#And their cops are allowed to shoot you on sight

[ultimatebottom69]

...If i tell you all IRL that my step-mother actually made jokes about my lityle brother huge balls when he was birthed and how she was extremely graphic about how early on in the pregnancy every doctor and X-ray graphic showed it so she felt forced to do another kid to have a daughter.

Would you believe me ?

I can't I can't I can't I can't

[back2thebasics]

Charlie Swan x Fem Reader - Target Practice

Hopefully you guys like it! It's my first time trying to write Twilight fanfic but I had lots of fun writing this so I would be down to make more in the future if there is an interest.

Charlie Swan X Fem Reader- Target Practice -

Summary: You work as a Private Investigator. You first met Charlie at a gun range and ever since you saw him for the first time, you can't stop thinking about him. He notices you right away, not being able to keep his eyes off of you, intrigued by you. One day, he finally musters up the courage to approach you and start a conversation.

Content: 18+, MDNI, sexual content, guns, oral sex, public sex, age gap, 

WordCount: 4k

You had moved to Forks recently from a big city, looking for an escape from your stressful job as a private investigator. You had covered anything from cheating to much darker things that you were trying to forget about. You needed some time off, so you decided to switch things up and move to the small town of Forks, Washington. Not long after arriving, you discovered through a local newspaper that there was a gun range a few minutes out of town. The first time you shot a gun was for your weapon training course. It surprised you how easily you took to it and how you somewhat enjoyed the experience. The small rush of adrenaline and the focus required made your blood rush and made you feel alive. Luckily, you never required a gun for work, but you always kept one hidden in the glove box of your blacked out Mustang. The first time you went to the gun range, you had just wanted to check it out, but once there you felt stupid turning around. You entered the old looking concrete building, which almost looked like an old prison but smaller. You could already hear the loud gunshots, slightly muffled through the front door. 

Once inside, you went up to the front desk, which doubled as a large gun locker. The old man leaning back in an old wooden chair polished a gun looking up at you. He put the rifle down and stood to greet you. You pay the admission fee and the rounds of ammo and you, as you enter the second section of the range where the targets are, you feel the old man's stare. He probably knows every single customer, but you are new here and also the only woman in sight. You feel pairs of eyes on you as you go to your assigned booth at the very back. That's when you see Charlie for the first time. He is in the booth right next to yours, his focus remaining on the target ahead. You find him handsome from first sight. He was just your type. A little older, rugged, strong looking, with a full head of dark hair and a nicely trimmed mustache. He seemed quiet, observant, but discreet. You caught him glancing your way as you settled in your own booth at the very back. As you prepped your gun, you felt his eyes on you again, lingering, but not constantly. During your first visit to the shooting range, he stayed silent but sneaked intrigued glances towards you when he thought you wouldn't to notice. You had good aim the first visit despite being a little rusty. His was near perfect, you noticed. He pulled the trigger like it was breathing to him, never straying too far from his intended target. He also looked detached a little while he shot round after round like he did this every Sunday. Did he? You thought to yourself. It was only on your way out that first night that you noticed a patch on his jacket telling you he was a cop and the chief of police of Forks. 

The following two weekends, you made the trip to the gun range to shoot a few rounds, and you saw Charlie there each time. He seemed to allow himself to look at you more and more each visit, his gaze lingering longer than before. Then one day, he finally broke the silence at the end of a session. 

“Where you from anyway? Ive never seen you around?” He asked as you were taking a break. You pushed back the large noise canceling headphones that you wore while shooting. 

“I just moved here about a month ago. I’m from Seattle.” You explained, happy that he finally spoke to you. 

“Ah, that explains it. If you don't mind me asking, how did you learn to shoot like that?” He asked, arching a brow slightly. The sight made you hold in a giggle. 

“I'm a Private Investigator so the training came with the job but I ended up enjoying it so now I do it as a way to unwind, I guess.” You told him, looking up into his dark eyes. He nodded, as if finally able to solve the puzzle he’d been constructing in his head.

“Well, I have to say after me you might be the best shot in this town.” He chuckled softly, and the praise made your stomach do flips. You didn't think a random man’s opinion would mean so much to you, but you cared about what he thought of you. 

“Well Chief, thank you. My name is Y/N.” You stuck out your hand for a handshake, not yet knowing his name.

“Please call me Charlie.” He shook your hand, giving you a warm smile. His touch lingering slightly on your smaller hand. His hand slightly calloused and rough felt warm in your grip. You both pulled away and went back to your own thing. He kept shooting a few rounds. You found yourself simply watching him for the rest of the session. 

A few months later…

After settling in fully into the Forks' lifestyle, you noticed a few things. Charlie was everywhere, and everyone in town knew and respected him. He was also a very quiet, reserved man who was impossible to read at times. You always felt nervous talking to him for some reason despite his trustworthy reputation as the town's hero. You were sitting in the only bar in town. You rarely went out for drinks, but tonight you sat on a high stool dressed in a nice black jumpsuit. You took the time to do your hair and apply a little makeup, which was a rare sight. While you were lost in thought, a person suddenly occupied the empty seat next to you.

“Fancy seeing you here.” Charlie sat with an ease that made you think this was his usual spot. You flashed him a smile that he returned.

“Yeah, what are the odds?” You joked back, knowing it was the only bar around for miles. 

“You come here often?” You add in teasing him.

“Probably more than I should.” He joked back and gave the bartender a little signal. A few minutes later, a tall draft beer sat in front of him. Your cocktail sat half empty as you nursed it, taking your time to make sure you could still drive home after. The two of you sat and talked for a while, the time slipping by as easy conversation flowed effortlessly. 

“I have this cabin up in the mountains with an outdoor practice range. I usually go up there with my buddies during hunting season, but I was wondering if you'd maybe want to go there to shoot. I mean you don't have to but if it interests you, I could um.. take you.” He seemed to get flustered by the proposition. Was he asking you on a date? “Yeah, that sounds great. I'm free next weekend.” Your answer eased his antsy demeanor, and he settled back into the stool, smiling at you, pleased.

“Perfect then. Ill pick you up and we can go.” He confirmed and the thought of going on a weekend trip to his cabin excited you more than anything had in the past 2 months . 

The weekend came, and you felt like a teenager as you paced by your window waiting for his truck to pull into the driveway. The outfit you had spent hours debating was a functional but cute ensemble consisting of a pair of jeans, a black tank top paired with a soft Forrest green flannel, and a pair of lace up hiking boots. You heard the gravel crunch and then saw his truck slow to a stop. To your surprise, Charlie exited the truck and approached your front door. A loud but still polite knock sounded a few minutes later, and you had to stop yourself from running to the door like a love-struck teenager. Opening the door, you admired him for a moment. He had shaved, leaving only his signature mustache perfectly trimmed. He wore dark-colored jeans paired with a gray t-shirt and a faded leather jacket. He looked so handsome that you had to stop yourself from ogling too long and making things awkward.

“Ready to go?” He asked, flashing you a smile that almost took your breath away.

“Yeah, but I don't have a gun. Sorry, I forgot to mention that earlier.” You usually borrowed one from the range. 

"No worries, I got you covered." He replied, smirking. Walking back to his truck and you followed instinctively. He opened the hatch of his truck to reveal a black trunk of some sort. He pulled it towards him and unlatched the cover to reveal a whole arsenal of firearms, from pistols to rifles. 

There were loads of ammo and other things as well and you were relieved he came prepared. You were willing to simply watch him shoot if it had come to it. You climbed in the truck after Charlie held the door open for you. He drove the both of you into the mountains, the forest getting thicker the further you drove. You filled the silence with pleasant conversation. You couldn't remember feeling this comfortable with anyone on this level before meeting Charlie. He made you feel seen, safe and fuzzy inside. Like a warm roaring fire was slowly building within you every time you thought of him or saw him in town. Once you arrived at the cabin, he helped you out of the truck and gave you a quick tour of the property. He showed you around the little clearing where he had set up many targets of varying distances, sizes and difficulty. He seemed proud of his hard work as he walked you around, showing you all the little details he had thought of and engineered himself. He then brought you inside the cute little log cabin that had a small kitchen, bathroom and a single bedroom. The inside was decorated with memorabilia that had been collected over the years. The cabin had charm and you couldn't help but walk around appreciating all the little momentos that made the cabin feel alive. This place was Charlie's space and you could tell he had fun times here in the past with his friends. 

“Its so nice Charlie, wow.” You told him, admiring the little metal fireplace in the corner of the living room. He saw you looking and approached to start making a fire. “You like it?” He smiled, crouching down to add logs to the fireplace. 

“Yeah, I love it.” You replied, still finding more things to look at. Everything in here had a story behind it and you couldn't wait to ask him more about his different adventures. 

“We can take a little break and eat before we go out to shoot.” He lit the fire and then stood to cross the cabin over to the fridge.

“You brought food?” You asked confused, not remembering a cooler of any kind. He open the fridge door and the fridge was fully stocked.

“I came up here yesterday to make sure we had food and other supplies we might need.” He pulled out a few things, placing them on the counter and closing the door once more. The thought of him going through all this effort for you made your belly warm and a rush of butterflies to flutter around. There was a tension in the air but it wasn't the bad kind. You went to his side to help him prepare the food. You made some steak and potatoes along with some steamed green beans. 

“My daughter showed me how to cook. Without her I would still be eating tv dinners every night.” He laughed to himself, draining the boiling water from the potatoes carefully.

“You have a daughter? I didn't know.” There were still a few things you wanted to know about him and you were curious to learn more.

“Yeah, Bella, she doesn't live with me anymore. She has a husband Edward and they live together with their daughter, Renesmee. I go visit them as much as I can nowadays.” He seemed wistful but the love that shined in his eyes made it clear the level of affection he held for his daughter and her family. 

“Hopefully, I can meet her one day.” You smiled at him warmly.

“Yeah, that would be nice.” He agreed, looking into your eyes, his dark pupils flaring slightly. He looked away, going back to preparing the food. Once you were both done, you sat and ate in a peaceful silence. Then it was time for some fun.

You fired round after round, enjoying the rare sunshine that made the day even more special. You had friendly competitions with Charlie, who liked to tease that you were cheating by distracting him. In the end you won fair and square and you celebrated by opening a beer and sitting tother in the clearing on a large fallen log. He smiled at you as you took a sip of your beer. You were a little sweaty, your hair clung to the back of your neck from the beaming heat of the sun. Charlie seemed lost in thought, so you broke the silence first.

“What are you thinking about?” You asked softly.

“I can't remember the last time I was this happy.” He said simply, and the words flared something inside you like the fire that was building before it came to a roar suddenly. It gave you the confidence you needed to say the words that had been on your mind for the past month.

“I like you Charlie.” The words came out in a single breath, softly spoken, making you feel vulnerable.

“You do?” He asked, looking at you with a fierce look of longing. His question seemed like it served for his reassurance. Like he couldn't believe that someone like you could ever like someone like him.

“Yeah, a lot.” You replied nodding, a small smile forming on your lips. You felt nervous, giddy energy bubbling inside.

“Fuck sweetheart, you sure? I am a lot older than you are.” He seemed to be having an internal battle. You did have a considerable age gap between you, but that did not stop the attraction that you felt. He was kind, charming, warm and considerate, along with incredibly hot, which helped.

“I know, but that doesn't change anything for me. If it doesn't bother you then it doesn't bother me.” You said softly, scared he would reject you after bearing yourself to him. He looked torn and intense, and it made you nervous. 

“Listen, I don't want you to think I have ill intentions. I like you too, trust me. Shit, I don't remember the last time I felt like this. It makes me feel young again.” He swore and chuckled, shaking his head.

You felt hopeful, so you decided to take a leap of faith. You knew he would never make the first move, so you did. You leaned in slowly, giving him time to pull back if he wanted to. He instead pulled in closer as well and your lips met his. The kiss started slowly as you sighed into the soft contact of your lips. His mustache brushed against your upper lip and you gently griped the back of his neck with your hand. The kiss grew more intense as he brushed his tongue against your bottom lip mid kiss. You opened up for him and let your tongue explore as well. You pulled back breathless and the both of you held each other's eyes. Heat was building low in your stomach, sending a pool of liquid to your core. 

“Do you want to go inside?” He asked gruffly, his voice thick with desire.

“Yeah.” You led the way, standing from the log and feeling charlie follow behind you. Once inside, you couldn't hold back any longer and you almost pounced on him. Turning back to him once he closed the door and pressing him up against it, resuming the kiss you shared outside. It took him a split second to return the kiss, gripping your hips firmly with strong hands. He surprised you by turning the both of you suddenly so your back was pressed against the door. You released a small breath and looped your hands around his neck. He grabbed behind your thighs and lifted you effortlessly so your legs wrapped around his torso.

 The kiss continued fierce and passionate. Your hands gripped the back of his hair slightly, tugging the short strands between your fingers, earning a rough rumble from Charlie. The sound set another wave of lust to your core. You broke the kiss panting and looked into his blazing dark eyes that devoured you. 

“Charlie, I need you.” You spoke the words sounding needy even to your own ears.

“Fuck sweetheart, are you sure?” He asked for your consent, his eyes hopeful but careful, making sure you felt comfortable.

“Yes, Ive never been more sure.” You answered with a small smile, knowing this was important to him. 

“I don't have any, um, protection, darling.” His low, almost embarrassed voice made your heart swell. You stroked your thumb on his cheek. “I'm on birth control. It's okay.” You answered, soothing his worries.

You saw the restraint in him give in that moment as he carried you to the bedroom. You felt the excitement return, and you started peppering kisses to his jaw, down his neck, over the strong column of his stubbled throat. He groaned deep in his throat, a sound of pure male pleasure and it encouraged you. He set you down gently on the queen size bed hovering over you and leaning down to return the favour. He trailed kisses down your neck to your exposed collar bones, spreading kisses across them like he was appreciating every inch of your skin. You shivered with pleasure beneath his strong frame. He gently helped you out of the flannel you wore and then the tank top and jeans, leaving you in your underwear. Then you went to work on his clothing, shedding him of his layers until he was in his boxers and socks. 

The two of you continued the frenzied kissing like horny teenagers because that's what you both felt like. He was hard and you could tell it was big. It excited you and your hand trailed down to pull out his large cock from the confines of his underwear. He let out a huff of breath and he groaned when you started stroking him slowly, teasing him a little. He sat back and pulled you up with him so you were straddling his lap. He expertly unclasped your bra, and the look of admiration and pure lust thrilled you. He spent time appreciating your breasts, kissing them, licking your hard budding nipples, and then gently nipping the tips with his teeth, sending you twitching of pleasure in his arms. He made another guttural sound of pleasure and then you were beneath him again. He was trailing kisses down your stomach, going lower and lower until he reached your soaking wet clothed mound. He peeled your wet underwear from your legs and flicked them on the floor. He looked up at you with an intense lustful gaze, his dark eyes asking before his lips spoke the words.

“Can I?” The question was almost whispered against your core, sending shivers up your spine. You nodded quickly, flustered. Your cheeks felt warm and your breathing was still a little erratic from the intensity of the moment. He dipped down to your slick folds and got to work, starting with slow teasing licks that made you crazy. Your hands instinctively flew out to grip his dark brown hair. You felt his facial hair brush against your inner thighs and it turned you on. He devoured your pussy like a starving man, with languid strokes of his tongue that increased in speed slowly, followed by slightly sucking on your sensitive clit. You pulled harder on his hair, releasing little moans and soft cries at the pleasure. He increased in speed and intensity until you felt the slow climb of your orgasm forming. It came like a crashing wave, strong and sure. The white hot pleasure peaking and sending you free falling of the ledge. Your legs shook as you came on his tongue, moaning loudly and releasing his hair to grip the sheets tightly with bunched fists. He pulled back after you were done riding the comedown of your dizzying orgasm.

“You taste so good, Princess.” He praised low and throaty from his own desire. 

“Charlie, I want your dick.” The request left you without even thinking, you were still hypnotized from the rush of coming hard for him. He seemed pleased at the words and he pulled down his boxer briefs, his fully erect dick touching his happy trail. He was a good 7 inches for sure and the sight of him in his full glory made your mouth water. He positioned himself until he was lined up to your slick entrance and then, with a smooth slow thrust, he pushed in. The feeling of him filling you slowly was exquisite. He groaned and squeezed his eyes shut in pleasure.

“Fuck you're so tight.” He cursed under his breath as he started to test out a few thrusts. You moaned as he slowly picked up the pace. He braced himself on his elbows, caging you into him and sending his smell to flood your senses. He smelled faintly of pine and sweat and it turned you on more than any expensive cologne could. He fucks you deep, powerful thrusts and your moans increase in volume. He looks down into your eyes with lust, sweat beading on his forehead from the exertion. He lets out little groans and muffled curses as he fucks you. 

“You're so pretty when I fuck you, sweetheart.” He coos, pounding into you and sending you close to a second orgasm already. 

“Fuck yes Charlie.” You moan out his name, clutching the surrounding sheets in pleasure. 

Your back arches and you feel one of his strong, calloused hands on the small of your back, holding you up and pressing your front to his chest as he thrusts into you fast and strong. 

Your sensitive nipples rub against his hairy chest and it sends sparks of electricity through your body as you feel the peak of your second orgasm approaching. It rocks through your body and you pull him in for a needy kiss. You come while kissing him, breaking apart to moan out his name as you convulse in his powerful grip. Your toes curl, your back arching even more and then you come even harder than the last time. Your vision blurs a little as you come down from the high, still pressed close to a panting Charlie, who came at the same time. He pulls out slowly and then stands to grab tissues from the wooden side table next to the bed. He wipes you first, then himself. Then he approaches where you sit at the edge of the bed, watching him with a loving smile. He settles into the bed, pulling you close to him, and you cuddle with him in the drowsy post orgasm haze. His hairy chest serves as your pillow as you gently stroke his shoulder and then trail your fingers on his chest. You sigh happily.

“You know that was the best sex I've ever had.” He smiles down at you, flashing you with one of those breathtaking smiles.

“Me too.” You agree, smiling wider and then pulling him in for another kiss. 

[s-4pphics]

mourn. teaser (e.w.)

TEASER. 

WORD COUNT: eight thirty :3

WARNINGS: streetracer!ellie, dealer!oc, heavy angst, HEAVY MENTIONS OF ADDICTION AND VIOLENCE IN THE FUTURE, no one’s a good person bc i’m grieving 

A/N: sad

fck neil drukman. zios will d!e.

FEBRUARY, 2019

Ellie’s fist comes down hard on your front door, the aged and loosened wood rattling with the desperate punctures from her twitchy hand. You’re always here. You never miss a fucking phone call. Why won’t you open the fucking door? Her chest falls rapidly like oxygen is limited. The winds are seconds away from crushing her bones into dust, it seems. Panicked curses fall from her mouth; How did you allow her to get this far? Her throat swells in warning as her eyes fill. C’mon… c’mon, you fucking bitch—

Her palm twists around the doorknob, rattling it, strangling it, begging for it to loosen so you can deliver what you promised. You never fucking miss her calls. She whimpers like a dog when the lock doesn’t shutter. You have to fucking be here. 

She doesn’t realize she’s begging with her mouth against the wood. Anyone she can; her mother, God, for you to fucking be home and save her from misery. She’s freezing and fiends to shed her skin like a snake. 

Fucking stupid bitch, Ellie gasps. Her first breath in what felt like years, Open the motherfucking do—

Ellie?

Her eyes, tearful and lost, find yours. Clad in all black with her vice thrown over your shoulder, guarded by your more than recognizable bright orange duffel. Ellie nearly drools at the sight, Please… please let me in, I’m gonna fucking die—

She has angered you in an instant, face twisting with creases between your brows. You always are when she shows up unannounced. In her defense, she warned you before she wandered upon your place. Dialed your number for an hour straight. 

I fucking told you a billion times—

I know, I know—

You trek until you’re in front of her, snarling your teeth like a lion, You don’t fucking know. You’re— Palms connect with Ellie’s chest and she stutters back, — I fucking told you no. Find somebody else. 

Ellie’s rebuttal is sharp as she grips your wrist, There’s no one fucking else and you know it. Don’t pull this shit right now—

You scoff and shove her off to unlock your door. She hates how her mind whirs to shove you to the side and steal away with your bag. Take your drunk ass home—

She fails to deny her intoxication. The stabbing pains in her side won’t allow it, And if I don’t? The fuck are you gonna do? Ellie snorts and it’s dark. Shoot me in the goddamn face? … Call the cops? 

Your door is unlocked, but you don’t open it. She can feel exhaustion radiating off you. It weighs her down. You weigh her down. She hates what you’ve done to her. If anything, you owe her for the damage you’ve caused. So, she preys. Claws at the one inkling of leverage she has over you. The only thing you’ll never back away from. 

Ellie’s eyes go soft. A ploy she’s mastered over the years. I love you so much… You can’t leave me like this… Your sharp exhale is painful to digest. She pads closer with tightly clenched fists; watches yours clutch the knob of the entrance as grounding. I won’t do it here. I promise, She whispers and watches your shoulders droop. Pride disguised as guilt sparks in her chest. She can practically taste euphoria. 

Ellie… Your voice shakes. She’s instantly transported back to high school. The ache in your strained call still remains. Dejected. 

Yes? Her reply is sweet as candy, and she knows she’s got you. Fingers jump underneath the cuff of her jacket sleeve. Eager, anticipating the rush of crushed pills in her nose. 

You’re heaving, chest rising and falling at an increased pace with tearful eyes glued to your rusted roof. All before you choke, If I ever see you again, I’ll rip your fucking throat out. 

Every time Ellie believes she’s grown used to your aggression, she’s proven wrong. Your anger causes her body to lock, feet glued to the floor as her expression drops. You manage to throw yourself into the shack you call home, door slamming in her face and lock clicking, trapping her in icy wind. 

NO! Nonononono—

Ellie’s screaming into the void, screeching like a banshee on cracked concrete as she kicks at your door with a weighted heel. 

On the other side, you drop to the floor, stocked duffel flung as far away from you as humanly possible in your hysteria. Your sobs are earth-shattering and your chest cracks open, scratching at unkept hardwood as you recall how the fuck you got here. There’s no future, no hope, no anything for you. For your best friend whom you’ve destroyed. You’ve ruined her. 

Ruined yourself in fire. 

[nthspecialll]

I'm not sure if you've talked about this but!! What's your opinion on "Charles was the rat" theory? I dislike it and I have TRIED reading people's theories to see why they think that but still don't get at all how ppl would think that lol

Funny thing is, I have heard about this theory one time before and when I googled it just now I could only find one person actually believing it. Their arguments were:

Charles not being shot on sight while distracting the law so the gang could escape Saint Denis

Agent Ross finding Beecher's Hope and the fact Charles was one of the only people who knew John's identity.

Knowing where Arthur's body was despite not being at the stand off.

Not knowing that John was alive despite being wanted for murder in Strawberry

Some weird claim that he helped the pinkertons for the Natives to be allowed to stay?? Even though they weren't???

Okay, so let's very easily debunk these because they all got an explanation to them that really ain't that hard to know.

Charles was not shot due to the fact the law did not know who he was, sure they might know he was part of the gang, but that does not mean shoot on sight. Charles would be far more valuable alive to give them information than dead.

Ross finding Beecher's Hope, to this there are two explanations actually! Take your pick. John bought a house and got a loan in his actual name, he has been struggling to pay it off and suddenly boom he pays it all off, you don't think the already suspecious banker is gonna alert the cops? Another could be literally just hearing about the commotion of the public hanging of a known assosiate to Micah by people fitting John, Charles and Sadie's describtions and tracking their movements from there.

Knowing where Arthur's body is. Charles is a master tracker, the hoofprints might be gone but the absolute sea of bullet casings will not be.

Not knowing John was alive. Sure the man might have a warrent on his head, but that was in Strawberry not in Saint Denis. Similar to how the player can be wanted in West Elizabeth (Strawberry) and the law in Lemoyne (Saint Denis) won't know.

And then yeah, the reddit post I looked at somehow claimed that Charles made a deal to rat out in exchange for the natives being allowed to stay even though they weren't?

If you can't tell, I don't like this theory.

[snugglywugglysocialist]

Hiraeth

You throw your trench coat over your right arm, as you enter into the precinct where your services are needed.

During your trek, you fervently attempt to convince yourself that being a defense attorney was the best choice for your future as you prepare yourself to defend someone who's most likely done something abhorrent.

You pan your head upwards as you walk, your previous efforts to thwart the nausea arising within you failing. You turn the corner, and your eyes immediately fall onto the three people gathered around the two-way mirror, looking into the interrogation room, intensely watching the man you presume to be your client. You're just about to avert your gaze when you process the identity of the woman just a few feet in front of you.

There's no way in hell.

You stop in your tracks as you see the blonde turn back to the window after saying something to one of the personnel. There's no mistaking her; haughty smirk playing on full lips, assured posture and a phlegmatic air, all qualities only flaunted by one particular woman you've ever known.

You halt your gawking and pick up the pace of your walking as you think of how this is going to play out. As you approach, they all turn their heads and you're subject to the scrutiny of their cold looks. You bite back a laugh as you see the distaste in Cabot's eyes quickly be replaced by shock. Her face doesn't change, but you know her well enough to know when she's masking.

"Alexandra." you trail, looking her up and down, taking this time to absorb the way her figure looks in a pantsuit.

"Always a pleasure." She retorts coldly. You smirk softly as her blue eyes continue to bore into yours.

"Pull back your goons Cabot, you should know better than to allow them to speak to my client without counsel." You say, and she shoots you an icy glare as she knocks on the glass, signaling the detectives to leave.

They look off-put as they exit the room, confusion spreading across their faces as they watch the silent brawl between the blonde and yourself. The detectives look between the two of you, and it's become obvious that the tension is far beyond that of standard professional banter. You deliver to her a condescending pat on the back as you enter into the room where your client is sitting.

A chill runs up your spine when you finally lay eyes on him; he scans your body as you sit down across from him, and you feel the sudden urge to hop into a scalding shower. You soon leave the room after instructing him not to speak to the cops, and inform him of what's to come.

He's off your hands for now, until initial appearance, which is tomorrow. Cabot is still standing outside the door, balancing herself on her hands, leaning against the ledge underneath the window and speaking to a detective. You walk out and she immediately stands up, straightening her posture and crossing her arms across her ribcage lazily.

"Arraignment is tomorrow morning; 8:00 a.m. Don't be late." You say, heading for the exit.

“When have you ever known me to be late to a court appearance?" Shes asks, as she rolls her head back to look at you.

“A lot can change in a decade." You say, a borderline sinister smile plastered on your face. That comment definitely pissed her off.

You enter into the courtroom, and take your place next to your client. You don't even attempt to look at the blonde a few feet away from you, keeping your eyes focused solely on the judge. You give his plea of not guilty, followed by a short speech before the next topic commences.

“We will now hear the people on bail." The judge states as he casts his sight towards Cabot.

"The people request remand, Your Honor. Given the violent nature of these crimes, this man should not be out on the streets, and should also be considered a serious flight risk given his extensive financial resources, and double citizenship." Alex vocalizes, her monotone pitch never faltering as she speaks.

"That's excessive. My client has deep ties to the community, and these outrageous accusations hold no merit as of now. However, as a show of good-faith, he will agree to surrender his passport on the condition he is released on OR pending trial." You express.

Cabot audibly scoffs, and you pierce the skin of your palm with your nails to prevent saying something to warrant being slapped with a contempt charge. The judge scans between the both of you before delivering a ruling.

"I'll have to agree with Miss Cabot this time, defendant is remanded without bail." You glare at Alex as the judges gavel comes down, motioning for the next case to be heard.

The trial is unsurprisingly messy. There's charges of witness tampering being imposed, and the impartialness of multiple jurors is called into question, trudging this case along even further. To add to it, the media frenzy surrounding this particular case is abysmal due to your client being CEO of a high-profile corporation.

The jury initially came back hopelessly deadlocked, but upon request from the judge to reconvene, they came back with a narrow verdict of not-guilty. A technical win for your client, and you to be honest, but not something that made you joyous by any metric. Both you and Alex are burnt out, given that you each fought tooth-and-nail. You had almost forgotten the blonde's fervidness until this case.

You wake up on your couch, still in court attire, files and papers scattered all over the coffee table. You check the time, seeing it's just after 9 p.m and decide to head out for a drink, God knows you need it after this case. Not wanting to walk the few blocks, you hail a cab and zone out in the back, going over the case in your head while on the way to the bar. You remind yourself of the "win" as you try to focus on something else.

"Ma'am. Ma'am, we're here." The driver says. You snap your head up, leaving your existential thoughts for later, tossing a $20 towards the driver, and exiting the vehicle. You enter the decently populated bar, and head straight towards the bartender.

"Whiskey sour, on the rocks." You tell her, and she slides you the drink, offering a sympathetic smile as you sit down.

The events of the last few weeks had obviously taken a toll on your appearance. You happen to glance to your left and see the absolute last person you want to see right now.

Alex Cabot.

Cursing under your breath, you pull your head back to your right in a failed attempt to conceal your face. She's already heading towards you, drink in hand. You grimace at the ass-chewing you're about to endure at the hands of the slender blonde.

"Congratulations." She remarks derisively, dropping her fist onto the dark-colored counter you're leaning on. You stay silent, downing the last of your drink, and immediately propositioning the bartender for another. If you had to guess, Alex is in a few drinks deep, but her wit never fumbles.

You plan to leave quickly after this encounter, but she sits down beside you. A few moments go by, and no words are exchanged. It's just the both of you being consumed by overwhelming tension, and white noise of the bar.

You finally decide to say something after you're halfway through your second drink. Compliments of the booze, it's admittedly not anything intelligent.

"For what it's worth, you gave it your all." You mutter, keeping your eyes fixed on the chestnut-colored liquid and clinking ice in your glass as you twirl it in your hand.

"That isn't worth a damn thing, you and I both know that." She retorts, giving a facetious smile following the statement.

"You signed the death-warrant on this case by letting Barney Fife in there question my client without properly mirandizing him." You say, turning towards her and coming off more condescending than you intended.

Silence consumes both of you once again.

"Defending people who commit these crimes doesn't bring me jubilation, Alex. I'm only doing my job, just like you." You let out, pinching the bridge of your nose between your thumb and pointer in annoyance at her prosecutorial righteousness.

She looks at you, and understanding flashes in her eyes, but it dissipates just as quickly as it appears. She begins to get up, but some foreign feeling within you doesn't want her to leave.

"This definitely isn't how I imagined our reunion." You avow softly, finally looking her in the eye.

Alex's sternness falters just enough for her to crack a smirk, and return your gaze. She sits back down, and you talk about the case for a bit before starting to reminisce on old times. You decide to call it a night after a few hours, grabbing your coat and heading for the exit.

"I'll walk you out." She says. Alex's demeanor is no longer cold and distant, it's warm and her guard is partly down, and you silently lend tequila credence for that one.

You walk out together, sharing comfortable silence before you're suddenly being pinned in the brick alleyway by the intoxicated blonde. Alex's eyes are hooded and blackened with lust, a look you haven't recognized in her for almost twelve years. Arousal stabs you in the stomach as she places her hands flush with the wall you're up against.

"Alex..." You warn, but your voice betrays your subconscious, and comes out as a needy whisper.

"Yes?" She teases, before bringing her lips to your neck, making your breath hitch in your throat.

She lavishes the skin with soft, open-mouth kisses, and your knees begin to give out.

"We agreed last time this was a bad idea." You say with much less conviction in your voice than you'd like.

“A lot can change in a decade, can't it?" She mocks.

Normally you'd be more than pissed having your own words used against you, but the lips attached to your pulse point keep your brain from being able to come up with a snide comment. Just as her teeth make contact with the flesh beneath your jaw, your resolve tumbles down completely. You're gasping for air as you grab her wrist and lead her towards your apartment.

The short distance is closed within minutes, but it's still not quick enough, as your patience wears thinner by the second. As soon as the door to your apartment opens, her lips are on yours, and you're once again being pinned against a wall. Your brain has finally caught up, and you gain the forethought to impose your positions, and pin Alex's hands above her head in one swift motion.

“Damn, I didn't think you—oh fuck." Whatever snarky remark Alex was about to throw your way quickly dissipates as you pull her earlobe between your teeth.

Her head falls back onto the wall, and her eyes flutter shut. You smile to yourself as you exploit every last one of the blonde's erogenous zones on her neck by memory alone.

You eventually unpin her hands, letting them fall to her side. Your hands roam her waist and hers settle on your hips, rubbing random shapes with her thumbs. The nerve-endings in your body feel like they're being torched with each soft touch Alex burns into your skin.

Every breath, wandering hand, and whimper coming from Alex hits you at once. It's been forever since you've been in this position with her, and yet the effect she has on you has not waned even slightly.

The kiss you two have shared since entering your flat never fully breaks as her skillful hands begin working at the buttons on your pants. Yours begin toying with the buttons on her shirt. You slip the garment down her shoulders, exposing the slim frame endowed with alabaster skin that you longed to taste.

Your hands run up her back and down her arms, leaving her sighing into your mouth. She pulls you closer by the waist as you slowly trace over the hem of her bra, eventually moving your hands upwards, and mirroring the same movements across her collarbone.

“Bed?" You ask before this goes any further. You wanted the blonde writhing beneath you with need, and your couch would simply not suffice for what you had planned.

Alex nods and follows suit behind you. Before you can even close the door, her hands are attached to your body once more, roaming feverishly. You kiss and nip at her neck before running your hands down her stomach, and quickly undoing her belt. You pull back, and use this as an opportunity to partially undress. You aimlessly throw your shirt and pants across the room and she does the same.

She settles herself on your bed, her hair splaying out from behind her. Alex licks her lips predatorily as you straddle her, and begin to run your hands up and down the length of her body. She pulls you down, and moves in to recapture your lips.

Your hands move upwards to cup her breasts, earning a mewl from the blonde. You exploit her surprise by slipping your tongue into her mouth, eliciting a low groan from her. Your tongue scrapes over her mouth in a desperate attempt to remember each area, and you pull back after a few moments.

"I missed this." You whisper against her lips, your eyes still closed.

"Fucking me?" She asks, clearly amused.

You let out a gentle laugh, letting your head fall back before casting your eyes down to hers.

"Yes, that's obvious given our current situation." You respond, biting her bottom lip and lathing the swollen flesh with your tongue.

Alex brushes a strand of hair from your face, putting it behind your ear. She dons a lopsided smile before speaking.

“So, are you going to recite love poems to me, or are you actually going to show me how much you missed me?" She asks, her voice low.

You let a seductive chuckle fall from your lips before motioning to unclip her bra. The material falls, and your hands immediately slide up her stomach, and begin to brush over her nipples. She exhales sharply as you bring one into your mouth, flicking your tongue over the sensitive bud. You feel it harden between your teeth, and soften as you run your tongue over it gently.

She sputters as you deliver a particularly harsh bite to her skin; you reach your hand down to slide her underwear to the side, involuntarily groaning at the wetness you discover. You gently push your middle and ring fingers into her, and she gasps at the intrusion. You pump in and out of her slowly, her hands grasping at your sheets the longer you continue. You know this alone won't bring her to orgasm, but you enjoy the frustrating effect this has on her.

Alex whines after a minute and you can tell she's getting impatient. Her hand grips your wrist, and she pulls until she guides your fingers out of her with a gasp. She pushes your hand upwards towards her clit as she spreads her legs apart further.

You decide to give her what she wants, and slide through her folds until you reach her hood, pulling back to reveal the bundle of nerves to your finger pad. You rub tight circles over her clit, and her legs begin to shake just moments after.

"Don't stop." She pants out, seething beneath you.

“Wasn't planning on it." You say slyly, reveling in your control over her.

You pick up the pace even faster and her back arches off the bed, signaling she's about to go tumbling over the edge. After entering her once more, and circling her clit languidly, she does exactly that. She lets out an exasperated moan and grips your shoulders hard enough to leave reminders in the morning.

You continue your movements, letting Alex ride out her high until you see her wince. You slow down, keeping your hand in place so she can control her breathing before you stop completely.

"Fuck." She says after a minute. You remove your hand from her underwear, and push your middle and ring fingers past her lips, and she happily obliges your silent proposition. She licks them clean, and you continue lightly bobbing your fingers down her throat until her eyes water, and you remove them.

"C'mon you used to take more than that." You say lowly.

She smacks your arm playfully in response. You lay down beside her and she grips your face lightly, pulling you into another kiss. It's gentle, not frenzied and heated as they once were. You reach over to turn off the lamp perched on your bedside, and pull her body as close to yours as possible.

You wrap your right arm around her chest, and allow the other to run through her hair. Alex's previously rapid heartbeat has slowed, but yours remains erratic. You breathe into her skin as you accept the cycle of fate you're in, with the arrogant blonde at the center.

Something clicks in your mind this time, however, and you know you'll dread the morning when she leaves. You also know you'll choke back your true feelings regarding the blonde and only convey them between her thighs. Words suddenly cut through the darkness and interrupt your ruminating.

"I missed you too." Alex says faintly, so faintly in fact, you can't tell if she actually said anything.

You quickly realize it's reality when she flips over and kisses your forehead softly, her toned arms grasping onto your bare waist as she nuzzles into your neck.

You'll cherish those four words until your demise, but you'll never give Alex the satisfaction of knowing that.

[klbwriting]

Broken Prism

Chapter 21

Fandom: Red Hood

Pairing: Jason Todd x f!reader

Warnings: o this chapter has some fucked up stuff in it, mentions of body mutilation, child death

Summary: Batman and Red Hood go to the scene of the crime, then find out about another murder

Taglist: @amberpanda99 if you would like added to the taglist let me know!

The GCPD didn’t trust Red Hood, so Batman was the only one allowed at the crime scene. Jason waited across the street, not sure what to do honestly. Who killed a family like this? What kind of absolute monster? It made him sick. He paced, watching the cops, who were watching him back. He saw a mix pride and anger depending on the face. He figured they either loved that he had taken out Joker, saving them some work later, or hated him, wanting to get the big score themselves. He wanted to walk over, get as close a look at the scene as possible, but he didn’t want someone to get trigger happy and try shooting him. Finally, after what seemed like eternity, Batman walked over to him.

“Gordon is willing to let you walk the scene with me,” he said. Jason nodded and followed him, the cops parting enough so they could get through.

“Since when is Batman friendly with murderers?” “Who does this idiot think he is? A Nightwing ripoff?” “He killed Joker, we should be groveling at his feet right now.” He wanted to scream at them, tell them what had happened, why he had become this person. He shook himself, they wouldn’t understand, ever, and he had made his bed, now he had to lie in it. He followed Batman into the dining room and stared. The family was seated for dinner, the food still on their plates. The parents were eating meatloaf, looks like the kids were having chicken nuggets. Their throats had been slit, which was the only decent thing this monster did. The rest of the scene was haunting.

“Emily Dervish, Dexter Dervish, their children, 7-year-old Amelia, and 4-year-old Tyson,” Gordon explained, voice coming out staggered at the sight. “We will have to wait for the coroner to be sure.”

“Sure of what?” Jason asked, unable to take his eyes off the children.

“To be sure if they were alive or dead when the killer cut off their faces.”

After another hour scouring for evidence and finding nothing Jason and Batman were about to head back to the cave, see if they could find anything there, when another officer came over to Gordon, whispering to him. They watched his face grow ashen and he nodded solemnly.

“There’s been another murder…not completely the same, but they left a note,” he said. “You two better come with me.”

Across town at the McCreary’s Pub there were cops keeping curious onlookers away. Despite it being early morning at this point people were still curious when they saw police tape and a medical examiner’s van. They brought out phones and started taking pictures when Batman and Red Hood arrived. Jason was really glad he hadn’t done the whole social media thing now, he couldn’t imagine what Twitter looked like, him and Batman working together. All those concerns left his mind when he entered the bar. There were at least a dozen bodies, all seated like they had been enjoying a night out, lifeless eyes staring up the ceiling, posed as if gazing towards Heaven.

“What the fuck,” Jason muttered. Batman wandered the room slowly, looking at different angles. Jason started, but then his eyes were drawn to the mirror behind the bar. Once again, a message in blood, the shaping of the letters completely different from the last crime scene.

DID YOU SEE HIM YET RED HOOD?

Batman stared at the message also and then looked at Gordon, nodding his head for the room to be cleared. The commissioner sighed and called for his guys to vacate for a few minutes, letting the vigilantes have the room. Jason started looking at the faces of the patrons, wondering who he was looking for. While Jason looked at faces, Batman looked at him. He could feel the man’s eyes, probably trying to read his body language, see how his mind was at the moment. He wouldn’t lie, his mind was fuzzy, the sight of all this death was almost too much for him to handle and he had been an assassin once. He was trying to avoid staring at the gaping holes in the victims’ chests.

“Why do you think they took the faces and the hearts?” Jason asked, trying to focus in on the case, ignore the dread rising in his chest.

“I am not sure, but we are most definitely dealing with at least two people who are very annoyed at you,” Batman said. Jason didn’t like that, that Batman was already blaming these deaths on him. ‘If you hadn’t killed Joker all these people might be alive’ he could Bruce’s voice in his head, the accusations stinging. “Do you know someone here?” Jason shook his head as he rounded to the back of the bar and stared.

“Ya, I do,” he said, eyes falling on Auggie Valentine. “This guy, um, he was my best, well my only friend in Crime Alley, before you took me in.” He looked at Batman and Batman stormed out of the bar. This was bad. Very bad. If this person had killed one of Jason’s friends that meant they knew who Red Hood was. They knew where he lived. He took off running, climbing on his bike and driving like the devil possessed him back to the cave. He had to know if YN was safe.

You were watching the monitor with Alfred, Dick, Barbara, and Tim, listening to Bruce and Jason talk about the murders. You were horrified by the family, and the bar just made things worse. Then Jason mentioned knowing the bartender and your blood ran cold. Someone knew. Someone knew Jason was Red Hood. The others noticed also, and they started looking around, maybe for listening devices, cameras, maybe for a person hiding in the shadows ready to attack. You sat the computer, staring at the live feed video from Batman’s cowl. You looked at the body of the bartender, noticing that you knew him too. He had been a loyal informant against Black Mask back when you were looking into him. Did the bartender know more than he said? Bartenders knew a lot of things that most people didn’t realize, and he had been willing to talk for no money, just the idea that Gotham would be safer if he helped. Auggie was a great person, you could see how Jason would have been friends with him as a kid. He was a good person; he didn’t deserve to be murdered and have his heart ripped anymore than those children deserved their deaths. It made you sick and you could only imagine what Jason was thinking.

The familiar sound of the Batmobile and Jason’s bike came from the ramp into the cave, and you went with the others to meet them. Jason was off his bike, helmet tossed aside and running towards you, taking your face in his hands, looking frantic.

“Are you alright?” he asked. You nodded, reaching up and taking his hands, holding them in yours. “I thought…they know who I am…”

“Shhh, I’m here, we’re all safe,” you whispered, hugging him tight. He gripped you like he used to after a nightmare, like you were going to vanish if he didn’t hold you tight enough. The others went to the Batcomputer to start discussing the samples Bruce had brought back and the other clues from the crime scenes.

“You’re not safe, please take some time off, please stay here,” Jason begged. You nodded, anything to calm him down. His breathing was hitching, and he was going pale. You guided him to sit on the floor, sitting next to him.

“I won’t go anywhere, I’ll stay here, take deep breaths,” you said, rubbing the back of his head gently, petting his hair, catching the white streak and massaging the spot it sat on. He leaned his head into the touch, matching your deep breaths with his own.

“It was awful,” he said, finally calm again. “It’s my fault.”

“It is not your fault. You are not responsible for these monsters. You are a hero,” you said. He shook his head.

“I killed Joker, they saw it as a challenge. I thought it would end with him, but instead I just created a new threat. One head is cut, two more grow back,” he said. You leaned to his shoulder, arms around him.

“Jason, you killing Joker didn’t bring this about, this city is rotten, we all know it. Something in the air here breeds horrible criminals. No matter what happened they would be here, they just picked you because you are doing the most good right now. Just like they went after Batman,” you said, desperate to stop him from spiraling down into self-loathing again. You could see the signs, his eyes distant, his body fatigued from worry and despair.

“I need to go to the others, find out if they have any idea who did this,” Jason said softly, getting up. He walked away, leaving you there.

[kanerallels]

Kanera, retirement home or seniors community

This is almost certainly not what you were intending when you sent in this request, but my sister gave me the idea and it was too amusing to resist

Working at a senior’s community was a fairly unpredictable job. But Hera was pretty sure that finding a guy around her age climbing out through the window was a first.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, staring at him.

The man paused, one leg already out the window as he stared at her. “I… live here?” he offered tentatively.

Hera stopped at him for a long moment, until his shoulders dropped in a sigh. “Yeah, that was pretty bad.”

“It was,” Hera agreed. “And you have about two minutes to give me a better answer before I call the cops.”

Wincing, the man said, “Yeah, please don’t do that. Okay, so I’m here to see my great-grandfather, Stellan— you know him?”

“I do,” Hera said, frowning. “He’s talked about you— you’re Caleb?”

“Right, but he’s one of like two people who call me that,” he said. “You can call me Kanan.”

“Well, Kanan,” Hera said, “you haven’t exactly explained why you’re climbing out the window.”

“Um. I’m technically not allowed in here because I kind of accidentally kidnapped Stellan and his two best friends out for lunch once.”

Hera rolled her eyes. “Somehow, I’m already unsurprised by that.”

Grinning, Kanan said, “Yeah, not my best move. But I can’t miss our weekly poker games, Elzar would never forgive me. So… any chance you can let me go this time?”

Hera considered for a minute. He did look familiar, like she’d seen him in some of the family photos in Stellan’s room. And her gut was telling her that he was probably telling the truth. “Fine,” she said. “But next time I expect to see you coming in through the front door. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Kanan said, shooting her a grin before hopping out the window and out of sight.

[ashlingiswriting]

do i know you? chapter three

[ 3k words ] [ prev chapters: one, two ] [ masterlist ] "it’s an unfamiliar sensation, not being able to completely read him. it skitters over you like static electricity." richie jerimovich x reader, past mikey berzatto x reader, slow burn

you’re on call every day from eight at night to eight in the morning, so by the time richie rolls up, you’ve usually just eaten a late breakfast and he’s heading home after work. there’s a consistency to his late night appearances, a rhythm that becomes comforting.

there’s no pretending and no politeness—what would be the point? they should invent a word for this. maybe childhood-friend-in-law would do, except you had a snowball’s chance in hell of ever marrying michael and you always knew it. that’s the feeling, though. familiarity comes built in. even when he gets truly infuriating, you don’t leave feeling worse than you did. more pissed off, sure, but never worse. it’s a distinction worth noticing. 

some nights are easy. you talk about questionable obscure music in which you really do not overlap or middling mainstream music in which you do, running out of concerts and context. sometimes it’s pure bullshit, gossip or make believe, starting up elaborate jokes too lame to admit to in front of anyone else, then discarding them when they’re outworn. sometimes it’s old stories, sometimes it’s pure speculation.

hand to god, some nights are good.

and then there’s this night.

.

.

.

you’re barely out the front door when richie calls out, hey. where the hell were you?

you got called in real early yesterday, so you missed seeing him last night. but that’s no cause for him to yell, the entitled little jerk. you shoot him a baleful glare. then, as you take in the sight of him, you settle a little.

he’s not truly angry. you’ve spent enough time with him now, you’d know.

with a shrug, you shove your hands deep in your pockets and come stand beside him. 

last night i had to smoke all by myself like a fuckin loser, he says. 

that's your cue to say, you are a fuckin loser, but you don't take it.

he offers you a drag on his own cigarette, and you shake your head. you want it bad, but you can’t. you all but smoked yourself to death between crises yesterday, and you’re trying to convince yourself now that giving it up will somehow fix things. 

but nothing will be fixed, and it’s not your responsibility anyhow. this is not your city. you’ve felt that acutely of late, as each of your last links to it is broken one by one. coke or the cops, what difference does it make? the caruso kid didn’t listen to you, didn’t listen to anyone, and once his infection got bad enough, his wife called an ambulance. it’ll be the cops for him if he survives, and his father after that, the next domino to fall. you yourself are somewhere in that long line, just waiting for your turn. 

work sucks, huh, richie says. 

you look over at him to find that he’s already looking back at you, a little sleepy but not good enough an actor to hide the keenness in his observing eyes. it’s dangerous that he noticed you were gone and it’s dangerous that he’s noticing you now, but it feels really, really fucking good. 

yeah, you say. i thank god every day that i am a woman of leisure.

he laughs. well, i’m just grateful that you allow yourself to associate out with me, you know. me in my rags and you in your pearls and finery. he gestures at your sweatpants and gigantic parka.

once my tiara’s back from the cleaner’s, it’s over for you, you say.

sure, and i’ll be crying my eyes out in a pint of cherry chocolate chip. 

with that, he launches into a long, winding tale about the shenanigans he pulled at the beef today, installment nine hundred and seventeen of his neverending battle with a guy named fak. you’re not following, but you’re not trying to follow particularly hard, either. you’re too tired, and you’ve got other shit on your mind.

that’s the closest richie has gotten to mentioning your job in weeks. 

used to be that he’d poke around with dogged persistence, as though he thought he could needle you into submission. he asked after your boss’s health, your credit score, your childhood high school. he complained he had to take a shit or that it was too cold out to stand around. all that. anything to invade, get inside, get a little more information. 

michael was like that, too. the difference between the two is that michael won. conquered you, most if not all of your secrets, and fell asleep in your bed long before even a month had passed. but richie’s been at it for a few months now and he seems to have given up. he doesn’t know your job, your last name, or your phone number. he could pick you out of a lineup but he could never track you down. and he’s decided to let that go.

it’s just as well. you’ve got leftover dim sum in the minifridge right now, and if he pushed hard enough, you’re pretty sure you’d take him up to share it. siu mai re-steamed and slices of lo bak goh re-fried in hot oil in a pan, savory and delicious, nothing better. you can’t cook, but you’d still feed him well if given half the chance. you’d arrange the table with takeout napkins and your only two sets of matching cutlery, you’d—

the real richie rudely interrupts your thoughts. 

you’re not even listening to me, are you, he says. 

no, i’m not, you admit without an ounce of compunction.

just like everyone else, hey? fan-tastic. there’s a real bite to the way he breaks the word in half.

you look at him, startled and stung. don’t be such a fucking baby.

man, fuck you, he says. real anger, rocketing out from his chest. 

fuck you! you stare at him, legitimately astonished. maybe it’s your fault for not paying attention, but you really have no idea where this is coming from. you’ve been good. maybe your mind strayed for a while tonight, but what about every other night? you’ve always listened, or at least pretended to listen, to the travails of his divorce, his money problems, his insane workplace, his dysfunctional quasi-adopted family. and there’s a hell of a lot of it. you’ve been really fucking good!

apparently, not only has he not noticed this, but he thinks he’s entitled to even more.

you say, what do you expect here when you’re going on for eons like fucking always. do you think this is fun for me?

well, someone has to talk since you won’t say shit about shit with that paranoid secret agent—

oh, fuck. something about the way richie cuts himself off. you dread whatever he’s got to say next.

he says, what’s that supposed to mean, do you think this is fun for me?

jesus christ. you fumble in your coat, only to remember that you threw away your last pack. i don’t speak in fucking riddles, richie, this is not that type of situation.

then what type of, like. his face wrinkles in horror and disgust. am i a charity project? 

this is like having a migraine, but worse. i never said… truly, what the hell is going on? how did you even get here? 

dredging up the last of your energy, the emergency fund, you turn it into bravado, your default response to an unexpectedly angry man. you give it your all cause that’s the only way to do it, turning and facing him head on, putting your shoulders back and standing square over your own two feet. 

what is this, richie? you wanna fight? you really wanna fight?

yeah, i think i do actually, says richie, alarmingly ready. i think i really fuckin do. 

fine, you spit. 

you tilt your chin up so you can look him square in the eye and you give him the worst you got, spiteful already, and then you start trying to anticipate his next move.

there’s a lot of things he could say, as it turns out, a lot of things that only he could say, because he was there for everything. he witnessed the aftermath and attended the funeral. he could have you skinned like a caught rabbit given half the chance, and you just handed it to him on a silver platter. 

besides, he has a right. he loved michael even more than you did.

the realization dawns on you far too late, and then the dread sets in. can he see it in your face? when he opens his mouth, you’re setting your jaw so you don’t flinch. 

forget it, he says flatly. he turns away a little, steps back to lean against the building, and in the shadow of the building all you can see is the shape of him. if you concentrate, you can make out his profile against the gray concrete. 

.

.

.

at first, you can’t quite believe it. it’s mercy, after all, and that’s rarely reliable. but after his last cigarette, richie folds his arms tight across his chest and tilts his head back, eyes looking up towards stars that neither of you can see through the city lights.

eventually, you do start to think the mercy is real. you test it.

can i have one? you say.

richie doesn’t even hesitate. he reaches into the left pocket of his tracksuit pants, produces a pack, and hands it over. it turns out to be brand-new box of menthols. 

you look at it for a moment. your throat’s doing that thing again. he really did notice that you weren’t here last night, huh.

i don’t do charity, you say, after a second.

it’s fine, forget it, he says. 

i don’t, though. you don’t know what to say, but you know you can’t leave things there, so you keep pushing, and the words just come out. richie, i’m—i’m really a piece of shit. 

he looks at you directly again, but this time it’s a question. he doesn’t try to negate it with a brainless autoresponse like ‘no you’re not.’ he just listens, plain and simple. for a second, you’re at a loss. 

sudden and frightening as a car crash at the next intersection, the impulse flashes through you: tell him the truth, the whole truth. test him for real, watch that mercy melt away, inevitable as ice on hot pavement. teach him to hate you like he should. it’s like strong hands digging their fingers into your shoulders, the thought, and you’re reeling.

i… you swallow, smash it down, yank the car back onto the road. i hate ice cream and babies and long walks on the beach, i hate old ladies and libraries. you look over at him. i kick dogs every chance i get. 

there it is, at the corners of his mouth.

heartened, you go on, nearly tripping over your words. like, small dogs, richie. puppies. right in the head, i kick them. 

now you’re both smiling, and the relief is so fucking crazy. you’ve fought with him so many times before, but you’ve never gotten scared by it before. this is a first, and you have no idea what to do. all you can do is repeat, i don’t do charity.

okay, he says. okay.

you lean against the wall, and you’re absurdly heartened when he does the same right next to you. something about the symmetry, something about the weight off. you finally light up one of the menthols, and you have the night with richie back again. the breeze brushes by, chilly but not unbearable. it’s perfect.

what happened today? you say.

i thought you’d like it, he says. it was funny. 

go on, then. 

you wonder if richie might try to make you say please, but he doesn’t. he walks you through the whole day of catastrophes, from the broken toilet to the loss of electricity, from the loss of electricity to the fucked-up fridge, from the fucked-up fridge to the outdoor grill—

that’s really cool, you say.

he grins. right? 

whose idea?

from his crooked, exasperated smile, you know it wasn’t his. 

syd’s, he admits.

you raise an eyebrow. so i take it the culinary institute is good for something.

he scoffs. no way they taught her that. that—he points at you—was pure chicago.

oh okay, so we’re giving the credit to the city.

yeah, we are, cause it’s like—

the city, not the woman.

it was very chicago of her! that’s a compliment. don’t make it a feminism thing. his voice matches yours, a near-laugh ribboning through it like fudge in ice cream.

alright, okay. you’re smiling like a fool and you couldn’t care less. so then what?

so turns out fak’s connect isn’t much of a connect, surprise surprise, and it’s gonna cost us fifty-five hundred just to get the fridge back up and running. so he and carmy come to me, all hat in hand, and they’re like—shit. i didn’t tell you about the dealing, did i? you got me all turned around.

didn’t tell me bout the what now?

fak snitched on me earlier, told carmy i was dealing in the alley back behind the beef. i’m not moving much weight, just like. he gestures vaguely. covid, he adds, like that’s an explanation. please don’t have a fit about this, i’ve had all i can take from carmy already.

you shake your head once, thinking hard, processing. the more you think on it, the more it unsettles you. 

i knew he was dealing, obviously, but i didn’t know about you, you say. after a second, you add, richard edgar jerimovich?

jesus, he mutters.

is that right?

and here i thought carmy was going full mom. edgar, jesus fucking christ. richie’s torn between aghast and amused. where’d you get that from?

that’s your middle name?

yeah, but—

you hold up a hand, not rude, just asking him silently to let you finish, and he does. 

richie, you broke your wrist when you were twelve trying to play tackle football with the big boys on asphalt. at some point in your thirties, you started getting a rash every time you ate shellfish, but you still do it anyways, ‘cause fuck it’. and to this day you hate nightmare on elm street cause he convinced you to watch it with him when you were both way too young. 

none of this richie told you himself. it all came straight from michael. 

you say, how do i know all that, but i didn’t know you were dealing? 

richie says nothing, so you look over and find him watching you already. it’s an unfamiliar sensation, not being able to completely read him. it skitters over you like static electricity. 

you got a pretty good memory there, huh, he says.

it’s coke, right?

it’s just coke, yeah. was coke. it’s over now. richie shrugs wearily, turns away, and stubs out his spent cigarette on the concrete wall. mikey and his fucking secrets. i don’t know what to tell you. 

you can say that again. 

richie says nothing for a beat, then: mikey and his fucking secrets, i don’t—

okay, okay. 

he breaks into a small smile as you watch him, and then you keep on looking at him even as the smile subsides. a car goes by, and you look down at the pavement as the headlights sweet over both your faces, only looking back up at him once the car is gone.

the thing is, you really did think you knew him. what a crazy thing to think, when this is a mistake you’ve already made before with michael. you thought you knew him too. 

there could be so much of richie you don’t know, because michael didn’t know—or because michael didn’t tell. and yet richie isn’t a stranger. at any moment you could close your eyes and picture his face, imagine his voice. he’s in you that much, at least.

so here he is, through your own eyes. you’re determined to fix him in your mind, not richie from the stories, but richie as he really is. his hair is dark and close-cut, his beard too. his eyebrows are scant, and there’s a ridge on his forehead as if to make up for it. his nose is straight and straightforward. there are bags under his eyes, because of course there are, but his eyes themselves are as blue as summer, so blue they’re barely believable. that’s him, that’s his face.

then there’s the eternal black leather jacket, oversized and complete with unnecessary shoulder straps for all the bags he’ll never carry. he stinks of kitchen in general and arby’s curly fries in specific. he’s allowing you to stare at him, an indulgence that you can’t question without being a dick. he makes you want to not be a dick. all this is here, all this is real. 

he rubs his nose with the side of his wrist. 

you must be tired, you say quietly.

when he smiles like that, it’s almost like you can look down past a few decades and see the teenager you never got to meet. i’m never tired, he says.

he’s always tired, you realize. of course he would be. you only ever see him after his long-ass shifts. go to bed, richie.

that was too gentle for sure, because he says a little curiously, getting some real weird vibes off you right now.

you take one last drag, then push off the side of the building, gathering yourself to go. you want normal, don’t come to me. 

heard, he says with a chuckle. g’night.

goodnight.

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[ chapter four ] [ masterlist ]

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@garbinge, @narcolini, @drabbles-mc, @beingalive1 — if anyone else wants a tag, let me know.

[fyodior]

(CW: GUNPLAY, YOU DON'T GOTTA REPLY IF IT'S NOT YOUR THING NO WORRIES)

I LOVE YOUR BLOG YOU'RE JUST AS DEPRAVED AS I AM LMAOO

so I've been having these. Thoughts. Vivid thoughts. Shooting at shit from Chuuya's balcony while he stands behind you and rubs your clit. Previously you had been fucking as usual and then the gun on his bedside table had caught your eye and you suddenly turned the dirty talk into gun related FILTH "Do you think I could fuck your mouth with the barrel huh? You'd suck that shit like a dick" and at first he'd been a bit surprised?? amused?? Unnerved? But soon enough that man had to pull tf out cause just the thought of it made his dick almost fall off LOOOL AND THEN he'd beSO excited, like not knowing where to touch you first, wanting to fuck you harder, to fuck your silly little brains out BUT then he gets an idea so he tells you to throw on a shirt and leads you to the balcony where he teaches you how to work the gun (and it's so, so hot for the both of you, I'm talking innuendos, I'm talking technical gun related terminology almost whispered like it's dirty talk because It is because y'all are SICK, I'm talking WATCHING HIM AT WORK) and then he gives you the gun ( and almost cums just from watching you hold it) and tells you to shoot at whatever you want (neighbors and discretion and the law be damned, he's too turned on) and stands behind you, correcting your aim with one hand and going absolutely nuts on your clit with the other, whispering encouragements and whatever absolutely depraved shit comes to him in the heat of the moment and after the fourth or fifth shot he can't stand it anymore and fucks you right there on the balcony and lets you facefuck him with the gun as he kneels in front of you and/or lets you put it in his mouth while you ride him FULLY LOADED. SAFTEY OFF.

PLEASE GIVE ME YOUR THOUGHTS ON THIS I'VE BEEN THINKING ABOUT IT ALL ALONE FOR MONTHS I HAVE MORE WHERE THIS CAME FROM AAAAAAA

OH???????? THIS IS SO INTERESTING

im literally hollering at the idea of just shooting at random shit LKFKLFL i also love the idea of fucking this throat with the gun omg but idk personally if id have it loaded bye fsldlkflslfds

i think how i'd envision it is slightly less chaotic, and more in tune with the mostly level-headed (when need be), logical chuuya - while the idea is fun, i don't personally see him letting you shoot at shit wildly off his balcony. he doesn't need nor want the cops on his ass like that. a mafioso like him needs to fly under the radar as much as possible. i can see him taking you to a private port mafia owned shooting range and demanding the place be deserted so its just the 2 of you, making it a very sensual experience. chuuya didn't originally have the plan of fucking you in the middle of the shooting range, but seeing how goddamn sexy you look as you concentrate so hard on aiming the handgun at the target in front of you, he can't help the way he gets hard in his pants. he comes up right behind you, arms wrapping around your own to help you properly aim, chin resting on your shoulder as he whispers directions and encouragement in your ear. he starts rubbing up against your ass too, your breath catching in your throat as you feel his hardon press against you. you'll tease him too.

"chuuya nakahara, are you hard watching me handle a gun?" you giggle, and he just shushes you and tells you to focus on the target in front of you.

and when he lets go to allow you to try and shoot on your own, he unbuckles his belt and tugs out his dig before tugging your pants down and sliding himself inside you. that's when he puts his arms back around you, helping you aim. again, its very sensual, slow, more of a cockwarming than a fucking, because the sight of you handling a gun is so goddamn hot.

and that's how i personally think it would go :)

[mudskip-drabbles]

@dragcns-den wanted more Gay Shit

"You are an asshole!" Yelled as the front door was literally kicked open, that poor lock not having a single hope when matched against Giovanni Potage!

Still, despite his strong entrance, it was clear by Gio's tone that he was anything but angry, the shouting being solely for dramatic affect, which was always important. "How dare you start a war of affections with me while I was enacting my most evil of plans!" (IE: Stealing a bear plushie for Molly out of a claw machine that would spurn him no longer!) "There is no room for love in the midst of such vile atrocities!" That didn't stop him from returning the warm feeling of love across their bond though, it seemingly having become one of Rick's favorite pastimes as of late, to bombard his friends whenever he got the urge to let them know just how much he cared for them. Gio still remembers the first time he'd felt it, the sudden feeling of pure, unrestrained affection literally knocking him to his knees as it took his breath from his lungs. It hadn't taken long to put two and two together after that, Rick quickly turning from loving to fearful so suddenly that it too could be felt across their bond, there being no way it could all be chalked up to coincidence.

Rick was mostly unphased, having to push down the initial fear of the sudden entrance despite knowing it was only Giovanni. He met the dramatic shouting with an evil laugh in turn, dark wisps of miasma emitting from his upturned palms most menacingly.

"Fool! You believed yourself free from my grasp simply because you were busy!? The downfall is of your own making!" It didn't matter where any of his friends were or what they were doing, he was going to send them love whenever he pleased! He needed them to know at any given moment when his mind grew cruel, it making him twitchy and unnerved whenever he'd tried to suppress the urge at first.

"You will never know peace so long as we are bound heart and soul! Such is the consequences of-" He cut himself off at the sight of the stuffed bear in Gio's hand, his eyes now shining as a hand came up to his mouth as if to hide a gasp. "Oooooo! What is that adorable little creature? Will it require sustenance? What does such a mighty being endeavor to consume?" Rapid fire questions didn't give Gio a chance to answer until Rick was nose to nose with the stuffed animal that had been held up for him to see more clearly.

"Oh this?" He sounded way too smug about a plushie. "It's a stuffed animal! One that Bear Trap and I tried for hours to win. But I emerged victorious in the end!!" A pause, the theatrics being toned down within the span of a blink. "Oh uh, I'm not allowed at the arcade in the mall anymore. Like that's gonna stop me. Stupid mall cop thinks he can control me."

Setting the bear onto the dining table so Molly would see it upon coming home from school, Rick stayed near nose to nose with the fluffy thing with that shine never dulling for even a moment.

"Fascinating! What is the purpose of these 'stuffed animals'? Is it customary to gift the deceased to a loved one?" A genuine question, one that pulled a laugh from Gio as he settled the little bear to sit up against a couple school books Molly had left there. It wasn't out of malice though, something Gio made sure to tell Rick every now and then so he didn't get the wrong idea. He thought such questions were cute, that puppy dog look of excitement Rick got enough to inadvertently shoot affection across their bond, Gio always felt it so strongly upon seeing it.

"It's just fabric, dude. Made into a little friend! Kinda like...THIS!" Pulled dramatically from his inner coat pocket was another plushie, this one being a stuffed chameleon that was purple and red in color. "I actually paid for this one, saw it while they were escorting me out of the mall. Had to sneak back in to buy it, but I had to! It was too perfect!!"

Those puppy dog eyes quickly switched their excitement to this new reveal, Rick growing so giddy he began to rapidly clap his hands as he bounced in place.

"I LOVE IT!!" Loud, but Gio hardly minded. "Who is this fabric friend for?" A question Giovanni knew to be genuine by the curiosity that skipped across their bond, it bringing a fond smile to his face.

"It's for you, ya goof!" A dramatic gasp at the new new reveal, Rick lighting up like a firework as he nearly plowed into Gio's chest for a tight hug. One that had Gio lifted a good couple inches off the ground, something that had a blush warming up his face with a feeling he didn't quite know how to place.

"I LOVE IT!!!" Somehow even louder than before, Gio was set down in favor of hugging the plushie to his chest, Rick being filled with joy one might expect of a child or a man who hadn't received a gift like this in years.

"Where is your fabric friend?" Asked with that same eager grin as he smooshed his cheek against the plushie, it quickly turned into a loud gasp as Gio shrugged his shoulders.

"UNACCEPTABLE!!" Shouted before Gio could get even a breath into his lungs, Rick hugged the toy to his chest while he pulled a smiling Giovanni towards the door by the hand.

"Uh, I'm kinda banned from the mall, remember?" Not that he would abide by such a thing, but he was curious as to where Rick would go with this.

"Unimportant!! We must procure you a fabric friend as well!!" He didn't want Giovanni to be left out.

Gio could only give a fond laugh as he shook his head, picking up his pace so he was the one pulling rick along.

"Well then what are we waiting for? Pick up the pace Shades, we gotta get home before Bear Trap so we can see her face when we give her that bear!! I bet she's gonna flip and I don't wanna miss it!!"

[sophieinwonderland]

i know the supervillain bit (when you explained Vira) is a joke but you would make an awesome supervillain i think. you would be good at it. well. you would be evil at it i should say. 👍👍👍👍👍👍👍 (lighthearted) -orv & tom

Thanks! LOL!

You know, I've talked about this before, but I've been thinking about this again since my host has been playing Spider-Man lately... And that's the tendency for a villain to be the person taking initiative to change the world.

Sure, plenty of villains are just naturally bad. But there are also many who just end up victims of their own ambitions.

The Lizard in Spider-Man media is usually just a disabled scientist looking for a way to regrow limbs. In Spider-Man 2, Doctor Octopus is just a guy who tries to make renewable clean energy. Both characters want to make the world a better place. And both really end up victims of the writing, punished for doing what other people aren't brave enough to even try.

I'm not saying they don't go too far. Of course they do. That's what makes them villains.

But it bothers me how often the only representation of ambitious people who want to change the world is in the form of a villain.

Meanwhile, Peter Parker won't even sell his web fluid. Think about how many deaths by cops could be prevented if you replaced their lethal bullets with a web gun? Think of how useful it could be for rescuers to have instant ropes they can shoot from a small handheld device.

But Peter just keeps it for himself so he can use it to beat up criminals.

It just feels like a lot of Spider-Man's villains were originally good people who tried and failed to change the world for the better, and ended up punished by the narrative for their failure, while Peter Parker is someone who never tried at all. As a hero, he usually just tries to maintain a status quo in the world.

Superheroes all just tend to think too small for my liking. They're too reactive with their world-saving, where the villains are proactive.

To be fair, Iron Man was supposedly working on using his Arc Reactors to make cheap renewable energy too. We just never see the fruits of that labor. It's an off-hand thing mentioned about how Stark Tower would be the first to use it. But where is this technology 10 years later? Surely, every car and plane coming off the assembly line in the MCU should be powered by Arc Reactor tech, right?

They can't be that expensive to produce. Tony made one in a cave with a box of scraps.

All in all, I guess what it comes down to is that comics are a world where status quo is God. And in that world, the only people who can try to change the status quo are villains, because they're destined to fail. And on the rare occasion lip service is paid to heroes trying to change the status quo, it's ultimately forgotten about because they're not allowed to do that.

And the message it sends to youths is to keep your sights low and don't rock the boat. That a "hero" is someone who try to keep things the way they are, and anyone with ambition who wants to change world is a villain.

Through that lens, I guess I'd rather be the supervillain. Better to be bold and ambitious, and fail, than to accept stagnation and uphold a flawed status quo.

[befuddled-calico-whump]

T$$ Dystopia AU: Part Two

previous ///// T$$ Masterlist

cw: aftermath of whipping/beating, referenced public torture, institutionalized violence, adult language

× × ×

Joy didn't often bother with the floggings or the stocks or the other punishments inflicted by the police state. As shitty as it was, they happened too frequently for her to expend the resources to help every victim. Better to focus her efforts elsewhere and try to stop it altogether.

This was different though.

One of her scouts reported a whipping, and whatever, it was practically a daily occurrence at this point, but then they'd added that the kid on the post had already looked beaten half to death before the first crack even came down. That was just a little too cruel for her to ignore. She figured she'd at least check up on him, make sure he knew where the unsanctioned medic huts were and that he had the means to reach one. The rest of her guys were busy with other taskings, so Joy decided she'd pay him a visit herself.

Only when she arrived at the square, what must've been an hour at least since the flogging had ended, the poor guy was still on the post.

Security was posted around the perimeter, watching their prisoner with a body language like they'd shoot down anyone who tried to help.

If they were going to all these lengths… who was this guy? Just a victim they'd decided to be especially cruel to? Or was he something more?

Knowing the police corp as well as Joy did, she knew either option was equally as viable. Either way, she was gonna rescue the kid, and either way, she'd need some backup.

And fast. Fuck knew how long the poor guy would be able to hold out for.

It took less than a sentence of explanation to get Jericho on board, along with enough guys to distract the cops and give them an opening for the rescue.

It took longer than she would've liked to get everyone in place, but they wouldn't be any help to the beaten kid if they got arrested en route to him. It was another hour before the group was at the square’s edge, poised to act.

The rear guard gave the signal, and Joy darted forward, Jericho and a pair bolt cutters at her side. 

Up close, the sight of the kid’s back was far more gruesome; layered blacks and reds gouging every inch of it. Torn to shreds. How many had they fucking given him? What had he even done to deserve this in the force's eyes?

The whipping alone should've been enough to kill him, let alone the dark bruises covering his ribcage, let alone being left like this for hours. But this kid was a fighter. Though shallow and wheezing, he was still breathing.

“I got him, Jer. Cut him down.”

Her friend cut through the chains linking the guy’s handcuffs together, and he collapsed onto Joy. She winced when she saw his face, half of it basically one big bruise. It would be hell on his wounds to carry him out of here, but they needed to get back underground fast, or there would be no saving him.

Jericho slid the cutters into his belt, reaching to take the unconscious man from her, but as the bigger man started to lift him, his hand closed around Joy’s arm.

“Stars…” he murmured, his voice hoarse. “Th-they lead to you.”

Fuck, he was delirious too. Not that she was surprised by that. Joy nodded, not knowing how else to respond.

“Yeah. Yeah, they do.”

Behind her came the shout of her men, and she knew they needed to get moving now. Joy gently removed his fingers, allowing Jericho to sling the leaner man over his shoulder. She kept a few paces behind her friend to watch his back, her pistol drawn in case any of the cops saw them and moved to close in from the rear.

Somehow, the whole group made it back to the clear zone without pursuit. Joy sent a few guys on to fetch a medic, and accompanied Jericho to one of the safe havens. The havens were usually occupied by those who'd been wrongly accused of criminal intent, and needed somewhere to hide for a while, as well as people who had nowhere else to go. As far as she knew, their rescue checked both of those boxes, but she wouldn't know for sure until he regained consciousness.

…if he regained consciousness.

Jericho carried him to one of the empty rooms downstairs, carefully depositing him stomach-down on a bed.

“Thanks, Jer,” she said, cutting away the tattered remains of his shirt and gently removing them.

“Happy to help.” He sighed. “Never thought they would take things this far. Not in public. I mean, an execution is one thing, but this…”

“I know.”

“Do you think they would've let him down at all?”

Joy shook her head, letting her gaze fall to the unconscious man on the bed. “Cops've been doubling down lately. Wouldn't be surprised if they just wanted to make an example of him.” Her medical knowledge was limited, but she figured she should try her hand at cleaning him up. Who knew how long the medic would be?

“There's a silver lining then. They know the resistance is a threat,” Jericho said.

“How is that a silver lining? It'll only make them strike harder, do shit like this.”

“It means we stand a chance against them, and they know it," Jericho said. "Why else would they be lashing out?”

Joy pressed her lips together. “You're right.” She tore herself away from the bedside, checking one of the room’s cabinets for supplies, and coming away with a small stack of gauze and a bottle of water. “But fuck, man, we need to get the upper hand before there's a death on the whipping post.”

“We will,” Jericho said. “We have to.”

Joy sure fucking hoped so.

She wet one of the thicker gauze pads and started dabbing at the wounds on the man's back, trying not to let it get to her when the muscles there spasmed in pain and the guy let out a weak whimper.

“Easy does it.”

She hadn't covered much ground before the real medic arrived, patching up his ragged torso and giving him a morphine injection. Their stock of drugs and antibiotics was getting scarily low, but if anyone needed it, this kid did. 

They'd have to set up another raid on the upper-ring hospital soon. Dangerous for sure, but necessary to keep people alive.

“Will he live?” she asked as the medic started to leave. They answered with an apologetic shrug.

“He's made it this far. Keep a close eye on him, but… I wouldn't set my hopes too high.”

Joy nodded, clenching her jaw. “Thank you.”

As the medic left, she turned back to the bed. The man there looked marginally better, his thin form wrapped in heavy bandages that masked the worst of his injuries. He'd live. He had to. The cops couldn't win this one.

“I'll take the first watch,” she said.

“Are you sure?” Jericho asked. “How long have you been awake?”

“Few more hours won't kill me. I'll send for someone else soon, I promise.” She dragged a chair to the foot of the bed, and planted herself there, fidgeting with a paperclip she’d found in her pocket, bending it into different shapes until piece by piece it broke into nothing.

Sometime around midnight, the kid began to stir; little shifts and twitches and groans. Joy grabbed another water bottle. They didn't have the supplies for an IV line right now. As much as she hated to drag him out of his rest, if he was gonna live, he'd have to take liquids by mouth.

“Hey,” she said, giving him a light shake on his shoulder. “Can you hear me?”

“Ffff-fuck off,” came the shaky reply, and Joy nearly cracked a smile.

“You need to try and drink something,” she said, unscrewing the cap and sliding a plastic straw inside. “Can you turn your face towards me?”

After a moment he did, bruised eye and cheek pointing in her direction. She set the straw against his lips, careful to avoid the spots that were cut up, and waited.

It seemed to take a lot of effort, but he managed to swallow down some of the liquid.

“Cool,” she murmured, then hastily added, “good, I meant, that's good.” One step forward.

“You can drink more if you want,” she said. “If not, I'll let you sleep.”

He spat out the straw. It was enough of an answer for Joy.

“Got a name?”

“Hu-Hunter,” he muttered.

Behind the bruises and blood and swollen lips, she swore she saw him grin.

“Joy,” she replied. “Welcome to the resistance.”

× × ×

tag list:

@theonewithallthefixations

[ysabelmystic]

Top 10 things you got away with as a kid?

Thank you anon for giving me the opportunity to soapbox about the stupid and borderline psychopathic shit I did as a child. I don't know that this'll be a "Top" ten, but it will be the first ten things that come to mind.

Number 1: Attempted Murder (in self defense)

Some of y'all already know this story because it is in fact one of the most surreal things that's ever happened to me and it lives rent free in my head.

I spent my sophomore year of high school in Florida. My neighborhood didn't have blocks. We had ponds, and the houses were built around these ponds. The ponds were also full of alligators. This is important.

Every day after school, my friend and I would stand and talk at the bus stop before walking home to one of our houses. Because we both had overprotective parents, this and going to the park was about the only real freedom we had. So when a black car with a random guy sitting in it started parking across from the bus stop followed us if we started walking, we didn't tell anyone. Instead, we would just wait and talk until the guy got bored and bailed. This continued for about a month until one day, I had to make a to-scale model of St Basil's Cathedral for a school project. That thing was fuckin' heavy, so we were so focused on getting to my friend's place that we forgot that we were being stalked.

About ten minutes after we got to my friend's place, we were getting settled in, eating snacks and setting up the xbox, when his dogs went fucking ballistic. We looked out the window to see a strange man at the door and the black car parked in the driveway. He saw us and then walked around to the garage where we'd let ourselves in but hadn't locked it. So we ran to the garage and locked the side door just in time before they guy grabbed the knob and started trying to get in. When he couldn't, he went to the car entry and started beating at the metal door.

This would be the point when most people would call the police. But again, we had very overprotective parents. If we called the cops and they caught the guy, we'd never be let out of their sight again. If we called the cops and the guy got away, we'd get told off for being overdramatic and wasting the cops' time, and we'd still lose roaming privileges. Instead, over the course of about thirty seconds, we hatched a plan.

My friend’s dad kept his hunting gear in the garage. I knew how to use a bow and arrow at the time, and my friend knew how to swing a hatchet. We decided against using guns since neither of us felt like we could safely use them. Most people were at work, so it was unlikely that anyone would hear any screaming that was to ensue. The plan was to go outside and confront the man. If worst came to worst, we would simply yeet his body into the lake and let the gators take care of him.

We went back out the front door with our weapons and began loudly threatening the man. Not in a normal, “get off my property or I’ll shoot” way. We went into Joker Mode. We were 15, full of rage, severely sleep deprived, high on adrenaline, and in need of therapy. Plus, we thought that this would be the most effective way to scare him off. Luckily, it worked. We saw him rounding the corner of the house and chased him to his car. He sped off, and we never saw him again.

Number 2: Public Nuisance #1

Same year, same state, same friend. It was summer and we were bored as all get-out- bored enough to let my brother and his friend hang out with us. There was a Walgreens across the street from the neighborhood but it was kinda off on some side street so we were technically allowed to ride our bikes there. For whatever reason, on that day’s trip, we decided that this would be the day that we finally drank a Monster. And what the heck, what if we drank two Monsters. And when we got to the park with our bounty of caffeinated beverages, we thought, yknow, wouldn’t it be funny to see who could drink them the fastest. What could go wrong?

What went wrong was that you now had a small pack of children endowed with the energy of The Gods. And what else do you do with this energy but use the woods to play the most chaotic game of tag while playing LMFAO songs and occasionally scaring the shit out of unsuspecting trail walkers. Like yeah this was obnoxious and cringe, but none of us had ever had caffeine before and we now had consumed upwards of 400mg of the stuff. There were no brain cells. Only tachycardia and 2015 YouTube culture. We had become menaces.

This inevitably ended with all of us throwing up, and as the caffeine wore off, we decided to bike home. We started down the main path out of the woods, but at the clearing was a pair of cop cars and two officers walking into the woods. So we had to quickly hide in the bushes and sneak off-trail to the other side of the park. Why do I think they were for us? They were talking about a group of teenagers causing a “disturbance”. But we made it home without getting caught and played Minecraft for the rest of the day. We never did anything like that again, and every day I thank God that TikTok wasn’t a Thing yet.

Number 3: Public Nuisance #2

There were two things my middle school me despised about the girls’ locker room. 1) Everyone was constantly showing off their expensive bras and comparing cup sizes, and it rubbed me the wrong way (the “why” would be discovered later). 2) The perfume. Everyone makes fun of middle school boys and their Axe Body Spray, but the girls at this rich kid school had everything from Bath & Bodyworks to beauty boutique shit. It was beyond overwhelming. I was also deep in my “not like other girls” era and was full of unspecified rage. So, to cope, I started catching grasshoppers during PE. I wouldn’t just release them in the locker rooms. I would look for unlocked lockers or clothes that people had left out in the open, and hide the grasshoppers in their belongings. Just to inflict maximum chaos.

The PE teachers made a big show of looking for the prankster, but I was never caught.

Number 4: Destruction of Property #1

My fifth grade teacher, on God, is one of the shittiest people on this planet. He radiated Ted Bundy vibes. He was a total cunt. We all hated this bitch, and I was pretty much at war with him (he stole my books and destroyed one of my notebooks). This is the most monetary destruction that I caused in one go.

He had a water fountain on his desk, right behind his computer. For whatever reason, he had his computer cord wrapped around the fountain, so it wasn’t laying on the floor. It was basically a tripwire. Feeling silly, I tripped the wire. Fountain hit the floor and shattered. Papers went everywhere. The computer fell. My teacher had to dive into the puddle of water to save his laptop, but it must’ve still been damaged since he had to replace it a week later. And of course, he couldn’t do anything. I was very apologetic about it. It was an accident. I’d tripped. Everyone had seen me trip. It wasn’t the first time I’d tripped on something before. And it was only a matter of time before someone tripped on that cord anyways.

Number 5: Destruction of Property #2

The second worst teacher I’ve ever had was my 8th grade science teacher. He was also a total cunt, not for stealing my shit and destroying my work, but for making jokes about me cutting myself and encouraging the class to bully me. Yay! Just like my fifth grade teacher, he was a cunt with poor organization skills. He had a habit of not grading anyone’s papers until the end of the quarter. He would put each assignment in a stack and set the stack in an empty place on his desk. If he ran out of room, that stack would go on another stack, and so on and so forth. Basically, he had lots and lots of loose stacks of paper on his desk. I don’t remember why he was holding me after class, but I do remember that I was very displeased to be there. Instead of staying in my seat, I decided to take his chair. Y’know. To assert dominance. I fell back into the office chair and started spinning in it. I guess I must’ve hit it at just the right angle because something in the inner stand broke, and it sank to the lowest level. My arm hit a paper stack, which hit another paper stack, which hit another paper stack, and soon, there were papers all over the floor.

Dude didn’t even say anything. He turned red. Not wanting to stick around for the impending explosion, I just left lmao.

Number 6: Trespassing and Evasion

This is probably the most dramatic, disproportionate thing on this list. My first high school and middle school were connected, so overall, the campus was the size of a small college. It would take you at least 20 minutes to walk from one end to the other.

I was about to transfer schools, and to do this, I needed to deliver a folder of paperwork to the front office. Of course, my ADHD ass waited until the last possible day to deliver it. And I thought, “yeah I’ll just deliver this to the office during lunch”. The easiest way to do that was to go through the center doors of the main building and walk to the opposite side of the hall. 5 minute trip. Easy peasy.

Unfortunately, for some reason, someone decided to turn the student teachers into a security team. I got to the doors and was greeted with a very angry woman who was very much against the idea of me walking ten feet across the indoor hallway to the opposite side. I tried to explain my issue, but she wasn’t having it.

I didn’t want to deliver it after school since it meant I probably wouldn’t get a seat on the bus (seriously, it was packed enough that some people would have to sit on the floor, and to exit on the first couple stops, you had to climb out the window). I couldn’t very well walk around the outside of the building for two reasons. 1) This school ran like Mean Girls. The end of the building was popular kids territory, and God help you if you weren’t a popular kid in that area. I wasn’t just unpopular. I was poor. I was a wanted man. I had literal death threats over my head. And even if I made it past them, there was still a 50/50 chance of being caught by a rent-a-cop for being in the parking lot.

Luckily for me (and my friend who was with me for moral support), one of the upstairs side doors had a broken lock or something. It had caution tape all around it to deter people, but caution tape is easily surpassed and removable. Once inside, we just had to make it down the stairs and out to the office courtyard. Someone must’ve heard us though, because one of the student teachers started calling out, asking who’s there and all that jazz. He ran toward the main staircase. Other teachers showed up. We literally had to hide behind the decorative pillars while this became a fucking manhunt. It was like a scene out of a Nickelodeon program. When their backs were turned, we were able to sneak down another staircase and directly into the office. I delivered my papers, and all was well except we now had to make it back in while about 15 paranoid adults on a power trip were walking up and down the halls. Thankfully, my geography teacher’s room was nearby and he was chill so he let us stay in his classroom until lunch was over.

Number 7: Slander

In 4th grade, I framed a classmate as a “nose-picker” by saving water bottle label glue in my desk for 6 months and putting all the dirty goo-balls in his desk on desk cleanout day. All it took was one, “Ew! Look at Roger’s boogers!” and the rest is history.

He bullied my friend though, so he deserved it.

Number 8: Assault and Battery

In 9th grade, one of my classmates was excessively handsy and wouldn’t take no for an answer. Teachers wouldn’t do anything about him, so I took matters into my own hands, or rather, his hands. When he wasn’t paying attention, I slammed a pencil into his hand. It didn’t go all the way through, but it was standing on its own after I let go.

The crazy thing is that my teacher literally saw it and told the kid that he, “had it coming”, which is just another reason that that school was absolutely insane.

Number 9: Illegal Distillation

I once made wine in my backpack on accident. Old grapes met old crackers, and I ignored this until the bag they were in burst. I have no idea how no one stopped me.

Number 10: Theft and Framing (my mom’s contribution)

This is pretty benign, but my mom still brings it up.

My grandparents had a timeshare in Hawaii, and every now and then, they would allow us to go in their stead. One of 8-year-old me’s favorite things about this hotel was the birds, especially the geese. Because of the time difference between Hawaii and California, my brother and I also consistently woke up at 4 in the morning, so we had about 2 to 3 hours of “feed the birds” time before my parents woke up. Usually, we would use the rice Krispies, but we ran out. And the geese were still hungry. The wouldn’t eat the lucky charms, so that left my mom’s Very Expensive You-Can-Only-Buy-This-In-Hawaii-7-Dollars-in-2007-Money hemp and seed cereal. And birds like seeds, and in all fairness, I had no idea it was expensive, so logically we would give the birds this cereal. A whole box of this cereal.

So my mom wakes up to see her cereal lining the balcony and an empty box in the recycling bin. She went into Murder Mother Rage Mode, and like any self-preserving older sibling, I blamed my brother. I guess I was “old enough to know better”, so it worked. She brought it up every year or so as something terrible my brother did until a few years ago when I confessed to my crimes.

[littlenightma]

T-1000 x Reader One Shot

Author’s Note: Don’t mind me. I’m currently obsessing over Robert Patrick’s portrayal of the T-1000 in Terminator 2: Judgement Day (1991)

His assignment was clear since the day he was created - terminate John Connor. Nothing was to stand in his way. Any and all threats were to be dealt with immediately. Skynet would be victorious in the war between machines and humans.

With the help of the boy’s foster parents, locating Connor was easy. They gave him all the information he needed and even provided him with a recent picture of their son without question, blindly trusting the badge on his chest. Weakness. Fickle emotions like that would be the cause of their inevitable downfall.

The local mall was busy with swarms of adults and children running about. He questioned a few boys that looked around Connor’s age who said they saw him at the arcade. He made a beeline to the arcade, ready to accomplish his task.

Connor was sitting one of machines with his back turned, intensely absorbed with the flashing images on the screen. The lithe Terminator pulled out the gun holstered to his belt and aimed it at the back of the young, unsuspecting target. One shot to the spine would render him paralyzed. Another to the head would sufficiently end his life. His finger slid over the trigger ready to shoot when Connor suddenly disappeared from his sight, replaced by someone else.

You, who’d be lounging on the couch in the arcade room watching your younger brother lose himself in a racing game, quickly jumped to your feet when the cop pointed his gun at John. You knew John was a troublemaker, but he couldn’t have done anything to warrant a fucking gun being pulled on him.

“John, move! Go!”

You yanked John from the game he was engrossed with and roughly pushed him toward the exit, shielding his body with yours. As serious as the situation was, John’s immaturity got the best of you and you whipped around and threw Officer Prick the finger.

When your eyes met the icy blue gaze of the cop, his forefinger froze on the trigger long enough to see you and Connor being swallowed up by the crowd. Gone. His arm slowly dropped to his side. Unblinking eyes narrowed in confusion.

It was not in his code to hesitate.

The human barricade was nothing he couldn’t have dealt with a single bullet. He was ordered to terminate anyone, anyone, who blocked his path to John Connor.

He scrutinized the hand that wielded the gun for any visible signs of damage, flexing his fingers repeatedly. With his unique molecular structure, it was impossible for his creator to add a functioning self diagnostic software so all he had to rely on was what he could physically see.

He flexed his fingers again, this time on the other hand. It’s possible there was a malfunction or two that were missed during testing. A drawback of being a prototype.

Frustration lingered, burning molten like pooling magma inside a festering volcano before solidifying into igneous determination. John Connor should be dead. He was right there and he allowed him to escape. All because of you.

While John Connor remained his primary target, he was going to make sure you never interfered with his mission again.

[fastcardotmp3]

for the fanfic name thingie: "guts" or "i know you think we are good" whatever inspires you the most!

there are still so many of these sitting in my inbox that I forgot about BUT HI ANON THANKS FOR THE INSPIRATION MWAH this turned into less of a premise and more of a ficlet but what're you gonna do

guts

Eddie Munson watches a girl be killed by supernatural forces.

He runs.

He hides.

He gets caught.

All that frenetic energy and anxiety, it's not enough for him to escape even the incompetency of the Hawkins PD, or maybe it's too much, a trait which has plagued Eddie from the moment he discovered stories and loud music and the places where those two things meet.

He's in custody when Fred crumples, when Patrick falls, but all it does is convince them that Eddie is covering for a partner and all it does is open up all these avenues and offerings of deals that Eddie can't even consider taking because none of it is true.

He sits in a windowless room with his hands cuffed to the table and wearing clothes out of the lost and found since his are evidence now.

They won't let him talk to his uncle because he's not a minor and Eddie is pretty sure he's legally allowed a lawyer but it's not like they'll be able to help him out of this no-exits situation.

They ask him again. Who are you working with.

They demand again. Tell us and you might get a lower sentence.

The yell and shout and go all quiet and intimidating and threaten him again, again, again and Eddie yells right back, frustrated tears in his eyes and a lack of anything even parading as rest in days hanging heavy on his aching back.

He maintains that he's innocent because if he's locked away for this he can only really keep this, he can keep his own knowledge of what happened, no matter how little he wants to.

Days pass.

The ground shakes.

The town, from what Eddie can understand of frantic whispers and more time spent left alone in that windowless room, is in crisis.

Everything falling apart, as if it hadn't already, Eddie lays his head down on the table to block out the glare of too-bright fluorescent lights.

His head swims, he drifts, he thinks about a life spent in isolation and he thinks about the electric chair and he thinks about Wayne, mostly, how much he's let his old man down.

Alone. Buzzing lights. Creaky chair.

And a soft clicking at the door.

When the knob turns and it pushes open, Eddie doesn't lift his head, too used to this same visit and this same conversation with these same cops--

"Wake up, Sleeping Beauty, no time to lose."

Eddie's head shoots up because he's hallucinating and that's not a show he wants to miss. Not when Steve Harrington is bringing a-- a lock pick?-- to his cuffs and Nancy Wheeler is standing peering out the cracked door with a gun in her hand?

"What the fu--"

"Thirty seconds," Nancy says sharply, "are you sure you know how to use that thing?"

"I've got it, I've got it," Steve implores with hushed exasperation as he does, in fact, unlock Eddie's cuffs and free his wrists for the first time in what's probably been close to a week at this point.

That's. Not something a hallucination can do.

"We clear?" Steve asks as he joins Nancy by the door, Eddie still gaping from his seat, stunned shocked at the sight of them as he rubs his wrists, both of these kids bandaged to hell and with bags under their eyes to rival his own and-- "hey, snap to it man, if we fuck this up Henderson'll have all our heads."

"You're the one who made a pinky promise," Nancy clenches down on her jaw.

"You're the one who insisted on coming."

"You're the--"

"Am I having a psychotic break?"

Both of them whip around to look at him and Eddie both appreciates and shies away from the attention, no matter how brief it is before something is stealing Nancy's gaze back out into the hall and she's calling time and--and--and--

"Up and at 'em," Steve is muttering as he all but drags Eddie to his feet with an arm around him to force him to keep pace.

"I can't tell if you're delusional or if you have just have major guts," Eddie says just before the cross the threshold, just before he lets these two near-strangers potentially save his godforsaken life.

Steve Harrington chuckles, soft and surprised in Eddie's ear, and the look on his face, the shine in those eyes, is the kind of thing that might just make a life on the run worth the fuss.

"Guts, Munson," Steve grins, as hopelessness fades, "definitely guts."

[eric-the-bmo]

Blood and Silicon ep18: Friends of Hunter

[Summary: The chase begins! Leo tries speaking in code to Harrison. Percy and Blake take care of the Hunters.] (sorry if this is all over the place/badly-written i don't feel like reviewing this rip-) @sanguineasylum @kentuckycaverats

The coterie careens out of the parking garage! Percy loses some ground but keeps the hunters in sight; they're going quick. Blake immediately calls Leo on speakerphone and tells him to call Harrison about this- to tell him about the garage, to have the cameras wiped, and to let him know their current location. Blake says to immediately call him back afterwards, and then hangs up. Leo calls Harrison.

["Leo? I wasn't expecting you to call again so soon." "Yes, but I'm pretty sure this counts as an emergency, sir-"]

He informs Harrison that people who really don't like us were following Pauline, and now the coterie is in pursuit. He gives the location of where they left; could H take care of the cameras from the garage? Harrison clarifies that they're in active pursuit, and he seems a bit confused until Leo says one of the two men is named Hunter, and it clicks for Harrison like ah fuck, vampire hunters! He asks if the coterie needs backup, and in the background Leo hears him calling for one of his ghouls ["Kay, come over here please."].

Leo provides their current location as they turn the corner on East St Clara St to continue following the hunters; Pauline manages to keep the rest of them in sight. Blake's phone rings as Leo decides to do a conference call with both him and Harrison.

["Hey, Harry."]

Harrison wants to keep updated on their location as he tries to figure things out from here- he tells Kay to stay on the line as he leaves the room for a moment. Blake fills Kay in on what's going on as the chase continues, adding they didn't know the men were hunters at first, so they had called the cops on them. (Percy runs a red light. His car stays close to the hunters, but not too close; the coterie aims to get them further away from the city. The hunters are going west- which is further from Harrison's territory, and, closer to the Hecata's. They're trying to lose the coterie, but it's difficult with one of their tires losing air from being hit with Blake's knife earlier.)

Harrison returns, and tells Kay to head to the garage to take care of the cameras, and Kay lets Harrison know about the police; their voices fade as the two walk away from the phone for a moment.

The coterie continues to keep up with the hunters, who actually are heading towards a highway- we join them, and are now on their left. Blake gets Percy to get closer to them, and gets ready to pull out his gun to shoot the hunter driving the car. Percy suggest we light their car on fire afterwards (Harrison, still on the phone, tells them to search the car before doing that). Blake hits his mark, and the Hunter's car starts to swerve as they attempt to get off the highway- and then they crash into part of the underpass.

The coterie stops their vehicles, and Leo gives Harrison a location update, meanwhile Blake is all "hey Percy put your gun down, maybe we shouldn't shoot them again," so the Ventrue puts the safety on to potentially use it as a blunt weapon later.

Leo and Pauline start to approach the car, but Blake gets there first- the hunter in the passenger seat is shaking the other, who seems to not be doing well; his side of the car is crushed against the wall, and he's bleeding from near his collarbone. Blake goes to open the door. The hunter tries to reach for his rosary, but Blake pulls his gun out on him with Eyes of The Beast for intimidation and tells him to get out of the car.

Blake tells Leo (who'd been keeping watch) to retrieve the knife he'd thrown into the car, and goes to grapple the hunter out of the car- the second one tells the first to "go be with God," using the name Banks.

Banks reveals he still had the rosary in his hands- and the Coterie is repelled by it, allowing Banks some time to try and get the fuck outta there. He gets a head start, but Blake shoots him and is able to catch up on him. Banks calls him a monster, and Blake is all "wow, pet names already?"| ---

Meanwhile, Percival approaches the other hunter still in the car; The Venture bites his own wrist and forces the man to feed from him, despite the hunter Absolutely Not Wanting That. His wounds slightly heal. Percival asks for his name, and the hunter spits out that his name is Williams. Percy takes off Williams' ski mask- and it turns out Williams it the same priest from our territory [above the table, two of us start yelling].

["Ah- lovely to see you again, Father."] Percy asks if anyone else knows where he is, and Williams looks over at Banks (the guy looks miserable to see his associate's been caught). ---

Now having retrieved Blake's knife, Leo updates Harrison, who tells him to keep one alive. Blake takes off Banks' mask- he's in his mid 20s, with some stubble- before saying it's not personal and knocking him out. ---

Leo listens in to Percy questioning the priest: Father Williams says that this was an unexpected detour, and that others (besides Banks) knows where he had gone; the Father didn't give details to them before leaving, though.

["So, do you have a group of compadres that you do this with?" "I hate you."]

Percy denies Father Williams's request to be killed, since he still has questions for the man, and Leo leans over to murmur that their boss wants to keep one alive. Blake's bringing over Banks's unconscious body.

["How long ago did you die, boy?" Father Williams is looking at Leo.] Leo's all "Hm why do you wanna know," while trying to hide the fact he Doesn't Like this man, and as that's happening Blake begins searching Bank's body- He's disappointed to see the Hunter's shoes aren't his size. ["Hold on-" Leo looks at him. "Were you planning to steal his shoes?" Blake shrugs. "Gotta get new ones somehow." "...What size is he-" "You're all psychopaths," Williams spits out.]

Father Williams asks Blake what he gets up to, in his "my situation Sucks" kind of way, and Blake responds he gets up to all sorts of things- he'll see Williams in hell when he gets there, btw. Leo tells Blake the update to keep one and get out, and Harrison from the phone adds to search the car. As Blake continues to search Banks, he and Percy discuss on which hunter be kept alive, and how to frame this to look like a car crash; should they request a cleanup crew from Harrison, or..?

(A car passes by. Pauline's been keeping watch.)

They go back to discussing which one to keep alive. [Blake turns to Percy. "You ever had a man of god as a pet?"] Williams murmurs a prayer- Percy takes him out of the crashed car, covering his eyes with the ski mask before knocking him out in the back of Blake's jeep.

(Another car goes by, slower this time. Pauline gets nervous about it.)

Leo and Blake search the Hunters' car as Percy gets a rag from the jeep to cover in oil- the younger vampires find some guns, duct tape, zipties, gasoline, a bible, a medkit, camping supplies and flashlights, empty vials, some receipts, and makeshift bombs. Leo hands those over to Blake, who's planted Banks' body in the driver's seat.

Before Pauline heads off, Blake tells her to take the long way around to the garage he had directed to a few days ago- he reassures her it's okay, and to wait for them there.

Percy does a vampire prayer before the coterie sets it on fire from a distance: ["Father, I humbly ask that you take the offering of the blood shed tonight in the spirit that it is intended. Saint Gustav, I offer you my thanks for lending me your strength so that I may continue play the role of the diligent farmer - culling of the wolves in our midst so that our siblings may continue to flourish in the shadow of our darkest nights. May our tantamount enemies luxuriate in as many daylight hours as the Almighty afforded us."]

The car lights up, but luckily the coterie is far away enough that it doesn't send our Beasts into a complete panic, and they drive away with the priest in the back of their car. There's some sirens in the distance. Leo updates Harrison that they've got one (and Blake adds the police are on their way to the crashed car), and Harrison tells them to meet him at a place called Cohesity Inc, 2 floors down, because he'd like some more information on whatever the fuck just happened. (Blake updates Pauline and invites her to join them, if she wants; she agrees.)

Father Williams begins to regain consciousness, but he's not looking good and will probably need medical attention; Leo keeps an eye on him. Blake turns around and asks if the Father has any music preferences, but Williams is quiet, and so Margaritaville is playing on the way to Cohesity Inc- the vibe dissonance is crazy.

Percy gives Williams some more blood- not enough to up the bond, just enough to heal him a bit more. Percy notices Leo looking away and asks if he's alright- the Malk holds his hands together and says he's not a fan of bonding. -------

The coterie arrives at the meetup spot; They park near Harrison in the empty parking garage there, and Blake gives the Baron a recap of what just happened, and Percy adds that there are people who know the priest was out tonight. Harrison opens the trunk of the car so he can ask Father Williams some questions.

[Harrison puts his hand on the top of the trunk and leans over, looking the Father in the eyes. "Hi. You don't know me, and you don't need to. I don't know what's going to happen to you, except for the fact you and I are going to have a nice conversation."] Harrison says it doesn't matter if Williams doesn't want to talk (Percy notices Williams' eye twitches), and then says he wouldn't mind telling Harrison about the friends he mentioned, would he? Why was he here? Where was he planning to go after following Pauline?

Harrison is repeatedly asking these questions; Percy notices that William's heartbeat starts to get erratic, and that this is visibly taking a toll on him; The Ventrue, while largely unbothered by this, comments that Harrison should stop before he pushes the Father past his breaking point with whatever he's doing.

["Oh, they recover. They always do."]

Blake and Leo are visibly creeped out by this whole thing.

Harrison mentions he might have better luck with Williams tomorrow, and the priest manages to swear at him. Harrison laughs- It's a cold laugh, with hints of a businessman and something more sinister, and he closes the trunk. He says he made the right choice giving the territory to the coterie, and the existence of hunters in the area has serious implications- he'll continue to interview Williams after getting him some medical attention. Blake asks if they should temporarily leave San Jose to try and get the hunters off their trail, or to stay in the city. Harrison responds that Pauline should lay low, but the rest of the coterie has just a chance of being followed either way.

He suggests they all meet back up on the 25th to discuss this matter again, but Blake says that won't work, reminding him it's Leo's first Christmas being dead. Harrison's like "oh yeah christmas exists, do you have plans??" and he's got an odd expression; he's doing his best to be genuine. Leo says he plans to visit his family- and if it helps it'll probably be the last time, and Blake's offered to go with him. They can probably be back at around the 26th or 27th.

Harrison's all "Well, it's a free country ig, anyway Leo did you think about the fact you might just lead vampire hunters directly to your family?" and Leo did Not, in fact, consider that, but tbh Harrison doesn't really care what he does as long as they can meet back up in a few days to discuss what he finds out from Williams.

Going back to that (as Pauline finally arrives), Harrison and Blake go over what was found in the car, and the Baron can make further arrangements to deal with all of it while the coterie is at Leo's home city.

Notes/Commentary:

Leo Was in fact speaking in little codes the whole time (friends of hunter, bonfires, taking a friend home, etc) but i didnt want to type all that tbh

Kay my beloved!!!! Leo is IMMEDIATELY concerned about them if anything bad happens to them I'll b so upset

Confirmed by ST that Williams asked Leo that vampire question bc he had a cross necklace!!!

I should mention during all of Leo's relays and requests Harrison was The Most Confused i've ever heard him. amazing

Props to Percy's player for making up an entire prayer?? So cool of them

Items from Banks: rosary beads, bible, vial of some liquid, wallet with no drivers license- no phone, but does have state ID

Receipts in the car?? I should have Leo check those out later.

The ST was all "hold on how long can someone be knocked out for" but i had that info On Hand. Memorized. That's not important at all I just wanted to mention that

Hi. Leo was more anxious than normal w/ Harrison, and I think the whole time in the back of his mind he was like "did i do a good job with this"

Dear God, Harrison. Are you using Dementation or something? Terrifying (ALSO HEY HAVE YOU DONE THIS BEFORE—)

Rare Harrison W?!? In the sense he's letting my son visit his family??

WE'RE HEADED TO CHICAGO BABEY! LETS GO IM SO WORRIED FOR MY SON LMAO HES GONNA GAVE A HORRIBLE TIME THERE

If anything's happened to his family/sister im going to panic even more so than I already do in these sessions. dear god