Lighthouse Cove: The Disappearance (Bill Skarsgård)


She did not want to wake the next morning. She welcomed sleep and it’s ability to erase her troubles, all of the terrible thoughts and memories that constantly ran through her mind when she was awake. Nothing seemed more appealing than being lost in utter darkness, unconscious to all the bad things the world could throw upon her. She wanted normality or nothing at all.

It was about nine in the morning, she predicted by sky that shone into the master bedroom, and Charlotte was bound to wake soon. She knew she should begin making breakfast for the family, but she had no desire to leave the warmth of the bed sheets that were pulled up to her neck. Secondly, getting up would mean she had to see the marks that were surely left on her body from the previous night, blotches of darkness on her wrists and the leftover fingerprints coating her throat. The thought sickened her; she did not want to be reminded of the previous night in any form, but it seemed to be inevitable, for she would have to wake eventually.

Turning over in the bed, she saw that Bill was not beside her. Her brows furrowed for a moment, wondering where he could be, but she decided that he was probably downstairs reading. On the occasion - a very rare occasion - her husband woke before her, she would find him sprawled out on one of the living room sofas when she finally wandered downstairs. With that comforting thought, she tried to push the unease from her mind; Bill would be waiting for her with a smile when she made it down.

Slowly, she peeled the woollen blankets back, revealing her naked, battered body. A gasp escaped her lips when she saw the blemishes on her smooth skin and the swelling that had recently begun. She realized - although she already had a strong suspicion - that last night was real, it hadn’t just been a terrible nightmare; the marks that marred her body proved that.

She slipped her legs off the mattress and placed her feet down on the cool, wood floor. With her hands, she braced herself on the bed, each one gripping an edge of the mattress to steady herself. Tears welled in her eyes and she stared forward as her arms shook beneath her.

Charlotte. Charlotte will want breakfast soon,” she thought to herself, wet eyes staring at the dark wall before her. “Pull yourself together and go downstairs.”

She did, rising from the bed, then ambling over to her and Bill’s shared dresser. She pulled the drawers open and searched for some simple clothes for the day. The previous day, Charlotte told her mother she wanted to go to the shore to play and see the broken ice close-up, in which case, the woman knew it was a day to dress warmly. She decided on a cream coloured, turtleneck knit sweater to hide the bruises on her neck and a pair of medium-wash jeans that reached her ankles.

After tugging on the clothing, she moved to stand in front of the medium-sized, slightly cloudy mirror that allowed her to see her head to hips in the reflection. She stared into her own eyes for a few moments before noticing how sunken they looked. Their usually shine was now void of all emotion, appearing lifeless, and her jeans, usually snug, felt looser on her hips. She had thought she was getting enough to eat at the lighthouse, but her reflection proved otherwise, showing that she had lost a fair amount of weight. Her brows creased, wondering how that had happened while eating three solid meals a day for the past few months. It was now more obvious than ever, she knew she wasn’t imagining things - something terrible was happening to her. The only saving grace was that the darkness had not reached Bill or her daughter, something she thanked God for.

With one last look into the hazy mirror, speckled with charred grey dots, she checked to make sure her whole neck and wrists were covered, desperate to hide the colours that marked her. They were.

She walked to the bedroom door and opened the old wood before heading down the stone steps of the lighthouse, making her way to the kitchen. Despite everything, she tried to remain as composed as possible for Charlotte’s sake.

Her efforts would go unnoticed.

It was nine thirty and her daughter still hadn’t made an appearance.

She sat at the kitchen table, a mug of tea cupped in her hands and a bowl of now-lukewarm porridge on the table where Charlotte always sat, waiting for her family. Bill’s coffee dripped every now and then into the pot placed underneath the maker, growing cold as well.

The woman fidgeted, tapping her right foot against the wooden boards that lined the floor and drummed her fingers against her mug, wondering why her daughter was sleeping-in so late. Charlotte was what one would call “an early bird,” never interested in sleeping in for hours on end, and eight-thirty in the morning was her usual wake-up time. Today’s behaviour was far from her daughter’s usual.

She could see Bill from the window above the kitchen sink, chopping away at thick logs near the woodshed past the boardwalk. This struck her as odd, knowing that Bill would always wait until after breakfast to cut wood with Charlotte. What was different about today? She came to the conclusion that their daughter must have told Bill to go without her this time. Perhaps, Charlotte was exhausted from their hike, maybe she was bored of watching him do the same thing every morning, or it was just too cold for her liking on this particular day. However, none of the options seemed likely as watching her father chop up wood always peaked her interest. Little Charlotte would beg Bill to race her down the catwalk on mornings where it wasn’t icy and make him carry her on his shoulders the mornings it was.

The woman took a tentative sip of tea before glancing up at the kitchen clock; it was nine forty.

Suddenly, a horrific thought came to the woman’s mind: He has her.

That speculation alone was enough for her eyes to widen with fear and her hands go numb without warning. The porcelain mug fell from her grip and crashed onto the floor, shattering into numerous pieces, as she pushed her chair back and quickly rose to her feet.

She ran out of the kitchen as fast as she could, through the living room and to the bottom of the stone stairwell. She bounded up the pale grey steps, holding onto the off-white railing tightly as she used it to haul herself up faster.

She felt horrible; what kind of mother would leave their child alone with a psychopath on the loose? No mother she knew of. Only one image motivated her: having Charlotte safely back in her arms. She knew she should have pressed the subject harder to Bill. He kept denying the existence of the man - as most people would, it seemed ludicrous - but what if she pushed it so far he finally believed her? What if she showed him the bruises that covered her body? He’d believe her then… Nonetheless, the image of her daughter was her prime focus and she rushed up the stairs even faster to find her.

Not her. Please, not her.

What was the stranger doing with Charlotte? Was he hurting her? The thought of that filthy man touching her child was absolutely revolting. No, she would save her; little Charlotte would not be harmed.

Her bare feet slapped loudly on the rough stone, echoing throughout the whole lighthouse, but she hardly noticed. She thought only about her beautiful daughter and how she would kill the stranger the next time she saw him. Not twice would she think about grabbing the nearest blunt object and smashing it against his skull or slamming her fists against his solid body. She would end him.

The woman was a heaving, breathy mess when she reached the top of the stairs. Yet, she went on, running across the small landing to her daughter’s room.

“Charlotte!” she cried, closing the gap between herself and the bedroom.

She took a hold of the rusting metal knob and twisted it. The heavy door swung open easily with her strong yank. Wasting no time, she rushed into the room, ready to save her daughter from the man who had haunted her for months.

Except… there was no child to save.

She lost it right there.

Screams and cries of utter horror left her mouth when she looked at the empty room, so bare it was sinister. She felt so vile, like her whole body was heavy and full of something sick. There were no words to truly describe how the woman felt, only pure, raw emotion that escaped her body in sobs.

Charlotte’s room was bare, only a prepared twin-sized bed sat in the far corner of the room, everything else was gone. However, more importantly, her daughter was not where to be seen.

“Charlotte? Charlotte!” the mother screamed, tears cascading down her cheeks.

Hearing no reply, she rushed over to the small bed, fell to her knees, then pulled the bed sheets up before peering under the bed. Only the wooden floor greeted her, dusty and deserted.

“Charlotte! Where are you?” she cried, rising back to her full height and striding to the doorframe.

Both of her hands clutched the rough wood so tightly, the grains imprinted a faint pattern into her skin. From her spot in the door, she looked around the small landing. There were two doors, one Charlotte’s bathroom and the other a storage closet. She rocked forwards and backwards, her mind racing with concern for her daughter; she had to find her.

The woman hurried across the landing until she came to the first door, Charlotte’s washroom. She hauled the door open, only to find the the cement floor and sinks perfectly untouched. The bathroom looked orderly and untouched, certainly not inhabited by the insane man.

However, as an extra bout of caution, she tore the shower curtain across the silver rod, exposing the immaculate, white porcelain tub and wall.

Still no Charlotte.

She turned on her heel and ran out of the room, heading towards the closet.

“Charlotte - sweetie -this isn’t funny! Please come out!” she breathlessly pleaded, a fresh wave of tears forming in her eyes.

There was no answer.

When she opened the closet door, she found it was filled with ropes and axes, not the blankets she remembered. The steel that made the heads of the axes was a shining silver, not like the dark and dull ones in the basement due to decades of use, proving them recently bought. Thick and thin ropes, beige and firetruck-red, were messily thrown in between the weapons. Her brows creased but she quickly moved on, desperate to find her missing child.


She barreled up another flight of stairs, climbing so fast her breaths were short and her chest heaved harder than ever before - even when she gave birth.

Nothing else mattered anymore, not if she lived or died, not even if Bill did either. Everything boiled down to her daughter, her beautiful daughter that meant the absolute world to her. She would rather spend everyday of the rest of her life with the stranger than see her daughter in his cruel hands. If she could, she would take her daughter’s place in a heartbeat.

“Charlotte, please!” she called, arriving at the very top of the stairwell.

She moved into her and Bill’s bedroom, making sure to check both the master bath and storage closet.

There was no sign of her little girl.

She ran out of the master bedroom and swiftly descended the steps to the ground floor. After checking the living room, coat closet and revisiting the kitchen, she moved onto the basement, looking in every hiding place she could think of. She was enclosed in a different kind of darkness, not the stranger’s, but the atmosphere’s - no sunlight peaked into the basement, allowing the browns to grow deeper and the lights to shine dimmer.

The woman had cleared the basement in ten minutes. She had looked under tables, behind generators and in the small closet holding Bill’s tools.

Charlotte had vanished into thin air.

Despite winter only having two months left, a fine layer of snow coated the catwalk from the light snowfall that occurred the previous night. The fairly flat hills that lead to the forest were patchy with snow, however, the green still showed through.The frozen lake had just began its thawing process, large chunks of ice having broken off from the main source and now floating all by their lonesome. Winter was slowly leaving, bringing signs of spring to Lighthouse Cove.

Bill had nearly finished chopping up a couple days worth of wood, a few more logs and his work would be done for the day. After discarding the logs inside, he planned on spending the rest of the day with his wife, reading together on the couch and making love in front of the crackling fireplace.

He buried the head of the axe into a thick chunk of wood, creating a deep crack, then yanking it out. After two more tries, he sent the final blow to the wood, effectively slicing it in half. The block fell open, both sides limply falling back onto the frozen grass.

The woman threw the main door to the lighthouse open, allowing the nippy air to attack her exposed skin, then barrelled down three stone steps to reach the long wooden catwalk, wearing nothing more than a knit sweater and jeans. She had no shoes or socks on.

The boardwalk was built forty metres above the water - ice in the winter - and it stretched a hundred metres long, connecting the lighthouse and land. Typically, one would hear the loud crashing of the waves at they met the cement bottom of the lighthouse. However, on this day, there was no sound, only an eerie silence as sprinkles of snow fell from the bleak sky.

She could see her husband in the distance; he standing near the woodshed about twenty metres from the end of the seemingly endless boardwalk.

“Bill!” she called, wasting not even a second before taking off down the bridge.

Her naked feet slammed against the wood, creating imprints of her tracks in the snow behind her. The cold gnawed at her feet, but she didn’t notice, even when they began to sting from the bitter temperature.

Bill had not seen her yet, had not heard her desperate calls.

Maybe Charlotte’s sitting in the woodshed. She never has but… there’s a first time for everything.

Soon, she would learn that her last hope was nothing but a fantasy.

She reached the end of the boardwalk and began onto the grass, cold, hard and covered with small patches of snow. “Bill!” she screamed again.

Her husband’s head whipped back at the sound of his name being so desperately called. His eyebrows furrowed when he saw how fast his wife was running towards him, knowing that something awful had happened. He noticed how wide and full of sheer terror her eyes were.

Fuck. Please no, please,” he thought.

She knew her daughter wasn’t in the shed; Charlotte would have come out by now. Yet, she couldn’t help but picture her daughter rushing out with tears in her green eyes, asking her mother what was wrong. The sight of her daughter upset would have broken her heart before, but now… she would selfishly be overjoyed just to see her daughter, sad or happy.


He slammed the head of the axe into the wood pile and turned back around just as she approached him, her pace only slowing when she nearly smashed into him.

“What is it?” he asked, taking a hold of her shoulders with his large hands and meeting her wide eyes.

“He has her, Bill. He has her,” she said urgently, not wasting a moment to catch her breath. Her words came out in pants as her heart pounded and chest heaved wildly. The tears that were kept in by the whipping of the wind as she ran, now rolled down her cheeks freely.

“What are you talking about?” he asked sharply.

She started to sob, “That man! I told you someone was here - I told you all along! Now he has her, Bill. He has our daughter! My daughter, Bill… oh, God.”

He watched as she completely broke down, hot tears streaming uncontrollably down her cheeks to jaw then neck. It was this downward motion that spurred Bill’s eyes to drop as well, eventually coming to his first realization.

“Shit. Sweetheart… you’re not wearing a jacket. You’re going to freeze out here,” he chided, yet not enough to be angry with her. Instead, he held onto her shoulders even tighter and his eyes begged for hers to meet his again.

She ignored him, continuing to speak hysterically as tears continued to roll down her skin. “My baby, my baby, my baby, my baby…”

He noticed her feet and sighed. “You’re not wearing boots either. Please… let me take you inside,” he begged, unable to stand seeing his wife in such a state.

How uninterested he seemed in his daughter’s disappearance irked her deeply. “Bill, you’re not listening!” she yelled, ripping his hands off her shoulders, “He has our baby. This man has our daughter! I don’t know where he’s taken her but she’s gone, Bill. I can’t find her anywhere!”

He took a small step forward, calmly, so she would see him as comforting, but she took one step back.

She was livid, depressed and desperate all at once. Bill had always loved his daughter, he’d ruin anyone who dared touch her; read to her whenever she asked, making sure to change the pitch and sound to his voice to fit the different characters; and allowed her to tug at his hair, even when it hurt more than he’d like to admit. She couldn’t understand this: If Bill loved his daughter, why would he not be concerned for her safety? Why would he not listen to his wife telling him there is an insane man lurking around their lighthouse?

He shut his eyes, hating what he was going to say. “Sweetheart…” he began softly, “We don’t have a daughter.”

She swore she stopped breathing.

His eyes pleaded with her, begging for her to listen to him. “No one is here but me and you, okay? I know there is nothing more in the whole world you’d want than a child, me too, but sweetheart… it will take time. We’ll have a baby soon enough,” he spoke gently, reaching a hand out to her yet again.

She became riddled with an anger she had never felt towards her husband before. “Don’t you fuck around with me, Bill,” she retorted, jabbing a finger at finger in his direction.


“NO!” she yelled, “Bill, he has our baby somewhere and I don’t know what he’s going to do to her!”

Hastily, he took his wife into his chest, his long arms trapping her in his hold. Although she struggled and fought him, he was ultimately stronger. Her attempts were feeble and she soon realized this, slumping her head against his chest and dropping her hands, which were curled into fists, to her sides. She wept into his chest.

“I love you. I love you so much. I love you,” he heartily whispered into her ear, attempting to soothe her hysteria.

She only cried harder. “I don’t know what’s happening, Bill. I’m so scared,” she sobbed.

He pulled her deeper into him and began to stroke her back. “I know. I know, sweetheart,” he cooed into her ear, his frigid lips touching her hot skin.

She sputtered and gasped for air, trying to - unskillfully - collect her breath.

After a few more moments of heavy breathing, she calmed down enough to speak. “I need to tell you something,” she said, voice still wobbling.

Both of his hands went to her head, smoothing down her hair while he gazed into her eyes, the eyes he had fallen in love with many years ago. Right now, she looked the most composed he had seen her all morning, so he nodded and let her go. She took a shaky step back.

He looked at her calmly, ready to hear what she had to say now that she appeared to be levelheaded.

She fiddled with her fingers and looked down. “He… he fucked me,” she said deeply, emotion filling her final three words.

Bill’s eyes hardened, “That’s impossible. Sweetheart, there’s nobody here but you and-”

“HE FUCKED ME!” she cried, tears threatening to spill from her eyes again.

“Nobody touched you. I promise,” he assured her, his eyes pleading.

She crossed her arms under her breasts. “He came into our room last night after you left. He tied me up… choked me… raped me,” she confessed, her voice quavering.

He didn’t know what to say, it seemed that nothing he did could change her mind and that scared the life out of him.

She sniffled, trying to regain her breath, then pulled down the fabric of her sweater, exposing her bruised neck. The dark marks shone even brighter in the daylight.

She couldn’t bear to look at him. “See?” she pressed, her neck feeling strained as she dipped her head to the side so he could get a better look.

There was no more denying it, the marks were visible.

Bill examined her skin. “There’s nothing there,” he said softly, barely audible.

Her eyes flew to his: what did he mean about there being ‘nothing there?’

“You’re exhausted and cold. Please, let me take you inside,” he spoke, collectedly as possible.

“But how can you not-”

“Please,” he begged, causing her eyes to meet his. He looked so sad.

She shut her mouth and slowly nodded, feeling utterly defeated; her husband did not believe her. Her hand slipped from it’s hold on the cream fabric, falling limply by her side. Bill swept her feet from underneath her and pulled her up to his chest. Her head lolled onto his shoulder.

“He fucked me, Bill. Hard and mercilessly and I begged him to stop. He’s nothing like you, Bill… Why won’t you believe me?” she whispered as he began walking to the boardwalk.

“Shh,” her husband soothed. “It’s alright. It’s just me and you here. Me and you… remember that.”

Her eyes shut.

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“The woodshed is packed to the rafters again…of course these little sticky beaks just had to check out what all the commotion was about! Hope your weekend is going well!


What if Percy Jackson had became a god in The Last Olympian?

Read on AO3

Read on ff.net

Percy Jackson is sixteen when he accepts Zeus’s proposal

He looks at Annabeth

Athena glares at him

He wants to cry out I’m sorry

But instead he just smiles and thanks the king of the gods

Percy Jackson is seventeen when he talks to Grover

“What’s it like?”

To see everyone age around you

“Weird” is the reply

Percy Jackson is eighteen when the giants attack

He isn’t affected by the split personality disorder that the other gods are facing

He helps the seven demigods defeat Gaia and her minions

But it just reminds him of what he isn’t anymore

Percy Jackson is nineteen when he goes into the woods looking for a monster to fight

They all cower in fear of the god standing before them

He doesn’t understand why at the time

He is unarmed

Percy Jackson is twenty-one when Annabeth tells him she can’t be with him like this

She says she loves him

But she still walks out of the cabin

He doesn’t run after her

He knows he chose this life

Percy Jackson is twenty-three when the sea creatures and horses stop calling him the son of Poseidon

But rather the god of the waves

They don’t worship him any longer

They just fear him

Percy Jackson is twenty-six when he stops coming to Camp Halfblood

This place that was once his home is now a stranger to him

The kids keep getting younger and younger

Percy Jackson is twenty-nine when Thalia comes to him

“This is only the beginning” she says

She would know

She’s been fifteen for over two decades

Percy Jackson is thirty-two when his mom gets cancer

It runs in the family

He uses his new powers to heal her

He finally thinks maybe he made the right decision

Paul never looks him in the eye again

Percy Jackson is thirty-five when Nico dies on a quest

He could have saved him

He promised to save him

He doesn’t even find out until Grover sends him a letter

Percy Jackson is thirty-eight when he goes to live on Mount Olympus

The gods there despise him

He doesn’t care

He has to be with his own kind

Percy Jackson is forty-one when his mom dies

It was a plane crash

She was going to a book signing

He was too late

Percy Jackson is forty-four when Annabeth marries a man named Felix

They are so in love

So happy

He burns the wedding invitation

Percy Jackson is forty-six when Clarisse calls for help

She is cornered by a monster

She knows she has no other option

She prays to him

He doesn’t hear

Percy Jackson is fifty when Medusa is reincarnated

She thirsts for his blood

When he goes to meet her

He doesn’t even have to try

He keeps her head as a souvenir

Percy Jackson is fifty-five when Annabeth dies

He hears her screams from Olympus

It was spiders

Her nine-year-old son is all alone

And his name is Perseus

Percy Jackson is fifty-six when he creates his first real hurricane

It ravages the entire east coast

He doesn’t care

Even his father is worried

Percy Jackson is fifty-seven when his brother won’t talk to him anymore

Tyson lost friends in the hurricane


Percy laughs at him harshly

“Why should I care?”

Percy Jackson is sixty-one when Grover dies while trying to put out a forest fire

He died saving the lives of hundreds of dryads

He becomes an iris

Percy’s storm destroys the tiny plant

Percy Jackson is sixty-eight when monsters break the magical barriers surrounding Camp Halfblood

Less than half the former population is left after the attack

He supposes he could have saved them

But why?

They’re only puny heroes

Percy Jackson is seventy-three when he raids Dionysus’s stores and gets drunk

He wonders along the streets of New York City

Everything is so different now

A pretty mortal girl sees him and offers to take him home

He has no home

But no one has smiled at him like that in so long

Percy Jackson is seventy-four when his daughter is born

He is long gone by then

The next time he sees either of them is when he claims her

The symbol that flashes over her head is a broken sword

Chiron gasps

Percy Jackson is eighty-six when he first meets his daughter for real

She has no interest in meeting the man that abandoned her and her mother

She yells at him

Blames him

He knows she’s right

Percy Jackson is eighty-seven when his daughter is killed

By a boar

Ares always did have a grudge against him

She goes to Elysium

Percy Jackson is ninety-five when he meets Chiron on Halfblood Hill

“How do you do it?” he asks

“Every day I try to honor their memories

So that they didn’t die in vain”

Percy Jackson is ninety-six when he walks to the middle of the woods

He writes down all the names

The people he has loved and lost

The people who have been lost on his watch

The people who he killed

Every single one of them

He sits there writing for over two days straight

Then he puts all the names into a jar

And buries it

Percy Jackson is one-hundred and two when Thalia Grace dies on the Hunt

She was the one person he thought would be with him when everyone else was gone

He is so alone

He goes to take his frustration out on Artemis

But when he finds her she is so distraught his anger evaporates

And he is left with only his grief

He and Artemis mourn together

But she moves on

He does not

Percy Jackson is one-hundred and three when he finally understands why Pan wanted to die

The prospect is so appealing now

Just fade away

Leave the suffering of the world

It would be so easy

Percy Jackson is one-hundred and eighteen when the minor gods rebel again

He considers joining them

He considers joining his father and the demigods that back the major gods

But why should he

He owes no one anything

Percy Jackson is one-hundred and thirty-seven when he goes to the underworld

It’s his first time as a god

And it’s so easy

This time he’s not trying to bring someone back

He just wants to feel death on him

To know what it’s like to be mortal and able to die

He doesn’t remember the feeling

Percy Jackson is one-hundred and seventy-one when Zeus and Poseidon start fighting again

There was a time when he would have been in the center of the fighting

Supporting his father

Maybe leading an army

But now he just watches

The war destroys the mortals

Most of the land is nothing but rubble

People scramble to survive

He doesn’t understand how they are so weak

Percy Jackson is two-hundred and thirteen when Camp Halfblood is destroyed for good

It’s all in flames

Like the vision he was shown by a titan many lifetimes ago

The grief he should feel isn’t there

It’s just another place

He doesn’t remember how it was once his home

That was so long ago

Percy Jackson is two-hundred and ninety-seven when Typhon beheads Zeus

He’s hardly surprised

Percy Jackson is four-hundred and fifty-two when he goes to sleep

He doesn’t plan to ever wake up

Percy Jackson looks sixteen when a girl with stormy gray eyes and blonde curls finds him

She looks like someone he used to know

He can’t put his finger on it

“You drool in your sleep” she tells him

Percy Jackson has been alive for five-hundred and seventy-eight years

And now he starts living again

Tweet by Mark Elliot (@markmobility):

Barbara Rank from Dubuque, Iowa takes @RepRodBlum behind the woodshed on #AHCA h/ @ms_sharims

The letter reads:

Congressman Rod Blum in a Dubuque town hall (Monday) night asked, “Why should a 62-year-old man have to pay for maternity care?”

I ask, why should I pay for a bridge I don’t cross, a sidewalk I don’t walk on, a library book I don’t read?

Why should I pay for a flower I won’t smell, a park I don’t visit, or art I can’t appreciate? Why should I pay the salaries of politicians I didn’t vote for, a tax cut that doesn’t affect me, or a loophole I can’t take advantage of?

It’s called democracy, a civil society, the greater good. That’s what we pay for.

elennare  asked:

If you have the time and inclination, I'd love to see the Avengers' reaction to learning Phil Coulson's alive (because they MUST know by now)... And especially your Laura Barton's reaction - what kind of fruit basket do you send to say "glad you're not dead, don't ever do that to us again"?

Laura sent him a fruit basket of whole pineapples (he was allergic) and a note that read Cooper cried all the way through your funeral, you bastard. 

An unstamped postcard appeared in her mailbox a few days later– a generic glossy image of a Maine lighthouse on a high green bluff. No signature, but Phil’s square handwriting. My apologies for the inconvenience

She threw the card on the counter, grabbed the axe from the woodshed, and chopped firewood until her arms screamed, because if she was going to be in a fury she might as well make it a productive one. 

Laura wasn’t Level Seven or above– she wasn’t any Level, technically, as according to SHIELD she didn’‘t technically exist these days– but she had friends in high places. Or low ones. It was a matter of perspective. She had found out about Phil Coulson before Clint, because Clint only broke rules because of his big heart and she’d always broken them because of her nosy mind. 

She had called Clint immediately–before the fruit basket–to pass on the (good–she was furious, but it was good, it was good) news. Clint had said, “Oh,” in a great terrible relieved rush of air. 

While the landline was passed among Lila and Cooper so they could chatter at their father, Laura had called Natasha on her cell. She’d said, “Oh,” too, but there was no rush of air, no exhale, no exclamation, because Natasha understood about resources, about conserving them, always had. 


“I bet that’s where Melinda May went,” Natasha said. “But, anyway, how’d Lila’s recital go?“ 

Laura didn’t tell Tony, Steve, or Bruce, though she was tempted. But it would be petty, not kind, and she tried to cling to kindness by her ragged fingernails. 

Phil used words like inconvenience when he meant pain. He said compromised when he meant possessed and involuntarily homicidal, when he meant lost. He was a man of euphemisms and Laura tried to roll with it– her son preferred sign to speech most days, her husband was a hard-of-hearing ex-carnie, her best friend was a slippery, sweet ex-child-soldier who carried all her cards and all her hurt close to her chest. Laura understood that no one spoke the same language and that part of loving someone was looking for what words meant in their hands. 

"Apology not accepted, you prick,” she told him as soon as he picked up the phone. The friend of a friend who got her the number didn’t know or didn’t tell her where exactly Phil was, but a different friend of a different friend told her the mission, and another told her the coordinates. Laura was a friendly gal. She listened for ambient noise, hints of the crowded city she knew he was chasing uncanny phenomena in, and heard nothing. 

“Which otherwise excellent employee of this agency did you coerce into betraying classified information this time?" 

"Maybe one of your shiny new team,” she snapped. “Have you even spoken to Natasha, since, Phil? What the hell? What were you thinking?”

“We were thinking that without a united front, against Loki–”

Laura paced over the kitchen floor Clint had put in by hand during a chill autumn during which even the kids grew tired of take-out. “Did you think they’d only fight for you if you were dead? Did you not trust them to believe in the fight?”

“I understand you’re defensive of your husband–”

“I’m not angry for Clint’s sake,” she snapped, and Phil went quiet. “He gave a toast in your honor and came home to hold his children. He was always going to get through this.”

“Angry for yourself, then, Mrs. Barton? Laura, I never knew you cared." 

"I send you fucking fruit baskets, don’t you even joke. You taught my kids how to whittle, you shut your undead fucking mouth, Phil. But it’s not even that. They were a bunch of squabbling petty children up there, weren’t they?” she said. “Clint doesn’t talk about that particular fight, but I’ve met them now, and I can imagine. Tony, lord. I get what you were trying to do. You were dumb, but I get it." 

"Then why are you angry?" 

"You should have trusted her.”

“Ah,” said Phil. “Romanoff." 

"I get not trusting all the caped crusaders, not then, not yet, but you all keep leaving Natasha.” She clutched the cord of the phone in her hand, winding it around and around her palm. “You all keep leaving her, and not even having the decency to die." 

"It was a delicate situation– Fury’s death even more than mine." 

"And you think Natasha can’t handle delicate? She has been dying for you for years, and she hasn’t earned your trust yet? Phil, godamnit.”

“We thought she could handle it." 

"She could. She did. She shouldn’t have to." 

Laura strained to hear the ambient sounds under his silence, staring out the kitchen window at Cooper making rock towers and sandy canyons at the pond’s edge. She felt muffled, locked out, smothered with only the bare staticky sound of Phil’s voice making it over the line. 

"I apologize for the inconvenience,” he said, and he said it softly.

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tooboredtofindagoodusername  asked:

I have a request! Can u do Yoosung, Jumin and Saeyoung with a MC which had her first kiss with them? (I just read that hc with MC who had her first kiss with Saeran for the 6th time) (I fell in love with it omg) (Idk I need something sweet rn)

Hi! I just read over that Saeran hc, and it’s so cute???! I don’t remember writing it at all, it doesn’t even look like my writing. I hope I don’t disappoint with this continuation of it! I’m going to try and mimic my writing style from that one, I really like it. (Sorry Jumin’s is so short! I ran out of inspiration!)


  • Yoosung had noticed that on every date you two had gone on you would always be nervous when he would take you to your door
  • He wanted to ask why, but he thought he might be pushing you too much
  • On the way home from your current date, he decided to ask
  • “MC?” He asked, a bit unsure of how you were going to react
  • “Yeah Yoosung?” You gave him a soft smile, curious to what he was going to ask
  • Yoosung bit his lip before responding, “Do I make you uncomfortable?”
  • You were bewildered, why would he think that? You really liked him…
  • “What…? Of course not! Why would you ever think that?”
  • “Oh, umm… Every time I walk you to your door you look really uncomfortable. I was worried,” he let out a tiny nervous laugh
  • You felt a warm blush coat your cheeks, “O-oh… Hah”
  • Yoosung could practically feel the embarrassment coming off of you
  • “MC… Please tell me, please?” he whined, dragging out the ‘e’ in please
  • You shuffled your feet and looked over at your boyfriend sitting beside you
  • “I, umm, haven’t had my first kiss yet…”
  • Yoosung blinked a couple of times before he started giggling
  • You glared at Yoosung, suddenly feeling offended
  • “I haven’t either, MC! You don’t have to be nervous, I’ll be just as bad as you,” Yoosung smiled at you comfortingly
  • “What? Really?” You were surprised, it’s not like Yoosung was ugly. You were sure he would have at least been kissed before
  • “Yeah, why are you so surprised?”
  • “I mean, you’re not exactly ugly… I’m just shocked,” You still felt a little scared for your first kiss, but it would be okay. Yoosung wouldn’t hurt you.
  • Your words caused Yoosung to blush a bright red and avoid eye contact with you for a bit
  • “Can I be your first kiss, MC? I really want you to be mine…”
  • You slowly nodded your head, a shy smile spreading over you features, “I’d love for you to be mine.”
  • Once you two arrived at your front door, you both knew what was going to happen
  • Yoosung slowly leaned in and ever so softly placed a small kiss on your lips
  • You kissed him back gently, a soft smile playing on your lips
  • Once he had pulled away, a blush was coating both of your cheeks
  • It was magical, it felt like fireworks exploded everywhere. That was the only way you could describe what had happened
  • Yoosung smiled, “How was I?”
  • Your blush only deepened as you spoke, “It was really, really nice”
  • It was the most nervous but sweetest kiss you could ever have.



  • Saeyoung knew that you hadn’t had your first kiss yet
  • You had told him on one of your late-night calls before
  • He told you that he had had his first kiss, but it was for his job
  • You felt bad for him, first kisses were supposed to be sweet and special, not forced for your job
  • Saeyoung really didn’t care, but he felt a little bad because you couldn’t be his first as well
  • He decided to make a big deal about your first kiss
  • He had set up the perfect little date in the woods
  • He had a picnic set out, Saeran helped make it, a blanket laid down for stargazing, and a blanket for you two to cover up with
  • You just thought Saeyoung was going to take you on a simple date, but you were so wrong.
  • Nothing with this boi is simple
  • When he brought you to the little picnic, you held your hand over your mouth and told him about how perfect and beautiful it was
  • He smirked to himself, doing a little fist pump. He was going to have to thank Saeran so much for helping
  • Saeyoung took your hand and led you to the blanket before opening up the box he kept the food in
  • You raised your eyebrow at the box and giggled softly
  • “Oh hush, I looked everywhere for a stupid picnic basket, but I couldn’t find one.”
  • “You really put that much effort into this?” You were so surprised by this, Saeyoung was definitely not the first person who came to mind when you thought of romance
  • He scoffed, “Of course I did. I wanted this to be special for you.”
  • “What? Why?”
  • “I wanted to give you your first kiss tonight, honey,” he looked slightly embarrassed
  • “O-oh, really?” If he looked embarrassed, you would hate to see what you looked like
  • He nodded his head and leaned into you, a small smile on his face
  • You were a little scared, but you knew Saeyoung would treat you right no matter what
  • He gently grabbed your face and pressed his lips against yours in a short, but sweet, kiss
  • You kissed him back, putting all your feelings into the kiss
  • Once you both had pulled back, you looked at each and started laughing
  • “It was just like one of those stupid romance movies! With the butterflies and everything!” Saeyoung was pretty shocked, he used to make fun of Yoosung for reading those weird books, but maybe they were actually preparing the poor boy for a real relationship
  • You nodded your head in agreement and hugged your boyfriend tightly


  • Poor, confused Trust Fund Kid
  • He hadn’t been kissed before either
  • So, he wanted to make this entire thing special for both of you
  • You wanna know what this little fucker did?
  • He bought a fucking small island for the both of you
  • You were so shocked and immediately felt so spoiled
  • “Jumin, sweetheart, you didn’t need to do this…” you mumbled as you held his hand tightly
  • He shook his head, “Love, it is your first kiss, it needs to be special.”
  • You looked up at your oblivious boyfriend and let out a tiny giggle, “It doesn’t need to be this special, though.”
  • He’s such a sweetheart, aww
  • “MC, I want every first with you to be special, no matter what.”
  • You sighed quietly as you stared out at the ocean
  • The breeze felt absolutely lovely
  • “MC?” Jumin asked with a hint of nervousness in his tone
  • “Yeah, Jumin?” You looked up at him with a questioning look in your eyes
  • He took your chin into his hands and tilted it up towards him
  • Your eyes widened as you knew what was coming
  • Jumin kissed you ever so softly, a smile playing on his lips
  • You kissed him back, a happy giggle bubbling up in your throat
  • You were the first to pull back as Jumin couldn’t stop kissing you
  • “Did you feel that spark?” Jumin asked curiously, he didn’t know exactly what to call it, so he took a word from all of the K dramas he watches
  • You nodded your head vigorously, “Yes! It was so wonderful, Jumin!”
  • Jumin kissed your head softly. He was proud of himself
Toward the End of August

by David Budbill

Toward the end of August I begin to dream about fall, how
this place will empty of people, the air will get cold and
leaves begin to turn. Everything will quiet down, everything
will become a skeleton of its summer self. Toward

the end of August I get nostalgic for what’s to come, for
that quiet time, time alone, peace and stillness, calm, all
those things the summer doesn’t have. The woodshed is
already full, the kindling’s in, the last of the garden soon

will be harvested, and then there will be nothing left to do
but watch fall play itself out, the earth freeze, winter come.

so imagine this:

  • Link is a woodsman living in a little cabin all by himself
  • He is a crabby boy with a man bun and a couple of chickens
  • maybe a cat idk
  • but anyway one day when he’s out doing the woodsman thing he sees A GIRL 
  • she is all dirty and gross but she’s 100% passed out and she’s wearing nice clothes so maybe she’s worth something
  • so he takes her back to his little hut and starts making food 
  • this is zelda ofc but neither of them know that because when she wakes up she has zero clue who she is, where she came from, or why she was in the woods. complete amnesia
  • They figure out later that she was promised to be married to the really evil Duke that owns the land Link lives on; he’s super cruel and awful and Zelda ran away from home instead of marrying him
  • I don’t think she’s a princess in this one, probably a lower lady or the daughter a duke or something
  • But anyway neither of them know this, Link just picks up a poor girl in the woods
  • He starts calling her Goldilocks because he’s a smug bastard like that
  • She starts crying because she’s freaking out? She doesn’t know who she is? and he comes over all awkwardly and is like “hey you can stay and take care of my chickens ok” 
  • But basically the whole story is her figuring out who she is, getting to know Link and his humble way of life, and then later figuring out how to outrun this scary Duke guy
  • He literally has control over link’s life. Like he could murder him and kick him off the land and everything
  • But he protects her anyway once he finds out bc THEY FALL IN LOVE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
  • Anyway things hit the fan when Tax Season comes around and they are not only looking for money, they’re looking for the Duke’s bride, too…

anyway if enough are you are interested in this one i might actually write it >.>