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akutasoda · 5 months ago

Note

Hii! How are you? I hope you're well!

I have a request,,, Roommate with Aventurine collage au if possible? Reader recently just bought a house but can't really support themselves so they ask one of their friends if they want to move in with them with a few agreements, none of them want to since they already have a place to stay not until Aventurine comes by.. Reader close friends? Are they even friends? Wait of course they are. Aventurine tell reader he wants to move in with them. What? Well I guess there's no other opinion since reader money is tight.

Atlas Aventurine finally moved in with them, it's a bit surprising considering that he's rich.. why would he want to move in with reader anyway? Ahem thing has been great.. a little to great reader was wondering why they never received any electricity bill that they need to pay along said with water bill.. it turns out Aventurine already paid both of it without reader knowledge since he will definitely get scolded... But what is this? Aventurine? Holding them close.. huh? Confusion came to reader. Aventurine never been this so love affection, unless.. no way right?.. they never thought they might end up falling in love with Aventurine. They're just friends.. now way this can happen. Oh well.. maybe begin in relationship with Aventurine isn't bad after all.. right?

This ended up longer than I expected HELP 😭 I'm craving for angst.. but probably need to stop before I start digging my own grave 🚶 I am not ok 😇 it can be fluff, angst comfort.. or just some wholesome love story.. reader is gender natural 🫂

history hates roomates

synopsis - you decide to room with someone you barely knew but you become very well acquainted, almost too well

includes - aventurine ft topaz + ratio

warnings - gn!reader, college/modern au, maybe ooc, fluff, slight crack, slight angst towards the end, wc - 2.7k

a/n: im doing well! hope you are aswell!

college seemed great. you had been accepted into your ideal collage and had made some great, hopefully lifelong, friends. however, the only issue was that you needed to look for a place to stay for the rest of your course. getting to and from college was becoming more hassle than what it was worth as you didn't take up the initial offer of dorms, but now you were deeply regretting that decision. you had spent hours scrolling on the college's website looking at the dorms in hopes of someone putting out a request for a roomate but nothing ever seemed to come about.

in honesty, you were getting tired of constantly looking for places to stay that reduced the amount you needed to travel - you cursed yourself for not taking up the dorm offer when you first got accepted. a sigh escaped you as you were getting bored of searching and decided that it might be better to turn in for the the night but one listing caught you're eye. it was a decently sized house, designed for student stay as the college would sponsor some similar places, that was within a walkable range of your college, it seemed almost perfect if the pricing wasn't so steep but you were desperate at this point so you contacted the lister and showed your interest just in case someone decided to take it before you could - maybe tomorrow you could ask a friend to go halves?

---✩

even as you walked toward your first class of the day, all you could think about was who might be willing to go halves with you on the place. hopes weren't exactly high as it was quite pricey on it's own but in contrast to some of the dormitories it wasn't that bad! your brain was practically on autopilot as you walked into your class and sat down at your designated seat.

maybe if one person wouldn't be willing to go halves, you could ask two friends? however, the more reasonable part of yourself knew that most people either had dorms or were fine with how they got to college daily. you were so engrossed with thinking of a solution that it barely registered that topaz, and numby, had sat beside you.

numby caught your attention first as topaz used that opportunity to pose the question 'everything alright over there? you seemed pretty lost in thought'

to be honest, nobody knew how topaz managed to have numby by her side at all times on campus, some rumours were that she simply paid the headmaster. it was to be expected that not many people wanted to be sat next to the whitette in class with numby always being there, fortunately you weren't all that fussed with the critter - it became rather adorable after a while. so sitting next to topaz had let you become extremely close with her and eventually friends.

'well it could be better' you eventually responded 'i finally found a place near enough to the college but it's rather expensive, kind of need someone to room with'

numby perked it's head and topaz hummed in acknowledgement before adding 'i'm sure you can find someone, ask around a bit and see'

'i only found it last night so i haven't had the chance to ask yet, but i will' you paused before realising 'would you room with me?'

'as much as i would love to, i've got my own dorm here but you shouldn't have a problem finding someone else' she plastered an almost guilty smile on her face 'sorry though'

a small sigh escaped you 'no it's fine, im more at fault for not taking up a dorm originally'

the door to the class opened and you both watched as the professor walked in, topaz leaned over and whispered 'i'll come find you at lunch and we can talk about this later', you nodded and she nodded back.

---✩

your class finished slightly earlier than normal and so you decided to wait outside of topaz's class for the last couple of minutes. while you waited you decided that it might be a good idea to have another look to see what else might've been listed and double check that the lister was still holding the accomodation for you - they had been very generous so far and you didn't want to test their patience and make them wait too long for a final answer, mainly because they're probably was a handful of students also eyeing up the place.

luckily topaz hadn't made you wait too long and you three walked to the normal spot that you'd hang out at. topaz sat opposite you and immediately she demanded to see the place you were looking at.

'defiantly worth finding a roomate for this place, it looks pretty decent for it's price, as steep as it may be' she scrolled through the details to confirm and take a final look at the images, even numby was looking over her shoulder doing small jumps in agreement.

you huffed slightly 'but who would be a decent roommate? it's not like im asking for a lot but im going have to see them everyday and every night until i graduate' you wish that your situation was a bit more fortunate, that way you wouldn't have to find a roommate and just rent the property for yourself.

topaz smiled 'yeah some roommates aren't the best but again, im sure you could ask another friend who doesn't have anywhere?' she watched as your expression made you seem extremely fed up and she only laughed 'i know i know, it's not that simple'

she handed your phone back and paused before adding 'i could always put some words out in your favour, some people i know haven't got anywhere'

'like me?' both you and topaz turned your heads to the approaching blondette.

'i wouldn't wish that fate on anyone' topaz sneered at him

he feined a small laugh 'you're words hurt me but surely im not that bad?' he turned to you and smiled 'so what about it?'

you were shocked at his straight forwardness, he hadn't even seen the property yet, and how did he even know you were looking for a roommate specifically? you weren't exactly jumping at the idea to room with someone who was practically a stranger to you either.

'not to be rude, but rooming with someone i barely know is quite bold, surely you must understand that' you glanced quickly over to topaz who was practically glaring daggers at him.

'i do understand that but any friend of topaz is a friend of mine, if she can get one thing right it's a decent taste in friends' he smiled at topaz and she looked ready to punch him.

you did know that aventurine was an accomplice of topaz, you weren't to sure if they were friends or not though. in honesty, he was a safe bet for a roommate. like topaz, you knew he was quite wealthy and so he could always pay his half of the rent and on time which would be ideal but again, you barely knew him and surely he could afford his own accomodation by himself?

'look, i can see your hesitation but i promise that i'd be an ideal roomate and i could even pay more than my intended dues if you wish?' aventurine looked all too happy for you're liking but really what other choice would you have, you doubted that you could find another roomate anytime soon, it was a gamble but maybe it'd pay off?

'alright fine but surely you'd like to see the property first?' you posed and he shook his head

'im sure that you chose a great place, just send me the details later and when you plan on moving in, tomorrow's more ideal yes?' he paused and then added 'topaz can give you my number' then he simply walked away with a wave goodbye.

---✩

true to his word, you sent him the details later that night and before you knew it, you were stood outside your new accommodation the very next morning. it felt a bit like a fever dream honestly, the accommodation that seemed idyllic was now where you'd stay until graduation but at the cost of rooming with someone who you barely knew - topaz didn't exactly help with her telling you that she wouldn't room with him for all the money in the world.

aventurine arrived shortly after you did, in a car that clearly had a personal driver, he greeted you with a smile and when ypu asked him where his stuff was he assured you it was arriving later and he wanted you to have first pick on your room. it still felt rather surreal to you but you tried pushing those thoughts behind and tried to be more grateful about finally having accommodation more convenient to the college.

and even a week later he was true to his word, aventurine was an ideal roomate. almost too ideal. you were yet again hanging with topaz and numby at lunch and she was very curious as to how much longer you could fair with him as a roomate but to her surprise you could only give positives.

he was always very considerate of your space and anything you owned, he would make for surprisingly good company and was just overall, extremely easy to live beside. the only downside you could think of was that it could still be a bit awkward between you two when talking but considering that you two were practically living together, it was expected to become easier as even after a week it felt much better than before.

although, recently a concern has a risen that you may be behind on your rent and bills. nothing had arrived in the mail and it was worrying because you didn't want to be kicked out, so you reached out and asked just to be told that they'd all been paid. a split second of confusion overcame you but it quickly dissolved when you realised exactly who was paying your side of the rent and bill. it may not seem that bad but in the agreement it was made extremely clear that both parties would pay half of the overall total, no debate. you needed to talk to him about this.

'has something happened?' aventurine asked looking extremely confused, he'd barely stepped foot in the accommodation before he noticed you waiting for him with your arms crossed.

'yes, without me knowing, you answered before continuing 'i realised that i haven't received the rent and bills in a while, so i asked'-

'i know, i should've told you but surely it's not that big of a deal?' he cut you off, 'i already told you before that i wouldn't mind paying more than i needed to'

'yes but that's beside the point, i just wish that you would've asked me or told me even' it was true that it wasn't a big deal but you felt bad that he was paying more than agreed

'that's understandable, but i take it that you won't make me stop paying for them?' a smirk crawled it's way onto his face and he watched you mutter out a 'whatever' before walking toward you.

'will this suffice for an apology' he said before giving you a hug. he pulled away fairly quickly to see your shocked face and proceeded to walk past you and ruffle your hair, to which you quickly snapped around and yelled at him and he only laughed.

---✩

it had now been quite the while since you started rooming with aventurine. naturally, you two had become much more well acquainted to the point that you call him a friend. even after all this time, he still held up being an ideal roommate and this convinced you even more that this was a fever dream. it baffled you that you now sometimes hung out with him at college aswell.

he had informed you earlier today that he would be back a bit later than usual as he was joining a couple of people to an event, formal or not you didn't quite know. aventurine promised that he would try and not be a disturbance on returning but at this point you wouldn't mind if he was. but you settled to just tell him to have fun and that you don't mind when he comes back, he didn't really have to tell you either but the thought was sweet.

however you didn't expect to be woken up by the doorbell at who knows what time in the morning. you sleepily managed to get to the door and unlock it only to be greeted with two figures - one a very clearly tipsy aventurine and the other being the top student at the college, veritas ratio.

'apologies for the inconvenience but i tried warning the gambler to watch his intake, however he clearly didn't listen to me' ratio started 'again apologies but you're going have to take him now, you are his roommate afterall'

'it's fine really, i don't mind that much' you answered, brain still half clouded with a sleepy fog. ratio nodded and helped you steady aventurine against you with his arm around your shoulder before wishing you luck and leaving. you quickly tried to lock the door again so you could escort aventurine into his room.

with some difficulty, you finally managed to get him into his room. admittedly you'd never been in it before and you felt a little bad about entering but you couldn't just lay him down on the ground outside his door, well you could but that would be unfair. he'd have to deal with the fact that he was going to sleep in his current attire but you doubted that be the top of his concerns in the morning.

however you didn't anticipate aventurine to grab onto you as you tried your best to leave quietly. as you were attempting to pry yourself away you heard him mumble a simple request 'just stay a little while'

you sighed and for some reason you decided to comply, you told yourself that you would stay until he fell asleep then you'd leave and go back to your room. or atleast that was the plan before aventurine took your compliance and wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into a hug - that's fine, it just made it harder to leave but you could manage, is what you told yourself.

unfortunately, you never managed to pry yourself from aventurine and you're sleepy state made it easier to fall asleep then and there. however, you woke up before aventurine and managed to scramble before he woke up, although he woke up not too long after and met you, rather guilty, in the kitchen.

he seemed to remember last night as he started with 'i apologise for my behaviour last night, i wasn't quite in control of myself' he barely could meet your eyes shich was very uncharacteristic for the outgoing blonde and you knew that he probably never wanted to bring this up again.

'it's fine, you were slightly tipsy and it's understandable, barely anything happened either so it's completely fine' you noticed that he still looked rather sad

'thank you' he replied for going back upstairs.

it couldn't be ignored, the somber tone that filled the house felt almost suffocating. in honesty, you found it sweet that he trusted you enough to ask you to stay with him but he was drunk, you knew aventurine wasn't that affectionate but he still seemed to hold a sense of consciousness... no, you were overthinking. you two were friends, that's it. so maybe it was bad you both wished for something more than friends...

taglist - @little-miss-chaoss, @frankiesteinn

#—stellaronhvnters.#x reader #x gender neutral reader #honkai star rail x gender neutral reader #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you #hsr x gender neutral reader #hsr x you #hsr x reader #honkai star rail aventurine #hsr aventurine #aventurine x you #aventurine x reader

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meganechan05 · 24 days ago

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When you need to infiltrate enemy territory and the only disguise option was one your girlfriend set up and you're the only one able to use disguises 😂😂

AU draft scene here:

The team looked at the tall building in front of them. "I didn't expect a school to be this big," Gira murmured.

"It's supposed to hold students of all grade levels including college," Jeramie said," But admissions are claimed to be even harder than Chikyuu."

"Eh?! Really?!"

"But it explains its reputation," Yanma said, typing on his laptop," Even with its admission system, you still got a lot of well-known celebrities and prodigies attending."

"Wonder how it managed to gain admissions so quickly," Himeno wondered in thought.

"So far the only problem is that temporary admissions are closed to infiltrating will be hard. Next opening won't be for a while."

They all then turned to Rita who held back a groan. "Fine." They reached into their pocket to take out their Disguise Compact.

"Wait." Himeno leaned close to her partner, whispering in their ear.

Rita's face reddened in embarrassment as they faced her. "I will not!"

"It will make disguising yourself easier. You know we've been working on this for a while in case you ever need it."

"Working on what?" Kaguragi asked, intrigued.

"Just this thing we did for Cela when she was upset... Or something Himeno forced me to do." They gave the girl a stern look as she was giving them a pleading one.

"But if it means they can't trace it back to you or our other identities, it's worth a shot," Gira said," Maybe it won't hurt."

Rita stepped back when the others looked at them expectantly.

They sighed. "Fine. But tell this to no one."

They shot Himeno a small glare when she hopped and clapped in excitement.

They looked at their compact before tracing their finger over the snowflake designs in a circle, making it glow.

"Change me into a Mugen Academy student."

They opened the compact, its mirrors glowing as it surrounded Rita in the familiar lilac light. Their sailor shirt and slacks turned into the red and green girl's uniform for the Academy. Their hair grew longer and were pulled into a set of pigtails that flowed over their shoulders as their bangs were cut shorter so they would not cover their right eye. A cute pair of rectangular glasses covered their eyes as well.

They pocketed their compact before looking at the team, all slack-jawed and wide-eyed except Himeno who only grew even more giddy upon seeing them. Yanma was the first to break as he fell to the floor in a fit of laughter.

"Y-you look like a girl!" he said between laughs.

Rita's face reddened in embarrassment. "I've worn skirts before, you idiot!"

"I-I'm sure he didn't mean it like that, Rita-san!" Gira exclaimed," I mean he did, but we never saw you with long hair before and- well- Jeramie!"

"Well I will say it does suit you," Jeramie mused, taking in the new look," If anyone at school were to see you, they wouldn't know it's the Ice Prince. Or should I say 'Princess'?" He quickly held up his hands and stepped back when he found Rita's eye glowing. "Well now!"

"But Jeramie's right. This should work," Kaguragi said, hoping to calm them," And best to make haste."

"Tell no one of this," Rita warned before entering the school campus. "And stop taking photos, Himeno!" they warned as they heard the shutters of their girlfriend's phone.

"I'm saving them for a rainy day!" she teased.

"Gotta hand it to you, princess. You really managed to get them to dress like that," Yanma said as he got back to his feet.

"While they're busy with that, I suppose I'll try the back entrance," Jeramie said," Hopefully they won't turn me away this time."

"I'll come with," Gira said, following him.

#Trying to incorporate Rittan into the AU somehow #and makes sense since Usagi (and sometimes Mina) is the only one who can disguise herself and Rita takes the Moon role lol #kingohger #king ohger #ohsama sentai kingohger #rita kaniska #rita kanisuka #kingoh doodles #himeno ran #hymeno ran #gira hastie #gira husty #yanma gust #yanma gast #kaguragi dibousuki #kaguragi dybowski #jeramie brasieri #jeremy brasieri

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hannahmanderr · 1 year ago

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ACTUALLY WAIT I ASKED FOR DANNY AND DAMON SO I ALSO HAVE TO ASK FOR VALERIE AND JACK AND MADDIE to make it fair 😌

(affectionately calling this Duly Deputized Hunting)

part 1 ~ part 2 ~ part 3

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"So!" Jack clapped his hands together, nearly making Valerie jump from the sound. "I bet Danny told you all about the Fenton EctoScrambler, huh? Did you want a demonstration? I mean yeah, we're not using actual ghosts as test subjects anymore of course, but we can still -"

"That's okay!" Valerie said, throwing her hands up with a kind smile. "I already heard about it from Danny." That was a lie, but hopefully neither Fenton parent would pick up on her fidgety fingers and bouncing leg.

She would lose whatever nerve she'd gathered before coming here if she got sidetracked now.

Maddie, thank God, could see the somewhat unrestrained panic in her eyes. She laid a gentle hand on Jack's shoulder. "Honey, let's not overwhelm her. I'm sure I heard Danny say something about demonstrating it to her later this week." Valerie relaxed and met Maddie's eyes. A knowing twinkle glimmered behind the older woman's irises, a twinkle that carried the experience of taming her husband's energetic zeal. "You said you had something to ask us on the phone?"

And just like that, Valerie's heart rate skyrocketed again. She picked at the edge of her sweater, desperately wishing she had something to tinker with. "Yeah. I mean, yes. Only if that's okay, of course." She nearly smacked her forehead. Way to play it cool, Gray.

"Of course!" Jack said with a hearty laugh. "Why wouldn't it be okay? You're practically family! Danny's brought you 'round often enough, you should know that by now." He shot an exaggerated wink to Valerie as Maddie gasped "Jack!" and nudged him in the arm.

Valerie's face flushed warm, though strangely not from Jack's teasing. You're practically family echoed in her mind, sending an electric warmth down her spine and across her whole body.

It wasn't as though Jack and Maddie had never accepted her. Far from it, in fact; they'd been ecstatic to finally discover that the famed Amity Park Huntress was, in fact, one of their son's classmates, and his girlfriend at that. Jack in particular had been thrilled that there were more from the "younger generations" interested in taking up ghost hunting.

And both of them had supported her ceaselessly. They'd sponsored a paid internship for her the moment she'd gotten her high school diploma. Helped navigate her out of her contract with Vlad. Continued to provide her with whatever tech and repairs she needed, even after her internship technically ended. Designed gear specially for her.

It was more than she could've ever dreamed. After Danny had told her about how rough it had been getting them to let him keep up with his ghost fighting after they learned of his secret ("Of course I'm grateful they don't hate me," he'd told her, "I just wish they could be slightly less overbearing with their love."), she'd expected them to stick her with lectures about the dangers of the job and how she should be leaving such risky endeavors to the grown-up professionals.

She couldn't have been happier to have had her expectations blown out of the water.

"It means so much to hear you say that," she said, her voice beginning to tremble with emotion. Darn it, keep it together girl! "You two have done so much for me and taken me under your wing, and you've gotten nothing in return."

Maddie scoffed. "Don't be silly." She took the hand on Jack's shoulder and reached across his lap to lay it on top of Valerie's. The kind smile on Maddie's face nearly melted her heart all over again. "Not only have we gotten to see our Danny happier than he's ever been, getting to spend his time with you, but we've gotten to see you grow into a bright, beautiful young lady. That alone is entirely worth it." Jack nodded eagerly beside her.

Now the tears were truly threatening to fall, and Valerie Gray did not cry. She sniffed and took a deep breath. "These past years with Danny, getting to know you and Jazz and be a part of your family, they've been the best of my life. I know Daddy wasn't exactly keen on letting me hang out here too much at first, but he knows this whole family cares about me almost as much as he does.

"And I care about you too. I seriously can't even begin to describe everything you've done for me. I didn't even need to ask; you just did it." Another sniffle. "It's like you somehow knew what I needed before I even asked."

Maddie's smile faltered just slightly. "Well," she said slowly, "I wouldn't say that was entirely the case..."

"It was Danny," Jack said. "We wanted to help you, of course, but he was the one to tell us exactly what you needed. Kid was always fretting about how you wouldn't accept the help if it came from him, but he just loved you so much. He wanted to make sure everything was perfect for you."

Valerie's breath caught in her throat. "Danny..." she whispered.

God, she was going to strangle that boy the next time she saw him. And then kiss him like there was no tomorrow.

Breathe girl. In and out. "He's... he's done so much for me too. I wouldn't be who I am without him." In and out. "I can't imagine my life without him." In and out. "I don't think I want to live life without him."

Maddie jolted upright. "Oh my..." she breathed. "Are you saying...?"

"Yes." The tears were falling uncontrollably now, but Valerie's smile felt like it could split her face. "Yes, I absolutely am."

"What?" Jack looked back and forth between the two women. "What's she saying? What are you saying?"

Maddie had started crying too, clutching Valerie's hand in one of her own and Jack's with the other. "She wants to join our family," she said through her own tears.

"Really? That's what this is all about? Well heck, what's all the fuss for then? Like I said, you're already part of the family, Val!"

In spite of herself, Valerie giggled. "No, no," she said with a shake of her head. "I'm saying... I'm saying I want to spend every day with Danny. I want to be a part of his life forever, and I want him to be part of mine. I want to get to share you as parents, and Jazz as a sister. I don't care what might happen, I just know I want me and Danny to face it, together, for the rest of our lives.

She took another deep breath. "I'm asking for your blessing to ask Danny to marry me."

Valerie suddenly found herself engulfed by the warm embrace of two sobbing Fenton parents.

Soon to be her parents too.

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part 2 here

#danny phantom #valerie gray #jack fenton #maddie fenton #gray ghost #hannah writes #ask hannah #ask game #dooshek #im sure you can see where this is going *evil grin*#okay but real talk #valerie deserves all the good parents

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kelpan · 6 months ago

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Hello!

I can't tell you how good it feels to be getting a chapter out only about a month after the last update, instead of, you know, four 😅. But for any who were concerned after my last authors note, I can say I am doing a bit better than I was, a fact I'm both grateful for and still getting used to. I had a surgery at the beginning of this month, which took me down for about two weeks to recover from, but I can say it was well worth it, as I'm already seeing improvements in my health. Just trying to take it all one step at a time, even when bad days still arise.

If anything, it gave me plenty of time to work on this chapter and get it to a place where I'm happy with it. Only two more chapters left in Act 1!

Also, it was my birthday earlier this past week! Gemini season has begun! :D

Credit for the OC Chrysanthemum headshot goes to wwispie on Etsy/Instagram!

Ao3: Petals on a Stream of Stars

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Act 1, Chapter 13: Once Lost, Now Found

Wednesday

7:45pm

Chrysanthemum

Outside the walls of the daycare, the low lighting grew dense and heavy, lit only by harsh emergency lighting. Everywhere stood masses of confused patrons, huddled in groups of various sizes in shops or along corners. Somewhere, Chrys heard a mechanical voice stick out amidst the chaos, dissonant against the flow of human ones flooding the air. She dashed forward, following the direction of the sound. A human staff member may not be able to contact an animatronic, but perhaps a robotic one might.

Just a ways ahead, she found the source of the voice; A single staff bot currently attempting—and failing—to corral a large family into remaining still enough to be scanned. While expressionless, Chrys could swear she heard exasperation in the bot’s monotone voice.

“Guests, please remain in place. Scanning will commence—GUESTS. Please remain in place. Scanning will commence—GUESTS. Please remain in—”

“Hey!” Every face in the vicinity turned to look at her. She disregarded those that were human and spoke only to the staff bot. “Are you able to get a message to an animatronic? It’s urgent.”

Head cocked, her request was met with a blank stare. A red laser pinprick lit up the center of its oval iris, washing over her.

“Employee designation recognized. Request granted. What is your message and intended recipient?”

The family huffed from behind the bot, but she refused to let them distract her from her goal. If they wanted this to be over sooner, they should have been more patient and cooperative in the first place.

“Uh, for Sun.”

“Sun is off-line. Choose available recipient.”

“Wait, what?” The bot’s response made her pause. “But I literally just saw him a couple of minutes ago.”

“Sun is off-line. Choose available recipient.”

“Oook then… uh, what about Moon? Is he available?”

The bot remained silent for a moment before answering, the sound of a fan revving signifying his inner query. “Affirmative.”

“Great!” She pumped her fist. “Then, uh, tell him he needs to go to Kids Cove as soon as possible. I have reason to believe that’s where Marigold’s gone. You know, the missing kid.”

The staff bot bobbed its head before returning to duty. “Received. Message sent.”

“Great, thank you!”

Hopefully he gets there quickly…

Task completed, she let her feet lead the way back, letting the frustrated bot return to his unenviable duty. Though with each step, her assurance wavered. A peculiar knot still remained lodged in her chest, weighing on her. But why? She came to a halt when a flash of pain shot through the inside of her cheek, catching up to her that she’d been chewing at it without realizing it.

This didn’t make sense. She’d done what she sought out to do; Give someone better suited to help Marigold in this situation an advantage, point them in the right direction. That’s all that she could do, right?

So why did she feel so dissatisfied?

A single thought repeatedly clawed to the surface, eating away at what was left of her confidence. What if… what if she was wrong? What if her deductions meant nothing, and she was pulling help further away from where it really needed to be? Should she have thought to check it out herself first, and called for help later? Was she just wasting everyone’s time, sending them on a wild goose chase?

She groaned, the butts of her palms shoved to her eyes as she spun in place. She didn’t think this through! Stupid, so, so stupid! If she’d bungled this she’d feel like the worst sort of person—a detriment, with the audacity to burden others with her incompetence.

Looking out from beyond her hands, she found herself standing in the space between the front gate of the Daycare and the path which led to the elevator. The realization dawned on her that this would have been the most likely path for the party to have followed upon returning to the Daycare. What were the odds that this was where Marigold had run off?

While things weren’t crystal clear, her eyes had had enough time to adjust to the dim space that she could make out some of the graphics and advertisements around her, scanning for anything that might have caught a child’s eye. A cut-out for Roxy Raceway, a poster of Freddy singing, and—there! Protruding from a wall, a mounted arrow sign, pointing down a conjoining hallway, with the words “Kids Cove” written at its center, surrounded by what looked to be an image of palm trees.

Bingo!

Her body took off of its own volition, and soon the slap of her sneakers joined the cacophony of the crowd as she jogged, deftly avoiding wayward packs of confused and irate people until she reached her destination; A wide open and decorated archway that once would have made for a inviting display, now cordoned off by an array of wooden crates, opaque sheets of plastic and caution tape, with two signs bookending the haphazard mess of clutter. Flashlight in hand, Chrys drew close, using the light to read the message.

“Kids Cove.” She breathed. “Closed for renovations. Do not enter without special authorization. Fazbear Entertainment will not be held liable for any harm received past this point. Well,” she sighed, craning to try and look beyond the blockages. “Trying to find a lost kid counts as special authorization, right? Right. Of course it does.”

After a minute of examining the area, she discovered a small opening between the sides of two crates, just large enough for her to squeeze through if she dropped to her belly and shimmied on her side.

“Guess I know how she would’ve gotten in…”

From the floor, nothing but a void greeted her beyond the crates. No light, no glow, only an inky abyss, one that even her flashlight couldn’t overpower, at least not from this angle. Positioning herself down to an army crawl, she ignored any dust her movement kicked up, though they made her nose sniffle, and inched her way through. Once she could stick her top half out on the other side, a quick look confirmed her suspicions; No emergency lighting present, not like the rest of the building. The air felt oppressive against her skin, tickling the hair on the back of her neck. If Marigold managed to make it in this far before the lights went out, there’d have been no way for her to have found her way back out again on her own.

“Marigold?” She called, pulling herself to her feet and stepping carefully into the dark, the flashlight acting as her anchor and her guide, lighting her way past the abstract and colorful shapes partially revealed within the minuscule circle of light.

With a bit of examination, the abstract shapes revealed themselves to be different kinds of playground equipment. Jungle gyms, slides, swings, all in various shades of underwater or muted jewel tones, with most still in some incomplete form of assembly. She had to hand it to those two attendants. For as infuriating as they were, it appeared as if they knew at least a little of what they talked about.

The further in she went, the more apparent it was how secluded this section of the pizzaplex was from the rest of the building. None of the fanfare from the guests outside could make it this far, making every sound more pronounced within the silence. Her footsteps, her breathing. Though she was here with good intentions, she couldn’t shake the feeling that perhaps this wasn’t the wisest of decisions. Ignoring the goosebumps which prickled across her arms, she pressed on, reminding herself that she was an adult, and there was a kid in need right now. It was her responsibility to keep herself under control.

“Marigold?” She called out again, her voice bouncing throughout the room. “Marigold, can you hear me?”

Waiting for the last of her echoes to fade, she held her breath, hoping to better catch even the softest of sounds.

“… Miss Chrys?”

She whipped to the side with a sharp gasp, flashlight darting to try and locate its source.

“Marigold?” Chrys repeated, hesitant to trust in what she heard as the real deal and not just a figment of her imagination.

“Miss Chrys!”

“Marigold!!!”

Certain now without the shadow of a doubt, Chrys rushed ahead, narrowly avoiding the scattered pieces of unfinished playground equipment littering the floor.

“Where are you? Are you hurt? Don’t worry, I’m—AHHH!”

Her words switched to a shout as the floor disappeared out from under her, stomach lurching as she sprawled forward, arms outstretched in a desperate attempt to cushion her fall. Her flashlight flew from her grasp, the beam darting about in erratic streaks, before going out with a bang and a crackle, leaving her blind in the dark as she hit the ground.

“Miss Chrys!!!”

Marigold’s terrified voice shrieked in her ear, closer than ever before, adding to her disorientation. Her knees and elbows smarted, having taken the majority of her weight in the fall, and her shoulder ached, but overall, that seemed to be the worst of it. The fall must not have been that bad, though to Chrys it felt like she fell a good couple of feet, at least.

“Miss Chrys, are you ok???”

Reminded of the present by a pair of tiny hands yanking and tugging at her shirt, Chrys shook herself from her daze and did her best to focus.

“Marigold, is that you? Oh, I’m so glad to—oof!”

“I’m sorry!!” The girl launched herself at her so hard she pushed the air from her lungs, and clung to her as if she were a lifeline. “I thought big brother would be here, his office is here, he’s always working! But then it was all blocked off, and I wasn’t sure if I should look behind it, but I wanted to find him so I tried, but then there was nobody, and, and then, then the lights went out, and I didn’t know how to get back, and I tripped and fell and now my ankle hurts and… and… WAHHHHHH!!!!”

The girl spoke in a single, fluid torrent, her words a bleeding mess of incoherent emotions and distress. Her tears broke into full bodied sobs, her breathing disjointed by deep gasps of air.

“Hey, hey!” Chrys sat up, scooping the wailing child into her arms. “It’s ok, it’s ok. You’re safe, that’s all that matters. Everything’s ok, shhhhh…”

She rocked in place, patting gently along the child’s back in a soothing motion, keeping her little murmurs of reassurance soft and calm and steady.

“There you go, that’s it,” Chrys said, sensing her efforts were taking effect. “Take a deep breath for me. In—” She demonstrated the motion first, pleased when Marigold imitated. “And out. Good, good.”

The poor thing sat on her lap tucked in the fetal position, head nestled up under Chrys’s chin. She hiccupped and sniffled as her tears ebbed, snuggling in as close as she could.

“Marigold,” Chrys asked, pausing to consider her words before continuing. “What’s going on, why did you run off? We were all so worried.”

The girl coughed, the sound heavy with mucus, and curled even further inward. “… he promised.”

“Promised? Promised what?”

Silence hung heavy in the air around them, until after another wet cough, Marigold continued. “Big Brother promised he’d celebrate my birthday with me. But… everything’s been so bad lately. Since Grandpa didn’t wake up, all Mama and Papa do is shout and yell and cry, and Big Brother is never home anymore! I just… I just wanted everyone to smile again, like when mama and I first moved in… he promised!!!

The wails started anew, face pressed into her chest, the tears soaking through the already wet fabric as she worked herself up again. Chrys winced alongside each of her pain-filled cries but remained silent, giving her the space to release all the pent up grief and confusion bottled up inside. She knew how it was to be so overwhelmed that you couldn’t think straight. Wrapping her arms fully around her shaking frame, she held the girl close, cheek pressed to the top of her head, rocking gently back and forth. Words wouldn’t help here. Just presence and kindness. To know it was alright to cry, to know you were safe while you let it all out, give voice to the ache that refused to leave.

To know you weren’t alone.

A memory appeared in her mind then, foggy, but there, of her mother holding her in a similar position soon after her Dad had died. Oh, how she’d cried and cried, inconsolable, but her mother had let her, holding her tight as the soft melody she sang soothed her frazzled nerves…

“When the Sun sets…”

The same song found purchase in her own throat now, vying for space amidst the child’s cries. Chrys sang just above a whisper, a purposeful breathiness intermingling with each note.

“And the Moon rises…”

Marigold shifted, turning so as the side of her face rested against Chrys’s chest, where her heartbeat was strongest. Chrys ran a gentle hand over her head, caressing the soft curls.

“The stars will dance for you. As the petals blow, from the trees embrace, carrying away your light. And there I’ll go, to the waters edge, to sing with you again….”

Marigold’s breathing settled as the last note faded, the music having won against the sorrow. The empty air around them no longer carried a sense of unease, but rather that of a comforting shield, protecting them in an otherworldly cocoon of peace and quiet.

“What… what song is that?” Marigold’s tiny voice asked, her sniffle the loudest.

“Just… a lullaby my mother taught me. It always used to help me whenever my heart hurt. Maybe it can help yours too.”

Though she didn’t reply, Marigold seemed content with her answer, snuggling in closer and twirling a lock of hair as they sat together in comfortable silence. They should start trying to find their way back soon, Chrys knew, alleviate everyone’s worry and return to enjoying the rest of the party, but… she couldn’t find it within herself to move the exhausted girl quite yet. Poor thing could use an extra minute or two.

Though, despite her wishes, fate seemed to have a different plan. A sharp clang, thin and metallic, rang out from the darkness, shattering their illusion of solitude. Marigold gasped and stiffened. Chrys remained silent, listening.

“Monster…” Marigold whispered, in the tiniest of voices. She trembled, attempting to back further into the safety of her arms. Chrys adjusted, using a free hand to wipe the wet strands of hair out of Marigold’s tear-soaked face.

“It’s ok,” Chrys replied, reassuring. “Maybe something fell, or…” In the distance, a soft tinkling sound resounded through the void, active, and growing closer by the millisecond. It took Chrys a split-second to realize what it was.

“Bells… they’re bells! Oh, thank goodness. Marigold, it’s alright, that’s no monster, that’s just Mr.—”

“No!” Marigold screeched, fighting against her “No, no! Monster, monster!!”

Tugging against her hold, her behavior grew more frantic by the second, forcing Chrys to struggle in order to keep Marigold still. If she slipped up and let her run off into the dark like this, she could only imagine how badly she could get hurt. She had to figure out a way to get her to calm down before things got out of hand.

Wait, the flashlight! Of course!

Everything always seemed scarier in the dark; it’s why night-lights were staples in childhood bedrooms. Marigold just needed to see that there was nothing to fear! Deciding to try, Chrys switched her hold to a single arm, just long enough to snatch the tool from the ground and smash the defiant button, hoping to make the stubborn thing work through sheer force of will alone.

“Come on, come on!”

The jingles grew louder, only to stop just before they would have reached them, the lack of noise louder than the sound itself. A red glow began to break through the darkness surrounding them, illuminating the dark shapes around them bit by bit. Marigold exploded the second she noticed, kicking and clawing as if her life depended on it, her tiny nails digging into Chrys’s arm hard enough that she could feel the sharp pricks of pain and warm wetness bloom across her skin. Dropping the flashlight, Chrys abandoned her previous plan and focused solely on restraining Marigold, certain now that she would inevitably harm herself in such a state.

“Marigold, stop! It’s alright! Relax! There’s no monster, I promise! You have to calm down!”

A sharp “crunch” from the side interrupted her just then, followed immediately by an eruption of light which split the space between, blinding as her pupils constricted.

Blinking against the pain, snippets of vision registered as her eyes adjusted. Blue fabric against yellow stars. Grey and blue endoskeleton. A sleeping cap more hood than cap draped over thin shoulders. And a silvery, crescent moon face, framing blood red, glowing eyes, the very same which had stared down at her while she lay on a concrete floor.

Marigold screamed.

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yukipri · 2 years ago

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The Bad Batch Season 2 Wrap Up Thoughts

I never ended up sharing my thoughts on the Bad Batch S2 finale. Since we're hopefully getting news of S3 tomorrow, this seemed like a good time?

First, to be clear, I love so much about the show. This is not meant to be a complaint thread. But I'm also critical of certain aspects. You're warned.

This is also a compiled Twitter thread!

Spoilers through the end of Season 2!

First off, I can't understate how beautiful the show was, just as an experience. The cinematography, the visual designs, the music. The unique worlds and unique characters. There were so many shots that were breathtaking, haunting. When a scene hits, it HITS.

I love both TCW & Rebels dearly, but cumulative skills + experience as well as new technology clearly shows. TBB, TotJ (and of course TCW S7) are just so captivating to watch as works of art. These shows are, frankly, worth it for that alone. But of course that's not all.

One of TBB's strengths is the depth it gives the worlds the characters visit, as well as the side/guest characters. Perhaps due to the nature of many of the episodes being more of an exploration than straight up war like TCW, but we can see more of these places. TCW also had so many neat planets/aliens/cultures, but due to the constantly pressing war, we were only ever allowed a glimpse and I constantly wished there was more. TBB really scratched that itch. I'm thinking specifically of Kashyyyk, with its fauna and wookiee traditions.

The same with side/guest characters. They all had such great flavor, with fun designs and motives. Phee was a standout among the non-clones. I also loved how it gave us such a personal exploration of characters we knew and loved before, like Riyo.

The thing about TBB is that it's set in such a fascinating time period that we don't have too much media of, at least in new canon. The formation of the Empire is a time where we know all these other characters must be alive and working hard, but we haven't seen it before.

This leads me to the writing. Oh, the writing...

How do I say this. The writing in this show gave me whiplash. Some of the episodes were beyond brilliant, giving us deeply personal character moments, layered metaphors, and context in how it affects the greater SW universe.

Others...not so much.

I understand this is not the case for everyone, but for me personally to enjoy a story, when there are any stakes involved, I need the characters to show some awareness of them, and for these to affect their actions. There are a limited number of episodes and that time must be spent wisely. I don't mean this at all to say that I didn't enjoy the lighter fun adventure missions with the Batch, nor do I think these episodes can't be used productively.

But TBB S1 started off with Crosshair siding with the Empire.

I kept waiting for them to *show* that the others cared. It could be they were troubled, it could be they missed him, it could have been shown in so many ways. I kept expecting these brief moments in the Fun Times episodes, which would have given me some emotional continuity.

The writers are absolutely capable of it! After Plan 99, when Echo glances at the co-pilot seat—stuff like that, I was personally expecting it through all of S1 and S2. I get that the Batch feel they have to do other things and Crosshair made his own choice, but I thought the point was they care about their brother regardless.

Mind you, I'm not the biggest fan of Crosshair, but I do find him interesting. And I felt that in the two episodes most centered around him, he had such tangible growth that was depicted so well. He went from stating that the Batch are superior to regs in S1 finale, to having clear doubts after working with Cody, to shooting a natborn officer because he didn't help a "reg" he'd just met. We see Crosshair being included by the clones he disdains, we see how it compares to the Empire he thought he wanted to be a part of. The writing in Crosshair's episodes were tight, and he went far within them, few as they were.

In comparison, the rest of the Batch...with their far greater number of episodes...what were they doing??

I love character-centric eps, but even on a personal level, I wasn't sure what the charas gained. Tech is the sole exception; he was given many introspective moments, from Sorenno, to Phee, to the cave talk with Omega. Not sure how much he changed, but he expressed himself.

To also be clear, I'm also not including Echo in any of this. He has been the voice of trying to get the Batch to do things, to *change*, since S1. I felt his frustration keenly. Which is why I felt that when he left to go with Rex...I sort of left the Batch with him.

I mean this in the sense that Echo didn't *want* to leave the Batch, not necessarily. He wanted, and he *did* try to get Hunter to care about what their brothers are suffering, and he has been since S1. Echo can't stand to leave them chipped when he could do something.

He wanted the Batch to feel the same. *I* wanted the Batch to feel the same. But they didn't. I see Echo breaking with them less as him leaving, and more as they (or at least Hunter) firmly telling him that that's not their fight, and they're not going to do it.

This isn't the Batch going out of their way to help, or not knowing how. Echo and Rex have given them an open invitation. The Batch know how to help, who needs it, and why. They know their "reg" brothers don't have many if any others fighting for them. The Batch (Hunter) have these opportunities to help and know they are among the few positioned to offer it...and they still walk away.

The Batch (Hunter) sees the other clones fates as none of their business. On one hand, I get that they never fit in, were called names and weren't allowed to sit with the cool kids at lunch. On the other, "they were mean" and "therefore they should be mind-controlled slaves" is grossly disproportional. Likewise it's not as though this fight doesn't concern them. Even if they can't find it in themselves to care about "regs," it's Rex who told them to remove their chips and went out of his way to make sure they did based on info that Fives gathered, without which Wrecker would have killed Omega. Perhaps I wouldn't go as far as to say they *owe* other clones, but my opinion of them certainly continued to drop as they made explicitly clear that they're fine with this being the fate of other clones.

So okay, fine. TBB isn't a story about the Batch discovering they have more alike with other clones than they first thought (other than Crosshair, who actually does get that story). That's what I wanted, alright, I know I'm not getting that at this point.

But then, where does that leave them? What do they care about, what do they fight for?

Their brother...right?

Except...they don't really do that either??? (points at earlier in this rant) At least, until the very last episodes, where an opportunity presents itself, and most of the Batch jumps on it...except Hunter.

The way he's written just *baffles* me. I can't say anything about his personality other than "he cares about Omega," but even that, when at the expense of his other brothers, is tiring. Immediately after Tech gives his life on a mission he wanted to go on to try to save Crosshair, he suggests they all hide away on Pabu (even with the knowledge that Omega is wanted and they're being hunted). I get that he wanted to hide from the pain, but in that context?? Even then, he can't care about Cross??

And then when Omega is kidnapped, the difference in his reaction between that and what happened with Crosshair...it was, frankly, painful.

I feel like by the end of the series, Tech would have been more open to joining Echo/the clones' fight. Wrecker will just go along. Echo has already plunged headfirst into helping others, Crosshair got character growth and defected from the Empire. And Omega has always wanted to help even strangers, but only doesn't when Hunter tells her no.

I feel that Hunter's the one dragging his heels for the Batch to progress, and he's supposed to be the leader.

All of this to say, I've been trying so hard to like the Batch since S1, and they didn't really click for me (other than Echo, who I don't count since I loved him from long before, and still consistently have). But by the end of S2, I think I've concluded that I'd like the others perfectly fine if they were under different leadership that encouraged them to care, to act.

I don't want to say I *dislike* him, but man...I'm super disappointed in Hunter, and I'm not sure if/how that might change.

This leads me to my final thought, which is: I would strongly prefer if "the Clone Story" be told from a different lens than Hunter-centric TBB.

What I mean is, throughout the show, there have been multiple pivotal events that affect all clones, not just the Batch.

The fall of Kamino, the failure of the clones' rights bill are the big ones. But even without those, through the glimpses of the "regs" like Howzer, Gregor, Wilco, Cody, Slip, Cade, and Mayday, we see how the Empire is treating the rest of them as a group.

I'm deeply invested in these boys and their stories, and frankly, all of these boys instantly became my faves in their few moments of screen time. I want more of these, and it feels deeply unfair that they've done so much to tell compelling stories but have so little time.

They are an extension of the clones I love from TCW in a way that the Batch just aren't, and don't seem to be interested in becoming.

Not even that, but we know from Hunter's rejection of Echo that the Batch (Hunter) don't *care.*

Fine, they don't care. But I'm admittedly deeply concerned about how S3 will go, because even if the Batch doesn't care about the Clone Story, they (Hunter) don't seem to be doing a great job progressing their internal story either (Crosshair).

I understand Omega has some crucial background we're *finally* getting to. I want to know why she's special, why she's unaltered. I want to know what she has that Boba doesn't, or if she's just Nala Se's favorite. Maybe that's relevant to the Clone Story.

But frankly, personally, I would prefer if TBB S3 goes full in focussing on building Hunter and Wrecker up emotionally, and just going full in on what it means for them as a Batch to be there for each other. They need that, desperately, without distractions.

I would prefer if the Clone Story (frankly, the story I'm far more invested in) is told through Rex and other clones, who passionately care and are in the fight. If Echo jumps between the 2 groups and links them, great! I think the Batch would make excellent guest characters. But NOT protagonists of a story where they don't care while everyone else does.

I guess all of this to say, it's sad that I think I liked the Batch the most in TCW S7, and my impression of them as a group (which I recognize is largely due to Hunter) has only gone downhill since.

Again, to be clear, I did enjoy the show.

I LOVED eps 3, 7, 8, 12, 14, to the point I'd say they're possibly my favorite eps of any SW show. These eps are conspicuously non Batch-centric. I loved many *parts* of other episodes.

The *show* has given me so much to love. Unfortunately, none of those things are Hunter.

#YukiPri rambles #TBB #The Bad Batch #Spoilers #the Bad Batch Spoilers #TBB Spoilers #TBB S2 #The Bad Batch Season 2 #longpost #rant post

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trashpandacraft · 1 year ago

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when we last saw our hero (me, in this instance), they had just run out of photos on their sheep and wool post because apparently the accursed tumblr app has a ten-photo limit. fear not, though, because now i'm on my actual computer!

so: bendigo sheep and wool pt ii: the fibre!!

i bought a couple silk hankies, because i've never spun one before and it sounded fun, and they were cheap. couldn't find any undyed, alas, but surely someone on the internet does that, right?

i also bought some dyed mulberry silk. i've got some tussah that i'm going to dye, but these were pretty and relatively inexpensive, and i'm a sucker.

aaaaaand then i bought some sari silk, which i've never used before! several of you have been doing some gorgeous stuff with sari silk recently, though, and i'm a copycat, so here we are.

i have no idea why my phone decided that all of these needed to have ~depth~ added to the shots, but i'm not hauling all of this out again, so here we are. you get the vibe.

i also got a little coil of bamboo fibre, because i've never spun bamboo on its own before. (i don't know if i'll actually spin this on its own or if i'll blend it, but now i have the option!)

i also got a thing of optim fibre (incredibly poorly formatted post from 2011, but explanatory), which i've never used before—it's merino that's been processed to stretch it out, making it even finer and softer. it's sort of weird to touch—it feels more like silk or created fibres than it does wool, but it seemed like it would be fun to try.

moving on to even more exciting stuff, we bought some castledale top. castledale isn't a breed yet, but is being developed as one, and i've heard that it's a delight to spin.

obviously it was important that we get both the plain and the kind with silk in it.

and, see, that was important because we hadn't yet done the most exciting thing we did all weekend, which was finding some gorgeous, affordable, locally made hand combs!

if you're in australia and want fibre tools, you should absolutely check out their website, and honestly, even if you're not, the shipping might be worth it. they were so, so nice, and the tools we got there are just gorgeous. (they're less yellow than this, in person, but my phone doesn't play nicely with the purple light in my bedroom at eleven p.m.)

we ended up getting mini combs, because as we were talking, the guy who makes them noticed my heavily kt-taped wrist and pointed out that the mini combs are less wear on your wrists, which sold me.

they also had some wonderfully designed lazy kates, which will hopefully let me avoid ever having to do this again.

the cleverest part is that it flat packs—the bobbin holders just lift out, and the orifice (it has an orifice!!) is held in place by the little screw up front. the tension is controlled by turning the knob, just like on a spinning wheel.

can't say enough about what lovely people they were, and i'm so excited to have enough fine motor control that it feels safe to assemble the cards. this weekend, hopefully.

and you might be thinking 'ok but are you just like...using those for blending?' and the answer would be no!! because we also bought these!

i went in thinking 'oh, i'm going to get something that's not an incredibly fine wool,' but like...what was i thinking? we're in australia. the only thing anyone produces here is fine wools! which isn't at all a complaint, because this looks gorgeous. so we got 1.5 kilos of corrie, and 1.7 of a bond/merino cross. the cross in particular looks absolutely stunning, and i cannot wait to start playing with them.

the rather elderly (80-ish?) woman working at the north east yarns booth gave us a lengthy talk about spinning in the grease, which i might try. one of the really interesting things to me here was that i've only ever looked at raw fleeces in the northeastern us before now, where the weather concerns are...uh, somewhat different? these fleeces don't have the dirt that i've seen on raw fleece before, just dusty bits—they're almost more like what i would associate with alpaca with regards to actual dirt/vm, but with bonus lanolin. so that's a nice bonus, and makes the idea of spinning in the grease was less offputting. (yes, i know that you can buy cleaner fleeces in the united states, too, and you can coat your sheep or have dry weather or whatever, but that's not an experience that i personally have had.)

this concludes (mostly) the list of things i bought at sheep and wool (also i bought slippers), and illustrates both why i cannot be trusted and also incredible restraint on my part.

#shopping #spinning #fibre #fiber #bendigo sheep and wool #seriously it was the best day ever #and this will keep us busy for many many many hours #some people golf right?#i have a nice normal eco-friendly hobby where you spend a bunch of money once and then you're good for six months or so #unless something else interesting shows up and you're not good anymore but that's hardly the point #smartest raccoon i know

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midnightcreator12 · 3 months ago

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And We'll Keep Marching On Chapter 25 - Within the Woods

idk why this chapter took me a month, I swear I write faster than that. I guess I hope y'all think it was worth that wait! Hopefully, the next bit will be out faster!

AO3

Raph could admit that he may have…overreacted.

But could anyone really blame him? Leo had just vanished without a word! Raph had pretty much torn the farmhouse apart looking for him before running to the barn and by then his entire brain was screaming that something was wrong, that there was something in the house, that something had gotten Leo-

And then Mikey and Raven had shown up, basically dragging Leo into the barn, and Raph’s already frayed nerses had just…exploded.

He felt a little bad for yelling at Mikey but he still stood by what he’d said to Raven. He’d trusted her, trusted her to get Leo help, had put up with weeks of tension from Casey and Donnie. And all they got was some weird do-hickey taped to the TV satellite.

No big army to fight the Kraang, no powerful war general to help them take back New York and definitely no doctor who could actually help Leo. Just one de-aged space soldier.

But he did regret that his snapping had also made Leo clam up.

Leo and Mikey had planted themselves on the couch to watch cartoons when they all came in from the barn. Leo was obviously giving Raph the cold shoulder, only speaking if Raph spoke to him directly…and speaking was generous when most of Leo’s answers were grunts and hums.

Mikey was very carefully avoiding direct eye contact.

The thin amount of tension in the living room made Raph feel riled up again. Made his metaphorical hackles rise and made him want to run and punch things. But he could not do that because he wasn’t sure if Leo would try running off again.

So he settled for walking to the kitchen for a snack.

Casey was sat at the table, a sketchbook open in front of him with the bare beginnings of a mural design. He looked up when Raph stepped inside, “Yo, angry Raph finally back?”

“Zip it,” Raph huffed, pausing by the table to scrutinize the sketch. “Your layout is uneven.”

“I’m not done yet, you know that,” Casey tugged the book closer so he could lean over it. “I think your family issues are a much bigger problem right now.”

“We’re fine,” Raph snapped. “It’s just…it’s been a day.”

“Sure,” Casey rolled his eyes. “Or maybe Leo is just as stir-crazy as the rest of you are right now?”

Raph jaw ticked, “He can’t just go running off into the woods. It was stupid, he could’ve hurt himself worse and…” Raph trailed off.

If Casey noticed the hesitation, he didn’t comment. Instead, he pointed his pencil to the living room, “Look, I get it, your bro’s all banged up and you don’t want him getting hurt again. But honestly? I think you and Donnie need to ditch the kid gloves already.”

Raph’s eyes narrowed, “I don’t know if you heard but his knee is in pieces.”

“I thought Dee said the bones were healing up?”

Raph growled low in his chest, “Yeah and it’s still fragile and could rebreak if he tries doing stupid stuff like, oh I don’t know, running around in the woods full of tree roots and random holes.”

Casey sighed, rubbing at his face, “Look dude, you gotta let up a bit or Leo’s gonna suffocate. Or stab you, pretty sure he’s got a hidden blade in that crutch.”

He did. Both him and Donnie hadn’t wanted Leo to have katanas yet but they also both agreed that he needed something to protect himself, especially with the Mom-Thing still fresh in their minds at the time.

Two tanto blades were hidden in the cross bars of the crutch and Leo knew where they were. Raph knew he hadn’t been particularly happy and had been braced for questions about his swords. They had yet to be asked.

And Raph hadn’t brought it up again because the tanto knives were a precaution that wouldn’t be needed because Raph was not going to let anything get anywhere near his big brother again.

So he gritted his teeth, hard enough to make his jaw creak, “Maybe I’m being overbearing because I know Leo will pull something stupid? Ya know, cause I grew up with him.”

Casey sighed heavily, bending back over his sketch, “Whatever man, I’m just trying to help you out. But if you wanna get clocked when Leo finally gets fed up with you, be my guest.”

Raph rolled his eyes and continued to the cabinets, “Bit late for that.”

But he was okay with that. His brothers being upset with him wasn’t an uncommon thing for Raph and that went double for Leo. He could deal with Leo being upset if it meant he stayed safe.

That’s what mattered at the end of the day, that they all stayed safe.

“Sooo, we gonna lock him in the basement when we go back?”

Raph had been starting to scarf some saltines but the comment made him choke, clapping a hand over his mouth to keep crumbs from spraying everywhere, “The hell are you talkin’ about?”

Casey shrugged, “Just seems like you wanna lock Leo in the house and never let him out. It’s cool, we can leave the murder-bot here to guard him.”

“Are you nuts? I’m not gonna abandon him here!”

Casey blinked, “So why are you making Donnie go so slow with his recovery?”

“I’m not,” Raph growled.

Because he wasn’t, he’d left the medical recovery stuff to Donnie. He’d even let Donnie make that stupid mutagen crap and feed it to Leo for days. He’d hated the idea the second Donnie showed him the final product but he’d trusted Donnie not to poison Leo.

And he didn’t think Donnie had meant to make Leo sick but seeing…

Seeing Leo being held up and walked into the barn brought a lot of unpleasant memories back to the surface, ones that Raph really did not want in his mind’s eye. The mutagen medicine probably was helping more than hurting but….Leo was already so weak, Raph wasn’t sure if he could deal with him having another dip in his recovery.

Speaking of which, “You’re gonna take me to the closest pharmacy this week.”

Casey raised a brow at that, “Why?”

“So we can steal painkillers for Leo.”

“Uhhh, aren’t you guys, like, super against stealing?”

Raph crammed down another cracker, “Yeah, not feeling very morally high right now.”

Casey opened his mouth to reply when the front door swung open.

Raph sat up, taking a few steps so he could see who’d come in. Donnie had returned, a bit muddier and slightly damp but he had the glass container in hand.

Raph frowned when he saw how little liquid was left inside, “Did you dump out some on the way back?”

Donnie startled at the question, head snapping up and staring at Raph for a moment before his shoulders slumped with a heavy sigh, “No, I think Leo decided to just chug some and the rest spilled when he dropped it.”

Raph glared at the flask, “Good.”

Donnie sighed again, moving closer and dropping his voice, “Look, Raph, I know how you feel about this stuff but it's probably Leo’s best bet at recovering fully. Knee injuries like his can take months to years to fully heal and we really don’t have that kind of time-”

“The Kraang have stayed put for months, don’t see why they wouldn’t keep staying put.”

“We can’t bank on that,” Donnie hissed. “There's been basically no information about what's going on in the city. For all we know, they spent all winter building more Technodrones and they’ll launch them any second.”

Raph bit inside his cheek, looking away, “....we prioritize Leo, we’ll deal with everything else as it comes up.”

“Well, yeah, but-”

“And this gunk is not going anywhere near him,” Raph jabbed the flask. “Make a list of normal meds, I’ll get them.”

“Raph…” Donnie paused. “...We shouldn’t steal what we can make-”

“Leo is the priority,” Raph repeated. “I don’t care what Master Splinter or anyone else will say about it.”

Donnie paused, tapping the flask, “.....sorry.”

“Ah, geezzz,” Raph groaned, reaching up to tug roughly at Donnie’s mask tails. “Don’t get all sappy with me, I’ve had enough of that recently. Just….write me a list.”

“Okay,” Donnie nodded before pressing the flask into Raph’s hands. “Um…you should hang onto this.”

Raph wrinkled his beak at the concoction but took it anyway. There was a chance Leo would try to steal it back or that Donnie would cave and give him more.

Raph wasn’t going to make either of those things easy for Leo.

Donnie nodded again before slipping off into the living room. Raph watched as Mikey gleefully scooched over and made room for Donnie to squeeze onto the couch. Leo looked up at the shift, watching Donnie for a moment before his eyes locked with Raphs.

Raph’s arm moved without him thinking, hiding the flask and, more importantly, its contents.

And Leo definitely saw that because his eyes flicked down for a split second before returning to Raph’s face.

There was a silent moment between them. And the longer it dragged out the Raph felt more and more like one of Donnie's weird experiments under a microscope. But he refused to squirm under Leo’s gaze. He was not getting the glowy junk back, ever. Nothing made out of mutagen resulted in anything good.

Leo’s eyes narrowed, his beak wrinkled slightly.

And then he turned away, slouching into the couch so that he was hidden by Mikey and Donnie.

Raph sighed, tucking the flask into his belt and wandering back into the kitchen for water.

Casey kept his eyes very firmly and pointedly fixed on the drawing pad.

—----------------------------------

The farmhouse was tense and quiet for the rest of the afternoon.

And into the evening.

Especially when Raph finally went into the living room.

Pretty much everyone else had migrated in there at some point for cartoons. Except for two individuals.

And that absence was more highlighted by Mikey sighing heavily from the window, “Dudes, I’m getting kinda worried about Raven.”

“I’m sure she’s fine,” Donnie mumbled from the couch.

Casey turned in his seat so he could cross his arms on the back of the couch and grinned, “Yeah man, she's, like, a space marine. The woods are nothing compared to space.”

“But she’s never been gone this long! And she was really up-” Mikey turned to see Raph in the doorway and his eyes went wide. “Uuuuuh, hey Raph!”

Raph just rolled his eyes and took a scan of the room.

April was sat on the couch, squished between Donnie and Casey. Mikey was curled in the rocker that he’d dragged over to the window. Leo was by the lit fireplace in the large armchair, a mug of tea held to his chest.

Raph’s eyes lingered on the cup, mostly because of how little Leo’s hand shook. It settled something in his chest, seeing Leo’s hands steady enough to hold a cup without worry.

But Leo was looking at the fire. Pretty much fixated on it.

So, still mad. Great.

Actually, yeah, it was great, in Raph’s option. He’d rather have Leo mad and not chugging poison or trying to go on an impromptu nature hike. It wasn't like he wasn't used to Leo being mad at him anyway!

Raph made his way to the only seat left, the rickety little chair next to the couch, and sat down hard enough that it squeaked in protest. He only glanced at the show running, finding it was the weird fantasy sci-fi show that Mikey had gotten hooked on.

Conan, Corand…something something about a Barbarian. Either way, it was Mikey’s newest fixation and he’d torn through the house several times when he thought he was about to miss an episode.

A slimy and uncomfortable feeling worked into Raph’s shell.

Because Mikey was staring out the window and worrying over his friend, completely ignoring the show he’d dubbed ‘the best thing made since stuffed crust pizza’.

He was still angry with her but, damnit, he didn’t want to chase her off. Even if she hadn’t kept her word about the backup, she at least was helpful in distracting Mikey and, to an extent, Leo.

…maybe-

Raph’s musings were cut short when the lights suddenly flickered.

Everyone froze, glancing up at the ceiling. The lights stabilized for a moment, filling the room with a warm yellow glow…

And then everything went black.

There were various sounds of shock and annoyance from everyone, bumps and thumps from people undoubtedly running into each other in the dark. Raph stood up, blinking hard to try and force his eyes to adjust faster.

The only light source was the slight glow from the fireplace so Raph stumbled his way over, hands flapping at the air blindly. He made a small sound of surprise when another three-fingered hand grabbed his.

He knew it was Leo. He could hear everyone else still stumbling around blindly. There was a particularly loud bang of someone's shins hitting the coffee table, and a string of swears that told him it was Casey.

And then there was a click and Raph squawked when Donnie turned the flashlight on right in his face.

“Whoops,” Donnie pointed it down, sheepishly rubbing his neck. “Sorry Raph.”

Mikey popped up at Donnie’s shoulder, looking around the room warily, “Dude, what happened to the lights?”

“Relax, it’s probably just a blown fuse,” Donnie said. “It happens with old houses. I’ll have it fixed in no time.”

Raph frowned after Donnie as he left the room. Even if it was spring, the nights were still chilly and the house did not hold heat well.

As if to cement his fear, a gust of wind whistled down the chimney and sent a cold burst of air into the living room, snuffing out the soft glow from the fireplace and leaving just blackened bits of wood.

Leo shivered.

Raph’s jaw ticked and he glared at the dead fireplace. His eyes had adjusted enough that he could grope his way to the box where they kept extra wood. His fingers only found the metal bottom of the box and a case of matches.

“Damn.”

“Language,” Leo croaked out.

Raph glared over his shoulder, knowing that his eyes would be visible enough for Leo to see. He himself couldn’t pick out Leo’s features very well but…he had the oddest feeling that Leo was smirking at him.

It settled something in Raph’s chest a little.

But that feeling was stirred up again when a stronger bust of cold air ghosted through the fireplace.

“I’m gonna get more wood,” Raph stated. His vision had fully adjusted now, so finding his way to the doorway was a piece of cake.

There was a thump and another grunt from Casey, “Ack, where- ah, nevermind. Hey, Raph! You sure you should wander around alone?”

Raph paused to look over his shoulder, seeing that Casey was trying to navigate around the furniture…and was looking a bit too far to the right to be facing Raph fully.

Raph snorted, “Our eyes adjust faster than yours do, Case. I’ll be fine for two minutes.”

Leo grunted from his chair, “Ca…careful.”

“We’re in the middle of nowhere,” Raph continued his trek. “I’ll be back in no time.”

The moon was full that night, so Raph could see even better when he made his way outside. The woodpile was normally stacked by the side of the house, facing towards the forest for easy drop-off.

Raph frowned when he circled the house and only found trampled dirt and a few sticks.

They had been keeping the pile stocked over winter, the fire being a pretty big part of keeping the building warm enough. The frequency had gone down when the snow fully melted but the chill of spring nights meant that someone usually tossed another log into the hearth every few days.

But it seemed no one had really thought to restock it as rigorously.

Raph sighed, grabbing the axe from its place next to the remnants of the wood pile. He didn’t have to go far, he knew, but it was still annoying.

He could just give up and go wait for Donnie to turn everything back on….but he was already out here.

Raph could still see the house when he stopped. He’d probably be able to see the lights of the living room if the power wasn’t out, so he felt more than comfortable enough to start hacking away at a fallen tree.

The moon was high, the nightlife in full swing around him as the axe thwacked into the tree over and over. It wasn't until Raph paused to gather what he had so far into a pile that his senses suddenly flared to life.

Some small, inner voice, cultivated and refined from years of training, recoiled and hissed in his ear: danger, danger, danger!

Raph stood, bringing his fists up, eyes going white as he scanned his surroundings, “Who’s there?”

The woods didn’t answer. If anything, they’d seemed to have gotten quieter.

Raph’s lip curled in a snarl as he glared into the shadows of the woods, straining his ears and eyes to try and find what had gotten his hackles raised.

He took a step forward.

A set of antlers suddenly rose from behind a bush as a pair of black, beady deer eyes stared at Raph for a moment. And then the animal was bolting away in a flash of brown and white fur.

Raph blinked, his arms falling to his sides and a huff escaping him, “Just…was just a deer I guess.”

He did one more scan anyway, before turning back to his previous task, “Geez, I’m starting to sound like Mikey, jumping at shadows- YEOW!”

Raph crashed to the ground when something suddenly wrapped around his ankle and tightened. He rolled, kicking his free leg to try and dislodge it quickly. But whatever had latched onto him tangled around his other leg.

Raph twisted, grabbing his sai and levering himself upright, grabbing hold of the-

Of the vines that were snaking up his legs!? “What the hell?!”

He went to cut the vines away, but more sprung from seemingly nowhere, ensnaring his arms and tightening hard enough to force his weapon from his hand.

Raph struggled, kicking and pulling, even biting as more vines pinned him to the ground. But he didn’t start to truely panic until the vines started dragging him deeper into the trees.

His struggles became more frantic and he managed to roll himself onto his plastron, claws digging into the dirt to try and keep himself from being dragged away, “Guy! Gu-”

Raph’s yells were cut off when something large grabbed the back of his head and slammed his forehead into the ground.

—------------------------

Raph groaned.

His head was pounding and his entire body felt stiff and achy and sore….probably because he was lying on the very cold ground in an extremely uncomfortable position…

Had he fallen asleep during another cartoon marathon? Had everyone just left him? Shut off the lights and walk away without even giving him a nudge?

….no, he wasn’t watching shows…the power had gone out?

Geeeezzz, his head hurt….

Raph blinked slowly, trying to remember what he’d been doing that had made him end up sprawled on the floor.

But his brain screeched into high gear when he heard the unmistakable sound of a Kraang laser gun.

Had they been found? Was that why the Kraang hadn’t moved out of the city? Had they been looking for them?!

They couldn’t fight them! Not now! Leo couldn’t-

Raph tried to stand, shoved shaky arms under himself and started to push himself up-

Something clung to his legs, something that had burrowed deep under his scales and burned through every cell in his body and forced him back to the ground as pain ripped through him.

Raph gasped for air, his hand scrabbling at the ground. His skin felt like it was buzzing, like he’d just gotten shocked but the stinging sensation afterward wasn’t fading away.

He tensed when the laser screeched out again, several shots in rapid succession.

But…it sounded like it was only one?

That didn’t make sense. The brain-faces tended to travel in groups of two, at least, and they definitely wouldn’t be dumb enough to just send two after the turtles that had caused them so many setbacks.

But there definitely was just one laser gun going off. Why was there just one?

Raph squinted at his surroundings, trying to make his foggy brain work and at least tell him where he was.

….he was a little embarrassed to admit, even to himself, how long it took him to think ‘this isn’t the farmhouse’.

He was in some kind of building, but it was small. The walls, floor and roof were all made of the same cracked and rotting wood that didn’t do a thing against wind or vegetation invading. Raph shuddered and looked around, taking in the random assortment of rusted tools, dirt, bits of grass poking through the floorboards. He also saw a rickety-looking door, partly open, just enough to let him see the flashes of pink outside.

He also saw a glass flask shoved into a corner. A very empty glass flask that he knew had had more mutagen in it not too long ago, “What the hell…is goin’ on?”

The shots sounded again, closer now.

And a familiar, female voice.

“Why. Won’t. You. Stay. Down! Slana'pir, jari'eyc vaar osi'yaim! B'epa slaat bal ramaana!”

When did Raven get here?

He didn’t have much time to ponder that before there was a loud twacking sound of something hitting flesh and a yelp of pain.

Raven came flying through the door, vines pinning her arms to her sides. She rolled when she hit the ground, twisting and growling as her feet scrabbled to right herself, face twisted into an expression of pure rage and directed towards the now open door.

Raph turned to look at what had invoked her ire.

A massive, looming figure stood there. Green skin, almost leathery-looking in texture, like a bunch of vines had coiled themselves up in a rough mimicry of a human, broken up by streaks of florescent teal and small clusters of white flowers and leaves. It was wearing faded overalls, some of the seams popped open and frayed from the sure size of the creature, and a burlap sack hid most of its face, only a singular glowing teal eye visible through a rip.

Raph inhaled sharply as his heart rate skyrocketed.

The creature lumbered into the shed, towering over Raven as she braced her back against the wall to sit herself up. The shadow from the thing made it hard for Raph to see her face but he could make out her still trying to fully stand.

The creature growled.

Raven yelped as vines burst from the ground itself, lashing around her legs and dragging her down to the floor. The creature watched, its head tilting as Raven continued to struggle.

And then it slowly turned to Raph.

Raph hackles went up and an involuntary hiss punched out of his throat. He pushed his hands against the floor in an attempt to shuffle back, put some distance between himself and…and whatever this thing was.

But whatever was holding his legs down kept him firmly in place and Raph hissed in pain again when his attempts to move were rewarded with the burning, tingling sensation under his scales.

The creature stomped over, standing over Raph for a moment before it leaned down.

Raph hissed again when he felt pressure on his shell, squirming under the weight, “Get off me you freaky-” The threat Raph had been preparing was cut short by his pained screaming.

Raph’s entire body felt like it was burning, the heat more intense on his lower body but inching higher. He screeched as his body got hotter and hotter, convinced he was about to burst into flame and burn away to nothing-

And as fast as it started, it ended. Leaving Raph heaving and exhausted on the floor.

The creature walked away, teal streaks glowing more intensely as it shuffled back outside, closing the door to the shed behind it.

Raph listened as the heavy footfalls got further and further away.

He lay there for a bit, just breathing, waiting for the tingling pinprick feelings to dull before he looked back to Raven.

And promptly gaped when he did, “Are you..are you crying?”

“Shut it!” Raven barked, tears flowing freely down her face. “Be pissed at me later I can’t deal with it right now!”

Raph’s jaw snapped shut. His brain was still sluggish, unsure of how to best respond to the situation playing out in front of him.

Raven twisted and strained, tears still dripping off her chin, “Stupid kriffin’, di’kut, nerf herdin’-”

“Dude….you’re freaking me out,” it was the only thing Raph could think to say.

Raven snarled, heels digging into the ground, “You think this is fun for me?! Kriff, kark, damnit, motherfucking weak body! I should’ve been able to beat it! GodDAMNIT!”

Raph couldn’t do anything but watch as Raven’s voice got louder and her swearing got more colorful. And cried, the crying was really throwing him for a loop because…he really did not know how to deal with that.

He was still upset with her, some little voice in the back corner of his mind still growled at her for not helping Leo. But much more of his mind could only comprehend that he’d never seen her cry before and he barely knew how to handle his own brothers crying, let alone a borderline stranger.

So he just watched as her struggling lessened and she screamed herself hoarse.

It felt like an age before she finally slumped against the wall, panting and hiccuping, eyes red and face blotchy.

Raph shuffled, wincing when the movement tugged painfully at his legs, “Uhhm…where have you been?”

“What?” Raven’s voice was shot, raspy and cracking, as she looked towards Raph.

“You were gone all day…Mikey was worried.”

Raven blinked at him a few times before looking up and thunking her head against the wall, “...was in the woods…thinking….everything’s too loud now.”

“...what?”

Raven heaved in another breath, “Everything. Is. Loud. Ever since I got…de-aged everything’s been so loud. My own thoughts are loud, everything is so kriffing bright and this crying shit keeps happening! I don’t….gods, I shouldn’t be dumping this on you.”

“Eh?” Raph frowned. “Naw, naw…is fine. What’d you mean loud?” His interest was peaked now, and the conversation was giving him something to focus on other than the itchiness that had wormed under his scales.

Raven inhaled shakily again, “...I shouldn’t….and I shouldn’t have lied to you to make myself feel better…”

Raph blinked, sluggish brain trying to comprehend what Raven was trying to say, “What?”

“The longest….the longest any trooper has had to wait for rescue was a month…I should’ve told you after the first month that they weren’t coming.”

Raph’s frown deepened, “What happened…to that big speech about how you guys don’t leave people behind?”

Raven didn’t speak for a beat, just breathed heavily as she stared toward the shed’s roof, “...General Ader wouldn’t just abandon me, she would never abandon any of us. So if no one has shown up yet…it means they can’t.”

….oh.

…Oh, crap, now Raph felt like a horrible person.

Raven kept talking, sounding like she was about to burst into tears again, “Gods, why won’t….damnit, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry Raphael. I really did want to get you all help. You’re all just kids and you’re dealing with so much-”

“You’re a kid,” Raph huffed.

“No I’m not,” Raven didn’t sound very confident in her statement.

But she didn’t elaborate further. Raph really felt like she should but he wasn’t sure how.

So he just lay on the floor, watching Raven.

They should probably be figuring out how to escape…but he was getting tired, the brief rush from the creature and Raven showing up leaving his system.

He didn’t notice the layer of moss slowly climbing further up his shell.

He barely heard Raven start calling his name again.

His vision went dark and the world was quiet.

-------------

Translations

Slana'pir, jari'eyc vaar osi'yaim! B'epa slaat bal ramaana - Piss off, you ugly, underdeveloped shithead! Eat dirt and die!

Di'kut - idiot, stupid

Kriff - fuck

kark - shit

#tmnt #tmnt 2012 #lone hunter and turtle #star wars #tmnt au #fanfic #oc

2 notes · View notes

suethesocks · 5 months ago

Note

Do ya watched the new Spider-man across the spider-verse's cartoon?

Hello person who asked me a question all the way back in november of last year, im so sorry for making you wait so long for such a basic answer 😭😭

hopefully to make up for this, if i yap enough itll be like a years worth of answer, so strap in

To answer the question though yup!! I watched ATSV around a month after it came out. At first i wanted to watch it asap in cinemas but unfortunately it was banned here in egypt because of the fricking. Trans pride flag that appears for 2 seconds in gwens room in the blurry obscured background so that sucked

After waiting a long time for it to have a digital release eventually i gave in because the spoilers were getting too unavoidable and just watched a camrip with my friends in their house. Which was very unfortunate but i still enjoyed it. And i definitely enjoyed rewatching it like 5 times since then when the digital release was out

I think the movie visually innovates even more than the first one did. Theres nothing i feel was lacking they really did build up on everything from ITSV and then some. Everything was so beautiful and full of life and all the designs be it new characters or old are just so good and the animation and aesthetics are top notch. Its the kind of movie you watch frame by frame on purpose

I do think the movie was hurt by being a half movie though, as it does very much feel like half a story. I do like that gwen goes through something of an arc in this movie so at least *something* gets concluded. And its nice to have an implied transfem character take center stage!

I enjoyed a lot how grown up miles feels in this movie, especially when you contrast it with some early production deleted scenes and the teaser clip they released a long while ago. There he felt like he was still his ITSV self still sort of needing to prove himself, but in this movie he really does feel like he has grown. And for that im thankful i wouldnt want the movie to basically just repeat his arc twice

I mean it kind of is the same arc but its from different perspectives (which i dont think is ideal tbh and i wouldve appreciated a third direction but oh well) in the first movie he felt the need to prove himself and that theres a chance he could be Spider-Man. He wanted the other spiders' approval and to get to be just like them. But in this movie hes more confident and knows his place, this is a kid that knows he's Spider-Man, and he dont give a fuck what you say. Hes got the whole world telling him he doesnt have it figured out and maybe even his brain is saying that to him too but hes still gonna be like "no, im right youre wrong. debate over"

And at the same time it doesnt feel like stubbornness. He takes the time to understand the situation, assessed it smartly, comes up with his own conclusions, and acts accordingly. This miles is definitely not just a kid anymore (so much so that to this day im actually still suspicious that miles was meant to be 17 or 18 but they decided last minute they didnt wanna have that big of a timeskip)

Spot was pretty great in this movie too. I knew from the start that despite being sort of a nothing-villain in the comics spiderverse was gonna have a looot of fun with him, especially ever since i saw that one piece of art they released way back before even the teaser i believe, which had spot with sketch lines above him like the shapes guidelines you draw when doing a rough sketch. And they certainly did not disappoint there hes definitely reality warping with a capital R W. Really i got no complaints about spot i think hes a fantastic villain, though i wish the movie took him a little more seriously. Just removing that "i think he kicked his own butt haha!!!!" scene wouldve made all the difference in the world imo

miss cheng cameo goes hard

Miguel is probably the most conflicting thing for me in this movie, i cannot decide if i like this adaptation of him or not, though im leaning towards not i think. I will say im glad to finally have a piece of media where Spider-Man 2099 is like the main focus finally, hes the main character next to miles and gwen. Ive been a fan of his 90s comics for as long as ive been a fan of comics, and other than SM Edge of Time he never got his moment to shine really. Now this absolute unit of a man is coming in and absolutely stealing the show whenever hes onscreen. It was nice, as a longtime SM2099 fan to see now in 2023 just miguel fanart and miguels ass n titties everywhere on my timeline

They do get a lot of stuff right with this adaptation, even small stuff i wouldnt expect just anyone to get. Like his talons!! Most people draw them like long nails like typical claws but they actually extend from under his finger like a hook, and i was so glad to see the movie get that right haha. He also has.... a cape. He doesnt really use it which like i hate but maybe capes are too much trouble to animate idfk. He has his fangs and was gonna use them on vulture (loved vultures design so fucking much btw) so clearly they remembered he can inject paralyzing venom so that gets huge thumbsup from me even if he doesnt get to actually use it

This movie also gets miguel so right in terms of characterization. Nothing will ever beat Chris Daniel Barnes' take on miggy but Oscar Isaac does a great job in his own right as well and is definitely a take i can accept, im just probably too used to hearing chris barnes' voice playing EoT so many times over the years. And its great to have a hispanic actor doing the voice this time!! In general i love the fact that he has darker skin and speaks a bit of spanish in this movie, atsv rememberes miguel is half hispanic more than the comics themselves seem to sometimes haha

This miguel talks like how comic miguel talks he quips how he quips he has the same sarcastic deadpan humor hes funny and snarky and talks like hes smarter but not in an arrogant way because he can kind of back it up. He also fights how i imagine miguel would fight he uses his claws he gets brutal, shits AWESOME. When it comes to dialogue and interactions, this miguel definitely lives up to how i imagine Peter David wouldve written him

Whats really bothering me about miguel is how, despite them nailing the characters personality so so well, the movie also seems not that interested in him and his lore and world at all. He just doesnt have the love and care and history that Peter B Parker seemed to have

I mean, if its still in the year 2099 then wheres Alchemax? The whole point of SM 2099's comics is that Alchemax is a megacorporation thats infected most corners of life. It should have a looming presence EVERYWHERE, but its not even here as an easter egg. Which i have to say is quite bizarre considering Alchemax ALREADY exists in this universe front and center so why not even a reference. I think this is such a crucial part of SM2099's mythos that removing it is genuinely a problem for adapting Nueva York. Not to mention the complete lack of any sort of cops or security at all, again a looming presence that should definitely exist in 2099. Without those aspects Uptown becomes just like any generic futuristic city (when it should, at least, be a generic DYSTOPIAN futuristic city, lmao)

Also the movie's lack of interest in having any references to Gabriel or Conchata or Dana what so ever. I get that this is bordering on fan service but idk, at the very least Dana right??? I mean she dies in the comics, surely part of what miguel longed for in that alternate universe he went to was that Dana still lived there so why not nudge to the fans a little. At least through the form of having miguel comic scenes show in the slideshow thing he made for miles (though i get not having any miguel scenes there, since miguel probably wouldnt intentionally reveal his past to someone just like that)

I mean come on this movies so uninterested in any fan service in general when it comes to miggy. No references to comic covers or something no calling miguel S-Man he says shock ONCE, i feel like its the little bits of fanservice like that that dont like overbear on the story but really add a lot by nodding to the fans and showing that you did a lot of homework

Theres also the weird way they revise his powers here, seemingly working in the form of regular doses he takes to give himself powers rather than be powers he has like the comics, and the lack of organic webbing. Theres also no reference to his enhanced vision as far as i remember. And i have NEVER been a fan of miguels suit having advanced tech built into it. The watch is one thing, the holographic cape and nanomachine esque suit which uses energy and the laser webs and energy spikes he uses to latch onto stuff its all just ehhhh i never vibed with that in the comics and i definitely dont like it here (save that shit for the white suit at least if youre gonna go that route)

This lack of interest in his powers also means, if theres no alchemax looming existence in the world, and the movie intentionally REFUSES to give us a "my name is miguel o'hara" moment to go over his origin, then we are left with actually nothing to imply alchemax even exists in this world

Just no real interest in what made Spider-Man 2099 work so well in his world, as a privileged man who went down and saw the real world and realized how wrong he was about just everything and that he must rebel against those privileged like him and more. Who works with a suit made of fabric just like any ol human against super cops armed with armor and guns

Instead he runs a whole society himself (ironically, the only thing to imply alchemax's existence now. maybe this movie is a miguel from after the point in the comics where he takes over alchemax, which would mean alchemax's only implication in this world is that miguel runs a multibillion dollar corporation and uses its resources how he wants. not good...), hes not aggressively anti corpo anymore, he has a teched up suit, and he just ACTS like a ceo. This guy is basically spider-punk before spider-punk was a thing, and yet here he is being in the exact opposite side to hobie!

Honestly if it werent for a few factors like the powers thing id have actually said "wait let them cook" because i wouldve then thought that miguel being so wrong is the POINT of this whole thing like miguel is a sellout and theyre gonna call him out and reference how he USED to be in flashbacks, but i honestly do not believe that was actually their intention despite it actually fitting so well in an almost genius way if it WAS on purpose

It comes off a bit MCU-ish how they almost dont have faith in how cool 2099 is and think the only thing worth "salvageing" is miguel and his attitude, when the world is pretty rich with things fans like me wouldve loved to see either recreated in the spiderverse style or innovated on and made into something completely new and interesting; and also non-fans wouldve loved to see to learn more about SM2099 and his world. I mean half the fandom thought Miguel is a vampire because he has fangs, thats how much this movie doesnt do anything for the world of 2099

Wew that was a doozy, sorry for rambling so much about miguel when talking about movie-not-about-miguel, its just between Miles Gwen and Miguel he was the one i was most starved for content for and he was the one im most educated on and on what i would want to see when i see him onscreen haha

hope this longass post full of insane ramblings of a mad woman was worth the yearlong wait in my tumblr asks shdsjhdsdhs again sorry it took me so long to look at my asks

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autisticgymbro · 1 year ago

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It's hard to be a teacher but I honestly love it so bad. I'm thinking about how I can be a Portuguese teacher and it doesn't seem as hard as I thought. I can get as much money as my therapist gets so that's crazy to me. I didn't get a prestigious degree, I didn't even get A degree, you know?

But that's the magic of teaching languages! A degree is worthless if you can't speak. I guess that would also be the case with design, which was my first career choice.

I'm honestly considering doing a bunch of shit now and only get my shit together careerwise when I'm ready to have kids, and when I have some properties (which is what imma do to get my shit together and help homeless people while doing it).

My ideas are risky but I'm so ready.

I'm thinking of buying an apartment right away. With what money, you say? Mine (and maybe my girlfriend's). I'll buy an apartment with the money that would be my rent - thank god I don't have student loans or else they wouldn't let me do that.

After paying for it (which I'm planning to do very soon), I'll wait a year or so and buy a better apartment while renting the previous one. And from the first rent, I'll already help homeless people.

I will start buying properties and letting the tenants pay for them. After a couple of years, we will have a couple of properties and hopefully some money to help more homeless people.

So, how am I gonna help homeless people?

I had this idea a couple of weeks ago when I was leaving Spanish class and I found a homeless woman whom my mom had helped before with meds.

I went to the market and bought her a month's worth of food, and after, she invited me to see her house which was a bunch of barracks close together behind the open market in my neighborhood.

I noticed that the men taking care of the place were all abusers and the homeless woman I was helping was one of the victims. The thing is, if she had a small amount of money given to her every single month, her life would change for sure.

And I remembered this study after I helped her.

The study said that the best way to help homeless people is to give them money straight up. And it doesn't have to be a lot of money. Although, of course, if they get an actual good salary it would be much better.

The majority of the middle class worries about homeless people who are addicted to alcohol or drugs. I mean, they don't actually worry, they despise them and middle-class people consider themselves to be too morally superior to help someone "get addicted".

But studies show that that's not what happens. Having enough money to get by every month makes people feel more secure and cared for. And if the money is constant, they will start planning on how to use it more effectively, and how to help the people they care for.

I'm planning on giving that small salary to one homeless person, preferably a woman with children (since the money would be probably used to benefit these children), and keep raising the money according to my tenants' payments. When I get to six thousand Mexican pesos, I won't raise it. I'll find another homeless person to give the initial salary to.

That way I can transfer money from middle-class people to homeless people and be a sort of Robin Hood, that's my plan.

But in order to buy the first apartment, I'll need to start giving Portuguese classes as soon as possible. I will hire a Portuguese teacher today so I can learn how to teach Portuguese from her. She has a degree and an MBA in teaching Portuguese as a second language and I'm interested in what materials/methodology she uses to teach her students. I'm also planning on making her my substitute teacher for when I'm sick/traveling/busy. To do that I have to be very friendly and keep her contact.

Also, I have to progress with my Spanish faster than I am. But that's OK. After that, I need to learn French. And maybe Mandarin. But that's later on.

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redpandaramblings · 3 years ago

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Like Caramel For Chocolate- An Omega Bakugou x Alpha f!Reader fic. Part 6

Part 1 Here

Next part Here

Content Warning: Negative headspace, omegaverse, self deprecation, depressive thoughts, pushy parental figures, ambiguous omegaverse reproduction, unhealthy relationships, relationship that could be easily fixed if idiots would use their words and communicate, Shinso/Denki side relationship, Bakugou is a dumbass but so is y/n

Where we left off-

Before Bakugou could reply, the jeweler came back into the room and handed Denki a piece of paper.

“All right sir, here is your receipt! Your ring should be ready in three days.”

“Thanks.” Denki shoved the receipt into his pocket, quickly making his way to the door. “See you around Bakubro. Don't want to be late for my shift.” The door closed behind him with a bang.

Bakugou wasn’t annoyed though. Now he could pick out the perfect ring for Y/N and not worry about Kaminari being nearby. Everyone knows Kami can’t keep a secret to save his life.

“I don’t know how much longer I can keep all of this a secret.” Denki moaned into his hands. He was sitting with his head buried in his arms. Y/N reached across the table and gently petted his hair.

“I know what you mean, but I don’t think either of us are in a good position to start telling people.”

Y/n and Denki sat in a secluded corner of a dimly lit cafe. Both of them had this time free and both of them definitely needed to talk. They stood a lot less chance of anyone asking questions if they were just two friends getting lunch instead of them privately going to each other’s apartments.

Denki looked up, giving Y/N a wide eyed expression. “I know, but I wasn’t expecting Bakugou to show up when I was dropping off that abomination of a ring! I just was lucky the jeweler had already taken it to the back. You were right by the way, that thing is absolutely horrendous. Like, was the designer blind?”

Y/N snorted. “From what I’ve heard, great great grandpappy had a lot more money than brains and wanted to impress his omega by shoving as many stones onto a ring as possible.”

“No kidding. I think it can be seen from space.”

“Very likely.” Y/N chuckled before slumping back into her seat with a sigh. “Though I might have an idea about what Bakugou was doing there.”

“Wait, seriously?”

Y/N nodded with a sigh. “Yeah. When I got back he invited me to the summer festival. I’d forgotten about it.”

“Ah shit, yeah. Isn’t that your guys' anniversary?”

“Yep.” Y/N sighed, rubbing her forehead. “Of course he had to pick this time to actually celebrate. We haven’t gone or done anything… God, I think since he became a hero.”

“So you think he was getting a gift.” Denki sat back as the server came, placing your orders in front of each of you. You both murmured your thank yous and waited until the server was out of earshot before resuming your conversation.

“Yeah, he had to have been. Makes me feel terrible, but there wasn’t a good time to… Well…”

Y/n gestured between herself and Denki.

“Tell him that you’ve been betrothed to an omega of much superior looks, breeding, and manners?”

You gave Denki a little kick under the table as he cackled. He grinned cheekily as he poked at his food. “Sorry. Humor is my coping mechanism. I get it though. Timing sucks all the way around.”

You nodded, sighing and taking a bite of your own food. “Can’t say anything during his heat. Then his schedule was swamped, and I had to sort things out with you. Then bam, anniversary that for some reason he decided to remember this year.”

Denki snorted, popping a bite into his mouth. “That’s about the long and the short of it. And we haven’t even begun to figure out how to tell everyone we’ve not only accepted arranged betrothals, but that we’re engaged to each other.”

“I don’t know, I was kind of hoping we could just move to Tahiti and never speak to our former friend groups ever again?”

“A valid possibility. But that means we’d have to learn French and maybe Tahitian. You know I only passed English because Hitoshi and his dad coached me.”

“Fair point.” You sighed heavily. “But I’m really not looking forward to these conversations.”

“They have to happen though. You might have some anonymity to hide behind, but I’d rather my friends not find out about our engagement when they see an article about Chargebolt getting married.”

“Really?” You smirked slightly. “Then you’re going to tell everyone at your agency, hmm?”

Denki kicked you under the table. “Shut up!”

You poked at your food again as the smile fell from your lips. “So… Did you get a chance to think about what I sent you?”

Kaminari nodded. “Yeah. And I hate to say it, but I think you’re right.”

“I thought about it a lot. I hate to leave the area, but it would be too awkward to stay here after everything.”

A few days ago you had sent Denki an email with a list of places that had job openings that would suit both of you. You both loved where you lived, but after everything, how could you stay? There’s no way the two of you could continue to keep living in the same apartment building as Bakugou. That would be cruel. Cruel to whom you didn’t quite want to think about. You spoke up again.

“Any place catch your eye?”

Kaminari nodded. “I was kind of thinking Okinawa. I have a few connections there. Decent distance from here and from our parents. And that would probably be the easiest transition.”

“Works for me.” You said, as if it wasn’t ripping your heart out to do this. It hurt. But it had to happen. In the end, you had to believe this was what was best for everyone. It might take some time, but this was it. This was what would make everyone happy in the long run.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Shinsou was worried. Denki had been acting odd. And that’s saying something. The blond omega was usually loud and bubbly, the life of the agency. At least once a week, he invited Shinsou out for drinks, meals, clubs, karaoke, or some other nonsense. But ever since he’d gotten back from his three day leave, Kaminari had been acting strange. When he thought no one was looking, he was quiet. Withdrawn. Like he was puzzling out the toughest problem of his life.

Denki having a problem? Pretty typical. Denki having a problem and not talking to Shinsou about it? Pretty unusual. The blond had always come to the purple haired alpha with even the simplest of problems. Apartment searches, furniture assembly, what support items would suit his quirk best, even things like what to get from Starbucks. And even though he might groan and roll his eyes, secretly Hitoshi loved every second of it. When he had helped by digging through websites, cobbling together a rickety shelf, or reminding Denki that he always got the most cloyingly sweet items on the menu; Hitoshi got to pretend that he was Denki’s alpha.

Shinsou wasn’t sure exactly when he had fallen in love with Denki. Probably had been since high school at least. His dad had warned him against loud blonds while his father had laughed. But he couldn’t help it. Kaminari had been one of the first people to enthusiastically believe in him. Had always sought him out and wormed his way into Shinsou’s life and heart. And now Shinsou couldn’t understand it, but Denki was pulling away. Even as he watched the blond who was typing up a report on his computer, it somehow felt like Kaminari was slipping right through his fingers.

Shinsou cleared his throat. Kaminari glanced up. “Yeah man? What’s up?”

“You doing okay, Denks? You’ve seemed a little out of it.”

Denki met his eyes, startled, then quickly glanced away. “Yeah. Yep! Totally fine.”

“Denki. I know you.”

Kaminari sighed and slumped on his desk. “Just some life stuff. Family stuff. Friend stuff.”

Shinsou frowned, walking over to place a hand on Denki’s shoulder. “You know you can talk to me about anything, right?”

Denki snorted and laughed quietly. Shinsou furrowed his brows.

“Yeah” Denki sighed. “I know. But half of it isn’t really my stuff to tell and the other half isn’t exactly worth talking about.”

“You sure? We could go grab one of your obnoxiously sweet coffees after work. Go to mine or yours, watch an old crappy horror.”

“Tempting. Thanks man. I would, really, but I got some stuff I have to do after work. Some other time maybe.”

Shinsou frowned. It was rare for the omega to turn down an invitation for a movie night. Hell, it was rare for Denki to turn down an invitation, end stop. It made him even more worried about his omega… friend. His omega friend. His friend who just so happens to be an omega. Hitoshi closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He really didn’t want to ruin the best friendship he had. But he couldn’t keep this up much longer. His alpha had decided on the electric blond long ago, and the omega’s unusual behavior and unhappy scent was driving him wild with the need to protect. He really needed to pull himself together and confess soon.

“Well, whenever you’re free then,” Shinsou said, reluctantly letting his hand fall from Denki’s shoulder. “You know my number.”

Denki nodded and looked up, giving him half a smile. “I do. Thanks Shinsou.”

Shinsou walked back to his desk, his mind made up. He needed to tell his omega how he felt, and soon.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/N twisted and turned, looking at herself in the mirror. It had been a very long time since she’d worn a yukata. It didn’t feel right to dress up like this. But wearing anything else also felt wrong. Everything about this date felt wrong. Like this was the kind of she she did in another life. And now here she was, going on a date with the man she loved. Who she’d always love. And who she’d already decided she was going to let go.

Y/N snorted and fussed with her hair a bit. Maybe she should have just refused this date. Claimed to be sick or something. But that felt wrong too. So, she just had to get through tonight. After all, what’s one more night of pretending everything is fine? Hopefully this could be a good memory from a relationship that just wasn’t meant to be. After tonight, she’d wait a couple days and then talk to Bakugou and let him go like he clearly wanted.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Katsuki was going to throw up.

He was going to throw up, right here, all over himself and all over shitty hair, too. His red headed friend was giving him a pep talk as he helped Bakugou into his jinbei. Not that Bakugou needed the help. Or the pep talk. It just was easier to let the squad come over when they had found out about his date. It’s not like he wanted them there or anything. Once Kiri, Mina, and Sero realized he was going to use this date to ask Y/N to be his mate, they had insisted on helping him get ready.

None of them knew about the little velvet box in his pocket and that his plans went further than just asking Y/N to be his mate. Bakugou bit his lip to keep from frowning as he looked over his friends, a certain loud blond conspicuously missing. You wouldn’t hear Katsuki admit it out loud, but he really wished Denki could have been here. He loved the others, and they were great in their own ways. But Denki was his pack’s other omega. He got it in a way that the others didn’t. After tonight, he’d have to make sure to catch Pikachu up on all the news. Hell, maybe he could help his fellow blond finally talk to that purple haired idiot he’d been mooning over for years. Everyone in the pack knew Denki’s family had been harping at him to settle down for quite a while.

Bakugou looked up in time to see Mina coming at him with the hair grease. He threw up his hands.

“Fuck no! Keep that shit away from me!”

“You’ve got to do something about that pile of straw you call a haircut. Besides, Wouldn’t it be nostalgic? Weren’t you interning for Best Jeanist again when you asked Y/N out the first time?”

“Yes, and I’d rather shave myself bald than ever have my hair like that again!”

Mina sighed. “Fine. We’ll do something else. But if I can’t slick it back, you will be wearing eyeliner!”

“IN YOUR DREAMS, PINKY!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You waited outside the entrance to the festival. It was strangely soothing to watch the people flow by, like you were a rock overlooking a stream. There were groups of friends, couples both young and old, families where the laughing children ran ahead of their parents eager to get inside. You gave a small smile at the last. Maybe that could be you someday, a parent getting to see a festival through the eyes of a child again. Though the mental picture was hazier than it used to be. The children you half imagined just blurs of colorful yukatas, instead of loud and stubborn blond haired brats with their father’s eyes and attitude. You huffed a quiet laugh to yourself as a thought occurred to you. If you and Kaminari actually went through with this plan, decent chance the kids would still be blond. The thought hurt a little.

“Y/N!”

You looked up and had the breath knocked out of your lungs.

Katsuki was beautiful. You knew it. Thought it often, even. But tonight he practically glowed. His hair had been tamed into a softer look than usual. The jinbei he wore was the perfect compliment to his skintone. Was that… Yes. Dark eyeliner made his crimson eyes pop. Your heart ached. You’d always love this man. No matter how it tore you apart, he’d always own part of your heart and soul. You smiled weakly and raised your hand in greeting.

“Hey. You look good.”

“Thanks.” Bakugou scratched the back of his head. “Mina got ahold of me.”

“That explains it then.”

“Hey!” Katsuki gently elbowed you in the side before taking his place next to you. “You saying I can’t dress up on my own?”

“Yes.”

“Y/N!” You dodged out of the way as he swatted at you, laughing. Yes. This could be it. One last good night.

“Shall we go in?” You asked, holding out your hand.

“That’s why we’re here, isn’t it?” Katsuki asked as he walked past you, ignoring your hand.

You gave a quiet smile as you followed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Katsuki picked at his food, none of it making it to his mouth. He was going to be sick. He was going to be sick right here and some paparazzi was going to see and take a picture and the big headline tomorrow was going to be “A Puke Worthy Proposal.” He was trying his best to keep up the illusion that everything was fine and normal, but it was rough. It had been a long time since he’d taken his alpha on even a normal date. And this wasn’t any normal date. It didn’t help that things were feeling forced and awkward.

He wanted to hold your hand, but his own hands were sweating buckets. He tried to keep up casual conversation, but that was getting harder and harder as the night wore on. Every sentence he wanted to just blurt it out and get it over with. It was impossible to keep talking about what vendors he recognized when all he wanted to say was “I love you and I’ll always love you and I want you by my side until the sun stops shining.”

It didn’t help that things felt awkward. Almost nothing was feeling easy or natural. It really had been far too long since the two of you had gone on any sort of date. He frowned as he thought about it. It had been over a year, at least. Longer, even. Well, he was going to have to fix that. He’d be able to use some of that pro hero paycheck and spoil you like you deserved. His Y/N. His mate. And soon, his wife.

Bakugou stared at nothing, his eyes going unfocus as he started daydreaming about how spectacular your wedding would be.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This was a disaster. You glanced over to where Bakugou stood picking at his food, looking bored. You’d been trying to keep up the conversation, but for the past several minutes you’d only gotten hums or grunts in response to anything you said.

“It’s amazing how they got all those pro heroes to dance nude as one of the main attractions this year.”

Katsuki grunted.

Yeah, he wasn’t paying attention at all.

You sighed, looking down at your own untouched food. You never should have agreed to come. At least this date was proving it to you. This had to end. The two of you didn’t know how to be a couple anymore. It was even clearer that Katsuki wasn’t even interested in trying. You had no idea why he wanted to have this date in the first place. Some bizarre sense of obligation? Maybe his heat had shaken him up enough that his omega needed the sense of normalcy? This issue was this wasn’t normal for the two of you anymore. It hadn’t been for a very long time. You sighed, glancing around for a trash can to oust you untouched dango.

A loud pop caused you to look up. The fireworks were about to start.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bakugou looked up at the sound of the first firework.

“Wanna head to the pier?”

You nodded quietly, following him as he led the way. He was sweating so much now that if he set himself off he’d take out half the city.

This was it. It was almost time. The two of you were going to watch the fireworks from the out of the way pier like you had all those years ago. It was at the end of that fireworks show the two of you had had your first kiss. And this time… Well this time at the end of the show he was going to propose and you were going to say yes, and it was going to be perfect.

That is if he didn’t barf before you two got there.

“Hurry up,” he grunted as he picked up the pace.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You tried not to flinch at Bakugou’s harsh tone. He clearly wanted to get this night over with even more than you did. You tried not to let it hurt.

The pier was empty as it always was. The lack of lighting keeping others away. The first time you had discovered it, it had felt hidden and intimate. Now it felt desolate. Lonely.

You walked up to the railing and stared at the sky. The fireworks didn’t feel magical anymore either. Your fingers wrapped around the railing as you glanced to the side. Bakugou wasn’t even looking up. He was staring at the reflections of flashes in the dark swirling water below.

You couldn’t do this anymore.

No more.

The fireworks illuminated you as your grip on the railing tightened until your knuckles turned white.

“Katsuki?”

“”What?” He asked roughly, barely glancing your way.

“Let’s break up.”

And that was Part 6, my darlings! Hope you're enjoying the drama, because there's more angst on the way! You can scream at me about the cliffhanger in replies, reblogs, tags or asks. :P

TAGLIST- @yzviea, @not-a-pushover, @thelilypieforever, @kumihayu, @aomi04, @ladybakugouu, @luajosephdun-blog, @hakunamatatayqueen, @my-thoughts-are-weird, @left-alone-yuki, @officialtrashbusiness, @lonelyheart-clubband, @katsuki-cait, @moonwritters26, @animexholic, @kyrah-williams, @emilymikado, @wolvesblaxe360, @ficklemcselfish, @helena-way07, @fandomsaremylifesposts, @baby-bakuhoe, @sukeraa, l@ucypevensie11, @idk-sam, @katsuki-cait, @weirdestlove, @sasa-slayer, @anime-for-live, @kaidousimp, @bluesdustyflames, @vitheria, @milktea0208, @maristaymulti, @whatdidshesayyy, @memesbyeloise , @fandomsgotmefucked, @killmehe, @shy-panda02 Just a reminder, if you want tagged make sure you have the ability to be tagged turned on; and I’d have to be informed if your blog name changes! Cheers, Darlings!

#reader insert #bnha reader insert #bakugou x fem!reader #bakugou angst #bakugou x reader #reader insert angst #bakugou katsuki #katsuki x reader #omegaverse #omega bakugou #alpha reader #multi part fic #denki #fake dating #fake engagement #part 6

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aquaquadrant · 2 years ago

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nature’s productions - chapter nine

Rated T for: Language, canon-typical violence, blood/injury, mentions of death

Summary: Three years after the disaster at Jurassic World, Claire Dearing and Owen Grady are contracted for a mission to save as many dinosaurs as possible from the impending eruption on Isla Nublar. But when they arrive, they experience an unexpected complication; six teenagers who were left stranded on the island when the park closed.

Surviving has left the campers scarred in more ways than one, and they’re pretty sure that their would-be rescuers have less than good intentions. But with a volcanic eruption at their heels, they’ll do whatever it takes to get a ride home- and save the dinosaurs while they’re at it, because that’s kind of their thing.

A/N: Hey y’all! I do apologize for this chapter taking a bit longer than normal, but it’s nearly 10k words so hopefully it’s worth the wait! Also, I’ve decided to write a separate epilogue (instead of tacking it onto the end of this chapter) that should get posted next Sunday. As always, you can find the fic on A03 for full tags and previous chapters, hope you enjoy, please reblog/comment if you do! - Aqua

~*~

chapter nine - on the affinities of extinct species to each other and to the living

~*~

Ben sprints down the hallway on silent feet, Brooklynn and Darius right beside him.

The ringing in his head has died down a bit, but there’s still no return to his hearing. Which is disappointing, but not surprising. He’s staying firmly on Brooklynn’s left side as always, guarding her blind spot. In return, she’s keeping a hand latched around his wrist, so she can give nonverbal cues to stop or change direction if needed.

He has no idea where they’re going. He has no idea what the plan is. Normally, that wouldn’t be a huge problem. It’s not the first time he’s rushed headfirst into a dangerous situation with only his instincts to guide him. But this time it’s different because he knows, logically, that there is a plan, and he just doesn’t know it.

From the few times he’s been able to glance over at Darius and Brooklynn as they run, he can tell they’re talking about it, their mouths moving to form silent words. He doesn’t resent them for it, of course. It’s not their fault they don’t have time to stop and try to paraphrase it out for Ben using their very limited and clumsy signing system. He might be able to glean at least a little context from reading lips, but that would require him to be watching them instead of their surroundings.

He’s kicking himself for not coming up with a more complete, fluent language beforehand. But the system was originally designed for Darius, and hearing wasn’t a concern back then. It was more about finding ways for him to quickly communicate important information without being slowed down by his stuttering.

Sure, the signs helped Ben out if someone was trying to talk to him at a distance, or with lots of background noise going on. But he never imagined it would take the place of his hearing entirely. He didn’t know he’d need to rely on sign language like this. He wasn’t supposed to lose his hearing so soon.

He thought he’d have more time.

He’s trying not to dwell on it. He can’t afford to dwell on it. But he’s never felt so disconnected from his herd before, not even during those first few weeks spent readjusting after his time alone. Watching their conversations and not being able to hear them. Knowing that whatever brief signed explanation he’s given is only a fraction of what was said. Having to piece together everyone’s feelings from visual cues alone, when facial expressions have never been his strong suit.

It hurts, more than he expected.

Not to mention there’s the very real fear associated with not being able to hear his surroundings. He already got snuck up on by mercenaries once, and now there’s a Velociraptor running loose on the ship. Brooklynn always does a great job keeping an ear out for him, but she can’t be with him every second of every day. Survival was already hard enough before, and he’s worried that being unable to hear his surroundings will eventually have deadly consequences.

(The notion that he won’t always have to be on constant alert for danger hasn’t even occurred to him, despite being fully aware that they’re about to be rescued. For Ben, being rescued does not equal being safe. In fact, he might never feel truly safe again.)

If Ben lets himself think about spending the rest of his life like this, he’s going to have a total breakdown.

His only hope is that there’ll be something they can do for it once they’re back on the mainland, with access to doctors and specialists. But even that comes with its own uncertainties. He hates the thought of a complete stranger poking and prodding at such a vulnerable area. Or, god forbid, if they try to put him under anesthesia.

But those are considerations for another time.

They don’t run into anyone on their way outside; it’s been long enough since Brooklynn’s announcement that everyone interested in fleeing must have headed for the lifeboats, while the remainders probably barricaded themselves in a room to avoid Blue. Either way, it isn’t until they step back out onto the deck that they see mercenaries again.

A small group of them are attempting to deploy a lifeboat off the side of the ship, with a couple flashlights between them to illuminate the rigging. Ben freezes as soon as he sees them, before Brooklynn even has a chance to squeeze his arm.

The mercenaries have noticed them- probably from the sound of the access door closing, because Ben knows from previous experience that all three of them have near silent footsteps. The mercenaries turn around, faces twisted into angry scowls and mouths moving in what’s more likely shouting.

Ben feels Darius and Brooklynn tense beside him. He doesn’t know if they’re trying to talk to the mercenaries- he won’t take his gaze off them, not even for a second- but they aren’t in a great position for running. It’s a narrow passage that would easily put them in arms reach of the mercenaries, and the only other place to go is back inside the ship.

So Ben pulls Wheatley’s gun out of his waistband and holds it up. The mercenaries jolt back with raised hands and wary eyes.

“We’re going now,” Ben tells them, hoping he’s loud enough to get the point across.

There’s slight nods from the mercenaries. Brooklynn tugs Ben’s arm, and he lets her lead him past, keeping his eyes and his aim firmly locked on the mercenaries. Once they’re at a safe enough distance, Ben tucks the gun away and turns to follow Brooklynn and Darius properly, so they can start to run.

He can’t hear if the mercenaries are giving chase, but he finds the possibility unlikely. The mercenaries might’ve wanted revenge against the ones responsible for sinking the whole operation, but not at the cost of their escape.

Darius leads them across the deck and down into the hold, and Ben’s incredibly tempted to shout out for Bumpy as they go. He desperately wants to know if she’s unscathed from her conflict with the mercenaries. But he’s also aware that Blue is around here somewhere, too, and would just as easily hear him. He doesn’t know how Darius plans to deal with Blue yet, but it probably doesn’t involve broadcasting their presence to her as they run aimlessly through the ship.

Their first stop is by a stack of crates pushed up against the wall; Brooklynn motions for Ben to stop and then signs ‘safe,’ which reassures him of the mercenary problem. Kneeling beside the crates, Darius draws his knife and starts to pry open the lids, speaking to Brooklynn as he does.

Ben keeps watch and tries not to feel left out.

A vibration shudders through the floor, making him look over. Darius has gotten the crate’s lid off- though judging by his wince, he didn’t mean for it to fall. Inside the crate is what looks to be a bunch of netting. Darius grabs a handful of it, holding it up as he talks to Brooklynn, and Ben can tell by the way it moves that it must be weighted or reinforced somehow.

Which makes sense, since these guys came prepared to catch dinosaurs.

“We making a trap?” he asks, trying his best to keep his voice down but having no idea how successful he is.

Darius nods, apologetic, before continuing to talk to Brooklynn, and that’s that.

Ben turns away, back to keeping watch. He trusts Darius and Brooklynn’s skills and judgement implicitly, and knows whatever they come up with will work just fine without his input. As much as it stings, he knows it’d be a waste of time and energy to insist they fill him in every step of the way. There’s no room for egos in a life or death situation.

Keeping watch while unable to hear the others is lonely. Despite himself, he finds his thoughts straying to Kenji. Ben isn’t normally one to have separation anxiety; he’s had to work apart from Kenji far too often for that. But right now, he’s keen to finish up this dinosaur business and get back at Kenji’s side. Not that there’s anything else he could do for amputated fingers, but still.

It’s important to him to make sure Bumpy is okay and that Blue is recaptured, but Kenji’s important, too. He just hopes Kenji’s holding up alright without him.

Soon enough, Brooklynn is tugging on his arm. The pair of them have opened a couple more crates; Brooklynn has a thick coil of nylon cord draped around her shoulder and what looks like a folded tarp to go with the bundle of netting in Darius’s arms.

They set off again, their pace a little slower now that Brooklynn and Darius are carrying cargo. Ben still isn’t used to this all-encompassing silence; he scans their surroundings almost constantly, out of paranoia that there could be someone or something nearby that he just can’t hear. Even the knowledge that Brooklynn would alert him if there was anything coming isn’t enough to settle his nerves.

Darius keeps them moving along the wall of the hold, scanning every vehicle and shipping container they pass. He seems to be looking for something specific- which, of course, Ben has no information about. He’s about to ask, because they’d probably find it faster with another set of eyes, but then they come around the corner of a shipping container and nearly stumble over a body.

It’s a mercenary, whose throat and chest have been torn open.

(Wheatley’s corpse flashes through Ben’s mind. He quickly shoves the thought away.)

Ben instantly reaches for his gun. He’d hate to shoot Blue, but if it was a matter of life or death, he would do it without hesitation. He can’t see any sign that the raptor is around, so he glances at Brooklynn.

Brooklynn’s face is pale, one hand resting on her bat’s handle, but she shakes her head, indicating that she can’t hear Blue nearby. Of course, that doesn’t mean the raptor isn’t there, but it reassures Ben a little.

‘Careful,’ Darius signs, before gingerly stepping around the body.

They push ahead. Ben is now fully resigned to staying quiet; any questions he has aren’t important right now. It takes all his focus just to make sure his footsteps aren’t loud. He can’t hear them, so he’s being extra cautious and hoping his years of practice will carry him through. The minutes pass in nerve-wracking silence- which Ben supposes he ought to get used to- before Darius finally stops in front of a nondescript section of wall.

Two large shipping containers have been loaded parallel to each other in such a manner that one end of them is flush with the wall of the hold, forming a sort of narrow, dead-end alleyway between them. Darius’s calculating gaze sweeps over the area before he gives a firm nod. Turning to Ben, he puts a hand on his shoulder and signs ‘wait.’

Ben gives him a good-natured smile and nods. Standing at the mouth of the makeshift alleyway, he keeps watch as Darius and Brooklynn work behind him. He’s starting to see why Darius picked this location for the trap; the shipping containers are almost twice the height of a full-grown man, which means going over top of them would be a difficult feat even for a raptor. That just leaves one way in, allowing Darius to ensure that Blue goes exactly where he wants her.

Assuming she takes the bait. Whatever that’s gonna be.

It’s not long before Brooklynn’s careful hand taps Ben’s shoulder to get his attention. He turns to see the net has been laid out flat on the ground, a couple feet from the alley’s entrance. The netting itself is black, and in the hold’s dim lighting, blends in fairly well with the dark floor of the ship. The nylon cord has been strung through the outer loops of the net in some intricate kind of pattern Ben can’t make heads or tails of- no doubt a skill Brooklynn learned during an old unboxing excursion.

She’s holding the free end of the cord, which still has quite a long length to it. Darius points at her and then at one of the shipping containers, before signing ‘help.’ Ben catches his meaning and quickly steps up against the container, locking his fingers together to form a sling.

Between the two of them, Brooklynn manages to catch hold of the lip of the container and pull herself up, holding the cord between her teeth. Once up top, she starts looping the cord through some metal brackets on the container that are probably used for crane rigging, if Ben had to guess. When she’s done, she eases herself back down over the edge so Ben can catch her, ensuring she doesn’t land too hard and sprain something.

Then they repeat on the other side.

Despite being completely out of the loop, Ben’s starting to piece it together. By stringing the cord between the two containers, Brooklynn is giving the net trap leverage. It’s a little obvious, but only if you know what a trap is. For a Velociraptor on a ship full of strange, new, unfamiliar human things, it should be easily overlooked. Of course, the details of how Brooklynn intends to trigger it are beyond him, but at least he can help with this.

Ben moves into position to catch her again, but Darius waves him off. He picks up the folded tarp, which they’d set aside, and hands it to Ben. Then he points up at Brooklynn and makes a throwing motion.

Well, that’s easy enough to decipher. Ben tosses the tarp up to Brooklynn. She catches it and starts to unfold it, keeping hold of the free end of the cord as she does. Ben wonders what she’s going to do with it, but then Darius takes his arm and nods over at the end of the alley.

Ben points at the net and tilts his head.

‘Safe,’ Darius assures him, before walking over the net himself. Apparently, it’s a manually triggered trap.

Ben follows Darius across the net and to the end of the alley, their backs against the wall. Up on top of the container, Brooklynn has draped the tarp over herself, laying flat on her stomach with only her face peeking out. It’s camouflage, Ben realizes- helping her blend in with the top of the container. So she’ll spring the trap from up there, then.

Which means Darius and Ben will be down here, with Blue.

‘Ready?’ Darius asks Brooklynn. He waits for her free hand to poke out and sign ‘ready’ before turning to Ben.

There’s equal amounts of apprehension and determination in his eyes, a look Ben knows all too well. He can’t pretend what they’re about to do isn’t extremely dangerous, but he’s also confident that they’ll succeed. It’s an expression that instantly fills Ben with resolve, and reminds him why the herd’s accepted Darius as their leader.

‘Ready,’ Ben tells him. ‘Plan?’

Darius cups his hands and lifts them to his mouth, pursing his lips like he’s going to whistle. Ben recognizes the motion; it’s the way he makes his raptor calls.

So they’re the bait. Ben isn’t even surprised.

‘Help,’ he signs, nodding to show he understands. Then he tilts his head and asks ‘stay?’

Darius nods; they need to stay put where they are so Blue has to cross over the net.

Hopefully she’ll come out of pure curiosity like back on Nublar, instead of out of a desire to kill them. But Ben hadn’t been joking when he’d said she likes Darius best; he’s saved her life a couple times now, and she’s certainly intelligent enough to remember that.

Now, the real question will be whether or not she cares.

Side by side with Darius, Ben turns to face the alley’s entrance. Taking a deep breath, he puts his cupped hands to his lips and makes the call, with nothing but muscle memory to go off of. A quick glance at Darius confirms his call was good, so he repeats it a couple times before waiting.

It’s a gamble using the same tactic twice. But Blue is a curious animal at heart, and since she’s one of the fastest dinosaurs on Nublar, there’s never a lot of risk for her to check things out when she always has the option to run away. And while she might not be fooled into thinking there’s another Velociraptor around, not by using the same call as before, she’ll probably want to investigate anyway. They’ve made their presence known, in a way that’s directly calling for her. That’s bound to catch her interest, whether she’s seeking companionship or a snack.

Hell, she might just want something familiar in this strange new environment. Ben can’t imagine how stressed and confused she must be, running around the ship.

The minutes trickle by, with no indication from Darius that Blue has responded. There’s no way of knowing whether she heard it. She might not have, if she’s above deck right now. She also could’ve heard the call and decided to ignore it. They could be wasting their time sitting here, and they wouldn’t know it.

Darius’s brows are furrowed as he motions for Ben to repeat the call. But just as Ben is about to, Darius freezes, his eyes widening in clear recognition of something Ben obviously can’t hear.

Relief sweeps through Ben. Blue must’ve heard him, after all. That’s a promising sign; if she was confident enough to respond to the call, then she doesn’t suspect that anything’s off, which will make trapping her much easier-

Then Blue steps around the corner, clicking her talons silently against the floor.

~*~

If Kenji’s being completely honest, he’s had better days.

Strangely enough, the pain of having his fingers bitten off by a raptor is the least of his concerns. He doesn’t even really notice it unless he’s concentrating on it or he accidentally moves his hand. It almost feels like the pins-and-needles of a body part that’s fallen asleep, that weird balance between total numbness and stinging pain.

The shock and blood loss probably have something to do with it. Shivers race across his skin. Every time he sits up or moves his head too fast, a wave of dizziness crashes over him. If he isn’t careful to regulate his breathing, it starts getting quick and shallow. He’s not necessarily scared of the injury itself, because he knows it’s not life-threatening and the bleeding finally seems to be under control. But it’s rendered him pretty much useless; he can’t fight or run in this condition, and he’s only got one working hand.

Not a great position to be in, considering there still might be mercenaries out there who want them dead.

Brooklynn might’ve convinced some of them to abandon ship, but that doesn’t mean they’re safe. Kenji wouldn’t be surprised if the stragglers get desperate once the lifeboats run out. Plus, there’s still the matter of the raptor running around and killing people.

That’s another concern. Half of his herd- including his boyfriend- is out there right now trying to capture Blue. He has near infinite faith in their abilities, but he still worries. Especially now that Ben is completely deaf. Which he knows Ben would hate, because he’s always resented the idea that losing his hearing would make him less capable, but Kenji can’t help it.

He thinks he’ll always worry. Even after this is all over.

Sammy seems to be thinking along a similar vein, her expression troubled as she peers out through the front windows of the bridge. They’re quite high up from the deck and the faint moonlight makes for poor visibility, so the chances of her actually seeing anything are low. But still she watches, drumming her fingers along the command console with nervous energy.

Kenji slowly turns his head, letting it rest on his knees. Yaz, sitting against the wall beside him, is fiddling with her ankle brace. Her head is bent and her shoulders are hunched, which is Yaz-speak for ‘leave me alone.’ The sight makes Kenji’s heart tighten because he knows exactly where her mind is at; she’s blaming herself for his injury.

He’s never seen her freeze like that before. Sure, it was scary, and the timing was… unfortunate, to say the least. But he certainly doesn’t blame her for it. As someone who prides herself on her strength- physically and mentally- he knows it must be hitting her hard.

“Hey,” he murmurs. “Your foot okay?”

Yaz tenses and doesn’t look up. “Shut up,” she huffs without venom. “It’s just strained, you’re the one who got his fingers bitten off.”

Kenji hums noncommittally. “Hey, I’ve got like, seven others. You’ve only got two feet.”

Yaz lets out an exhale that might be a sigh, might be a laugh. “Is that how we’re ranking injuries now?” she asks dryly. “Based on how many backups we’ve got?”

“More like how easy it is to get along without them,” Kenji says, cracking a grin. “So some of my fingers are a little shorter now, what’s that gonna change? My ability to make shadow puppets?”

That gets Yaz to glance at him out of the corner of her eye. “Shadow puppets?” she repeats, quirking an eyebrow. “That’s really the first thing you thought of?”

Kenji shrugs. “Hey, I could be a master puppeteer. You don’t know everything about me.”

Over by the console, Sammy giggles. “Now that I’d love to see sometime.”

Kenji tilts his head up to grin at her. “You couldn’t afford me,” he says self-importantly. “And you know what they say; never make shadow puppets for free, lest your fingers be bitten off by a dinosaur.”

Sammy’s eyebrows shoot up. “Sheesh, how much blood did you lose?”

“Oh, you know.” Kenji shrugs a shoulder. “Four or five.”

“Four or five what?” Yaz asks incredulously.

“Maybe six,” Kenji amends.

Before they can question him further, the radio crackles to life.

“Sammy, are you there?”

It’s a man’s voice, low and brisk with urgency. He speaks with a Hispanic accent, and Kenji distantly realizes this must be the guy who responded to Sammy’s distress call. Who’d she say it was, the Mexican version of the Coast Guard, or something?

“Oh, shoot!” Sammy hurries over and grabs the receiver. “Yep, I read ya loud an’ clear! What’s up?”

“I wanted to update you on the situation,” the voice continues. “The United Nations are assembling an emergency response committee to discuss our options moving forward, and the United States Federal Bureau of Investigation has dispatched a team to Lockwood Manor.”

Yaz lets out a low whistle. “Wow,” she murmurs to Kenji, “they aren’t messing around, huh?”

Kenji nods sagely. “I guess ‘dinosaur’ is the magic word to make the government get shit done fast.”

He supposes the speedy response is more than warranted, considering what a huge security risk this ship currently poses to the entire west coast of the Americas. He doesn’t know if the mercenaries rounded up any dinos that can swim or fly, but he doesn’t want to find out. And apparently, the government feels the same.

“That’s great to hear!” Sammy says, relieved. “Thank y’all so much.”

“Of course,” the man replies. “Have there been any changes to your situation?”

Sammy hesitates, glancing over at Kenji with a questioning look. Kenji just shrugs. They’re bound to find out about Blue, anyways, so it wouldn’t hurt to tell them now. Doesn’t matter to him if people know he got his fingers bitten off. Not even a little.

“Well, funny you bring that up,” Sammy starts haltingly. “Turns out, the raptor got free. My friends had a run-in with her and she sorta… bit someone’s fingers off.”

“What?!”

Kenji can’t help but snicker at the shock in the man’s voice. All things considered, he’s super lucky Blue didn’t do anything worse. There isn’t a doubt in his mind that if she hadn’t recognized them, if she had attacked first and asked questions later, they would’ve been lunch meat. So really, losing a few fingertips isn’t the end of the world.

At least it wasn’t his thumb. That would’ve sucked.

“Not all the way!” Sammy says quickly. “Just a couple of ‘em are missin’ some bits. Plus, Kenji’s doin’ alright now, I just figured I’d warn y’all we’ve got a dino on the loose. But Darius, Brooklynn, and Ben are on their way to round her up as we speak, so it oughta be taken care of before y’all get here.”

“Uh- no, negative,” the man says, sounding alarmed, “you should all remain inside the bridge until help arrives.”

Sammy winces. “Sorry, bit late for that,” she tells the man. “But it’s alright, they know what they’re doin’. Darius has a way with dinos, and Blue owes him one. I’m sure she’ll be agreeable.”

That doesn’t seem to reassure him. “I must advise you all to stay inside,” he repeats.

Kenji snorts. Does this guy know they survived on Nublar for three years? On one hand, it’s kinda nice for an adult to try and keep them out of danger, since so many of their previous experiences involved adults trying to hurt and/or kill them. But on the other hand, it’s a little annoying to actually be treated like kids for once, when they’ve spent all this time looking after themselves.

It’s like, too little too late, dude.

“Oh, don’t you worry,” Sammy says cheerily, like the ray of sunshine she is. “Me, Yaz, and Kenji are holdin’ down the fort here. The others will be back soon as Blue’s handled. Shouldn’t take too long, but if you like, I can let you know when they get here?”

“Alright,” the man finally relents. “Please do that. The rest of you-”

“Remain inside,” Kenji calls tiredly. “We got it, dude. Thanks.”

Sammy shoots him a look, though she’s holding back a smile. “Don’t mind Kenji,” she says good-naturedly, “we sure appreciate the help! Now, I don’t wanna keep you too long, so I’ll be sure to let you know when the others get here, alright?”

The way she’s treating this like a casual housecall seems to have taken the man aback. Must be that Southern hospitality. “Copy that,” he says after a moment.

With that, Sammy hangs the receiver back up. “Man, can y’all believe we’re finally gettin’ rescued?” she asks, turning to them with a bright smile.

“Oh, don’t say that,” Kenji groans. “You’ll jinx us.”

Yaz lightly smacks him on the arm- an affectionate gesture that Kenji never thought he’d be so happy to receive. “Let her have this.”

“Alright,” Kenji laughs, “but you’d better knock on some wood.”

“Does your skull count?” Yaz asks flatly, though Kenji catches the teasing glint in her eyes.

“Oh hush,” Sammy chides them, amused. She knocks her fist against one of the console’s wooden cabinets. “There. Now seriously, y’all, does any of this feel real to you?” she asks, walking over to sit in front of them.

“No,” Kenji admits, picking at the bloody jacket wrapped around his hand. “I never thought our escape would involve an animal trafficking operation. But in hindsight, I really shouldn’t be surprised.”

“Yeah,” Yaz huffs. “I don’t know why people are still so crazy about dinosaurs. I feel like everyone wanting to make or buy them should have to spend a month on an abandoned island full of them. They’d change their tune pretty quick.”

“Please,” Kenji sniffs, “those rich jerks wouldn’t last a week.”

“Unlike you, rich jerk?” Yaz quips, folding her arms.

Kenji scoffs with false outrage. “I’ll have you know, I’m a special case.”

“That’s for sure,” Yaz chuckles, as Sammy hides her laugh behind her hand.

Kenji grins along with them. Even though he knows they aren’t in the clear yet and this might be a premature celebration, he greatly prefers it to the tense anxiety from before. He’s always sort of considered it his responsibility to lighten the mood when he can.

Of course, if it was someone else whose fingers got bitten off, he’d be approaching the situation with a lot more consideration and tact. But the last thing he wants is for Yaz to feel guilty for what happened. He doesn’t want to be pitied, either. So, making light of it is the best play he’s got.

And if Yaz feels comfortable enough to tease and banter with him, then he’s on the right track.

“Well,” Sammy says with a rueful smile, “it’s a darn good thing people still care about dinos, even just in a greedy way, or we never would’a gotten off the island.”

“You’re probably right,” Yaz agrees, sighing. “I can’t see any other reason for someone to go there, and our attempts at getting home on our own were all non-starters.”

Kenji clicks his tongue. “I still think my idea for a giant slingshot was a winner,” he jokes.

Yaz rolls her eyes. “Of course you do.”

There’s a sudden pounding on the door. Kenji jolts upright- and then immediately regrets it as his vision blacks out for a moment.

“You brats better open up right now,” a loud, angry voice yells, “or we’re breaking this door down!”

Kenji and Sammy lock eyes.

“Sammy!”

“I knocked on wood!”

~*~

Darius stares at the raptor twenty feet away from him, hardly daring to breathe.

Putting it bluntly, Blue looks rough. The bandage on her side has started peeling away, the stiff gauze a patchwork of dried and fresh blood. She’s panting, her head low and jaws hanging wide. There’s blood streaked haphazardly across her chest and muzzle, painting her teeth. But what strikes Darius most are her eyes.

Her pupils are fully dilated, almost perfectly round. It completely obscures the color of her eyes and makes them look pitch black. Darius knows it’s a normal response to being in dim lighting- as a way of increasing visual input- but that combined with her wild appearance makes her look all but possessed.

Like a real monster of nightmares.

Blue stares at them from across the alley. Even from this distance, Darius can read her body language fairly well.

She heard Ben’s call but didn’t return it, which means she’s wary. She doesn’t look surprised to see them- not in a way that Darius can interpret, at least. She certainly doesn’t seem happy, which he wasn’t expecting, anyway. She’s not outright hostile, either, but there’s an intensity about her that’s unsettling. It’s a world of difference from the raptor that approached them back on Nublar, what feels like days ago.

This raptor is scared. She’s tired, and in pain, and highly stressed out. She’s in a completely new environment and being exposed to completely new stimuli, which must be overwhelming for an animal with such refined senses and high processing ability. She’s also fresh off of who knows how many kills, each a result of what she likely felt was a threat to her life.

She’s in total fight or flight mode. And on a ship like this- which is big, but unfamiliar and largely inaccessible to a creature without thumbs- there’s a hard limit on how far she can run.

So, if pressed, her first choice is going to be to fight.

They just need to avoid reaching that point.

Slowly, Darius lowers himself onto his knees. Ben takes the hint and follows suit.

Blue’s head jerks to the side. Her face twitches with microexpressions- rapid widening and narrowing of her eyes, flaring her nostrils, curling her lips. She lets out a string of chirping noises, tilting her head, and takes a step forward.

Darius doesn’t dare look at the net. Blue’s never seen a trap before, or anything else comparable, but she’s also insanely intuitive and would know to avoid it if he gave it any special focus. So he keeps his gaze directed at Blue, but not quite meeting her eyes, lest she mistake it for a challenge. And despite being unable to check, he knows Ben is doing the same; they’ve honed the same instincts during their time on Nublar.

Blue looks them up and down before examining the alleyway. Her gaze drifts over the net and its rigging without stopping, probably being filed under ‘new weird human stuff’ in her brain. She’s only a couple steps away from the trap.

If it doesn’t work, Darius and Ben will be stuck in a dead-end alleyway with a very pissed off raptor.

God, he hopes this works.

Blue lingers where she is, rumbling uncertainty in her throat. Still moving slowly, Darius reaches out to squeeze Ben’s arm, prompting him to make the call again. Darius is insanely grateful they had so many practice sessions when a pitch-perfect chirp rings out.

Something changes in Blue’s expression. She turns a circle around herself, head whipping from side to side, almost searching as she hisses in warning. Tail lashing and claws flexed, she sniffs the air. After a couple seconds, she goes stock-still, tremors of barely-constrained energy running through her body.

Then she looks up at Brooklynn, hidden under the tarp.

Darius’s heart jolts. But before he can do anything, Blue’s head snaps around to stare at him. Her pupils have constricted, letting that blazing amber color shine through, and her eyes are narrowed in what can only be described as hate.

Darius realizes what that look means, and his blood runs cold.

Blue’s highly developed sense of logic has kicked back in, overruling base fight or flight instincts.

But her logic has decided that they’re enemies.

Screeching, Blue turns and runs back out the alley- but she doesn’t go far. She jumps up onto a nearby truck, climbing onto its trailer; the end of which is only about six feet away from the edge of the shipping container that Brooklynn’s on. As Blue’s legs coil beneath her, it suddenly dawns on Darius what she’s about to do.

Ben reacts first.

“Brooklynn, run!” he screams.

In the same moment, Blue leaps off the truck and lands on the shipping container. Feet pounding against metal, she charges towards Brooklynn with a furious shriek, claws outstretched and teeth bared.

Time seems to slow down.

Brooklynn swings her legs around to drop off the edge of the container. But the tarp draped over her is bulky, constricting her limbs, slowing her down. So when she’s finally able to pull herself over the edge, she’s not quite fast enough to avoid Blue’s claws as the raptor sideswipes.

Red sprays through the air, Brooklynn screaming as she falls.

Ben’s already there to catch her, quickly steadying her on her feet. Three red lines are scored along the back of Brooklynn’s right shoulder; the gashes don’t look particularly deep, but Darius feels his stomach drop anyways.

Metal screeches above them as Blue’s claws dig into it, the raptor trying to change direction against her own momentum and sliding on the tarp. With an outraged roar, she leaps at them-

And snags on the trap’s rigging.

The net shoots up off the ground; Blue’s not inside it, but it flies up in front of the raptor, wrapping around her snout and claws. She hits the ground with a thud, snarling as she thrashes against the rapidly-tangling lines.

They won’t hold long, though.

“I’m okay,” Brooklynn says quickly as Darius rushes over. “Let’s go!”

The three of them bolt out into the hold. Ben and Brooklynn take up their usual formation, Ben in Brooklynn’s blind spot and her hand wrapped around his wrist. Together, they shift behind Darius, letting him take the lead.

Their earlier run is nothing compared to this. This is a top speed they have reserved specifically for times like these, with endurance built up over three years of running for their lives. It’s still not faster than a Velociraptor on flat ground; even with their head start, it won’t take Blue long to catch up. Already, Darius can hear her chasing after them.

But they have an advantage that she doesn’t: rubber-lined shoes that actually have traction on concrete.

“R- right!” Darius shouts as they approach another shipping container.

With the heads-up, Brooklynn is able to alert Ben in time for them all to seamlessly change direction without slowing down. The ship’s hold is a virtual maze of large vehicles and shipping containers, and Darius fully intends to use it to their advantage. The more turns they make, the harder it’ll be for Blue to gain speed.

He lets himself go on autopilot as he leads the way through the hold, frantically trying to come up with their next move. They lost their one chance to trap Blue, so that’s out. The best move now would be to bring her somewhere out in the open, where the authorities can easily see her when they arrive. That’ll increase the chance of them attempting to capture her alive, instead of being ambushed by her elsewhere, which could result in their (or her) death.

And the only open space on this ship is the deck.

Of course, they can’t just run laps with Blue at their heels until the authorities arrive, especially with Brooklynn injured. They need somewhere to hole up in. One common feature in the vehicles brought for this expedition is that they very rarely seem to have front doors. There are trailers, sure, but most- if not all- of them are currently occupied by a dinosaur, and they really don’t need more of those running around. However, there’s one kind of vehicle Darius spotted earlier that does have doors. And it just so happens that there’s two of them out on the deck.

He just hopes they didn’t think to lock the helicopters’ doors. If that’s even a thing. Worst case scenario, Ben still has his gun.

After dodging and weaving their way towards the ramps at the end of the hold, they sprint up onto the deck. Darius is thankful he was out here earlier, because it’s almost completely unrecognizable in the scarce moonlight. The helicopters should be towards the bow; they just have to get through another maze of shipping containers and trailers.

Blue screeches somewhere behind them. Darius takes a deep breath and plunges ahead.

Now that they aren’t in an enclosed space, their footsteps and heavy breathing don’t echo as loudly. On the bright side, it might make it easier to shake Blue off their tail. But on the other hand, Blue will also be less audible. Darius will have to rely on Brooklynn’s hearing to alert them if Blue is getting close- if she’s still able to focus with her injury, that is.

Darius’s lungs are starting to burn as they race through the cargo. He can see the very tips of helicopter blades ahead of them, almost tauntingly out of reach. Just a few more swerves around this shipping container, and then-

Brooklynn inhales sharply. “Wait!”

Blue jumps around the corner, landing in front of them with a roar.

Ah.

Darius skids to a halt, his heart sinking. Rather than continue following right behind them, and thus being led on a wild chase through the maze, Blue has realized which direction they’re trying to go and circled around the outside to cut them off.

Clever girl.

Panting, Darius backs up a couple steps, his mind racing. They could try screaming to get Blue to back down, but she seems fairly committed at this point. Plus, Brooklynn and Ben are similarly winded and he fears it wouldn’t be a very impressive display, anyway. There isn’t a clear path to the helicopters, but there are still the shipping containers behind them-

Blue lunges at them, and Ben fires his gun.

The shot rings painfully in Darius’s ears- not quite as bad as the one Wheatley fired in a small room- and echoes out across the deck. Ben hasn’t actually hit Blue, but she swerves away from them, snarling. Whether he intended to only fire a warning shot or it’s his inexperience with a gun at play, Darius doesn’t know, but it’s given him an opportunity to act.

Trusting that Ben will keep Blue from getting too close, Darius grabs Brooklynn’s arm and runs to the nearest shipping container.

“Up,” he says breathlessly, locking his fingers together. Brooklynn immediately gets the picture, grabbing his shoulder to steady herself as she puts a foot in the sling he’s made. Darius boosts her so she can grab the edge of the container. She starts to pull herself up, grunting in pain as she strains her injured shoulder.

Another shot rings off. Darius glances over his shoulder.

Good thing, too. Because Blue has dodged the bullet without breaking stride, forcing Ben to dive out of the way. Which results in Blue charging right at Darius.

He jumps away just in time, Blue slamming against the side of the container. Just above her, Brooklynn’s legs kick wildly for a second before she’s able to swing them up and over. Shifting onto her knees, Brooklynn whirls around to meet Darius’s gaze, her eyes wide with panic.

“Darius!”

“St- stay there!” Darius shouts to her before sprinting away.

He comes up on Ben right as the other boy is getting to his feet. He takes in the sight quickly- Brooklynn on top of the shipping container, Blue shaking herself off, Darius running towards him- and turns to run, too.

Together, Darius and Ben race towards the closer of the two helicopters. Ben still has the gun in his hand but seems to know that shooting at Blue while they’re both moving would be pointless, and stopping to take the shot would be a fatal mistake. Darius can hear Blue shrieking behind them, furiously giving chase. Her steps are gaining fast, rapidly approaching from the side and Darius realizes they aren’t going to make it.

Grabbing Ben’s arm, he sharply turns them to the left. Blue lands in the space they were occupying only a second ago, claws skidding on concrete as her jaws snap closed on empty air.

Ben stumbles a little at the unexpected turn but manages to keep going. They’re running towards the second helicopter now, on the other side of the deck. They’re twenty feet away when Blue starts bearing down on them again. Darius squeezes Ben’s arm to warn him. The helicopter is ten feet away. Five. Three, two, one-

Darius nearly slams into the side of the helicopter, grabbing the door’s handle. Next to him, Ben has turned around to shoot at Blue.

Out of the corner of his eye, Darius sees a small puff of powder from where the bullet strikes against the concrete, right in between Blue’s feet. Whether it actually hits her or just startles her, he isn’t sure, but it’s enough to knock her feet out from under her.

It doesn’t, unfortunately, stop her momentum.

So suddenly, Ben has a Velociraptor flying at him.

Blue’s side slams against Ben and throws him backwards, towards the edge of the ship. His back hits the railing just low enough that he tips over it, disappearing off the side of the ship with a shout.

Darius forgets the helicopter. Darting over to the railing, he sees that Ben has managed to grab hold of it, dangling over the ocean below. He’s lost hold of the gun, both hands gripping the bottom rung of the railing with white knuckles, his eyes blown wide. He doesn’t scream- over the years, they’ve all fallen out of the habit of screaming out of fear- but Darius can see it in his expression, clear as day.

Leaning over the railing, Darius strains to reach Ben’s hands. Wind roars in his ears as the inky black waves churn beneath them. He’s just managed to grab Ben’s wrists when he hears Blue growl.

Glancing over his shoulder, Darius’s heart just about stops beating.

Blue has gotten back on her feet. She doesn’t look to have sustained any further injury, but she’s holding herself tersely, weary from all the rough punishment her body’s been taking. Even so, she’s snarling at him with all her teeth, eyes blazing with a fury so intense it’s pinned Darius to the spot more surely than the weight of trying to pull Ben back up.

This is not a mindless killing machine. This is an intelligent apex predator who has decided she wants them dead.

Them, the tricky little humans who lured her into a trap, who got her shot, who helped take her away from her home. The humans who stood by as she laid helpless in her restraints, terrified and in agony. The humans who then had the audacity to try and trick her again- to save her, but how could she possibly know that? All she knows is that they cannot be trusted, no matter how they helped her in the past, and they are too dangerous to leave alone. Them, the funny little humans who travel in a pack and speak in her tongue but tell only lies.

Darius is defenseless, trapped by his unwillingness to let Ben fall (he can’t, not again). When Blue leaps for him this time, there will be no escaping her claws. It’s a fact they’re both aware of, an understanding passing between predator and prey.

Blue tenses her legs beneath her-

Then Bumpy rams into her side.

Blue is thrown against the helicopter, which actually shakes from the impact. With a heavy thud, the Velociraptor drops to the ground in a heap. Screeching in pain and alarm and confusion, she scrambles to her feet and staggers back a few steps, blinking at the Ankylosaurus that has suddenly appeared before her.

Bumpy roars, slamming her clubbed tail against the deck. She shifts in front of Darius and Ben, blocking them from Blue.

Darius doesn’t pause to marvel at his good luck. Gritting his teeth, he digs his heels in and pulls. Ben manages to swing a foot up and hook it under the railing, giving himself more leverage to climb. As soon as his head pokes up and his eyes fall on Bumpy, his jaw drops open.

“Bumpy!”

Darius helps Ben over the railing, though it’s hardly needed at this point. Ben leaps onto Bumpy’s back, sliding into his usual place as if he’d never left. The light in his eyes is wild and fearless and free, and Darius knows he is witnessing Ben in his most raw, untamed state.

Jungle-man and Ankylosaurus roar together, and for one glorious moment, they are one soul in two bodies.

Blue hisses as she backs away from them, tail lashing uncertainly. Although she’s tackled much larger foes before, an Ankylosaurus is a tall order- particularly in her weakened state. Her hatred is a strong thing, but it’s not strong enough to win out over self-preservation.

Her weight shifts, and alarm shoots through Darius. She’s about to run- which will put them right back at square one. He scrambles to think of a way to warn Ben, to tell him not to let Blue get away, but Ben’s back is to him and of course, he can’t hear-

But then a dart appears in Blue’s neck.

A startled yelp escapes the raptor. She thrashes her head from side to side, clawing at her neck in vain, swaying dangerously on her feet as the movement unbalances her. Then a second dart hits her side. Blue takes a few steps before finally slumping to the ground, not quite asleep but unable to get up.

Darius’s head whips around to follow the dart’s trajectory.

Across the way, Owen lowers a tranquilizer gun. Claire comes up beside him, with Brooklynn leaning heavily against her shoulder.

“Sorry we’re late,” Brooklynn calls with a grin. “What’d I miss?”

~*~

Yaz’s gaze snaps over to the door, her heart jolting.

A man’s face is glowering at them through the door’s small window, with a second one visible just over his shoulder. She doesn’t think they’re the same guys who tried to get in earlier, but it’s hard to tell. They look properly deranged, though, eyes alight with a desperate sort of fury.

If she had to guess, they didn’t make it to a lifeboat in time. This must be their back-up plan.

She has no way of knowing if anyone out there managed to repair the ship’s engine. But if these guys are trying to take the bridge back, they must be trying to make a break for it, and that would only be possible if the engine was functional.

Unless they don’t know the engine is sabotaged? Wheatley called mechanics to the engine room earlier, but he didn’t say what for. It’s possible they’re under the impression that the only reason the ship isn’t moving is because the engine was turned off from the bridge, leading them to think they might actually have a chance to escape if they get control back.

“You’re not getting this ship moving again,” Yaz calls over to them, keeping any trace of nerves out of her voice. “We took out the engine.”

“Shut up!” one of the men yells. “Open the fucking door or we’re smashing our way in!”

Well, there’s also the possibility they’re just acting on blind rage and desperation.

“Don’t listen to them,” Kenji says easily. “They’re just bluffing.” Then he turns to call over his shoulder. “Nice try, idiots! You can’t get in here.”

The man’s face disappears from the window. Then there’s a deafening bang as something heavy slams into the door. The door rattles in its hinges, holding fast, but Yaz hears the unmistakable crunch of metal bending under metal.

Whatever they’re using out there will almost certainly do the trick.

“Oh.” Kenji blinks. “Maybe they can.”

“Woah, woah, stop!” Yaz shouts, holding her hands up. “Okay, we’ll let you in, just don’t break the door down! There’s a fucking Velociraptor out there, for godsake.”

There’s a pause before the man’s face reappears at the window. “You’ve got from the count of five!” he barks. “Five…”

“What’s the plan?” Sammy whispers urgently.

Yaz’s mind races as she quickly scans the room. There’s the other door they could escape through, but she can’t run, and neither can Kenji. Fighting is their only option- because she knows that these people will try to kill them. Or maybe take them hostage, as bargaining chips to save their own hides when the authorities arrive. Yaz refuses to give them that opportunity, but they probably have guns and all she’s got is a dull knife-

Her gaze falls on a fire extinguisher hanging from the wall.

“Four…”

“Kenji,” Yaz says lowly, only loud enough for them to hear. “Stay put and cover your face. Sammy, get up and unlock the door, slowly. Then get out of the way quick, behind the door.”

Yaz knows how tall Sammy is, and knows that her standing in front of the door will block the rest of the room from view through the tiny window. Yaz, being a fair few inches shorter, should be completely hidden behind her- which will allow her to grab the fire extinguisher without being seen.

She doesn’t have time to explain this, but they obey without question. Kenji hides his face behind his knees, putting his arms over his head, while Sammy slowly rises to her feet and turns to the door.

“Three…”

Yaz tucks her legs into a crouch, ignoring the sharp pain in her ankle. As soon as Sammy steps in front of the door, obscuring the window, Yaz darts over to the fire extinguisher and lifts it off its hook. It’s not a full-sized canister, only about as long as her forearm, but there’s still a decent weight to it. And based on the dust coating the handle, it’s likely never been used before. That means it should be fully charged.

“Two…”

Sammy puts her hand on the door’s lock. Yaz steps behind her and pulls the extinguisher’s pin.

“One.”

The lock slides back, and Sammy swings the door open with enough force to create a breeze. Moving with the momentum, she quickly steps behind the door, sandwiching herself between it and the wall.

At the same moment, Yaz aims the nozzle forward and squeezes the trigger.

A cloud of chalky white foam sprays out of the nozzle in a wide arc, immediately flooding the doorway. Shouts of alarm and confusion fill the air, but Yaz doesn’t give them the chance to figure out what’s happening. Adjusting her grip to grab the handle with both hands, she holds her breath, closes her eyes, and steps into the cloud.

Then she swings the fire extinguisher up and out.

It connects hard with what she thinks is someone’s head, based on the solid thunk that rings out. There’s a heavy thud shortly after it, which she assumes is the man dropping to the ground. Stepping forward will probably end in her tripping over him, so she makes a split-second decision and launches the fire extinguisher forward like a javelin.

Thunk!

That definitely hits the second man. Once he topples over, Yaz waits for a few more precious seconds- blind to the world and still holding her breath- just to make sure neither of them are getting up.

Then she stumbles back out of the cloud, falling to the ground as her ankle gives out on her. She lands flat on her back with a pained grunt. The impact knocks the wind out of her, making her wheeze for breath- and then immediately curl onto her side coughing as she inhales some of the dry foam.

Her throat stings, but she forces herself to cough deeply to get it all out before sucking in fresh air. Her eyes are starting to water, so she pulls the collar of her shirt up to wipe her face with the inside of it, since the front is probably covered in foam. Blinking through her tears, she pushes herself up into a sitting position and looks around.

The cloud has finally started to settle, dusting the two unconscious forms in the hallway like freshly fallen snow. A large sledgehammer is laying on the floor beside them- which she supposes answers the question of how they intended to break through the door.

Sammy steps out from behind the door, gasping. “Yaz! You okay?”

‘Okay,’ Yaz signs, as she struggles to catch her breath. She waves Sammy off with her other hand, pointing at the open doorway.

Sammy catches her meaning immediately. Hurrying over to the door, she leans down to grab the sledgehammer and drag it inside the bridge. Then she slams the door shut and locks it.

Yaz leans back on her hands and exhales slowly. Hopefully the authorities will be here before the mercenaries wake up and have time to go track down another sledgehammer or something.

“That was incredible!” Sammy exclaims, racing over to wrap Yaz in a hug. She pulls away and looks Yaz over, her brows creased with worry. “But are you sure you’re alright, sweet pea? That looked rough.”

“Yeah,” Yaz says hoarsely. “It’s just a mild irritant, should clear up quick.” She stretches her leg out and flexes her ankle experimentally, wincing as it throbs. “And you know, I’m used to this thing giving me grief.”

Sammy clicks her tongue sympathetically, smoothing a hand over Yaz’s hair. “Well, thank you,” she murmurs, leaning in to press a kiss to Yaz’s cheek.

Yaz gives her a warm smile. “Anytime.” She coughs into her fist before glancing over at Kenji. “You okay, Kenj?”

“Holy shit!” Kenji’s gaping at Yaz with wide eyes, the top of his head dusted white. “That was, hands down, one of the top five coolest things I’ve ever witnessed. But only because we’ve been fighting dinosaurs for three years.”

Yaz snorts. “Wow, top five? I can die happy now.”

“Yeah, well. It’s pretty exclusive.” Kenji shrugs, some of his humor falling away as he gives her a considerate look. “Seriously though, thanks. There’s no way I could take a fight right now, so I owe you one.”

Yaz huffs a laugh at that, even as the knot in her heart loosens. “We’ll call it even,” she amends.

“Alright,” Kenji says softly. He runs his good hand through his hair, shaking off the powder. “So where’d you learn how to use a fire extinguisher, anyway?”

Sammy gives him a funny look. “Uh, didn’t you pay attention durin’ your school’s fire safety drills?” she asks.

“No,” Kenji tuts, “that would require me actually going to school. Rich jerk, remember? Private tutors all the way.”

“Actually,” Yaz says, a fond smile tugging at her mouth, “when you have a single mom who works a lot, you spend a lot of time home alone. So, she made sure I knew how to use one in case of an emergency.”

Sammy breaks into a broad grin. “Probably not the emergency she was imaginin’, huh?” she chuckles.

“Nope,” Yaz laughs.

Over in the corner, the captain lets out a string of unpleasant sounds. His words are muffled by the gag, but Yaz can catch their meaning by his tone well enough.

Kenji shoots him a look. “Come on, man,” he complains, “we’re having a moment here.”

“No, look!” Sammy says suddenly, jumping to her feet.

Yaz follows her gaze out the bridge’s front windows. Squinting past their own reflections and out into the dark night, she can just make out a tall shape approaching off the bow, flashing with yellow and red lights. The siren hits her ears a heartbeat later, and the sudden tears that spring to her eyes aren’t from irritating chemicals, but relief.

Help has finally arrived.

~*~

#jurassic world camp cretaceous #jurassic world fallen kingdom #jwcc #camp cretaceous #my writing

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boldlyanxious · 4 years ago

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Mistaken Identity

@sailormarelda apparently your wish is my command

If you enjoy, check out my masterlist

Just her luck that some asshole on the subway dumped his sticky energy drink all over her. It wasn't just wet. It was sticky and soaking through her shirt. Somehow he managed to pour it on her front and back.

He didn't even apologize. He just shoved past her and got off on the next stop.

It was only a few more stops until her stop. She checked her directions again before she climbed the stairs to get to the street. Maybe luck was on her side because there was a vendor right there with shirts for sale and a very inviting looking coffee shop. She bought a shirt and hoped the coffee shop had a decent bathroom for her to clean up in.

She laughed in the mirror at the shirt and artfully tied it so the ab muscles drawn onto the Superboy shirt for where hers were and it still showed off her dark skinny jeans. It was the best she could do to show off her designs on her outing since her blouse was not currently worth seeing. She hoped she could get the drink stain out later.

The barista did a double take when she ordered and looked a bit confused. She clearly wanted to say something but she took a breath and told Marinette the total. They didn't know her here so they wouldn't know that she frequently ordered drinks like that. She could probably chug it and then take a nap but she definitely needed it for the rest of today.

---

Roy was by the back of the counter throwing away his paper cup when he heard a name he knew coming from the baristas,

"If she weren't clearly a girl I would think it was Tim Drake. It's the exact same order too."

"He was here earlier today. He was wearing the same shirt."

"Maybe there is an evil plot in the city and he got turned into a girl."

"Stranger things have happened for sure."

Roy pulled out his phone and tried to text Tim. Girl Tim was on the phone and definitely not reading any messages. He snuck closer to hear the conversation.

"... Definitely got a look for ordering my regular coffee.

…

I've got a new look though. It is guaranteed to protect me from villains.

…

Okay. Well I have my coffee and I'm on my way. I'll see you there."

She hung up and grabbed the coffee. But Roy couldn't just let her leave. Tim needed help and the Bat family would want to know about this right away.

---

Marinette walked down the street happy to have her coffee. It was exactly what she needed. She was already feeling better. She jumped back from the street when a car suddenly came right at her. So much for American traffic coming from the other direction. Luckily her coffee didn't spill.

"Hey, did you need anything?" the driver called out.

"I'm fine," she responded then muttered to herself, "You clearly need driving lessons."

She hoped he didn't hear her because he was suddenly getting out of the car. He was walking towards her and ask her alarm bells were going off in her head.

"Are you sure? We probably need to get you help."

Marinette looked around trying to make a plan. She looked one way and then took off running the other way. That didn't do enough to confuse his reflexes. He grabbed her quickly and closed her into the back seat of his car. She tried the handle and it was locked from the inside.

She had dropped her coffee and her purse before he pushed her back here. He had grabbed the purse off the ground before he got in and sped off but she didn't think she could reach it. He had a flashing light on the car so no one would question his erratic driving.

Maybe she had been confused with a criminal. She would just need to wait it out until she could explain who she was. Her stomach turned when he pulled off the street and into an underground parking area. He went all the way to the lowest level and to the back. There was only one other car and a door. No one was around.

---

Roy didn't know what had happened to Tim but he seemed to have no memory of who he was. Jason had probably contacted the others by now and they could figure out how to help him. Although it would be easier if she weren't fighting while he was trying. He ended up pulling her out of the car by the leg and throwing her over his shoulder.

She was still yelling at him and hitting his back but no one was around to hear before he entered the code and went through the door. He didn't even bother with greeting Jason. He deposited Girl Tim into a safe room and closed the door. They had a 2 way mirror they could use and an intercom system.

By the time he was finished, Jason was already looking through the glass.

"Damn, Tim makes a hot girl. And loud." Jason said.

"Do we have any idea what might have happened?" Roy asked.

"Oracle is searching and the others are coming. I'll let her know about the loss of memory too. That could complicate things for anyone else affected. If people don't know anything happened we will have to rely on missing person reports."

---

Marinette tried not to think of all the warnings she had gotten before moving here. They had been plentiful but she brushed them off. It couldn't be that bad. She knew people who had lived here for years and they said it was mostly over blown. But sure had been here under 3 days and had just been kidnapped in broad daylight.

She knew the guy had been acting weird. She should have run immediately. She should have stopped being polite and thrown her $12 coffee at his face before running away. She tried to be nice and it was going to get her killed.

---

They all took turns looking through the glass at their friend/brother/son. But Girl Tim didn't know any of them. Oracle had confirmed that the coffee shop was the last place Tim's phone had been and Steph had seen him before he left wearing the same shirt. Roy told them about the phone conversation he has heard and it all fit.

Now they just had to figure out what had happened and how to reverse it.

---

Eventually Marinette got tired of taking to the wall. Technically it was an intercom imbedded into the wall but it felt like it because they didn't seem to hear her at all. There were more of them now. She didn't know how many more but it had to be at least 4 separate people. She was pretty sure it was more than that though.

She didn't know what they could possibly want with her.

She flopped down onto the bed and covered her face with the, hopefully clean, pillow and screamed into it. It felt really good. It was exactly what she needed, aside from her coffee and freedom.

But apparently they choose that time to make a move. Hands were on her holding her and moving here. She saw a needle and she did everything she could to fight them. She definitely hit a couple of them but the needle still went into her arm.

She wasn't sure what they were expecting the result to be but she allowed herself to relax against the arms that still held her. One moved to lift her back in while the others filed out of the small room.

She waited until the doorway was clear before she moved. She jumped back up and hit his chin with her head. He was not dazed for nearly long enough but she ran for the door anyway. She was out of the room and halfway to the exit when he caught up with her and pinned her down.

It wouldn't have mattered anyway. Another man walked in right then.

"What is the deal with you all blowing up my phone? I'm trying to get some work done."

The room froze. They all just stared at him until the man pinning her down spoke.

"If you are there and perfectly fine. Then who is this?"

Tags

@theymakeupfairies | @emjrabbitwolf | @vixen-uchiha | @trythisagainlove | @adrestar

#maribat #it's always maribat #humor fic #boldlyanxious #mistaken identity

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after-witch · 4 years ago

Text

Hook Line and Sinker [Yandere Ransom Drysdale x Reader]

Title: Hook Line and Sinker [Yandere Ransom Drysdale x Reader]

Synopsis: You’ve broken up with Ransom Drysdale, and you mean it this time. But the freedom that comes with the breakup leads to a series of unexpected coincidences that leave you wondering: was it worth the price?

Word Count: 8955

notes: yandere, mentions of physical abuse, financial abuse, comfort sweaters

Nothing lasts forever. Not even relationships--and certainly not love. What might start off as an intense, passionate relationship can (and did, in your case) eventually fizzle; things that you were willing to overlook when you were absolutely besotted would wear down with time, and eventually they became too much to ignore.

That’s what you tell yourself, what you remind yourself, in the moment after you tell him:

“It’s over, Ransom. We’re done. I’m leaving.”

It couldn’t last forever. Not with his inability to stay sober, not with his tendency to cheat on you with meaningless flings that somehow hurt more than any steamy single-minded affair. Not with his flare-ups of controlling tendencies that left you in tears on the bathroom floor as he asked you to please stop dressing like a slut in front of his family, is that too hard to ask?

You’d asked him to change. He swore he would; he never did. You forgave him, more than once, more times than you could count. But enough was enough. Maybe he thought you were too weak to leave him, especially three years into your relationship, when your lives were becoming so integrated, pushing you towards a potential permanent future. It was a future that left you feeling numb and anxious. Stuck in a marriage with someone who wanted to stay with you but treated you horribly, all the same. And that wasn’t even getting into the family dynamics that left your head spinning.

He stares at you now, and his mouth opens just a little bit in what you know is going to be a barrage of questions, insults, maybe even threats spurred on by your words. But instead he closes his mouth and shakes his head, letting out a soft, bitter chuckle.

“Well, damn. This sucks.” You can see the indent of his tongue in his cheek before he clicks and shrugs. “Guess that’s it then. Need help packing your shit or what?”

His response is so blasé that you’re genuinely shocked and, you must admit, a little hurt. He didn’t even ask for a second chance or beg you to stay or argue with you about your terrible timing because our-vacation-to-Hawaii-is-coming-up. So it’s your turn to look surprised, and you shake your head.

“No, I… already took care of it. It’s at a storage locker.” You didn’t have family left, and your close friends had pulled away from you one by one once you stayed with Ransom time and time again--so you’d had to pay movers to help you pack and transport everything to storage over the weekend, while Ransom was away and you were free to make a clean breakup.

He nods, sticks his hand inside his jacket pockets. He’s looking around the room, avoiding direct eye contact in a clear show of his discomfort. It’s weird seeing Ransom like this--the normally self-assured, cocky Ransom, looking for any excuse not to look at you.

“So… see ya around?” His tone is sincere, if still confused. The idea of you leaving must have really never crossed his mind. The look on his face when he finally faces you again appears genuinely puzzled.

He sticks out his hand and it feels almost comical for things to end this way, particularly considering the nights you’d spent imagining some big blow up, some big fight with Ransom screaming and you firing off the many reasons why it had to end no matter what he said.

But it didn’t go the way you expected at all. It was calm. Easy. A clean break-up.

So you shake his hand and grab your purse and the small roller-suitcase and give a half-hearted wave as you walk out the door; the taxi you’d hired to pick you up is waiting, car running, meter going. You would be staying at a hotel for two weeks, which would hopefully be enough time to find a semi-decent apartment; your credit score had improved so much since Ransom added you to his cards, to a shared checking account, and it wouldn’t be too difficult to get approved.

A new life, one where you could focus on yourself for once, was just around the corner.

"I'm sorry, miss, but it's definitely not the reader. The card is declined."

You've had this nightmare before. No, you've lived this nightmare before--years ago when your credit was shit and you ran up your cards and had to face the music in a publicly humiliating display with the longest checkout line you'd ever seen behind you. Only that was years ago, in a little grocery store, and since getting together with Ransom you never had to worry about problems like this. You never had to worry about the shame of not having enough, not being enough.

But this? This was happening now. In an upscale hotel. With your nice purse (a Christmas present) and designer clothes (casual, comfortable) and your cheeks flushed undeniably warm.

The hotel clerk has a tight, sympathetic smile on her face. A coworker who walks behind her glances at you, judging, and you just know he's going to head into some break room and tell everyone but yet another piece of discarded army candy with a declined credit card. You wish you'd kept your sunglasses on.

"Did it, um, say why? I don't--" you plaster a smile on your face, hating the way this all feels familiar, like a part of your past coming back to haunt you. "I don't understand, the card is good."

The clerk's smile flickers, just a bit.

"It says there's a fraud alert on this card. Perhaps you'd better call the company. Or would you like me to call them?"

Fucking. Ransom.

"Oh, oh no, don’t worry about it. I’ll call them myself. I'm so sorry about this." You turn away from the clerk as quickly as possible and step away from the counter, away from the person waiting behind you who will surely have no trouble with their card, away from the clerks giving you a passive side-eye. You lean against a cool cement pillar in the lobby and you know what you have to do.

You have to call Ransom.

You haven't deleted his number yet--you'd planned on calling him today or tomorrow to figure out how to split up your shared finances--so it's easy enough to find the number. It's not so easy to tap his contact, but you have to, so you force yourself to do it and stare at his photo as the call rings. And rings. And rings. “Hello?” Your breath catches but in an instant, when the message continues, you feel stupid. It’s his voicemail. Fuck.

You text him, instead. Emergency. Call right away. And of course: He leaves you on read. Fuck.

You call him again. And again. He picks up on the sixth call, but your heart is racing too hard and sweat is beading down your forehead and it takes you a moment to confirm that the "Hello?" wasn't part of the voicemail message this time. Fuck.

"Um. Hey," you say, keeping your voice as un-royally-pissed-off as possible, because if he did put in a fraud alert then you don't want to risk any additional asshole moves. "So there's something wrong with the card? The one that ends in 8921? The hotel said there was a fraud alert and--"

"Did you really think I'm going to keep paying for your shit if we're over?"

His voice is quick, biting--exactly what you'd expected from him earlier. Somehow it stings even harsher over the phone, where you feel more helpless, unable to avoid his words.

"I thought..." you wet your lips, trying to maintain your cool. "Look, my name is on them, so I thought send you my part of the payments until I can get cards in my own name."

He chuckles, low and short. "Yeah? What, you want to create a payment schedule or something?"

You fight back the annoyance in your tone. You hate having to be the bigger person, but your finances--your life--is on the line. "Yeah, actually, that'd be perfect. It wouldn't be for long. You know I'll pay them on time, I'm not looking to screw you over."

"You're going too pay me on time? For all the stuff you've bought, the stuff I’ve bought for you, this hotel room and god knows what else? How are you going to afford all that?"

He knows you recently earned a promotion at your work. He knows this, because you were so excited about it, and his half-assed congratulations over lukewarm leftovers left you feeling bitter and sad and useless. So you can't help it when bitterness seeps into your voice with your answer. "You know I just got a promotion."

"Did you?" It's said in such a casual tone that it gives you pause, but a moment later he simply hangs up on you.

Fucking. Ransom.

You shove your phone back into your purse, and the clerks at the counter are staring at you. Sweat has trickled down your back and your shirt sticks to your skin ever-so-slightly as you pull away from the pillar and approach the counter, awkward smile and cheeks hot.

"There is an issue with the card, they're working on it, so I’ll just call for a new reservation when it's fixed. I'm so sorry for the mix up!" Your voice is so peppy and high-pitched and fake and you feel like you’re back at your old job, feet aching with falling apart shoes, forced to deal with people returning old toasters laden with crumbs, calming they’d “just bought it the day before and it didn’t work.”

"Of course," the clerk says, and you know this is hotel clerk code for "You're a shitty liar."

You roll your suitcase out of the lobby with tears in your eyes and you shove your sunglasses on as soon as you've cleared the building. You feel exhausted, drained--so you use what little energy you have left to start googling for cheap motels.

The room smells musty. You pin the plastic sheet you’d snagged at a dollar store over the comforter and pray it will be enough to protect you from whatever is on the likely unwashed fabric. The TV is broken, there’s no WIFi, and there’s a few suspicious stains on the floor that make you wonder if this hotel has ever been featured in a porno, true crime show, or both.

But it’s all you could afford with the cash in your wallet. You only had enough cash on hand for 2 nights at a ragtag hotel that offers nightly and hourly rates. You didn’t dare use your debit card or any credit cards with Ransom’s name or information on them.

You just need some sleep. A good night’s sleep to feel renewed and ready to tackle retaking your life, bit by bit. In the morning, you need to go to the bank and withdraw your money from the joint bank account. Then you can reopen an account in your name, get a new debit card, and apply for a few credit cards afterwards.

Sure, it would have been nicer to do this without Ransom being an asshole. But deep down, you suspected he wouldn’t let you have a clean, lets-still-be-friends type of break. Not after all the times he’d pressured you into staying, manipulating you with words and gifts and promises, promises. Promises that were worth shit.

The sheet crinkles underneath you as you scroll through your messages. You’d texted a few formerly close friends about the breakup earlier, hoping that they’d maybe want to reconnect. So far, you’d been left on read, blocked, and received only one response: “New number, who is this?”

So much for that. Not that you can blame them. There are only so many times they can rush over for a late night intervention in which you tell them every horrible thing Ransom does (he’s controlling, he doesn’t want me to meet with friends without permission, he tells me what I can and can’t wear, he cheats, he lies, he pushed me--)--before they get tired of you returning to him, again and again and again.

The only one who’d been texting you recently--okay, for the past year--had been Ransom. Mostly dick pics. And demands for you to send him something back, which you always did after a while, because you didn’t want to deal annoyed texts or voice messages accusing you of clearly cheating on him or hating him because why else wouldn’t you be willing to send him so much as a sexy selfie to your boyfriend?

But in between those, there were conversations. Sometimes sweet ones, sometimes thoughtful ones that always made you remember why you fell hard for him in the first place. Late night conversations from when he was off on trips. You try not to wonder if he was fucking someone on each of these trips, if while you were sending him a late night ramble about a TV show and he was humoring you with jokes and quips, he was actually snuggled up with someone else. Laying in bed, naked, laughing at your dumb ass waiting at home.

The not-so-sweet conversations were ones that you had screenshotted and sent to your friends more than once, before they pulled themselves away. Texts asking where you were. Asking who you ate lunch with, and whether or not you were fucking them. Asking why your new office was connected to a certain co-worker’s, and how many blowjobs you had to give to get said new office because you didn’t tell him about the new office until after you were moved in, so you were clearly hiding him. Asking you to send him outfit pics so he could approve them or make you change if they were too slutty or not slutty enough or if you were only clearly wearing that halter dress to try to get with the bartender.

Yet your mind had always returned to the nice Ransom, the Ransom who made you laugh and squeezed you hard when had a shitty day of work and let you bury your face in his sweater as you snuggled on the couch. Maybe that’s why it took so long to leave. You were waiting for him to stop being Ransom and start being the fantasy of Ransom you’d conjured in your head.

Your eyes feel heavy so you plug in your phone, turn the sound off, and lay down on the uncomfortable plastic sheet that crinkled over the pillows. It feels strange to lay on a lumpy mattress covered in plastic, after years of custom-made beds and memory foam pillows and all the other luxuries that Ransom was able to provide.

You try not to think about it too much. While you won’t exactly be indulging in all the luxuries you had with Ransom, but your job pays you well, and you won’t ever have to go back to living hand-to-mouth like you did before. You won’t have to worry about late bills and debt collectors and landlords who come late at night and demand inspections while you’re in your pajamas.

You have work in the morning. You have to get to the bank in the morning. Your thoughts are still buzzing with anxiety as you fall into an uneasy slumber.

“I’m sorry, but the account has been closed.”

You feel years of customer service training cracking underneath your skin. You can’t freak out. If you freak out, they won’t feel inclined to go the extra mile. You know this, from firsthand experience.

So you take a shaky breath. “Um, this just--it isn’t possible. It’s a joint account. I’m on the account. There was money in there, you can check--”

“I’m sorry, but the funds were transferred and account has been closed by the other account holder. There’s nothing I can do. I suggest contacting the other party in the account.”

You swallow and nod and walk away, this time having been smart enough to keep your sunglasses on to hide your humiliated expression. Why didn’t you insist on having your own account? Ransom said it was better to keep it joint, so you could just buy stuff whenever you wanted. You’d agreed because it was so generous, something you’d never thought possible at the time, when you were used to having to pay overdraft fees and cringing whenever you checked your balance.

Your fingers tremble as you bring up his contact on your phone. You tap. No answer.

You don’t have time to call him two, three, ten times--you have to get to work. So you steady your nerves. You breathe in, you breathe out. You get in your car and plug your phone in and decide to contact your lawyer. Fuck--your lawyer was Ransom's lawyer. But the anxiety eases when you remember that you’d paid him a retainer fee months ago, and Ransom couldn’t do anything about that. You could at least get a basic consult out of the retainer.

The call ringing sounds muffled through your car’s speaker but it isn’t long before someone answers, and you’re transferred to the lawyer Ransom insisted you have--gotta have a lawyer when you have money, babe--and that you hadn’t spoken to in ages.

“Hi,” you say, voice artificially bright, “this is--”

You don’t get a chance to finish.

“I know who this is.” The lawyer sounds tired, and his tone is curt and clipped. “I’m sorry. I’m no longer able to provide you with any legal counsel.”

You almost miss a red light and regret calling the office while you were driving.

“Is this about the debit card? Because I paid the retainer months ago--”

“The retainer has been refunded into the connected checking account.”

Your voice looses its artificial cheeriness and you stumble over your words in frustration. “That’s--it’s--it was a joint account, which is why I called, Ransom drained it and took everything. Isn’t there something we can do, because that was my money too and--”

“I am no longer able to provide you with legal counsel.”

You want to cry. You hate crying, as an adult. It makes you feel weak. Especially on the phone.

“I don’t understand. Why was the retainer refunded? Did--did someone call you?”

He clears his throat into the phone. “I am no longer able to provide you with legal counsel. Goodbye.”

He hangs up. Your hands shake.

You pull into the parking lot of your work and park the car and as soon as you do, you hunch yourself over the steering wheel and simply shake in frustration.

You have no bank account. Ransom drained it. You have no credit cards. Ransom blocked them. You couldn’t even talk to a lawyer, because--shock--Ransom made sure you couldn’t. Everything was in Ransom’s name. He insisted on adding you to his accounts, closing out your own paltry ones; insisted that he pay off your credit card debt, and making you close those, too, instead adding you to his cards. It was all to help you out, he said, at the time.

Wasn’t it? He was shockingly not judgmental about the state of your finances, and while you’d put up some protest, you didn’t exactly argue with him when he suggested wiping your debts clean and getting your credit back up. And considering that he wasn’t immune to needing a bail-out now and then (late night calls to his grandfather, snarky comments at his parent’s dinner table, come to mind) maybe he could sympathize with being in over your head. Even if your issues were rooted in poverty and shitty jobs and his were rooted in a total lack of financial discipline and, as you’d later found out, a drug addiction.

Still. He helped you before. He would help you now, once he realized how serious it was. For now he was just--reacting like an asshole, acting childish and ridiculous. He was an asshole. You know this. You’ve known this. You need to call him and meet with him and make him realize how ridiculous he’s being, and he’ll sigh and snark but he’ll agree to stop acting like such an ass.

But first you have to work. Life goes on. Even without Ransom--even with Ransom, screwing you over out of pettiness.

The air conditioning in the lobby is on blast, and the familiar smell of clean furniture and floor cleaner from the late-night cleaning crew is surprisingly comforting. Here, you can forget about Ransom--forget about the cards and the lawyer and the fact that your life has been upended in mere hours. If only until your lunch break, at least.

Anthony is working the front desk and you give him a a soft, if strained smile. There’s something in the smile that he gives you in return that reminds you of the hotel clerk. Sympathetic and judgmental.

Ah. You probably look like--well, less than your best, you realize. You did pack some toiletries in your suitcase but the water in the motel had streaks of brown and you didn’t shower, opting instead to rinse your face with what was left of a water bottle you’d bought earlier and layering on more deodorant to make up for the lack of a proper scrub. You probably looked a bit tired, haggard, not unlike some of the employees who got stuck with big clients the night before their paperwork was due.

Still. Nothing that freshening up in your private bathroom--thank god for the new office--can’t help. So you hit the button on the elevator and take deep breaths as you ride up, intent on working as productively as possible. The doors open and you navigate the familiar maze of open-plan desks for the lower-tier workers, desks surrounded by half-walls that always kept you staring straight ahead, lest you accidentally glance over and see a co-worker picking their nose.

Yet as you weave in-and-out of the familiar rows, heading towards the back of the room where the real offices, the ones with full walls and doors and privacy glass lay, you can’t help but feel that something is… off.

No one calls out to greet you, though that can be easily attributed to the jealousy over your promotion. You’d been working there for far less than most of the lower level workers--Ransom got you the job, with his connections and a hefty revision of your resume and, you assume, some personal phone calls--and you’d already been promoted to senior management. That wasn’t technically Ransom’s work, though. That was all your own effort, your own blood, sweat, tears and intense devotion to each project that came your way. Sure, the connections he helped you make, the dinner parties, all that helped--but if it weren’t for your skills, the connections wouldn’t have made a difference. Right?

Still, whatever bitterness existed in the people hunch in open-air cubicles, the receptionists always greeted you. But today they caught your eye then awkwardly glanced down, or pretended to be looking for something in their drawers. It was odd. Did you look that bad? That out of sorts?

You shake off the heavy feeling in your stomach and for once, you shut the door to your office instead of keeping it open for passers-by or people needing approval for this-and-that. It feels good to lean against the solid wood door and take a breath, a deep one, invigorating and calming.

A quick trip to the bathroom has you staring at yourself from all angles. You don’t look that bad, you reason. Just tired. But who wouldn’t be, sleeping on a plastic sheet in the shittiest motel in the area? You take a quick sniff under your arms but even that reveals nothing much but a faint hint of sweat and powdery deodorant.

There’s a firm knock at your office door and you glance at the mirror for a final once over before opening it up. It’s your boss. Did you have a meeting? You try to do a mental scan of something you’ve missed, but nothing comes to mind.

“Hi,” you say, wavering with uncertainty at the threshold. Should you invite him in? “What can I do for you? We didn’t have a meeting, did we?” You let yourself chuckle, dry and quick. “I’m sorry, I’m a bit scattered this morning.”

Your boss doesn’t return your chuckle, which immediately raises the hairs on the back of your neck. Something was wrong. Shit--you were working on a major project for a seriously important client. The type of client that could genuinely make or break a company, if you got on their bad side. You press your lips together and make a silent vow to keep it serious.

“I’d like to keep this conversation private.” His tone is low and serious and you invite him in without a second thought, shutting the thick door behind you, trying to ignore the way everyone was shooting glances as it closed. Fuck, fuck, fuck, your thoughts race--no wonder everyone was giving you the stink eye. Something was wrong with the client, and you were the one making primary contact with them.

Your boss takes a seat on the leather sofa pushed up against the wall and you immediately set yourself down behind your desk.

He sighs. Short. Frustrated. Annoyed.

“We have to let you go.”

The words don’t register.

“Go where?”

It’s only after you say it that you realize what he said, what it meant, and you feel like a colossal moron in every respect.

“It’s not working out,” he continues, staring at your desk and not at your face. “Since you’ve only been in this position for a month, you don’t quality for senior severance. The best we can do is to pay you what you’ve earned this week.”

Your mouth is so dry that you don’t know if you can talk. Your hand fumbles on your desk for a water bottle you’d left overnight, and that’s when you see it--the photo frame. You keep a photo of yourself and Ransom, cuddled together for a selfie, on your desk. The photo was lying on your desk, frameless, ripped in half--leaving only your vacantly smiling face staring up at you.

Ransom was here.

“Did he put you up to this?” You whisper. “Did Ransom tell you to fire me?”

You know he won’t answer. But you stare at him so fervently that he can’t help but look up at you, and you see it all in his eyes, in the subtle, embarrassed expression of his face.

You can imagine Ransom strolling in--maybe he called first--and settling in for a private audience with your boss in his office. He’d probably pull the chair up to the desk and put his feet on it, just to be an ass. Then he’d bring up… you. And why you had to be let go. Did he give a reason, did he tell your boss why a respected employee who he once secured a position for, who shot up the ranks through intense effort and work, needed to be fired? Did he even need to give a reason?

“This is absolute bullshit,” you say, finally, voice dry and hoarse and bitter. You want to say you’ll be contacting a lawyer. That this won’t stand. But you know--and he knows--that there’s nothing you can do.

Your boss stands, slow, and sighs again. “I’m sorry it had to end this way. Pack up your things as quickly as possible.”

He leaves, and you keep your eyes trained on the ripped photograph to avoid seeing the expressions of the people in the doorway before your boss mercifully shuts the door.

It takes all of your effort not to cry.

You don’t have much effort left.

Your things consisted of a handful of personal items, little touches you’d brought in to make your office feel more like “you.” A nice picture print. A pastel afghan to drape over the couch. A stapler with a floral design. You have the strong urge to dump them in a trash can, but that’s quickly quelled by the realization that you can’t afford to buy new things, or any things, at this point.

You don’t care if wearing your sunglasses as you power walk to the elevators makes you look stupid. You know someone, somewhere in this office is filming you and probably captioning it with something stupid to post to their Reels or TikTok, and it just makes you leave faster. A few people murmur comments your way, sympathetic in tone, but you’re not really listening. None of their platitudes matter, because Ransom was here, in your workplace, in your office, and he stole the thing you were most proud of from under your feet.

To his credit, when you reach the bottom floor, Anthony practically fumbles out from behind his desk and holds the door open for you. He mouths a “Sorry” and he probably is, but he’s probably used to dealing with rich assholes like Ransom who get what they want, when they want it; even when what they want is to fire a good employee on demand for very personal reasons.

The sun is beating down hard, even for the morning, and the stress of your situation makes you blast the air conditioning as soon as you get in the car. God, the car--how are you going to afford the payments? You wish you could call your mom. You wish your friends--are they even your friends, anymore?--would call you back.

You grab your phone from your purse and stare at the black screen. Maybe you should call the friend who didn’t block you. She would answer, if you called, because she knew you didn’t make calls unless it was serious. She might not rush to your side, but maybe she can offer you a place to stay, a couch, some advice. A kind word would do, right now, with how much anxiety and frustration has been packed into the last 12 hours.

But when you unlock your screen, your gut sinks. Five missed calls. From the storage company. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You tap their number and bring the phone to your ear and pretend that your hands aren’t shaking.

The man who answers is the same one you talked to on the phone before, when setting up your move. “Hello, Move’nSecure Storage Company. This is Steve speaking. How many I help you?”

“Hi Steve!” You hate how chipper you sound. “I actually just got a few missed calls from you guys, I’m sorry, I was in the office and--”

“Oh.” His voice is surprisingly flat, suddenly flat, losing its customer service inflection in an instant before picking it back up. “Yes. We’ve been trying to reach you. For confirmation, the storage locker your purchased is A443, correct?”

You fumble in your purse for the receipt and confirm the little numbers printed neatly on the paper. “Yes, A443. Is everything okay?”

“No, it’s not.” You’re grateful that you didn’t have much for breakfast because you know it would be clawing its way back up at this point. “The card you gave us for the storage fee was declined.”

The debit card. You’d paid in cash for the move, and paid for 1 month of storage with the card. The card that was now useless, connected to an empty and closed bank account.

“Is there another card you can give us?”

“No, but...” You say, because no, there is not. There is not a card. There is not a job. There is nothing. “But if you could just hold my stuff, I’ll be there in less than a hour to get it.”

“We don’t hold items,” Steve tells you, a rehearsed banality to his tone. “Your items are currently outside the unit.”

You instinctively want to yell at Steve but, fuck fuck fuck, you’ve been there, behind the counter, dealing with people who couldn’t pay for shit and then had the nerve to get upset with you. “All of it?” You ask, your voice cracking slightly.

“Yes.”

You hang up, and toss your phone onto the passenger seat. The quicker you get there, the less chance that something will get broken or stolen or who knows what else.

The trip to the storage unit seems to take forever, and when you arrive you don’t even take a second to lock your car doors. Instead you sprint inside, startling Steve--looking at his phone, then at you, then at the sign plastered up on the wall leading to the storage locker floors. He points. Row A, separated into 100s, 200s, 300s, and--your number--400s.

You don’t remember if you say ‘thank you,’ because you’re speed-walking down the hallway and following the signs and it isn’t long before you see it: a storage locker with tons of stuff piled up, dumped, outside the now-empty unit where it was supposed to be safe and sound. Waiting for you to get an apartment and pick it back up and rearrange it into your new life, your new “you.”

The problem is immediate: You can’t fit all this in your car. You don’t know anyone who could take the stuff for you. You mind reels for options and the only thing you can come up with is ferrying your belongings to and from the hotel. You can pay for a few more days once you cash your partial paycheck. After that… you don’t know.

Pawn your things? Yeah. That might work. You can get enough cash by pawning most of your stuff, the good stuff. Enough money to get you into a shitty apartment with leaks and a bad landlord. Then you can a job that barely pays rent and you’ll be right back where you started, before you met Ransom. Before you thought leaking ceilings and $20 paychecks after taxes were a thing of the past.

You ignore the humiliation that makes your stomach curl as you take your things out to the car, handful by handful. Steve doesn’t bother holding the door open for you. You mention that you’re going to be back on your way out, and he offers a non-committal hum.

At least when you get to the hotel, the owner sees you fumbling with boxes and offers to help you out. It takes less time with two hands to get everything in the room, and once it’s locked up you head back out to the storage units.

You keep your sunglasses on for the second trip into the storage unit, even though you don’t know Steve or care what he thinks. He doesn’t look up when you walk in and it’s just as well, since you’re only heading back to the A-400s and don’t need his non-existent help.

But the sight that greets you when you round the corner to your unpaid-for storage locker makes your blood run cold.

Your stuff is gone. All of it.

You rush back to the desk, where Steve does look up, startled by your urgency.

“My stuff,” you spit out, “My stuff is gone! Someone took it!”

Steve shrugs. “Sorry.” He points to a sign behind him: “We are not responsible for the loss of items inside or outside storage lockers.”

“Are you fucking kidding?” You can’t the anger in your voice this time. “You just watched someone walk off with my stuff and didn’t say anything?”

Steve raises his eyebrows. “If it was that important, you shouldn’t have left it here. Or you should have given us another card.”

You feel like throwing your hands up but you just clench your fist and storm out the door, huffing as you reach your car. The anger melts into the sense of loss, the realization that you only have a few meager items that you’d managed to collect; you picked the lightest stuff, first. And in retrospect it was things that didn’t matter much at all. Clothes. Hair supplies. Makeup. You should have grabbed the box with your USB sticks, your memory cards, your photo albums; your personal mementos and sentimental shit. Instead you grabbed the box with your shampoo.

At least the clothes might get something in a pawnshop. The makeup, too, on Facebook or Depop or Instagram. But it wouldn’t be enough to put you up in an apartment. You’ll have to live in your car. Until they repossess it for lack of payment.

You don’t have your bank account, your credit cards, your job, a place to stay, or your personal possessions. And soon, you won’t have your car.

You have no friends. No boyfriend. No family.

All you have $20 left in your wallet and well, fuck it. You grab some McDonalds on the way home because, fuck it, and eat all the fries before you make it to the motel. The thought of eating in your dirty room makes your stomach turn and you decide to eat everything else you bought, the burger and the shake and the chicken nuggets too, tossing the wrappers on the floor. It feels like deja vu--getting cheap fast food to make you feel full, tossing trash on the floor of the passenger seat, all bringing back the way you used to when you’d grab something from the dollar menu on your way to work at the call center.

You almost wish you could stay at this hotel, brown water and all. The owner is decently nice. He smiles at you when you enter and doesn’t bring up that you didn’t come back with more boxes, like you said you would.

You’re surprised at how grateful you feel for the dingy hotel room now that you won’t be able to stay here more than another day. Now that the alternative is sleeping in your car, then sleeping on the street, if you were lucky.

Your phone feels heavy when you set it on the table and stare at the home screen. Another photo of you and Ransom stares back up at you. You haven’t had time to change it up yet. He’s grinning. You’re smiling. It’s a good photo. You try to place it in your memory, try to remember what beach that was, but your trips blur together and you can’t.

Should you call him? If it was just the cards, just him being petty over credit and finances, it was one thing. You could try to placate him with returning gifts, just asking him to give you what you put in from your own paychecks. But making you lose your job? It was too far, too fucking far. And there was no going back from that. Fuck, someone was probably moving into your office as you sat in this dimly lit room mourning the loss of your entire life.

For a brief, very fleeting moment, you consider calling Harlan. You weren’t exceptionally close, but he seemed to like you well enough. He’d even asked you once, puling you aside at a tension-filled family party, if Ransom treated you right, told you to tell him if he ever got to be too much. Harlan felt like Ransom’s keeper--in more ways than one. You could never tell Harlan about the shouts or the occasional bruises from when Ransom really, really lost his temper--it’s not like you could prove them, anyway, as Ransom made sure to keep you away from his family when he lost control like that. No need for excuses about running into doors when he made sure you looked your best at family functions.

But the thought of breaking the uneasy stasis that Ransom had with the most significant member of his family made you want to vomit. There would be no coming back from that, and you knew better than to cross any line involving the great Harlan Thrombey.

You could call your friend--ex-friend? The one who didn’t block you or forget your number. You should. No, you will. Because what else do you have to lose.

But before you can bring up her number, you get a text--Ransom. It’s a photo and your curiosity gets the better of you as you click the notification.

“What the fuck?”

He’s sent you a photo of his car, trunk open. It’s filled with boxes, odds-and-ends. It’s filled with your stuff.

You text him: What??

He texts back: Hey. I’m in front of the hotel. Come out? Bring your suitcase. :P

It’s your stuff. It’s his car. He’s here. All reason is thrown aside as you grab your suitcase and purse and rush down the hallway, ignoring the owner’s confused response from behind his desk as you push open the front doors and look around the parking lot.

His car is parked to the side, not in front of the hotel’s glass double doors. He’s standing outside his car, leaning against it. He takes off his sunglasses and tucks them in his pocket when he sees you approaching, face confused and fuming all at once.

“What the fuck, Ransom, what the fuck is your problem--”

“Hey, hey,” he says, hands up in defense, “You’re not even going to thank me for picking up your stuff?”

You feel suddenly, impossibly rooted to the spot.

“What do you--what? You took my stuff?”

He shrugs. “C’mon, did you really think I’d just leave your stuff in some shitty storage unit? Someone would’ve taken it if I didn’t get there first.”

You swallow. “Why?” You ask, because Ransom never does anything for no reason. Or so you’ve learned.

His expression loses a bit of its cocky casualness. He tilts his head a bit, looking at you as if you’ve asked a particularly offensive question.

“Why do you think?”

To lord it over you? To make you think your stuff was gone and make you worried, sick, crazy?

“I don’t know,” is what you settle for in the end. “I really, really don’t. You--” You lick your lips, and try to calm down, calm the pitter-patter of your heart, and think before you speak. “You’ve done some pretty messed up stuff today. My job?” The last question comes out soft and pained, and you know your eyes are starting to tear up.

“Hey.” His voice is soft and placating and it makes your stomach flip as he approaches you, standing there on the sidewalk with your purse and suitcase. “Hey, c’mon. Don’t cry on me.”

You know this Ransom. The Ransom that holds you and pets your hair and offers to get Thai food delivered even though he doesn’t like it just to make you happy.

He puts his hand on your shoulder and you jerk it away. “Don’t.” That Ransom is a fantasy. Or an incomplete version, the version that pretends he doesn’t lie and cheat and hurt you in more ways than one. “Don’t you fucking dare, especially not after what you pulled today. My job? My job, Ransom? You’re a--a fucking asshole.”

He puts his hands up again, defensive, and takes a step back. But he doesn’t return to his car, and stays just a few steps in front of you.

“Look. Call me an asshole. Sure, fine, I can admit that. But do you know what else I am?”

He waits a beat, waits for you to look at him, before he continues. “I’m a realist. I like facts. And the fact is? You aren’t much without me. No job, no credit cards, no bank account. Without me, you’re just some broke chick scrambling to get an apartment in the shittiest part of town, working a dead-end job that don’t pay shit. With me though…. “

He leaves the words unfinished, but you know what he means. Flashes of your life, cocktails and smart business outfits and dinners at restaurants you didn’t even dream about attending before you met him. Phone calls with shakers in the industry and social media requests from people you’d never dream you’d meet. Connections that meant something, a career path, dinner parties with people who could offer tangible benefits to your career and your life.

It wasn’t that he spoiled you. He wasn’t a sugar daddy. You weren’t getting gifts for blowjobs. It was that his presence in your life boosted you, socially, financially, mentally, physically, in every which way possible.

His presence got you a job that you loved, which meant you weren’t burnt out when you came home, which meant that you had the time and energy to spend hours catching up on books or redecorating the house or watching movies. Good money meant you could order in whenever you felt like it, meant you didn’t have to worry if you burned dinner because you could just buy new steaks or order-in or go out, last minute, and still get a great table. It meant you had all the clothes you wanted, stylish and personally tailored; it meant you had easy access to a gym and exercise equipment and an indoor pool to keep you healthy. It meant you had a life that provided comfort in every way possible.

Being with Ransom Drysdale was like… like a little shot of privilege directly into your arm.

Privilege that he took away just as easily as he gave it. Just as easily as you took it. Just as easily as you took it and eagerly ignored the dark side underneath. Or maybe you didn’t ignore it. Maybe you liked it, maybe it reminded you of who you were underneath the designer clothes and expensive dinners.

Maybe you wanted to fix him, like he fixed you? He wasn’t totally bad, after all, he did make sure no one took your belongings. Maybe it was your presence that gave him the idea for that touch of sympathy, maybe with Ransom change was slow and muddled, not picture-perfect sweeping changes like the kind in movies.

“So?” Ransom’s voice cuts through your thoughts. “Are you going to come home or,” he waves his hands around dismissively, at the hotel, at you.

You feel very, very less-than right now. You look awful, your hair mussy and your makeup mostly melted off with sweat and sun. You probably smell more than you normally do, thanks to the lack of a shower. Your muscles, sore from the motel bed, ache for the large spa bathtub that Ransom had installed in the master bathroom just for you, stocked with bubbles and salts and overpriced bath bombs that were $10 a pop.

But your muscles had hurt before, when he pushed you against the dresser.

You have nothing, and no one. Except Ransom. Ransom who didn’t judge you when you instinctively saved plastic bottles and boxes, but merely nudged you towards recycling and took you out to splurge on a reusable water bottle and proper storage containers the next day. Ransom who asked you what sort of job you wanted, really wanted, and made it happen for you. Ransom who shrugged and wiped away your credit card debt without making you feel like shit.

Ransom who didn’t let you leave the house if your wrists were sporting fingerprint shaped bruises. Ransom who argued with you about talking to men, even men at work. Ransom who held you tight at night and said he never wanted to let you go, and wouldn’t you just make a fine-ass addition his crazy family. Ransom who took care of you, now that you had no one else.

“What do you want me to do?” The words feel slow, sluggish. Like they wanted to stick to the roof of your mouth and it took everything in you to get them out.

His voice turns low and serious as he stares at you with an characteristic expression. “Well, the first thing is to get down on your knees…”

You feel your eyes practically bugging out.

“What the fuck, Ransom?”

He laughs. He always did have a nice laugh.

“I’m just messing with you, Jesus. Take a chi-I-il pill. Just grab your purse and come sit your sweet ass in the front seat. Let’s go get some burgers, I’m starving.”

Your legs feel like jelly when you take that first step, and the sound of your roller suitcase as you pull it along seems louder than ever. Ransom pops the truck and you just manage to fit it inside with the handle closed, jamming it in between some boxes at an odd angle. The handle of the passenger side is familiar, warm from the sun.

You open the door and practically shove yourself into the seat, closing the door as fast as possible. You can’t do more than glance at him as humiliation and anxiety and just the smallest bit of relief washes over you. It’s been less than 24 hours since you broke up, and here you are--again.

He’s staring at you quietly, his expression difficult to place. He looks relieved. He looks annoyed. He looks like he wants to kiss you. He looks like he wants to slap you. Maybe he wants to do it all at once and can’t decide which to pick.

Instead, he puts his hand on your thigh. Gives it a squeeze. Hard, bordering on painful. He’s staring straight ahead, at the worn-out sign on the hotel’s front door, one hand gripping the flesh of your thigh. He looks good in profile. “Don’t ever try to pull something like that again. I mean it. I really mean it.”

You turn, glance out the window, familiar tears at the edge of your eyes.

“I won’t,” you whisper, dreaming of the tub and bubbles and how good a warm soak will feel on your back, on your thighs, on your soul.

“Good girl,” he says, patting your thigh firmly. He plucks his sunglasses out of pocket and puts them on in a smooth motion. The car starts smoothly, its fine-tuned and expensive engine a familiar sound, and your hands feel robotic as you pull the seatbelt over your chest and click it tight.

“Let’s get dinner and get home. You have some unpacking to do.”

#ransom drysdale x reader #yandere ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale #knives out #yandere x reader #afterwitch writes

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witchlyboo · 3 years ago

Text

Definitely, maybe.

Part five: The one who belongs to someone else.

Introduction. Part one. Part two. Part three. Part four.

Paring: Latina!reader x Logan Lerman x Tom Holland x Ben Hardy x Timothee Chalamet x Pedro Pascal x Michael B. Jordan

Warnings: Swearing, angst, misspellings, some Spanish, me learning how to write properly, and NY stuff that I've learned from movies that we all agree to pretend are real.

Word count: 6.4 k

a/n: You been asking for smut, I know, I know, I just wanted to introduce you to all the boys first, and we're getting there, just one more ahead. Also, I'm working on a masterlist because we are getting too many parts already.

All body types and skin tones friendly. You can also enjoy it as a no Hispanic reader. Constructive feedback and misspellings correction is always welcome.

Red and blue lights flash the driving mirror.

—No, no, no, por favor que no sea a mi—You beg to the sky looking at the patrol that is asking you to park, or someone else, there's a lot of cars in this part of the city, there's a big chance is the panic who's controlling your senses.—Dios, mi abuela fue a la iglesia cada domingo de su vida y nunca te pidió nada, please let me have some of her divina recompensa.—But that's not how it works, you end up parking with just a few seconds to think what to say. There's a perfect explication of why you are driving a car that is not yours in the middle of the night and smelling like a minibar.

Then this ridiculous thought comes to your mind, you look expensive, you've never seen the daughter of a senator but you must be close to it, it would make you less of a feminist if you just use your attributes? Ugh, you feel sick just to think about it but don't have enough money to pay a fine, and the constant paranoia of being chased all the time as an immigrant will only get stronger.

You pull down your dress a little so your neckline can do its job but you regret it immediately, and you're pretty sure you look more like an expensive prostitute who stole the car of his lover than some influential men's daughter.

—License and registration.—You hear him say when he approaches your window. You don't like this but you have to play the dumb tourist, the pretty foreign girl that is too stupid to be dangerous, with the look you have tonight it shouldn't be hard. But damn you hate cops, any uniformed man that works for the government is your eternal enemy, and you don't know how long you could keep the nice dumb Latina game before spit on his face.

—There's something wrong, officer? ...You?!—Your sexy and fake high voice is ruined when you see the face of the man who stopped you. This night couldn't get worse.

—Wait, what happened with the party?—Evan interrupts you while you finish some notes for work, little remainders for later when you don't have an eleven years old kid running around you, he's not usually this energic and you have to blame yourself for that, you're describing a life of excess and eccentric fun, something you let behind so many years ago that your own son doesn't know even a bit of it.

—Ugh, a nightmare doesn't worth telling.—You remember vaguely most of it but what keeps fresh in your mind is bad enough to don't want to bring it back.

—But if Timothée is my dad I have to know the important things, including the bad stuff.—Sounds perfectly reasonable and that's what makes you groan at him. Sometimes you feel blessed that your kid is better than you in any possible way, and sometimes you want to kill his brain with video games and reality shows like the rest of the parents.

—Ok, cool, but I'll keep all the +18 content for myself, so this part of the story might be blurry for you.—It kinda is for you anyway.

You should’ve known this night was cursed, you had a feeling because a) your earring fell off at the same time Timothée texted you to give you the party address and say he can't pick you up. And b) he won’t pick you up. Your mother would say that’s reason enough to not go, a real gentleman wouldn’t make you go to an unknown place in the middle of the night on your own in a city like this. But you decide to ignore it because you are a modern woman and because it’s worth it. It better be.

The outfit must be something special. You always take your time to choose what to wear, even if just another regular day, and since this isn't the case you thought about it for hours, that made your mind busy enough to not thinking about Tom and the whole love confession. He texted you saying he'll come for you to go to class together on Monday, which is completely impractical because he's way closer than you but is progress and you're going to take it.

You wanted to ask for Sheep's opinion but you thought she might not care, has been a few days since she started acting strange like she's bothered just to see you breathe. You want to blame his boyfriend to take all her time and attention from you but is probably just her new job, she got a small role in a Netflix show, and even when you're so happy for her, that's the event that has changed her into someone completely different. But you give her time, stress can do bad things to people.

The winner is the exact copy you made of the black and white striped dress Cameron Diaz wore in "The Mask" beautiful, classy, and sexy enough without being too scandalous, not that you have any problem with that, but this isn't the occasion, you don't want to feel like you're being too much or too little, just enough, it's supposed to be easy, right? you were born for this. Just adding some big shiny earrings you got on a thrift shop that look like real diamonds and you're ready, not that you own any to compare. Red lipstick, dark eyes, and a messy bun to get that disinterested pitch every look needs.

Getting there wasn't a problem, you were in the rich part of the city, everyone know who, where and what just to brag about it. The excitement is growing with every second, you check your makeup like thirty times in the elevator and send texts to your mom just to let her know where you are, and because you have to share that moment with someone and you are limited of friends these days.

Timothée opens the door with red eyes, drunk, high, or somewhere in between, you know then you were right about the bad feeling. He jumps on you to kiss you and no matter how much you try to explain the delicacy of your lipstick, he does it anyway, leaving a taste of alcohol and shrimps in your mouth. Taking you by the waist he walks you to a group of people you don't know while you're trying harder to fix the red color of your mouth without a mirror.

—Here is the companion I bought, look at her, that's how five grand per hour look like.—They laughed but you were too disoriented to process all the things he said, it was supposed to be a joke? if it is, why isn't he correcting? Instead, his hand goes straight to your ass and presses it to get you closer to him.

—I'm actually an intern in the costume designer department of the new version of "Sense and Sensibility".—You wanted to mention your recent promotion to hairstylist and makeup artist but that might be too pretentious. Anyway, they don't seem to care what you are or not, in fact, they don't even see you, all eyes are on Timothée

—Oh, well, is easy to forget when you're paying them—All laughs again. Who is this person? Who are all these people, actually? You recognize some influencers, a few cast members but there's no sign of the director, other main actors, not even his co-star. You feel like an extra in a movie where someone will be killed in a luxury party, hopefully not you. You take his hand from your body and clear your throat.—I'm just joking my love, she looks stunning, isn't she? I’ll get you a drink.

He leaves and the group of people surrounding you suddenly dissipated like boiling water, you were on your own again and despite some judgmental gazes is like you’re not there, you’re sure you could just take your dress off and throw it to someone’s face and unless Tim says something about it, no one would care. You’re there as his companion, an ornament, and that’s not enough to earn their attention because it’s too obvious you’re the one in turn.

You walk to the only window no one is smoking and check your phone, you know, the thing you do when you pretend you have important issues to attend, but no, you end reading some old messages, pictures, texting your mom of how much fun you’re having at the party, and somehow you check your filed Facebook messages to find Logan’s name. You cover the screen so fast you hurt your nail, his name is enough to make you tremble like a Chihuahua, you haven’t talked to him since that night, you know from his sister he lives in the house he bought for you two and he’s having the happiest life without you. You want to believe that because that means you took the right decision but deep inside… no, you can’t be that person, you want him to be happier than ever.

You find the guts to open the message, and you read as slowly as is humanly possible. “My angel, I hope this finds you in perfect health…” Dios, just Logan could start a message like that, your smile is almost too big to fit in your face so you bit your nail to cover it a little. “I recently found one of the human body drawings you made for me to study, you’ll be happy to know…”

—That’s a fucking long-ass message.—Tim appears behind you and takes your phone from your hand, spilling some of his drink on your dress in the process. Apparently, he's been there long enough to read part of the message.

—Give it back.—You command in the most severe voice you have, your magical moment got ruined and you remember the hole of hell you are.

—"My angel, I hope this finds you in perfect health. I recently found one of the human body drawings you made for me to study, you must know I still use them now and then"—Timothée starts reading the message, and even when no one is close enough to hear it and you don’t really care about this people’s opinion, that’s not for anyone to read, that’s one of the few parts of your life you treasure the most and you’re not ready to get over it.—You little slut, are you cheating on me with a med student?

—Give it to me.—You repeat trying to take the phone from his hand but he’s faster and walks away putting it out of your reach.

—"I meticulously preserve them, I certainly know any piece of art made by you will be priceless in the near future"—You don’t want to hear it coming from his drunk mocking voice, so you try to ignore what he’s saying and put more effort on chasing the phone.—Should I had kept the jeans where you left the wet spot on? I didn’t know you were an artist, my love.

—Timothée, por el amor de Dios.—Now you're trying to climb him, it wouldn't be that hard to take him down, he's skinny and you're fierce. That's what you thought but he's not moving even with you are on top of his shoulder and his opposite long arm keeps the phone away from you.

—Who is this guy and why is he talking to my girl like this?—You see the olive eyes getting darker and the tone of his voice went deeper than you thought he could do. You desist from taking the phone, you know the bullies love the attention, maybe that's exactly what he wants and give it to him just makes it worse.

—I'm not your girl.—You claim fixing up your dress having enough of games, and you have no reason to keep worrying about losing your job, the filming is done, and apparently your relationship with him too. You don't care about any of that anymore, just want to read Logan's text.

Even behind all the alcohol and the eyes injected in blood thanks for who knows what kind of drug, you can see the disappointment and anger, but it's not a broken heart, Is the hissy fit of a child that loses his balloon and now everyone will pay for it, especially you.

—Are you sure about that?—You can see him swallow hard, almost looking vulnerable, but his voice is defiant and threatening to prove you wrong. He just has to stretch out his arm to reach the open window with your phone in hand, his intentions are clear and the only thing you can do is raise your hands as a reflex.—You were mine the moment you put a foot on my trailer, and I don't fucking share my stuff.—Before you can say a word he drops the phone from the fourth floor.

You know is senseless but you find yourself running out of the party and going to search the device, using it also as an excuse to get away from that place. This is the first time someone makes you feel meaningless, you know the famous' world is cold and lacking in empathy but this is ridiculous, they're a bunch of parasites fed by attention and power. By Timothée.

The screen is crashed and the rest of it is probably beyond repair, not that you're surprised, its life is longer than you've been in the country and you admit you should have replaced it much earlier but you're not the kind to throw away things that still work. However, is not the phone you are worried about, not as much as what it contains.

—That was obsolete anyway, I'll get you a better one.—You didn't know he was following you, his voice interrupts your self-wailing. He sounds calmer and a little embarrassed, but not enough to say sorry, you don't think he's capable of saying it.

You shake your head and start to walk away without a word, you don't want anything from him, not materially, at least.

—Don't make a scandal out of it, it's just a phone!—He yells erasing any trace of regret in his voice. He doesn't see the reaction he expected and that's when he runs after you and with a hand on your upper arm pulls you back, you gasped for the sudden bluntness.—That annoying habit you have of leaving when I'm talking to you.

You push him away with all the strength you have, which resulted in him almost falling on the ground.

—I don't care about the stupid phone!—You finally break, but sadly is not as satisfactory as you thought it would be.—You are mean, vain, arrogant and the worst part is that you enjoy being this despicable human because you have absolutely no consequences to it. Everyone around you just accepts it and I feel so sorry for you because the only possible way for you to fill the void inside is to be surrounded by that crowd of mules licking your steps—To your surprise, he has nothing to say, he's just standing there with no facial expression, whatever he feels is easily covered by his years of experience acting, even drunk.—I can't give you that and it's obvious they don't want me either. What am I even doing here?—You ask yourself thinking where would be the best way of getting a cab, is a rich zone, must be easy.

—Everything is better when you're around—His voice is thin and fragile, you have to process what he said three times in your head to understand his words. You're not willing to look at him yet.—You're not like the others.

—Pure bullshit. You love to repeat that misogynist discourse of girls being in a certain way because is easier than be responsible for the people you choose to be—You were hugging yourself the whole time, is a cold night, but not enough to be bothersome, you enjoy Fall weather—You got me for a moment, I give you that, you fooled me but I'm too tired of guessing what version of you is real—When you return your gaze at him, he doesn't try to hide the guilt anymore, but there's still haughtiness in there.—Now, if you don't mind Mr. Chalamet, I need to get a cab.

—No, you came with me, you leave with me.—There's no trace of alcohol in his voice anymore, a good scolding is enough to put you sober, you know that thanks to your mom. Oh god, you're becoming her.

—You didn't bring me here, gigantic head—You look at him and put your hand in front of him with the palm up. He stares at it for several seconds before put his own on it—Not that!—You shake it and start looking inside his jeans pockets until you feel the metal of his key car.—You can't drive and I have to get home. You'll find it in the studio tomorrow.

That's how you ended with a car way more luxurious than you expected, driving so slowly and carefully that the police stopped you. What a night, but at this point, you couldn't care less about anything that is not that message, is been months and you can't get over it, over him. Not even Ben moans, Tom's comforting arms, or fight with a movie star at 3:00 am. is enough to get him out of your mind.

—So is true, you don't wear anything that hasn't appeared in a movie, huh?—Michael B. Jordan is leaning on the car window with a mocking smile and a sparkle of satisfaction that you would love to punch but his uniform keeps you in line, where you come from police is not equal to justice, most of the times is oppression.

—You know where it's from?—That was kind of comforting, no one at the party noticed. Not that you care.

—Is The Mask, not some Adam Hitchcock's blurb.—He smiles and even when you really don't like him, it's nice to be with a familiar face, you are really tired of running away, scaping for problems that are a result of your null capacity to deal with emotions. Ugh, what a word.

—Is Alfred Hitchcock, actually.—You didn't want to sound priggish, but you correct him with no time to stop yourself, an old habit.

—You got me, smarty, you know more than movies than me. Where did you get this car?—You feel really nervous even when you got this legally, you have your documents and license on time and he's being nice enough to not want to run away in a car that you technically borrowed for yourself.

—It's not mine.—No shit, Sherlock.

—No shit, Sherlock, I was asking where did you steal it.—You wanted to laugh but there's something with the uniform that just doesn't allow you to be yourself.—Are you drunk?

—No, no, fuck, no, it's just, I don't feel comfortable with cops—He raises his eyebrows but that is his only reaction.—Listen, is my boss' car, I'm doing the favor to take it to the studio, and I'm really nervous because is fucking expensive, he's an asshole, I haven't drive un almost a year because you people only use cars if you're rich or your work and lives depend on it. I'm starving.—The last part came out of nowhere, you haven't eaten anything in almost 13 hours, maybe that's the actual reason why you are that moody.

He doesn't answer right away, takes his time to look at you, what makes you blush, he's really close, closer than he's ever been. Does he smell like green apples? Not the actual apples, the artificial smell they had given to them.

—Get out of the car.—Oh no, is he arresting you? Is he finally taking revenge for every time you make fun of his Hawaiian-type shirts? You know you have too much karma accumulated and a cop making you pay for it when you don’t believe in their sense of justice is kinda poetic, and evil.

You don’t want to discuss with someone with a taser, gun, pepper spray, or who knows what else. So you take your bag, the key car, and get off defeated.

—My turn is almost over, I’ll take you to eat something, c’mon.—He walks back to his patrol and you stay still for a few seconds still processing his words, you must look totally devastated for him to offer that. How you see it you have two options, go with him and spend an awkward hour with a person you don’t like or risk getting a fine, Tim can pay it, it’s not a big deal but you don’t want to owe him even the minimal thing.

You get in the car holding on to your bag to feel calmer, this is the first time you’re fully alone with him since you found him half-naked in your kitchen. Those defined abs may never leave your brain.

—Are you cold?—He interrupts your thoughts with his question, you didn’t notice you were shaking. He looks for something under his seat and gives you an NYPD hoodie, you hold it doubting your next move, is not like you don’t appreciate the gesture but it’d be easier to take if it doesn’t get that words printed—Is clean.—He says chuckling when he sees the way you’re looking at it.

—Is not that, just, you know, fuck the police, defund the NYPD, demilitarize the pigs and that stuff.—You say putting on the hoodie anyway, is a cold night and you won't help the institution wearing their propaganda.

—Yeah, I get it, but you can't change the system just from within.—You decide is not the right moment to have a political conversation so you shrug your shoulders and discreetly smell the hoodie, a mix of cologne, green apples, and cheap soap, you know is cheap because you buy the exact same, do its job.

—I'm in the mood for pizza.—You say casually, making a deal to yourself to try to be his friend, he is a small part of your life anyway.—Domino's is open at this time of the night?

—Tell me you're not consuming that shit, dear Lord, you been here for how long, two years? I can't believe your idea of a good pizza is Domino's. Stella hasn't taught you anything?—You're surprised by the level of condescension with a pizza and you mirror his smile, suddenly feeling embarrassed. Your school program includes people from all around the world so you don't have that much experience with actual new yorkers. Logan is rich, so he doesn't really count.

—What's wrong with Domino's? I don't buy much street food, is cheaper to buy things on the food market. Besides, all pizza is good.—The mention of Sheep makes you a little tense, so you don't say anything about it, is not a conversation to have with him.

—Don't blaspheme in the patrol, I just washed it—You laugh, finally, after a terrible weekend. You can see why she likes him, there is something about his voice, smile, and his eyes that feel... calm, like watching Friends after a marathon of Lord of the Rings.—There are rules to survive this city, and I'm surprised you have made it this far without a proper guide.

—Chill out Mr. Miyagi, I'm not from the jungle, and I've learned a lot by myself.—He gives you a lopsided grin as a request, and you put your fingers up ready to enlist your acquired knowledge.—Walk fast, like you're about to be stabbed, something that actually happened to me, with an umbrella—He nods and laughs being related to it.—Number two, no small talk, no one cares, even if they ask. Number three, if you look a stranger in the eye, especially a homeless person, you have essentially invited them to approach you.

—Number four, we never eat from Domino's, Papa John's, Pizza hut, or any other chain restaurant, only trucks and local places are allowed.—You roll your eyes but you get the point, is just, again, you're not much into street food, it doesn't taste like home and the only way to eat food like that is preparing it yourself.

—Fine, fuck capitalism, let's support local places—You make an obvious fake enthusiastic tone but he nods proudly.—Number five, you don't need a car to live here, not even know how to drive. I would have successfully avoided this police brutality if I had followed that rule.

—For someone who is about to eat for free, you whine too much.—He parks the car and gives you a sign to go with him. You see him go to a pizza truck and order, you realize at the moment how ridiculous you look, so before chasing him you let your hair down, take your huge earrings off, and roll up the skirt of your dress until your mid-thighs letting the hoodie cover the rest, and clean the red lipstick with a Kleenex from your bag. Now you look more like a college person and not a rich girl who just got seized.

—Here you go.—He says giving you a slice as big as your head, looks oily and spreading cheese everywhere. Perfect.

—Is it vegan?—You ask receiving the food with an obnoxious face. His kind grind turned into a dread expression and you give him your second laugh of the day.—I'm kidding.

You are about to give it a bite when you see passing next to you a huge rat with the exact same slice as yours in its mouth, running into the dark of the night happy to have obtained the food for its family. They use to scare you when you just moved out but now they're like any other pigeon in the sky.

—Rule... whatever, a rat with a slice of pizza is a symbol for good luck, congratulations.—He pets your head awkwardly, not sure if you're ok with the physical contact, which, surprisingly, you are.

—I see rats with bagels all the time.—Pizza and bagels, that's the main culinary wonders of the city, you like it, not much to object but is hard not to compare it with your home's food.

—Is easy to confuse a rough diamond with a simple rock.—You both eat in silence, enjoying the mixed sounds of the city and all the different smells, the whole situation feels like one of those lofi music videos. You remember thinking about moments like this before getting the scholarship, what would it be like to feel normal in the city of your dreams.

—How do you know that much about movies?—He asks after a few minutes when you take a break to drink something, that pizza is not easy to take.

—When I was a kid a spent much time on my own, so my dad bought me a used DVD reproducer, and at the corner of my neighborhood was this movie store where you could buy 5 pirate movies for one dollar. They were blurred, with a terrible sound, and most of the time with the wrong movie inside but they helped me to not feel lonely. Eventually, the store closed but I've watched everything in it by then—He gives you a warm smile, you never told that story to anyone, not because is too intimate to share, but because no one asked, it doesn't sound like a question with a complex answer.—Anyway, I watched Marie Antoinette when I was like eight, and I decided at that moment that however is done I wanted to be part of that magic.

—You hear all kind of people chasing dreams in this city but is hard to find someone who actually deserves it.—You blush and you cover it with your hair but the smile on your voice is impossible to hide.

—Is that a compliment? You must really want me to like you to date Sheep.—You laugh but you can see his face tense, so you can guess your friend has been busy breaking everyone’s hearts.

—She hasn’t returned my calls in three days so I don’t think there’s much you can do—You nod, all this time you thought he was the reason she is ignoring you but apparently you are both in the same boat.—But yeah, I don’t know what I was thinking, what I should have said is, Marie Antoinette at eight? I can see where all the damage started.

You gasp and throw your napkin at his head, he easily catches it without even looking at it and laughs; that was unexpectedly attractive.

—Why a cop?—You ask, not sure where that question came from, maybe you authentically want to know more about him, he just bought you food, and honestly, that's the easiest way to win your trust.

—I wanted to be an actor when I was a child. This is the city of opportunities so you may think that if you want to chase the big wonder, this is the perfect place to do it. But I grow up surrounded by these people giving their entire lives to get something just given to one in a million so I decided is not worth it. For many years I wondered what I wanted to do with my life and the answer was really clear, my dad was a cop, a good one, or that’s what people say. I don’t remember much because he died when I was seven—Conversations about death are not your strength, everything can turn out uncomfortable if you choose the wrong words.—It might not be that glamorous but if my father died for it, it surely worth it.

—For the good ones.—You raise your almost empty can of Coke and he does the same with a grin that warms the cold weather of the night.

—For the good ones.

The next two hours passed like minutes talking about anything and everything. It just felt right to talk freely with him, you didn’t feel judged for your awkward family moments or your random thoughts, not even once because he told you his too. At some point of the night he borrowed you his gym sweatpants, any of you could just suggest going home but that was off the table, end that peace just for weather reasons would have been a tragedy.

—I read Timothée Chalamet is a dick. Is that true?—The mention of his name remains you of your life and everything that comes with it, including the middle semester project that you must dedicate your entire day, one that is about to start.—What, you can’t talk about it?

—He is a complete dick with no sense of privacy or human decency—And when he interrupts a deep kiss to look at your eyes, smile, and caress your chin, you feel like a character of his Victorian movies. But he didn’t ask that.—But the next week he’ll be no longer my problem.

—That’s why we have rule twenty-three, don’t ask for a picture of a celebrity unless they are local—You have heard about it before but you haven’t got the opportunity to decide if you like that rule because the only celebrities you have seen are from work and that club’s party opening.—That means you’ll be free to go to the Stephen Kings’ movie projection there will be for Halloween.

You don’t know if that was a proposition, a suggestion, or just a simple recommendation, and whatever it is, you noticed he was nervous to ask. Is it wrong? It feels wrong like you were betraying your friend accepting to hang out with his boyfriend without her consent. But he didn’t ask you to go with him so is safe to answer.

—Yeah, I guess—You get a moment, four seconds top, where you shared innocent, curious, and tenting gazes like three graders in the playground. And that’s the further you will allow yourself to go.—We better leave, if the sunlight touch me I’ll turn into dust.

You get off the car hood and go to the side door, but this time he opens it for you. You give him a “seriously?” Look, receiving a little push in your arm as a response.

↬☀︎︎

A distant voice asks you to wake up, softly whispers that turn into caresses on your cheek, your eyes feel so heavy, even when you are well aware of your environment your eyelids keep closed.

—Good morning, Princess—This is the first time Tom calls you that way, the change from silly nicknames to Princess is enough to get you out of hibernation. He is squatting beside your bed, his smile is the promise of a better day, and chasing that idea you give him one small back.—Your mom has been texting me desperately all day, she said you're not answering her calls and is worried.

—Fuck, my phone broke last night, can I call her from yours?—That’s an oversimplification but in the search for a better story, that's what you decide to believe and tell. Tom nods and gives it to you, he looks happy, beyond that, this is the first time you see that subtle blush on his cheeks and the eyes sparkling. You sit on the bed next to his body looking for your mom's number, slowly he moves between your legs, you have shorts and an oversized Back To The Future t-shirt, you got took the time to prepare yourself to bed last night and keep Michael’s clothes inside your closet to wash them, like The Tell-Tale Heart, a little innocent secret who feels dirty somehow

The conversations with your mom are always long, nostalgic and the tears are hard to hold for both parts; after a long life sharing almost every day with her, her absence never feels smaller. But this time is different, Tom is exploring the bare skin under your knee with his warm hands, asking for permission with curious eyes, and when you don’t object to the touch the British boy keeps his exploring mission cautiously, giving special attention to see your eyes in case something change. Is time to hang up when he gives a long and loving kiss to your knee, the less erotic kiss you could think of but so intimate to bristle your skin.

—Not nice to touch someone's daughter when is talking to her mom.—The protest of your voice loses strength at every word, he heard that and just straight his back to reach your face, the gap is almost extinct.

—We're okay, she likes me.—He assures holding your hips and pulling you a bit to him. Tom looks very comfortable with the new closeness authorization, you like it but are not very sure about it yet, most of you still think of him as your best friend.

—Did she tell you that? Are you talking with my mom behind my back?—You laugh when he does, almost like nothing changed.

—She adores me, I swear, I'm invited to Christmas, you know?—You're not surprised, she invites everyone, Logan was too but the first time he got family plans and didn't make it to the second.

—You should go, maybe we can do...—His lips touch yours in a peak at the middle phrase and makes you forget what you were about to say.—Man, the audacity to interrupt...—Then he kisses you again, deeply, using his tongue to taste your inner lip and his hands holding your shirt in fists. That's a twist of events.

—Is that ok?—You hear a weak whisper coming out of his voice but you got so mesmerized on his lips that decided to ignore it and kiss him back instead. He responds to your touch and starts to lean over you to make you lay on the bed.

Jesucristo bendito, is this happening? like, actually happening? you must look like trash, you barely took all the makeup from the night before and didn't take a shower, you start to get so worried about smells, feelings, and what that'll mean to your already too much-spoiled friendship.

However, the time of doubts is done when Sheep starts yelling in the living room, you both reacted running to the sound and looking for your blonde friend. Michael is there but doesn't look like the same as a few hours ago, is annoyed and tired for the lack of sleep, a look that doesn't match him at all.—What did you do?—You ask him fast assuming she's mad for something he did.

—Just in time, the star of the movie, I was wondering how much it will take you to be the protagonist of this.—That is Sheep's voice talking about you and what must be your heart breaking from her words.

—Excuse me?—You wish your tone would be less savage but you can't help respond the same way she did.

—Logan wasn't enough, then you got the drummer, fucking Timothée Chalamet, Tom and now my boyfriend. I'm so glad I didn't leave you alone with my dad or I'd be calling you mom now.—You have no words to that, Michael doesn't even dare to look at you, he must have told her something she misunderstood, but Sheep, or well, Stella is saying things she actually thinks and keep to herself. Tom walks in front of you whispering things to her to calm her down but she is not looking at him, you didn't tell her anything about Tom either so he's taking responsibility this time.—Go ahead and fuck the whole city, Michael if that please you but you're crossing the line with Tom and you know that, you're going to ruin him as you ruin every man that enters in your life.—She has a very you moment having the last word of the dispute and getting out of the apartment with Michael going after her but not putting much effort in it.

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