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tinycoded360 · 6 months

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Chapter 16: On a Mission

Mackenzie finally made it to the power plant with much difficulty. He had to fight the cold elements and avoid hungry wolves. Unfortunately, he was having zero luck getting the power up and running. To his surprise, the old phone on the wall started to ring.

Mackenzie picked up the phone, wondering if it was the mysterious lady sabotaging the convicts. “Hello?”

Unknown female voice. “Me again, so, they sent you to check on the power plant.”

“y…. yeah…… I mean, that’s what they asked me to do.”

“You always do what hardened criminals ask you to do?”

“I didn’t have much of a choice.” Mackenzie’s mind flashes to little Sage and how Mathis threatened her.

“You know you won’t be able to get the power back on, right? The issue with the power…. has nothing to do with the power plant.”

“Yes, I figured. I mean…. how are you so sure?”

“Trust me, I just know.”

“Trust you? Ok, but trust goes both ways. What’s your name?

“Alright then, you can call me Jace.”

“Okay, nice to meet you, Jace. How do you fit into all of this? Are you in trouble?” Mackenzie asked.

“That’s a long story. My main concern is making sure that psycho Donner doesn’t make it out of Solitary. If he does, we’re all in trouble, Mack.” Jace continues. “Listen, you want to know what’s going on, with the power and all that? I can tell you, but first, I need your help.”

“How did you end up in BlackRock?”

“My car broke down with the first aurora. Well, not so much as ‘broke down’ as it just stopped working. I wondered for hours before I found the fence leading to the guard tower. The next thing I knew, I heard gunshots. It was…...horrible. I found the bodies that were left out: the guards, prison workers, civilians, and the innocent. The convicts had executed them. I don’t know if anyone is coming to help, but I gotta do what I can to keep these monsters locked up.” Jace explained.

“So, what is the situation with Donner?” Mackenzie asked next.

“I guess you don’t follow the news much, huh? Donner is a Psychopath. I hear his old man, Mathis, isn’t much better.”

“Yeah, I can confirm Mathis is not a great person.” Mackenzie agreed with a frown. “What is the worst that could happen if Donner gets out? He gets stuck out in the wilderness, freezes to death, or gets eaten by something.” Mackenzie tried to reason.

“Wrong; if Donner gets out, he will make it his personal mission to find and hurt every living human he can get his hands on.”

“Is there anyone you are worried about in particular?”

“Never mind that,” Jace said, avoiding the question.

“Ok, so how are we going to make sure he stays in solitary?”

“Well, that depends; how can I trust you will help? What is in it for you?” Jace pressed.

“Mathis is holding a kid that was in my care hostage. So yeah, I don’t like him much. And he’s got something else I need.” Mackenzie explained, thinking of Sage and the metal case that belonged to Astrid.

“Well……shit, I’m sorry to hear that. I didn’t realize a kid was involved.” Jace said with a tone of sympathy. “I’ll tell you what. You do something for me, and I’ll find a way to help you get your kid back and whatever else you need. Deal?”

“It’s a deal.”

“Ok, so listen up. Even with the power out, there are physical mechanisms that the convicts can manipulate to get Donner out. We need to fix things so they can’t break him out.” Jace explained.

“And how do we do that?” Mackenzie asked.

“We go underneath the system and bust it up. I got the whole blueprint of the place. You’ll go into the steam tunnels. You’ll find an access door in the rock face just outside the power plant, on the other side of the spillway. According to these blueprints, it leads you…right to the old locking mechanism under solitary.” “Ok…. then what?”

“You tear out or smash anything that looks remotely like a switch….you got it?” Asked Jace.

“Yeah, I get it. Sabotage the thing.”

“Exactly.”

*******

Back at the prison, Mackenzie explains how he could not restore power at the power plant. He is taken back to his cell.

Mackenzie steeled himself as Mathis approached his cell.

Mackenzie's hands curled into fists. "Where is she, Mathis?"

"Where's who?" Mathis examined his nails. "You'll have to be more specific."

"Sage." Mackenzie advanced until he was at the door's bars. "I did what you asked; now where is she?"

Mathis' smile turned cruel. He patted his pocket. "The little mouse? She's right here, safe and sound."

Mackenzie Grabbed the metal bars. "Give her to me!"

Mathis opens the cell door, shoving Mackenzie back. His men force Mackenzie down to a chair and tie him up.

Mathis paces back and forth, clearly agitated. “The problem I have, pilot, is that you keep lying to me.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You see…...that’s exactly the kind of thing that PISSES ME OFF!” Mathis yelled. “First, you pretend not to know anything about the case. Second, you hide your little rat from me. And then you go behind my back trying to mess up my plans with…...an accomplice.” Mathis growled.

“Mathis…I” Mackenzie tried to defend himself or reason with the madman but was interrupted.

“SHUT your mouth. All I hear are lies, I know……everything.”

Two guards approached, wheeling a gurney between them. Mackenzie's breath caught in his throat as Franklin's lifeless body came into view. The guards wheeled the body past Mackenzie's cell without a glance. Mackenzie watched Franklin's face disappear down the hall, his stomach twisting. Franklin had only been trying to help them. And it had gotten him killed.

"What a shame."

Mathis was studying him, eyes glinting.

Rage boiled up in Mackenzie again. “You monster. He didn’t do anything.”

“I know, he was one of the ‘good guys’, but he sang like a bird when we laid into him. He couldn’t give you and your friend up quickly enough.” Mathis sneered. “The only reason I kept you alive was because I thought you could fly us out of here. But now I understand that we could be kings here. So, you’ve outlived your usefulness to me, pilot.” With that, Mathis lifted a metal club he was holding. Ready to beat Mackenzie to death.

Mackenzie tensed, ready for the harsh blow, but then a rumbling explosion rocked the prison. The floor buckled under Mackenzie, tossing his chair over and throwing him to the ground. Mathis was knocked to his hands and knees. Dust rained down from the ceiling. As the dust cleared, Mathis scrambled to his feet and exited the cell, looking to see what had happened.

In the aftermath, Mackenzie's ears rang. He found that he could break his bindings and stumbled to his feet, his senses on high alert.

“What the hell is going on,” Mathis yells.

Mackenzie stumbles out of the cell and watches the drama unfold in the ruined hallway. Some hallways have collapses, fire, and smoke everywhere.

One of Mathis’ men answers Mathis. “The detonators… they blew too early!”

“You MORONS! What about Solitary?” Mathis yelled.

“They’re clearing the rubble now. There’s fire everywhere.” Heller answered.

Mathis turns and sees Mackenzie; he stalks towards him. “I suppose you’re pleased with yourself, you better hope nothing happened…...”

(Jace voice comes through the intercom on the wall): “Greetings. Convict assholes. This is your friendly neighborhood prison hacker, checking in to say…. it’s lockdown time.”

The screech of metal against metal pierced the air as the security gate slid into place with a resounding clang, severing Will Mackenzie from Mathis. The hardened criminal's face twisted with rage; his hand shot out, fingers curling into the fabric of Mackenzie's shirt and yanking him close enough to feel his hot, acrid breath.

"Listen here, pilot," Mathis snarled, "I'm going to destroy everything you love."

In that moment of heated threat, Mackenzie's hand deftly maneuvered into the coarse material of Mathis's pocket. His large, calloused fingers found the fragile quiver of Sage's tiny frame. He curled his fingers around her with utmost care, shielding her from further harm.

Unaware of the rescue operation under his nose, Mathis gave one last shove, propelling Mackenzie backward. As the distance between them grew, Mackenzie tightened his grip on Sage, ensuring her safety in the palm of his hand. He watched as Mathis stormed away down the other hallway.

"Everything," Mathis spat, his voice echoing through the clattering din of chaos surrounding them.

Once Mathis was out of sight, Mackenzie turned his attention to the trembling child in the palm of his hand. Her wide brown eyes brimmed with tears. She was relieved, but the sting of betrayal lingered, evident in her trembling lips. Bruises mottled her delicate arms and legs. Tears streamed down her tiny face as she clutched at his thumb, sobbing.

Anger burned in Mackenzie's chest at the sight. "It's okay," he soothed, "I've got you now."

The borrower girl flinched away from his voice. "You let him take me!" she cried. "You were supposed to protect me!"

Mackenzie winced. She was right. He had failed her. "I'm so sorry," he whispered. "I won't let anyone hurt you again. You have my word."

She peered up at him, eyes wary. But she must have seen the truth in his face because she relaxed slightly. Exhaustion seemed to overtake her anger and fear as she sagged against his palm.

He brought her closer to his chest, shielding her from view. "Everything will be alright," he murmured.

She was so small. So fragile. The thought of Mathis--or anyone--harming her made his blood boil.

“Uhhh…...Mack. Whatever you’re going to do, you better do it Soon,” Jace’s voice announced from the intercom.

Mackenzie could feel Sage flinch at the new voice. The tiny girl looked around, confused. Mackenzie cupped the borrower girl closer to his chest, shielding her from the smoke. She was so small--the fumes could suffocate her.

"It's too smoky," he rasped. I have to get you out of here. But first, I have to get something from the warden's office, and then we’ll be out of here."

The acrid smoke stung his eyes, but he blinked through it, focused on the way ahead. He had to keep moving. Get to the warden's office, get the case, and get out of here.

Trembling within the protective curve of his fingers, Sage peered up at him, her brown eyes wide with terror. As the heat from the nearby flames licked at their surroundings, in an effort to avoid inhaling the smoke, she buried her face into the soft wool, its scent familiar.

Mackenzie raced on through the smoky corridors, focused single-mindedly on reaching the warden's office. The air was growing hotter, more choked with fumes. Flames licked at the walls as the fire spread.

He could hear the structure groaning under the strain, ceiling tiles crashing around him. The prison came apart at the seams, but Mackenzie pushed forward relentlessly.

Cursing under his breath, Mackenzie turned and sprinted down an adjacent hallway, searching for a way around. But he could feel the heat intensifying against his skin, the smoke burning his lungs. Time was running out.

With a final burst of effort, Mackenzie pushed the door open to the warden's office. Chest heaving, he scanned the room frantically until his eyes landed on the hard case.

Mackenzie's hands trembled with adrenaline and relief as he grabbed the case. He'd made it. Now, he just had to get out.

Mackenzie clutched the hard case tightly as he burst out of the warden's office and into the smoke-filled hallway. All around him, the prison was succumbing to the ravenous flames. The air shimmered with heat and cascading sparks.

He had to go to the steam tunnels, which were his only way out now. There was an entrance to them in the courtyard.

They emerged into the cool night air, coughing. The borrower girl sagged against him in exhaustion and relief.

Skidding around a corner, he spotted a door leading down to the tunnels. Mackenzie wrenched it open, rushing down the concrete steps into the dark passage below.

It was marginally cooler down here. He moved swiftly through the dim tunnels, his footsteps echoing against the walls. He knew if he kept following the tunnels, he would make it back to the power plant.

Mackenzie gently brushed a thumb over her tiny, bruised arms. "You're safe now," he whispered.

Her hands slowly uncurled from his shirt. But she stayed nestled in his palm; her relief was palpable. But there was still a flicker of fear in her eyes. Fear of what might have happened if Mackenzie hadn't retrieved her from the clutches of the cruel Mathis, who had inflicted pain upon her delicate form.

Mackenzie brought her closer, a surge of affection and protectiveness filling his chest. He had failed to save her once before, and he wouldn't fail her again.

#g/t #g/t writing #g/t community #g/t writers #the-borrowers-au #gentle giant

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katasstrophy · 2 years

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It's okay!! I'm glad you liked it!! And Rin would be a fan of a true crime girlie <33 Tbh I think he'd like laughing lightly at someone who can't stand horror as much as he would like someone who can. Boy is a sadist after all who destroys beautifully~ sending you all my dream power btw!! Bc funniest thing about my bllk dreams with Rin is that I, and this may be a shock, don't like him romantically 😆 I'm too much of a Bachira stan and support him with you and itoshi-s too much <33 but Rin is a character I desperately want to be friends with!! I want to annoy him to DEATH, do yoga together, and watch horror together and drag Rin to meet the love of his life, cheer from the sidelines, and take pics 9f his awkward ass to send to the gc lmao along with my last rites when Rin inevitably murders me. Do you have any bulk characters, or others, you platonically ship yourself with?? ☺️☺️☺️

omg yes 100% rin is a little shit he’d def make fun of people who get – according to him, bastard 🙄 – overly freaked out over horror films. he’s do it in like a subtle way tho (bc he knows that’s even more irritating) raising an eyebrow when you shriek at a quote on quote ‘obvious’ jump scare that he sat through without flinching. “… that wasn’t even that bad” “literally- shut. the fuck up rin” (alsoshdbbdk he has ulterior motives tho. grumbles a bit but is secretly pleased when you try to hide your face in his shoulder, braving through the movie bc you want to spend time with him🥺)

LMAO i’m so glad you think rinnie bby would appreciate a true crime girlie bc i’m a psycho who falls asleep to that shit 🥺 (do y’all know that tiktok sound that’s like,, girls listening to true crime at 9am with an expressionless face like her leg was cut off. her arm was cut off. her ear was cut off pls that’s me) he’d be baffled honestly. doesn’t get why horror freaks you out while true crime doesn’t even make you blink LOL. (you make him listen to one (1) podcast and he’s scarred for life skssjdbbdjf and from then on you just stick to your.. preferred genre of scary shit there i go on a self-indulgent tangent again)

zari are you seeing this 🤭🫣 tumblr says rinari and rivrin is CANON as they should we’re in love 😌✨💅 but aw omg that’s so cute!! 🥺🥺 love a friendship where you just wanna murder each other (affectionately). we’re playing opposites here teehee bc i feel like bachira and i would be great friends – def the chaotic bastards dynamic LOL. i also feel like me and tsukki from haikyuu would get along great purely bc we two collectively hold more salt than the dead sea we’d roast each other – but mostly everyone else around us – to death mwehuahhehe mean girls mhm that’s us

#—ping! new message from (anon)#ngl a gossip sesh with oikawa doesnt sound half bad either ;))#i prommy im actually nice tho LOL…. if you dont piss me off<3333 these were so cute dream anon 🥺 thanks for letting me ramble #rin loml <3 #bachibabe <3 #tsukki #blue lock x reader

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khelinski · 2 years

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The Michigan Multiplex Massacre

How I Spliced-and-Diced at the Movies!

My name is Norm Cain, and I sliced and diced people at the EYS theater in Buena Heights. I stuffed the body parts in theater seats. I was placed here because I got carried away with my last endeavor. She was...something special. Something...joyful! Her parents would be proud of her...she was raised well. And I had her, well done! I'm sorry. That was uncalled for. Gosh, I hope I didn't offend Sunny Johnson's parents. She was quite...sunny side up!

Listen:

If you are reading this, you are as sick as me. I don't consider myself sick. For my liking, nothing I did was sick. According to everyone that had me committed, I am sick. That's their opinion. Unfortunately, their opinion forced me here. How did I get here, you ask? Or did you ask? Hmmm...

Most might suspect I had a dad that sexually molested me, or I was abused by my mother. Hate to disappoint the masses; I actually had a normal childhood.

Psychopaths, as I seem to be labeled as, had a troubled past that explains their psychopathic behavior. Those psychopaths inspired books, TV shows, and movies - the whole works. Could it be possible, though, my beloved readers, that I just loved what I did? Could it be possible that all psychopaths love what they do/did? I had such fondness cherry-picking those that were worthy enough to participate in my joyful theater, and be part of it. How I miss that jingle from EYS?

"There's more joy at EYS!"

1. My Humble Beginnings

Anywho, where was I? Oh yeah...here comes the tedious and boring but vitally important to the overall horror you desperately seek here: back story. I wasn't born as a collector of exquisite human artifacts. My childhood was as normal as any. My mom and dad didn't separate. As I said before, my dad didn't violate me. My mom didn't molest me either. Nothing weird or out of the ordinary transpired, folks. I grew up in Buena Heights. My father worked for the Aireon Universe. My mother crocheted Afghans as a hobby and sold them at various art fairs (including Gibraltar Trade Center).

I had an older brother. Had, being the keyword there. And no, I didn't kill him, if that's what you were thinking. He died in a gruesome car accident on 696 the same year EYS Buena Heights was built.

I was the shit in school. I ate up learning as much as I could about anything and everything. I wasn't an A+ student. I was more in the B range most of the time. Wasn't until high school that I excelled. That's when I joined the film club at Buena Heights High and learned how to edit video (which became crucial later on).

I wasn't very social, but I wasn't one of those quiet types that people always suspect would SNAP! No. I had a group of friends. Not too nerdy. Not the burnouts. The intellectual kind. I've dated my share of girls. Nobody serious, until that bitch cunt-face Courtney Green came into the picture.

I started working at Cinemark Warren in 1999. I was a concessionist. My first weekend was the opening of that mediocre animated fluff-piece about little creatures making orgasm sounds for 90-minutes: Pokemon! Dreadful shit!

I was very good at my job. I provided the best fake smiles in the business. I could pop kernels faster than anyone. Managers liked me. I became a supervisor the following year. Yay for me. 2000 was a good year for me, though. No mistake about that. It was the year I discovered the movie American Psycho. Unfortunately, Cinemark didn't showcase it on their screens. I had to go to the old (and discarded) Bates Theater in Buena Heights for that film. I wasn't old enough, so my big brother (who was a senior in high school then) took me.

The movie inspired the Norm Cain you are reading about now. But it was in 2001, the film Hannibal came into my cheery world. Wasn't exactly a great movie (or sequel, for that matter). But, boy, did it have a startling impact! Why you might have asked? I just don't know.

We can't describe the why's to who we were. We could only embrace ourselves.

But rest assure I didn't partake in my little hobby until I got myself the gig running EYS Buena Heights on my own. It was in 2002 (the year Red Dragon was released in theaters) that I got acquainted to the EYS company.

My father got laid off from Aireon Universe, so he took a job in Chesterfield as a car salesman (my family and I relocated there as a result). A fucking car salesman! He went from a multibillion-dollar firm to a mid-level car salesman.

I had to quit my job at Cinemark (obviously), which was a blow since I was close to getting a management position there (and I hadn't even graduated from high school, yet!) I applied at EYS in Chesterfield, and immediately got hired as a proj (short for projectionist). Of course, nowadays - the world doesn't need proj's! Everything is digital. Despite how quick technology improved in just a short amount of years, 2002 was still a time when there was a demand for proj's. And I was one of the best.

I could slice, ahem, splice, and build a film reel quicker than most. I was efficient, and I kept the booth clean all of the time. I was like Totò from Cinema Paradiso, passionate over what was presented on the celluloid screen (even if it was a shitty Adam Sandler weekday matinee or an unnecessary Friday night sold out horror remake). I spent most of my time at the theater.

After just a couple of years of being the best damn proj in the company, EYS promoted me to general manager at the Chesterfield theater. I was also becoming buddy-buddy with the owner of the company, Mister Rick Miles (who happened to be the nephew of the late great Ted Dozen, who was responsible for all the Dime-a-Dozen's). Ever noticed why EYS's were always near a Dime-a-Dozen? That's why.

Rick Miles came up with the idea of EYS (short for Enjoy Your Show) back in the late '80s. The first of its kind was built in Lincoln Park to compete with AMC and the old Bates' theaters (which slowly dwindled in Michigan by the mid-2000s). EYS caught on fast. Three were built by the mid-90s in different locations in MI (but illogically in close proximity from each other). Once I became good pals with Rick, I tried talking him into building theaters up north in small towns like Standish, Alpena, or hell - Hell, Michigan. He preferred the McDonalds, Subway, and Starbucks business strategy - one at every corner of every block, one mile apart – close by.

The fifth EYS, residing in Chesterfield, was built by the late 90s. After the old Bates' Theater in Buena Heights closed down in 2004, Rick Miles jumped at buying that land and build his sixth EYS. Because I was doing very well running Chesterfield (and charmed my way up the ladder), Rick Miles had in mind of me helping him construct the Buena Heights site.

Mind you, I never intended for my dark fetish of the grim gore to unleash itself. One could say I was conflicted with my feelings, almost like I was chained up in a closet. I was unaware of the many possibilities (and freedom) I had once the keys to a brand new theater, built for me was handed my way. So despite the disbelief, my readers, I didn't come up with the infamous 'kill room' right away.

My Buena Heights construction suggestions were, for the most part, granted. I had liked the idea of replicating the preview board EYS had in the lobby of the Chesterfield theater. But, I didn't want the green-pea soup color scheme. I wanted the classic theater look from the '40s. Yes, this was a multiplex. 20 houses (that's theater speak for auditoriums). At the time, we could only afford one digital projector. That was ahead of its time, but funny how it caught on quick. I do miss the nostalgia of the 35-mm projectors. The sound of cinematic-clickety-click-click and black pixels on the celluloid silver screen. But must get with the HD times, I guess. Oh well.

What I couldn't include in my own theater: a coffee cafe stand, a movie poster store attached to the theater, and a separate auditorium that showcased classic movies...limited in space, I suppose. Oh well.

By November 2005 - EYS Buena Heights Cinema saw its grand opening. The business was slow for the first few months. Even with the fourth Harry Potter film out, then, it was rough for us. No matter. We had modest ticket sales, and the concession was doing a solid run. Do I really need to continue with this, though? I mean, you didn't pick this book up to read about some boring shit about an aspiring theater manager - or the daily routines of running a theater. If you wanted to know what it was like to work at the movies, you should've bought a used copy of Enjoy Your Show by Wade Bradford on Amazon, or go online and check out the weekly comic-strip of Multiplex by Gordon McAlpin, or even Netflix search the independent film, Surviving the Rush. All of those are great for seeking out what theater life is like.

You sick fuck, you bought this book because you wanted to know in details how I did 'it'...when I started doing 'it.' 'It,' quotations, equals...gutting people and stuffing them in seats. Once again, I raise the question - who is the sick fuck here, me - writing this delightful joyful piece in my cell I call home; or you, reading this piece in the comforts of your home (I certainly wouldn't expect you to read this at a doctor's office). It would be in bad taste to bring this book to a movie theater, though, there are worst things to take (like a gun, in reference to those true sick fucks out there).

On the contrary to what you may (or may not) think of me, I loved movie theaters. There was something beautiful about a dimmed auditorium where the only light source is a projector, beaming its glorious magic on a screen. It's an escape from the real horrors of life. What I did may not be considered joyful, beautiful, magical, or even sane to most. But I never interrupted anyone's viewing pleasure in the middle of the showing. And I never intended to hurt the masses. Now that that public service statement is out of the way, let us fast-forward to the year 2007, shall we?

EYS Buena Heights was making a killing, ahem, in sales. The concession stand was doing well. Ticket sales were increasing, the weekend after weekend. We were competing with the AMC theaters in the area.

Enough of that shit. Moral of the story - roses are red, violets are blue; die bitch, die! But my first kill wasn't a bitch. Bitchin', maybe. But far from a bitch. His name was Jason. And it was his birthday. But his last name wasn't Voorhees. It wasn't Smith, either. No. His last name was Johnson. Jason Johnson.

2. Jason Johnson

Fun fact # 1: there are 2,211,773 people in the U.S. with Johnson as a last name. There were 2,211,775 people in the U.S. with the last name, Johnson. But I killed two of them (unrelated to each other). Statistically, Johnson is the 2nd most popular last name. That does hold true since I killed two Johnsons (unrelated). I've killed others, too. But none of them shared the same last name. It was odd that my first and last victim shared the same last name. Is it a coincidence or a forced connection a desperate author would write for no reason other than their own sick and twisted humor? Who's to say? But there you have it - two less Johnson's in the country. You're welcome!

Jason Johnson was an old fella that got laid off at a factory that supplied parts for the Big Three. What parts exactly, I can't say. I'd like to think of something useless, like turn signals - since no one uses them anymore (I guess you need an app for something to use it properly - since most don't use turn signals anymore, but rather have a phone in front of their faces while driving). Gosh, I hope you aren't reading this on your I-Phone 7 while driving on 1-75. I had already killed 13 people - maybe 14 (the 14th is debatable). I hate to be the cause of any accidental deaths.

Anyways, his factory folded as a result of the Big Three deciding it was more efficient to have those same parts made by Mexican hands. And no, that is not an alternative fact. It's simply called the reality of Corporate America. Remember Jason Johnson, and his old employer, next time you argue over the misconception of 'buy American.'

I remember Jason Johnson as a free-loader patron at my EYS multiplex. He would come in, buy one single ticket - and hop theaters the whole day. He would sit through one movie for maybe an hour, then hop to another movie for another hour (and make an entire day out of it). He would walk to the theater every other day (he lived close by). He had no family or friends, just the movies. My useless ushers would just let him in, feeling sorry for the poor bastard. To me, he was nothing but a nuisance. And he caught me on a bad night. The night Rob Zombie killed Michael Myers on the silver screen. The Halloween remake was unleashed to the masses, and it was doing a killin' (pun glory there, folks!) It pissed me off that it was doing well.

I could go into details of why I hated the movie, and why it set me off, but you didn't purchase this book to read a critique of a shitty remake. No. You bought this book to hear about my mass, joyful, delightful, killings.

So Saturday night, while Halloween was doing well (countless sold-out shows), I caught Jason Johnson picking up abandoned popcorn off the concession stand counter, and eating them. Eww. How disgusting.

03. Courtney Green

Oh, and my girlfriend of four years dumped me that evening via text message. That may have set me off, too. Bitch.

04. Jason Johnson

I approached Jason Johnson as he was gobbling left-over's on the concession counter. Dare I repeat it, eww! For a second or two, I didn't know what to say to him, or what I was about to do. I had the sheer image of taking a Tensabarrier stand and bashing his head in. Or grabbing his head and pushing it up against the concession candy case. Or throwing him over the balcony upstairs.

He looked at me as I stepped toward his direction, popcorn kernels falling out of his mouth. Disgusting, pathetic, useless man. Society didn't need him anymore. My multiplex certainly didn't need him. Eww. But I didn't tell him what I was thinking. Instead, I smiled my fake, grade A smile - the same smile that helped me climb up the ladder to where I was - and –

05. Courtney Green

- the same smile that seduced Country Green to falling in love with me...before she gutted my heart out...that bitch –

06. Jason Johnson

- said to fuck-tard Johnson, "Good evening, sir. Are you enjoying EYS?"

He looked at me like a confused fuck-tard. I would consider calling him a retard, but that's an insult by definition. So fuck-tard will do. Fuck-tard Jason Johnson, or, Jason Johnson, the fuck-tard. However, and whatever you prefer was up to your liking, I prefer fuck-tard Jason fuck-tard Johnson, the fuck-tard!

Fun fact # 2: There were seven fucks, seven tard's, and one retard in that last paragraph - and still two less Johnson's in the country. Sorry folks. I am stalling here.

And I was stalling then, too.

I didn't know what I was about to do to Jason Johnson at that moment I asked him if he was enjoying EYS. And because he isn't familiar with social interaction - he didn't seem like he knew what to do, either. In most incidents when a manager at a place of business asks a paying customer (or, in theater terms, patron), how they were enjoying themselves at the place of business; the correct phrase would be, 'I am enjoying myself immensely,' or, 'I am having a dreadful time.' We call this interaction and dialogue. It's crucial in movies, and most undoubtedly essential when creating a story. I had no idea the story I was about to create for myself, involved the demise of fuck-tard Jason fuck-tard Johnson, the fuck-tard.

Jason mumbled something unintelligible and was about to walk away from me. I then took a few steps closer to him, introducing myself and asking if he wanted a private screening of The Simpson's Movie. Considering no one was seeing the 9:10 P.M. showing anyway, it was easy to arrange. Like a predicable free-loader, he took the bait, ahem, offer. I ushered him to theater 5 (which was toward the end of the theater, a small-house for movies that had been at the theater for a while). I waited near the door entrance of the theater as he plopped his fat, lazy, fuck-tard ass on the theater seat. A vision of his fat, lazy, fuck-tard ass - dead, came to my head. I turned around and went to the janitor's room. I closed the door and looked around. I was in uncharted territory with evil, gruesome, fucked-up thoughts in my head. I kept on having a tug-of-war with myself; should I, shouldn't I, should I, shouldn't I? And when I mean, should I, I mean, should I fucking kill fuck-tard Jason fuck-tard Johnson, the fuck-tard.

I was leaning more toward the left - which isn't toward the right. This doesn't reflect upon the left side of the brain, because in all actuality, I would be acting upon the right side of the brain. But in matters of should I, which was on the left - and shouldn't I, which was on the right; my urge of ending fuck-tard Jason fuck-tard Johnson, the fuck-tard - which was on the left. The left, should I - was now determined that I should.

Once I made my decision, I was now playing tug-of-war with how I should kill...

I glanced over at a garbage bag. I then looked at a broom-stick. How I should kill him, I wondered.

With Jason Johnson, or, as I have been referring to him as fuck-tard Jason fuck-tard Johnson, the fuck-tard, tucked away in theater 5 watching The Simpsons Movie - let's take a break for a moment, and go back to that bitch - because the talk of garbage bags and broom-sticks made me think of her.

07. Courtney Green

I met Courtney Green at a film class I took at Macomb Community College. That was back when I was climbing the ladder at the EYS in Chesterfield. We became good friends in class, started talking outside of class on a regular basis and ended up dating a year afterwards. We became serious. And man, we were great together. Friends and family would label us, 'perfect-looking couple.' She was the kind of gal I could see myself spending the rest of my life with.

We were planning on moving in together, but she decided to fuck someone else instead. I found out about it soon after. And once I found out about it, she broke up with me via a text message the same weekend Rob Zombie took his devil rejected ax and butchered a classic on the screen.

Fuck you, Courtney Green. And fuck you, Rob Zombie! Fuck you, both!

I imagine I am losing you here. Where was I?

Oh, yeah!

08. Jason Johnson

The black garbage bag that went over Johnson's head came from the janitor's room. The garbage bags were used strictly to wrap around broken theater seats. Made the theater look a little ghetto, but it worked. And the garbage bag over fuck-tard Jason fuck-tard Johnson, the fuck-tard, also worked. The sudden surprise of the bag left him gasping for air in less than a minute. Once he realized that his free-loading days were over, he kicked the theater seat in front of him a few times and then fell silent. I let go of him and backed away a few feet. I stared at my handy-work. An average person would freak out. Some would even cry, or yell, or faint. Me, I just stared. Stared. And stared some more. It was dead silent in the theater. Oops, mind my poor excuse of a pun!

The film ended - credits rolled - and because it was the last showing, no ushers came in to clean it. It was just me and the dead fuck-tard Jason fuck-tard Johnson, the dead fuck-tard.

I admired what I did. I had no regrets then, and I have no regrets now. But how do I make a dead body disappear? I didn't want to dispose of him. But I knew in most cultures, displaying a dead body would be considered wrong. Though, if we go to any church, a displayed dead body on a cross was deemed to be holy and inspiring. But I don't think nailing Johnson on a cross would be holy and inspiring to today's standards of living (and dying).

I also didn't want to turn myself in. I will admit it officer that I am guilty. I did like my freedom.

I kept staring at the dead body in theater 5 with a black garbage bag over its head. I guess you could consider a dead body as an inanimate object. Certainly doesn't move on its own. And that inanimate object made me think of another inanimate object: a chair. A theater chair, to be exact. I could cut the body in pieces, and store those pieces in the seats. That's fucked up. But I was on the left side of things, in fucked up territory.

I created a temporary workshop in a spare room near theater 5. I worked, pun glory, graveyard shifts, chopping the dead fuck-tard Jason fuck-tard Johnson, the dead fuck-tard, into little pieces. That was the easy part. Cleaning the pieces so there would be no gushing, slobbery, slimy, gooey, and juicy, liquidly blood oozing from the pieces was the hard part. I had to rinse every single piece (big or small) and freeze the parts. Once the various body parts were frozen, I unfroze the pieces and coated each piece with a popcorn scented cologne (it does really exist, look it up) - and started placing the pieces in the various seats in theater 5. I killed him in that theater. Might as well keep his body in that theater.

Each seat that had a garbage bag wrapped around it was being worked on by me. Each seat I selected to be worked on was a nice home for body parts. I would rip the seat cover from the bottom, taking out some cushion. I then wrapped cushion around the body part, and then place it comfortably in the middle of the seat. Once it looked pretty enough, I sewed the seat back together. I sat on it, making sure the seat wasn't lumpy or uncomfortable. It still felt like a seat to me. I analyzed, whiffed, examined, and making sure the seat was suitable for a regular patron. There was nothing to suspect that a body part was stuffed into the seat.

Holy shit, I might actually get away with it!

And so Jason Johnson, or, the dead fuck-tard Jason fuck-tard Johnson, the dead fuck-tard, is scattered throughout theater 5. Other than the landlord of Johnson's apartment filing a missing person's police report - no one came looking for Jason Johnson. Oh, and I found out while looking in his wallet before I chopped him up - the day I killed him was also his birthday.

09. Sue Curtis

Though I wanted to lie low for a while - my second killing occurred sooner than I imagined it would. Sue Curtis was a proud member of the Red Hat Society, a religious nut-job, and a real big annoyance to my theater. Did you catch the word, was? Was was a keyword here. Was. She was. Sue Curtis was a person. Was.

Anyways…!

Each time there would be a Harry Potter film released, she would be outside the theater picketing it because of the evil nature of the films, I guess. She also picketed The Da Vinci Code, the shitty The Omen remake, and for some oddball reason - Tyler Perry movies. She once went into a showing of Brokeback Mountain (not realizing what the film was about), and soon after the infamous tent scene emerged on the screen - she ran out of the theater and into the bathroom, barfed up her medium popcorn, and then raced herself to the box office - demanding a refund. She then wanted to see a manager (me), only to bitch me out for, her own words: ‘showcasing God’s sin on the screen.’ She then picketed the film during its reign (with the Oscar prospects it had, she had to stand there outside the theater a good, long, while).

She was also very rude to my employees, always demanding a hand-out because she spread 'the word of God.' I had no patience for religion. Certainly had no patience for brain-washed religious nut-jobs.

What was odd about her, like Jason Johnson - she had no family. She may have had friends, but my impression was no one around her liked her. She would bitch about one friend in front of another friend. She then would bitch about that other friend to the friend she bitched about five minutes earlier. The Red Hat Society that surrounded her didn't seem to be pleased anytime her highness, Sue Curtis, was around.

I hadn't planned on killing Sue Curtis. Not at first. Her annoyance was nothing more than a pesky fly that would sometimes bother.

However, that soon changed when she started irritating me over a couple of horror movies coming out around the same time. She hated horror movies, and always picketed them. But this time - she raised more hell than just standing outside like a buffoon with an illegible sign over her head.

The Mist had a November release date. Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street had a December release date. And she demanded me to cancel both. She then kept leaving inspiring pamphlets about saving your immortal soul in the bathrooms. Ugh. I don't know what disgusted me more - her persistent nut-job salesmanship - or the fuck-tard Jason fuck-tard Johnson, the fuck-tard's free-loading off the concession stand counters.

Once The Mist was released, she changed environments of picketing, going from outside the theater to outside the auditorium the film was being shown in. She paid for a ticket to a random movie (certainly wasn't The Mist, which would be insulting to her). She then stood in front of the theater with a sign in one hand, and pamphlets in the other. She kept pestering every patron that went inside the theater. The last straw was when the film started; she entered the theater and announced to everyone that they were going to hell. I don't think hell could be any worse than hearing her ear-piercing voice.

Each time Sue Curtis annoyed the masses, I would have to kick her out. I could've called the police. Maybe I should have to avoid the big mess that would soon occur. Instead, I kicked her out of the theater four times. She would not take the hint. So once she bought her ticket the fifth day of her strike against The Mist, I asked her politely if she could come with me to my office so we could talk about maybe, possibly, perhaps, banning The Mist in theaters. She smiled a big ol' smile, showcasing her yellow-stained teeth.

But I didn't usher her to my office. Instead, I ushered her to the room near theater 5. I think you may know where I was going with this. Sue Curtis, on the other hand, didn't know where she was going.

I opened the door and directed my hands for her to enter the room first. She complied. That would be her last time walking into a room. It would also be her last time entering the theater. I took a broom-stick that was leaning against the wall outside the room and jammed the plastic end of it into the back of Sue Curtis' ego-filled head. She screamed for a second and then quieted down. The world will no longer suffer from her ear, piercing voice.

She fell headfirst onto the floor.

THUMP!

Blood kept gushing out of her head. The stupid ass red hat was still attached to her head. I stared. Stared. And stared some more. A dead body was a funny thing to stare at. You imagine it would move like a live body. But it doesn't. It just laid there.

Fun fact # 3: The brain of a dead person still functioned a few minutes after that person was dead. However, for every minute, the brain did not receive oxygen, the brain would slowly die. But because there was a broom-stick jammed up Sue Curtis's noggin, I suspected the brain died a little sooner than a few minutes. I wondered if before I stabbed her senseless, she actually thought I would consider her illogical request. There was a "d" word that might come to mind. Oh yeah...delusional. But her delusions no longer exist. Her delusions died with her when I killed her!

It took a month for me to dismember her, and another couple of months before she was wholly scattered throughout the theater. Why? I had fun. Because she was such a pain in the ass and visited the theater often in her pathetic, useless existence - I wanted every piece of her to be all over the theater. Even a finger (or two) was placed under the cement outside the theater as a reference to her picketing.

The police showed up a few weeks after her death. I guess someone cared enough to place a missing person's report. I didn't feed the cops with too much information. I stated to them that she protested a handful of times in my theater, and I kicked her out each time. I fabricated the last part of the story - how she left the theater the last time she came in - and I haven't seen her since. Technically, that was true.

10. The Room

Between the time I finished spreading Sue Curtis's gospels, and body parts throughout EYS Buena Heights - and before the theater was introduced to digital projectors and a bar; I constructed the ultimate kill room. The temporary room that I used for Johnson and Curtis wouldn't cut it (another dreadful pun). It was too small.

The room located on the opposite side of the theater that held one-sheets (that's theater lingo for movie posters, folks) is slightly bigger. I decided that it would be a perfect location to fulfill my creative outbursts.

I also needed supplies. Saws, knives, a freezer, workshop table, a gurney. I slowly bought the tools, using EYS petty cash. No one suspected what I was doing. I guess it helped that EYS Buena Heights was becoming a busy theater.

By spring the next year, my kill room was complete.

11. The Rules

Like Dexter Morgan on the Showtime TV series, I needed to discipline myself on specific rules when killing so I could never be caught. Funny how that never, ever works out. But at the time, I actually thought I could get away with things. And by golly - I did - for several years!

Rule number one: thou shall not kill theater workers or anyone affiliated with the theater.

[I broke that rule with Sunny Johnson.]

Rule number two: thou shall not kill any minors.

[I broke that rule with Sunny Johnson.]

Rule number three: thou shall have a gap of time between kills.

[I didn't break that rule with Sunny Johnson.]

Rule number four: thou shall not kill my own family members, friends, or ex's (including that bitch, Courtney Green).

[I didn't break that rule with Sunny Johnson.]

Rule number five: once I kill a person, thou shall keep their body within the confines of the theater.

[I broke that rule with Sunny Johnson.]

12. There's more joy at...

Between the times I completed the kill room to the time Sunny Johnson started her employment at the joyous EYS Buena Heights, I killed a lot of people. If this was a movie right now, I suspect a montage of my killings would be shown with the Megadeth song, "Killing Is My Business... and Business Is Good!"

But I don't like that song. And I most certainly didn't play that song while I spliced and diced! Instead, I hummed the jingle to EYS while my full-of-life victims became lifeless as I killed them. Or, sometimes, I would hum the Outsider's Vengeance tune, "My Last Thought." Not because I liked the song, or because the band is from Buena Heights. I hummed "My Last Thought" because I thought it was a bit funny to hum a song about having a last remaining thought.

I perfected my kills since Johnson and Curtis. I invited unsuspected patrons to private screenings. I spiked their soft drink. And they never knew I killed them until their last few seconds of life-span.

Did I mention I killed a lot of people?

Let's see - after Sue Curtis - there was Kathleen Green, John Martin, Stephen Hill, Clive King, Robert Rowl, Margaret Baker, Jeff Mitchell, Kurt Harris, and Thomas Gut (I kid you not, his last name was Gut until he became, dare I say it, gut-less).

That's all the people I killed and scattered body parts throughout the joyous EYS.

No, wait. There was someone I am forgetting. Just give me a second, it will come to me.

Oh, yeah.

13. Michael Loomis

The god awful blogger of 'They're Here,' Michael Loomis. I killed him, too.

Fun fact # 4: Most of Loomis's body parts were in the theater seat 148, top row in theater 10. Some parts were placed in the butt-cushion part of the seat. Other parts were stored in the back-cushion part of the seat. No one noticed throughout the years that that seat was the most jammed pack out of all the seats I happened to insert body parts in.

14. There's more joy at...

Fun fact # 5: There were 13 people I killed all-together, but only 12 that I dismembered and scattered body parts in the theater. You might think I am being repetitious here, but I want to make sure that you get the point. I don't recall how many body parts I had all-together, but let's estimate that there were 50 body parts per body. 50 times 12 is 600.

There might be a little less or a little more than that (I am sure Buena Heights finest added up the exact number of body parts they recovered, hopefully; they didn't miss any). But let's go with 600, shall we? So 600 body parts scattered throughout EYS Buena Heights. That could fill theater 10 since 10 was the biggest auditorium (of, would you believe it, 600 seats). But I didn't want just one theater full of body parts. I wanted the pieces scattered throughout. That way, if I did get caught - it would be a disgusting treasure hunt.

To the Buena Heights Police Department: you’re welcome!

15. Temptations

Sunny Johnson wasn't the only poor unfortunate soul that I was tempted to...you know. But unlike Sunny Johnson, I didn't, you know, to those people.

Despite the rules I set up for myself (and then failed to obey at the end), I was tempted to kill my employees that stepped out of line. I was so tempted to end the lives of minors that always caused hell in my theaters (sneak in R rated movies, being noisy during movies, always making a mess). I had been tempted to kill another the very next day I had already killed.

Fun fact # 6: Courtney Green - my ex, the bitch - and the dearly departed Kathleen Green are unrelated to each other. Much like the dead fuck-tard Jason fuck-tard Johnson, the dead fuck-tard and Sunny Johnson are unrelated to each other.

16. There's more joy at...

It was merely a coincidence that most (if not, all) of these victims I killed ended up at EYS at some point of their last known sighting before they disappeared (at least, that's what I tell police). "Merely coincidental." I had my share of police interrogations. A couple of times, there would be strong circumstantial evidence that I was involved in some way. But the edited videotapes I gave the police and fast clean up I had perfected always proved my innocence.

A tad bit before Sunny Johnson stepped into EYS as an employee - EYS theaters added digital projectors to their theaters. It was an exciting time. It's the biggest change since the introduction of widescreen format in movie theaters. 3D wasn't just hyped anymore - it was gaining appeal. We were crushing competition left and right. And if that wasn't enough, EYS was toying with the idea of adding a full-fledged bar. I was a little hesitant, not because it was a risky business. Because it might interfere with my joyful hobby (and the hobby room, which was near where the planned bar would go in the building). But it was decided to go for it. And I made sure the construction of the bar wouldn't cause a reveal of my kill room.

With all those perks that became selling points to keep our theater in business, there were nice distractions from the increased missing person's list - that sometimes revolved around EYS. Oddly enough, no one in corporate had any suspicions about me anytime the police sought questions. As long as the money was made, everything was just a mandatory routine.

"There's more Joy at…

EYS!

That's no BS, we confess!

…so enjoy your show…

at EYS!"

I probably would have continued to kill to this day if I was never caught. EYS probably would still be in business. That was until a chain reaction occurred. One would call it a domino effect.

Fun fact # 7: The Walt Disney Company bought Lucasfilm in 2012 for $4.05 billion. The Force Awakens was the first of many new films to come, with a release date of December 18, 2015. It was a huge event. To prepare for that event, EYS Buena Heights did its first job fair in a decade. It was that job fair in which Sunny Johnson was hired.

Soon after, things fell apart for me, and for the joyful EYS. But things didn't fall apart for Star Wars, or Mickey.

17. Fun facts

Fun fact # 8: There are 7 fun facts throughout this book. Now there are 8. Also, up to this point - I had killed 12 people - and spread their body parts all over EYS Buena Heights. And then, Sunny Johnson came into the picture. She made unlucky number 13. But her body parts weren't spread throughout the EYS Buena Heights premises. What I did with the body could make you disgusted if you aren't already.

If you are disgusted with what you've read so far, my invisible hat goes off to you, for you are a person with emotions. Emotions are good to have, I guess. I wouldn't know. I am a person, sure. At least, that's what they tell me. But I am also a monster. They tell me that, too. Who's they? Everyone.

If you aren't disgusted by what you've read so far, my invisible hat goes off to you, for you are like me, an emotionless monster, but also, a person.

Fun fact # 9: It's easy to kill a person you don't like (take my word for it). But it's much harder to kill a person that you do like. That's why Sunny Johnson was very unlucky. Not because she was number 13, but because I did really like her (take my word for it - or don't take my word for it).

18. Sunny Johnson

When Sunny Johnson was hired, I became obsessed with her. She just turned 17. She had dyed blond hair (but she was a natural brunette). She was perfectly petite. I think jailbait might come to mind. But my god - she was drop-dead gorgeous. Oops. Poor use of a pun. My apologies!

EYS had always employed youngsters from high schools. That was nothing new. And yeah - a good majority of the employees at EYS were attractive, male and female alike. I did attempt to force a 'NO DATING' policy in the theater, but let's be honest - no one followed that. Put a bunch of attractive, hormone-filled teens in a building together for a good period of time - you would see couples in a matter of weeks. You would then see boyfriends/girlfriends/ex-boyfriends/ex-girlfriends, and more boyfriends/girlfriends. In fact, it was pretty much musical beds at the EYS.

I never really paid attention to any of that or the gossip that came with it. Obviously, I was more attentive to how much cushion the theater seats had after stuffing it with random dead body parts.

But then, I started paying attention to Sunny Johnson. She didn't pay much attention to me. In fact, we hardly said anything to each other. She viewed me as an old boss. This was her first job. She was an usher.

I would watch her from the concession stand as she stood at the ticket podium, tearing tickets and directing people. She had a timid shyness to her, but I could tell that she was cracking from her shell.

On her breaks, she would always buy a cheese pizza from the concession stand - and go to a random theater. I was happy to make her pizzas for her. She would smile, say thank you to me, and walk away.

I don't know if it was a minor crush, love, or what - but my heart would beat a few beats faster when I saw her. But (!), she was 17. I was...well...a hell of a lot older. I tried to reset my mind away from naughty thoughts - but it kept creeping back. I couldn't handle it anymore - so finally, I asked Sunny to stay after her shift one random Saturday night. It was a month after the biggest Star Wars movie ever was released (until the next biggest Star Wars movie ever released - comes out).

After everyone left the theater, I invited Sunny to the office. I didn't know where or what or how or why or when or...huh? I just...wanted...her. I didn't even know what I would do if I...had...her. I...just...wanted...her.

When she entered the office, I locked the door. She was already in high alert. In fact, this would be a good example of a sexual harassment video. Except, this wasn't a video. And it got much, much, worse. The #metoos and #timesup crowd would be livid at this point.

I tried to force myself on her and kiss her.

She wore her EYS uniform, which consisted of the following: a black vest with EYS logo to the right, a black bow-tie, and white shirt underneath the vest, black pants, and black shoes. Everyone who wore the uniform looked like a penguin. Sunny Johnson also looked like a penguin in the uniform, but a sexy penguin.

Before I even approached her lips, she slapped me a few dozen times. Her parents taught her well. What happened next - didn't end well, though. More like, sunny side down.

Out of reaction - I choked her. After a few minutes, she fell over - dead. Even as a corpse, she was drop-dead gorgeous. I guess now was a perfect time to use that pun, but I suspect it's still slightly inappropriate.

I stared. Stared. And stared. Then I cried. Wait, huh?! I am a monster. Monsters don't cry. But this monster did. I got carried away and reacted without thinking. But thinking had to come quick. What was done was done. Now what?

I won't lie - dirty thoughts crept in my head for a few seconds as I stared at the dead corpse that represented Sunny Johnson.

'Since I had killed her, why not look under her...'

Disgust all you want - admit that the curiosity would creep in your head if you just killed a very attractive individual.

I didn't want to add her to my collection. For one thing, the collection of body parts symbolizes my annoyances. Sunny Johnson was far from an annoyance - though, the last few moments of her life might be a smudge of annoyance. Just a smudge.

But I knew I had to dispose of the body...somehow. I dragged her to my kill room, placed her on the table - and stared at her beauty. Such beauty. What a fucking waste - and it was my fault. I still feel bad about it...well, sort of. Well, maybe, partially. Well, perhaps, I feel completely and utterly bad. I don't know. When it comes to Sunny Johnson's demise - I have all kinds of emotions. And monsters aren't supposed to have emotion of any kind.

Back to the scene. I still have a dead body. A minor dead body. Wait, let me reword that. A dead body, which happened to be a minor. There - that reads better!

Sunny's cell-phone had just ringed. Uh oh. I didn't even know if she drove, or had a ride, or missed a ride. Shit. How do I get out of this one? I smashed her phone in pieces and then threw it in the trash.

Well - I had already killed her...so...I guess...it can't get any worse than that.

It did.

I slowly took off her clothes, not out of sexual needs. I usually have to take off clothes when I start to disassemble a body. That was just how it went, folks. Once Sunny was naked, a little paler than usual - I stared. I couldn't help it. And yes, those dark, dirty nasty thoughts invaded my brain. But I withdrawal from temptation, and went to work chopping her up to tiny pieces. That took some muscle!

I then placed Sunny's little body parts into poster tubes (postal tubes movie posters are shipped in). I had about thirty poster tubes worth of Sunny Johnson's remains.

If you think that's disgusting, it gets worse!

I took those poster tubes home with me - and had them all lying on the floor that night. Who knew an entire body could be de-constructed into thirty poster tubes. As I stared at the poster tubes on the floor, my stomach made a funny noise. Not out of disgust of what I just did. No. I was hungry. I realized I haven't eaten all day. I grabbed one of the poster tubes and walked toward the kitchen. I placed the poster tube on the table. I then took a frying pan from the cabinet and put it on the stove. I then grabbed hold of the poster tube and unscrewed the cap - dipping the tube into the frying pan. All kinds of gross, bloody body parts started dropping from the tube. I can't even tell you which body part(s) were what.

Anyhow, I don't know what inspired me to start cooking Sunny Johnson's parts - other than the realization that I had to get rid of the body somehow. At the time, it made sense.

If I had to do it over again, I probably wouldn't have invited Sunny Johnson into my office that night. But...here we are. And the second I choked Sunny Johnson to death - my future - as well as the future of EYS, also died with Sunny Johnson.

But she did taste very good. Her parents should be proud. She was concocted in a few different recipes. My favorite was a Sunny Johnson piece, with a few eggs on the side. Would it amuse you to know the eggs were sunny side up?!

19. ...there's less joy at EYS.

Things happened very rapidly, drastically, and abruptly soon after. The police came by the theater the next day - asking all kinds of questions about Sunny Johnson's disappearance. I wasn't as smooth-talking as I usually am. In fact, I don't recall what I was asked or what I said as a response. But I became under their radar. And soon, an investigation unfolded. An investigation that uncovered...oh my gosh, the body parts in the theater seats. I was then arrested.

As soon as I was arrested, EYS Buena Heights closed. As soon as I was put on trial, EYS - the company, filed chapter 11. As soon as I was found guilty of my crimes, good ol' Rick Miles (remember him - former-owner of EYS) committed suicide. He was found lifeless with two empty bottles of Tylenol PM.

Fun fact # 10: The drummer of Outsider's Vengeance died of similar circumstances.

I guess Rick Miles had a lot of pressure against him. I mean, not only did his company folded - but people held him just as responsible for the killings as me.

Though I only killed 13 people - I guess you could blame me for Rick's death.

20. Guilty

The trial was a perfect display of how infatuated the public was to disgusting, gruesome shit. All the ‘journalists’ talking heads reevaluated all the evil, unspeakable crimes I accomplished (though, I must comment – how is a topic unspeakable if one is speaking about such an unspeakable topic at hand?) They may (or may not) have uncovered my past, trying to analyze every little micro to why I did what I did.

I suspect the investigation was a lot like connecting the dots - once Sunny Johnson was realized to be missing - and was connected to me; that uncovered all the other missing person's in the area (which I am responsible for only 13). I can't imagine what it was like uncovering all those body parts at what was being called 'The Michigan Multiplex Massacre.' Clever, whoever thought of that title! I wonder, though, if someone had the brilliant idea of trying to identify who's who before the trial.

But it was when I was put to the stand, in which I swear on a fictitious holy book, that the truth behind my so-called 'crimes' would be clarified in wholesome, gory details. And boy, did I disgust them all in the courtroom. I think even the judge had a disgusted look. Yet - it made headline news for months. I guess the most disgusting equals the most newsworthy.

Sunny Johnson's pieces I chopped up and stored in poster tubes - ended up (regretfully) consumed by me. All of it. Once the poster tube was empty, I burned it. There were times I was quite disgusted with myself, eating pieces of Sunny Johnson. I never once considered myself a cannibal. But I also didn't leave any leftovers anywhere.

"What about the bones?" you might be asking. Did I mention I also had a dog? No? Well, I did...which took care of Sunny's bones. I could've been a real sick fuck, and used the bones as furniture, much like the home stylings of Ed Gein. However, that was too much to stomach - even for me.

I pleaded guilty, unashamed of what I did (aside from Sunny Johnson). And, would you believe it, the jury found me guilty. Who knew, right? They added the ages of all the victims I killed; the amount they came up with is the number of years I would have to serve in prison. Let me put it this way, it was in the triple digits - if that helps any!

Fun fact # 11: If I lived in another state that still had the death penalty, there was a good bet that would be my sentence. But luckily, I live in Michigan! The death penalty in Michigan was abolished in 1846.

Yay, Pure Michigan!

I now reside in a prison, somewhere between Alpena and Buena Heights. I can't really disclose that information. If you've seen the movie The Shawshank Redemption or binge-watched Orange is the New Black on Netflix, it might give you a sense of what my everyday life was like.

The plus side in things, I do get to read a lot - though, the book selection here sucks. Because it was prison, they push the bible very heavily. Ugh. All I can think about when I see a bible lying around - Sue Curtis. I wonder if Buena Heights' finest found all her pieces. Gosh, I hope they didn't miss the two fingers I placed outside the theater.

Anyway, I was able to find an old 1973 paperback copy of Kurt Vonnegut's Slaughterhouse-Five. It was stained to hell, had blue pages (weird), and page 1 & page 215 was missing (very weird), which happened to be the first and last page of the book.

Oh, well.

21. Courtney Green

I also get to see a little bit of TV in prison. When I started writing this book, I saw my bitch ex do an interview on Inside Edition in which she proclaimed that she suspected I was a psycho from the very beginning. And she was appalled that one of the victims I killed happened to share the same last name as her. Toward the end of the interview, she started tearing up - proclaiming that she feared for her life tail-end of our relationship.

What a fake bitch! Wonder if she realized that her cheating ass did inspire me to kill.

Oh, and Rob Zombie's shit Halloween remake. That also inspired me to murder.

22. In retrospect

Aside from Sunny Johnson, and dating that bitch Courtney bitch Green, the bitch (!) - I don't regret a damn thing. And despite how disgusted people are about my crimes - I am disgusted that the majority knows my name very well, but doesn't know any of the victim’s names. I know their names. Do you? Would you have to go back to previous chapters to remember?

Fun fact # 12: With most mass murders - the murderers are more well-known than the victims.

Why was that? Was it the media's fault? Was it the public's fault? Was it both?

Fun fact # 13: Back in 2011, there were constant fights outside of the courtroom of Casey Anthony’s trial in Florida. What caused the brawls? People were cutting in line to get free tickets to the trial.

I'll say it again...you people are as disgusting as I am.

I do know for a fact that my strange and bizarre hobby at the joyous EYS Buena Heights will be talked about in Buena Heights for quite a long time. The city is tainted. I tainted it.

And I suspect after you read this, you won't sit in a movie theater seat again without thinking how lumpy the seat seems. And then, you will wonder if that was just cushioning in the seat...or...something...else...somebody else…that…was!

K.H.; March 24, 2014 - February 6, 2017.

#The Michigan Multiplex Massacre #now seating...#movie theaters #short story #self written #horror #Halloween #stephen king #kurt vonnegut #robert bloch #h. h. holmes #black clouds & silver linings #fiction

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hakkais-hoe · 3 years

Note

Love your aggressive s/o x Bonten headcanons lol

If possible can we get a version where they find out the only freaking reason she's so aggressive is because she's literally hungry and sleepy... Like all the time? Like she'd need food in her hand 24/7 and constantly eating something (or napping) in order to not go off on someone for breathing wrong for more than an hour lol (you can ignore this if you'd like idc I just think it's hilarious to see them with what's essentially the equivalent to a pissed and grouchy cat lol)

Bonten x reader with hanger issues n a food complex.

'm glad ya liked em :)

love this idea too

Warnings: swearing, blood, fighting, gun references, drug reference (sanzu ofc).

Bonten: Mikey, Sanzu, Koko, Ran, Rindo, Kaku.

Mikey-

finds you rummaging through your bag after a fight

after you come back with nothing from it and a sour look on your face he cant help but ask

"What's up with you now?"

notices your similar to him after he hasn't had a snack for a while

if you ignore he'll leave you to your little tantrum as usual

after a long bonten meeting you're sat drifting off in your chair when someone bursts through the door

you do one of those freaky slow look ups a glare as cold as ice on your face

"You're really gonna come shouting in here n wake me up you fucker?! I'm fucking tired and hungry af n you have the balls to do this shit. I'm gonna cave ya head in dickhead."

'oh' Mikey knows exactly what the problem is now

he grabs a dorayaki out of his stash n throws it to you

you grumble a bit before going silent and munching on the treat

promptly moving to a couch and taking a nap

from then on Mikey keeps extra snacks for the both of you and you take regular naps in his office, sometimes with him.

your aggressive little attitude seems to get a lot better which keeps the rest of the executives calm.

Sanzu-

tbh i don't think he'll realise, he likes it when you're a bit psycho n that

takes Takeomi or Mochi telling him that you seem calmer when you have snacks for him to realise

straight up asks you

"Soooo you got like a food complex or something babe? Cos I get it I get antsy when I don't have a pill for a while, I can get those food supplement drugs if ya want love."

like boy no who tf wants ur shitty drugs

"I want snacks motherfucker not some boring ass supplements, actual food n several naps a day."

our boy only gets it when you spell it out n will buy you all the snacks n food you want

also keeps a blanket n pillow in his office so you can take a nap with him

watches you sleep like a creep can't lie

whips random snacks out when you get n attitude during meetings

loves it when you have a little anger tantrum cos you wanna nap n lets you drag him down onto the couch to use him as a pillow

probably can't sleep cos of the drugs but good effort

"Think you should take a chill pill on the drugs, love."

"Which one's that is it in my bottle? Is it a downer? They're boring baby."

sir you have a problem >_>

Kakucho-

chances are he already clocked it after the first few times he saw you beat a bitch then walk straight into a shop n buy snacks

wont actually mention it he just makes you take scheduled naps under the pretence that he needs one

will gently massage your kneecaps during meetings when you start to get grumpy

pulls random snacks and drinks out of his pockets

tries to keep you calm all the time

practically throws a blanket at you when you get ratty

will bundle you up even in meetings n make you take a nap on his lap

human burrito

very devoted to looking after you

will let you fight when you're really angry but prefers to keep you as docile as he can

"Love, enough. C'mon come sit down wit me and have a snack leave that piece of shit there."

ur surprisingly obedient when he's waving your favourite snack at you

Kokonoi

honestly he just thinks you're a bit nuts plus you spend too much time with sanzu according to him

most of the time he just lets you do your thing n he doesn't get involved

only realises that there's something odd when the Bonten executives plus the boss go out for a meal after a meeting

you're silent for once n you even seem calm as you practically bounce in your seat with all the food in front of you

once he realises that you're a lot calmer with food he offers you his

will send someone to buy snacks as soon as he sees a hit of aggression coming from you

you fall asleep on his shoulder later in the evening

Koko adjusts you slightly to keep you comfortable

hears your light muttering about nonsense

he ignores the conversation that all the executives are having in favour of listening to you sleep talk

he can make out your quiet words at some points which cause him to chuckle

until you mutter about how much you love him

an unusually soft smile on the both of your faces is there until late into the night

tries to make you take naps often after that just so he can listen to you sleep talk

feeds your grumpy self often he orders some expensive snacks just to see your reaction.

Rindo-

if you think this cocky shit would ever question your angry self you have another thing coming

he enjoys watching you beat the living daylight out of anyone

coincidentally brings you some snacks during a meeting one day

usually you'd be snapping and threatening to fight sanzu by now but you're silent for once

he stops listening to Kaku's report to observe you n notices that you're only silent cos ur stuffing snacks in you mouth

"Uh babe? Did you actually just calm down cos I brought you food? If I'd known it was that easy I woulda brought you a whole ass shop."

"Mhm buy me a whole convenience shop n I'll marry you."

the boy definitely does a Koko n buys you way too much to keep in his office and your apartment

please let him pamper you

he realises that he enjoys your happy food enjoying self more than the little psycho you usually are

comes into every meeting with food

when you sleep on his office couch n wake up even calmer than with food he encourages you to sleep more

buys an expensive ass weighted blanket for his office

bless him he heard that they keep people calm from Ran

sometimes sits at the couch reading paperwork with your head on his lap

strokes your hair to help you sleep better

"Love ya Rin..."

your sleep talk is his favourite thing

Ran-

already knew

this man is very aware of everything you do

he may seem lackadaisical but he knows everything that you like and everything that keeps you calm

he plays it off as a coincidence that he started bringing snacks 3 weeks after you started

when he figures out your favourite he keeps them in his office 24/7

also like Rin he has a giant weighted blanket in a cabinet for you

has it out as soon as you come into his office

leaves it so that you can wrap yourself up in it when you're both going through paperwork

you ofc inevitably fall asleep in it

your boyfriend gets you all comfy and lays down with you for a quick nap

he wakes up wot you gently brushing his now messed up hair away from his face

you seem gentle and calm for once as you smile down at him

"Hi handsome. Did you have a nice nap?"

he's shocked ngl

falls in love with you all over again

"You look like an angel my love."

pampers you and makes you sleep a lot in his office just so you can wake up and be calm with him

he wants all your calm attention

will still cheer you on when you have a "tantrum" as Rin calls them

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delicrieux · 4 years

Text

☆ﾐ 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚊𝚢 “𝚘𝚑”

PART 24: OH...HI

after months and too much longing, you finally meet corpse in person.

─── corpse husband x reader ─── soc. media + written fiction! ─── word count: 3.8k

author’s note: we did it joe.

ultimate masterlist. ҉ myso masterlist ҉ previous. ҉ next.

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You woke up. That’s a lie, you didn’t sleep. Too much to plan, too much can go wrong and you’re...Not nervous, no, that’s not quite accurate. Excited. Yes, excited, so excited that two Redbulls and three coffees (so far!) make you jitter around the apartment like a butterfly that can’t find a flower bed to rest on.

Rae has almost had enough of your...random spurts of energy. So what if you ran a few laps, climbed a few tables, sang karaoke a bit too loud and yet another noise complaint had been issued? It arrived exactly an hour after your concert via your displeased landlord. Rae was, of course, the one to apologize because you were too busy trying on miniskirts. After that ordeal was taken care of, no sooner than Rae shut the front door with an exhausted sigh, you emerged from your room clad in your prettiest outfit. You present it to her with a bright smile and flourish.

She is not impressed.

“Will you quit it?” She questions, arms crossed over her chest. Your grin does not damper -- you’re used to such harsh treatment, having accepted her backhanded way of showing love long ago. Instead, you flick your wrists, showing off an ungodly amount of rings. You’re not certain of the exact number because you can’t count, “Y/n.” Her voice gains an edge, but you persist. Show off your shoes that have cute lil’ charms that jingle jangle not unlike the spurs on a hot cowgirl’s boots, “Y/n.” Her eyes narrow in displeasure, her stern tone making you falter in your dramatic stride down the imaginary catwalk, “Just stop.”

Okay! So maybe you’re not as used to her coldness as you thought you were. Your expression sours, and you quit the act, even if a part of you - one you barely fight off, goodness, you almost perish in that battle - wants to continue but even more annoying. As if you could somehow block her rationality with manic energy.

“What?” You ask, trying to keep the mood lighthearted despite her squared shoulders and tight frown, “I’m just having a bit of fun!” You say with a joyous little laugh, reaching for a glass of much needed water.

“No, you’re panicking.” Her words make the glass still, hoovering by your painted lips, but it’s short lived. You take a greedy gulp and it tastes fresh with a pinch of lipstick, “Look, I get it...” She shakes her head softly, “You’re meeting the guy you like for the first time, you jumped the gun straight to dating and now you’re...Anxious. It’s normal, you know.”

“But I’m not anxious.” You persist, and you really do mean it. You don’t like how she looks at you as if you’re the one that’s misunderstanding your own feelings. You set the glass down with a soft clink, heaving your own sigh, “I’m not, I’m really happy actually.” You explain softly, “It’s just...my way of dealing with it. I’m more... Worried about Corpse, to be honest.” You add, a tad quieter, “But, like, it’s all good!” You exclaim, strolling up to her and landing your hands on her shoulders, “I prepared.”

And it’s true! You had spent the night scouring the depths of the internet. Read every WikiHow article on how to deal with someone with extreme anxiety, how to not make things painfully awkward, and how to talk to boys (just in case. The last time you stumbled upon that particular article was way back in middle school when you had a crush on that one guy you saw in your school’s cafeteria every now and then. Naturally, that led you down the rabbit hole, and according to WikiHow’s How To Tell If A Boy Likes You guidebook, you found out that he was absolutely enamored with you because he glanced in your direction, like, two times. Safe to say that love story went nowhere. The point still stands).

So you forward all of this information to Rae, nestled in her bed whilst she lazily folds her clothes; clarify that you know that nothing much can happen, and that this whole situation is delicate, and that you must tread carefully because you don’t want to overwhelm him. She pauses her actions, glancing behind her to watch you staring idly at the ceiling, so peaceful, so thoughtful. And it’s not the eerie calmness you had displayed during your murderous spree in the last Among Us game, no, it’s just...quiet understanding.

“I’m actually impressed.” She says. You merely hum, counting the dust slowly descending in the cascading light, “You’re not as clueless as I thought.” Your lips quirk into a shy smile at the compliment- “Or as tactless.” - and turn downward just as quick.

“That implies that I’m always tactless.”

“You are.” She states and you sit up, a soft frown pinching your brows, “Not like, in a terrible way. You just...don’t think about your actions. Or the repercussions. You just know that you can get away with everything.”

“And I can!”

“That doesn’t actually mean you should do something just because you can. You know I’ll always support you. Literally everyone will always support you. But I’m not gonna coddle you. You’re just...a lot. Online and especially in person. But the fact that you’re actually taking this seriously and taking his feelings into consideration is...well, the bare minimum, but still, good job.”

...Much to think about. You don’t like thinking, it makes your head hurt. Though, that could just be the lack of sleep. You cross your legs and plop your head in your hand, tired eyes blinking owlishly, “Do you...think I should change what I’m wearing?”

Prompted by your question, she gives you a careful once over, “I mean, it’s signature you.”

“Signature me is a hoodie and some sweatpants.”

She smiles, “Then go change. Your outfit is a bit distracting for just...Hanging out indoors, no? I’m sure he wouldn’t mind either way, though.”

“I just...” You bite the inside of your cheek, mulling your words over. Truly, the last time you were so attentive was when you went Psycho Mode in Among Us, which, to be fair, wasn’t that long ago. Perhaps there wasn’t a chance to let your mind dull - it’s almost as sharp as your butterfly knife, “I figured that if, like,” You vaguely motion with your hands, “if I be, like, all over the place, and wearing something cute, he’d be, like, distracted? And less anxious? No...awkward silence?”

“First meetings are always awkward, it’s natural.” She chimes, “I mean, if you��re so nervous-”

“I’m not nervous!”

“-then just don’t overthink it. I know it’s easier said than done, but you’re you, and Corpse is Corpse, and he likes you for who you are, and even if it is a bit awkward, I’m sure it’ll, like, blow over in a second. It really doesn’t matter how you look, Y/n.” She grins, “Plus, it’s not like you’re greeting him in your underwear or something.”

You will not admit that that was your plan B, not when you just landed in her good graces. You nod, “...I’ll go change.”

And so you do. Pick out your cutest hoodie and some sweatpants. Put away your jingle jangle shoes with a broken heart, instead of them donning your fluffiest socks; slip off some rings because they keep falling off of your fingers. It’s almost like all of those transformation scenes in rom-coms that are still popular for some reason, except you’re hot before and after, so there’s really no transformation at all.

Now you wait. Just wait, all other activities are excluded from this. Rae comes back to find you sitting on the edge of your bed, back straight, hands neatly folded on your lap. She compares you to a Sim’s character and you allow her. After mercilessly mocking you and snapping a few pictures - for blackmail, you assume - she helpfully informs that she is leaving because she doesn’t want to get in the way, but your psychic abilities which you acquired just now tell you that she simply doesn’t want to witness this train wreck. Not that it’ll be a train wreck, it would be if you were nervous, but you aren’t.

You just aren’t. You fidget with the rings adoring your hand; toy with the hem of your hoodie; bounce your leg up and down. It’s just caffeine, okay?! Fuck this, Twitter time.

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[ADDING A MUSICAL INTERMISSION, LISTEN TO THIS IF YOU WANT (I WROTE THIS CHAPTER WITH IT IN MIND)]

The waiting commences, only now it somehow feels more intense. The sun is setting, and you really want to be one of those cute girls that fill their camera roll with pictures of the sunset and the roseate sky, but your hands are trembling and holding up your phone feels like too much of a hassle. You’d rather just sit there, alone in the apartment, in the pin-drop silence, extremely uncomfy and tense, as if waiting for the end of the world.

A notification sounds off and your life flashes before your eyes. Hastily, you check it, a sticky mixture of delight and something else, something unpleasant constricting, making your stomach churn. He’s here. Holy shit, it’s happening. You order your anime plushies to stop fucking panicking, they’re like, totally embarrassing you at the moment! You wonder if they have their own little group chat, but instead of Totally Spies it’s called Total Embarrassment. Yikes, okay, that was harsh. After a good scolding, and a heartfelt apology for getting so heated, you smooth down the non-existent wrinkles on your modest outfit, and quickly waddle over to the electronic apartment thingie something something... you unlock the main door, okay!? This is for some reason feeling very not cash money, so you break out in a little dance number.

The doorbell does not sing that shrill, unpleasant tune; rather, there’s a soft knock on the apartment’s door, and you pause your shuffling, your renegade, and perk up at the imposing future hidden behind a slab of wood. Your heart beats a melody all on it’s own, and it’s loud, uncoordinated, like a musician that’s still familiarizing themselves with their instrument. And there’s that knock again, as uncertain as you’re feeling, and your clammy fingers latch onto the lock and turn it and now there is no more hiding - such a possibility is no longer an option; no more sporadic dances or sitting in disheartening silence and letting your thoughts weight you down.

You’re not quite sure what you were thinking about before you saw him in the threshold, head tilted slightly, fluffy dark hair obscuring the bags under his eyes, hunched, one ringed hand clutching onto the strap of his duffel bag, the other frozen mid-air, ready to knock one more time lest you didn’t hear him the first two. No, truly, you can’t, for the life of you, remember what all the fuss was about.

“...Oh.” It’s a soft sound, so quiet, but not surprised, rather...relieved. Faint shimmers of a smile reach you, hidden behind a black face mask - the panini chic! You must stan a respectful king - but there’s something about the way he looks at you that makes you question it’s sincerity. He fails to return your gaze, rather choosing to stare somewhere over your shoulder. His eyes seem unfocused. Apprehensive. A wild thought occurs to you that he expected you to trick him somehow, and wild thoughts invade the land of your mind often, but never in such a way. You clutch the handle just a bit tighter.

His hand retreats to his side, up to his mask and you think he’s about to unhook it but he stills, and there’s panic there, as if he had been moving unconsciously, as if he hadn’t realized what he’s doing. He plays it off by idly scratching his cheek, muttering an equally quiet, “Hi.” to fill the silence.

Finally, your WikiHow knowledge can come in handy, along with your common sense, “Hey, pretty boy.” You mutter, pulling away from the door, “Make yourself at home!” You slide to the kitchen, your socks acting not unlike ice-skates cutting through the Arctic frost covered ground. You hope that with you occupied and not watching him as closely he’ll feel slightly more at ease.

You’d like to hug him. Kiss him, definitely. But if he’s so uncomfortable that he can’t bring himself to shed his mask in your presence, then there’s really nothing you can do.

You hear the door shut and lock behind you as you pull out two glasses from the cupboard, humming a song you can’t quite recall the name of. You ask him if he’d like something to drink - it was a short flight, yet a flight still, and planes always make you thirsty, and there you go talking his ear off. You end abruptly, but smoothly, like a true diplomat; if he notices, you have no way of knowing - he doesn’t provide even a hint. He’s hard to read, and literature was never your best subject. But you’re trying.

He sets his duffel bag down on a nearby chair, “I, uhhh,” His voice is raspy and low, another indication of a pathetic lack of sleep, “I...got you something, uhh, I dunno-dunno if I should...give it now, or?” He sends you a questioning glance, but it doesn’t linger. Your offer of drinks is momentarily forgotten, though you hardly mind.

You grin, “Sure! I love gifts, gimmie gimmie.” You make grabby hands, and he snorts, and it would’ve sounded endearing if he didn’t sound so fucking tired. He unzips the bag, and you pad your way to him, mindful of personal space (something you, in most social situations, chose to pretend does not exist). You note his hands quivering lightly, just like yours had in the agonizing wait, but he hides it well. You wish you could hold them. You’re afraid to try.

He pulls out a black hoodie and you recognize the custom art on it instantly - it’s his merch. He presents it in awkward flourish, murmuring a “Tadaaaa” under his breath; your heart skips a pleasant beat, and you have to bite down on your lower lip lest you smile appears too big. The fabric is soft under your fingers, and you accept his gift with a dramatic bow, and he turns his head away with another little laugh. You’re chipping away at the ice around him; it’s a slow process, but it’s worth the effort.

Truly, your own hoodie is shabby in comparison - icky, how could you have ever worn such a thing in the first place?! You’ll have to do extensive research in fashion magazines and Printerest so such a slip-up may never happen again. You discard it hastily and put his on instead; it smells like washing detergent with hints of cologne, one you instantly pin point belonging to him, “It’s, uhhh, it’s mine? I hope you, uhh, I didn’t have any spare ones, so-I hope you don’t...mind.”

He’s finally looking at you, but he’s still tense, still hesitant, and you shake your head softly, “No,” You admit, “I like it even more now.” You pull on the hood, toy with the strings and yank them quickly; your face is concealed, save for your nose, “Comfy.” Your commentary is unmatched, best of it’s kind - eloquent and effortless, much like yourself.

Another small laugh reaches your ears, and it sounds a bit livelier than the others had been. Success!

“Stop that.” He says gently, and you see moving shadows; his hands loosen the strings and your face is revealed to him once again. He’s close now, and he doesn’t move away; his hands come to rest on your shoulders, warm even through layers of fabric, “I came all this way to see you, don’t hide your face from me.”

Your eyes narrow playfully, your finger rapidly tapping away on his clothed cheek, “What’s all this then? Hm? Hm?” Instead of swatting your hand away, which you figured he’d do, he complies and finally tugs that fucking mask off. Your breath catches in the back of your throat and you halt your ministrations - truly, seeing him smiling on screen is nothing compared to him smiling in person. You can’t quite contain yourself any longer - your excitement might burst out in another dance number otherwise - as you throw your arms over his shoulders and pull him flush against you. He’s quick to return the embrace. Maybe it was all the encouragement he needed.

“Wow,” He mumbles, only slightly offended, “so I finally show my face to you, in person, and you just-...you just look away?”

“I’m hugging you, dumbass.”

“...Touche.”

Things fall into place after that, like a dozen puzzle pieces fitting together. He won’t let you go - he doesn’t want to. You put on some music, something easy and indie and that doesn’t require too much effort to listen to, as the two of you contemplate what to eat. Cooking by yourselves was dismissed due to the unstable relationship between yourself and cooking utensils. The stove and you had had a falling out recently, but this feud had started long ago, back in pre-school, with only short intervals of friendship. He listened to your extensive explanation absolutely enraptured and only moderately confused.

So you settled on ordering pizza from Domino’s. You have no trouble calling or receiving phone calls, because you have no trouble doing anything, and he admitted that he only really calls you because he gets too anxious to do more, so you’re tasked with ordering the food. You accept this mission with pride.

You stand tall, gazing out the window into the wild California domain: massive buildings and towering eucalyptus trees, bleeding skyline and the sun slowly getting swallowed up by the ocean. Corpse looms behind you, with his arms snaked around your waist and his chin resting on your shoulder, looking at you through the corner of his eye. You wait patiently for the underpaid, overworked staff member to pick up, and once they do, you have the audacity to grin brightly and chirp, “Hi! I want pizza.”

Conversations flow smoothly, and you make hot chocolate - because you are hot and you crave chocolate - and he insists he wants one too, because you want one, and you don’t hesitate to overflow his cup with whipped cream and an ungodly amount of miniature marshmallows. A premature heart attack, just for him. Whoever said romance is dead has clearly never met you. When the doorbell chimes, you’re astounded that an hour flew by so quickly.

After the delicious meal, the movie night must commence. So what if you watched 10 Things I hate About You yesterday, you insist that you have already forgotten the plot. You lead him to your room and he tries not to stare, but can’t help himself. Pretty boy in a pretty girl’s room. His eyes linger on the massive posters of Chrollo on your walls, and you sense his displeasure rolling off of him in waves.

“What?” You huff, fluffing the pillows, “You don’t like my husband?”

He jabs his finger into his chest, into the spot of his heart, “I’m your husband.”

“Side hoe, then-”

“-No.”

You didn’t lie when you said you love to cuddle, or that you’re clingy. It’s a good thing he’s just as clingy as you are, because when he lays down and you latch onto his side. He doesn’t complain, rather wraps his arm around pulls you close. His thumb draws lazy circles on your side; with your head resting on his chest, you feel each rhythmical rise and drop.

The opening credits play on the projector, the room dark enough for your pile of plushies to look like a whole fucking human just standing in the corner. A ghost! Sucks for it, you’re not scared. You feel safe. Protected. So comfortable in Corpse’s hold that you’re honestly wondering how did you manage to be so long without him. To think all of this started when Sykkuno followed you on Twitter. What a lucky accident.

“Can I ask you something?” Your voice cuts through the bopping 90s soundtrack and Julia Stiles’ voice. He hums. You take it as a yes. Tilting your head upwards, you find his eyes again, a thorn of displeasure picking you as you note that that apprehension you had seen previously is still very much there, “...You really wouldn’t date me if I was a worm?”

His chest rumbles with a laugh and his lips split into a grin, “I would.” He presses your side for emphasis, “I really would.” He repeats, reassuringly. You, however, are not convinced.

“But I’d be a worm.”

“I know. We’d... roll around in the dirt together, or something.”

“But you’d be human.”

He frowns softly, “Why couldn’t I be a worm, too?”

“Those are the rules.”

“What kind of shitty fucking rules are those?”

“I dunno, it’s like the Thanos snap or something. I just turn into a worm. I’m the only one.”

“That’s fine.” He smiles, “I’d take you out on a fishing date or something.”

Shocked, offended, and heartbroken, you hit his chest and pointedly turn away with a pout, which he finds very funny for some reason, but you fail to see the humor anywhere except the movie. Despite the fact that he’d sacrifice you for a fish, you smile shyly and close your eyes. He did say you would take a nap together, and if he really thought you’d stay awake for movie night, well, then he’s just an idiot. You had decided you would fall asleep as soon as he was next to you. It’s a miracle you managed to stay awake for so long.

“...Sleeping already?” You don’t appreciate his teasing tone.

“’m not sleeping...” You murmur, “’m resting my eyes.”

“Sure.”

You’re not quite certain (of anything, really) how much time drifts by, but you’re nearly lost in unconsciousness, in the warm, nice feeling that comes along with him like a cloud. Perhaps he thinks you’re asleep, he has to, else he wouldn’t say anything at all, “You’re stuck with me now, you know.” It’s such a soft admission, riddled with the same notes of anxiety that always prevail in his speech; with the same hopeful sincerity he had been gazing at you the whole evening.

Moving your lips is such a hassle, but you manage, “’m...stuck...” You mumble, “’m...stuck...what are you doing step-”

“No!” He laughs, and your lips quirk into a lazy smile, “No, no, no. Just no. Do you talk in your sleep?” You fake snore at that, loudly, “You’re like a little dragon.”

“...Fuck you.”

“Fine, a kitten, then.” That’s better. You feel something chapped, but soft, press onto your forehead, “Goodnight, Y/n.”

God, you’re so fucking happy. Does he know how happy you are? How happy he makes you? But you’re too tired for screaming and flailing around, too tired to even crack an eye open. You want him to know all the same, “...like you.” You whisper, but you don’t know if he hears you over the movie, “...I like you.”

His reply is instant, breathless, “I like you too.”

Good, you want to say, and maybe you do - can’t tell anymore. Sleep takes you too quickly.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

tags (in italics is those i couldn’t tag! make sure all’s ok w your settings!) : @littlebabysandboxburritos - @fairywriter-oracle - @tsukishimawh0re - @ofstarsanddreams - @bbecc-a - @annshit - @leahh19 - @letsloveimagines - @bellomi-clarke - @wineandionysus - @guiltydols - @onephootinfrontoftheother - @liamakorn - @thirstyfangirl - @lilysdaydreams - @pan-ini - @mxqicshxp - @tanchosanke - @yoshinorecommends - @flightsandfantasy - @liljennyx3 - @bingusmode - @unknown-and-invisible - @sinister-sleep - @fivedicksinatrenchcoat - @mercury--moon - @peterparkerspjsuit - @unstableye - @simonsbluee - @shinyshimaagain - @ppopty - @siriuslystupid - @crapimahuman - @ofthedewthesunlight - @mythicalamphitrite - @artsyally - @corpsesimpp - @corpsewhitetee - @corpse-husbandsimp - @hyp-oh-critical - @roses-and-grasses - @rhyrhy462 - @sparklylandflaplawyer - @charbkgo - @airwaveee - @creativedogs - @kaitlyn2907 - @loxbbg - @afuckingunicornn - @fleurmoon - @yeolliedokai

more tags are in the comments bcs tumblr only allows me to tag 50 people max 💙

#corpse husband #corpse #corpse husband x reader #corpse x reader #corpse husband x y/n #corpse husband fanfic #corpse x y/n #corpse social media au #corpse husband social media au #social media au #myso #make you say oh #reader #xreader #imagine #imagines #fluff #wtf i have never been this soft no one hmu

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barbarianprncess · 3 years

Text

did you mean it?

read on ao3.

It’s a total of 3 significant events that led to this, her forehead knocked against his, breaths heavy and mingled, eyes wide and hearts bleeding.

The first event isn’t really an event at all. It’s a prologue, necessary context to truly understand the monumentalism of this moment. It’s the memory of her eyes, piercing and reproachful, being the first thing that he saw after losing his mother. It’s shared trauma and oreos while they’re young and naive. It’s truces and training and growing up too soon together. It’s stargazing and stupid jokes saving eachother in every possible way. It's the culmination of the years Percy spent growing, learning, and being with Annabeth, and the unknown and therefore repressed feelings that came with it. Feelings are like the sea in that way, they don’t take well to being restrained. Percy has found that you cannot box in oceans or sentiments, they always find a way to spill over and out, with no regard for the destruction left in its wake.

The second event is Dionysus deciding on a whim that the inhabitants of his camp are ‘uncultured pests’ and taking it upon himself to set up a field trip for campers to the Ancient Greek Cultural Center in New York. (Percy thinks it’s really just to distract kids that were still shaken up about the battle at camp and the losses it caused. But, Dionysus would never say so. He’s far too proud to admit to caring for the children he’s been assigned to look after.) Argus loaded all the kids he could fit into the strawberry vans, as Chiron listed all the reasons this was a terrible idea. As it turns out, his worries were in vain as miraculously, no monsters attacked, and no mortal asked too many questions. No, instead, the only hitch in his plan was the glaring inaccuracies of the Center sending Dionysus into a fit of rage. He ranted for so long, their 2 hour long field trip ended up lasting until the place closed.

Event the third is the ridiculously long line leading to the mens room at the rundown gas station they’ve stopped at, causing Percy to traipse into the woods, deep enough to know that no one other than the squirrels were watching, and pee there. Unbeknownst to him, Annabeth had decided to take a quick walk in the forest as well, (in the opposite direction of his peeing endeavor) with the purpose of clearing her head. Both returned to the parking lot after 10 minutes, with no truck in sight. The gas station lights are turned off on the inside and the door sign has switched decidedly to closed. They look at each other in disbelief.

“Percy?”

“Yeah?”

“Uh...did they…”

“They didn’t. They wouldn’t.”

“I think they would.”

“They would never-”

“I have pretty solid evidence to the contrary.” Annabeth deadpans, casually letting her hair loose and hopping on top of the miniature gas machine for motorcycles.

“But, how did-”

“No Argus.” Which means, no all-seeing eyes to double check the headcount. Percy begins to pace.

“Okay, but-”

“Two trucks.” Both of which are probably assuming Percy and Annabeth are on the other.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, gods.”

“Leave them out of this.”

“Those fuckers.”

“Which ones?” She asks. He looks up and she’s fighting a smile. He pointedly doesn’t notice the way her mouth curls up, or the way her hair falls around her shoulders and down her back, or how pretty she looks lit up by the neon red lights of the gas stations prices, which apparently doesn’t turn off when they close.

“Do you know something I don’t?”

“I know lots of things you don’t.”

“Ha-ha. I mean about how to get out of here.”

“Ohhhhh, let me think.” She wrinkles her nose in faux concentration, tilting her chin up towards the sky. Percy is too annoyed to think it’s adorable. “Nope, not a clue.”

“Your phone?”

“Left it on the truck.”

“Iris message?”

“Percy, it’s dark as shit.” The laughter she’s been holding in comes pouring out. Nevermind that he feels his chest sigh in relief at hearing it for the first time since their quest, this is serious.

“You’re laughing.”

“Just a little.”

“You’re telling me, you don’t have a brilliant plan to get us on a truck.”

“Yes.”

“So, we’re stuck here.”

“Yes.”

“And you’re laughing?”

“You’re just really funny when you’re stressed.” She giggles. He can’t remember the last time she giggled. He missed it. He hates her.

“Oh my gods.”

“Okay, okay, look, I’m sorry. We’re halfway to camp right?” He nods. “I’m sure they’ll figure out we’re missing before they get all the way back to camp, but let's say, worst case scenario, they don’t-”

“Not helping-”

“And they make it the rest of the way back to camp. It took us four hours to get to the center, which means camp is two hours away, so if they make it the two hours back to camp before they realize we’re missing, and they drive back up-”

“C’mon ‘Beth, you know I suck at math.”

“We’re stuck here for five hours at most.”

“Five hours?”

“And that's if no passing cars let us use their phones to hurry the process up.”

“Five hours.”

She’s laughing again. “Seriously, what is so funny?”

“It’s just-” Her cheeks are red and she’s very poorly attempting to suppress her smile. “You’ve been calm in so many life or death situations, and being stuck at a gas station is what finally breaks through.”

“It’s nighttime.” She stares at him for a moment and then she’s laughing again, full bodied real laughter, and he's laughing too.

And it’s as if this gas station became their own personal Ogygia, an oasis, a resting place for them to be stupid kids again. And they don’t talk about the battle, or Rachel, or the volcano, or any of the million things set on tearing them apart. They talked about his mom getting serious about his new boyfriend, about Tyson’s underwater adventures and Grover’s searching shenanigans.

They smack talk with no real heat about who the better fighter is (Oh please, Seaweed Brain, I've been training since before you could tie your own shoes.), and argue about which ancient hero had the greatest journey (Hercules, are you kidding? Did you even read the myth?). They break into the gas station for snacks (What the fuck, Annabeth, where’d you learn to pick a lock? No, I wouldn’t prefer you break the glass, you psycho. Oh my gods, can you really break the glass?), and dissolve into giggles as they try to fit five drachma into the cash register.

They end up back outside sitting on the gas machines facing one another from three feet away.

“Your mom called me the other day.”

Percy, who’d been lazily squinting up at the murky sky, searching for any sign of stars, whipped his head to look at her. “What?”

“She called me on the phone. We talked for a bit. She said she wanted to make sure I was alright.”

“That sounds like something she would do.” He sighs and hops down from the machine, turning away from her, hoping to hide his blush from the dim light. “She cornered me on one of my off weekends, asked what was going on with us.”

“Oh.” He hears the shifting of fabric and assumes she followed him in sliding off the gas machine.

“Yeah.” It’s silent for a long time before she responds.

“What did you say?” She asks, her voice smaller than it was moments ago. He hears her scratching at the flat metal top of the machine. “When she asked, what did you say?”

He runs his finger through his hair, and one gets caught in a particularly large snarl. “Doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me.” She whispers and gods he’s terrified but he really doesn’t have a choice when her voice wavers like that. Her words shake and every ounce of his being tells him to do whatever it takes to soothe it.

“I said we were fighting. That there wasn’t one sole reason for it, just a bunch of little reasons. I told her that I scared you when I….went away for two weeks last summer. And that you didn’t like bringing Rachel on your quest. I told her that we….. disagree about how to best handle Luke. That I probably wanted to protect you more than I wanted to listen to you.” She laughs softly and he blames what he says next on her laugh. It is the catalyst for everything that follows.

“I told her that we’d be okay. Because no matter what happens I’m always gonna love you.”

He hears her breath catch. He doesn’t have to look back to know she’s turned to face him fully. “Did you mean it?” She calls. He doesn’t answer. The words haven’t caught in his throat, they’ve spontaneously combusted in his vocal chords and he doesn’t think he’ll ever speak again.

The sound of gravel crunching gets closer until suddenly she's beside him, and he didn’t tell his torso to twist toward her, he thinks she might just be his center of gravity.

“Did you mean it?”

She’s looking up at him, and her hair smells like lemons, and her cheeks are pink, and her eyelashes go on for miles, and her sunspots are better than stars. And it’s as if she pulls the words right out of him, he’s hypnotized by everything about her.

“Of course I meant it.”

She exhales and closes her eyes and while he mourns the loss of the sight, his body moves on it’s own accord again and he’s edging closer and closer and she opens her eyes and here they are.

Their noses brush, and this time he closes his eyes, and their noses brush just so, and…

Whoa.

He was wrong, it wasn't just those three significant events that to her forehead knocked against his, breaths heavy and mingled, eyes wide and hearts positively bleeding. It’s clear he’s been waiting his entire life for this moment at this shitty gas station.

Waiting for this. Waiting for her.

They kiss for a moment or an eternity, and they fit. His hands are on her hips and hers clutch at his shirt before sliding up to his throat, and it’s like his soul is whispering, oh there you are.

And then she’s pulling back, so she has just enough space to shake her head without disconnecting from his forehead.

She's breathless when she whispers, “This is a bad idea.”

His hands trail up and down her forearm of their own accord, and when he whispers back he’s breathless too. “Yeah, really bad idea.”

Her hands slide up from his chest to his shoulders, and then she’s kissing him again, with purpose, and he’s kissing back like his life depends on it because he thinks it might, thinks if he lets go of her he’d die on the spot.

It seems his theory might get tested when she pulls back again just far enough to whisper against his lips, “Is it always like that?”

He kisses her again, once, twice, because he can’t help it and whispers back, “I don’t know, you were my first kiss.”

He’d released any serious hold he had on her the moment she hesitated, but then she’s rocking back up to meet him halfway and his entire body thinks thank the gods. He actually sighs his relief into her mouth, as his hands desperately reach for her face, some fingers tangling in her hair, and their lips are magnets, opposites that don’t have a choice but to pull together. Despite how much he wants to keep doing this forever, he has to tell her.

“I don’t wanna lose you, again.” He means not ever, but he figures she understands the severity in his voice. She’s running her hand through his hair, and his slide up and down her back, and she knocks her nose against his as she answers, “I know, me either. I’m confused, this is confusing me.” And she tilts her chin just so, like she did a million years ago, and this time he kisses her.

They kiss for an infinity, he gets to taste her laughter when she giggles at the absurdness of it all, and it’s better than ambrosia. He kisses her until he doesn’t know anything else, until his entire universe is Annabeth Chase, with her cheeks and her curls and her lips. She is everything.

And then headlights penetrate their universe, voices bring an end to their infinity, and Chiron is speaking but it’s nothing, it’s all white noise because she’s no longer in his arms, and his center of gravity is being ripped away and he hears someone ask, “What’d you guys do?”

He’s still looking at her face when she answers, “You know, tried not to strangle each other mostly.”

But, she looks back before she turns all the way around and her gaze is charged and her lips quirk with the secret they share.

He is so screwed.

#so i wrote this in like two hours and its probably a mess but. here you go ig.#aoah ch 3 will be out soon but in the meantime #heres this lol #percabeth #percabeth fic #my fic #my writing #if you comment or rb i will die for you

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cryinginthebackseat · 4 years

Text

initials t.c.

Fandom: Open Heart

Pairing: Tobias Carrick x MC

Words: 7.299 (I’M SO SORRY)

Summary: Tobias Carrick makes Claire an offer she can’t refuse.

Warnings: 50% plot, 50% smut, swear-a-thon, blasphemy

Author’s Note: when the book first introduced us to tobias carrick, the first thing that hit my mind was “okay, but that dude is like the carbon copy of jesse williams and that’s hot” but then, once it reveals who he is and what’s his role in the book i went “interestinggggggg” cause you know, i’m a sucker for morally grey characters and all, and i’m not even ashamed to admit it. also, carrick is shaping up to be such an interesting character with each chapter and maybe one day- okay, maybe this sounds like a pipe dream- but one day, i hope he can be a li (let a girl dream plz) lmao

also if anyone’s interested, i made a PLAYLIST to accompany reading the fic.

the title is inspired by serge gainsbourg’s initials bb

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Cast down off heaven Cast down on my knees I’ve lain with the devil Cursed god above Forsaken heaven

To Bring You My Love - PJ Harvey

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Whenever Claire thinks about Tobias Carrick, admittedly, unfortunately, tragically, she always thinks about his eyes first before remembering what a colossal pain in the ass he is.

It always comes in that order. Like the number 3 always comes before 4, like the seawater dragging back from the shoreline before a tsunami occurs, like pouring milk before the cereal (she honestly didn’t get what the fuss is about until one day Elijah cried ‘oh, hell no you don’t, satan!‘ one morning and proceeded to give her bullet points why pouring the milk before the cereal is considered a sin and more of an abomination than Nephilims’ existence and that there’s a higher probability that she’s a psycho for being a ‘milk first’ kind of person). So apparently, Claire’s a psycho now which explains so many aspects- but she digresses and the point is, the reaction is uncontrollable and she high-key hates how she can’t control her goddamn mind most of the time.

The point is, she needs to stop thinking about him to begin with.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Claire Castelnuovo was born in the summer, under the sign of Gemini. Marilyn Monroe once said that stands for intellect, being a Gemini, but she was too blissfully unaware of this guerdon that she devoted her adolescent years to being outdoors instead. Too many days she spent trampling along the cornfields with her cousins until the skies faded out with brilliant purple-tinged amber and she was carrying a piece of the sun in her skin and smelled like one, stuffing wildflowers inside her boots as she walked around the neighborhood with her dad’s old stethoscope, napping in a hammock with Oasis’ All Around the World on repeat. By the time she hit 15, her black strands had turned brown from repeated sun exposure. She loved it.

But it was a different time, a different place. Somewhere that only exists on the margins of her memories, lost and hidden.

Now, Claire prefers the night.

It’s 9:30 pm when she arrives at a hotel bar in downtown Boston. A newly christened establishment which has somehow become a regular spot for Hemingway’s enthusiasts once the Boston Globe wrote an article about their Hemingway Daiquiri and how, as they wrote it, ‘probably the only place that’s brave and crazy enough to adhere to the 1930s original recipe’ and bourgeois party birds at wee hours during the weekend.

Her eyes are gritty, dry and strange. Her mind’s much worse for the wear- she feels like shit, like in the middle of watching that scene from The Green Mile shit when all is hopeless and you feel like walking out of the theater, but you’ve spent your last savings just to buy the ticket, so you decide to stick through it.

Claire makes a beeline for the bar, tries to flag down the bartender. She orders an Old Fashioned, making sure to specify to double it because she’s not a regular here and he’s not Reggie and that’s how she’s been taking her drink for years.

She knows well deep in her bones that she should be somewhere else. Somewhere more familiar, somewhere where Tim Mcgraw often plays from the subpar speakers, and the rustic wooden bar countertop is gouging and discoloring from the cheap household cleaners and alcohol stains, and her friends are cramming together in the same booth in the back, reveling and laughing until they close the bar down and make a mess all over. Perhaps it’s a mistake coming here, where no one’s a familiar face and the drinks are a tad overpriced for her budget.

But then, perhaps this is exactly what she needs; the unfamiliarity, the visceral feeling knowing that she doesn’t belong here, where no one knows her name and the huge deal of weight she’s currently carrying on her shoulders. Perhaps, she can’t face her friends after what happened, after what Esme has done. Shit, how could any of this happen? Claire knows this all on Esme’s, but her guilt has grown hopelessly tangled with her anxiety. She’s her intern, for fuck’s sake, Claire’s supposed to prevent this from happening in the first place.

Man, where’s Declan Nash when she feels like punching someone in the face?

Claire makes the mistake of drinking her drink too quickly, because it hasn’t been ten minutes and she’s drained half of the content. Then she reaches for her phone in her bag, fiddles with it, absent-minded, equal parts bored before then settles on watching the band performing Art Pepper’s You Go To My Head and immediately thinks of that time she accidentally dropped her brother’s saxophone in a moment of her rather graceless, wine-soaked self with the whole family present.

Someone plops down on the empty stool next to her. Claire’s now scrolling through her phone- again, bored. Sienna commented on the post Elijah shared to the group chat with a few unnecessary-yet-totally-necessary emojis to the already convoluted series of texts and Claire only reads them in silence, not only because her friends’ texting behaviors are too chaotic for her to follow sometimes but she’s not really feeling like talking to anyone right now.

“Well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in.”

Famous last words.

Claire freezes in her seat. Her phone’s still glowing in her hand, alighting her features. She recognizes that voice- too well, that is and it’s enough to set off her flight-or-fight response.

She glances up from her phone, preparing for the worst.

Well, what’s presented before her is literally the worst.

“Of all the gin joints…” she says once her eyes find Tobias Carrick sitting next to her, still in his work shirt, sleeves rolled-up, a few buttons undone, reeking of smoke, soap and antiseptic with a shit-eating grin plastered over his face.

She should have gone to Donahue’s instead.

“Evening to you too, Castelnuovo. Drinking your dinner tonight, I see?”

“What, this? No, this is breakfast. 100% daily value of alcohol and pretty much nothing else. I mean, it’s not the weekend without a bad case of hangover and an aspirin snowglobe in the morning, am I right? You know, like a glass of aspirin? Not a literal snowglobe?” she blabbers, realizing just so by the time she hears him snort. Claire chokes down another sip to shut her mouth up. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I’m about to commit first-degree murder and burn this whole place to the ground,” he drawls, the ever goddamn sarcastic. “What do you think? I’m trying to get dru-”

“No, I mean what are you doing here, of all places? Can’t you get drunk somewhere else?” she interrupts, her midwest accent does funny things to the vowels and consonants- something that only happens whenever she’s in distress, or at least according to Jackie.

“Last time I heard, this joint’s still owned by the Hilton, not a certain junior member of the Diagnostics Team at Edenbrook hospital.”

“Dude, what do you think of the H in Claire H. Castelnuovo stands for?” Deadpan, trying to keep up with the rolling sarcasm, she retorts. He smirks.

“Horatio?”

“Get the fuck out of here,” she mutters, mid-eye-roll, mid-snickering.

He chuckles, his voice rich and smoky amidst the late-night swing and distant chatters. Carrick doesn’t leave, of course, typically him- if those anecdotes Ethan told her has taught her anything about his character, that is- defying everything, scheming his way to the top, the embodiment of ‘those devilish boys with their heavenly eyes’ type your mother warns you about.

Not that the latter is relevant.

“Or what?” His mouth twitches but there’s a hard, challenging light in his eyes that she knows too well by now.

“Or I’m leaving.“ She shoots him a glare. He’s testing her patience- again, like it’s his finesse. Some things never change, it seems.

“Come on, Castelnuovo, don’t be a sourpuss. The night is young and I can promise you, the last thing I am is a horrible drinking buddy.”

With a touch of irony, she replies: “I’m sure. I bet you asked your friends to fill out a questionnaire every time you went out with them, did you?”

Carrick hums.

“You’re funny.” But he says it in the same tone that someone might say Jesus fuck, you’re probably one of the most frustrating creatures I’ve ever laid eyes on. Also, because the next thing he says is: “A little rough around the edges, but funny nonetheless.”

“That makes one of us then.”

Carrick frowns, which is kind of a surprise because she’s half expected him to flash her that signature cheeky grin of his.

“Listen, I’m just trying to make a friendly conversation here. I know we haven’t really seen eye-to-eye with each othe-”

Claire snorts and crosses her arms over her chest. “That, doctor, is an understatement of the fucking century.”

“Okay so, we’re like Tom and Jerry but sans the background music and a naive little duckling running around calling one of us his momma, but I feel like now’s the time to call out a temporary truce between us.” A beat, then: “I heard about what happened with the intern.”

Something flashes across her face- and Carrick must have noticed it, because his face does this odd thing- it softens, even for a moment. She hates it. He’s not supposed to be looking at her like that, not supposed to see her at her weakest state or saved her ass- And Jesus, why does she have to be indebted to Tobias Carrick, of all people- But god forbid, the last thing she’ll ever do is crying in front of him.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she mutters, barely audible, trying to temper her fluctuated emotions.

“Then don’t. We can talk about anything else or fall into some sort of endless, meaningless platitudes. Whichever will work.” As if sensing Claire’s lingering hesitation, he adds. “Tell you what, to sweeten the offer, your next drinks are on me.”

She assesses him for a long minute, eyes narrowing. She’s shaking her head, but her mouth, as if against her will, instead says: “Careful, Carrick, there’s a chance I’ll be abusing that offer and run you dry.”

"Hey, if you want to butcher your liver so bad, don’t stop on my account,” he says. “Don’t worry, though, I’ll make sure to save your ass again this time around. Pro bono.”

Claire looks as if she’s just swallowed a dead rat. “Thanks, but no thanks. Death seems more like an appealing choice.”

“Well, I stopped death from interfering then, I’ll stop it again.” Carrick winks, she pretends to gag again yet remains still in her seat, so Carrick waves at the bartender for their order- she orders for a refill and he, a martini and Claire is this close from asking 'shaken or stirred?’ but then remembers who he is and immediately washes the question down with her drink.

“You know, if anyone told me weeks ago that I’d be having a drink with you tonight, I probably would have socked them.“

Carrick is in the middle of lighting his cigarette, but laughs instead. “The Times They Are a-Changin’, as Bob Dylan said.” A puff of smoke escapes his mouth, curling around his fingers. Claire instinctively looks away. “Which reminds me of that one time your mentor sang Ballad of A Thin Man on the fucking subway when we were 20.”

She swivels her head to his direction, on the verge of choking on her drink. “Hold on, hold on, Ethan Jonah Ramsey sings?”

“Give him a dare he couldn’t refuse and a few shots of whiskey, and I promise you he’ll sing like Sinatra on crack.” He grins, his eyes are all crinkled and bright; she thinks that means he’s genuinely amused. “Ah, good times. We were like- wait, who was it he’d like to say we’re like again?”

A small smile pulls at her lips. “Bert and Ernie.”

“Jesus, he really fucking compares us to some Sesame Street characters, huh?” She laughs at that, loud and bright. He does the same. “Personally, I’d always say we were like Butch and Sundance back then- rebels with a cause, a band of misfits, trying to leave our marks on the world. You know those types. We were young, we wanted so much- I still do. I mean, let’s be real, whoever’s wanted to be defeated at their own game?”

A crease forms between her eyebrows, not quite a frown.

“Nobody,” Claire concurs, hating herself for it. “But was it worth it? Betraying the closest thing you had to a brother or a lover…” Carrick coughs on his smoke from the latter. “or whatever in the process just to get what you wanted?” Claire was obviously aiming for that brash, hard-hitting jab, but it lands gloriously too soft.

The bartender finally places their ordered drinks down on the bar. Carrick reaches for it, taking a careful swig, then sets his glass down. He takes a deep breath.

"It’s nothing personal. It never was. I never considered him as my rival.”

“Yeah, but by doing whatever you did, you’ve made an enemy out of him,” she counters. “Look, Carrick, I know we live in a dog-eat-dog world and I know being good sometimes doesn’t get the job done. Perhaps Machiavelli was right. Perhaps, when necessary, you have to be ruthless, dissembling and manoeuvring- what did he say again? ‘The end justifies the means’? But if any worthwhile end can justify the means to attain it, if everyone outright surrenders to their darker side, then what’s left of our humanity?”

For an interminable moment, there is only silence. He simply stares at her, as if she’s a walking, talking Rubik’s cube he can’t solve or a book that he has opened and now he’s got to know so much more and she feels pinned under those warm irises, uneasy.

Suddenly, his mouth begins to take shape; the corners hike up, stretch and then he does the unexpected.

The bastard fucking laughs.

“Excuse me?!” she spits, white-hot anger lacing each word. Carrick laughs harder- the audacity- despite Claire’s growing razor’s edge stare. “Did you just laugh at me? I was being fucking seriou-”

“Sorry, sorry.” Wiping an imaginary tear from his left eye. “I was just remembering Harper’s words. She’s right, you really are on the side of the angels, aren’t you?”

She points at him with her glass, snarling. “And you, mister, are the devil himself with a medical degree and an egg head- and I don’t mean the slang for a highly academic person.”

“Ouch,” Carrick says out loud, still kind of laughing, borderline frowning. “Okay, I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”

“Damn straight. Though you have a lot to apologize for.”

He groans. “Don’t tell me you’re still pissed about that one patient I stole under your nose?”

“The North remembers, ser,” she says, mean-spirited.

“Then does the North remembers that I saved her life?”

“Oh, so you’re discrediting the efforts of the other doctors that helped you make the cure?”

“Alright, alright. You win.” Carrick holds up his hands, the universal gesture of defeat and takes one final drag of his cigarette. He stubs it out, all the while keeping his gaze on her.

“So, how exactly can I make it up to you?“

Claire blinks- once, twice, thrice, realizing his intent. His voice drops an octave and he’s leaning in, close enough for her to notice the constellations of freckles splaying across his face and the way his brown eyes glinted like two shots of whiskey under a stream of light, intense and all-consuming. She feels her mind races, her brains feel as if they underwent a short-circuit and get caught on fire, and the fact that her mind’s on the precipice of exploring the idea is not helping.

A burst of laughter erupts from her throat, not that it’s funny- there’s nothing funny about the situation, but someone ought to diffuse this shift of tension between them, or that was her aim, at least.

“What, you wanna pay me back?” she asks, trying to keep her voice from cracking but failing miserably. Fingers trembling against her glass as she chugs nearly a quarter of her drink in one go.

He notices that.

"A Lannister always pays his debts, does he? If you think that I owe you one, then I’ll gladly pay.” His eyes flick back to her face, searing into her. The air crackles between them. The band is playing a different song now, a sound that only exists on the margin of her attention. If they’re in, say a mid 2000s rom-com movie, someone would probably interrupt this moment and save her from this. But this isn’t a movie.

Claire licks her lips, a candid reaction which encourages him to inch closer- or is it her? She can’t tell anymore. Tracing odd patterns on the palm of her hand with his finger and oh god, this is Carrick, the bane of her fucking existence, she’d shoot him first before she kisses him. But something about the prospect of fucking this bastard twists her insides deliciously into a confused mess.

“How? By fucking me?” she inquires, feigning scandalized- all that Catholic guilt bullshit.

He grins, all-teeth and wolfish and shrugs as if they’re talking about his life insurance policy or shit. “Well, that’s the idea.”

“But you don’t even like me.” It should come out as I don’t even like you, but even she knows that’ll be just another lie she tells.

“On the contrary, I enjoy our rivalry far more than I should, Castelnuovo,” he purrs and places a hand on her knee. Her throat bobs. She’s wearing a skirt, it didn’t seem important then, but now his hand feels warm against her skin, dangling on the edge of impropriety. Like gravity, all it takes is a little push for him to cross that line.

“I should be disliking the way you talk to me, challenging me and putting me on the back foot every goddamn time. I should be focusing on taking you down a peg, but the more I see you, the more I realize you have an attractive kind of power. And I’m just one man. And if there’s anything I learned, the only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it.”

But then his movement suddenly ceases. Claire almost asks why.

"However…”

“What?” she stares up at him, eyes wide, breath hitching.

“However if you only accept alcohol as the currency for transactions, then I’ll tell the bartender to get us another round instead,“ he tells her, offering her one last chance to back out from this, from making this mistake with him.

Claire stares into her drink, actually mulling this over. Her mind tells her no, but the other part- the alcohol-infused part of her mind- whispers otherwise. She imagines if Ethan or any of her friends are here, they would probably grab her shoulder and shake the living hell out of her for even reconsidering his offer.

But then again, intelligence, alcohol and desperation have always had a bad history of getting along together.

“What about June?” Claire asks against her better judgement, after a long, considerable pause. Carrick raises a confused brow.

“What about her?”

“I thought you guys…” she trails off, makes a face, feeling all-kind of flustered and aroused and wow, she’s really doing this, huh? “I mean, I don’t know- I don’t wanna get in between you guys.”

“Nah. It was only a three time thing, but there’s never been anything between us.” He chuckles at Claire’s askance look. “If you don’t believe me, you can fact-check it with the woman herself,” Carrick adds, looking at her dead-on with his eyes like he wants to get the message across.

She regards him silently for a long second, and maybe she’s a touch drunk now, maybe the bartender put something in her drink, or maybe she just needs to blow off some steam after what’s been happening in these past few weeks and Carrick happens to be a decent warm body for the occasion, but Claire finds herself shifting closer.

"Then I want you to pay me back.”

“You sure about that?”

“Yeah,” she answers, more sure this time, more determined.

Her nose bumps his, his breath fanning across her face all the while Carrick’s slightly pushing her skirt up, letting his fingertips travel higher. His eyes keep darting back and forth from her eyes and lips, checking for her reaction. There is no inhibition here, not anymore. People might be watching- heck, they could be already watching and it terrifies her that she doesn’t give a damn about it.

“But if you tell anyone about this, I swear to god… ” she warns and a shadow of mirth passes across his eyes, making her almost regretting this. Almost.

“Claire, darling.” It’s the first time he’s ever said her name and her stomach does a tango. “Your secret is safe with me.“ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

He gets them a room in the hotel, it’s on the twentieth floor. Carrick handles the accommodation- he can afford it, apparently, which is not really surprising and the nuisating check-in procedure while Claire only waits in the lobby like a beautiful, agitated china doll amidst the turbulent sea the whole time until he comes back, flashes the room key at her and beckons her to follow.

She goes ahead of him, but he catches up. His body heat sends her anxiety rocketing sky-high through the roof as they walk next to each other, hands briefly brushing against one another but she ignores that (or at least she tries).

They are silent in the elevator, they are silent even once they reach the designated floor and walk down the hall to their room where the dim and shadowed lights follow their steps like vultures.

Carrick holds open the door for her and she enters, taking in the windows and the striking view of Boston skyline peeking behind the curtains, the TV and the queen-sized bed. The latter does nothing to assuage the anticipation that’s bubbling in the pit of her stomach, by the way.

Claire hears him shut the door, locking both bolts. She peers at him over her shoulder, half-turned, one eye on him. Their eyes meet, neither speaks. He’s taking off his black peacoat, back against the door, he’s looking at her as if wanting her is his full-time occupation and the realizations comes in like a mule kick, how that tiny voice inside her head, the one that tells her that this is a bad idea and she’s better off leaving never comes.

The room is not considerably huge (with $110 per night, you would have expected you’d get a bigger room), he could easily have her in six large steps, yet he stands there. Sizing her up, smirking rather devilishly, handsomely as if challenging her to make the first move. It’s another fucking game with him. A display of power, waiting who would fall first.

Claire finally turns around to face him. With a renowned determination, she removes her coat, letting it fall unceremoniously onto the carpeted floor. Her blouse follows next and her skirt, which she tugs it oh so slowly down her legs.

Carrick’s eyes widen, if she doesn’t know better, she thinks he’s speechless. He takes a deep breath, his gaze religiously following every movement as she twirls around once more to unhook her bra. His jaw clenches and unclenches. He’s having a hard time keeping himself in check which she takes an immense pleasure in. Claire just wants to see the man squirm for a change, even if she has to shed every article of clothing she wears.

By the time she slips off of her underwear, she is breathing raggedly. He hasn’t yet approached her so she crawls onto the bed, lying on her back with one elbow props her up, legs crossed. She kicks off her heels, rolls down her stockings with a bit of that noir come-hither, Lauren Bacall-esque heavy bedroom eyes.

Finally, Carrick steps closer until he’s only a hair’s breadth away, like a target, filling her line of sight. The tension in the room is hot enough to send the thermometer reaching its maximum limit and she’s burning, burning, burning right through the core.

Claire cranes her head up to meet his gaze, noticing the way he’s drinking in her body like a pirate ogling a bottle of rum. High-strung, tense, Carrick lowers his head to her, his fingers carding through her long hair. Dimness consumes him raw, his silhouette is starting to find its place amongst the shadows except for his eyes. Never does the fire in his eyes falter, merely alight.

They are already nose-to-nose when Claire suddenly raises her hand over his lips. He withdraws from her, looking confused and hot and bothered.

“Take a seat over there, will you?” She motions to the settee near the bed, her tone leaving no room for argument.

He smirks, but she can see his bravado if faltering. “Ordering me around in the bed now, are we?”

“Didn’t you say tonight is about you making it up to me?”

“Touche, touche.” Carrick straightens his posture and makes his way to the settee across from her, shifting uncomfortably in his seat given the growing issue in his pants.

With eyes still trained to his, Claire cups her own breast, fingers pinching her pebbled nipple before the same hand travels lower down her stomach, her thighs. Carrick leans forward in his seat, obviously liking where this is going before Claire slowly and teasingly part her legs for him to see.

A surprised groan escapes him.

“Jesus, Claire,” Carrick hisses. “Fuck, I didn’t know you’re a goddamn tease.”

She doesn’t bother replying to him, but a winning grin finds its way across her face as she lays on her back, her shame and modesty are distant, knees pulled up so he can have a clear view of her. With two fingers, she runs them along her folds, dragging them slowly up to her clit. Claire imagines they are his fingers- which once upon a time would have horrified her, but tonight, as she repeats the motion over and over, knowing that he’s sitting there, watching her without being able to get his hands on her, she decides to submit to this newfound fantasy.

A rustle pulls her back to reality. He’s undoing his own pants, palming his cock, runs his fingers over the leaking head.

A low moan catches in her throat at that, her gaze snapping up from his erection to his face where his irises have darkened and pupils dilated. He wants to show her, that’s he’s as depraved as her when it comes to wanting, that he fucking wants her and in spades and she fails to think like a normal human being anymore.

Claire uses that image to work on herself harder, faster, feeling the intense pressure beginning to build beneath her fingers. She’s so wet now, despite him being able to see that, she wants him to hear it as well as she uses her idle hand to tap against herself. Carrick growls, his pace matching the rhythm she’s setting.

She slips her fingers inside her, drops her head back against the mattress and bites a loud moan that threatens to escape her lips. Flushing scarlet all over her abdomen, her breasts and up to her neck. Her blood thumping louder than bombs in her ears, her breaths begin to come in gasps.

Another fast and hard thrust from fingers, and Claire finds herself sighing his name.

“Tobias…”

And every last bit of his self-restraint snaps.

In just a blink of an eye, Carrick is already on his feet, grabs her waist, harshly, and tugs her down onto the edge of the bed where he’s now kneeling before her. He doesn’t bother with the teasings or soft kisses or caresses, and even before Claire has the time to register what’s happening, he crushes his face between her parted legs and eats her out.

She gasps, high and fleeting, twisting the bed sheet between her fists while his tongue flicks over her, moving back up, back down, lapping along her folds in the same motions she showed him with her hand, how she likes it. Claire forgets how to breathe. It just occurs to her just how arousing the sight of him on his knees like this, sending her mind hitchhiking into outer space.

“Oh, fuck.” She breathes, back arching on the bed with a drawn-out moan. “Fuck, Tobias!” Her hips gyrate over his mouth and she presses her heels against his shoulder blades. She’s so close. All she needs is a little push to send her careening into oblivion and it seems that Carrick can sense it because he brings two digits to her entrance and slides easily inside her, setting a ruthless pace.

With her hands reaching out to the back of his head, Claire cries out his name and trembles violently. Encouraged, Carrick curves his fingers inside her, hitting that exact spot that finally undoes her as she comes, long and hard, around his mouth and fingers- the kind of orgasm that you can feel deep in your bones- and watches as fireworks dance behind her lids.

When she finally comes down from her high, everything is hazy. It’s like waking up from a deep slumber after a decadent soak in a scented bath and she loses all orientation, until she feels him nipping the inside of her thighs. She hisses, glances down, heavy-lidded eyes finding Carrick is leaving bruises after bruises all over her skin like some kind of a lewd memento of his work, like he wants her to remember this the next time she wakes up in her own bed and he’s not there.

"Are you trying to turn me into a Na'vi, doctor?” She asks, still kinda breathless, feeling surprisingly conversational despite having just experienced, if not, one of the best orgasms in her life. He smiles against her thigh and withdraws from her, only after her thighs are sufficiently bruised enough, licks his fingers clean and stands up at the end of the bed.

“Maybe. You’d make a cute blue extraterrestrial creature, though,” he replies cheekily, then undoes the button of his shirt, showcasing his naked torso.

Claire feels her cheeks heating up again, but forces herself to stare; eyes following his pectoral muscles, down to the toned lines of his abdomen while he slides off of his pants. The man is one fine specimen, alright, and he knows- smug bastard- and she thinks it’s such a shame that Carrick is… well, Carrick. If the man learns how to shut up for one minute or avoid trying to sabotage everyone’s career at Edenbrook altogether, maybe, just maybe, she’d consider him.

“But honestly, I just wanted to hear you say my name again,” Carrick continues, crawling his way up to her, pulling her out of her musings. He settles between her thighs. His lips finding her ear and nibbling at the lobe while his fingers pinching and pulling at her nipple. Claire shivers. Nails scraping along his skin, raising angry marks that would certainly be there tomorrow.

When they kiss, it’s so good that she can’t help but curl her toes. He kisses her like he’s trying to steal her breath or her name. She can taste herself in his mouth, which sparks so many feelings inside her. Her mind’s foggy, sweat pooling on her forehead. Carrick is but shoves his tongue into her mouth, lapping at her, biting, sucking and she leans hard into the kiss, retaliates by scraping her teeth against his bottom lip. It spurs him on. Making his cock twitch against her thigh and Claire decides she can’t wait anymore.

Claire rolls her hips at him. He takes the hint and rolls over to grab a condom from his pants. Then he’s back on top of her, his weight and heat crushing her most deliciously and brings her body further up the bed with him; she drapes her legs around his hips, hands gripping his arms. Her lust and anticipation collaborate to the point of near madness.

Carrick nips the taut line of her jaw and drives himself into her.

They both groan in unison.

“Oh, fuck.” Carrick mumbles between shaky breaths, his face pressed against her throat. “Fucking hell, Claire, you feel so warm.”

Claire, on the other hand, goes rigid under him. Her mouth hangs open and her world narrows down to the feeling of his cock inside her and the pleasure that builds up again in her abdomen.

This is happening, she thinks, he’s inside her and it feels so amazing. She might as well be crazy for agreeing to do this with him in the first place, but the promise of the thrill beats the doubts.

He starts slow, just the smallest fraction of hips, gently thrusting back and forth in shallow motions. She whines, frustrated and impatient, raising her own hips to meet his, but Carrick’s weight pins her onto the mattress and she can’t fucking move.

“F-faster,” Claire stammers, her molars grinding like toothache.

The bastard smirks, like he’s been anticipating the word coming out of her mouth.

“Beg for it.” His words are punctuated with every unhurried stroke he’s giving her, teasing her and if she’s not in the middle of being fucked right now, she would have kicked him in the balls.

Growling, she swallows her plea by pulling Carrick down for another kiss. This time, she’s the one who does the biting and the sucking, making sure he’s distracted enough and then just like with all the things she does in her life, she takes the matter into her own hands.

With all her strength, she scrambles up, pushes him off of her and knocks him onto his back flat on the bed. When she swings her legs to straddle him, his eyes pop.

“Holy shit, you are feisty.”

“Only cause I’m angry and horny,” she bites off. Angling herself above him and with one hand, guides his shaft back to her opening. “And you- you weren’t doing a proper job fucking me.”

He smirks. “I was trying to wind you up.”

“Fuck you.”

She lowers herself and sinks back onto his cock, relishing in his moans and growls.

“Baby, you’re doing it.” His hands curling around her waist, his head falls back onto the bed, exposing his throat and Claire is so hard-pressed not to bite him there.

Claire ignores his smartassness, naturally, and lifts herself, drops back down. Slamming her hips into his until she’s bouncing on him. Nails clawing at his chest. Finally be able to set a pace she desperately craves for, finally wiping that smirk off of his face.

Under her, Carrick is biting his lip in an effort to not to lose control. His hands are everywhere now; her stomach, her breasts, her neck, her cheeks. Leaving fire on its wake. She might still hate him after this is strange, little arrangement is over but at this juncture, he’s exactly the remedy she needs after everything.

Then Carrick wraps his arms around her and picks up the pace, thrusting into her hard and fast. Claire shakes. She can’t catch her breath, her forehead pressed on his shoulder, her teeth latching onto his skin. Breathing a string of 'fuckfuckfuck’ while he squeezes her ass and continues to fuck her with careless abandon.

"Tobias.” Her moans amplify. She’s close to climaxing again, her legs quivering. Eyes wide shut. “Please, please.” So much for not begging.

He pulls her to him so their foreheads meet. Their lips brush against each other, but they aren’t kissing, merely trading breaths. A hand touches her cheek and her lids flutter open, finding his eyes- those depthless, amber eyes that pretty much lead her to this point, are watching her, pulling her in.

“Say it again,” he encourages darkly, face twists in pleasure. “My name. Say it again.”

She does it again, it comes out as a groaned whisper, repeating it over and over again like a sacred mantra.

Her second orgasm sweeps through her, making her spine arches, it tears a winded moan from her throat and it’s more than enough to trigger Carrick’s own release; fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hips, groaning gutturally.

Panting, sore but sated, Claire collapses on top of his chest, his arm still drapes around her. The rise and fall of his breath lull her to sleep. Before she knows it, he gently rolls her to his side, pulling the covers for them and kisses her on the shoulder, which comes out as… odd for her.

The bed moves and she feels him leaving.

He’s leaving.

She doesn’t know why it stings, but it does. But also Claire opts not to pay no mind to it and forces her mind to surrender to sleep that once again tries to take hold.

Claire wishes she doesn’t dream of him that night, but she does.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It’s way past midnight when she wakes up. The room is dark. The curtains are closed. She’s still naked and sore under the covers, mind reeling in from what has just transpired.

One might ask in which universe does Claire Castelnuovo agree to sleep with Tobias Carrick? Well, apparently they did it in this one and oddly still, she doesn’t regret it. Though she’s still low-key sad that he left her straight after sex, but hey, what can she do about it? This arrangement itself is nothing but a means to an end, anyway, a perverse alternative for him to pay back what he allegedly owes her, she shouldn’t be surprised if he left after the ‘debt’ is paid.

Feeling her mood somehow takes an unexpected dip, she gets us from the bed and gathers her clothes on the floor.

She’s in the middle of zipping up her skirt when the bedside lamp flickers and comes on.

Claire turns around. Carrick, rousing from sleep, looks at her, rubbing his eyes and stifles a yawn. His lips still tinged from her kisses and bites.

“Leaving so soon?” he asks, voice still raspy from sleep and Claire thinks her mouth is hanging open, standing rooted to the spot like a spider on an icicle; frozen in time.

For a moment, she does nothing but stares at him, being rendered speechless. For many times, Tobias Carrick never fails to surprise her. Just when she thinks she has him all figured out, he comes sneaking in through her windows like a thief in the night and it just strikes her, how he really is an uncharted territory for her. Despite her having him pinned under her, exploring the hard planes of his body under the touches just a few hours ago.

The man is like a fucking myth, at this point. She knows him only from stories and her limited time around him, but who is exactly Tobias Carrick? Is he the competitive doctor at Mass Kenmore, the Machiavellian asshole that severed his friendship/relationship with Ethan for the sake of his greed and ambition? Or is he, Tobias Carrick, the man who saves her life, makes her laugh and kisses her shoulder in the afterglow?

She’ll probably never know.

“Yeah, my roommates will probably deploy a search party if I don’t come home tonight,” she replies, distracted, finally finding her own voice back. He nods, feigning disappointment- or is he not? She clears her throat and continues putting on her clothes. “I thought you left.”

He chuckles at the absurdity of her deduction. “And without saying goodbye?” Carrick rolls off of the bed and rises to his feet. He’s already wearing his pants- thank fuck for that- and approaches her. “I may be an asshole, Castelnuovo, but just so you know, my mother raised me better than that.”

So they’re back to their usual last name basis perimeter. That’s good, right? After all of this, she thinks a little familiarity would be nice for her sanity.

“Good to know, then.”

Silence encompasses the room. It’s awkward and overwhelming and it throws her a little off-balance. At the bar, they seemed to know exactly what to say to each other- especially him; but now, even she can sense the hesitation in his gait, at the way he’s looking at her and a faint alarm is trilling her head. Because if he’s making this awkward, she can do a whole lot of worse.

"Oh, before you ask, that makes up for pretty much everything, yeah. I mean, it’s alright.” You fucking dumbass, she thinks to herself, averting his gaze while a smile blooms on his face.

“Good to know, then.” He parrots her words and she huffs a laugh, freely and sweetly, like she’s currently not knee-deep in her problems or she’s just fucked the most incorrigible man that ever exists. He does too, but his gaze lands on her mouth before going back to her eyes.

Another silence passes. It’s time to go.

“I have to go now.”

He nods mutely and moves away so Claire can step past him.

She wears her coat. In the mirror, she still looks thoroughly fucked; her hair’s dishevelled, she smells like him now, but she really needs to go. She promises herself that this will be a one time thing because, Jesus fuck, she’s supposed to be smarter than this. She’s not fifteen anymore, and this is not the summer where she can watch the sunset from the cornfields with her cousins even though his eyes possess the same color.

Yet she walks toward the door in a daze, like she’s forgetting something but can’t pinpoint what it is.

“Can I-”

“Hey, do you-”

She stops, mid-turning, and closes her mouth. She doesn’t realize she’s interrupting him.

“Oh, sorry,” Claire says, embarrassed. “You go first, it’s alright.”

“Can I have your number?” he asks, uncharacteristically hesitant.

She thinks he’s joking or maybe he’s just feigning interest, but one look at his eyes and she can tell that this isn’t smoke and mirrors.

The eyes, chico. They never lie. It’s dumb, but that line from Scarface is the first thing that comes to her mind. That’s why when she hands him her phone, her hand is shaking slightly. She has to bite her lip to stop herself from grinning like a maniac.

Claire takes a cursory glance at her phone once he returns it. He saved his number solely as t.c. with the water drop, the syringe, the ghost, the eggplant, the firework emoji and she chuckles endearingly, questioning the universe how he can easily get both a rise and a laugh out of her.

“I’ll text you?” Carrick asks again and she nods a little too enthusiastically at it, but what the hell?

“Sure.”

“Alright.” He takes one look at her, steps closer and for a moment, she thinks he might be going to kiss her.

“Goodnight, Claire,” Carrick says instead and she nods, admitting the fact that he’s not going to do it.

“Goodnight to you too, Tobias.” Then pauses at the doorway, feeling surprisingly bold. “I gotta give it to you, though, for someone who’s become the bane of my existence for months, you’re a damn good lay.”

He barks out a laugh, obviously, that Claire can hear all the way down the hall. And she thinks she can get used to the sound.

fin.

Tag list: @villain-fuckarooni @beckaroo @arfeiniel @this-person-is-busy @colossalpainintheass @drethanramslay @hatescapsicum @theeccentricbibliophile

#playchoices #open heart #tobias carrick #tobias carrick x mc #open heart mc #oh mc #pixelberry #choices stories you play

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wienerbarnes · 4 years

Text

The Undercover Mission (3/3)

Pairing: Bucky x Reader (Cheek to Cheek)

Word Count: 1,380

Warnings: still some Lowkey angst but y'all always know there's a good ending ok

A/N: ok promise ill let them live for a bit now and leave them alone w the angst LOL

MAIN MASTERLIST | CHEEK TO CHEEK MASTERLIST

Your father sits in handcuffs in the interrogation room. No one has yet to tell you anything, according to everyone else, you don’t even know that there’s an ongoing case right now. You, once again, snuck down here after hearing that your father was in custody. Only this time, the interrogation room is open.

You turn the knob and step inside, past the two agents guarding the door, and take a seat across from your shackled father.

“Didn’t know there was more questioning to be done; I told Agents Barnes and Carter everything already. I confessed.” He states.

He doesn’t recognize you. Why would he? The last time he saw you, you were a baby.

“There’s not.” You confirm; he doesn’t move to make any follow up questions, just accepting that you’re now going to be in the room with him.

“What’s your name?” He asks.

That just makes you angry. Your own father asking you what your name is.

“That’s need-to-know. And you don’t need to know.”

He briefly raises his eyebrows at you in surprise, before settling back in his seat.

“You a Marine?”

Your eyebrows twist up in confusion, “How did you -”

“Can just tell.”

You don’t respond. You can’t respond. You don’t know what to say to him.

Suddenly the door opens, and Sam stands at the doorway, “Agent 51, you’re needed elsewhere.” That means, get the hell out of this room.

You stand and go to make your exit when your father’s voice stops you, “Hey, 51.”

You turn your head to hear what he has to say.

“Semper Fi.” The motto of the Marine Corps.

You sigh and slump your shoulders, “Oohra, Gunny.” You respond, before exiting the room and going out into the hallway.

As soon as you make it far enough, you place your hand over your mouth to quiet any sobs. If being a crazy, psycho killer yourself wasn’t enough, finding out your absent father was also a murderer really put the nail in the coffin.

How hilarious is it that daddy’s a killer, too! Now, we know where you get it from! I guess killer doesn’t always recognize killer, though, huh?

You feel Sam wrap an arm around you and pull you into his chest, comforting you silently for a few minutes until you can compose yourself enough to make it into the elevator and up to your room.

Except, your night can’t just end there. Bucky’s standing outside your door.

You hate his undercover look. A Marine buzzcut and fully grown out beard, long enough to knot a hair tie in it. You saw pictures in the file earlier, where he had different colored contacts, more prominent freckles, a flesh arm. It’s so… not Bucky.

But you’d figured he’d come talk to you about all of this eventually. This was the reason he had to break up with you.

“Hey.” He starts.

“Hi.”

“... How are you?”

“I’m doing… pretty fucking shitty, Bucky.”

He nods, agreeing with you, “Yeah, I’m doing pretty fucking shitty, as well.”

You two of you stand outside your door just staring at each other; taking each other in and everything the two of you have missed.

“You got your neck tattoo covered up.” Bucky points out. A large, black butterfly now takes that angry face’s place on the side of your neck.

“Yeah, Sam let me invite that guy that did my leg tattoo to the tower.”

“I’m happy for you; I know how much you were dyin’ to get rid of it.”

It’s awkward. Bucky doesn’t know where to start. And neither do you. And as much as you want to be mad at him; as much as you want to hate him, you can’t find it in you. You could never hate Bucky.

“So -”

“Listen -”

The two of you start at the same time. You begin first,

“Listen. I haven’t had a good night's sleep in months. My head is loud as shit. And I’m tired. Can we just… put a pause on this mess we have going on right now and resume tomorrow?” You ask.

“Yeah, of course. You’ve had… a long day, to say the least. We can talk tomorrow.” Bucky agrees before going to walk past you and back towards the elevator.

“I didn’t say for you to leave.” Your voice stops him. He turns back around, waiting for further explanation.

“Don’t sleep well without you.” You confess to him, a repeat of words he said to you when he was in the hospital.

He gives a gentle smile. A smile of agreement, a smile of I’m so glad we’re thinking the same thing here. He steps back over to you as you open your door, walking inside.

“You’re shaving that shit off your face before getting in my bed, though.” You call out behind you.

Bucky laughs to himself before following you inside. Your conversation can wait until tomorrow.

And the two of you finally sleep well for the first time in two months, twenty-three days, and sixteen hours.

Can’t sleep forever, though. Not when there’s incredibly difficult conversations to have; conversations no other couple in the world has probably ever had or ever will have.

“So… Fury made you break up with me because of my dad’s involvement.” You confirm. You figure the more you say it, the faster it’ll finally click in your head.

It’s morning, now. The two of you are laying on your sides, facing each other with your big, fluffy blanket covering up to both of your shoulders. You’re close enough to Bucky to see the tiny spot of discoloration on his chin from where he nicked himself shaving last night.

“He said that if there was any chance that he knew about you and who you were, it could risk you and your real identity being exposed. Fury didn’t want to take that risk.”

You sigh. You can’t be mad. Do you wish you would’ve known? Yes. But it makes sense. And knowing yourself, being involved wouldn’t have helped your curiosity anyway and you would’ve gotten yourself involved, just as you did this time around.

“Did he… mention me? At all?” You ask, timidly, because you have a feeling you’re not going to like the answer.

A quiet sigh from Bucky, “No.”

“I saw him yesterday. He asked me what my name was. He had no idea who I was.”

“That guy’s a piece of garbage, babe -” Bucky begins to reassure you, but stops himself at the slip of the pet name.

What now? Bucky broke up with you because of a lie for the mission. But the mission’s over now.

“There... wasn’t anyone else… right?”

You’re scared to find out the answer.

Bucky shakes his head No, “I meant it when I said I love you. I’ve meant it every single time I’ve said. You don’t understand how much I hated doing what I did to you. And you won’t understand the guilt I carry because of it. I’m sorry.”

The two of you lay there and stare at each other for a while. It was a really long two and half months. Felt like eternity, though.

“As much as I want to, I can’t stay mad at you, Bucky. I don’t think I can ever be mad at you. I… I want - wanted - to hate you for what you did, and I tried so hard to. But I couldn’t. I still can’t.”

“You should.” Bucky reassures you.

“I can’t -”

“But, you should, though.” Bucky repeats, almost begging you to. He thinks he deserves it.

“Bucky, I forgive you,” Bucky closes his eyes for a moment, almost disappointed that you were so easy to forgive him, “What was your other option, Bucky? You didn’t have one. And as fucking terrified as I am to admit, I can’t live without you, okay? I love you.”

“I love you, too.” He interrupts.

“And I can’t live without you, either. That was, like, the hardest two months of my life.” Bucky admits, and a humorless chuckle escapes your lips.

“It was the hardest two months of my life, too. That fucking sucked.”

Things are complicated. But if there’s one thing that the two of you are sure of, it’s that the two of you are madly, deeply, and utterly in love with each other. And that’s the only thing that’s important to the two of you now.

#bucky barnes #Bucky Barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes oneshot #Bucky Barnes fanfiction #marvel #seeeeeee told u they'd be happy

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lexpressobean · 3 years

Text

Parent/Teacher Night: Ch 2, Remember When

In which Shino recalls some thens and compares them to the nows, and gets inspired to change some things with Kiba's encouragement.

*Modern AU, Swearing

**You can find this on AO3 now too, along with the first chapter. Let's gooooooooo!!!

•••

"He asked to trade numbers?" Kiba repeated, pausing all motion, chopsticks mid snatch for a gyoza.

"Yes. Is that... Weird?"

"Well, no."

Kiba reached over and chose his specimen, a plump piece just asking to be dipped. Shino continued eat his steamed rice. It was okay if Kiba wanted the last of the gyoza. Shino thought he might enjoy a serving of the restaurant's ice-cream after he finished his meat instead.

"But even I don't have Shikamaru's number. Least not his current one."

"You don't?"

"Nah," Kiba took in the gyoza whole and spoke as he chewed, "but ah neber bothered doo update it, I hab 'im on my socials anyway."

"Oh."

He swallowed, "But you didn't even have any kind of social media until later in college. You were late to the game!"

"I didn't see the point then..."

"And that's fine. He probably doesn't even know you have them now. But you know he's been pretty absent from social media too. Figures."

"According to Ino, he's been back in town since April."

"Well of course Ino would know, she's always been in everyone else's business. Especially Shikamaru's, and Choji's too!"

Shino silently made a face, distorting the corner of his mouth as if reluctant to agree, but Kiba barked out a laugh when he caught him.

"It's true though, isn't it!? You would know, Shino!"

Shino didn't plan to be seen, but oh well, "I think it's just her way of showing she cares. Those three are practically family, aren't they?"

Kiba sighed and rolled his eyes, "Listen, dude, just cause you 'dated' her for a couple of years back in college doesn't mean you have to be nice after the fact. It's okay! She has her manipulative bitchy side too. How else could she make it as a therapist."

"Psychiatrist."

"That."

Kiba emphasized the word "dated" in such a way that caused Shino to scowl. Geez, if Ino didn't insist on sharing pictures online...

"Don't invalidate my opinions just because you think they're biased, Kiba. Also, people grow from high school, don't be stuck in the past either."

"I'm not saying it's invalid, geez, but ever since you've always been soft on her..."

"Jealous?"

Kiba immediately threw a dirtied, crumpled up napkin at Shino's head as he blew raspberries in disbelief. Of course Shino dodged it.

"And that!" Kiba almost yelled, though he had a huge smile on his face, "You're sass meter has been off the charts since then!"

"I thought I was just asking a question," Shino simply replied, though he smiled too.

"Fucking jerk," he crossed his arms and closed his eyes, sighing dreamily, "Why would I be jealous when I'm with Tamaki now?"

Shino suppressed the urge to crinkle up his nose, "I remember back in high schoo-"

"THAT WAS HIGH SCHOOL!!" Kiba interrupted, not upset but voice almost breaking in both embarrassment and amusement simultaneously, "Now who's the one stuck in the past!"

"Well anyway, I was just curious if you had heard from him recently, because this was the first time I had seen him since he was an undergrad. That was a while ago."

"Same here, bud. But then here's a thought, if he's just working these days, and he's giving out his number to old friends, maybe we should all get together sometime! So why don't you also friend him on socials while you're at it?"

Shino paused and considered the suggestion.

Shino could do that. Actually, Shino could have done so a long time ago if he had wanted to. But for all the times he had seen Shikamaru's obvious username and cloud icon, he never sent friend request himself. He created his socials for the sole purpose of studygroup based messaging and had planned to delete his social media after school ended for good. But two months in and Kiba somehow found him, and then shortly after Hinata did too. Then Naruto also found Shino and from there he actually aquired a few more friend requests, including from Lee and Sai. Even Ino sent him a friend request, though Ino and Shino had actually attended the same University in the beginning. And then she called him out on it the next time she saw him in person, because how could Shino friend nearly all their mutuals and NOT Ino? He even friended Sakura before Ino! Though, Shino had a suspicion Sakura's request may had been a result of clumsy typing. Shino definately hadn't meant anything by it, but that started a series of... interesting talks between the two. But all and all, Shino suspected that's why he saw Shikamaru's icon so often, among others he didn't quite recognize himself.

Of course Shino knew he didn't have to accept the requests at all. He could've delete them even. But... it didn't seem right to ignore them either. And maybe it felt... kinda nice being reached out to...

"I mean, shit, maybe I should shoot him a message too..." Kiba mused.

"... I was under the impression it was for Mirai's sake."

Kiba perked up, "Huh?"

"That's because a cellphone number is a personal and direct line. If Mirai is currently under my care as a student, wouldn't it make sense to have multiple contacts in case of an emergency?"

Kiba sighed. Typical Shino, "Did Shikamaru say it was strictly for emergencies only?"

"... No."

"So, Dude, maybe... just maybe, Shikamaru simply isn't aware that you have socials? I know I know... social media is meant to be for socializing, but so are direct lines! Why does a direct line have to be so off limits? You're not a stranger to Shikamaru either, Shino. I mean, if anything, he probably trusts you a lot, knowing the kind of person you've ways been. It's a personal line after all, right?"

Not a stranger, but definitely not the person closest the Shikamaru either... It didn't quite make sense beyond Mirai's safety... but, maybe that was Shino's own opinion...

"... I'm over thinking it again."

"Yup."

"... Maybe I will. I'm already friends with Ino and Choji..."

"Yeah! Just complete the trio! Here let's see..." Kiba took out his phone and started to review something, "... I think the only people you're not friends with besides Shikamaru are... Sasuke, who simply deleted everything at one point, Neji, but he really only followed me because of Hinata," Kiba added wearily, "aaand a lot of... other people... but, like, you're better off that way. I have a lot of those assholes blocked or didn't bother. Even Sasuke had been more better of an option than them!"

"Like who?"

"Like I had to block Shikamaru's psycho ex-girlfriend Tayuya. Fucking nightmare that girl was..."

"Ah... the flute player," Shino wasn't all that to date back in the day either, but even he knew about Tayuya...

"Sure that was YEARS ago, and maybe she's different now? But she was... not okay then. To be fair, Shikamaru wasn't blameless, but cripes... After the break-up she was constantly stalking him online... I've just kept her blocked for good measure, I don't know if she's still even there."

Another reason Shino didn't want social media at the time... It made it too easy to let people in. In all honesty the idea had felt overwhelming, and sometimes still does...

"So you're good there."

"Sasuke, Shikamaru, Neji..."

"... Anyone else?"

"... I think those are the last few people from back then I'd actually tolerate. Shikamaru had been your friend, and Sasuke... wasn't always so aloof before he disappeared... And then Neji is Hinata's cousin..."

"Ha! Perfect! So then why not friend Neji too, just for the hell of it? You two had some kind of bro pact, I do remember that."

"He just worried about Hinata, Kiba. Between you and Naruto, I could see why."

"Sue me Shino, it's not my fault the school was full of cute girls!" Kiba nearly whined, but with a ridiculously dopey smile on his face.

It made Shino think. Shikamaru was one of the only people he more regularly saw who didn't reach out to him. But of course Shikamaru had a problem with a stalker at one point. That would make anyone weary of social media. Kiba had even stated he wasn't on much. Shino couldn't fault him for that.

Sasuke apparently deleted his, but it wasn't like they were the closet to begin with, despite humble beginnings. Shino had his fair share of complaints when it came to Sasuke, but when he transferred to a different school before senior year started, even Shino felt his absence.

And recalling high school, Neji did once ask for Shino's socials before. But it was obviously for the same reason of wanting to keep extra tabs on his little cousin and her "new friends" in Environmental Club. Shino had already explained he didn't have any, and he wasn't sure Neji believed him, but had agreed to be very careful with Hinata, who had started to hang out with he and Kiba more after they returned her book she had left in the club classroom. Shino kept it as Kiba was terribly tempted to take a peek, but once it had been returned, and Kiba expressed his curiosity, Hinata shyly presented them with page after page of pressed flowers, all marked with name, date, and little tidbits of info. She became even more bashful at Kiba's amazement and Shino's praise. It was just very well organized and aesthetically pleasing, something she and Ino would bond over later into their friendships.

So then, it was very surprising to know that such a timid girl had an incredible amount of skill in Martial Arts, but had opted to join Environment Club instead of Martial Arts Club. It was less of a shock to find out she and the school's Number One MAC member were related, first cousins even. They had a strong resemblance to each other.

As for Shino and Neji, their mutual fondness for Hinata became a source of camaraderie at some point. Despite expectations and Neji's sterness, all he really wanted was for Hinata to simply have fun during school, and he very much appreciated Shino looking out for her. So Kiba wasn't wrong. And in current time, Hinata had ultimately decided she was gonna live out of town due to... many reasons, but mainly because of her job as a pastry chef in a very successful and family owned cafe and bakery. Of course cinnamon rolls were her specialty, but Shino's feed always had some of the most delightful pictures of various decorated confections, most made by her too. He wasn't the biggest fan of sweets in general, but he was very fond of her handy work. You could tell she loved her job with every detail.

"Crap! Hey Shino, did you wanna order anything to go?"

"Uh, no. I think that was enough."

"Alright cause it's about time I go meet Tamaki," Kiba grinned, "Here's my part!"

Kiba slammed a twenty dollar bill down onto the table and hurriedly put his jacket back on. When Shino looked at the time it was nearly half past six. Oh, the reservation was made for seven. Maybe he talked too much.

"We might've pushed it, Kiba."

"No way, it's fine! I mean I don't mind going if that's where she wants to go, but you know how fancy places are! I need food Shino, actual food!"

Shino was glad that his friend was putting in so much effort for this girl. It seemed like he really liked her, and she was pretty cute, and also... nice. But when it came to things like this, Shino wasn't sure how long this was really gonna last. But it probably wasn't his place to comment.

"Make sure Akamaru takes his medicine, he'll definitely down it if you give him the peanut butter too."

"Sure, no problem."

"Also, Shino."

"Yes?"

"Seriously, don't be so shy! Just friend them!"

"Stop dawdling, you're gonna be late."

Kiba laughed as he waved and nearly jogged out of the restaurant. After paying and boxing the rest of Kibas plate for later (Shino was sure his idiot friend was gonna be hungry again) Shino headed out to Kiba's apartment. He already had a key, ever since he had come back to town. They had always been close like that, though with these new developments Shino always made it a point to give Kiba space and a heads up.

Akamaru was getting old. This medicine was supposed to help him in his old age, and just as Kiba said, Akamaru took the medication with no problem. Shino also made sure that the bowls were full of water and food. Because there was now also Akemaru, a younger dog of the same breed that Kiba had come across one day at the shelter. After only a few weeks and no adoptions, Kiba couldn't resist and ended up adopting him, and he and Akamaru became very close. As a favor to their otherwise absent owner, Shino got the younger and more energetic dog ready for a walk. When Shino offered to take Akamaru, the old boy wagged his tail and came to lick Shino's hand, but then retreated back to his bed and laid down. Looks like that was gonna be a pass, but he was thankful for the offer.

...

Shit.

Okay. Okay, that was it. Actually, this was perfect. Before Shino really started the walk, he pulled out his phone. He scrolled through he recommended friends list of his most commonly used social and easily found the cloud icon that belonged to Shikamaru. It was the same app he even had people like Kurenai and his father on. Just being able to keep anyone of relevance to his social circles on the same app was fine. It kept them close, but not too close either. Available, but at a distance. The only other people who had Shino's personal line were Kiba, Hinata, Kurenai, his father Shibi, Torune and Neji.

Shino hadn't mentioned that to Kiba, but in reality, they hadn't kept much contact anyway. So Shino hoped Kiba didn't snoop his friends list later, but he decidedly sent Shikamaru a friend request and put his phone away into a pocket. Then after switching out his glasses, as to see better in the evening, he left the apartment and began his walk with Akemaru. This would definitely keep him from getting too anxious about it. Shino didn't really know why he was like this, but it was done and now it was up the Shikamaru if he really wanted to catch up. Not that there was a whole lot to catch up on. He was more Kiba's friend after all, always had been, but Shino was sure Kiba didn't really think about that kind if thing too deeply.

Thankfully there was a park a couple blocks down, which even in the evening looked easy to navigate. The air was fresh and chilly, but tolerable with his coat on. Akemaru was good on a leash, and so Shino was able to keep a steady but not rushed pace. He followed a predetermined path, one Shino was actually familiar with too and so he was able to relax as his body went into coast mode.

...

It was nice. Just focusing on the walk. But Shino couldn't help thinking back to his high school days too. Seeing Shikamaru hadn't really been a shock so much as a surprise. He definitely... grew. His voice was deeper. His hair seemed more or less the same length, but maybe looked longer as now he styled it differently. Instead of the low and rather disheveled ponytail he used to wear, he now kept it only half up it looked like. Shino didn't think it looked bad at all, but with some loose strands in his face and the more casual clothes he had been wearing, Shino really wondered if Shikamaru wasn't more or less dragged last minute to PTN. But maybe he was thinking of the Shikamaru from before. Because this Shikamaru was actually... really approachable. And very kind with his words. Maybe that's what growing up some did to people.

Because the one from before was always annoyed, and grumpy, and quiet unless spoken to, yet Naruto and his shenanigans always put a mischievous smirk on his face. Shino had found him a little intimidating. But it wasn't until Kiba and Naruto decided to drag Shino AND Hinata out to a lunchtime hangout and pretty much threw them into the mix of different friends they shared that Shino met Shikamaru, as well as most everyone else. Shino had recognized Ino, and Ino did too after he mentioned Torune, seeing as Torune and Foo both graduated the year before.

"Torune? Like, short black hair, really thick glasses?"

"He has green eyes too."

"Hey, yeah! You're my cousin's boyfriend's cousin! What a small world!"

It was pretty lame introduction.

"And... you're Ino, right?"

"Wow, Ino, he remembered you!" a pink haired girl chastised.

"Oh, shut up, Forehead, it's not like we ever really hung out before. I think we met, like, once at one of Foo's birthdays?"

"That's true," Shino agreed, "I just went for the drive to drop off his present since that day he couldn't stay. You're mom insisted on giving us goodie bags anyway before we left."

"Ugh, good, our parents always go over the top with the decorations and stuff, believe me!"

"Ino, you are over the top."

"Shikamaru, no one was talking to you!"

"Wait, wait wait, your cousin Foo has a boyfriend?"

"Yeah, what of it," Ino immediately scowled at Kiba.

It made Kiba shut up immediately, but then he turned to Shino and whispered, "Hey, is your cousin gay?"

Shino shrugged, "I didn't ask, but it's none of my business." He was. Shino had known but Torune never outright told him they were officially dating. So as far as he was concerned it was a mystery.

"What about you, Hinata, I don't think we've met before. I'm Sakura."

"Um, hello-"

"Actually! We're in Home Ec together!" another boy munching on chips said, "She made the best cinnamon rolls in class the other day!"

Hinata blushed, "Ah, thank-you, Choji..."

"Cinnoman rolls!? I saw that that roll! Hinata, that was yours!?" Naruto asked, super impressed.

She only blushed even harder, "It might've been...!?"

"It was!" Choji confirmed.

"Naruto stop crowding already!" Sakura scolded, poking him against the side of his forehead, "You can be so loud!"

"Augh, alright, Sakura stop!"

It had actually been a relatively friction free integration. Hinata and the girls got along faster than he would've guessed, and later Shino and Sasuke would meet again, with Naruto giving Shino a suspicious stink-eye.

"We've been in the same classes since elementary school," Shino commented, "You have to really go out of your way to ignore someone for that long..."

"Hn..." As friendly as always...

...

From then on, Kiba always insisted on Shino and Hinata joining them at lunch, which Shino did. But Shino couldn't quite fathom the idea of sacrificing his after school time to go to out and do... well, who even knew? Back then, he had a routine, he had things to tend to back home. His terrariums that his father put him in charge of, his guitar practice because he wasn't about to let those lessons go to waste, his study time, and planning for EC activities as he was a more involved member, he was already a busy guy. At least that's what he used to think. But he would be a sad ass liar if he didn't appreciate the invitations. Towards the end he broke a few time at his father's insistence. He was mentally drained each time, but he did have fun, and Kiba always seemed excited to recall the events with Shino after.

Once he had attended collage, Shino really wished he would have taken more time to simply enjoy a more decent social life with the people he called friends at school outside of school. Was he too shy? Was he too selective? Was he socially inept? It didn't matter now. It wasn't until Shino's very first job that he felt like he got to a level he wished he could've reached sooner. Being a cashier at a fast food chain really taught you how to handle and tolerate people, and definitely brought Shino out if his shell more than he would've ever thought. College in general did a lot for him in that respect.

... Kiba was right. If old friends were reaching out, why couldn't Shino do the same?

Well, apparently the universe was glad he agreed, because the second he did, he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket.

Shino stopped in place and Akemaru whined. When he checked his phone, he saw not only a "Request Accepted" message but also a simple text message as well, also from Shikamaru.

-----

Hey, can you talk? Call me if you can.

-----

Oh what the fuck.

Shino felt his nerves stand at attention with the prospect of a sudden conversation. What... What did Shikamaru even want right now? Did he really want to talk now?

... No. No, dammit, no! Not this time. Shino took a deep breath and continued to walk, much to Akemaru's delight. And as he got a steady rhythm, Shino highlighted Shikamaru's number and pressed "Call".

It was settled. If he was gonna start making up for lost time, it was now or never, awkward interactions be damned!

#anime: naruto #shikashino #aburame shino #shino aburame #shikamaru nara #nara shikamaru #dusk's fanfic #gosh look at me im on a friggin roll wtf #i know it probably has a lot left to be desired technically and diction wise #but im trying!

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stinkystark · 5 years

Text

Civil War // Avengers

Pairing(s): Stark! Reader x Avengers (Platonic)

Summary: You get hurt during a fight set in Civil War which brings everyone back together.

Word Count: 1.7K words.

Warnings: Blacking out, stupid dad, cursing.

A/N: This was requested! I looove platonic! Avengers x reader fics, so this was fun to write. For some reason, this fic just would not post. It kept giving me errors, so sorry for the long wait. I have more fic ideas, some of which are smutty, so there’ll be more posts. Enjoy this one first! <3

Steve had always been extremely protective of you. Even though he and your dad, Tony, were often seen bickering and having heated arguments, Steve had a soft spot for you. He knew that Tony was often careless and paid too much attention to himself, so he felt like he had to keep an extra eye on you.

You loved Steve for it. He liked you, he thought of you as his daughter. However, he had the tendency to be unreasonable and going too far with his dad-speeches. You were still a teenager, after all, you didn't have to listen to the adults all the time, Tony once said that to you. Bet he regretted that as you got older.

"You can't. It's final." Steve pointed his finger at you, a stern look plastered on his face.

You, Steve, Sam and the mysterious ex-winter soldier were in some old car Steve managed to fix. You were in the backseat next to Barnes. You had tagged along with the guys to get him to safety and, honestly, you did a great job. You managed to beat the crap out of heavily armed police men, all while being shot at. You expected Steve to be proud of you. You thought he would take you with them to the airport and get that freaky fake German guy. Yet, he was ranting on about safety and you being too far away from your dad.

"You are not my dad, old man." You crossed your arms. Sam let out a chuckle and looked away.

"I am responsible for you right now. Your dad has no idea you are with us. How many times has he called you?" Steve said with a raised voice.

You shrugged your shoulders casually. "Don't know. I put my phone on silence after the 30th call."

"Y/N, listen to me. You were nearly killed just now. You are not going with us. Your dad is going to have a heart attack." Steve ranted. He sighed deeply.

"He doesn't have a heart. Besides, I was able to help myself just fine. Barnes saw it, right? Tell him." You nudged his metal arm. He looked like he really didn't want to be involved, but he had to. In the short period of time where you met him, he didn't seem to bad. You actually thought he was pretty badass. He seemed to have a liking for you, he would sneak a smile your way, even when he looked as pissed as can be.

"I- uh. I don't know-" you kicked his foot. "I mean- yeah, no, I think she should go with us." He nodded. A smirk made its way up to your lips, looking at Steve to see his disappointed face.

"Oh, come on, she's just a kid. Her dad needs her." He went on. He sighed and looked out the car window. A vehicle approached and stopped in front of the car. "There's our stuff," Steve said and got out of the car.

A pretty blonde got out of the other car. You smiled to yourself. You were in for a show. "Bet they are gonna kiss." You lifted your head to watch it unfold.

"5 bucks," Bucky said in a low voice.

Turns out, you won 5 bucks. Barnes looked defeated as he handed you the money. When Steve got back in the car with Sam's wings and his shield, he turned to you once more.

"You are going with us to the airport, but not on the jet, you understand?" He said sternly.

"Sure. I'll convince you along the way." You smirked. You relaxed in your seat while Steve started the car and drove off towards the airport. The car was silent, everyone seemed to be deep in thought. Your mind started drifting to your father, wondering what he was doing at that moment. You grabbed your phone. 57 missed calls. Your stomach turned. He would be so mad to find out you were not on his side and saving Bucky.

You understood why he would want to sign the Sokovia Accords to some extent. He felt guilty for the lives he took. You knew how much stress and tension he always dragged with him, it was logical. But, as much as you tried to tell yourself to stay on your dad's side, you couldn't. The Avengers were brought together to save lives, even if that includes taking some. You had to fight and every saved life was worth it.

It didn't take long for you and Steve to start the same argument again. While you all stepped out of the car, you and Steve were bickering non-stop. Once at the airport, he gave up. He finally agreed to you doing the mission with them. A trip to Germany didn't even seem that bad to you.

Right when you were about to cheer, an alarm went off. "What is it now?" You sighed. Steve began to look really worried.

"The airport is on lockdown. It's time to suit up. Buck, you take her, I trust you." Steve said. He grabbed his shield and helmet and began to run. You quickly shoved the 5 bucks into Bucky's hands and ran after Steve.

He was now face to face with Tony. You appeared next to Steve and crossed your arms. "Hey, dad."

"Lord, Jesus. Y/N, what the hell were you thinking? I called you a hundred times and now you decided to show up next to Cap. Steve, I swear to god I will kill you." Tony screamed. His face was flushed red from anger.

"I tried to tell her-" Steve spoke but was cut off.

"You could've been killed, for christ's sake. What were you thinking, hanging around that psycho." He ranted to you.

"If you're talking about Barnes, he's not a psycho. He is actually pretty funny and helped me kick some ass. I'm not dead, dad." You sighed.

Tony turned to Steve. "How fucking dare you? You really aren't gonna let this go and now you involve my daughter in this?" He sighed. "Fuck it. Underoos!" He suddenly yelled.

Cap's shield was whipped out of his hands, which were now tied together by webbing. A spider-looking guy jumped down on top of a van, Cap's shield in his clutch. "Hey, guys." He exclaimed happily.

The boy looked at each of you before his eyes landed on you. "Oh, I- I didn't know there were gonna be girls here." He stammered, to which you rolled your eyes.

Steve lifted his arms and then you knew some shit was about to go down. The webbing was shot off by an arrow you immediately recognized, Clint's. The fight was on.

Steve and Tony were busy slaughtering each other while the spider guy went for you. You managed to kick him a good amount of times, but he simply wouldn't stop talking. It was frustrating you to the point where you couldn't focus enough on the fight.

In the distance, a shot that Tony fired at Steve, bounced off of his shield and in your direction. You didn't saw it coming but it hit you right in the head. Spider boy added some more hits to that and before you knew, you blacked out.

"Ah, fuck." You grunted. You clutched your head in pain. It felt like you were hit by a bus. You carefully opened your eyes but the painfully bright fluorescent lights weren't helping at all.

"Y/N, you're up." A voice spoke beside you. You slowly turned your head to the side, pain stinging through your body as you did. In a chair next to your hospital bed sat Natasha, her hand holding yours tightly.

"Nat, what-" You questioned what the hell she was doing here. She was, as far as you could remember, very much on your dad's side. "Why are you here?"

"It's okay. We're done. The fight is over." She whispered. "Your dad has decided not to sign. He didn't want to say it but he knew he was wrong."

Finally. You were so worried the Avengers were officially breaking up, you were really happy that wasn't the case. The door to the room suddenly swung open to reveal a very worried looking Tony. "Speak of the devil," Natasha muttered.

Tony hurried to your side. "Are you okay? Do you feel out of breath? How are your vitals? God, where is that goddamn nurse when you need her?"

"Dad, dad, I'm fine. Just a bit of a headache and some bruises." You sighed. "I'm glad it's over. I missed you."

Natasha took Tony's watery eyes as a sign to leave the two of you alone. Tony held your hand. "This is all my fault. I can't believe how stupid I've been. I put you in so much danger all for a stupid contract that is bullshit anyway. I-I'm sorry, Y/N." You were genuinely shocked. Your dad has never said sorry. He also never admits that he was wrong.

"I forgive you." You smiled. He exhaled in relief. "Oh, are you okay? Are the others fine?" You hurried to sit up, but a sharp pain behind your eyes held you back. You groaned and sat back against the pillow.

"They're alright. They are actually here outside, but I didn't want them to disturb your beauty rest." He laughed and ruffled your hair. You swatted his arm playfully.

"Well, let them in already."

Tony called for the rest of them to greet you. When Steve and Bucky walked in, Tony swiftly left the room. Behind them were Natasha, Sam and Clint. They all dragged chairs around the bed or, in Sam's case, just sat on the bed next to you.

"Clint!" Your eyes shone when you saw him. He hurried to engulf you in a bear hug, but still careful not to crush you. You missed him, even though he wasn't gone a long time.

He let you go and sat down on the bed by your feet. Your eyes drifted to Bucky who was sitting in the back, his hair covering most of his face. He looked up at you when he felt your eyes on him. A smile couldn't help but appear on his lips. You gladly smiled back. "You can keep the 5 bucks." You winked.

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ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa · 4 years

Text

Heavy in Your Arms

Prologue

Summary/Author’s Note: Back from the service and hell bent on drinking his way through Southern California, Tig Trager is a rambler. He's alone, he's lost, and he likes it that way. He stumbles into Charming, a quiet town with a large presence in the form of the motorcycle club. Here he finds more than he bargained for, and something else he never thought he would deserve.

I got a message about this story awhile back and I haven’t stopped thinking about it since. This is the story Tig fans begged S*tter for and he never delivered. I have really been missing Tig lately so I edited this from its original form that I posted seven years ago. I originally posted this as an OC under the pen name thatlassiegotglassed - Which was my original AO3 back when I was foolishly ashamed of my fic. Now I don’t give a fuck.

Pairing: Tig Trager x Reader Word Count: 1624 Rating/Warnings: Language, death, violence, blood, typical SOA stuff, eventual smut

[Masterlist] [One Shots/Drabbles]

"Yeah, I dumped an FXR on the I-5 and the poor bitch slid right in front of oncoming traffic...Found out she was pregnant. Really loved that one..."

June 21st, 1993

The roar of the big trucks and the swishing of the smaller cars blazing down the freeway filled his ears and would have been calming, but they were out of place. He had been asleep, safe in his own bed, the cars from the road had never been this loud. He shifted slightly and instead of cool sheets under his hand, he felt the grit of the blacktop and the wet clumps of side-road sand, rough against his skin. He did what he did every morning and slid his hand down, looking for you. You would hum contently as he wrapped his big hand around your hip and pulled you back against him so he could smell your hair, nose you awake--but he wasn’t in bed.

He had had a dream, a wonderful dream, that he had been riding. His hands had gripped the handles as the sun played hide and seek with the oncoming rain clouds. The crisp smell of the spring air had tickled his nose and filled his lungs as trees and the tall grasses of the fields outside the city whipped passed him. You were a comforting weight at his back, and every time you squeezed your arms around his middle it brought a smile to his face.

The weight on his head let him know he was still wearing his helmet. With slow movements, he reached up and unclipped it, shoving it off and letting it bounce against the road.

Everything hurt. Fuck. He coughed, the movement pressing his cheek back to the cool blacktop, the air from his mouth blew dust particles up and made him shut his eyes.

Except this was no dream. And you weren’t next to him.

Shit.

He had been riding and it started to rain, and the semi cut him off and--

“Doll?” he said, his voice feeling like razor blades down his throat. He repeated but with your real name, hoping it would get your attention more than any of his terms of endearment.

When you didn't answer, he knew something was wrong. A silence had fallen around him, all he could hear was the ringing in his ears, as he saw your body laying twenty feet from him. Your helmet had fallen off, hair spilled to the side, blood flecked your temples and down your cheeks.

He started crawling, using his forearms to drag himself closer to you as other cars came to a halt and people started yelling. If he got to you, if he reached you--everything would be okay. You would be okay.

You had to be.

January 1st, 1991. Somewhere in Southern California

He had met you on a Friday. A pretty calm day, where the world was relaxed in a way that he was not. How could he be? Alexander 'Tig' Trager was, how did they say, 'fresh off the boat', back from his service, he had made it. But, he wasn't concerned with doing it ever again.

The whiskey burned his throat. It was cheap but it was plentiful and he had no plans on stopping. He would take that pathetic government check and he would put it in the pocket of the first shitty dive bar he found.

“Hey, doll!” he said, raising his empty glass at a leggy blonde standing by the bar and shaking it slightly.

She gave him a scowl, turned her nose up and quickly walked back over to a different table to sit down with her small group of friends. Apparently, she didn't work here. Shit. He almost felt like an ass. Almost. The feeling quickly went away and he contemplated getting up for a refill.

“Hey, if you're not using it, then get off.” A gruff voice said from behind him.

Tig looked over his sun glasses at a large man. The man was obviously referring to the fact that he was sitting on the pool table. With a neck that seemed to thick for his face, and large, ape-like arms that dangled worthlessly at his sides, Tig knew if it came to blows, this asshole was toast. He hadn't had a good fight in awhile and just one look told him that this could be the itch he needed to scratch.

He put a cigarette between his lips and took his time lighting it. With a lazy hand, he pushed his glasses into his short, black hair. “But I am using it, man.”

“Move.”

“Nah--”

“Listen, pretty boy--”

“Pretty boy?” Tig said. His blue eyes flashed and he smiled. The second was one of his true talents, he could twist his lips and flash his teeth, in a way that made men run for the hills and made women fall out of their skirts...or so he had been told. “I've been called lots of things, brother. But that?”

“Just move your ass, okay?” the ape-man said as he jerked a thumb back towards the bar.

Tig didn't like being told what to do. It was one of his weaknesses according to his higher-ups in uniform. They had tried to break him, get him to bend and take one in the ass for Uncle Sam, but he refused. He wasn't about to do it for some low life in some shitty, middle-of-no-where bar.

He took a long drag on his cigarette and blew the smoke over his shoulder. His pulse evened out, his breathing stayed calm, his subconscious entered that special place right before he spilled someone's blood on the pavement.

“Alright, one,” the guy started to count.

“Oh, you’re counting, now?”

“Two.”

“Don’t hurt yourself.”

“Two and a half.”

“Three,” Tig finished for him and pressed the lit end of his smoke into the man's forehead. He may have looked like an ape, but the bastard squealed like a pig. He brought his elbow down in the middle of the man's back as he doubled over and clutched his face. Tig shoved him to the side as one of his friends came at him at a run.

“Fucker!” the second man yelled and managed to land a solid right hook to Tig's cheek.

The prick was wearing rings and Tig knew there would be blood without even looking. As he fell back against the pool table, it screeched across the hardwood floor and a few patrons jumped out of the way. His hand landed in a puddle of beer as he knocked a glass over on the felt and his brief moment of mourning was cut short by another blow to his face. That did it.

With a growl, he headbutted the other man. Skull connected with skull and he gripped his shirt, jerking him towards him before he could fall and sunk his teeth into the man's ear. Tig dug his hands into his hair and shoulder, kept his neck at a ninety degree angle and didn't stop till he felt the skin split between his teeth.

“Fucking psycho!” the man stumbled back and the ape man was back on his feet, yelling, arms stretched out and headed for Tig's neck.

Tig met him head on, bringing a firm right hook into his gut and bringing his knee up to collide with his face as the man doubled over in pain. He reached back and grabbed one of the pool balls, twisting around until it connected with the ape-man's temple. The sound was sickening and he dropped like a brick.

Tig raised up and could feel the first drop of blood slide down his cheek. He reached for his beer and pulled up an empty bottle. Dammit. What a waste. He flung it lazily over his shoulder and grit his teeth when it smashed against the wall.

“You owe me a beer,” he said, giving the man on the ground a kick. He didn't move. The fucker was out cold. He looked at the other man, still holding his bleeding ear and looking at Tig like he was about to start foaming at the mouth. “You gonna pay for it?”

The man just stood there, mouth open like a fish. Tig stooped and dug around in ape-man's pocket until he found his wallet and snatched a twenty-dollar bill from the main compartment. It'd have to do.

He heard the distinct sound of a shotgun being cocked and he looked up just as the bartender and apparent owner of the place was pointing the barrel at his chest.

“Get out, Mister,” he said, firmly. “I'll call the cops.”

“They started it,” Tig said, stuffing the money in his back pocket.

“Well, I'll finish it,” the owner answered, jerking the end of the gun towards the door. “Get out.”

“Gladly,” Tig said, grabbing his leather jacket off the end of the pool table. “This place is a fuckin' dump, anyway, man.”

The man with the ear, or well, lack thereof now, gave him a wide birth as he pushed through the double doors and onto the dark street. He pulled his packet of cigarettes from the pocket of his jacket, only to flip the top open and find it empty.

“God dammit,” he cursed, tossing the box across the lot. He ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath. It looked like he'd have to make a stop on the way home.

He threw his leg over his motorcycle and turned on the headlight. A deep glow lit up a small section of the dark parking lot as he kicked it to life and left the pathetic excuse for a pub in the dust.

Tell me if you wanna be tagged. I didn’t tag my Perm Tag List because I know you guys are all here for my Pedro Pascal character Fics so---I was not sure if anyone would wanna be tagged in Sons stuff.

#sons of anarchy #sons of anarchy fanfic #tig trager #alex trager #alexander trager #tig trager x reader #tig trager x you #tig x reader #tig x you #tig trager fanfic #kim coates #kim coates x reader #kim coates x you #kim coates fanfic #heavy in your arms #HIYA

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bisluthq · 4 years

Note

hi I was wondering what your favourite sapphic songs of Taylor's are? cause kaylors make such a big deal of the 'male perspective' in songs like our song, love story, mine. and I agree that wanting to experience that is gay in itself. but those songs just feel so straight country love songs that I really cannot see them as sapphic, particularly given that she also sings from the 'female perspective' to the man. so I wondered which songs feel most sapphic to you?

Ohh boy yeah the male perspective (except Betty where it’s gay in concept and feels very like when 15 year old me was obsessed with Blue Mountain State lmao) never screams gay to me. Let’s do a roundup of sapphic lyrics and themes.

In Teardrops on My Guitar, Taylor says: “Drew walks by me... Can he tell that I can't breathe? And there he goes, so perfectly... The kind of flawless I wish I could be.” Now the whole song’s unseen pining is pretty gay to me. Like I say, there are unrequited straight songs but it’s very like... “why aren’t you understanding that I’m right here? How can you be so blind?” In Teardrops Taylor seems very aware that this person (well boy in the song) won’t ever notice her.

And sure we could say “well she has poor self-confidence” but then there’s that line in the bit I chose: “The kind of flawless I wish I could be” - why is she comparing herself to a boy? Do I want to be you or do I want to fuck you is such a big mood for queer women especially young queer women. I dunno, like my first few late elementary/early middle school crushes (and my first few crushes were on girls) were very like: “Do I want to be her? Do I want to be her best friend? Or do I want her to hold my hand? And why does her holding my hand make my heart beat faster and seem to have no effect on her?” There’s a definite way queer women compare ourselves to the object of our affections that straight women don’t seem to do that makes “my crush is the kind of flawless I wish I could be” feel extremely sapphic to me.

Oh bonus one from Teardrops: “The only thing that keeps me wishing on a wishing star / He's the song in the car I keep singing. Don't know why I do” - why doesn’t she know? Like what’s confusing about this situation? She likes this dude why is it such a big fucking deal that she does? And again why does she want to be like him?

Anyway yeah that whole song.

Also Invisible is gay af. Like if you reverse the pronouns it’s the universal queer woman’s story of being in love with your friend. And this bitch is into some dude who isn’t anywhere near good enough for her and your affections are invisible but if she only knew - and she won’t - the two of you could have something beautiful together.

Stay Beautiful also reads gay but apparently she wrote it in the fourth grade so maybe her vocab was just bad idk.

On that album, Tied Together with a Smile and I’m Only Me When I’m With You are formally, officially, according to Tay’s explanations about her female friends btw. If you listen to those two songs and then the first two I listed they’re... not that fucking different lmao. It’s that same idea of “you get me and I just want you to be happy”. It’s all just... gay...

Fearless is probably one of the least gay albums overall IMO (tho I’m open to people making stuff gay) but it does give us the title track which is very fucking gay lol so it makes up for the number of straight sounding songs on here. First there’s this bit:

We're drivin' down the road

I wonder if you know

I'm tryin' so hard not to get caught up now

But you're just so cool

Run your hands through your hair

Absent-mindedly makin' me want you

Man “I wonder if you know” is exactly that feeling I was describing like, I wonder if you realize this is more than friendship? I wonder if you know that I want you. And the “you’re just so cool” isn’t as explicitly “I want to be you” but it’s also got some of that shared energy. This person is so cool that them running their hand absent-mindedly through their hair is making her feel some type of way and yet she’s not sure if the person knows that. Now why wouldn’t this extremely cool guy know that the girl he’s giving a lift to is possibly interested?

Then there’s this bit:

My hands shake

I'm not usually this way

But you pull me in and I'm a little more brave

It's the first kiss,

It's flawless,

Really something,

It's fearless.

Why does this first kiss require so much bravery? It’s not her first ever because “I’m not usually this way” implies she has been in a similar position before. And then:

And I don't know why but with you I'd dance in a storm in my best dress

Fearless

“I don’t know why” - well because you like this person! Girl, you’re into them. Oh, you’re not sure why because it’s a girl? Also lbr discussing clothes with your crush/partner is a very gay girl thing so just that addition of “my best dress” in the context of the rest of this incredibly gay song is... gay...

Oh and a bonus point:

'Cause I don't know how it gets better than this

You take my hand and drag me head first

Fearless

Making that big a deal of handholding and saying it requires bravery is, you guessed it, gay af.

Untouchable also delivers some gems: “Untouchable like a distant diamond sky / I'm reaching out and I just can't tell you why / I'm caught up in you” - I mean this is that whole vague confused forbidden vibes I spoke about before and the “And when you're close I feel like coming undone”. For me, it’s the fact that this person’s mere presence is enough to make her undone and she’s begging for a “taste of Heaven” feels... gay...

Jump Then Fall is also pretty damn gay to me. It’s got that dangerous “this could be dangerous” thing going on (“I had time to think it all over and all I can say is come closer”) but it’s also positive and... she’s saying jump and I’ll catch you which... like I get that it could be metaphorical but generally with het couples the dude would do the catching. Like if it was just that it’d not be that gay but again, the whole thing... is...

Whoa, oh, I need you baby

Don't be afraid, please,

Jump then fall

Jump then fall into me

Baby, I'm never gonna leave you

Say that you wanna be with me too

'Cause I'mma stay through it all

So jump then fall

Jump then fall, baby,

Jump then fall into me, into me

Like why are they both so scared? Why is she convincing herself and this person? What’s the danger? Is it just meant to be a “loss of virginity” song?

Then there’s the catching bit I mentioned:

The bottom's gonna drop out from under our feet

I'll catch you, I'll catch you

When people say things that bring you to your knees

I'll catch you

Idk man. It’s gay.

By the way for two unrequited songs that fundamentally feel straight to me, look at The Other Side of the Door and You Belong With Me. I’m not saying you can’t have queer readings. But both of them have that “blame” angle to the guy’s lack of interest or inability to requite her feelings. Like she’s saying “I won’t tell you what I want or that I want you but you should figure it out ya big dummy!” which is inherently different to that “I know this is completely pointless and I’m barking up the wrong tree” energy of the other songs I mentioned. “I’m worried you’ll hurt me” songs are also different to “if you stand close to me I’ll completely fall apart but I can’t let you see” of... like... Untouchable.

Hey Stephen has the “I can't help it if you look like an angel” line but it’s generally straight for me because:

Hey, Stephen,

I could give you fifty reasons

Why I should be the one you choose.

All those other girls—

Well, they're beautiful,

But would they write a song for you?

Do you see what I mean it’s like “I know you might not want me but you should” and that’s not a sapphic vibe. Like that’s to me what makes her gay sounding songs so much gayer like they capture a very specific feeling - being confused on if you want to be her, be her friend or fuck her dumb ass.

On Speak Now Taylor adds another type of gayness into her repertoire. She does the “I’m singing about a guy but it’s all about a girl” thing in Better Than Revenge. Now I know she has been called out a lot for this and she herself has now said obvi girls don’t steal your boyfriend BUT that’s not the part I find interesting. It’s shit like: “She thinks I'm psycho 'cause I like to rhyme her name with things” - like girl, that is psycho. Being obsessed with the fact that she is wearing vintage dresses is weird. And Taylor does this in the title track with her lengthy descriptions of the bridge compared to ZERO description of the guy. Not even “looking so handsome” - like there’s nothing. But the bride is “floating down the aisle like a pageant queen”.

Idk this is only three albums and only like my favorite gay bits and I already have so many and I haven’t even gotten to Treacherous 😭 I think I should make a hashtag for this and carry on later.

The point is, for me, it’s not about her singing a back and forth with a guy and a girl. It’s capturing supremely sapphic wlw feelings that I’ve never seen a straight female songwriter or musician convey, even where I’ve loved their music and felt it strongly resonated with me for other reasons.

#sapphic themes in tay’s music #early gaylor vibes

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canyonmoonlily · 5 years

Text

| What Goes Up |

live! on tour series

A/N: Here comes the Smut ;)

.....

“Y/N!”

“What?” your entire body lurched upright at the sound of your name. You could hardly see thanks to the blinding sunlight streaming in through the unfamiliar window. You hardly remembered what the hotel you were staying in looked like you’d been so inebriated the night before.

“Alarm!” The same voice that had woken you from your slumber called from beyond the closed door. Oh. It was only then you noticed Immigrant Song by Led Zeppelin was playing very loudly. At first, it had worked great as an alarm but you’d grown used to it and could sleep through it like a pro now.

The voice that had called for you to turn it off must’ve been one of your bandmates. According to your phone, it was already 10:30 am so you might as well start your day. You stretched and moved to get out of bed after turning it off only to find you are, in fact, stark naked.

Oh fuck. Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.

You hurriedly grab your robe you’d hung on the bathroom door and wrap it around you. You were scared to look in the mirror and see hickies or some indication of promiscuity from the night before. You had nothing against sleeping around, but considering you’d still only ever slept with someone once, you weren’t usually bold enough to sleep with a stranger. Which only means that if you did, in fact, have sex last night it was with someone you knew.

Like Harry.

The last thing you can remember is Harry singing along with George Harrison’s voice as you cried into his chest. Like the emotionally unstable psycho you are! your brain added.

You ripped the metaphorical bandage off and took a glance at yourself in the bathroom mirror only to find no evidence that anyone had touched you the night before. You also didn’t feel sore other than a slight headache. Considering you hardly ate, it took nothing for you to get drunk so hangovers were never really an issue for you.

You feel like you’d know if something had happened the night before. It had been a hot minute since the one and only time you’d had sex before. The only obvious differences in your appearance seems to be the absent of the makeup you’d worn the night before and your clothing. Had Harry taken off your makeup for you? Your chest contracted at the thought of him taking the time to play caretaker to drunk you.

Then you remember the way he’d kissed Kendall the night before, and remind yourself that despite the Game Night events, you were only friends. And that was all you’d ever probably get out with him. You needed to place your mental emphasis on the fact that you had him in your life at all and be grateful for that. There was no point in stringing yourself along on the hopes that one day he’d fall in love with you and the two of you would live some kind of happily ever after. Your life was far from a movie and you were far too old to be entertaining such fantasties anymore.

....

Harry watched you slip out of the green room with a heavy heart. You were like no one he’d ever met before. Last night, with all of your drunken ramblings and your little hands grabbing at his hair, calling him pretty. You had laid with your head in his lap for hours, going on about everything from George Harrison to the inherent good or evil of human nature.

He’d gazed at you adoringly, laughing the night away while the party died downstairs. He’d left Kendall alone but he wasn’t worried about her, she knew he didn’t love her. It was purely a publicity stunt, as always.

Harry shouldn’t love y/n. He knows this. Columbia records was considering signing a deal with your band, a major one that would launch your group even further into music stardom. You’d only released one album, and already had a huge fan base. Harry’s opinion the matter was of great value to the record label, and he’d been given specific instructions not to go and “make any unprofessional or romantic connections with the three of those girls.”

Harry had agreed to those terms, but that was before he knew you.

The first time you stepped into the pre-tour production meeting room he thought he was going to vomit. You’d all stumbled in late, being scolded by your manager, John. You hadn’t noticed Harry was even in the room.

You were slightly shorter than average, with all of the right curves and long, golden hair down to your waist. You donned an old Ben Folds Five tshirt and high waisted denim. You couldn’t seem to keep your hair out of your face. Your bandmates looked pained every five seconds as you whispered what was clearly absolute nonsense into their ears throughout the meeting. The way your eyes sparkled with mischeif, your unabashed goofiness nearly smacked him out of his chair. You were nothing like what he expected when he’d been told he’d be touring with an all girl band. You were the most alive thing in the room.

He knew why you were upset. It was because Kendall was wrapped around him like a fucking sloth after tonight’s show in Cleveland.

His feet didn’t consult with his mind before he found himself following your fleeting figure.

“Y/n!” He called.

You stopped dead in your tracks, refusing to look back at him.

“What is it, Harry?” Your sweet voice was a bit hoarse.

“Where are you going?” Harry’s voice was small, reminding you of your younger brothers back at home. You felt the cold armor you’d wrapped around your heart bend a little.

“To bed.” You responded simply.

“Listen, Kendall and I...it’s not—“

“Harry I didn’t ask. You don’t know me an explanation.”

“I do, though. What happened after game night—“

“—doesn’t need to be talked about it again. I’ve already erased it from my mind. Your secret is safe.”

“Secret? Y/n what the hell are you going on about?” Harry’s voice broke a bit, at that you finally turned to face him.

“I know you probably don’t want her to find out about that—or anyone to for that matter. It wasn’t very professional of us.” The shining of tears on your face took Harry by surprise, as you’d melt your words void of all emotion.

“Y/n I don’t give a shit about her!” Harry nearly yelled. “Well, no, I do care about her but not in that way.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Then why are you two making out every time I see you together? Harry, you’re not making me feel any better.”

“It’s a stunt. It’s for publicity. To keep the paps entertained.”

“Oh.”

“I....y/n, these last few months we’ve spent...” Harry can feel himself getting choked up as he struggles to meet your eyes. When he does, you can see he’s fighting back tears and you don’t know what you expect him to say next. “I think—no. I know that I am in love with you.”

Your breath gets caught in your throat. The skin tight, bell bottom jumpsuit you’re wearing seems to be 100000x tighter than you remember it being a few hours ago.

“You don’t have to say it back, you don’t owe me anything, I—shit. Shit I’m sorry.” His chin is wobbling now and the world’s biggest rock star is falling apart right before your eyes. But in a second, your lips are on his before the first tear can fall.

His whole body caves into yours, pulling you closer then you think you’ve ever been held in all of your 22 years on this planet. Your hands find his hair as his lips move in sync with your own. They’re soft and sweet and suddenly the only language you know how to speak. He is clinging to you like a man starved, though you know he is anything but.

“I love you. I thought it was obvious already but, I’ll say it a million times if you need to hear it: I love you. I love you. I love you.” You day in between kisses. Harry pulls away slightly to meet your eyes and can feel himself going cold. “What?” Your brow furrows at his expression.

“I just never want to forget the way you’re looking at me now.”

Then your back is against some nearby wall and his lips are on yours again faster than you can register anything that’s happening. The kiss swells into something more urgent, more passionate than before as your tongues begin their dance. His hands are everywhere, and you forget where yours end and his hair begins.

His lips begin trailing to the underside of your jaw and a moan slips out before you can stop it. He groans a response, and you swear you can feel something hard pressing against your lower stomach. Harry’s entire body has caved into yours, you standing on your tippy toes to press yourself more firmly against his willow-y frame.

“Shit-shit. Harry, someone could see—“ it suddenly dawned on you that you’re just passionately making out with in the middle of the hallway.

“Oh—oh.” Harry’s brows furrow and you see a glint of hurt in his pretty green eyes. You gently cup his face.

“No, I don’t mean it like that!” You whisper yell the reassurance. “You know I’d love to be seen with you. I just, H....I’m insecure about this kind of stuff.”

Amusement paints a pretty smirk on Harry’s face.

“You mean....sex?” He teases and you swear you could wrap your hands around his throat and throttle him if you had another 5 inches of height and actually stood a chance.

“Yes, sex, now come on.” You mock his accent and tug him away from the wall, the two of you giggling like horny teenagers.

...

Within a minute Harry has you pressed up against the door of his private bus. He’s fumbling with the strange lock and kissing you like he’s dying at the same time. You’re floating.

Once the latch clicks into place, your feet leave the ground again and your laid against something soft. The warm lighting is hitting Harry in a sinful way—he looks like the color gold personified and he’s smiling at you like you’re the Sun. He towers over you and you’ve never felt smaller. You start to wrap your arms around yourself but he stops you.

“Just let me look at you for a sec, y/n/n.”

With one last heated look he dives back into you and you’re a mess of tangled limbs again. You can feel his hands ghost over your clothed breasts and his lips ghosting over your neck again.

“God, I can’t get enough of your neck. Ya’ve got tha prettiest neck ‘ve ever seen,” he groans with a grind of his clothed, hard cock into your own clothed heat. You’re making noises you’ve only ever made before that time after Game night. And you know you’re ready to give it all to Harry. Anything he wants from you you’re willing to give.

His hands roughly grope at your breasts and you nearly scream. He’s pulling his shirt off and unzipping the top of your jumpsuit before you can do it again. Harry sucks in a breath of air at the sight of your naked chest.

“God—those tits. Just like I imagined ‘em,” he says before taking a nipple in his mouth, suckling on you like some animal. You whimper under his attention and he stops briefly.

“Angel, is this alright?” Harry looks into your eyes and holds your gaze.

“Yes, yes. T-take what you want from me.” You nod vigorously and submit yourself to him. His response is a growl you feel travel straight down to your core.

He goes back to your breasts, leaving lovebites and growling out the occasional “mine.” His lips trail down to your hips, right above your pelvis as he shimmies the rest of your jumpsuit off your legs.

Then the warmth of his breath is on your pussy and a single kiss is pressed to the front of your lace panties.

“H, you don’t have to—“

“I want to. Please.”

You nod and gulp. At this point, Harry’s seen more of your body than anyone else has and seems to be enjoying it. The only other time you’d had sex all the lights had been off and there was next to know ForPlay.

“I’ve just never had someone—do that.” You offer you an explanation. Harry freezes.

“No one’s ever eaten you out?” He asks incredulously, his head poking up from between your thighs. “What the fuck, why?”

Your cheeks heat up and you suddenly can’t make eye contact with him. “Well my ex, he and I only ever did it one time and he just...didn’t.” Harry nearly chokes on his own breath.

“You’ve one ever had sex once?” his hands are gripping your thighs now and he’s subconsciously moving closer to your face.

“Y-yeah. God this is embarrassing.” Your hands cover your now red face and tears gather in your eyes, lower lip trembling. This is not a conversation you wanted to be having but you also didn’t want to lie to Harry.

He pulls his hands away from your face and nearly crumbles at the sight of your glassy eyes. “No, no. Why is that embarrassing? You have nothing to be embarrassed about.” He coos softly, brushing away any tears that had fallen. You felt so small and seen in his embrace.

“Because I thought that maybe I was the problem? That something about me was ...off so he left me after we...you know.”

Harry audibly scoffed and cradled your face in his hands. “I’ve wanted this, I’ve wanted you for so long,” His voice is gruff and honest. “There is no one I’d rather be with right now. And that idiot ex of yours is a fucking madman because you’re never getting rid of me after tonight.”

You kiss him and feel something in your chest ache in an almost foreign way. You didn’t know you could feel like this. He kisses you back harder and the heat between you builds again. His hand cups your lace covered pussy and rubs gently over your clit and you jolt. His lips trail back down to your heat and before you can register what is happening his nose is pressed against your mound and inhaling you like some meal. A growl resonated in his chest and he begins tugging your underwear down your legs.

His tongue delves into your folds gently, teasingly. He finds his way to your clit and then sucks the breath from your lungs. You go pigeon toed and nearly scream at his assault on your most private area. You’re making noises that feel foreign as they leave your mouth but Harry laps them up along with your heat. He’s growling and letting out little sweet comments about how good you taste and you don’t know how you’re going to ever look at him without blushing again.

“H, H I’m close,” you whine out, little body shaking under the weight of his arms holding your torso down. Your hips are bucking up wildly but Harry is comepletely unbothered, giving no indication that he’d heard you at all. It isn’t until he sucks un your clit with a new vigor that he makes his intentions clear.

You’re screaming, toes curling, his name falling from your lips so loudly you’re sure everyone in the stadium can hear you. You’re fucked and you don’t even care, Harry’s cooing in your ear as tears fall from your eyes, descending from your high. He pulls your body into his and whispers sweet nothings in your ear until you come back to reality.

“Are ye alright, angel? We could just go to sleep?” Harry asks gently, warm breath in your ear.

“No, no. I want you. I’m just a little overwhelmed because no ones ever...he didn’t... make me you know.” Your face is heating up again.

“Why are you still talking about sex to me like we’re in middle school, y/n?” He laughs loudly. “I just spent the last 10 minutes face first in your pussy. You can say the word orgasm around me.”

You can’t help but laugh but also swing an arm around to sock him in the chest but he catches your hand and steals your breath with a kiss. His hands slide up the smooth expanse of your back and he straddles you, caging you to the end with his body.

You buck your hips into his, a hand snaking down to palm his rock hard member through his briefs. It feels, much larger than you anticipated. He growls and ruts against your hand like an animal.

“Please, Harry...” your eyes are hazy with desire as they meet his nearly blackened ones. He whips his briefs off and settles himself at your entrance.

“Are you sure? You’ll be stuck with me after this.” He half joked, looking into your eyes with a choking intensity.

“I’ve never been more sure. Please.”

He lets out a loud cry at the feeling of your heat around him and you’re whimpering uncontrollably at the intrusion. But you love it, God it hurts but you love it. Harry had not prepared himself for how tight you would be. It was like bedding a Virgin. Your ex must not have been well endowed, Harry thought.

Harry can’t believe how good you feel, and he’s never been particularly loud, but he’s crying out with every movement. You’re trembling beneath him, whimpering and yelping. Both of you just consumed with the other. You take his hand and place it around your throat, and his eyebrows shoot up in an expression of utter shock. He grips your throat in his hand and builds speed quickly. Milking his cock in your tight heat.

“You feel so fucking good. You’re mine now, mine.” He growls through clenched teeth as his hips snap into yours. You’re practically in tears.

“Yours. Yours yours yours.” His cock has reduced you to a weeping echo chamber.

When the two of you climax it is like the clash of a symphony and he collapses into your body, holding you closer to him than anyone’s held you before.

As you drift off in his arms, one nagging thought plagues you,

What the fuck were you going to tell your bandmates?

#smut #harry x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles smut #rockstar!y/n #on tour #harry styles #harry styles fluff #harry styles multichapter

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korra-the-red-lion · 3 years

Text

Unnatural Affairs. Chapter 5: Killer Moves, Dude.

(Lyn)

I sighed deeply through my nose as I handed in my test. I legit have no idea how I did on it. Religion in Pop Culture was a fun class, but some of the material was challenging. I mumbled my thanks to the prof and hefted my bag over my shoulder as I headed out.

It’s been nearly 3 weeks since the shower incident. No other freaky shit had happened, so I guess it was just a hideously stupid prank. Our guess was it was one of the other teams just playing a prank on us, or the women’s soccer team. We were the only ones who would have been in the locker room at that time.

Still, the whispers and the strange looks were starting to get on my nerves. I normally would argue that I was an easy-going kind of person, but this kind of attention had made my mood sour as of late.

“Why the scowl, Lyn-Lyn?”

I glanced over when Loryn bumped hips, finding a little smile on her face.

“Just finished writing a test and heard yet another ‘bet they’re gonna lose the banner again’ whispers,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I swear, these people are making me want to commit bloody murder.”

“Aw, don’t let them get to you,” said Loryn, wrapping her arms around mine, “they ain’t worth it.”

“I know, I know. It’s just hard, you know?”

Loryn nodded. “Yup, totes. But seriously, Lyn, I have a good feeling about this year. I feel like barring any extreme accidents, we’re gonna kick Turner’s ass this year and win that banner.”

I finally cracked a real smile. “Loryn, you know you’re awesome, right?”

“I mean, obviously. That’s why everyone loves me,” she said with a cheeky grin.

I snorted, the tension finally leaving my body. I said goodbye to Loryn, who was heading to her next class as I headed to the pool to teach swim lessons.

Loryn was one of those people who just knew how to get under my skin, in a good way. We were frosh together, and ended up in the same res. When we both showed up for the rookie week, we had a good laugh about the coincidence and because fast friends. Loryn came from a family of four girls, which according to her meant she was ‘a-mazing at dealing with conflict’ and it was hard to bring her mood down. She was planning on going to school after this to become a middle school teacher, which I thought was awesome. I was lucky to have a good friend in her, because my first year here was… well, let’s just say I was going through some stuff.

I pulled off my shirt as I walked into the AC, waving to Hassan, who was working at the desk today. He was a really sweet guy on the Badminton team, and admittedly I used to have a huge crush on, so every now and then I liked to tease him when I went by.

He grinned as he waved back, and I snickered as I bounded down the stairs to head into the locker room. I could hear all the kids chatting and messing around in there as I punched in the password to the swim team’s locker room. Those sounds always brightened my mood, and by the time I was done changing, my mood was pretty much back to the usual Lyn Hart standard.

I stepped onto the pool, laughing as a couple of the kids immediately ran to my side. Hunter, Joy, Kevin and Morgan loved me and always raced over to tell me about their days or whatever else crossed their minds. I sat down on the pool edge as they all spoke over each other to be heard, and eventually I had to settle them down so I could start the lesson.

I hopped into the pool and demonstrated the skills they needed to learn for this week’s lesson. I always loved getting in with them and showing them how to do it right. Too often do I see the other instructors standing on the pool deck, not really engaging in teaching. I get it, it’s not for everyone, but sometimes it’s not about you, it’s about the kids. Some of these kids…swim practice is their escape, they need this. If you aren’t there to be supportive, then why are you here in the first place?

The lesson went by so fast, and it was time for our practice. I said goodbye to the little guys and quickly threw on my cap and goggles. Time to get this underway.

XXX

“Lyn?”

I looked up from my laptop bleary eyed. Kerry pulled out a chair and sat down next to me. “Yeah? Wassup?”

She sighed as she leaned back, pulling her leg up on the seat. “I know this is going to sound so utterly stupid, but I’m nervous about the meet this weekend. I just haven’t been in a great head space recently, and with all the drama surrounding us and Gunner, I guess I’m just feeling overwhelmed.”

“Hey,” I said, reaching over and taking her hand in mine, “that is not stupid at all. Don’t ever think how you feel is stupid, got it?”

Kerry gave a lopsided smile. “Thanks, Lyn.”

I smiled in return. “Always. Now, did you tell Emma about how you felt? Or Andrew?”

“No,” she shook her head. “I will, yeah. Just…I wanted to talk to someone else about it first. It’s one of those things where you know that once you talk to someone is like ‘oh, why’d you take so long to say something?’ but still take your time.”

“I totally get that. I tend to keep things all bottled up until it just explodes out, you know? Loryn is the only one who knows how to get it out of me. Remember at the Halloween Bash last year when I finally lost my shit and decked Frankie across the chin?” I shook my head in shame.

Kerry chuckled. “I have to admit though, Frankie deserved it. He was being such a dick.”

I smirked, thinking back to that night. Frankie probably did deserve it but resorting to physical violence was something I should avoid in the future.

All of a sudden, Matt popped out of nowhere. It was like he was using his twin sense to find Kerry. Honestly, it was cute. Kerry seemed to be the more sensitive of the two on the surface, but in reality, it was Matt. He was constantly checking in on Kerry and would seriously drop anything to make sure she was okay. Kerry and Gunner were in an on again off again relationship for the past 6 months, and clearly his drug incident was bothering her a lot more than she was letting on. Matt walked over and plopped down on the table.

“Did I miss anything important?”

“I was admitting to my undying love to your sister, and we’re running away together after the swim meet tomorrow to move to Calgary,” I said seriously. Kerry nodded solemnly beside me.

Matt rolled his eyes and stuck his tongue out. “How are y’all feeling about it, anyhow?”

I shrugged. “I mean, the first meet of the season. Feeling a little nervous, but otherwise same as always.”

“Ah, the Stonewall Lyn is coming back out to play, huh?”

“I hate it when you call me that,” I said with a whine, slumping onto the table. “It’s not like I’m impenetrable.”

“No, that much is obvious,” said Kerry with a smirk. Matt burst into laughter as my ears got hot. I reached over and squeezed Kerry’s arm, causing her to jokingly squeal in pain.

Someone yelled at us to shut up, and we all quieted down guiltily. Sometimes I forget that you still had to be quiet in the library. Matt slipped off the table and pulled out his own laptop, and the three of us decided to do our homework together.

XXX

My head burst through the water as I took a breath. I could barely hear them all shouting at me to go faster, that I was only close behind Sophie LeBlanc from Turner University. We both hit the wall and I pushed off, kicking hard. I could see in the corner of my eye that we were neck and neck for the final 25 meters. Sophie was faster than me, but I had more endurance. The 200 Fly was where I shined. My hands smacked against the wall and I immediately looked up to check the clock. A huge grin broke out on my face when I saw the number 1 next to my name. Sophie smiled at me and I reached over the lane rope to give her a hug.

“Good swim,” I huffed out.

“You too,” she breathed heavily.

I pulled myself out and shakily walked over to where the team was waiting, clapping me on the back. Maddie handed me my towel and I listened to Coach Jacob point out some things I did well and things I could work on, nodded when I needed to. He clapped me on the shoulder and sent me to the warm down pool.

I hopped in and swam a couple of laps lazily, to get that lactic acid moving out of my system. I stopped at the wall and watched Kerry swim her 50 Breast, cheering as she hit the wall for a turn. Despite her initial nerves, she was on fire this meet.

I swam back to the other end of the warm down pool and jumped out. I quickly threw on my swim parka and sweatpants, not wanting to get cold. The relay was the last event, and I needed to be ready to swim the Fly sprint. I walked over to where Emma, Maddie, and Tammy were, getting each other pumped up.

Emma huddled us together and closed her eyes. “Alright, you psycho bitches, we’re going to kill this relay. We’re not going to let Turner or Francois step all over us this year. You girls are seriously some of the best people I’ve ever had the joy of swimming with. Wolves on 3. 1, 2, 3!”

We all shouted “WOLVES” and hurried over to the starting block. Maddie chucked all her stuff into the box behind the timer’s chairs and waited for the whistle blow before hopping into the water. A jolt of nervous energy shot through my system as the buzzer went off, and so did the swimmers. I tossed all my stuff off too and slapped my arms and legs as part of my good luck ritual. I spared a glance over at Sophie, who gave me a cheeky smile before getting settled herself.

Maddie was fast approaching the wall, and Tammy was raring to go. She dove in the second Maddie’s fingertip brushed the wall, her form as beautiful as always. I shouted with the others as loudly as I could, before getting onto the block myself. Tammy was slicing through the water, looking as awesome as she did. I know she was exhausted from her 50 Breast swim from earlier, but it didn’t show at all as she kept pace with the others. Tammy’s hands slammed into the wall and I dove in, kicking as hard as I possibly could and fell into a mad rhythm, trying to keep pace with Sophie and Megan from Francois University. My lungs were screaming for air by the time I hit the wall for my turn, and I took a quick breath. My body was already in agony from my earlier swims, but I had to push through that for them. I hit the wall hard and Emma dove in. Maddie helped me out as I struggled to catch my breath. Emma was already halfway down the pool when I got out, trying my best to cheer for her despite my lack of oxygen. Kim Hawks from Turner was one of the best freestyle sprinters in the province, and while Emma was good, she wasn’t as good as Kim. I just hoped that we did enough to stay in the race.

Emma slammed her hand against the wall, and we all looked at the timer on the wall, holding our breaths. Turner popped up in the number 1 spot, unfortunately. But Mount Seamus showed up in the number 2 spot right after and we cheered. Maybe it wasn’t first, but yeah, beating Francois felt pretty damn good. We helped Emma out of the pool and held each other for a minute. I could feel the pride oozing off of us, and that was amazing. The points all mattered in the end, but right now, we did good.

XXX

Mondays after a swim meet were always the hardest. You were exhausted and spent the whole Sunday evening catching up on any work you were behind on. The only thing nice about them was morning practice was cancelled.

I yawned my whole way through my Asia World History course, even though it was one of my favourite classes. It was just hard when you were as tired as I was. I was just lucky since I did the readings ahead of time, because I know my notes were total garbage today.

Professor Gorgens told me I did an awesome job this weekend as I left class, and I gave him a warm smile. The guy was a bit of an egotistical jerk sometimes, but he did care about his students and made an effort to keep up with how the athletes were doing.

The food hall was a little quieter today, as students were frantically studied for their first batch of tests or they were just getting sick of the food already, which does happen. I yawned as I grabbed a couple of the premade sandwiches and some of the less questionable fruits. I didn’t really feel like eating inside right now, so I lumbered outside.

I sat down under the big tree, taking small bites out of my sandwich as I read through my textbook for my next class. It was just about October, and while it was starting to cool down, it was still nice enough out to enjoy the weather.

It felt like I was starting to doze off when I heard someone say my name. I looked up groggily and saw Ally waving to me.

“Oh, hey, Ally,” I said. “How have you been?”

Her eyes flickered to the tree uneasily before looking back at me. “Oh, good! I just finished writing my first midterm and have another one tomorrow. So, just been a little busy. How about you?”

I shrugged. “Good. Busy with swimming and school, so the usual.”

I’m not sure what was going on with Ally, but she kept looking up at the branches with some obvious discomfort. I looked up as well, wondering if there was an animal or something, but I didn’t see anything out of the norm. I looked back to her, and when we made eye contact, she gave me a tight smile.

“Is there…is there something wrong?” I asked hesitantly.

Her smile tightened even more, and she shook her head. “Nope, nothing is wrong. Why would you think there’s something wrong?”

Uh, okay. That was weird. I frowned and said, “Well, because you’re all wound up about something.”

“Am I?”

“You seem to be.”

She made a popping sound with her mouth. “I see. Well…this is going to sound so strange, so don’t judge me please, but I don’t like the vibes from the tree.”

I stared at her blankly before nodding. “Yeah, okay. That makes sense.”

“It does?” She sounded genuinely surprised.

“Yeah, totally.” I stood up, brushing my butt off and walking away from the tree. “According to the history of the school, this tree was planted on an old mass grave. It freaks a lot of people out because of that, but I always found it a nice spot to sit.”

Ally’s face paled as she took in the tree entirely. I don’t think I totally understood what was bothering her, but I gently pushed her away until the colour returned to her face. Whatever it was about the tree bothered her, and I was going to respect that.

“Does that bother you?” I asked as I continued to lead her away.

Ally gave a slow nod. “I…it just makes me uncomfortable, that’s all. I didn’t realize that there were so many buried skeletons at this school.” She tried to look over at it one last time, but I placed my hand on her face and directed her attention to me instead.

When our eyes connected, Ally made a strange face as her cheeks turned red. I know sometimes my stare can be pretty intense, according to the several people on the team who told me, so I dropped my hand and looked away slightly.

“Sorry, I just didn’t think you should be looking at the tree if it was freaking you out that much, you know?” I said with a grin.

“Oh, uh, yes!” Ally composed herself and nodded firmly. “Thank you for that. Sometimes I just get into my own head and it’s hard to get out of there.”

“Anxiety can be a bitch,” I said with sympathy.

“You don’t even know the half of it,” she said with a small chuckle.

I walked with Ally to her next class, just wanting to make sure everything was all good before I headed to mine. Some nice-looking guy with a small scar on his eyebrow was waiting for her when we got there, and I waved goodbye to her as I walked down the steps. Ally seemed more adjusted to the student life than last time I spoke to her, which was good. I was glad that she was making friends and finding herself a nice routine to fall into.

I was just about to dash to my class when I realized I left all my things under the tree when I made Ally leave. I ran over and gathered all my things quickly, sparing one last glace at the branches before leaving.

Maybe it was the trick of my eye, but it did kind of look like there was a shadow. I blinked and looked again, only to see the clear sky through the branches. Huh.

XXX

Practice was an easy affair today. Coach Jacob liked to give us one easy day after a meet, something we all appreciated. Plus, he started the day off with great news.

“Gunner is allowed to compete again!” he announced before any of us got into the water.

Several people cheered and Kerry gave him a small peck on the cheek. Gunner looked embarrassed but determined. He apologized to all of us for his behaviour this summer and that he was going to make it up to us.

Jackie reached over and patted his shoulder. “Hey, it happens to the best of us, Gunner. My sister fell in with the wrong crowd and ended up needing rehab. The important thing is that you got clean.”

Gunner brushed away tears and gave her a hug, which caused a huge group hug. I was happy for him, really. Sure, he made a mistake. But you’re supposed to be allowed to learn from those mistakes and grow from them. He was lucky to have such a good support system, because not everyone did. Coach Jacob rubbed his head and told everyone to get into the water and to stop being so sappy. A few of us laughed as we broke up the hug and did as we were told.

It was about halfway through practice when Jackie hopped out of the pool to run to the bathroom. Normally Coach Jacob hated when we did that, but I think he was in a good mood today, so he let it slide. He read through the next set and we got to work.

It wasn’t until we were finished with the set that I noticed Jackie hadn’t returned. That was really strange. I think other people noticed too, because I saw some heads swiveling as they looked for her. Jackie’s lane partner Tammy said under her breath, “What’s taking her so long? Did her tampon get stuck or something?”

I said I’d go see what was going on and pushed myself out of the pool. I padded lightly into the locker room and called out her name, only to get no response. I felt my heart speed up a little, as I felt a pit of concern growing in my stomach.

I walked into where the bathrooms were and knocked on all the doors. Still nothing. Maybe she just had to race home for something? I couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling, however. That wasn’t like Jackie at all. She always made sure to let people know where she was going, even if it was a sudden situation change.

My heart was pounding loudly in my ears now as I called out again and still got nothing in return. I shuddered as I walked towards the locker room, feeling a sudden chill. I shakily punched in the combination and opened the door to where our lockers were located.

I couldn’t help but shriek when I saw Jackie lying on the floor in a puddle of blood. She groaned as I grabbed a towel and shoved it against her stomach, where it looked like someone had cut her with something. She opened her eyes and tried to say something, but I shushed her.

“Jackie, sweetie, don’t say anything right now,” I said, trying to keep the panic from my voice. “You need to lie very still, okay?”

She gave the teeniest of nods as her eyes lost focus again. I heard someone running into the change room, most likely responding to the sound of my scream.

I move the door with my foot so the worst of the scene is hidden from view. “Don’t come in!” I shouted.

“Lyn, what’s going on?” That was Loryn.

“Jackie’s been hurt, she needs medical attention ASAP.”

I heard Loryn swear loudly. “Lyn, my phone is in there!”

“Use the phone on the deck or upstairs!” My voice cracked with fear as the blood seeped through the towel. I grabbed another one and applied pressure on the wound, praying that it would slow down or stop. Jackie was looking very pale, and her breathing was shallow.

I forced myself to look away for a second, knowing I was getting tunnel vision. The lockers were all open and the light overhead was out. There were huge gouges in the wall that looked like they were trying to spell something, but I was not in the right head space to even try and read it right now.

The door opened and Coach Jacob stood in the doorway, taking the scene in. He went very pale and had to lean against the wall to keep himself upright.

“I-is she…?”

I shook my head. “Breathing, alive for now. She needs to get to the hospital, now.”

He nodded shakily. “They’re on the way. Loryn…she called.”

Thank God for Loryn. She was good a keeping calm under pressure. I looked down at Jackie and breathed a little easier when I saw that this towel hadn’t soaked through. I have no idea who did this to her, but they couldn’t have gotten too far. I felt like crying so bad right now, but the tears just wouldn’t come out. It was like my body knew what it needed to do right now, and crying was not it.

I refused to leave Jackie’s side until the paramedic gently removed me from the scene to ask some questions. I answered them the best I could, but I honestly had no idea what happened. I thought it was a stab mark at first, but as I thought about it a little bit more, I couldn’t get the visual of claw marks out of my head.

XXX

I sat on the hospital bed, my guts tied up into a nervous knot. I had to be brought in because I went into shock after I- well, after it. I checked my phone and paused when I saw that I missed a call from home. That was something unusual. Honestly? I didn’t feel like dealing with that right now, so I just swiped the notification off. If they couldn’t be bothered to leave a voice mail, then I can’t be bothered to call them back.

There was a knock at the door. I looked over as Loryn, Kerry, and Matt poked their heads in. I smiled weakly as they shuffled into the room. I took Loryn’s hand into my own as she sat down on my bed. Matt pulled over another chair and him and Kerry sat down next to the bed.

“Is…Jackie…?” I croaked, unable to get the words out.

Loryn nodded slightly. “Jackie is okay. She needed some serious stiches and won’t be able to compete for the rest of the season. Jacob and Robin are with her while they wait for her parents to arrive.”

I sighed in minor relief. “At least she’s okay. Um…did they find anyone?”

“They claim that they found a guy wielding a knife,” said Matt. “But Lyn, I’m not too sure about that. Why would some random guy attack a student in the locker room?”

That was my thought too. Also, I swear it was claw marks. They were straight across, not stabbed in. The thought of Jackie lying on the floor flashed in my mind and I had to squeeze my eyes shut as I waited out the wave of nausea. Loryn squeezed my hand as I struggled to control myself.

“Did they give you anything?” she asked quietly.

I shook my head slowly. “No, I refused.”

“Why’d you refuse?”

“I didn’t want to be drugged up if something happened to Jackie…”

There was a tense silence in the room. I couldn’t bring myself to say anything else, so I directed my attention to the window. The ticking of the clock sounded incredibly loud as time passed by. The IV pump I was connected to chugged along as it pumped some fluids into my body. I could hear Kerry sniffling in her chair, unable to say the words she needed to hear. It was like my brain was shutting down, unable to process what had happened.

Poor Jackie didn’t deserve this. Not that anyone did, but Jackie was such a sweet person. She would give you the shirt off her back if you asked and would then give you even more. This was a random attack, but why? The why was bouncing around, giving me a headache.

I felt Loryn reach over and brush her thumb against my cheek. I looked at her confused as to why she did that, then I realized I was actually crying. I don’t cry often; it just wasn’t something I did. I began to tremble and completely lost it when the three of them gave me a tight hug.

I cried and cried until I couldn’t anymore.

#unnatural affairs #ua #lyn hart #ally holland #paranormal #gore mention #violence happens off screen #sports #lots of sports #mystery #ghosts #this chapter gets the plot moving #romance #Lyn is a little oblivious lol

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