#the cardboard pyramid is barely holding as it is

[beardedhandstoadshark]

Which of your OCs’ father was an average fighter BUT A BRILLIANT SCIENTIST?

Imma be real I don‘t really think about my ocs‘ families unless they‘re "plot“ relevant ^^; and for the ones where it is the dads are a craftsman, seafarer, and king. Very smart in their own rights but no "brilliant scientist“ types y‘know?

For a while thought about making Mage‘s dad a scientist guy keeping tabs on his kid from afar for the sake of Shady Science TM, but he already has "former best friend victim of shady science“ angst so that seemed. A bit too much? Idk, I‘m not a writer. If you or anyone else reading this is pls tell me if it is >v<

[sailtoafarawayland]

Always a Pirate

Summary:  What started as a bit of mischievous fun for Emma turns into something more when she pushes her husband - always the gentleman - just a little too far, and finds herself settling the score with a very desperate pirate.

Rated: Explicit 

~ Inspired by one of our lovelies on the discord who requested some sweatpants smut - Enjoy! ~

AO3 - FF

Always a Pirate

“Swan, I can't wear these out of the house. Where are all of my pants?” Killian asked, checking for the pair he'd left folded in the laundry room, his black sweater just meeting the low-slung waistband of his joggers.

“Um, I washed them, but I forgot to start the dryer earlier. They're drying now though,” Emma muttered, tugging on her boots and reaching above her for Killian's jacket.

“Can't we wait until they're dry to go to the store?”

“Nope,” she said, tossing the leather jacket across the entryway and shooting him what she hoped was a charming smile as he snatched it out of the air. “It'll take too long, and we really need to find something for dinner and get it started. You know my parents rarely ever get a night without Neal, and David couldn't stop talking about how much they're looking forward to this. I don't want to ruin it by not having food ready. Besides, what's wrong with wearing your sweatpants?”

“These are for the privacy of our home,” he purred, sidling into her space as he slipped his jacket on, popping his hook through the sleeve. “They don't exactly provide the support and coverage a man like me needs, love.”

“Yeah, that's what those boxer briefs I bought you were for,” Emma deadpanned, ignoring how her eyes wanted to flicker to where he was most definitely not wearing her gift.

“Bloody inconvenience those things,” he muttered, dropping down beside her on the bench and lacing up his boots. “No freedom of movement, and it's only one more layer to take off.”

“Come on,” Emma laughed, very familiar with her pirate's loathing for what he called 'small clothes', “we just need to get the job done. It'll be quick, in and out, no big deal.”  

/

It wasn't until they were parked and heading into the store that Emma realized maybe bringing her husband along in pants like that was a big deal and a bad idea, all rolled into one. The soft drape of the joggers left little to the imagination as he strode in front of her, each step he took framing the firm curve of his ass. She hurried to catch up with him, glancing down to see if – yup, just like he'd said, not enough coverage for a man of his size, especially when he was walking so quickly.

A wicked idea began to form in her mind, the pang of desire between her legs making her think that a little grocery store flirtation would be just what she needed to take her mind off the anxiety of cooking dinner for her mom, a woman who's table settings alone always looked like something out of a magazine.

“Alright, Swan, let's find something to impress your mother, shall we?” Killian called back to her, hooking a cart and swinging it in front of him as he pushed through the main doors, heading straight for the fruits and vegetables, Emma's gaze lingering on the play of his firm cheeks the entire way.

“Yeah,” she sighed, her mind very far from what one did with turnips and which spices went well with salmon, instead focusing on just how she could use those sweatpants to make their shopping a little more interesting.  

She couldn't help herself.

At first it was just small comments, and she couldn't be sure if he was even picking up on her innuendos, as subtle as they were – his face serious as he looked over the display of potatoes. She decided she would have to be a little more blatant if she wanted to get a rise out of him.

“These strawberries look delicious,” she hummed, holding up the package of bright red fruits and eyeing them longingly. She stepped closer to his side, her tongue wetting her lips as he finally met her gaze, sensing she was up to something from her change in tone. “I wonder how they'd taste if you were to dip them in something other than sugar, maybe some cream? Maybe while I'm splayed out in our bed?”

“What are you doing, Swan?” he choked out, shifting on his feet as the potato he was holding dropped back onto the stack and rolled to the floor, coming to rest across the aisle.  

“Just imagining how you might feed it to me after a long night, dragging it along my folds and then – ”

“I'm not sure what your intentions are, love, but I would rethink them,” he growled lowly, maneuvering his hook to push the carton of strawberries back toward the shelf. “These pants are not meant for such thoughts.”

“Maybe that's the point,” she quipped, dropping the fruit and staring longingly at his crotch where she could easily see his hardness growing, the thin material of his sweats stretching upward over its thick outline. “I'd forgotten just how amazing you look in those pants when you're a little hot and bothered.”

“And a public place is where you decided to revisit this – and there's nothing little about me, Swan.”

“Oh, I know, and what can I say, I'm feeling a little adventurous,” she teased, her laugh following him as he ducked quickly around the fruit stand when someone stopped to give a quick hello to the town's sheriff.

He snatched a pineapple from in front of him, balancing it on the edge of the counter in front of his still growing erection, digging his palm into the spiked outer shell and doing his best to think of anything other than the way a strawberry would look, red and glistening, as he dragged it through his release as it dripped from her soft folds, coating the fruit as he rolled it across her lips...

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, willing himself to relax as Emma smiled knowingly over the shoulder of the person she was speaking with.

He'd known these sweatpants had been a terrible mistake.

And so it went through the rest of the store – Emma holding up a large, cured sausage in the deli section, running her finger up and down the wrapping as she measured its worth.  

“It's a little small, don't you think? Probably won't be enough for a cheese plate,” she concluded, leaning past him to put it back before her lips grazed his ear, her words a whisper. “I like my meat a little bigger, but you know that, don't you?”

He'd barely had enough time to seek cover behind the shopping cart before they were accosted once again by another overly friendly local – an elderly woman who waved at Emma and crooned how lovely it was to see a husband helping with the shopping, and pushing the cart as well!

He'd smiled weakly and muttered something about always being a gentleman, though the throbbing hardness between his legs and the way his thoughts were drifting to just how much of a mouthful he wanted to give his wife would indicate otherwise.  

“He's always such a big help,” Emma agreed, thanking the woman for saying hello and urging him on toward the next aisle, clearly thrilled with the game she was playing as she allowed him to find some measure of composure behind the safety of the cart.  

“You know,” she mused, studying a can of something or other, “I really do love those pants, Killian. You should wear them out more often.”

“Don't think I'll be giving you an opportunity like this ever again,” he hissed, his cheeks flushed and hand fisted tightly around the handle of the cart as he stared, jaw clenched, at the rows of canned goods in front of him. “Enjoy it while you can, Swan.”

“Oh, I intend to,” she whispered, ducking and brushing in front of him in the crowded aisle under the ruse of reaching for something on the bottom shelf, her shoulder rubbing brazenly against his crotch, all of his blood pumping once more to his aching cock.

He spun away from her physical nearness with a strangled groan that turned into a snarl of frustration as he knocked over a display of kitchen gadgets, dozens of packages clattering against the floor as the cardboard pyramid keeled to one side.  

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, doing his best to catch the thing with his hook and straighten it while still keeping his hips angled away from the other patrons in the aisle.

“You better be careful where you swing that thing,” Emma chimed in, her face a flawless mask of innocence as she motioned toward his hook, blatantly ignoring the prominent tent in his pants as she knelt and began picking up the small avalanche of peelers and can openers, her lip caught between her teeth as she gazed up to meet hard glare of his eyes, dark promise swimming in their depths.

The frozen food aisle provided some small measure of relief, and although Emma had assured him they didn't need anything from there, he took plenty of time standing in front of the open freezer doors making absolutely certain that was the case, much to her amusement. From there he'd kept his distance, pushing the cart and mentally reciting the words on each sign he saw in an attempt to tune out any new attempts at luring him into further embarrassing situations.

It was hard to avoid her brazen smile once they'd entered the check out lane, but one scowl had been enough to make his Swan back down, if only a trifle, her blatant innuendos disappearing as she made polite conversation with the woman checking them out, flashing him only the occasional look that told just how much she'd enjoyed her impromptu game.  

Her smile faltered a bit when he only returned her gaze with a deep, measured look, and perhaps she thought her was angry with her over her moment of fun. It was a misconception he didn't dispel, loading the groceries into the back seat of the bug silently before returning the cart to its place. Her good humor had shifted to something far more uncertain as he studiously avoided looking at her – good, he wanted her off balance – and it wasn't until she felt the hard steel of his hook around her wrist that she realized just exactly what she'd done.

He wasn't angry, not at all, but he was a man driven to the edge, and now she was going to bloody well see to it that some of those naughty things she's intimated came to pass.

“We're not going anywhere just yet, Swan,” he rasped, the tip of his hook grazing along her leather jacket until it slipped through the key ring she held in her hand, pulling them out of her grasp. “You put on quite the brazen display in there. Did you enjoy that, love? Making me swell with my need for you where anyone could have seen? Did you enjoy making me desperate?”

“Well, it was fun,” she admitted, “seeing you so ready for me even though we were surrounded by people, and once my parents head out for the– ”

“What you've forgotten, darling, is that desperate men will go to any lengths to get what they want,” he reminded her,  shoving the keys into his jacket and grabbing her hand, leading her firmly away from the bug.  

“Killian,” she hissed in disbelief, stumbling slightly as he dragged her toward the alley that ran between the grocery store and the next building. “The groceries! What are you doing?”

“The groceries can wait – and I think you know exactly what I'm doing, Swan.”

“We are not having sex in there,” she groaned, the words contradicting the tightening in her core as she thought about him taking her up against the shadowed brick wall, mere feet away from where people were walking to their cars.

“Aye, we are not having sex, but it's about time I put that traitorous little mouth of yours to good use.”

“Oh my god, Killian – ” she shot a nervous glance behind her as they entered the alley, no one in sight as her husband pulled her behind an empty stack of pallets where they would be concealed from anyone walking by. “We can't just – ”

“If you believe for even an instant that I'm heading back home, to sit with your bloody parents for dinner after your little game – no relief in sight as they natter on – then you've forgotten who I was before I met you...”

“A pirate,” she swallowed – she hadn't forgotten, had enjoyed teasing that part of him back to the surface – her breath leaving her as he pressed her firmly against the brick wall, his hand running along the edge of her breast before stopping to cup her cheek, eyes dark and wild.

“Aye, and pirates take what they want.”

“Well,” she teased, the uncertainty in her voice washed away by the tide of desire spreading beneath her skin as his thumb grazed over her lower lip, “it has been a while since the Captain has come to play.”

“Oh, he's never far, Swan,” Killian purred, forcing her mouth open with his finger and sampling her wet heat with the pad of his thumb. “Now, get on your knees for the Captain.”

Emma was pretty sure she'd never been so wet in her life, her leather jacket scraping along the gritty bricks as she sunk to her knees on the cold ground, Killian's stance wide and demanding as she knelt between his legs, her cheek brushing against the soft material of the sweats he hadn't wanted to wear – the ones that did nothing to hide the massive tent he was sporting, her nose grazing along its length as she nuzzled into him, inhaling deeply.

“You're not here to enjoy yourself, love,” he smirked darkly above her, “you're here to get the job done.”

She swallowed heavily, tongue and teeth worrying her lip as she looped her fingers into the waistband of his pants and yanked them down, his heavy shaft bobbing against her as she chased after it with her mouth – his head swollen and dark, glazed with a hint of precum that hit her taste buds like the most delicious reward. If this was what she got from teasing her husband – she would gladly repeat the performance.

He groaned above her, his hand fisted among her locks as he allowed her a brief moment to explore, her tongue flattened against the underside of his cock while she swallowed him down, gagging slightly as he hit the back of her throat. His member was only half inside the wet grasp of her mouth before she pulled back, curling her tongue around his shaft and licking at his weeping slit – but it wasn't what he wanted.

“No, no, no, Swan,” Killian chided, his grip on her tightening as he twisted her hair, forcing her to look up at him. “I know you can do better than that, love – I've watched myself disappear entirely into that tight throat of yours on many an occasion. Let's make certain to put in our best work, shall we?”

Need pulsed between Emma's legs, nearly forcing her to double over in an attempt to relieve it, but somehow she managed to nod her understanding as his fingers tugged against her scalp, wetting her lips and opening her mouth wide as she dived forward once more, abandoning her teasing in favor of getting him fully inside of her as quickly as possible, her throat finally opening as she calmed her breathing and swallowed around him, feeling his swollen head push deeper as she inhaled through her nose, her breath muffled by the thatch of dark curls at his base.

“Just like that, Swan – I'm going to fill up that naughty little mouth of yours. Do you have any idea how much I wanted to bend you over the bloody bread display and fill that needy cunt?” he hissed, thrusting languidly into her throat as her eyes sought him from beneath her lashes, blown with desire, “my hand over your mouth as I took what I needed, your legs shaking around me as I painted your sweet, pink folds with my release?”

His words stoked the fire in her belly, the scrap of lace she was wearing slick and wet with her arousal as she imagined him taking her in just such a way, everyone seeing the dark, demanding man he truly was – the pirate always waiting just beneath the mask of the gentleman. The alley filled with the soft rumble of his grunts as his steel grip controlled her movements, using her mouth just as he'd promised he would, like nothing more than a  wet hole to be filled, a thing for his pleasure, not for hers.

“Do you like this, Emma? Is that why you played your little game in there, because you wanted me to use you like a whore in the back alley? Were you hoping I would fuck you, raise your hips around my own and slide into your dripping cunt?”

She writhed in his grip, his filthy words rolling over her like an actual touch, her core throbbing and clenching around its emptiness as he reamed her mouth, saliva dripping from the corners of her lips as he thrust powerfully into her, her nose butting against his stomach as he panted and moaned.

“Don't think you'll be getting it once we're at home either, love,” he growled, his deep strokes within her throat becoming erratic as his cock swelled, his release coiled and ready as his balls tightened against her chin, warning her. “I want you squirming in your seat all through dinner, your greedy quim swollen and dripping for me – remembering the taste of me right here, pressed against a dirty building, wondering if it's the...if it's the only taste you'll get...”

Emma arched her neck as he pushed deeply one last time, her throat burning as his cock thickened and erupted deeply inside of her, her muscles rippling around him as she swallowed desperately, relieved when he dragged himself half free, the pulsing head of him resting on her tongue as he shot several more ropes of hot come into her mouth, rolling forward and spreading the salty, sweet taste of himself as far as he could, a thin trickle of his release painting the corner of her mouth as she breathed and swallowed around his softening flesh, her tongue curling around his shaft, enjoying the way he softened and twitched inside of her.

His grip finally loosened in her hair, his fingers gently massaging her scalp where the sting of his dominance was just beginning to burn, stroking her gently until she sighed and let his length slip from her mouth, her head falling forward to rest against his thigh.

“There's a good girl,” he purred, hooking the waistband of his sweats and dragging them back up to cover himself as he lifted her back to her feet. “Come on then, we've a lovely dinner to prepare for your parents – and then once they're gone, maybe I'll let you have your dessert.”  

/

“That salmon was delicious, Killian,” Mary Margaret gushed, leaning back in the chair and resting her hand against her chest. “I'm better with non-seafood dishes, so it was lovely to have something different for a change – and after the week we had, it was so nice to have a night off from cooking entirely.”

“I agree – fantastic meal, Hook. Thanks for having us over tonight, it was nice to get an evening for just the four of us,” David added, rising to bring his plate to the sink.  

“I'm pleased you both enjoyed it,” Killian returned politely. “We didn't often get salmon aboard the Jolly, so it's not something I make often – Emma and I had quite the experience at the grocery store trying to find everything we needed, but the outcome was quite worth it, I think.”

“Dad, sit. I got it,” Emma managed to choke out, shooting just the most recent of many dirty looks over her parents' heads at her husband. She gently pushed David back into the chair and took his plate, snatching Killian's as well and dumping them into the sink.

“You're a little hoarse, you sound like you could use some tea, Emma,” Mary Margaret worried, swiveling in her seat to look at her daughter. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Just a little bit of a sore throat, that's all,” she smiled, looking anywhere but at her husband's grin as she rinsed her hands and dried them off.

“That came on fast,” David mused. “You sounded fine this morning at the station. I hope you didn't pick it up from us, Neal had a bit of a rough week and we were wondering if he might be a little sick.”

“Oh, I wouldn't worry about that, mate – it doesn't seem to be contagious. I've no signs of it myself,” Hook assured them both, smiling warmly and gesturing toward the dessert Emma was carrying over from the counter. “Can we tempt you with some dessert? It's fresh baked from town.”

“Oh, what kind is that?” Snow beamed, admiring the flaky, golden crust as Emma rested the pie on the table and moved to grab plates – anything to avoid looking her parents in the face. “It's always so nice to enjoy something you didn't have to bake yourself.”

“Peach pie,” Killian smiled widely, his eyes flashing to Emma as he ran his tongue across his teeth, “it just so happens to be my favorite, and I think Emma even whipped up some fresh cream to go on top, didn't you, Swan?”

Thankfully, no one other than Killian noticed as she nearly dropped the stack of plates, her body tensing and eyes widening as she silently begged him not to say anything else – her thoughts already far too consumed with how wet and empty she'd felt since their illicit moment in the alley. Taking a deep breath, she reclaimed her composure, tenuous though it was, and returned to the table.

“I did,” she admitted, laying out the plates and frowning when Hook stilled her hand with his own, pushing away the plate she was offering him.

“None for me, love – I find I'm feeling quite full. Perhaps I'll enjoy mine later, you'll just have to make sure you save some of that cream for me.”

END

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[dweetwise]

What do you think the killers reaction would be to Pyramid Head joining them? I can imagine Doctor being a bit frustrating to deal with cause he'd probably be obsessed with figuring out how his head works 🤔

[implying doc isn’t frustrating to deal with normally lmao. this was fun to write, sorry they’re short!]

Killers reacting to Pyramid Head (crack)

Evan is a little intimidated by how buff PH is. Will try to assert dominance by flexing.

Philip will bend down and talk up into the pyramid, thinking the killer won’t hear otherwise. Almost gets his head chopped off for his trouble.

Max thinks the pyramid is stuck and that the killer needs help. When he revs his chainsaw and aims to cut the metal in half, the chainsaw mysteriously gets sliced in half by a very big sword.

Sally just sighs. She thinks the Entity has to be pranking them at this point and idly wonders what geometrical shape is next on its list.

Michael, unsurprisingly, is silent. Internally, he thinks PH must be compensating for something with a knife that big.

Lisa gets giddy for a second; the killer is a butcher! He’s going to cut up the survivors and serve them to her in bite-sized pieces! Oh, he’s just going to... cage them? Ugh, what a waste!

Herman pesters PH with a million questions about his headpiece. When he starts suggesting some “totally harmless” experiments, he gets an annoyed growl and a sharp blade against his throat.

Anna tells him he’s “big man strong like her” and “will be good friend” before throwing his sword like a spear and accidentally nearly impaling Michael. She’s promptly banned form throwing anything but her own axes.

Bubba is scared and honestly, who can blame him? PH is intimidating af and he tries him best to stay out of his way.

Freddy pervs on PH’s ass what did you expect.

Amanda is mostly interested in how the cages work. Tries to convince PH to let her tinker with them to rig them and remove all odds of escaping.

Jeffrey points and laughs and calls PH a circus freak and promptly gets stabbed through the gut with a very large sword.

Rin thinks PH looks hot in a weirdass anime villain way. She’s kinda into it and goes a little tsundere for him.

Legion are huddled together and snorts and giggles can be heard from their direction. It doesn’t take long for the four to show up with cardboard pyramids on their heads.

Adiris is fascinated by his role as the punisher of the damned. She tries to convince him to let her do a sermon for the executions.

Danny sneaks an upskirt photo of PH while the other is distracted by the rest of the killers.

Demo chomps down on the pyramid before getting flung across the room and whimpering away to a corner.

Kazan totally appreciate’s PH’s muscles in a completely no homo way. Will try to offer some helpful advice, like “why cage when you can just maul?”, which falls on deaf ears.

Caleb barely holds back a chuckle at the absurd headpiece. Something (maybe Clown’s mauled corpse?) tells him not to mess with the man, but he has trouble taking him seriously.

[edgeofmyniall]

three

The night was cold; the air nipped at Niall’s and Mags's faces as they made their way to the bleachers. It had been a month since Niall met with Rachel and since then the father and daughter had been on two dates- just the two of them. It had made their relationship stronger and Maggie felt that she could talk to her father. Maggie slid her arm under Niall’s, whose hand was tucked into his gray peacoat pocket. She rested her head on father’s bicep- the same one that Rachel had touched.

He thought of her often, the way she smiled at Niall and the way he felt after she let him go, the hunger for more. He hadn’t felt that since Isabella, and it seems like a foreign concept for him to have have interest in someone else.

Should he be feeling like this? Is this an insult or an insult to Iz? After spending maybe fifteen minutes with the blonde woman, he felt the urge to see her again, to talk to her, but why? She has nothing like his wife. Iz was small, built up like a model- a perfect body structure for cheerleading. She was always on top of the pyramid because she was so small. That’s what Niall found cute about Iz was how small she was. She could squeeze by huddles of people and go unnoticed. But Rachel, she was anything but small. She is one who forced people to break up their huddles so she could get by. She was set apart from the crowd. Rachel’s hips in her yellow dress flooded Niall’s memory. God could he get lost in Rachel’s hips for days. He wanted to know how Rachel’s hips felt under his touch.

“Amy and Lizzy are here. Can I sit by them?” Mags asks as they approach the metal bleachers. The crowd was growing as the players were warming up- most of the crowd was parents and siblings of the soccer players. There were a few students, but most of them came to hang out with friends, like Amy and Lizzy.

“As long as you cheer on your brother,” Niall kisses Mags's hair before she runs over to her friends. Niall began to look for an empty seat, somewhere good so he can watch his son pass the ball, when he spots a familiar face in the crowd- someone he has been dreaming of for a month. She sat on the third bench from the front and she was cuddled up in a blanket scarf and coffee. Niall smiled to himself as he pulled his paddy cap closer to his brim and made his way over to the blonde woman. She was dressed in black skinny jeans with holes on her knees, a olive green sweater, a khaki jacket, and tan booties. The plaid scarf was wrapped around her shoulders, covering her from the night chill. Her hair was in loose waves, covering her cold ears. She was watching the students stretch before the game started and hadn’t noticed Niall approach her.

“Seat taken?” Niall asks as he hovers over the bench next to Rachel. She looks up and smiles warmly washing heat over Niall’s body. She’s even more beautiful than Niall remembers. Her teeth shine against the red lipstick that she’s wearing.

“Actually yes, but by you.” She taps the ice cold metal next to her with her hand, coaxing Niall to sit. Niall sits slowly, careful not to sit too close to her. Keep your distance, Niall thinks to himself as the silence between them passes. “So I’m guessing the one with Horan on the backside is yours?”

Mack was running a pass when Rachel pointed him out. His brown curly hair was windswept and it was then that Niall made a mental note to make Mack an appointment with the barber. Niall’s son had on one of Mags’s Under Armour’s headbands to keep his hair out of his eyes. Niall’s eyes darted to Mags to check on her. She was taking selfies with her friends on the front row. Rachel saw that Niall was watching Mags, and cleared her voice.

“How is Maggie doing?”

“Great, she won’t stop talking to me about teenage drama. Honestly she’s done my head in. She even picked out my outfit. Said I wasn’t fashion forward enough.” Rachel began to laugh, leaning over.

“Sounds like Maggie. Well, let me see!” Rachel turned towards Niall, waiting for him to unbutton his jacket. Niall faced Rachel and popped open his jacket dramatically. The black pullover was covered in gray lint and fuzz. His dark blue jeans began to feel cold against Niall’s skin. As if an instinct kicked in, Rachel began to brush away the fuzz with her hands. The small touch rocketed Niall’s heart like he had been struck by lightning. The couple looked into each other’s eyes before Rachel pulled her hand back, clinching it into a fist. She rolled her lips in and faced the field. Niall took a moment to process what had happened. Had they just shared a moment? Yes they did, and it was innocent enough, but she had touched him to wipe off the lint- something Iz would do time and time again. Niall turned to face the field when the whistle blew. A hand clasping against his shoulder startled Niall a little and when he looked back to see who it was, there was Eber, an elderly man who had recently lost his wife and retired from Monroe Falls’ bank almost fifteen years ago.

“Niall, hate to bother you, but could you come by my house sometime this week? My awning is leaning, and…”

“Sure thing. I’ll bring the coffee if you bring the sausage rolls,” Niall shook Mr. Eber’s hand before turning around. When doing so, he had caught Rachel watching him out of the corner of her eye, and he smiled proudly. “What?” he chuckled. The referee had made a call on Monroe Falls Eagles.due to foul play. Niall stood and began yelling at the ref to get his eyes checked out. When he sat, Rachel took in his profile. Niall’s Adam’s apple was prominent, his neck was covered his freckles, and crow feets were starting to form along his eyes. She most liked Niall’s salt and pepper hair and scruff. Niall watched Rachel from the corner of his eyes and smiled again, the laugh lines forming. “What is it? Got something on my face?”

“Does that happen a lot? People coming up to you?” Rachel asked, her elbows resting on her bare knees. She holds her red lipstick stained coffee cup in one hand while she tucks her hair behind her ears, exposing the pointy audibles to Niall.

“Yeah, but I don’t mind it. I like helping the town. Keeps me busy.” Niall looks at Rachel like she’s a whole new world waiting to be found. He took in her rosy red cheeks and her cold bitten red nose as she smiled. Under the lights, she shined like a lighthouse that Niall had been searching for after months at sea. He wanted her in his life.

“So what brings you to Monroe Falls where everyone knows everyone Miss Miles?” Niall asks as a huff of cold air clouds in front of him.

“It’s Rachel. Honestly, I needed a change of scenery. Growing up in Florida, if I wasn’t on the beach, I was stuck inside because of the rain.” Rachel giggles to herself before finishing. “Once I graduated FSU, I caught my boyfriend and my cousin in bed so I wanted to get away as far as possible. I put in my resume for anywhere up north and this was the first place that was interested.” Niall took in every word as if her words were water and Niall was a thirsty man. “Sorry that’s probably TMI.”

“Oh no, it’s fine. I left here to go to UCLA, but I dropped out when I found out Iz was pregnant with the twins.I came back here to run the family business. Been helping the town ever since.”

“What exactly happened to Iz? I don’t mean to pry, but no one ever really talks about it. Like it’s forbidden.” Niall chuckled awkwardly. Talking about his wife to his kids is one thing, but opening up to a complete stranger? That’s tougher than he thought.

“She, um, got really sick right after the twins were born. The kids, they had complications and had to stay in the incubators for a couple months. That was really hard for her, but I should have seen the signs. She kept forgetting things, and she...she just changed. She would be in the middle of washing dishes and forget what she was doing. She was sweet and kind, but after the tumor took over, she became distant and mean. She constantly yelled at me for stuff I wasn’t even apart of. She accused me of cheating on her with her younger sister...funny thing is, she doesn’t have a younger sister. But every time the doctors went in and cleared the tumor, it came back worse and it just got harder for all of us. She wasn’t strong anymore and just wanted to spend time with the twins.” Niall’s voice began to tremble as he spoke, and to mask his hurt and tearing up, Niall began to shake his leg closest to Rachel.

It broke Rachel’s heart hearing the pain that was hiding behind Niall’s voice. She reached over and began to rub Niall’s knee with her hand to comfort her new friend. She wanted to do something for opening the can of worms so she scooted over and rested her head on Niall’s shoulder.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean-”

“It’s okay, I never really talked about what happened like that. Sorry for spilling like that.” Niall clears his throat and Rachel raises her head. Niall nods down the benches, his eyes on a group of teenage girls staring back at the two adults. Rachel sits up and scoots back her her original spot. They didn’t speak for the rest of the game.

When the Eagles won 1-0, everyone stood to leave. Niall was about to make his way to his sweaty son down on the field when Niall’s hand was grabbed by a hand of smooth skin.

“Can you take this for me?” Rachel asks, handing Niall her coffee cup. Her red lipstick stained the plastic cup. “Sure thing. Thanks for hanging out with an old fart.” Niall jokes; Rachel chuckled and she made her way out of the stadium. As Niall walks down the bleachers, he couldn’t help but think of the few moments Rachel and him shared. Maybe he was reading way too much into her kindness, but she gave him the same sweet smile and twinkle in her eyes over and over again. Can he really feel this way, after all this time?

Niall was about to throw away the empty coffee cup when he saw in written red pen was a number and the same smiley face he saw a month ago on the cardboard sleeve. He slid it off carefully and threw away the cup into the trash. He heard his children beginning to approach him and quickly tucked the sweet gesture of Rachel into his pocket.

“Good job, son! You killed it out there. Those calls were bullshit, but you did great!” Niall ruffled his son’s hair and slung both of his arms around the shoulders of his twins who stood on each side of him. “Who wants hot chocolate?”

Mags wrapped her arm around Niall’s waist and hugged him tightly. Niall kissed her hair as Mack began high-fiving members of the crowd. As they climbed the paved hill, Niall’s heart filled with love with his family. They were complete- almost.

Niall unlocked the silver Tahoe with the keyless remote when he spotted the green eyed woman climbing into her black Camry. Mags waved to her teacher as she passed by the car. Niall stopped walking and watched Rachel back out of her parking space. She gave him a gentle smile and a simple wave. He waved back and felt complete for the first time in fifteen years.

[jorgeclardiary]

World of Tabboo! Early and Recent Work, at Gordon Robicheaux

Ever since I arrived in the East Village in the fall of 1987, I have felt that Stephen Tashjian’s work has accompanied me during important moments of my journey.

During my first few weeks in town, I was taken to the Pyramid Club, where I would become a devotee of the Sunday night drag revue Whispers, emceed by Hapi Phace with a delirious stream of consciousness brilliance and animated by Sister Dimension’s eclectic, mind-warping deejaying.

I admired the flyers for the events, masterful collages and illustrations signed Tabboo!, Tashjian’s nom de plume. I clearly remember one time when the entire club was painted sky blue and embellished with free-flowing swirls and flowers for a series of nights called New Age Laboratory and admired his album covers for the La Palace de Beauté EP and the Deee-Lite World Clique LP.

Years go by and I remember one day walking by the gates of participant inc gallery and noticing a Tabboo! painting of a smiling sun on the steel gates. A state of reverie ensued….

About two years ago I met Stephen at a party at Eugene Fedorko’s, and he was telling stories about the photos tacked onto a wall in one of many rooms. Tabboo!’s wonderful show at Howl! Happening followed a few months after, and I was impressed by the confidence of the portraits on display.

A month ago, I stopped by to see his latest show, World of Tabboo! Early and Recent Work,

which closes today at Gordon Robicheaux. I had seen Stephen the night before at the after-party for the opening of Scott Covert’s The Dead Supreme at Fierman/Situations. Stephen said he would be at the gallery the next day, so I made sure to stop by.

When I came in to see the show, he was chatting with gallerist Sam Gordon. I greeted them and started taking in the paintings in the bright light of a sunny day. I was immediately drawn to the floral still lifes Daffodils in Black Vase and Orange Tulips on Black, and the snowy serenity of Snowstorm Out My Window (Bigger Flakes).

Tabboo! liked I commented on the florals and explained how the tulips were his take on the Dutch masters, and that he became a devotee of the look of bare linen as a base for his paintings when he was working at an art supply store and fell in love with the beauty of the fabric.

He also told he has done many paintings of the landscape outside his window, and that he tries to do a painting every time there’s a big snow storm. Explaining a bit about his technique for achieving the richly layered mottles of snow, Tabboo! said he paints with the canvas on the floor (which seems to be the preferred method of many artist friends) and lets paint drips fall on the surface to create the layers.

Ben Copperwheat walked in—lovely to see him again after he came to visit at Dietmar’s a couple of days before—and Tabboo! gave us an impromptu tour of the paintings. He pointed at the friezes—how the blue one flanking his paintings from 1982, done during his early days in New York, has the date duly noted (these friezes brought me back to the Pyramid and made my heart smile).

I was intrigued by the background color of the Keith Haring Sharpie drawing. The cardboard reminded me of the color of Rauschenberg’s assemblages made from mattress boxes. Tabboo! said he had painted the cardboard with house paint.

Sam pointed out there was a souvenir poster of the exhibit and Tabboo! signed a couple of them for me, and for Ben.

I wanted a photo to remember the day and Ben took the lovely picture you see here, where Tabboo! and I are holding hands. Means so much to me, as it reminds me that dreams do come true for all of us, and as the journey continues we become closer to what we truly love.

(On that day, I was wearing my curly maple glasses from Anni Shades, a vintage Romeo Gigli shirt, Jimi’s necklace, Wrangler jeans, and Ferragamo boat shoes.)

Photos: 1. Ben Copperwheat. 2-9. Jorge Clar. 10. Van Wifvat.