, racing towards the front of the competition, neck and neck with the rider beside you. looking to your left you saw the familiar pink haired boy, racing on the stolen bike towards the finishing line. he smirked, leaning to his right and almost clashing with your vehicle.

“Juyeon doing charity work? Awhh.” he cooed over the racketing sound of his engine, giving a name to the boy that had helped you enter the race.

“Fuck off, thief.” you hollered back, watching him smile and and shake his head, eliciting an overtaking match between Juyeon and himself.

00:00:30

“Juyeon! We have 30 seconds left!” you shouted over to the boy in front, he nodded and ramped up the speed one more time.

with that, the pink haired boy fell behind, the finishing line within arms length, the thrill of winning biting at you.

a tacky horn sounded as you crossed the finish line,

00:00:00

YOU WIN!

your phone screen lit up with digital confetti, the flash light turning off in a staccato pattern as the bike came to a hault.

“Yes! We win!” you squealed, hugging the boy as a thank you, he smiled slightly looking up to something with a cocky grin.

“Yes, we did indeed.” he spoke mysteriously, you followed his eyes up to the large billboard screen on one of the skyscrapers in the city.

both yours and juyeon’s face lit up on the big screen with a banner that read:

“POWER COUPLE? RACEFORTIME BIKE RACE WINNERS”

you covered your face in embarrassment, shying away from the camera as juyeon wrapped an arm around your shoulder smiling and waving - eliciting the crowd of girls gathered around with their phones to squeal.

“remember to upvote me, as your favorite player!” he said into the camera, giving it a heart which contrasted his dark mysterious appearance, leather jacket and piercings.

your phone began to chime with notifications, follows on instagram, messages from classmates, and a score in the top right corner began to rise.

Congratulations! (your name), you’ve surpassed 1000 supporters on RACEFORTIME.

“you gain popularity from this?” you asked curiously watching Juyeon smile back down at you.

“hell yeah. you’re talking to the most popular guy in the game.” he showed you his screen with a proud glint in his cat-like eyes.

player #109: JUYEON LEE

WINS: 25

SUPPORTERS: 1.3m

“what’s your name?” he asked clicking on to the search bar of the app.

“y/n.” you replied with your name and username, a banner notification popping up at the top of your screen to say he’d followed you.

“thanks by the way, juyeon.” you smiled at him, watching him check his bike for scratches crouched on the floor.

“no problem, if you need anymore help let me know. it’s hard to survive this game.” he spoke solemnly, looking over his shoulder at the pink haired boy sat at the sidelines with his head in his hands.

as you began to walk off, you looked up to see kevin stood at the sidelines with a look that replicated death itself. an appalled, gobsmacked “o” for lips and eyes sunken in fear.

“you’re so dead when we get home.” he whacked you over the back of your head slightly, and escorted you back to his car despite distressing that he wasn’t coming to pick you up at all.

you turned back one last time to catch eyes with the mysterious juyeon lee, hopping back on to his motorcycle yet still watching you walk away.

you waved shyly, seeing a smile creep on to his face before he lifted his hand to wave back.

hopefully this wasn’t the last time you’d see him.

✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩ ✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩ ✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩ ✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩

hello my daisies !! dedicated to @winterchimez for a late bday present <3 ahhh i love this concept so much and hope you enjoyed too!! this is one of my favorite storylines yet <3

✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩ ✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩ ✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩ ✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩

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its-been-rose · 3 months

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I just think it’s funny how Kiler Frequency takes place in 1987 and NOT 1988, a much more thematically appropriate year for the game to take place. Having it take place in 1987 means that it is the 19th anniversary of George’s death, not the 20th. Realistically it was chosen cuz 1987 is a banger ass year and has such vibes but like I’m just imagining Marie sitting wherever they live (I imagine it to be either be like Oregon or Washington or California or somewhere quite far away since Clive said that the murders literally spread across the entire country and we know GC is somewhere near Chicago but west of the missisippi because the K radio call sign in KFAM means that they’re west of the missisippi river. If I had to guess it’s probably in Iowa. Is it ever confirmed what state they’re in?) and just going “fuck it, I can’t wait another year. HENRY, HONEY GET IN THE CAR WE’RE GONNA GET THOSE SONS OF BITCHES”

#killer frequency #marie campbell #henry barrow #shitpost

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velvet4510 · 3 months

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I guess I’m one of those weirdos who so deeply feels the essence of an instrumental leitmotif from a film score associated with a particular character or couple, that I start associating said leitmotifs in my head with ANOTHER character from an entirely different film/book/series. And I’ve built up a whole library of leitmotifs for LOTR characters even though I ADORE Howard Shore’s original score for the trilogy. I consider these leitmotifs to be add-ons, NOT replacements.

Nor do I intend to completely dissasociate all of these themes from their intended films/characters; some of them are perfect fits for the films they were written for. It’s just my mind going wild like usual. (But I admit, in some cases, the pieces are from films I dislike, and thus I would rather see these great songs associated with something of LOTR quality rather than what they were actually stuck with, especially when the lack of lyrics gives you the freedom to let the melody take you wherever it takes you, personally.)

In the case of Silmarillion characters and relationships, well, it’s a different story - it really is my attempt to cobble together what could be a hypothetical score, if it were brought to the screen. Obviously it’d never be this exactly, but I would hope a composer for a potential screen adaptation of The Silmarillion might be inspired by themes like these.

In some cases, the characters these themes were originally written for don’t resemble the corresponding LOTR characters very much, or at all. Also some of them have titles that by themselves could not be more different from and unfitting for Tolkien’s world. It’s just the melodies on their own, without context or even name, performed by these gorgeous orchestras, that have come to remind me of particular Tolkien figure(s).

I also have found lots of “love themes”, both romantic and platonic, for character relationships, as you’ll see. I’ve included romantic themes for canonical couples, as well as for pairings that I personally ship. I know Shore already gave Aragorn and Arwen a theme, but as I said, these are all extra additions and not replacements.

And yes I have a lot of Star Wars stuff in here, because I love Star Wars…but I love Tolkien more.

For the heck of it I’ll share some of these, with links to each song on YT. It’s hard to explain why I made these choices/associations, but maybe you’ll get it if you listen to some of them.

CHARACTER THEMES

The Valar = “Guardians of the Whills Suite” by Michael Giacchino

Lúthien Tinúviel = “Once Upon a Time in the West” by Ennio Morricone

Túrin Turambar = “Anakin’s Theme” by John Williams

Nienor Níniel = “Helena’s Theme” by John Williams

Frodo Baggins = “Romeo” by Nino Rota

Sam Gamgee = “Rey’s Theme” by John Williams

Aragorn = “The John Dunbar Theme” by John Barry

Gandalf = “Yoda’s Theme” by John Williams

Legolas = “Rose Tico” by John Williams

Éowyn = “Marion’s Theme” by John Williams

THEMES FOR LANDS/LOCATIONS

The Undying Lands = “Out of Africa” by John Barry

ROMANTIC LOVE THEMES

Frodo x Sam = “Love Theme from Ben-Hur” by Miklos Rozsa

Beren x Lúthien = “Love Theme from The Godfather” by Nino Rota

Faramir x Éowyn = “Han Solo and the Princess” by John Williams

Aragorn x Arwen = “Love Theme from Cinema Paradiso” by Ennio Morricone

Sam x Rosie = “Love Theme from Dances with Wolves” by John Barry

Bilbo x Thorin = “Andante Cantabile” by Bernard Herrmann

Thingol x Melian = “Indecent Proposal” by John Barry

Fingon x Maedhros = “Wuthering Heights” (1939) by Alfred Newman

Galadriel x Celeborn = “Central Park” by James Newton Howard

Finrod x Bëor = “Somewhere in Time” by John Barry

Aegnor x Andreth = “Love Theme from The Scarlet Letter” by John Barry

Túrin x Beleg = “Across the Stars” by John Williams

Mablung x Niënor = “Wanda and Vision” by Christophe Beck

Tuor x Idril = “Conversation Piece” by Bernard Herrmann

Eärendil x Elwing = “Tennessee” by Hans Zimmer

Maglor x Daeron = “Midnight Cowboy” by John Barry

Elrond x Celebrían = “And Then I Kissed Him” by Hans Zimmer

Pippin x Diamond = “Love Theme from Spartacus” by Alex North

Merry x Estella = “Love Theme from Rebel Without a Cause” by Leonard Rosenman

Elanor x Fastred = “Theme from A Summer Place” by Percy Faith (composed by Max Steiner)

PLATONIC RELATIONSHIP THEMES

Elrond & Elros = “Brothers” by Hans Zimmer

Merry & Pippin = “Flying” by John Williams

Legolas & Gimli = “Rain Man” by Hans Zimmer

Boromir & Faramir = “Luke and Leia” by John Williams

Bilbo & Frodo* = “The Mother’s Love” by Miklos Rozsa

Sam & Elanor = “The Ludlows” by James Horner

I may add to this as I think of more, or even replace certain songs entirely if I come across a better match. Always return to the pinned post here to see the most recently updated list.

* Bilbo & Frodo’s melody is heard in the first minute of the linked track, 0:00–1:01, and again at 1:48. Also, the love theme I associate with Frodo & Sam starts playing at 1:03, making this whole thing fit all the hobbits even better.

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two-red-lungs · 2 years

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I’ll See You (In My Dreams)

Eddie x Fem!Reader Hurt/Comfort

Summary: Eddie Munson has been declared dead for five months. Five agonizing, numb months. And nobody seems to care. (Angst with happy ending)

Song Inspiration: x

The weather had turned. Oppressive summer cicadas fading to a whisper, then a deathly silence, replaced with the rasp of autumn leaves and a brilliant Hawkins forest filled with fire-orange foliage and a chill creeping into the west wind.

Not a lot of Jack-o-lanterns out this year. Not with all the ruin. Houses were still being repaired. People had left: a lot of people. A tiny, cursed town made even emptier.

But you had stayed. God help you, you had stayed.

You slammed the door to your car, rounding the front in the leaf-strewn parking lot, exhaling smoke from your cigarette. Dustin clambered out of the passenger seat and straightened his lapel.

“You ready, kid?” You asked him.

He nodded, tight lipped. You gave him a pat on the shoulder over his jacket, crushed the cigarette butt under your heel, and followed him into the Hawkins church graveyard.

The earthquake hadn’t touched it. Thank god for small mercies. The little quaint rows of dark graves, lichen-dusted and overgrown, were in disturbed. You wove through the rows. It was quiet. Crows called from the forest. Most of the headstones were old, but there were quite a few fresh ones. Too many.

You were only here for one.

A small one. Simple grey granite. Simple engraving. Everything else has been too expensive: too far out of Wayne’s budget.

Christ. Just seeing it made your heart seize.

There were no flowers on Eddie Munson’s grave. They kept getting stolen. People muttering about how he didn’t deserve them. You couldn’t muster the strength, the fire to hate them anymore.

“Can I, uh.” You said tightly to the open air. To Dustin, standing behind you. “Can I have a moment? Alone?”

He swallowed and ducked his head. “Yeah. Sure. Of course.” He ambled back, away towards the church. Giving you space.

You breathed. Inhale, exhale. That’s what the therapist had said to do, anyway. Just breathe. She made it sound so easy. But nowadays your chest felt so tight, all the fucking time. “Edward Munson”, the headstone read. “1966-1986″. The engraving of a cherub angel right below it: wings spread, hands cupping its face, eyes shut. “Gone, but never forgotten.”

An empty grave. They never recovered his body. Too dangerous.

“...Hi.” God, your voice was so shaky. Ruined from the chain-smoking, now. “Uh, Eds. Hey. I, um. Miss you. Hope wherever you are,” you paused to look around at the weak, dappled autumn light coming through the dying forest, “it’s better than this place. Somewhere with sun. And free booze. And lots of, uh, babes in bikinis running around, because you’d probably be into that.” You smiled for a half-second. It faded fast.

“Wayne’s okay. He’s still working. Gotta keep the lights on, and stuff. I’ve been spending more time with him. Keeping him company, you know? I cook him dinner a lot. We watch movies. Sometimes we sit out on the porch and smoke. He... uh, he doesn’t like to talk about you. I think it hurts him too much. And fuck, who could blame him for that?”

Great. Fuck. Here comes the tears. A knot in your throat, heat in your eyes, blurring your vision.

“...Hey, do you, um. Do you remember our best date? December, when we got snowed-in at my place? And we tried to dig your van out of the snowbank with fucking.... plastic toy shovels because I didn’t have a real one,” You were grinning again, looking at the grass between your feet, tears damp on your lashes, “And you were just so frustrated you threw yours into the neighbor’s yard? And then we just looked at each-other and burst out laughing? God. That was so fun. And then you, uh. Then you kissed me.

“...God. God. Fucking jesus christ sonovabitch motherfucker I fucking-” you choked. “I miss you. I fucking miss you. So much, every fucking day. Sometimes I feel like I wake up with a fucking hole in my chest, like someone has punched straight through me, Eddie, and I don’t know what to fucking do I miss you so much.”

You wiped your face. Wet, hot water on cold skin. “Ugh. I’m a mess. And I’m a smoker, now, too. I found a... a pack, you left in my room, and it all sort of spiraled from there. I keep finding you, do you know that? It’s like you’re everywhere I look. Your favorite music playing on my cassette mix. Your laugh coming from someone else. Your shirts hanging in my closet. Sometimes, I swear, I fall asleep at night and think I can still smell your stupid hair product on my fucking pillow. I miss you. I miss you.”

The headstone was silent and unresponsive. An autumn breeze ruffled the weeds.

“Our anniversary is coming up. October 30th. Basically Halloween. First date we ever went on: the corn maze. You scared the shit out of me, jumping out of the maze wall like that. The look on your face when I punched you was... god, it was priceless. It was perfect.” More tears. Fucking tears. You were so tired of tears: tired of how they wrung you out like wet rag every night. “What we had... was perfect. Some real, actual fairytale shit. The knight and the princess. It was good. God, Eddie, it was so good.

“And you know what the worst part of it was?” You turned your face up to the sky, at that clear, unrelenting blue. “I think I fell in love with you. Right at the end. Right when the daffodils were starting to bloom in the spring. You looked at me, in the van, and I just realized... I realized I was in fucking love with you. And I never got to say the words out loud.”

You let yourself have your moment. You let yourself cry. Standing there, cold and tired and sleep-deprived and reeking like burnt tobacco, in front of the grave everyone else reviled.

It passed. It left you hollow.

You pulled your jacket tighter. “At least I have my dreams, right? I see you there. Like every night: you’re just standing there smiling at me. I loved that smile so much, Eddie-bear. Big megawatt smile. Mister Sunshine.” You fumbled for another cigarette, lighting it and taking a drag. “I, uh. I gotta go. Dustin needs a ride home, and I need to go clean the trailer for Wayne before he gets back from work. But I’ll come back. I’ll always come back. I promise.”

Another breeze. Shifting grass stalks. The crow on the distant tree branch squawked and took flight, a blot of black against cerulean blue.

You looked over your shoulder towards the stone church, catching Dustin’s eye and jerking your head to call him over. He tromped over the patches of weeds. “I’m done. You can... you can say what you need to.”

He paled. “I’m okay. I just wanted to visit.”

You bumped his shoulder with yours. “It’s nice of you. I’m sure he’d appreciate it.”

He went even paler. His throat bobbed. “Yeah.”

“Let’s get you home.”

Dustin waved goodbye to the car in his driveway, dodged his mother’s doting kisses in the living room, and hauled the phone and extended cord into his room, firmly shutting the door and sitting down heavily on his bed. He took a moment to run a hand through his mass of curls and blow air between his lips before reaching for the dial and punching the number in. A number he knew by heart: he didn’t dare write it down.

A ringing line. A click. Silence.

“...It’s Dustin. Dustin Henderson. I need to speak to him.”

The agent’s voice was gruff on the other end of the line. “Kid, you can’t keep calling this number. It’s for emergencies.”

“I know. I know.” Dustin wetted his lips and crossed his legs on the mattress. “Can I just... for a few minutes? Please? I’ll make it fast.”

The agent sighed, low and tired. There was shuffling on the other end of the line, the sound of movement. “It’s the Henderson kid. You have five minutes.” The agent said faintly.

The phone readjusted.

“You know, every time this thing rings I think the world is ending a second goddamn time.”

“Eddie.” Dustin breathed, grinning at his bedroom wall.

“Hey, pipsqueak.”

“Man, it’s good to hear your voice.”

“Yeah, well...” There was a grunt, and a shuffle: Eddie, moving away from his designated agent, taking the phone with him. “The whole point of this witness protection shit is that you don’t, right?”

“How are you holding up?”

A dry, derisive laugh. “Well, considering I’m in the middle of goddamn nowhere, being babysat by some big asshole with a gun, eating microwave soup for lunch every day, with an entire state still wanting me for murder and everyone else thinking I’m a worm-filled corpse, not too bad.”

“...I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”

Eddie heaved a sigh. Dustin could see him in his mind’s eye, a hand running down his face like he always did when he was exasperated. “It’s fine, man, it’s fine. I appreciate it, actually. Nice to talk to someone who doesn’t communicate almost exclusively in grunts. I’ve got, like, crazy cabin fever.”

“Have they told you how much longer you need to stay there?”

“No, man. They have not. I’m guessing until the fucking... satanic panic shit dies down and people stop writing articles on ‘Edward Munson, the devil of Indiana’.”

Dustin could hear the strain in the young man’s voice. It was a heavy burden to bear. Eddie was all alone, now. The world had abandoned him. And everyone save for Dustin and a handful of agents that had retrieved him and revived him even knew he was alive. It was for his protection, they told him. There was no way to clear his name, not really. Not ever. He’d always have this staining his name. All he could do now was start again.

“I’m really, really sorry, Eddie.”

“I know. I know you are.” The line was silent for a moment. “So why’d you call, man? Did you really miss your dear old DM that much?”

“Are you alone right now?”

“Yeah. Mr. Impassive just stepped out for a cigarette. What’s up?”

“She visited your grave again today.”

A muffled swear followed by several more, and a long, drawn-out beat of silence. “She did? God. Christ. Fuck.”

“She visits like, every three days. Ever since your uncle had the headstone installed.”

“Fuck. Fuck.” Another pause. Again, Dustin knew so clearly that Eddie was probably hanging his head right now, probably running a hand through his even longer hair. “I really fucking miss her, man.” His voice wobbled.

“I know.”

“That’s my girl. And she thinks I’m dead.”

“She doesn’t have to.” Before Eddie could say anything, Dustin launched forward. “Eddie, I think I should tell her.”

“What? Are you insane?” Eddie hissed.

“Just- just hear me out, okay? Isn’t this the same girl who kept your relationship secret from everyone for months? And nobody suspected a thing? The same girl who you dealt to for like, three whole years, and not even her friends knew she smoked? If anyone can keep a secret, it’s her.”

“I know that, man, she’s- goddamn perfect. Henderson, you can’t tell her. Do you even- fuck, do you know how much danger that would put her in? Hawkins thinks I’m a serial killer.”

“Eddie, she needs to know. It’s wrecking her. She’s even stopped going to college.”

A throaty noise of pain escaped Munson over the phone. “I know. I know. I just... fuck. I want her to know, so bad. Jesus Christ, you think I don’t want her to know? I’d cut off my own arm just to see her again. But it’s too risky. And the government goons would be pissed.”

Dustin pulled out his trump card. “Eddie... she said she was in love with you.”

Silence. Utter silence.

“At the church today. I had to stand there and listen to her say she loved you, that she still loves you, and that she never got to tell you. And I had to just... act sad, like I thought you were dead too. I don’t know how much longer I can lie to her.”

“...She said she loves me?”

“Yeah, man.”

The quiet was deafening. It went on for so long Dustin was wondering if the call had disconnected.

“Do it.” Eddie’s voice was tight.

“What?”

“Do it. Tell her.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. But, Dustin, man... do it gentle, okay?” Eddie’s voice had taken on a soft, wounded tone. A hurt Dustin hadn’t heard before. “Do it so fucking gentle. And tell her... tell her I love her. Tell her I love the shit out of her. That I have since the shovels.”

“...The shovels?”

“She’ll know what I mean.”

They chatted for a few more minutes. Somber and low: about Wayne, about Hawkins repairs, about Steve and Nancy and Garette and the rest of his band-mates. And then the agent stepped back in from his smoke break and commandeered the phone, severing their connection with a click. Dustin was left alone, holding the plastic phone to his ear, staring out the window and watching the sun track across the neighborhood outside.

He ran a hand down his face. A habit he’d picked up in school from the metal-head. One more night, he promised himself. He’d tell her tomorrow. Shatter her entire world, re-open her wounds, flip reality on its head.

But tonight, she could still have her dreams.

#I Have Emotions about edward munson #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagine #stranger things s4 #throws myself dramatically on a couch like a starlet from the 20s

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