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improbable-outset · 6 months

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📄 𝐈’𝐦 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐚 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐝 𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫

Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Reader

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.5k

𝐀𝐎𝟑 | 𝐌𝐲 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬 | 𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐓𝐖 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐖: Angst, post-break up, Miguel’s heartbroken, he really shouldn’t be though, sexual frustration, innuendos, soreness from sex, male masturbation, sexual flashbacks MINORS DNI🔞

𝐀/𝐍: Hey, hope you didn’t forget about me🥹 it’s been a while. I saw this fan art of Miggy in the shower after I wrote this and thought it was pretty fitting

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: It’s been over a year since you split up, but unfortunately for Miguel, things are still taking a toll. Even after going your separate ways, you still have to see each other everyday and it was affecting his performance. Meanwhile, your dual life as a loyal lover and as Spider-Woman is putting a lingering strain on your new relationship. The ripple effect of your breakup is coming back to bite you in the ass in the most unexpected way possible.

Things were already hard enough after you and Miguel broke things off. But having to be your boss while not allowing his heartbreak to get in the way of leading a group of Spider People, including yourself, was modifying.

He didn’t realise how much the aftermath affected him until his recruits had noticed his performance was lacking.

His combat skills were becoming sloppy making him prone to more injury. It was frustrating how much he was letting this get to his head— he couldn’t see what was right in front of him.

After the third trip to the Spider Medbay, it dawned on him that he had to accept things as they were now and move on. His job as a leader will be at risk otherwise.

Initially, he thought he was doing a decent job ignoring his pain. He was growing used to seeing you everyday without your affection, especially since he was accustomed to being alone before you got together.

But after the latest Spider meeting, Miguel was left with fresh salt on the wound.

As you sat down on your seat before he commenced the meeting, your face scrunched slightly from the ache between your legs.

An obvious sign that you’ve just been dicked down by your current flame recently. No one else in the board room had noticed but he definitely did.

And he hated himself for it.

If the situation were different, where you didn't feel any resentment towards him after he broke your heart, he wouldn’t pay any mind to it.

There was a time where he would’ve felt his ego soar after seeing you struggling to sit down like that — only because he knew it was him and his dick that was the cause of that. But now he was left with bitter pain and yearning.

Back then, he knew he could manhandle you if he wanted to. But he would never do anything that could affect your agility and performance as a crime fighter.

Albeit, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t fuck you good enough so you would get drunk from his dick and he got to witness your mind going numb.

But now he had lost that privilege. He couldn’t see your worn out face anymore after he made you come.

The mere notion of another man touching you like that, let alone seeing you in that state, was enough to send him spiraling. Not that he would let you be aware of that.

This new guy wasn’t even aware of your double life as Spiderwoman. He wouldn’t be as cautious and mindful when fucking you like Miguel would.

It was one of the convenient things in your relationship— why you were perfect for each other. Until it wasn’t. He had to force himself to continue like this wasn’t tearing him apart inside.

Eventually the meeting came to a conclusion and everyone made their way to the cafeteria for their lunch break. Miguel, on the other hand, headed back to his office in solitary.

Every muscle in his body felt heavy and it felt like extra labour just to walk back to his office. He didn’t catch you following behind until you called out his name.

“Miguel,” he turned to see you walk up towards him.

As foolish as it was, for a fleeting moment he thought you were going to comfort him; put your hands on his shoulders and give him a massage or peppered his face with kisses when everyone had left, just like you used to.

The fantasy vanished just as quickly as it came when you spoke your mind.

“I think my watch needs calibrating, it’s acting up,” you told him, gesturing to your watch. Of course.

You would only approach him when you need something from him. That was how it had been, he shouldn’t expect anything more.

“Alright pass it over, I’ll give you a day pass in the meantime,” he said as he fished out a day pass for you to wear.

You removed your watch from your hand and passed it to him before taking the wrist band and putting it on.

Once it was secure, you turned your heels to leave. He felt his adrenaline spike as he watched you and out of impulse, he opened his mouth to speak again.

“Hey um,” He started, making you turn back around to look at him. Your eyes bore onto his, something he thought he’d never witness again after you split up. Except this time, there wasn’t any warmth in your gaze as there used to be; instead, there was nothing but a void.

Shit

The room suddenly felt like it was getting hotter. Or maybe that was the heat rushing to his cheeks out of sheer discomfort.

Either way he felt like his inner thoughts were written all over his face and you could read him. You probably could sense something was wrong but you weren’t going to comment on it.

He wouldn’t blame you…

Now you had your full attention on him, even if it was only brief. He had to make sure he played his card right and tread through this carefully.

“How’s everything?” He asked meekly. He tried to keep his composure as controlled as he could, keeping a tight lid on his raw emotions.

“Fine.” The word came out so curt, it didn’t even feel like a proper response.

It hurt his pride knowing another man could make you sore like he can, just the way you like it. On top of that, he was treating you better and was making you happy. Something that he couldn’t do.

You deserved a partner who would be there for you, support you and nurture that mutual love. Not just someone who was good in bed.

Unfortunately he was so drawn into his train of thoughts about your man, his mouth moved faster than his mind before he could even stop himself, initiating a word vomit.

“Is he treating you well,”

Shit shit shit…

Why did he bring him up? Now he probably looked pathetic. He could see you drift your gaze away after he asked that. Obviously the topic was pretty sensitive.

“Mhmm” you hummed in approval. You were clearly not comfortable with sharing more. Judging by how you responded, you had moved on and healed from the pain he had caused you.

He shouldn’t shit on your new man; he never even met the guy (other than watching the surveillance footage of your dimension while monitoring the Multiverse like he always did)

So he had no valid reason to hate on him if everything was going well with you.

And he knew you weren’t going to willingly share about your current relationship. You were a private person and he always valued that while you were both still together.

But now it was working against his favour. Despite being fully aware that your personal life wasn’t any of his business anymore, he was still desperate to know everything.

There was a sense of antipathy that was growing in his heart towards your new life without him in it. No matter how much he would lie to himself and deny it was there, it only heightened as more time passed.

The silence that was shared between the two of you was making it hard to breathe. It felt like all the oxygen in the room wasn’t enough to fill his lungs with the tranquility he needed.

You should get going, don’t want to hold you back any longer than I already have.

Eventually, Miguel gave a subtle nod before shifting his attention to your watch in his hand. He wanted to end the premature conversation before he said something he will regret.

The last thing he heard was your footsteps getting quieter as you left his office, leaving him in his own thoughts.

Miguel felt some of the tension leaving his body, like melted candle wax, as he took the first step into his apartment— his confinement safe space.

But despite being surrounded by the comfortable air in his home, his muscles were still aching. Today was more physically demanding than usual as he was on his feet all day, containing not just one but three anomalies, all in different dimensions.

Fatigue seeped into his bones. But it wasn’t just the physical tasks that drained him. His mind was constantly running with relentless questions, though there was one that struck him the most.

Could he manage to lead the Spider Society without being consumed by his emotional turmoil? More importantly, without being consumed by the reminders of his loss. Gabriella.

You.

It has been a year since you both split up and he’s still unable to break free from the haunting memories of his past. Thinking about your breakup was making him dizzy. The overhead lights in his apartment suddenly felt too bright and sickening.

“Lyla, could you dim the lights please?” He called out before he headed to the bathroom. The lights dimmed just as demanded.

“Lights are dimmed now, Miguel,” Lyla’s digital voice chirped. Miguel’s thoughts remained on you as he made his way towards the shower.

He couldn’t stop himself from recalling the last conversation you both just had back in HQ. It was brief but your reluctant body language was enough to speak volume.

Part of him wanted to know what was going through your head when he asked about your current relationship, even if it was just a slip up. But at the same time, after seeing the way your demeanor shifted when he asked, he would rather stay clueless about it.

He stepped into the shower and twisted the shower knob, adjusting the water to the right temperature. Steam was released into the air from the hot water, creating condensation on the cold tiles.

The hot spray from the shower ran over him as he allowed the water to rinse over his whole body. He sighed as he felt his muscles instantly unwind from the hot water but the warmth also seemed to amplify his solitude.

He rested one of his hands on the glass panel that was fogging up from the steam. The shower continued to spray over his back and his mind continued to wander.

As much as he tried to forget about today, he couldn’t stop thinking back to the Spider meeting from earlier and how you were struggling to sit without the obvious sourness between your legs. Seeing you in that state gave him erotic flashbacks that he didn’t want to recrystallise in his head, especially now.

Suddenly, a memory that he had tried so hard to bury deep in his core resurfaced in his head, blaring at him. The image of you bent over in his shower; your hands and your bare tits being pressed against the same glass panel he had his hands on right now, while he was thrusting you from behind.

He couldn’t shake off the memory no matter how hard he tried. The thoughts continued to run through his head and just like clockwork, he felt himself getting bricked up.

How pathetic. He let his unwanted memories get the best of him and now it was affecting the rest of his body.

His cock was twitching and he could feel the subtle throb of his pulse from the sensitive areas. His free hand reached to clasped around the length with his mind conflicted from his aching predicament.

As much as he knew how bad his situation was right now, he couldn’t stop himself from caving into his own desperation. Out of impulse, he started to stroke at a steady pace with that image of you stuck behind his eyelids.

This was wrong. So wrong. Thinking about you in such an elaborate manner while getting off to it, especially when he was aware that you wanted nothing to do with him anymore. After everything he put you through…

But his head wasn’t thinking about any reasoning or morals anymore. At least no one could see the state he was in right now.

The grip from his hands could never replicate the sensation of your walls clenching around him— along with your wetness that would coat his dick.

He was drawn back to those memories of you in his shower again. You always used to take him so well, especially from behind. He would nuzzle his face into your neck while fucking you relentlessly.

The bathroom would be filled with the sounds of your pretty moans over the spray of the water that would echo over the tiles in the shower.

Each thrust would push you further against the glass panel. Your hands and tits would always be imprinted on the surface by the end of it, and every time he would be reluctant to wipe it away.

He increased the pace of his strokes just from recalling that memory, with his eyes bored onto the panel. His heart was pulsated in his chest as he was losing himself in the bliss of his own fantasies.

The memory of your breakup was now forgotten as he was reliving these memories. It was almost tangible, he could almost hear you moaning out fragments of his name in his mind. But it was probably just his auditory hallucinations.

He longed to feel you again, hearing you say his name just like you used to. Feeling your touch again would scratch the irritable itch that had always lingered. Even if he knew he’d never have you again, he still dreamt about you.

His climax was crawling up to him painstakingly slow. He recalled those moments where you would touch yourself afterwards, just to feel how much he had stuffed you with his cum.

The memory, along with the built up anger and longing, was enough for him to unravel and his orgasm came crashing down on him— it was almost overwhelming.

The evidence of his guilt spilled over his knuckles before getting washed away by the spray of the shower. But it wasn’t enough to erase what he just did.

The post-nut clarity disappeared once he realised what he got himself into and how far he fell into the rabbit hole of his own desires. It felt like every object in the bathroom just witnessed his own sin.

He shut off the water and stepped out of the shower before he wrapped a towel around his waist. Water was dripping from his hair and fell over his bare shoulders and back, but he paid no attention to it.

Everything that had just happened a few moments ago was sinking into him, and although he scrubbed himself clean from his own cum, there was still the unsettling awareness of his own mishap weighing on his shoulders.

It was making his stomach twist with nausea. Shame quickly settled over him, like a cloud hovering over his head. It continued to follow him as he made his way to his bedroom.

Miguel grabbed a set of clean clothes from the dresser and got himself dressed for bed. Even with the unease that was lingering in his head, his routine still felt mechanical and familiar. Nothing else seemed to change.

Once he was dressed, he slipped under the cool covers of his bed, shutting out everything that had happened today.

Part 2

Just lmk if you wanna be tagged

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: @miguels-aranita @thealleydog @yougavemeyourheartyouknow @strawberryjuice9 @lazyjellyfish300 @ghost-lantern @what-the-jams @mcmiracles @monarchberrysblog @niyahwhoreworld @keigoloveminty @ewan-tef @ginanet @mrsoharaa @flowerlemonss-blog @shadowarchon @smartyren @famouscattale @stressed-cherry @hrhmimieucliffe @ultravioletrayz @grxnde-dwt @homewreckingwreck @your-antares-universe @crimin4llyins4ne @tojishugetiddies @miguel-ohara-wifey

Now I’m gonna log off for two days bc I don’t want to see ppls immediate reaction to this 😟

Btw, I will be interacting with your fics and reblogging from my second account @lmaoyouwhore (don’t pree the blog too hard, it’s still under construction lol)

Ayrus xoxo

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cockdestroyer32 · 2 years

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all mine

tangerine x fem!reader

word count: 2304

summary: after the events in the bullet train in tokyo, you and ladybug have a new job in a new place, unfortunately, you're not alone.

a/n: okay so in this reader's codename is sarin. and you're besties w ladybug bc I lov him. title is from brent faiyaz's 'all mine' which has nothing to do with this fic but I didn't know what to name this and I rlly love that song so. also no smut in this.

When I grow up, I wanna be famous I wanna be a star, I wanna be in movies, when I grow up I wanna see the world, drive nice cars, I wanna have groupies.

The song blew out of the car’s speakers, and both you and Ladybug sang each word perfectly (and very obnoxiously, you were practically yelling out the lyrics.) He drove and you sat in the passenger seat, you both swinging your arms around dancing tirelessly as the citizens of Greece who were able to spy inside the moving car judged your shameless partying. You hadn’t seen Ladybug in months, so when you found out you were finally going to be assigned to a mission together again, you both beamed, and got together to plan your entire trip from the cities of New York to the city of Larissa. You went from cackling a little too loudly at comedy movies on the plane, to endless chatter at the airport, to listening to your iconic super duper awesome 2000s hits playlist on a rented Jeep (the playlist title was Ladybug’s decision.) There’s no one you’d rather work with. Except…you weren’t working alone tonight.

This hit wasn’t just any hit, it was a stakeout. So, Lemon and Tangerine were called.

You had walked into Tangerine a few times before; New Zealand, Cuba, Romania, and Tokyo, of course. You’d been the longest with him while in Tokyo, when you had to team up because of a lost briefcase. He was incredibly irritating and the different ways you both did your job clashed immensely, but by the end of the night you two had worked frustratingly well together.

You’d never met Lemon before though, you hoped to God he wasn’t just a Tangerine 2.

“Oh, boo!” Ladybug starts and you join him when you look up.

“Booo!” You yell out at the warehouse as if it’s just told some awful joke at a stand-up show.

The building has the same architectural creativity as a cardboard box. Except that instead of brown, it’s grey and dirty, and instead of holding a gift you just spent the last days waiting anxiously to arrive at your home, it just holds the next gruesome hours you’ll spend planning your hit.

You and Ladybug allow The Pussycat Dolls to finish the last few seconds of their song and turn off BlueTooth before you can be sad about not singing Britney.

You sigh and say, “It’s gonna be a long night.”

“Yep, but the sooner we do it sooner we’re done. Come on, let’s meet the fruit duet.” You chuckle.

The warehouse acted as a lighthouse, the nighttime a sea of nothingness. You can spot the remnants of the trucks that passed by in this area marked in the muddy ground. Tonight smells of wet grass and fancy dinner parties, the ones you should be in right now.

You enter the warehouse, the night’s cold air vanishes and it shifts to a warm, still atmosphere. You take off your coat. Tangerine and two other men are already in the room. Even at such a dead spot in town, Tangerine is still dressed elegantly, sporting a blue striped suit that fitted him perfectly, and smelling of rich men’s perfume. You often wondered if he could fight in those suits. Although you loved a good luxurious suit—God knows your blood money could buy one, your closet was full of Versace, Vivienne Westwood, Dolce & Gabbana and Burberry—you preferred to wear more tactical outfits for the job, you know, in case someone fucked something up and everything went to shit.

“That’s Lemon, by the way.” Ladybug whispers to you, while pointing his head to the man standing in front of Tangerine.

“What? I thought they were supposed to be twins,” Ladybug shrugs.

“Um, I hope we’re not late…you’re Lemon I suppose?” You pretend like Ladybug didn’t just tell you and offer a handshake. He takes it.

“That’s right, and you’re...”

“Sarin.”

You look over to his brother.

“Tangerine.” A nod, no handshake.

“Sarin.”

“You’ve met Ladybug.” You say to the two brothers.

“Yes, we had the pleasure.” The taller man doesn’t hide the sarcasm.

“Accommodating as always, Tangerine.”

“So, shall we?” Says the other man in the room, the one who was managing this whole thing, and you all follow him.

He takes you to a desk where there lie multiple files on different workers and a big map layout of the warehouse. The man shows all of you the place, discussing what approach the team should take for the mission, at what time each one should arrive at the building, the shift times of each warehouse worker, the spots each one should be in…and so on and so forth. Time passes relatively quickly, demanding you and Ladybug a secret high-five, and you all turn to look at the man who’d organized this.

“Yeah. That’s it.” The man repeats.

“Yeah.” You agree, still looking at him.

“You can go home now.” He practically demands.

“Uhh, I’m pretty sure we’re supposed to get paid now,” Lemon adds.

“You’ll get paid after you get the job done.”

“Did you not get the memo lad? We get first half now and second half after the job is done.” Tangerine said.

“Yeah, we’re supposed to get paid now, didn’t our handler message you?” You asked honestly.

“Well I didn’t bring the money, so what do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know, but we’re getting paid.” Tangerine insisted.

“There are lots of ATMs in Larissa…” Ladybug spoke. The man mutters some curse word under his breath,

“Fine. I’ll get you your fucking money, but you’re gonna have to wait.” He disappears from sight, making his way up the stairs in the corner of the building.

“Damn, what a Gordon.” Lemon remarks.

“Thomas the Tank Engine?” You ask.

“Yeah.”

“Nah, I think he’s more of a James, just super cocky.”

“Oh my God, there’s two of them.” Tangerine sighs.

“I’m gonna go get some air.” You say.

With your coat in hand, you make your way to a backdoor on the side of the warehouse. Slipping the garment on as soon as you open it, the chilly air cutting through your skin. You slide your hand into one of the coat pockets, finding a small rectangular box and a smooth metallic item. You fish one of the cigarettes out of the box and light it, inhaling the nicotine, warming your body while letting yourself freeze in the moment. You were so far out of town that you couldn’t hear any of the cars, any of the people in Larissa, your team also seemed to be particularly quiet inside the building. Here, it was silent, save for crickets chirping in the vast nothingness that was the field at nighttime. Tomorrow it’d be full of people, receiving and delivering new packages, trucks coming and going and workers arguing amongst each other, all their chatter overlapping, sounds of life, until you all arrive and the sounds of an active workplace morph into that of an action movie, slashing and yelling (no guns, this was supposed to be a somewhat subtle and more practical job) and then, nothing. The building once again ghost quiet, but this time painted red.

It didn’t bother you. You’d been in this business for way too long to be perturbed by the sounds of the dead now. You knew what you were getting yourself into from the beginning, this is no bombshell. Although the still of a city that’s beginning to fall asleep is much better than one that had its commotion ripped away from it. So you took these quiet moments you had to yourself and held them tightly in your hand, like some old trinket gifted to you by someone special. And for a few moments, as you exhaled the smoke out of your body, you felt outside of space and time, frozen in the moment, your feet planted on the ground, scared that if you move even an inch, you’ll fall off the face of the earth. You melt off the moment when you feel a pair of eyes on you.

Tangerine stands by the back door on your right, looking at you. You’re not sure how long he’s been there, but he has a calm look on his face, a smile on his eyes but not on his lips, by far much different than all of the ticked-off facial expressions you’d seen on him before.

“The fuck are you looking at?” You tease.

“Geez. I’ve just come to get some air.” He walks in your direction. You offer him your cigarette, he takes it. You two breathe together for a while before you ask,

“Do you like this?”

“What? Jobs in the middle of nowhere handled by some fucking dickhead who can’t even pay us right?”

“No. This.” You look around, motioning slightly to your surroundings, “The quiet. We don’t get a lot of it in our job.”

“I suppose we don’t,” He passes the cigarette back to you. “It is kinda nice, I can hear my thoughts for once, don’t have to listen to Lemon yapping about.”

You snort. “He’s nice. I was scared he was gonna be like you.”

“What? I’m nice.”

You stare at him.

“How am I not nice?” He continues.

“How are you not nice? Okay let’s see, you’re impatient, you’re always irritated, you look like you’re constantly on the edge of throwing a fit, you’re always cursing people out and you always got that look on your face of a teen girl who just got her phone taken away by her parents.”

He takes this in for a second, surprised at the speed of your answer, as if you’d been waiting for this moment for a while, and maybe you were.

“Hm…still think I’m nice.” He adds, you smile to yourself, nodding your head in fake disbelief.

You can feel his eyes on you, even as you take another puff on your cigarette and stare at the darkness. You don’t look back, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

“S, Fruit, guy’s back.” Ladybug pops out of the door, and you follow him back into the building, followed then by Tangerine.

The man now holds bags of money, one for you and Ladybug, and one for Lemon and Tangerine. You finally leave the warehouse, each of you making your way to your hotel rooms. And you would’ve been able to wash the night off your body and rest on the hotel’s comfy bed, if it wasn’t for the misplaced amounts of money. See, your bag and Ladybug’s held only his share, not yours. Thankfully, it wasn’t some scam, your money was placed along with Lemon and Tangerine’s. So, now you’re going up an elevator to Tangerine’s room to get your share. You knock on 215 and he opens the door.

“Hey.”

“Hey, come in.” You walk into the room, but only close the door slightly, not shutting it, and you stand next to it, ready to just get your money and leave, not expecting to stay here any longer than you have to. He goes to the back of the room and brings back a bag, “Here.”

“Thanks,” You spy inside the room, the place is quiet, most of the lights are off and it holds only one bed. “Is Lemon not here?”

“No, different hotel, leave no trail and such.”

“Oh.” You’re genuinely surprised. Shit, that’s smart, perhaps you and Ladybug aren’t as great professionals as you thought you were—even if the bar when you two worked together was already pretty low.

“What? Is me delivering your money instead that bad?”

You snort. “No, no, that I don’t mind.”

You look at each other for a second, perhaps you should be on your way-

“Are you staying in Greece after the job?”

“Uh, no. Me and Ladybug are going back to New York right after.”

“Oh.” He looks down, the expression on his face something you can’t quite read. “Are you and Ladybug…”

“No! God, no!” You almost yell. “No, he’s my best friend.”

“Oh, right.”

“Why?”

“Just…curious.”

Hm. Curious.

You stare at each other again, a smile on your eyes but not on your lips.

“Okay, I should get going.” You start opening the door to leave.

“Wait,” He says, grabbing your arm. “I think…you should stay here the night.”

The smile reaches your lips, amused. “Why?”

“You know, you could just stay here the night, if you want…”

“Okay but, why?” You tease. He furrows his brows. “I’m sorry Tangerine, I just don’t know what you’re telling me.” Your words are of someone genuinely confused, but your face and tone tell a different story. He catches on and sighs.

“I’m just saying…you could spend the night here, with me.”

You click your tongue, “Tangerine…you have to speak clearly.”

He squeezes your arm, and approaches his face to yours, changing his tone, “Sarin. I want you to stay. I want you.”

You let your lips fully curve up this time, pleased.

You put both your hands on his face, and close the space between you, only placing a light kiss on his lips, then pulling away to see his reaction. He keeps his eyes shut for a moment, as if still in the moment. Then, he opens his eyes, staring at you for a second, and pulls you in for a stronger kiss. His hands at first cupping your face, then one makes his way towards you back, pulling you in closer, even though you were already as close as you could possibly be right now. You shut the door with your foot behind you, not letting each other go for even one second. Tonight your own bed’s gonna have to wait for you.

#bullet train fanfic #tangerine bullet train #bullet train tangerine #tangerine #tangerine fanfic #tangerine fic #tangerine fanfiction #tangerine x you #tangerine x fem!reader #aaron taylor johnson #bullet train #tangerine x reader

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the-kr8tor · 1 year

Text

Threaded Through

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Word count: 6.7k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, No specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing), Hobie is mentioned taller than R, CW food mention, Drinking, CW spiders, TW arachnophobia, Suggestive content, Fluff.

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Thread the Needle Masterlist

CHAPTER 9 >>> CHAPTER 10

"Hobie!" You whisper yell, "what are you doing?" Eyes scanning the dark, ears perking up at the chains rattling.

"Relax, no one's here" Hobie slips through the metal gate where the chains of the lock stretched enough to give him room to wiggle himself inside. "C'mon then" he extends his hand to you, flexing his fingers impatiently. The dirty sign on the gate reads 'no trespassing' adding to your worry.

You tap your foot, biting your lip, looking behind the abandoned theme park. "Nuh uh, nope" shaking your head, you're sure something ran past behind a decrepit tent. "I'm not dying inside the old carnival! Let's just go back to the party"

"That party sucks, they're playing spin the bottle, bloody original of 'em" he scoffs, rolling his eyes. "Besides we've got the good booze" sure enough, Hobie brings out a bottle of vodka tucked inside his zipped leather jacket. The liquid swishes inside as he shakes it for good measure.

"Where'd you even get that?" You laugh, surprised, eyes twinkling in the moonlight.

"Brent's dad's liquor cabinet" he says, a smug smile on his lips. "Come the fuck on, I'm freezing my balls off" Hobie lifts up the chains as far as it would allow so you could duck under it.

"We have exams on Monday!"

"Easy enough, it's all just stock knowledge" he points at his temple.

"For you it is. I'm not like you, I actually need to revise."

"And you will, Come on" Hobie sees you sticking to your stance, sighing. "If i help you revise tomorrow will you come inside?"

"Fine, I'll blame you if we get murdered by a killer clown" You duck under while Hobie's hand shields your head from the rusty metal.

"I can take him–" Hobie stops mid sentence as you stand to your full height, face mere inches away from him. So close he can see every detail of your face, how the light bounces off your eyes, clouds of air puffing out of your lips. His breath hitches in his throat.

"You and those skinny arms? Don't think so, Hobs" you try to play it off, lips pursing closed, trying to even out your breathing. "Where to go next?" You chuckle nervously, stepping away from him, taking in his sudden silence as him being uncomfortable.

"I've been eyeing that ferris wheel" Hobie shakes his head, clearing his thoughts. He walks side by side with you, keeping you close. In case there is a killer clown on the loose.

Eyes on the rickety ride. "God, no! That thing hasn't been working since the eighties, you wanna kill us?" You didn't notice that Hobie's not next to you anymore, whirling, you look for him. "Hobie? Hobie! What the fuck?" Hugging your bubble jacket closer to you in comfort. "It's not funny, Hobart!" Yelling out, you have a sudden urge to run away, but you don't, not intending to leave him.

You jump when lights suddenly turn on, blinking at you. Colorful bulbs do their best to stay on after not being used for years. You gasp out, laughing breathlessly. The place doesn't seem so scary now. You half expect the speakers to come back to life, but it doesn't, the only noise is from the whirring of the old generator and crickets singing in the dark.

Hobie lingers on the side, bottle in hand, completely enthralled with you bathed in light. A love sick smile stuck on his face.

"Hobie! Holy shit" noticing him, you call out to your best friend, waving your arms in delight.

He saunters to you, absolutely smug, you scoff playfully at his ego. "Let's hear it" Hobie brings his hand to the shell of his ear, acting like he can't hear you.

"What do you want me to say? Good job?"

"How 'bout 'You're the man, Hobie!' Or just start showering me with praises"

"I'll shower you with that vodka if you don't stop"

"Rude of you to assume I wouldn't actually like that"

You shove him lightly, "Good job flicking a switch, Hobart"

"Oi, I had to figure out which switch to open"

Rolling your eyes, you grab his arm, putting a stop to your bickering, if you don't you two would've gone all night. Leading him further inside, Hobie slyly moves his arm so he could hold your hand instead, you pretend to not notice, finding the lights to be the most interesting thing in the world, your hand cups his warm ones, squeezing it lightly.

Friends do this too, right?

Hand in hand, you stop at a booth that looks like it was for some kind of carnival game. Cartoon clowns lined up on the far back, mouths open. There's still some stuffed toys hanging on the side of the booth albeit too dirty or broken to take with you.

"Oh man, I wanted one" You pout, leaning on the divider to check for better looking toys. Hobie copies your movement, rummaging behind the counter.

Something hits your head with a squeak, you glare at Hobie acting nonchalant, feigning innocence as he examines a soft ball. You bet that it squeaks when squeezed.

"Oh 'kay" you bite your lip, blindingly reaching out towards the first thing you touch, unfortunately for Hobie it was a crusty plushy, aiming for his head, it hits him square on the chest, leaving grime and cobwebs all over his jacket.

You laugh loudly as he wipes wildly at his clothes, yelping when his hand touches something wet.

"Disgusting!" Hobie has an idea, he extends his arms towards you for a hug, taking small strides. "Come here, lovey" with a mischievous glint in his eyes and a lopsided smile, he closes the distance.

"No, don't even think about it!" Walking backwards with a smile, your back hits a pole. "Ack!" You screech when he embraces you, warmth and his familiar scent wafts your senses. A giggle escapes you, making Hobie hug you tighter.

"Now we both smell" you try to wiggle out of his hold, Hobie shakes you from side to side, you go dizzy in his arms, going limp, feigning hurt. "Oi," he shakes you lightly, chuckling at your antics. "She's dead, I can finally sacrifice her to the clowns" he moves you towards the cartoon clowns.

You drag your feet, he carries your full weight. "A little help here?" Hobie asks, you open one eye only to tightly close it again. "I'm tryin' to appease the gods here y'know" he says in between laughs, flicking your forehead.

"Really clown gods? Could've chosen better ones" you smile giddily up at him, he beams back at you, cradling the back of your head.

He scoffs, "or a much more willing sacrifice" Hobie straightens you out, fixing the collar of your jacket. You let out a small thank you, hot where his fingers grazed your skin.

"I saw somethin' better than the ferris wheel" he mumbles out.

"Yeah? Let's go then" taking his hand in yours you loop your pinky finger with his. Hobie leads you with a wobbly smile.

—

Hobie helps you up on the large Gondola, an out of commission viking ride that's supposed to swing up and down, now it's inoperable, looking glum amidst the twinkling lights. A wooden mermaid is carved on its bow, marred by time and exposed to the elements. It must've been a sight back then.

Using your foot as leverage, Hobie lifts you up by your hand, "I've got you" he heaves, your foot loses balance on the edge, threatening to fall off. "Shit!" Gasping out, you reach for his neck as he panics to grab a hold of you.

"I have you—Holy fuck!" Hobie secures you by your waist, your eyes tightly closed, head right on the crook of his neck. "You okay?" He places you back on solid ground, the ride creaks in the wind.

"Yeah," you exhale a shaky breath. Pulling away. "I'm gonna need that vodka" sitting down on the boat, you gesture towards the bottle on the floor. It wasn't even a far fall if he didn't catch you, but the thought of you getting hurt sounded alarms in his head.

Hobie snickers, he opens the bottle before he hands it to you, fingers touching yours for a split second. It's more than enough to warm his skin, not needing the alcohol to heat him up anymore. You take a sip whilst Hobie lounges to the seat in front of you, arm stretched on the back of it, long legs propped up next to your lap.

The moon casts him in a dark shadow, his newly pierced ears glinting in the moonlight, he looks ethereal this way, divine and out of reach. The lights whir, having a hard time lighting the old place.

You do the same to him with a smirk, legs right next to his jeans, taking a swig while your eyes stay to him. The warm liquid slides to your throat, warming you immediately.

You have no idea the effect you have on him. Hobie clenches his fists, breathing staggered, eyes flickering to your lips. It's not your intention though, you just wanted to show off that you can take your alcohol.

Hobie taps your thigh with his boot, clearing his throat before talking, "you're gonna drink all of it" He takes the bottle from your hand as you cough loudly. "That's what you get for hoarding all the vodka" chastising you, he leans to pat your back with a lot of effort on his part, almost folding himself in half.

"Fuck, that's– whew" your face all scrunched up, regretting your choices. Coughing again, your throat burns.

"You good, Gromit?" He asks with a laugh.

"Did you bring water with you?" Tears prick your eyes, sniffling.

"No, didn't think to" Hobie says apologetically, he winces when you let out another cough.

"You could've grabbed a bottle? I feel like my throat has razor blades in it" clearing your throat, you knead at your neck.

"Your fault, love. I didn't dare you" He takes a sip, taking your slight cough as a cautionary tale.

"Why'd you take us to this death trap anyway? Wait, did you plan this?" You look at him with a raised brow, realization hitting you.

"Nah, I told you the party was boring me to death" he lies, but you know him too well, noticing his tells. The slight bob of his adam's apple, eyes flicking to the side of your face for a split second, fingers itching at the back of his hand. You don't mention it or even tease him about it, intending to enjoy your time together.

"Yeah, going to jail for underage drinking and trespassing sounds better" you laugh, Hobie brings his feet to your lap, soles grazing your jacket. To his surprise, you don't protest. Legs parallel to each other, you play with the aglet of his boots.

"No one goes here except for teenagers wanting a place to snog" he regrets his words immediately, his ears feel like it's about to burst into flames.

You look at him with a growing smirk, with the alcohol coursing through you, it gives you liquid courage when you say the next words. "You planning on snogging me here, Hobs?"

Hobie almost spit takes at your question, he answers with the same bravado, shyness nonexistent as he feels his skin warm up from the alcohol. "If I'm gonna snog you, we would be in a better place than this rust bucket"

Instantly sobering up, you blink in surprise, chuckling nervously. Biting more than you can chew, your eyes try to avoid his lips.

Sitting in an awkward silence, Hobie takes another swig, you hug your torso from the biting cold. The tension is thick, his legs sit heavy on your lap. He notices these kinds of silences have increased these last few years, Hobie hopes it's not because you're pulling away from him or worse, him pushing you away with his growing affections.

You finally try to cut the tension, "Can we–" Hobie thought of the same, unintentionally cutting you off.

"I'm–shit. Sorry, go on" He really wants to hear what your next words will be, it could either cross the line between your friendship into something more. Hobie anticipates, hanging to every syllable you would utter.

"Can we go home? This place kinda gives me the creeps" He did not expect that, "the lights help but now some of them are flickering and it's like something's gonna come out" biting your lip, you look at Hobie directly.

The only reason you want to go is to get rid of the awkwardness, blaming the dark yet romantic atmosphere. You want to stay, you really do, but if the air stays like this between you, you'd rather go home. Save yourself the embarrassment of pining for your best friend. Guess Hobie isn't the only one lying tonight.

"Yeah, sure" He sits up, dejected, legs retreating back to him.

"Sorry, what was it you're gonna say?" Leaning your elbows on top of your thighs, you take the bottle from Hobie, getting his attention.

He sighs, you see a rare sight. He looks somewhat afraid. Why would Hobie be afraid though? It's just you.

You try to encourage him with a joke, "you feeling okay? You look constipated, is it the vodka?" He chuckles, you stand up, mirroring his small smile.

But that's the thing, it's you, a few years ago his little crush turned into puppy love, and that love turned into full blown yearning, longing for you to see him as something else other than your 'best mate' at first he thought it was just a phase, muddled with his teenage hormones, latching to the closest person he feels attracted to. Then it persisted, he realized that his deep affection for you was something else entirely other than some hormone induced crush.

It was safe to say Hobie hated puberty.

He bites the bullet, if he's gonna tell anyone it would be you. "I'm leaving school"

"Oh" dropping down from the gondola, you hide your frown. He's leaving, he's leaving you. Hands shaking at the thought, you mindlessly walk away, following the brightest thing in the carnival. "Why are you leaving?" Trying to hide the shakiness of your voice, you wring your hands together, taking another sip of the warm liquid.

Is it you? Did you cross the border too much? Is he sick of you? The cold doesn't help with your thoughts.

"I don't like school, you know that" Hobie watches your retreating form, he knew you wouldn't take it well but it still hurts when you turned your back on him. "Y/n" he calls out as you step on the carousel.

Turning around, his explanation calmed you down a smidge. You try to fix your expression. The bright lights of the carousel envelopes you, a halo forming around your body. You give him your hundred dollar smile.

"Okay, just don't forget me when you're famous" laughing dryly, Hobie joins you in the light, taking your shaking hands.

Knowing you for a long time, he reads you like an open book, looping his pinky with yours, Hobie looks at you straight on.

"I'm staying in the city, just not at school. 'm not leaving" you, he wanted to add but he's not brave enough to say the word.

Inhaling, you focus on the horses instead of his hold on you. "You should've led with that," you say with a tight lipped smile, extending your encouragement to him, you swallow your sadness. "I'm proud of you, if anyone's gonna make it out there it would be you" finally looking at him, gold bounces off his iris, honeyed flecks dancing in his eyes. "You can go on tour if you want to, you don't have to stay in the city" with me, the words echo in your mind.

Telling the absolute truth, your face is serious, hiding the ache. You will always be supportive of him even if it means leaving you in the process.

"Well we have to build our reputation first before goin' on tour," Hobie sways your intertwined hands. "Besides, my number one fan is here, who's gonna cheer us on?" He gives you his best smile, the same one that haunts your dreams.

Legs wobble from under you, leaning towards him, Hobie's eyes widen at your movement.

You embrace him, head laying on his broad shoulder. Mind reeling, you can't help but feel you're holding him back from doing greater things.

A sharp whistle pulls you away.

—

Hobie opens his eyes, back aching from the lumpy settee, his right arm practically numb. He's not usually a morning person, but with you sleeping comfortably in his arms, he wants to wake up earlier just to see this rare sight. Hobie smiles at how relaxed your face is, brows unfurrowed, mouth slightly parted and your skin glistening in the early morning sun. Your back to the couch, squeezed in between him and the settee, Hobie's arm wrapped around your torso, protecting you from the springs protruding from the cushions. Your Hands tucked to his side, fingers curled unconsciously on his shirt.

He doesn't care that his long legs dangle off the armrest, couch too small for his tall stature, or how there's a crick in his neck. Despite it all, Hobie hasn't slept this well in a long time. He's glad last night wasn't all a dream. Gently caressing your cheek with his pinky just to make sure you're actually real in his embrace.

You shift in your sleep, licking your dry lips, inhaling a gulp of air. It's like you're attuned with his senses, already knowing he's wide awake. You fake sleep, acting like you're deep in slumberland. Feeling his chest rise up and down, you can't help but curl your lips into a small smile when he covers his leg over yours, securing you in his hold.

Hobie knows you're awake though, his enhanced senses telling him the shift in your heartbeat and breathing. He's in a good mood so he intends to tease you this morning. Testing to see what your reaction will be in this new found position he has you in.

He tries to leave the couch, carefully taking his arm from under you, leg up, untangling from yours. You immediately protest, grasping his torso with your eyes closed. Pulling him back down to your side. Chuckling at your reaction, butt hitting the cushions with a thud, he slides back down to your side, going back to the same position. Your cheek pressed to his chest as Hobie kneads at the soft skin of your waist.

Still in your outfit, his fingers fiddle with a sunflower stitched to your cami. You lean further into him, arm over his torso, feeling his warmth through his shirt.

You're the first one to speak, sleep still lingering in your voice. "You talked in your sleep"

"And you drooled all over me but no one's keeping track" Hobie's morning voice sounds deeper, goosebumps appear on your skin when you feel the vibration from his chest.

"Hmm" you hum, content in his arms, savoring the precious moment. "I don't drool" cracking one eye open, you fight the sleep off. You rile him up just to hear the deep rumble of his voice.

"There's a wet patch on my sleeve that begs to differ" he says, nuzzling your hair. "What did I say?"

"Hm, you woke me up for a bit when you said clowns and my name. Sounds like you were having a really good dream about me" you take a peek at him through half lidded eyes. Hobie gently rubs the sleep off the corners, you practically vibrate at his touch.

"Well, you are a clown" he quips, you gasp dramatically, grabbing the hem of his shirt, balling it in your fist.

"What did you say? You punk?" Trying to sound as menacing as possible even though you're half asleep, you smile through the threat.

"I said you're gorgeous" his eyes flick to your lips for a second before Hobie gives you his best smile. You feel like a gem in his gaze, letting out a small 'thought so'. "For a clown" he says against your lips, chasing the soft plush of it.

"You–!" Pushing him off the sofa, he laughs all the way down, his butt landing on the floor, back on the foot of the sofa. His hands glued to your waist, almost bringing you down with him. You lay upside down with Hobie's hand on you, his face upturned, inches away from yours.

Pecking the tip of his nose, you don't care for morning breath, with Hobie, nothing embarasses you anymore. He feels the same, leaning up to change the course of your kiss to his waiting lips.

Giggling, you cup his jaw, neck straining to reach him in the upside down kiss. Hobie feels like he's dreaming again.

Before the kiss could go any further, you pull away, already missing his lips. "Can I go shower?"

"Sorry, I should've brushed first" he winces.

"It's not that, we literally made out last night with shawarma breath. I don't give a shit, Hobs" you chuckle, leaving a chaste kiss on his lips for good measure. He grins at your words, "I just really need to get out of these clothes and wash my face"

"Right, You just want to wear my clothes" Hobie flicks your forehead, "perv"

"You're the perv, dreaming about me with clowns and shit" laughing, you sit upright, nudging him with your socked foot.

"Yeah, it was bloody steamy" he riles you up again, it doesn't work this time though.

"Tell me later" walking to the bathroom, you spare him a sly glance over your shoulder.

When did you get so immune to his teasing? Hobie feels he needs to up his game.

—

Hobie scrapes off the egg sticking to the pan, now in his home clothes, a plain band shirt with the sleeves cut off and sweatpants hanging low on his hips. Hissing when hot oil flies towards his hand.

He feels you before he hears you, shutting the bedroom door behind you, the broken answering machine takes your attention from Hobie's toned arms.

Wiping your arms with the towel, you glare at the machine. "What are you planning with this thing?" Gesturing vaguely.

"What thing?" Taking the mugs out of the cabinet, he spares a look behind him. Maybe he shouldn't have. You look right at home, his jumper hugs your torso comfortably, pajama pants that he hasn't worn in a long time fits just right on your waist.

Hobie wants to kiss you as soon as possible. His senses are still a bit wonky, jumping slightly when the bread digs out of the toaster.

"Your machine" moving closer to him, feet padding on the wooden floors, you take the plate full of eggs, scrambled for you, sunny side up for him. "Thanks, Hobs"

"Ah, you forgot somethin'" you hum curiously, letting him turn you back around by your shoulder. Thinking that he might hand you the mugs of tea, instead he kisses your cheek, you squeak out, carefully balancing the plate in your wobbly hand. "There, what's up with the machine?" He goes back to making tea as if he didn't steal a kiss right under your nose. You don't seem to mind though.

"I think you should just throw it out"

"I can still fix it" He pours milk into your cup.

"Hobie, I know you can but that thing is bloody cursed" tone serious, you place the eggs on the kitchen island.

He guffaws at your comment, he can't believe your minds are so in sync with each other, Hobie sometimes feels like you're connected to him.

He still asks you even though he knows your answer, a ploy to keep hearing your voice. "Why do you think it's cursed?"

"Well, you bought it off an estate sale, it's probably haunted by the old owner. Second, it shocked you while you were installing the damn thing." Hands on your hips, you lean on the counter. Hobie snickers at your comments. "And lastly it has committed a crime against us"

Hobie laughs loudly, shaking the boat slightly as he doubles over in laughter. "What's the crime that my machine committed?" Mirroring your stance, he drapes the dish cloth over his shoulder.

You bite the inside of your cheek with how attractive he looks right now. "Sabotage" mumbling it out.

"Sabotage?" Hobie closes the distance, hands lovingly holding your shoulders. You click your tongue, moving his hand from your shoulder up to your jaw before you place your hands back to your hips again.

He tilts his head, thumb circling over to your cheek. "Cursed or not, the thing's expensive. I can still fix it"

"My parents have a spare one, I can nick it for you" biting your lip, you say the next words softly like you're still unsure. "Take it as a housewarming present from me, before I move in?"

Hobie's giddy smile melts your trepidation, leaning in, he stops a few centimeters from your lips. Closing your eyes in anticipation. Your brows furrowed when you don't feel his lips on yours. Cracking your eyes open, you see Hobie smirking mischievously. Huffing, you stick out your tongue in annoyance. Pushing him away with your palm on his face.

He chuckles, pinching your nose for a brief second before going back to making your tea. His houseboat has never felt more like home before, Hobie thinks you're the missing piece in making it so.

—

Hobie and you share a plate, standing hip to hip near the kitchen island, forks fighting for the last bit of egg. Soft music plays in the background from his old record player, the slow song a rare one in his large collection of vinyls.

"Since when?" He stops attacking you with his fork, moving the egg closer to your side of the plate, surrendering.

"Hmm? Since when what?" You ask, cutting the egg in half, giving the bigger cut to him.

He hums appreciatively, bringing the egg to his mouth. Suddenly feeling anxious at what he's gonna say.

Drinking your tea, you wait for him to continue.

"Since when did you start fancying me?" You almost choke, eyes widening at his question. Hobie never fails to surprise you.

You swallow your breakfast, "well," buying time, sipping your drink. "I don't know the day exactly. I think everything just clicked for me" answering, you avoid his gaze.

Hobie moves your chin so he could look you in the eyes. He didn't confess to you and make things awkward between you. Breaking the tension, he moves closer, leaning against the counter. Hand comfortably pressed on the small of your back. You bring him closer by his waist, hand staying there.

"So you just woke up one day and went 'I fancy my best mate?'" Fully joking, he raises a pierced brow.

You chortle, "No, I remember it being gradual. Like slowly getting past your ego," he rolls his eyes, you chuckle at his reaction. "your teasing and all the spikes." Giggling, he clutches his nonexistent pearls. "I dunno exactly when" shrugging your shoulders, you tell the truth. "But a rough approximate, probably between year eight or nine"

"You fuckin' telling me I could've been holding you like this since year nine?"

You guffaw loudly, "maybe not like this! We would've been too young!"

"A couple of years later then" Hobie matches your laugh, hugging you closer.

After a minute of comfortable silence, you continue to eat while still clinging to each other, Hobie pipes up. "Do you have someplace to be today?" He hopes for a 'no'

"Yeah, I have to go back to campus to submit my papers for graduation" biting a piece of your toast, noticing his lack of reply. "Or I can do that tomorrow." You see him perk up in your peripheral, "deadline isn't till next week anyway" slyly side eyeing him, a cheeky smile on your giddy face.

"Good" He acts disinterested. Hiding his smile behind his mug, but you know better.

You wait for a few seconds, smirk slowly spreading on your lips. "You've got something planned for us?"

Hobie chuckles, "Nah, just wanna stay home" he wipes the crumbs off your chin. "With you"

"Oohh I feel so special" leaning into his touch, you blink at him prettily.

"Gorgeous" he softly says, staring deep into your eyes.

"Yeah? Even with crumbs all over me?"

Without warning, He lifts you up by your thighs effortlessly. Laughter fills the modest boat, you cling to his neck, leaning down to kiss him. He tastes sweet because of the tea, you savor him, legs tightening around his waist. Humming into the kiss. His hands squeeze your upper thighs, still at a respectable distance.

Thanks to his new found senses, Hobie leads you back to the couch, a feat in itself without bumping into furniture while his eyes are closed. His back lands on the lumpy cushions, earning him a groan as he feels the friction between you. Kissing you deeper, fingers massaging the back of your neck.

You arch your back, Hobie lets out a deep sound from the back of his throat. Needing air, you pull away with a breathless smile.

"Fuck" His chest heaves up and down, half lidded eyes stare up at you.

Chuckling, satisfied at his reaction, you lean back down to pepper his jaw with kisses. Hobie laughs (which sounded more like a giggle to you) with every smack of your lips on his skin.

"You sound" kiss "so manly" kiss "right now"

"That so?" Surroundings blur as he flips you over quickly but carefully, a large hand cradling the back of your head so that you don't hit the armrest. Your back landing on the cushion, legs still wrapped around his waist. His arms cageing you, grinning down at your flustered face. His necklace swings over your face, you restrain yourself from grabbing it to pull him further down to you.

You gulp down on air, like butter on a hot pan, you melt under him. Hobie sees your bare fingers, having an idea. With love seeping out of his pores, he slips his favourite ring off his finger. You give him a curious stare, feeling loopy with all the affections.

"Hand" he instructs you with a goofy smile, fingers flexing towards you. Shaking your head, you play hard to get. He rolls his eyes, smiling staying put. "Please"

Giggling, you give him your left hand, your heart threatening to pump out of your chest as he slips the metal ring to your pointing finger. You bite your lip when the ring twirls around your finger, ring too big for it. He huffs, sparing you a playful glance. You shrug, biting your lip to tamp down your giddy laughter.

Hobie takes the ring out for a second before putting it on your middle finger, it fits perfectly around you. The metal arms of the spider curl around your finger, hugging it. The red gleam of its eyes makes it look alive.

You bring the hand closer to your face, fanning your face like a southern bell about to faint from the summer heat.

Hobie's face feels like it's about to set on fire, pulse drumming loudly against his skin. He laughs at your antics. Admiring his ring on you.

"I made you so soft for me" your eyes tender, saying it in a sing-song cadence, hand reaching up to cup his cheek. You feel how warm he is, his ring grants him reprieve, cooling down a tiny area of his skin.

"Not soft right now though" Hobie leans down with a grin. You know exactly what he meant.

Gasping out, "Hobie! You–" Hobie cuts you off by blowing raspberries on the soft plush of your neck.

—

Hobie drops you off in front of your dorm building, you're practically wearing his wardrobe, save for your own shoes. Leather jacket over his jumper, too long jeans that he folded on each leg so you don't trip over the denim. His ring shines in the late morning sun right on your middle finger, still giddy at the thought of you wearing it. Your heavy bag full of clothes slung over your shoulder.

Hobie sits on his bike, motor still running, his hands sit comfortably on your waist. You're slotted in between his legs, fingers fixing the stray threads on his leather vest that you've lovingly given to him.

You've (reluctantly) come back to the dorms to submit your graduation requirements, having the entire day to yourself (to your dismay) but it's a necessary evil so you could spend the entire day with him tomorrow.

"You sure you don't want me to pick you up tomorrow?" He loops his thumb over your (his) belt loop.

"Nope, I can meet you there. I need to drop by aunt Janet's for my last order and you've got that protest. I can go with you if I finish early though"

"Right, call me if you need a ride" Hobie doesn't want to pressure you or worse, make you feel stifled.

"Mm-hmm, it's just a roll of fabric. I've managed before" you act brave in front of him. Truth be told, you want him next to you the entire day tomorrow, but you don't want him to think you're being too clingy. You're gonna move in with him anyway.

"Then I'll help you move in" as if reading your mind, Hobie pipes up excitedly.

"Then you can help me move in" chuckling, you agree with him. "First proper date tomorrow, huh?"

Hobie snorts, "Don't think that's the first one ever. We've been on hundreds"

"Yeah, but this one would be the first proper one. You asked me this time" looking at him through your eyelashes you can't help but peck his cheek. "You've got a plan for us then?"

"Maybe" Hobie guides your face with his hand, moving you to his lips instead. "Hell, I'll even get you flowers if you want. Since it's the first proper one" he says against your kiss bitten lips.

"Looking forward to it then" kissing him goodbye, you embrace him tightly. "Oh!" Pulling away suddenly, he pouts his lips. "I almost forgot, here" you take something out of your bag, placing it in his hand.

He looks at the red and blue spider trapped inside the glass casing, "it's dead right?"

"Yeah, you squished it. I've been meaning to give it to you since you gave me one" showing your ringed finger, twirling the metal spider around.

"How romantic, a dead spider" He says deadpanned, side eyeing you.

"Fine, give it here. Peter will love it" reaching over to take it from Hobie, he moves it away from you.

"Nah, it's mine. You gave it to me first" clicking his tongue, eyes crinkling in the corners, Hobie pockets it with a ghost of a smile.

You shake your head with a loopy grin, pecking his lips one last time before leaving. "Drive carefully" eyes soft, leaving one last kiss for good measure.

"Yeah, see you tomorrow, love" He chases your lips, hesitantly pulling away.

—

You bump into your RA in the hallway, she looks at you from head to toe, clearly not in your own clothes.

"Fun night?" She asks with a knowing smirk.

"Very fun" you indulge her because of your good mood. She does a double take, not expecting you to actually answer her like that.

—

You sigh for the umpteenth time, closing the door to the admin's office. Still in Hobie's clothes, coming down from the high of being with him, you crave him more. Having some sort of withdrawal symptoms, feeling jittery and excited to see him again. Of course you wouldn't tell him that or he'll endlessly tease you about it.

Smiling like a mad woman, you walk past your old classroom.

"L/n!" Mrs. Williams calls out to you. Surprised she knows your last name or even remembers you. You peek around the corner, seeing her sitting down on her desk littered with stacks of papers and Manila envelopes.

"Good afternoon, professor" smiling politely, she gestures for you to come inside.

Truth be told, you were saving her for last on submitting your requirements, even though she was strict and (undeniably) terrifying, Mrs. Williams was an inspiration to you. Always prim and proper, her talent in designing is top tier. You learned a lot from her.

You stop right next to her desk, glancing at the various portfolios on her desk. Spotting yours in the forefront, you flick your eyes back to the brunette, hiding your sudden nervousness. Maybe you should've changed into something more fashionable before going back to campus. Hiding your hands inside Hobie's sleeves, you anxiously pick at your nail polish or what's left of it.

"Knock knock" someone suddenly knocks on the (already) open doors with enthusiasm. Turning around, you recognize the man as Mr. Riley from the fashion show, he holds two lattes in his hand.

He stands up straight the moment he spots you, "oh great timing"

"I assume you've met each other?" The woman genuinely smiles at Mr. Riley.

"Yes," answering, you don't miss their lingering looks towards one another as Mr. Riley gives her the latte.

"I was about to tell her about your proposition" Williams says through her paper cup.

Snapping out of it, Mr. Riley gives you his best smile. "Well, I've faxed my boss your portfolio and she absolutely loves it!" You beam at his words. "We would really love it for you to be part of the team after you graduate"

"That's amazing! I–I don't know what to say" you roam your eyes towards your professor for approval, she looks at you with a nod and small smile. "Thank you!" You laugh in bewilderment.

"Is that a yes?" Riley brings his hand for you to shake. "Of course we'll give you ample time to sort your papers for the move. Two months seems like the right timeline."

You were about to shake his hand to accept his offer but you stop halfway when he says the word 'move'. "I have to move? Where exactly?" Voice shaking, you drop your hand back to your side.

"L.A. in America" He says as if that's the closest place to move to. "You know, where our headquarters are?"

Mrs. Williams notices your knitted brows and slow blinks. "Ian, may I talk to my student for a minute" she looks up at him through her long lashes.

"Yeah– of course, I forgot your scones anyway. Be right back!" He walks away, shutting the door behind him.

Heart stuck in your throat, you look at your professor for guidance.

"Listen, out of the entire graduating class, only three were approved. One of them is you."

You release a shaky breath, lips tightening to a flat line, trying to stop your heaving. Your excitement turns into something indistinguishable, something that feels unwarranted, a stabbing sensation all over your skin.

Williams takes your portfolio in hand, flipping through it. "You see this?" She shows you a sketch of Hobie's outfit, his eyes seem to pierce through you. "This is the outfit, the only reason it didn't make it to the top three is because there wasn't enough of you in it."

You try to wrap your mind around her statement, ears focused on her words.

"I understand your…" she tries to find the right words. "...worry. But you must understand, not a lot of people get this opportunity. Don't let it pass you by"

You recognize those words, heart clenching at the different meaning behind it.

"Riley will only be here till next week, you have that time to decide. Please take my words into consideration, I want all my students to thrive."

You nod, murmuring a small 'thank you'. Walking away from the room, you slip away to an empty broom closet. Mind racing, it all stops to him, his smiling face appears in your mind's eye, voice echoing amidst the rushing and chaos of your thoughts.

Silent tears slide down your cheeks. You don't even know why you're crying. Already knowing what to do, wiping your eyes, tears sticking on your lashes, you already know, Right?

A/N: Thank you for reading! I can't believe we're almost at the end 😭 let me know your thoughts ❤️

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brokehorrorfan · 3 months

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The Boy will be released on 4K Ultra HD + Blu-ray on September 3 via Scream Factory. The 2016 horror film was an international co-production between the US and China.

William Brent Bell (Orphan: First Kill, The Devil Inside) directs from a script by Stacey Menear. Lauren Cohan, Rupert Evans, Jim Norton, Diana Hardcastle, Ben Robson, Jett Klyne, and James Russell star.

The Boy is presented in 4K from the original elements with Dolby Vision and Dolby Atmos. Special features are listed below.

Disc 1 - 4K UHD:

Audio commentary by film critics Julia Cunningham and Emily Higgins (new)

Disc 2 - Blu-ray:

Audio commentary by film critics Julia Cunningham and Emily Higgins (new)

Interview with William Brent Bell (new)

Interview with writer Stacey Menear (new)

Interview with cinematographer Daniel Pearl (new)

Interview with doll designer Todd Masters (new)

Interview with doll handler Tannis Hegan (new)

Theatrical trailer

Greta (Lauren Cohan) is a young American woman who takes a job as a nanny in a remote English village. She soon discovers that the family's 8-year-old is a life-sized doll that they care for just like a real boy, as a way to cope with the death of their son 20 years prior. After she violates a list of strict rules, a series of disturbing and inexplicable events bring Greta's worst nightmare to life, leading her to believe that the doll is actually alive.

Pre-order The Boy.

#the boy #brahms #william brent bell #horror #lauren cohan #rupert evans #jim norton #ben robson #jett klyne #james russell #scream factory #dvd #gift #2010s horror

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maleyanderecafe · 8 months

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The Boy (Movie)

Created by: William Brent/Stacey Menear

Genre: Thriller

Wow, a movie recommendation? I figured at some point I'd have to branch out more to movies and whatnot, so I've been watching a lot of movies during this month to make up for it. This is one of my friend's favorite yandere movies (and she says the second one doesn't exist) because she loves wall men. I'm not the biggest fan of horror movies, but this one really isn't that scary, even for me. Anyways bear with me on this recommendation since it's the first time I'm writing one for a movie

The story starts out with Greta, applying to be a nurse for a rich family named the Hershires. She befriends the delivery boy Malcolm while there, noting how creepy and weird the mansion is. The Hershires then introduce her to their son, Brahmn, who is a doll, and teaches her the route that she has to follow as his nurse. The mother tells Greta that Brahmn is very specific with his nurses, either killing or hurting the ones before that he didn't approve of. We learn from the father Hershire that Brahmns actually died in a fire when he was about 8, and they use the doll as a way to connect with their deceased son. Brahmn does accept Greta, leading the two Hereshires to go on their trip. Greta initially doesn't take the job very seriously only wanting to stay there for two weeks, though we do get her backstory on why she is here in the first place, which is to escape from her ex, Cole. As she's about to dress and basically go on a date with Micheal, she gets stuck in the attic for an entire night. We learn from Malcolm that there's some strange things going on in the family, and that the death of Brahmns might have been a coverup for a murder of a little girl when he was younger. As she's taking care of them, Greta gets spooked by the doll who gives her back the shoes he stole and a sandwich, which makes her take care of the doll very well. We also learn from Greta through a conversation with her and Malcolm that she was at one point pregnant with Cole's child and had a miscarriage because of him. Cole eventually is able to find and break into the mansion, trying to convince Greta to go back with him. While Micheal is there to protect her, Cole ends up smashing the Doll, leading to Greta calling out for Brahmns to protect her. Brahmn pretty much breaks through the mirror showing that he is not a doll but rather a very tall and muscular guy that has been living in the walls. After seeing his doll broken, he proceeds to kill Cole and starts to run after Greta and Malcolm as he wants to protect Greta from Malcolm. They end up running inside of the walls of the house only to find the room that Brahmns has been living in. He sees that he's made a replica of her out of clothes and whatnot as well as a letter from the parents stating that they entrusted her to him, stating that she is now hers, as we did see earlier when they drowned themselves. After beating up Malcolm, he chases after Greta again. Greta picks up a knife and basically forces him to do their bed routine of going to bed and tucking him in before stabbing Brahmn. Brahmn, of course, gets angry and tries to strangle Greta, but Greta ends up stabbing him. We see that Brahmn has burn marks on his face before Greta gets Malcolm to safety and drives the heck out of there.

Starting out, like I said, this movie really isn't that scary or even really that...thriller like, but it's still a good movie. There are maybe three jumpscares, though only one of them caught me off guard (probably because my friend was streaming and it was lagging a bit). While I think there are some parts where Greta probably should have done something a bit smarter (like, you're being paid to take care of the doll...could you actually at least try to take care of it for like a day first, and also why didn't you call the police when Cole literally broke into someone's house) but overall I'd say she's a pretty good protagonist. She's just trying to escape her abusive relationship and live normally. I also think there's a lot of mental gymnastics on how the parents sort of burnt the house to pretend that Brahmns died in it, only to seal him in the walls and then pretend to be insane by having a doll? That's some rich people nonsense. It's also kind of just funny thinking of how this 6ft 5 man keeps rolling around moving this doll around or going to steal stuff from Greta while she's showering without ever really getting noticed.

Anyways, moving onto Brahmns. Considering that he basically chose Greta (instead of the other nurses and presumably because she looks familiar to the girl he killed/had a crush on), we see that he tries to get her favor, by giving back her boots and a sandwich (?). As well as tries to keep her around and actually makes the doll disappear when she says she'll have to leave and of course protecting her from Cole (and Malcolm). From what I can tell, he seems like a protective yandere with a bit of obsessive/stalker behavior considering that he's literally in the walls and watches her, as well as just steals her stuff and makes a doll of her out of colthes. And he's submissive considering all of the Brahmn you're a good boy that I hear a lot. Especially in the ending where Greta forces him to go to bed and kisses him on the head (before stabbing him) but you know how it is. He pretty much just keeps on trying to protect her from Cole and Malcolm since he also cock blocked them when they were about to have sex by moving the doll and listening to loud music, which I personally think is very funny. I'm not sure what happens in the second movie since that could change on if Brahmns is really a yandere or not but just from this movie, it does seem like it. Even if he did try to kill Greta, but to be fair, I'm sure if you were stabbed, you might try to kill the person who stabbed you. Just saying.

Anyways, it was a pretty fun movie. I kind of like making fun of it on certain parts because some of the things are sort of logic leaps, but overall, I did have a good time with it. Also a pretty submissive yandere overall, which I have to approve of. If you enjoy wall men, this one is a good one to watch.

#The boy #yandere #male yandere #yandere boy #movie #recomendation

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throwing-in-the-towel · 2 months

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Absolutely, everyone is gonna have off days! I will say-I've seen Brody the most, Trevor second (haven't seen Josh's Pony yet) and....Trevor is noticeably less consistent than Brody. Which, again, it's fine! I think if you're someone who knows the show as well as I do it's bothersome, but for the average viewer it isn't! Similarly, I have not LOVED Victor's Darry but Dan and Brent are great! Different strokes for different folks, you know?

absolutely 100000% agree with everything you said here. i’ve seen brody the most as well and definitely feel like i know more how the songs/show is gonna go with his performance than i do with trevor. only saw josh once, so not even gonna go into talking about him LOL.

i have yet to see victor as darry, but have heard his audio and don’t necessarily love his voice for the role. im sure he does a great job,,,but its just not for me! i was shocked at how much i loved dan as darry. you just never know LOL! there are also a few roles i haven’t had covers for yet and im just so nervous because i won’t know what to expect!

i love seeing understudies/swings, but i’ll be honestly i definitely become hesitant going into the show when someone i’ve never seen is on. it’s a normal thing to feel that way, especially as someone who knows the show inside and out, as anon has also mentioned!

#the outsiders broadway #the outsiders musical

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ro-botany · 5 months

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So how did Freddie feel when Chrom first became the ruler of Ylisse? When he finally became Exalt? Did he try to reassure him he didn't NEED to get married and provide an heir before he was ready? Listen Freddie is the closest Chrom and Lissa have to a dad and I wanna hear about how much he cried over baby Lucina's birth--

Fred is at this weird crossroads between father figure, older brother, and bodyguard for all the Ylissean royal siblings and it's such a fun dynamic to try and navigate. They're good found family brent

I think given the circumstances of Chrom taking the throne... Lots of mixed feelings. He's feeling the loss of Emmeryn very deeply at that time. He was also privvy to a lot of Emm's struggles becoming Exalt at a young age and, while he knows Chrom is a young man and much more equipped to handle it, and that Ylisse is faring much better now overall, Fred would worry. A lot. As he is wont to do. It's a lot of sudden political responsibility for a man who's grieving a sister and who had assumed he would just be running a militia for the foreseeable future.

Re the marriage and heir stuff... Well. Gestures at all my Fred headcanons. Fredcanons. I think Fred would put so little stock into this OooOOoo produce an heir already talk that if it were up to him Chrom would never even hear about it. It's all just bullshit. Chrom has a halidom to run. Anyone hemming and hawing about succession and propriety can go to hell. If Chrom ever mentioned it around Fred, Fred would say as much, though in much more diplomatic tones.

I fully believe that if this setting has a concept of godfathers, then Chrom would ask Fred to be Lucina's godfather. And Fred would bawl his eyes out about it. When he gets it together he would probably get real sarcastic about being assigned babysitter to yet another royal kid, and poke a lot of fun at Chrom and Lissa, but he's so touched. Definitely turns into a big tearful mess when Lucina is actually born. He's only known Lucina for five minutes, but if anything happened to her, etc.

I imagine Frederick is normally cagey about bringing his family anywhere near his job because of Appearances... But you can bet your last dollar he finds a way to get At Minimum his mom (and probably lots more folk) to visit Ylisstol to meet his goddaughter. Cause like are you kidding me? You think he's not gonna go gung-ho on his new role?? You think the whole Frederick family ain't gonna adopt Lucina just cause she's the princess??? Nonsense. Fred's a godfather and Luci's got an extended family now. You too Chrom and Lissa you aren't escaping this.

The castle nobility is in shambles watching a bunch of commoners interacting with and probably celebrating about the royal baby Inside The Castle. But it's not like they can do anything about it. Their boss the exalt okayed it, and he's a dragon-blessed war hero divinely appointed to rule them or whatever, so they have to just let it happen.

#fe awakening #frederick #this got kind of off track but that's par for the course when someone mentions fred within five miles of me lol

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gendertheft · 2 months

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A full moon rises outside.

There, a growl! A moan of terror! A scratching at the door! Finally, a long, terrifying howl, and the glint of a yellow eye that leers at you behind the screen.

Like any creature movie, good werewolf movies are hard to find. In order from least to most terrifying, these are my top ten.

Wolf Children (2012, dir Mamoru Hosoda) : Hana is a young student in Tokyo, meeting a strange man that eventually reveals himself to be a wolf man. As life goes on, and they have children, Hana raises and encourages them to follow their own path.

Wolfwalkers (2020, dir Tomm Moore, Ross Stewart) : Robyn Goodfellow wants to help her father. There are wolves in the woods, and they terrorize villagers, trying to eat their sheep. After Robyn meets a strange girl who lives within the pack who bites her, she begins to question what’s been told about wolves, and about nature. Can it really be controlled?

The Wolf Man (1941, dir George Waggner) : Larry Talbot is coming home. There’s a funeral to arrange, an estranged father to make up with, a new woman to woo. But things take a turn for the worse when he gets bit by what he thinks is a wolf… but ends up being a man.

The Beast Must Die! (1974, dir. Paul Annett) : The most dangerous game is afoot… and Tom Newcliffe is determined to bag himself a werewolf, the last beast for his collection. As the hunt begins, it may end closer to home then he may like.

The Company of Wolves (1984, dir Neil Jordan) : A fantastical fairytale about the dangers of growing up, about men who are hairy on the inside.

Strippers v Werewolves (2012, dir Jonathan Glendening) : A stripper kills a werewolf during a strip tease, and the resulting chaos results in a showdown at the club.

Ginger Snaps (2000, dir John Fawcett) : Who remembers their puberty fondly? Not Ginger. Hair’s coming in weird places, she’s growing a tail, her period just won’t end. Her younger sister Brigitte is watching with horror, knowing that she’s next.

Howl (2015, dir Paul Hyett) : What do you do when a creature attacks a train you’re working on? How far do your responsiblities go? How beholden are you to your passengers?

Good Manners (2017, dir Marco Dutra, Juliana Rojas) : Clara is a nurse from Sao Paulo, looking for a job to help make rent. She meets Ana, a young mom to be - but as Ana’s problems become her own, Clara starts getting attached.

Dog Soldiers (2002, dir Niel Marshall) : A Biritish training excersise goes terribly wrong when the group finds a mauled special ops officer - but the path he leads them down may contain a couple of problems he doesn’t want to elborate on.

honorable mentions:

Wer (2013, dir. William Brent Bell) : werewolf found footage film

Van Helsing (2004, dir Stephen Sommers) : Hugh Jackman rips his shirt off to turn into a werewolf to fight dracula.

red riding hood (2011, dir Catherine Hardwicke) : Twilight, but if Bella had jerked off about it.

Werewolves Within (2021, dir Josh Reuben) : who’s the werewolf. it’s not who you think it is. no, not them either.

The Werewolf of Washington (1973, dir Milton Moses Ginsberg) : poltician goes into werewolf, and like, it’s really affecting him.

#werewolf #werewolf movies #andy.txt

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whumporpass · 6 months

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Brent from Inside Job Netflix?

#brett hand #inside job #whump or pass poll

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haywire-hetfield · 5 months

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Two Lovers Entwined

Ship: Phil Lewis x Brent Muscat

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Drunk sex, non-penetrative sex, grinding, handjobs, blow jobs.

Words: 1,458

“You're so pretty,” Phil said, echoing the same words he'd uttered at least six other times already. Each moment, he'd had the same bright smile on his face and he'd obviously meant it just as much.

He was very clearly drunk, face flushed and eyes glassy as he looked at Brent. His hair was a mess and he'd lost his bandana somewhere along the way, dark strands falling into his face.

“You're so pretty,” Brent retorted, smiling back and reaching out to push hair away from his face. Phil leaned into his hand, nearly falling over onto him. He laughed at his own lack of coordination and Brent shook his head fondly. “So pretty,” He repeated.

And it was true. Phil was pretty in the same way a lot of rock stars were. He was tall and lithe, lovely dark hair framed features that were just soft enough to be seen as feminine. Brent liked his eyes and smile the best, though.

“If I'm so pretty then why am I not in your bed yet?” Phil asked, catching Brent a bit off guard. The sudden bluntness of the question made him laugh.

“Aren't you at least going to pretend you're interested in the movie?” He hummed and Phil shook his head, leaning in for a kiss. Brent was smiling as he kissed him back for a moment, finally pushing him away. “Upstairs,” He told him.

Phil was kissing him the second they were inside Brent's room, pushing close to his body. His hands wandered across Brent's body, groping at everything he could reach. He'd always been handsy and it only got worse when he'd been drinking.

He licked deeper into Brent's mouth, squeezing a bit too roughly at his ass. It earned a sharp noise from Brent, making him squirm around. He'd never minded it when Phil held onto him too hard, though.

“Clothes off,” Brent murmured once he pulled away from the kiss. It wasn't the smoothest he'd ever been, but it did make Phil laugh and strip off his shirt. He gave a playful wiggle as Brent stared at his chest. “You're such an idiot,” He laughed and began getting his own clothes off.

They were both shaky from how much they had to drink, but miraculously, neither had tipped over. It took too long to get everything off, yet they managed and finally made it to the bed.

Brent whined when Phil got a hand wrapped around his cock, stroking slowly. It was firm enough, but not quick enough for him. And he had a feeling Phil was purposely teasing him. A smaller kiss was pressed to his lips and Phil pulled his hand away just as soon as Brent was fully hard.

“Don't stop,” Brent complained to him, but Phil didn't resume his motions. Instead, he climbed on top of Brent and lined them up so they were rocking against one another. “Fuck,” He breathed out, enjoying the slick slide against Phil's stomach. They kissed again, deeper this time around and Brent didn't know which feeling to focus more on.

He whined when Phil bit his lip, being too rough with him again, but he didn't mind it. Phil laughed against him, having to break away from the kiss.

“Sorry, baby. Did that hurt?” Phil asked, only sounding partially apologetic. His lips didn't stop rocking into him, off rhythm from how drunk he was. Brent shook his head, smiling at the question.

“Only a little,” He assured him and Phil nodded, seeming pleased with that answer. He moved his head closer to Brent, resting his chin on his shoulder.

Now that he was this close, Brent could hear how rough his breathing had gotten. He already sounded so desperate and Brent considered teasing him, making him stop and wait to come. Ultimately, he decided not to be that cruel this time. His fingers slid into Phil's hair, petting through it and admiring how soft it was.

“That feels so good,” Brent praised after a moment, humming as Phil rocked against him harder. Apparently, he was quite fond of being praised. Brent's fingers kept pushing through his hair, careful whenever he hit a knot. “Just like that. Keep going,” Brent knew his own voice sounded breathless by now, but at this point, neither of them cared.

“You feel good too, baby. Gonna make me come,” Phil warned, movements growing faster and more erratic. Brent chuckled at the way he spoke, strained and needy. “Tighten your hips around me,” He encouraged and Brent complied, shifting to wrap his legs around Phil, tugging him closer.

The new position forced them impossibly close, no space at all between their bodies now. Phil's breathing hitched sharply and it wasn't difficult to understand why. It felt far more intense, the friction increased almost to the point of it being overwhelming.

“Fuck yeah. Much better,” Phil encouraged, panting into his shoulder. Fingers tightened into Phil's hair, holding him a bit firmer.

“Are you gonna come for me?” Brent asked, wanting to sound more put together than he did. His words were a bit choked out, but Phil still gave a noise of affirmation. “Good boy. Come for me then,” Despite being shaky at best, Brent's words had their intended effect.

Phil whined low in his throat and a handful of thrusts later, Phil let out a soft moan and his hips stilled. Brent could feel him spilling hot and wet across his stomach. He couldn't see Phil's face, but they'd done this enough times that he knew it by heart.

He knew the way his eyes closed tightly and how his nose wrinkled up. The fact his teeth sunk into his bottom lip, but it still wasn't enough to stifle his usually quiet moan which was louder due to how drunk he was.

“My good boy,” Brent murmured, relaxing his hand to once again just petting his hair. He held him until he composed himself again, ignoring his own needs for a bit. He didn't mind the delay which was surprising. He'd always been less patient when he'd been drinking, but it was very easy to be patient with Phil.

“I am your good boy, aren't I?” Phil smirked once he'd relaxed a bit, pulling away enough that they weren't pressed completely together. “Your turn,” He murmured, hair messy. Brent nodded and smirked back, resisting the urge to fix his hair for him.

“Be my guest,” Brent said, ignoring the uncomfortable feeling of Phil's come beginning to cool on his stomach.

Brent groaned when Phil's hand wrapped around his cock for the second time tonight. Normally, Brent didn't really care for handjobs, but he loved anything he did with Phil. Even with him being a bit uncoordinated. His hand found an unsteady pace, but it was one that worked for Brent.

“Get me wet,” Brent murmured and he expected Phil to just spit into his hand. Directly on his cock maybe. What he didn't expect was Phil moving down the bed and slipping him into his mouth instead. “Oh, fuck yes. Perfect,” He sounded broken already, but he thought anyone would in his position.

Phil didn't take much into his mouth, only a bit more than the head. He didn't need to, though. It was making Brent squirm and gasp, trying not to buck into his mouth.

Even as drunk as he was, he was still unbelievable at giving head. He lapped at the slit roughly, swallowing whenever too much precome and saliva would pool up in his mouth. Brent twitched every time, enjoying the feeling.

“I'm going to come,” Brent told him, giving him a heads up so he could pull off if he wanted to. Phil only kept going, doubling his efforts if anything. “Good boy. Take it,” He encouraged and Phil bummed around him.

He did buck his hips this time, despite his best efforts not to. It just felt too good to avoid it. Phil swallowed around him and it was all too much. He groaned sharply and came, stomach tightening almost painfully as he spilled inside of his mouth.

Phil stayed there, only pulling off his cock once he was obviously done. Once he did, he spit all of Brent's come onto his stomach.

“Phil!” Brent scolded, although he was giggling the entire time. He shifted and realized too late that it just led to a mess on the bed sheets. Phil was grinning up at him. “That's so gross.”

“How?” Phil laughed, moving up the bed to lay down with him. “It was gonna end up there if I didn't swallow it anyway,” He pointed out and Brent huffed. He didn't know a good defense for that, but he did know he needed a shower.

#rpf #smut #nsft #phil lewis x brent muscat #brent muscat x phil lewis #faster pussycat #brent muscat #la guns #phil lewis

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boricuacherry-blog · 9 months

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It's kind of selfish too. I just like it. I'm always looking for the new new shit."

Erykah has also collaborated with Italian fashion house Marni on a capsule collection which was sold in select Marni boutiques.

"Everything is vibration and sound, from the sound of the birds that I've heard since I was a child...(to) the clothes I wear - the clothes in my Marni line all have bells on them," the Dallas native said. "So, if I associate everything with music, it's very easy for me to create...there's a variety of things I listen to throughout the day, from wind chimes in the morning to Brent Faiyaz in the afternoon to Bach - I mean, there's just so many different things. I just love music and frequency. It is my therapy."

Badu describes the Marni collection as something of an audiovisual experience, what she calls "mystical instrumental wear."

A champion for Black women and free thought, she's not only in an era of reinvention, but expansion. She's entered the cannabis industry partnering with Cookies, arguably the world's most recognizable legal marijuana brand. She's worked with Cookies co-founder Berner to create a weed strain called That Badu, also working on a mushroom tea line.

Although it's been years since Badu put out an album, she has recently gone on tour, called The Unfollow Me tour. In an interview with Vibe, she revealed the inspiration for the name of the tour - cancel culture. "Whenever someone says something in the comments, they don't agree, I don't care, unfollow me, doesn't matter," she told the magazine.

"One thing I brag about all the time is that my sister is probably the only artist I know who easily sells out arenas despite not having put out an album in almost a decade," says sibling Koryan, or Koko for short. Koko once sang backup for Badu's band, but these days acts as her sister's right hand. With a trucker hat pulled over striking waist-length platinum blonde braids, Koko carries herself like a woman who means business. Badu's turning point, she explains, came when the pandemic brought touring to a halt.

The pivot was swift and effective: the launch of Badubotron, a streaming platform hosting concerts from Badu's home that could be viewed for the nominal fee of $1. These attracted more than a hundred thousand fans enamored of Badu's elaborate costumes, wild performances, and otherworldly DIY sets. In one of her shows, Badu and her band appeared to perform inside huge inflatable bubbles. The singer's popular online merch store, Badu World Market, also went live. "We just kind of came together as a family and it was like, Oh, we actually have a company right here," says Koko, whose son, Malcolm, and daughter, Diamond, also work for brand Badu. "Everyone stepped up."

The latest family member to join the team is Badu's daughter Puma. Listening to her cover her mother's songs on TikTok, you can barely tell their voices apart. She and boyfriend Sean have been serving as Badu's personal assistants for a little over a year, which means, among other things, ensuring Badu has the 15 to 20 trunks of clothing and accessories she needs on tour. "I don't know how other family workplace dynamics go," Puma says, "but it's like a real job, and I have to buckle down and do what I need to do or else word is going to get to the CEO and I'm not going to get paid. You know what I mean?"

Inside Badu's home, it's a veritable Aladdin's cave of tchotchkes and objets d'art, with Buddha statues lining the staircase, African masks hanging on the walls, and Indian marigold garlands strung in the windows. Badu, in a silk Libertine caftan printed with pictures of monkeys in space suits, leads her guests past her recording studio to the living area, where two larger-than-life Malian brass busts have glowing sticks of incense sprouting from their heads. The fireplaces casts shadows on vintage furniture, including a throne-like peacock love seat and a retro-futurist egg pod chair. In the corner, an upright piano is buttressed by a stack of vintage Louis Vuitton trunks.

#erykah badu #article #2022

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fearsmagazine · 10 months

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LORD OF MISRULE - Review

DISTRIBUTOR: Magnet Releasing

SYNOPSIS: Rebecca Holland, along with her husband, Henry, and their 9-year-old daughter, Grace, has now spent a full year in their new home, the small British village of Berrow, where Rebecca is the vicar of the local church. Berrow’s annual four-day autumn festival approaches, a time when villagers dress up in strange costumes and a masked figure known as the Lord of Misrule leads them in casting out the evil spirit Gallowgog. For this year’s reenactment Grace has been chosen to play the Harvest Angel. As dusk falls, Rebecca loses track of Grace in the throng of villagers in a ceremonial field where bonfires burn. Rebecca searches for her in vain, but Grace has disappeared. A desperate search begins and Rebecca uncovers secrets from the town’s dark past. Soon, she must decide how much she is willing to sacrifice to rescue her daughter from the grip of the evil that dwells in Berrow.

REVIEW: The director of “The Devil Inside,” “The Boy,” and “Orphan: First Kill,” comes a haunting folk tale of a secluded community in the British isles that practices a pagan ritual steeped in a horrific truth. The film is an excellent marriage of narrative and visuals to craft a terrifying tale.

I love Tom DeVille’s narrative. He does a superb job of mixing this pagan tale with contemporary themes and adds in a supernatural element with an evil spirit, Gallowgog, to create a horrifying fairy tale that is every parent’s worst nightmare. The Lord of Misrule is a tale that is found in European cultures, with its origin being traced back to the Roman celebration of Saturnalia, that took place from the 17th to 23rd December. In the film, De Ville anchor’s the legend as part of a harvest celebration. He brings in some of the background of how the Catholic Church and the Church of England forced their religion onto the local people and replaced their festivals with Christian ones. Clearly there is a troubled past brewing at the Holland household. Rebecca and Henry are having issues, and when we first meet Grace we get an idea that something is wrong. Is that a result of the darkness that resides in the town or something the family is trying to escape. Rebecca tightly holds onto her beliefs as she is confronted by the town’s grim history; she demonstrates a strength through her logic that leaves the viewer feeling she might survive this encounter. There is just so much here for the sophisticated genre fan to sink their teeth into given everything DeVille weaves into the story.

Filmmaker William Brent Bell, as with several of his previous films but more so here, has an excellent location that permits him the opportunity to create a visually arresting fairy tale nightmare for De Ville’s story to play out in. Add to that excellent productions designs, costume designs, with arresting visual and special effects that make for a hypnotic tale. He does an excellent job of pacing the film as to allow the viewer to feel Rebecca’s becoming disoriented in the horrors that develop without slowing the film down. Brett Detar’s score adds so much to the film. There is a particular moment in the film when the town folks show up with food and start setting up for dinner where the score underpins Rebecca’s mental state and the insanity of everything that is going on around them. Itadds depth to the visuals and enhances the build ups of terror and suspense.

LORD OF MISRULE features an exceptional ensemble cast. There is an aspect to the supporting cast that I found reminiscent of Rosemary Woodhouse’s neighbors in Polanski’s film. I loved actor Ralph Ineson’s performance as Jocelyn Abney. It is grounded more in a character that feels lifted from today’s news feeds like a Brexiteer or Maga Republican. It makes for a new kind of sinister. Evie Templeton does not have much screen time as Grace, but what she delivers is enchanting and horrifying at times. Tuppence Middleton is someone who you’ll know that you’ve seen before, and clearly her performance here demonstrates why she has appeared in so many projects, from episodic shows to big studio features. Her portrayal of Rebecca is an emotional rollercoaster ride that conveys the intense emotional journey of the character as she navigates this cinematic nightmare.

Filmmaker William Brent Bell and screenwriter Tom DeVille, along with a marvelous cast headed by Tuppence Middleton and Ralph Ineson, tell a rich and haunting tale that is as much an epic horror tale as it is social commentary. This spellbinding cinematic tale is a complex visual and narrative experience that feels like it could be based on a bestselling novel from a master of the genre. LORD OF MISRULE is a film worth going to the cinema to experience. Bell and DeVille are an impressive team who I’d welcome an opportunity to take in something they might again unite on.

CAST: Tuppence Middleton, Ralph Ineson, Matt Stokoe, Evie Templeton, Rosalind March, Jane Wood, Luc Ineson, & David Langham. CREW: Director - William Brent Bell; Screenplay - Tom DeVille; Producers - Nik Bower, Deepak Nayar, Jason Newmark, Laurie Cook, William Brent Bell, James Tomlinson, &Alison Brister; Cinematographer - Simon Rowling; Score - Brett Detar; Editor - Andrew Leven; Production Designer - Alison Butler; Costume Designer - Libby Irwin; Hair & Make-up Designer - Haelwyn Adams; SFX Supervisior - Sean Harland; Visual Effects - KOALA FX; Character Design & Illustrator - Zsombor Huszka; Special Effects - Matter FX. OFFICIAL: N.A. FACEBOOK: N.A. TWITTER: N.A. TRAILER: https://youtu.be/j8MqDwHEPxA?si=6WZFLifU_JUXIGBz RELEASE DATE: In theaters and on VOD December 8th, 2023

**Until we can all head back into the theaters our “COVID Reel Value” will be similar to how you rate a film on digital platforms - 👍 (Like), 👌 (It’s just okay), or 👎 (Dislike)

Reviewed by Joseph B Mauceri

#film review #movie review #lord of misrule #Magnet Releasing #william brent bell #Tom DeVille #tuppence middleton #Ralph Ineson #horror #folk tale #demonic #joseph b mauceri #joseph mauceri

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rogueshadeaux · 2 years

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Chapter Nine — Homecoming

“Things are…different.” Dad continued. “They’ll always be different now. But maybe that’s not bad. I get to share things with you two I’ve been hiding for years. The powers and this reservation and…” he trailed off, glancing behind me. “And that house. I get to be honest with you two, finally.”

4.4k words | 13 min read time | TRIGGER WARNINGS: mentions of familial loss

Dad eventually drove towards a comfortable neighborhood, nothing like the suburbs in Portland or our rural street back home. It was the best of both of those worlds; homes close enough for kids to meet up, chucking snowballs at each other from snow forts made in well spaced yards. Each house had a decent yard, decorated with defunct gardens or empty above-ground pools or kiddie playgrounds. It looked perfect, a place I was a bit regretful I didn’t get to grow up in.

Dad kept down the road, turning onto the concrete driveway of the worst looking house on the street; overgrown shrubbery in front of its brick sides, white paneled wood in need of a paint job and the long porch entirely void of, well, anything. The only evidence it had any life in it at all was the powder blue Volkswagen Beetle already in the driveway and the smoke rising from the brick fireplace.

Dad slowly crept into the driveway, coming to a stop at a snail's pace and eventually putting the truck in park, pulling the emergency break. He stared at the front of the house with an emotion I couldn’t even begin to understand, and I suddenly understood why he seemed so off; this house held so many memories. Echoes of a life Dad wanted and could never reach again. Haunted by the ghosts of everything he knew that once lived in that house.

Hell, I wouldn’t come back either, if I had a choice.

None of us had any choice though, especially when Betty came barreling out of the front door and onto the porch, waving us towards her. Summoning us. Dad sighed, mumbling a, “C’mon, let’s go,” and throwing open his door, stepping out.

Luckily, Dad had something to hold his attention, ripping him out of his depression: Brent. He was still soaked to the bone, shivering the moment his car door opened and still having to cough every now and then to get out the remaining water.

“My God, what happened?” Betty demanded as we approached the house.

“Training accident,” Dad shrugged, “Take him inside, will you? Jean, come help me get the bags.”

Dad left Brent with Betty, who ushered him into the house and closed the door behind her, saying something about the fireplace. Dad was already halfway to the truck by the time I turned again, leaving me to jog to catch up as he jumped into its bed.

“Here.” He said curtly, passing me my backpack and a duffle bag. I barely had any time to grip both before he let go, turning to the pile of other things.

“Dad?”

“Hm?”

“Are you okay?”

Dad stopped, mid-crouch, and sighed deeply, tense shoulders finally giving away to the pressure of whatever was wearing him down. “Yeah. Sorry, Jean, I’m just—“ he cut off, straightening and running a hand over his face. “There’s a lot going on, you know?”

“Yeah,” I whispered, finally able to at least empathize. So much was changing and shifting and being revealed and made irrelevant that…I sort of understood.

Dad turned to look at me, brows creased. “Hey,” he said softly. “I’m sorry. Things have been crazy, huh?” He laughed mirthlessly. “But it’ll — things will be okay. After what I saw today? How you and Brent did? I don’t doubt it.”

“Yeah, but,” I laid the duffle bag on the ground. It still had a price tag on it just like all the clothes Dad had yesterday, more proof that everything we knew from before was gone or being replaced. “Will things ever go back? Will we get to finish school or-or see everyone again, or—“

Dad moved out of the truck, jumping to the ground beside me and gripping my shoulder, spinning me to face him. I hadn’t even realized I was tearing up until he wiped away a loose tear that was running down my cheek. “Listen, Regina. I…I can’t promise you that things will be the same. Honestly, they won’t be. Your life, it’s gonna permanently be split into this ‘before’ and ‘after,’ now that you know you’re a Conduit.

“I don’t know when we can go back. Until I can find out more about this Archangel shit, I’m not comfortable letting you two go back. But I’m not going to leave you two alone, okay? There’s nothing we can’t do if we stay together. Everything will be okay if we stay together. I’m going to contact your school and see what I can do about your exams. And hey, now that you know you’re Akomish, it’s as good a time as any to tell you you get free college, right?”

I snorted, rolling my eyes and laughing between shaky breaths. Leave it to Dad to try and brighten the mood. But it did take away the stress of wondering about scholarships and such.

Sniffing, I looked at him, asking, “Were you ever gonna tell us?”

“I’m…not sure. But I wanted to, you have no goddamn idea. There was always this worry that things would go wrong, and I didn’t want to risk you two getting hurt. What good that did. You could have died.” A shadow briefly crossed over his face as his thoughts casted a dark shadow in his mind, and I knew he was thinking about the Akurans. “But hey, now I can. And I will. Honesty from here on out, okay?”

He held up a pinky finger, and I chuckled again. A pinky promise. When we were younger, Dad used to tell us a pinky promise was law binding, an oath stronger than life itself. Any pinky promise you made had to be followed through, no matter how long it took. It’s what scored us our trip to Disneyland, it’s how Dad got us to keep good grades. And now, he was using it to carry so much more weight; a promise of clarity. Lord knows I needed it right now. Sniffing, I smiled gently, and wrapped my pinky around his.

“That’s my girl,” he whispered, eventually letting me go. “C’mon. Lemme show you where I grew up.”

Once Brent changed into his pajamas and warmed up a bit, Dad left with Betty to get the beds, promising food as well once he returned.

We got a quick tour of the house, pointed towards the bathroom and what would be our bedroom. What was once our bedroom. “You’ll have to share for now,” Dad said when he opened the door to drop off our things. “The basement was refurbished to be two extra rooms, but it’s so full of shit right now, we can’t get in there.”

That’s where I was now. Our room. An old nursery that looked way too cool to be an actual nursery.

In the absolute chaos that was the last few days, I completely neglected to remember the fact that my dad was not only the revolutionist Delsin Rowe, but one of my favorite artists. His street art during the Seattle Uprising was a big part of his gartering of support, statement pieces against the sudden martial law and DUP and complete decimation of Seattle as a whole for a woman’s power play. I’ve studied it, I’ve written bits on it, I’ve tried replicating the style.

And now I was standing in a room full of complete originals.

It wasn’t spray paint, his usual weapon of choice — doubt spray paint would have worked well in a nursery anyways. But it was definitely Rowe, there was no mistaking the style. It was a fun jungle theme with the classic Rowe twist; monkeys playing connect four, a tiger trying to shove itself into a tiny box. There was an elephant on one wall with a canvas in front of it, a paintbrush in its trunk.

But its red canvas was covered in terrible art, splashes and smears and splats of blue and silver paint along with two impossibly tiny handprints.

I walked a bit closer to the canvas, squatting down to look at the handprints. Just below each, in beautiful simplistic cursive, were our names in black sharpie, 𝓑𝓻𝓮𝓷𝓽 and 𝓙𝓮𝓪𝓷𝓲𝓮. Our art. Our handprints.

I laid my hand over the blue one with my name, laughing lightly. Was I really that small at some point? And to think, I considered my hands small now; these were miniscule. Impossibly tiny. I wonder if the elephant was here from the start, waiting for our contribution, or if Mom and Dad added it later.

Mom. I moved my hand from the wall to look at the cursive. It was too neat, too perfect to be Dad’s; that had to be hers. She called me Jeanie, too?

I stayed staring at it for an impossibly long time, trying to soak up some piece of her by brushing the ink with the tip of my finger. Mom. She was here, helped us make this mess on the wall, probably helped us stamp our little hands on it too. Wrote our names. For some time, long ago, we were together, we did get to be a family.

And I didn’t remember a thing.

I’ll admit it, I teared up. I’ve always wanted time with my mom, always mourned everything we missed — the wound was now reopened, the twisting knife of the truth cutting it deeper. At some point, I did have Mom. Long ago, there were probably cuddles and love and laughs. Another goddamn thing ripped away, something I feared I’d never get back. Something I knew I’d never get back.

But I guess there was really no point to being sad if I knew it was gone. At least, I’d keep telling myself that.

I went to wipe my eyes, shaking my head and looking upwards to take a deep breath — and instead was left breathless. Up there, peppered on the popcorn ceiling were spots and swirls of neon light, their blue and pink glow dimmed by the sunlight pouring in from the open blinds.

Neon. Dad said that was Mom’s power. And somehow, evidence of it stayed safe in this house for years, possibly longer than I’d been alive. It was beautiful; the neon seemed to be hovering on its own extension, a few centimeters off of the ceiling but somehow still secure. Somehow still glowing.

I stood, going from flat feet to tiptoe as I tried to reach up and touch a pink swirl. ‘Course, I was too short to even hope to touch it. And the nursery was entirely bare of anything to stand on — so I was left to just stare up at the beautiful lights, constellations of our Mom’s past love for us.

Our mom. Right. I had a twin, who’d probably really like to see this.

I left the room, walking briskly down the short hallway to force Brent into gazing with me when I stopped once entering the living room. Brent was sitting on a plastic covered sofa, just staring into the flames of the fireplace, looking so…depressed. Off in a world that was dragging him down into the embers. He didn’t even hear me approaching, didn’t move until the sofa sank when I sat, only glancing at me and giving me a nod as acknowledgement. “You good?” I finally asked after an awkward moment.

“Winter formal’s tonight.”

Oh. Wow. It was, wasn’t it? And Brent had a date. Had. “Mei would understand,” I began, Brent just rolling his eyes and getting off the old couch. “Hey, Brent—“

“Don’t, Jean, okay?” He snapped, not looking back as he went to the kitchen on the other side of the spacious front area of the house, taking a solo cup from the pile Betty brought from the Longhouse. He moved to the sink, filling the glass with tap water. “It’s whatever.”

“It’s not whatever,” I scoffed, standing. “It’s obviously bothering you—“

“It isn’t—“

“Don’t sit here and do that tough guy shit with me, dude.” I shut him down, moving around the sofa and instead leaning against the back of it, crossing my arms. “The past three days have been hell, I know that.”

Brent didn’t respond, turning off the tap and taking a slow sip from the cup and looking out of the small window just above the sink’s backsplash. I waited until he lowered the cup, unmoving otherwise, to say, “She would get it. Anyone in their right mind would.”

“Tommy didn’t.”

“Tommy is an asshole,” I scoffed, “Who we both know jumps at the first chance to be the center of attention. He was whining at school about how we killed those guys and almost killed him—“

Brent turned at that, slowly and lowly asking, “How do you know that?”

Oh, shit. Busted. “Okay, so I may have talked to Reese—“

“Jean!”

“It was a ten minute phone call!” I added defensively.

“You’re unbelievable,” he said, shaking his head and chucking the solo cup into the sink angrily. “Dad specifically told us not to talk to anyone and you’re over here just casually chatting up Reese—“

“Oh don’t act like you wouldn’t run to Formal right now if you had the chance. I wanted to make sure she was alright because hey, if you don’t remember, I passed out in that alley—“

“And I was shot, but I didn’t go starting a discord call to whine about it.”

Brent glared at me, crossing his arms. Angry, sure, but his eyes held more than that. Hurt. Fear. The same worry that everything was going to be different now. Could I blame him for lashing out? Hell, things were already different for him in a way I couldn’t even pretend to understand; guy’s best friend turned on him almost immediately, and he had to stand up his date for fear of his life.

I sighed, uncrossing my arms and instead using them to hold myself up against the couch. “I’m sorry. Not just about the call, but Mei and Tommy, too. It’s…I’m not ready. For this to change. Wanted to get to say goodbye, s’all.”

Brent softened a little, the tenseness leaving his shoulders. He held my gaze for a while longer before finally asking, “Reese say anything about Mei?”

“Cops talked to her, but that’s really it.” I sighed.

Brent slowly nodded, finally breaking his gaze to stare at his feet. “I should’ve asked her out sooner.” He muttered. “Might’ve gotten to know…”

He trailed off, the hope of fleeting maybe’s leaving him to always have to wonder what if? “You did get to know,” I said. “She asked you, didn’t she? And I know Mei; being a Conduit wouldn’t change a thing. She’d probably love it, say something about how it’ll help you two with your budding architecture business—“

“Shut up,” Brent rolled his eyes. But he also chuckled. Good.

We fell into a more comfortable silence, an unspoken apology in the air as we moved on from the topic. “I was actually coming out here to tell you to check out the nursery. Look up, specifically.”

“‘Look up’?” Brent repeated, cocking an eyebrow. I just nodded, refusing to elaborate further and not following him as he left me to walk towards the hallway. He’d need the privacy.

Instead, I moved around the house, taking the time to be nosy.

The house looked like someone was in the middle of moving out; packed boxes shoved into the corners with tape, a lone couch in an otherwise empty living room. The electricity wasn’t on yet, but surprisingly held the heat from the fireplace well, leaving me to only need my sweater on to stay warm. The counters were covered in dust and yet the carpet looked clean as could be, a cordless vacuum hiding beside a coat closet. Was everything here…ours? Betty said she donated the cribs. Did Dad rush off, pack only the essentials before we moved to Chapman?

Did he even get any time to mourn before everything changed?

It took everything in me not to start ripping tape off of boxes and shift through their contents, trying to see what glimpses of my early life they had. I had no idea how long we’d be staying here — would we need to unpack? Would it even be worth it?

It was a strange impasse; I didn’t want to settle into the house, because that came with the reality that my old life was old, but staying in a house that was partially packed away felt too unwelcoming. And there wasn’t a comfortable middle ground, unless I went and camped out in the woods across the street and pretended this was some weekend getaway.

I walked around the pile of boxes in the kitchen, dishes and cooking scribbled in rough chicken scratch. In Dad’s chicken scratch. I had to admit, the place was nice; a decent amount of space across from the kitchen countertops for a dining table, a spacious living room across the way with its own built-in bookcase and an alcove above the fireplace for a television. Quaint, comfy living.

My eyes froze as I looked across the hall from the wall where I was leaned: there, in the wall, were little etchings, knicks from a knife's edge cutting into the corner and leaving behind a thin line. Each one had it’s own scrawl above it, and I moved closer to try and read what it said.

Delsin. Reggie. Delsin, Reggie, Delsin, Reggie, Delsin, Reggie repeating again and again from a point higher than I was tall, all the way down to just two feet above the ground. Reggie — that was Dad’s brother, wasn’t it? My namesake. Big brother, if height was anything to go by. Each name had a number in parentheses next to it, ranging from (6 months old) next to Dad’s first etch to the last, (17). Reggie’s stopped at (21).

Seventeen. Wasn’t that how old he was when his parents passed away? That’s what Betty said.

He was my age when everything changed for him, too. No powers or anything, that came sometime later; but his world just flipped on his head at this age, too. He…his pep talks and such, was he talking from a place of understanding and not just being a supportive Dad?

There was a slamming sound from the front of the house, followed by the quiet echo of Dad calling our names. I glanced out of the window; Dad was coming out of the truck, two full sized beds strapped down in the back and a bunch of grocery bags under their slanted stance.

I turned to look down the hallway, waiting for Brent and calling out his name when he didn’t appear. There was a sniff, and then he began walking down the hall, face splotched red. He’d been crying, hard, and didn’t look at all in the mood to talk about it.

Dad and Betty came back not only with beds and nonperishables, but a lot of other changes; electricity was set to be on by morning, and they managed to settle something with our schools for our exams to be proctored at Dad’s Alma Mater that following Monday.

Unfortunately, it also came with the reveal that our last semester would be online.

“I can’t have you two out of my sight yet,” Dad said. “It sucks and I know you hate it, probably feels overbearing, but I want to make sure you two stay safe.”

Betty had scored us more furniture, to be moved variously throughout the holiday break. “I’ll come help unpack your old things, Delsin, and we’ll get these kids their own rooms downstairs,” she assured us. “Teens need their privacy.”

But like every positive, there was a downside to her help: everyone now knew Delsin Rowe had returned.

The first bit of harassment came in the form of old friends, Dad’s high school buddies and old band mates fitting themselves as well as they could around the beds propped up in the living room and checking on their pal. Then came the older citizens, seniors with tales of how Dad saved them all after the DUP escape by draining the concrete from their very bones — and gifts of their own. Homemade meals in tin foil trays, still warm, toiletries I hadn’t even considered. Some old lady in a walker handed me a bulk box of menstrual pads and I contemplated evaporating then and there, with how much they all snickered.

But luckily, Dad caught on to the embarrassment, shooing people off on premises of been a long day and need to study for make up exams, closing the door and locking it for good measure. “I’ll make you two a copy of the key soon,” Dad said, turning to look at us. “I’m gonna set us up in the living room too — just for tonight. I don’t want you to freeze or anything,”

He helped get us situated in the living room, ripping the plastic cover off of the couch and fitting sheets to the beds as Brent and I ate dinner at the kitchen counter. Lukewarm chicken casserole. Delicious. The house was being rapidly plunged into a dim darkness as the sun set, the only light coming from the fireplace. “Pilgrim living,” Brent muttered in between bites. I snorted.

“Well, at least you’ll be better off than the pilgrims,” Dad said, leaning back on his knees. “Are your phones charged?”

Oh, this was gonna be fun to explain. “I, uh,” Brent stuttered, unable to even look at Dad. “I may have…broken it?”

“Broken?” Dad asked. “Did it happen in that alley?”

“No,” Brent laid his plastic fork on the counter. “I…I sort of…lodged it into a wall?”

Dad blinked, not speaking for a moment and only able to repeat, “You lodged it into a wall?” when he finally could.

“The wall in that room in the Longhouse,”

“Is that what that was?” Dad asked, barking out some sort of laugh of disbelief. “Betty said you said you were going to help patch it up but I just thought you were being nice.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Brent rushed to assure Dad, “It just — I was angry at Tommy, and I meant to sort of just throw it away from me but it—“

“Tommy?” Dad interrupted, “What does Tommy have to do with this?”

Brent sighed, leaning against the counter and beginning to explain to Dad all Tommy said, both in that school wide and their personal chat, something I hadn’t even known about till now. Slurs, accusations. He blamed me for getting caught and said Dad set everything up to kill some other regular people again, “just like how he disabled my grandpa." Refused to believe we didn’t know this whole time. How he ganged every bigot in the school against us, throwing in what I told him from my phone call without ratting me out. I’d have to thank him for that later.

Dad just shook his head, not saying anything once Brent trailed off, fists clenched at his side and seething too much to form words. “Brent, I…” Dad finally started, trailing off, sighing when the words couldn’t come.

“Tommy was always sort of…’middle ground’,” Brent said, putting sarcasm in his air quotes, “But he — we’ve known each other since he moved to Chapman! You’d think he’d understand…he’d know that I wouldn’t — that you wouldn’t…”

Brent just ended his jumbled tangent with a growl, moving to face the casserole and snatching his fork, stabbing rather violently at the food. The prongs immediately snapped under the weight of his anger, shatterings of black plastic peppering the food. “God damnit,” Brent hissed.

I silently passed him a solo cup, motioning towards the cooler one of Dad’s old friends brought for temporary use that was full of snow and 2 liters of soda, beginning to section off the bit of food that had the prongs littered throughout. I hadn’t noticed Dad moved from the living room until he was beside me, holding a trash bag open for me to scoop up the ruined bits and dump them away. “Humans, we’re…well, we’re assholes.” He snorted. “Always have been. Since the dawn of time, literally all we’ve done is pick some group of people to bully around. Jews, Africans, Indigenous — now it’s Conduits. There’s always gonna be someone who finds a simple fault with you, no matter what you do.”

Pulling out an empty drawer and hanging the bag by its tie on it, he turned, meeting my eyes and then shifting to glance at Brent’s back. “I don’t want you to ever give a shit about what those type of people say. They’re always on the wrong side of history, and they always will be.”

I knew that already. History was full of people trying to make others the enemy. Blaming them, targeting them. And hell, I thought Brent knew that too. There were more times than I could count where he went up to bat for Conduits, starting arguments mid-class, getting into fights. Our school district was inclusive, and there were multiple times Brent fought on the side of a Conduit kid so they didn’t have to use their powers and end up on national news for putting a bully in their place. For defending themselves. He always said it wasn’t fair how, no matter what, they’d be seen as the bad guy.

Guess that’s what he was feeling now — being the villain. Even when all he did was protect himself, try to protect me. The fact that Winter Formal starts in thirty two minutes probably wasn’t helping his attitude.

“Enough of that.” Dad shook his head, grabbing a fork and beginning to dig into the food himself. “No phone for you, that’s alright. I was going to suggest some kind of app but it’s okay, we can do something else, I’m sure there’s games we can play with two phones.”

I cringed. “So uh,” I said, laying down my fork and avoiding Dad’s gaze. “I may have…tossed our phones into the Sound…”

Brent spun to look at me, echoing Dad as they both yelled, “You what?”

#infamous erosion #infamous #infamous 2 #infamous second son #delsin rowe #infamous delsin #infamous first light #Reggie Rowe #Fetch Walker #abigail walker #fanfic #fanfiction #infamous fanfic #Sucker Punch Productions #Is my obvious love for Travis Willingham showing yet or do I need to blab about Reggie more??

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