#HOWEVER if he STOPS being a cop (which I hear his comic will have him challenging police ideas) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bigbadripley · 2 years ago

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Chapter 22 - Thunder

Marc Spector/Steven Grant/Jake Lockley x Female!OC

Summary: Marc never expected to see his childhood friend Simone ever again. To Simone, Marc may as well have been dead. However, when Simone met Steven 15 years after Marc disappeared, she couldn’t help but notice how familiar he was.

Warnings: Heavy language, OC with religious trauma, childhood trauma, sexual trauma, the effects of this in adulthood, smut mention, death mention, graphic descriptions of death, missing persons, maybe some typos, kidnapping, torture, violence, blood, gore, bodily fluids, DARK STUFF.

Tagging for the loves: @ahookedheroespureheart

A/N: This one is particularly brutal and has moments of graphic grodiness. Only proceed if you can handle the themes included in the warnings.

Minors DNI, DL;DR, if I miss a warning, please let me know.

Chapter list

"Sick of chasin' Highs and lows in all these different places Devils workin' I can feel it, I know he's obsessed with me Please don't catch up to me runnin' from Fear in my mind" -"Thunder" by 99 Neighbors

It took several tries for Simone's recording to work for them, not for lack of trying, and plenty of excuses were made for why before they were honest with themselves:

It's just not the same. She's not here.

Their last-ditch effort to get hypnosis to work without Simone being present seemed like a more comical approach with unnecessary steps like earbuds for concentration and spritzing her perfume all over the room in her apartment. They thought it would be hopeless until Marc remembered what she had told him:

I need your undivided attention, no skepticism.

That was the ticket, and they were standing outside Marc's body, which was cross-legged on the floor of Moni's living room, with Steven in the same suit as before and Jake in the cap and jacket. They stood around his real body just the same as they did before in the astral plane.

"Fellas," Jake spoke first, now open to their existence enough to notice them this time. Marc and Steven had heard the recording enough times to know the next part was for Jake to take the body and for them to go to the mirrors, but that step didn't come.

The two stared at each other, waiting and realizing it was taking too long.

"Did the earbuds unpair?" Steven asked. Marc shrugged,

"I don't think so." He answered, stepping dreamily to the wall on their left and seeing that the charger wasn't hooked into the outlet. "Fuck." He hissed. "The phone died."

Steven immediately remembered that he was the one who suggested plugging it in, but nobody thought to see if the phone was actually charging. "So, we're stuck here?" He asked with a bit of panic.

"Not unless we get this sorted out this time." Marc replied, referring to coming to some kind of agreement with Lockley.

"I already told you, schmucks, I don't want what you're sellin'." Jake piped up. "Not unless you can give me something to work with."

Marc felt the same biting irritation for Jake as he did before. The smug, asshole-for-the-hell-of-it attitude was radiating off of him, and it made Marc want to be an asshole back.

There's no time. Marc thought before he spoke. "Moni's missing. We need your help finding her."

"Missing?" Jake started, crossing his arms and shifting his weight to his left leg. "The hell did you two do?" Jake asked, assuming Simone ran off to avoid them. This assumption got under Marc's skin, but that didn't stop him from explaining what they knew. At the mention of Walton, Jake cut Marc off. "Yeah, I remember a couple a' cops showing up at her door askin' about that guy. You think he's got her?"

"No other reason she'd be gone. He's a real psycho, too, so we must hurry up with this." Steven answered his question, trying his best to ignore that Jake was at Moni's place.

Jake stood for a moment, unbelieving of what he was hearing. He realized if they were willing to put aside the bargaining and make this work, he was also ready to look past it. "Alright, how do we do this?"

Marc and Steve looked at each other knowingly, having gone through the motions before, as Marc answered Jake's question. "Let's start opening some doors, see what connections we can make."

Simone woke up several times throughout the night, still tied to the chair and still trying to wake up from what could only be a horrible dream before Walton would zap her with her own hot shot. Soon after, she would fall back to sleep due to her groggy state that reeked of concussion city.

This time when she woke up, a small beam of light shone through the boards covering the single window of the room she was in. It wasn't much, but it burned her eyes and made her already achy head pound more. Once she could get her eyes opened enough, she studied the space around her. Cement floors, brick walls, and no doubt a single level.

She imagined the rancid smell that had offended her nostrils all night was from the garbage pile in the corner to her left nearest the window until she dared to look to the right corner. The sight horrified her beyond screaming. She was entirely frozen by the stack of her patients, one on top of the other like a sick collection. Each was brutally beaten and strangled, just like the victims that initially landed Walton in prison.

Simone began to retch and heave, unable to look at poor Corey's face directed right at her with bulging eyes and cold, dead lips. Her mouth was still taped, and she hadn't eaten since noon the day before, so hot bile was the only thing to come up. It filled her mouth, and with no way of expelling it, Simone had no choice but to swallow it again.

The sound of a door opening behind her startled her again and caused her to stop her weeping, afraid of getting shocked or hit again. Heavy footsteps circled behind her, and the feeling of another presence caused the hairs on her neck to stand. Once Walton was in her view, she saw him smiling like he was revisiting an old friend.

"G'morning, doctor. I brought you some breakfast." He said, holding a plastic takeout container and placing it in her lap. She eyeballed it, scared to react. "I'll remove the tape, but you can't scream."

Right, you probably have my fucking zapper in your pocket, you fuck. She thought to herself. Walton took the corner of the tape into his fingers and pulled it slowly, causing Simone to relish the feeling of air on her lips pruned again.

He let the tape drop to the floor and pulled a metal chair over to her from the other side of the room, sitting in front of her. He opened the takeaway container to reveal two pieces of toast and some beans with a disposable fork. It didn't look appetizing, given the smells and sights around her.

"I'm not hungry." She said, voice barely reaching above a squeak from her raw throat. She was thirsty if anything. Walton's eyes filled with confusion that Simone couldn't help but mistake for stupidity.

I know you got a lot of shit wrong with you, but fuck dude, you think I wanna eat right now?

"Now, doctor, you'll need to eat something some time." He told her, smiling again and revealing his gnarly teeth. She could smell his breath from where he sat and couldn't tell what was worse: the bodies or his halitosis. "I'll go get you some water, and we'll begin our session. How about that?"

Walton obviously brought her here because he thought she could help him. She knew there was a small chance she could reason with him, and she took the opportunity.

"John, you know how this whole thing looks, right?" She asked, turning on the tone she would use with him during her visits. It was tender but stern.

"Yes, I know it looks proper awful, but you understand me. You know why I had to do all of this."

Walton wasn't an idiot. He knew right from wrong but did not feel remorse or fear punishment for wrongdoings. Where ordinary people had a conscience, Walton had an empty space. From what Simone could gather, he saw her as a way to fill in for that, like Jiminy fucking Cricket. She pushed harder.

"This won't end well for you if you keep me here, John. Let me go with you to turn yourself in. We can get you in a facility instead of prison."

Walton seemed to think about it seriously, and Simone almost called it a victory until he shook his head. "I can't do that, doctor. My only option is to keep you, and we can work on me."

Simone suddenly found it hard to keep the kind voice with him. He didn't understand that holding her against her will wouldn't do him any good and that he didn't have a good track record for keeping victims alive. "Walton, you can't keep me here."

"But I can, and I will."

"No, you need to let me go, asshole!"

Her word use caused him to pull the zapper out of his pocket and hit her with it on her arm, sending a jolt through her entire body. She squeaked and squirmed the moment it touched her skin. "Fuck you!" She let out in response. Walton didn't take kindly to that either and hit her with the device again, this time to her bare, sweat-sticky thigh. She didn't outburst this time. She only sat and acknowledged the pile of her patients in the corner.

I deserve this, don't I?

"That's the last of the memories, but I don't think that broke down any barriers. We're still in our head." Steven said as he closed the door to the flat behind them.

"I'm still thinkin' this won't work." Jake piped up with a shrug.

"It has to work. This is our only option." Marc responded. The three stood in a triangle shape with his body in the middle again, just like before. The haziness of the ultra-focused state was making him exhausted, but he knew they needed to find a way.

"It wouldn't've come to this if you'd protected Simone better," Jake said. He was getting frustrated and worried just as much as the other two about Simone's safety. Jake realized he probably liked her more than he initially thought and wanted to see her okay.

Jake's fingerpointing was nearly the tipping point for Marc. He had enough of dealing with the alter's mouth through their walk down memory lane. He didn't need Jake to blame him for her disappearance because he had blamed himself enough already. "You didn't exactly do a fantastic job either, pal." He responded, stepping toward him with an extended finger. Jake squinted,

"I'm just sayin', for the star of this show, you sure fuck up a whole lot." He said with a huff. It was already established that they could touch each other in this state, and once Marc remembered that fact, he brought his fist up to hit Jake for his criticisms.

"Enough! Both of you!" Steven objected, stepping between them before it got too heated. "Fighting won't bloody help. I've got another idea."

Marc blinked away the red and took a step back, observing how collected Jake looked through all of this. Jake was used to pissing people off.

"Whatcha got, English?" Jake asked Steven first. Steven tweaked an eyebrow at the nickname before turning his attention to Marc.

"You remember in the Duat? When we accepted ourselves and all that jazz? You've got to do that again."

"I dunno, buddy. I can't accept that this guy is any part of me."

"Well, he is. He's a bit rough around the edges, yeah, but he wants to find Simone just like we do."

It was hard for Jake to come to terms with not being his own man. All this time, he thought he was the original. He didn't want to accept it but knew there would be no other choice. "So I gotta accept that this is real shit, eh? I gotta say that I'm not... me?" Jake asked, unable to hide the disappointment in his voice. He didn't know if he could do it.

"You're still you, Lockley. You're just a piece of the puzzle. Doesn't make you any less real." Marc answered, sounding much more reassuring now that he saw Jake show a human emotion that wasn't cynical prick.

"Alright." Jake started, exhaling heavily. He wanted to believe in it for the sake of his hermosa. "I'm Jake Lockey, alter of Marc... uh-"

"Spector," Marc said with an eye roll.

Can't remember my name for shit. No wonder he calls Moni all those stupid nicknames. He thought. Jake snapped his fingers and pointed to Marc like he had come to the conclusion on his own. "Spector!" He exclaimed. "Did it work?"

The three looked from one shared face to another like confused triplets. Nothing felt different. They weren't sure exactly what they needed to feel, but they all figured it wasn't happening.

Steven, being the one who remembered their time in the Duat the best because obviously, though dead, it was the most exciting thing that ever happened to him, answered the question. "There's more to it. You and Marc have to accept your place in the system. I, for example, was the protector when Marc was young."

"That means you're the protector from dangers in adulthood. You popped up when I was in the Marines." Marc added his own point.

Jake thought of the memory they revisited, where he fought with a lance corporal before stealing a humvee and making a break for it. He remembered being confused, unsure of why he was there in the first place. That was until he saw what transpired before he took over.

"I guess I am, huh?" Jake confirmed, more to himself than the other two.

"And no matter how much I want to obliterate your face for sleeping with Moni," Marc stepped forward, holding back his tone. They were working together now. "I know you're here to help, not harm."

"So, uh, do we hug now?" Jake asked.

"We can start with a handshake," Marc answered, holding his right hand out. Jake gave it a once-over and brought his own hand to it, sealing the deal.

Before anything else could be said, Jake was suddenly awake, sitting on the floor with Simone's phone in his lap and earbuds in. He looked around, realizing he had woken up and taken over as usual.

"Did it work?" He asked the open air, fearing the other two wouldn't make it out.

"Right here, mate," Steven answered first.

"That makes two." Marc chimed in. "Alright, let's get our girl."

Simone couldn't tell how long she had her there. After an hour of listening to Walton ramble on and on about his homicidal tendencies and trying to pretend to care, he finally left her alone again. From there, she fell asleep again due to the haziness of her head and lack of nourishment.

She soon couldn't tell if it was a new day or still light outside, but the dimness told her it was sundown or sunup. She had already wet herself several times. The room's funkiness only worsened, and the smell alone was almost enough to drive her mad. From the darkened corner, she saw a figure emerge. Large, tall, balding... it was her tío. His mouth wasn't moving, but he laughed at her and told her she did this to herself.

"Eres un bastardo y un perdedor..." She responded, knowing he was a thing of fantasy but called him a bastard and a loser. Once the words fell out, the door behind her opened again, and the same footsteps as before followed.

"What did you say, doctor? I don't speak Spanish." Walton said, coming around to the metal chair with another takeaway container.

"It wasn't meant for you." She answered honestly.

"Talking to yourself's not healthy." He replied, pulling a slice of toast from the container and attempting to slip it into her mouth. Simone, for a moment, wanted to eat it and willingly took the bite before she chewed and grew disgusted. The lack of flavor and the smell of blood and rot made the taste unbearable. In response, she spat it onto the floor. "You're probably losing your mind because you're not getting nutrients. I need you better, doctor."

"You only try to feed me fucking toast and beans. You clearly don't know how to care for another human being." Simone bit angrily. Walton tutted at her,

"You're right. I didn't plan on keeping you this long, honestly."

"Solo déjame morir," Simone replied. She told him to let her die. Not begging, but in a way that expressed her misery with the conditions. She started to believe she would be better off.

Walton raised an eyebrow and got close to her face, "I already told you I don't understand." He whispered. She was getting under his skin with her use of another language. Walton ultimately wanted control but couldn't if he didn't know what she was saying.

"Fuck you, inmate." She spat, emphasizing the first word. Walton began making a tsk sound at her, seeming disappointed that she wasn't cooperating. He reached into his pocket, and instead of the zapper, he pulled out a pocket knife.

"I need you to work with me, doctor." He said before opening the knife and bringing the highly sharp blade across the skin of her right cheekbone. She winced away from the knife as the stinging grew worse, carving into the meat of her face and drawing enough blood to bead down to her jaw. Walton raised his other hand to the opposite end of her face, keeping it still. "You did this. Your scars are your own doing."

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edgyartkid · 3 years ago

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The Political Stances of the Avengers and other MCU Characters (imo)

this took way too much time

Iron Man - Tony Stark

Anarcho-Capitalist. Socially progressive. Unironically thinks corporations should run the world. He’s a literal government-hating billionaire, what can I say. Firm believer of Individualism. Voted for the Libertarian Party. Thinks Trump is a moron. Pro-Choice, Pro-Same-sex marriage, Anti-Gun Control.

Captain America - Steve Rogers

Look. He’s an old white dude. Though, I’ll give him credit, in the original comics he was very progressive. His first debut contained him punching Hitler, which, surprisingly, was taboo at the time.

Mind you, Germany still hasn’t threatened the US at the time of the debut, and Captain ‘Merica whacking Hitler was quite controversial back then. Some people even supported his ideals.

At the begging, i’d imagine he’d be quite confused. He wouldn’t be outwardly racist, just… confused. But in a “Oh…! How brave of you to drink out of that water fountain…! Are you sure you want to risk arrest…? I could pour it into a cup and hand it to you if you’d like :)” sorta way. He’d get used to it and understand that the world has progressed later on. Relieved, even.

Currently, I imagine he’d be centrist, leaning liberal.

He’s all for gay marriage and women’s rights but hears the world “socialism” and goes into cold sweat.

Patriotic, but not nationalist. Pro-Choice, Pro-Same-sex marriage, Pro-Gun Control, Voted Biden.

Hawkeye - Clint Barton

Republican. Authoritarian, economically, and culturally right win. Loves Cops. ALM supporter, Pro-Life. Thinks he’s libertarian (he’s not.) He believes in many conservative policies, such as American nationalism and a strict opposition to illegal immigration. Anti-Gun Control.

100% a Ronald Reagan fan. I’m not saying he’s racist, but he would stop a black man in a hoodie cause he looks “suspicious”. Says he’s okay with gay marriage but doesn’t want them to kiss or even hug in front of him. Doesn’t mind watching lesbian p0rñ though.

Voted for Trump all the way.

Black Widow - Natasha Romanoff

Marxist-Leninist. Tankie. Socially Progressive, but tends to concentrate more on economic then social issues. Based af. Voted Bernie.

Pro-Choice, Pro-Same-sex marriage, ehhhh… Pro-Gun Control. But Not Anti-Gun.

Thor Odinson

Not much to say here. Absolute Monarchist. Economically, He’s a social authoritarian.

Social Authoritarianism is an economically center-left, authoritarian and culturally variable ideology that advocates for a strongly regulated capitalist economy with a strong welfare state and unions but unlike Social Democracy, has no democracy.

Pro-Choice, Pro-Same-sex marriage, Pro-Gun Control.

Socially, mmmm….. kinda progressive. As progressive as a 1,500 years old individual can be. Which is surprisingly leftist for American standards.

If he could, would vote Biden.

Loki Laufeyson

he’s so pretty- my baby 🌞❤️

i iuv him so much 🌸

[Loki from the 2021 Disney+ series is a separate category, since he’s simply so different.]

[Im not gonna be considering Thor 3 too much either, considering Taika Watitit admit multiple times to not understating Loki’s character, but I am going to keep the movie in mind. It’s not like Thor 3 looked at Loki’s moral compass too deeply either, so. BUT. We do have a nice insight off what Asgard would look like under Loki’s rule, which is VERY helpful!]

Socially Progressive (He’s gender-fluid and bisexual/pansexual for christ’s sake) Monarcho-Socialist.

Despite how Monarcho-Socialism is often portrayed, he doesn't support the king being the leader of the revolution in most cases, instead preferring to have the monarch as the constitutional head of state while the socialist government does the politicking.

While Loki is portrayed to some degree as a stereotypical king or other member of royality, however, he is known to take a paternal role in regards to his people and vehemently defends their right to be protected from the oppressive nature of capitalism, often through his government.

Pro-Choice, Pro-same-sex marriage (duh.) ehhh with Gun-Control.

Wouldn’t vote, even if he could. But, if he REALLY had to, would probably vote Bernie.

Loki Laufeyson [“Loki” 2021]

Anti-Authority. (ironic, isn’t it?). Anarcho-Socialist. Individualist. Socially Progressive. (Again, he’s Gender Fluid and Bi/Pan.) Anti-Fascist; The TVA is literally a fascist regime.

Pro-Choice, Pro-Same-sex marriage. Kinda iffy with Gun Control.

He’d be 100% for free healthcare - Would vote Bernie.

Bruce Banner

Liberal. Not much to say, really. Pro-Choice, Pro-Same-sex marriage, Pro-Gun Control. Voted Biden.

EDIT: Nvm he’s literally Anti-capitalist in the comics lol.

Update: Leftist. Anti-Capitalist. Progressive. Pro-Choice, Pro-Same-sex marriage. Pro-Gun Control. Voted Bernie.

Bucky Barnes

💗🌺 my beloved 🌺💗

Democratic Socialist. Leftist. Anti-Authority. Pro-BLM. Pacifist. Pro-Choice, Pro-Same-sex marriage, Pro-Gun Control.

ASAB - Assigned Sexy At Birth.

Look, if you’ve seen FATWS, you know what i’m talking about.

Voted Bernie, you cannot tell me otherwise.

Let me know if you want more!! 🌸

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ssahoodrathotchner · 4 years ago

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Lover, Please Stay

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader

Summary: you get shot and Hotch worries about you while trying to keep it together.

Word Count: 5.4k

Warnings: swearing, shooting, blood, injuries, hospitals, some angst and then fluff, mostly just wanted to write some worried!Hotch

A/N: here we go! this is my first fic, so enjoy

Masterlist

---

As far as dates go, getting shot in the stomach twice was definitely not the way you wanted the night to end. Especially because you actually cared about the man sitting across from you in the dim lighting of the restaurant and you definitely had something else planned involving him, your clothes hitting the floor, and then the wall, kitchen counter, possibly the sofa, and of course, your bed and maybe the shower—but all that would have to wait as you slump back in your chair, stunned and bleeding. To his credit, however, Aaron Hotchner is not about to let the man who shot you get away with it, and swiftly tackles, disarms, and subdues the shooter, in record time, you think hazily to yourself with a small smile. After making sure the unsub won’t do anything else –not that he could even if he wanted to– Aaron turns to you. Eyes wild, he finds you –rather dramatically if you say so yourself—bleeding out and losing consciousness. So much for after-dinner plans.

“How romantic,” you gasp out and suddenly at your side, Aaron tips you out of your chair and lays you on the ground, immediately shedding his jacket to apply pressure to your abdomen and the growing red spots staining the dark green dress you had worn tonight. Fuck you loved this dress. And his jacket.

“….Sweetheart? You still with me?” Aaron’s voice wavers, and you realize he’s leaning over you and trying to gauge how you’re doing, aside from the obvious, of course.

You huff a laugh out—big mistake—and a small cry tears out of your throat as the pain in your midsection makes you regret your actions. Turning your head with a surprising amount of effort, your eyes float over him, taking in the way his hair sticks up, the frantic gleam to his eyes (tears?) and then down the black button-down he wore to his bloody hands on your body. You try for a reassuring smile—it doesn’t land—and then there’s some sort of commotion on the other side of the restaurant which you belatedly realize is the stampede of patrons out, as the ambulance slams to a halt outside, sirens blaring.

“Love, y’need t’figure this out,” you grit out, knowing that he won’t—can’t—argue with you as you look up at him.

“Y/N...”

“No, Aaron. Get th’ team,” your eyes are closing and breathing is getting harder so you stop, and hope that he figures this out. He has to. You know Aaron will want to protect you and go to the hospital this instant, but you can’t let him do that just yet. Not this time. It’s not everyday a BAU agent gets shot in a crowded restaurant in front of her boyfriend, who is also a BAU agent. It’s too weird to be random and the rest of the team needs to get here now.

The next few moments pass in a blur of shouting and pain, as you are lifted on to a stretcher and poked and prodded. Tiredly, you try to keep your eyes on Aaron, but in the noise you find your head rushing and with a sharp pain in your stomach, you fall into darkness.

Barred from climbing into the ambulance with you, Aaron has never been so scared and enraged. The ambulance screeches towards the hospital as he quickly fires off a text to the team –you’ve been shot, it doesn’t look good, meet him at the restaurant. And then he sits on the sidewalk. And thinks. And seethes.

How could he not have noticed the man advancing toward your table sooner? How could he not have noticed how out of place the man looked and the way that he kept a hand in his jacket pocket? And finally, why didn’t the man shoot him before getting taken down? Head in his hands, Hotch lets out a sigh before clenching his fists and closing his eyes, waiting. There are police officers milling around, taping off the restaurant and the unsub is in a car around here somewhere, or maybe already on his way to the police station, but Aaron can’t shake the fear in his mind. He should be speeding off after the ambulance, keeping you company, and pacing the hospital lobby until he knows you’re okay. You need to be okay. But your words ring in his head, figure this out, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t at least try. You need him to try. He needs to focus.

A hand claps down on his shoulder and Aaron jerks his head up to find Morgan and Prentiss looking at him with sad eyes. Accepting Morgan’s hand, Hotch stands, and after a beat, straightens up and becomes SSA Aaron Hotchner, BAU Unit Chief, and not Aaron Hotchner, concerned and, quite frankly, terrified boyfriend.

“Garcia is pulling security footage from the restaurant and surrounding area. She’s also keeping tabs on the unsub at the police station and will let us know as soon as the cops figure out who this guy is.” Morgan says as Hotch looks around at the crime scene that’s sprung up around him.

“Unless she figures it out first,” Prentiss adds “which she probably will, it’s Garcia.”

A black SUV pulls up, and Reid, Rossi, and JJ emerge. Rossi immediately takes stock of the blood on Aaron’s hands and the usual chaos of a crime scene. Reid looks shaken to his core, and JJ isn’t much better, although she is valiantly trying to put on a brave face if only for her own sake.

“Aaron, you should be at the hospital. We can handle this,”

“Dave, she told me to figure it out. It was one of the last things she said and if I don’t and she…” Aaron trails off as the rest of the team looks at him, worried.

“I need to do this for her,” he says softly, thinking of how you looked as you were whisked away by the ambulance. How you passed out, face contorted in pain and then still.

“Hotch…” JJ lays a hand on his arm and squeezes.

“We got this. You can run point from the hospital with Garcia,”

That shakes him a bit.

“Garcia is running point from the hospital?” he wants to smile, but he can’t. Not while you’re possibly fatally injured.

“Of course she is,” says Morgan with a small smile.

“She went directly there after you texted us. She said she doesn’t want Y/N to be alone, ” Spencer supplies, and Hotch can’t help but be startled by how much he appreciates the thoughtfulness of his team in this moment.

Looking around the circle, he realizes that he doesn’t have to take on the investigation and your injury alone. No shit, he can hear you say. That’s what they’re here for, dumbass. Teamwork.

Halfheartedly, he tries “but the police need to take my statement and—“

“—and they can do that from the hospital after we’re done here, I’m sure they’ll make an exception for the Unit Chief of the BAU since his girlfriend got shot,” Rossi finishes for him. “Aaron. Go.”

“Come on, Hotch, I’ll drive,” and as JJ pulls him into the SUV, he watches the rest of the team disperse amongst the police and crime scene techs with a determination and focus he wishes he could emulate right now. Instead, he tries to focus on getting to you and how good it’ll feel to hold your hand again.

---

The ambulance ride is blurry and the lights are too bright and the noises too loud as you slide in and out of consciousness after initially passing out. Vaguely, you hear something about a perforated something or other and blood loss, but that’s really all you can understand before going back to being unconscious. Again. If only falling asleep was this easy.

---

Aaron never particularly liked hospitals, but now, with your life in danger, he hates them. Striding into the lobby, JJ at his side, his eyes find Garcia, furiously typing and wiping away tears as fast as she can. As his feet carry him to the desk, JJ breaks off to comfort Garcia.

“I’m SSA Aaron Hotchner, and I’m here for Agent Y/L/N she should have arrived half an hour ago with two GSWs to the abdomen,” his voice is surprisingly collected, as the nurse looks up at him from her computer.

“She was rushed into emergency surgery almost as soon as she got here. I don’t have an update for you now, Agent Hotchner, and it could be awhile until I know something for sure,” the nurse replies with a sad smile.

With a curt nod, Aaron walks over to Garcia, who now has JJ’s hand firmly in her own. Upon seeing him, Garcia springs up and sets her laptop and JJ’s hand aside to instead throw her arms around her stoic Unit Chief. Stunned but not unwelcome, Hotch reaches around to hold the crying tech analyst. Pulling back from the embrace and sniffling, Garcia looks at Hotch and her eyes widen almost comically.

“Blood. Oh my God, blood,” she states in a hurried breath and it’s only then that Hotch realizes that his arms and torso are covered in your blood still; he hasn’t had a chance to wash it off. Looking down at himself, his vision blurs for a second and the weight of his appearance takes a toll. Stumbling to the bathroom as JJ and Garcia reach for him, he staggers through the door and to the closest sink before throwing up. Leaning heavily on his hands, he hangs his head and catches his breath before turning the tap on. Slowly, methodically, he cleans his hands, then up his arms. Splashing water on his face he looks in the mirror, noting the bags under his eyes, the way his hair sticks up on one side, and the dried blood on his black shirt as it catches the shitty fluorescent lighting.

You’re laughing at him and he can’t help but smile back at you. In the light of the restaurant he loves the way your eyes shine when you look at him. Something catches his attention out of the corner of his eye, but you’re still laughing and he loves the way you look when you laugh. Bang. There’s screaming. Bang. You slump in your chair across from him. His stomach drops and there’s a roaring sound in his ears and years of training take over. The unsub stands still, gun in hand, and Aaron moves. Takedown. Push the gun out of reach. Hold the guy down. Swift punch to the face and the guy is out. You make a sound—a whine? a scream? his name?—and Aaron turns. You. Hands on your stomach, but Aaron can see the blood seeping through your fingers. Gently, as gently as he can, he gets you to lie on the ground and uses his jacket to try and staunch some of the bleeding. Your eyes flutter and he calls your name, asks how you’re doing, something to keep you awake and talking and with him and—

A knock on the door draws him out of his mind and JJ pokes her head in.

“I found a sweatshirt in the back of the SUV and thought you might want to put it on instead of having to stay in your shirt since…” she trails off and gestures to his bloody clothes.

Wordlessly, Hotch takes the sweatshirt from her. It’s one of his, he knows that, but he can’t remember why it’s in the SUV, especially because he hasn’t seen it since—You. You had it last. Inhaling your scent off the piece of clothing almost shatters him again and he holds the sweatshirt to his face as he tries not to cry. Slipping into a stall he slowly undoes his shirt before crumpling it up and dropping it on the ground. Pulling the sweatshirt over his head, he takes a moment to collect himself before stooping down for his shirt and walking out the bathroom door back into the waiting area.

Sitting next to Garcia he can see that there’s a picture of the unsub on her screen, as well as general demographic information and stuff streaming past that’s too fast for him to read.

“Garcia, what have you found.” Business as usual. Except for the part where he doesn’t know how you are or if you’re alive.

“Well, Sir, the bastard who shot Y/N is Parker Harrison and from what I can tell, he’s a creep. Like look-through-your-windows-and-take-photos-while-you-change kind of creep so—“

“—so it’s weird that he came up to you two in a crowded room and shot Y/N when there is nothing that Garcia’s found to suggest that that’s even something Harrison would even consider,” JJ finishes while continuing to glare at the photo on the screen.

Hotch sighs and puts his head in his hands. Again. Rubbing the bridge of his nose, he looks at JJ.

“Call the rest of the team and let them know that we know who the unsub is, but he doesn’t fit the profile for the crime and see if they’ve found anything out of the ordinary.”

With a nod, JJ moves to her feet and goes out the front door to make the call. Garcia makes a noise somewhere between frustration and surprise before renewing her furious typing. Aaron looks towards the nurse at the desk, the same one he had spoken to earlier, and catches her eye. She shakes her head and he tips his head back against the wall behind him, eyes closing.

---

You don’t think you’ve died. At least, not yet. Maybe this is some fucked up afterlife precursor, but you really, sincerely, hope you aren’t dead because that would suck for you and for Aaron. And Jack. And the team. Fuck you really hope you aren’t dead, but the fact that you can’t feel your body really isn’t helping you figure out what the hell is going on. There’s pressure building in your chest and as it expands, it feels like you are going to explode. You fight against whatever is happening—it hurts, dammit—and then back to nothingness.

---

He waits for hours. Pacing, sitting, standing, silent. Garcia mumbles to herself as she works, and calls the team with possible updates, but Aaron can’t bring himself to focus on anything but you. JJ comes and goes, standing, sitting, pacing, leaning over Garcia’s shoulder. She calls Will and the team a few times to give or get updates and for that, Aaron is grateful. He knows he should be doing more, as Unit Chief and as the person you told to get the unsub, but you you are his focus. He nods when Garcia shows him something and shakes his head when JJ appears with food and coffee. And he waits. At some point a police officer shows up and Hotch mechanically rattles off what happened. There isn’t much he can say since they have the shooter in custody already. Shortly thereafter, the rest of the team show up and all of a sudden Hotch is suffocated by the amount of people in the waiting room. Prentiss moves to JJ’s side and Morgan to Garcia’s, talking quietly. Reid and Rossi trade glances before descending on Hotch.

“Any news?” Rossi asks, but Hotch shakes his head.

“You guys find anything at the scene?” And Hotch is hoping for something anything to make this make sense.

“Well, according to the security cam footage, the unsub was dropped off at the restaurant and then walked inside, bypassing the hostess and making his way to your table. It seems like Harrison knew exactly where you were going to be and when, which is concerning. But after you take him down and he got to the station, he didn’t talk—and still hasn’t which indicates that he may be trying to protect someone which furthers the idea that he really didn’t come up with this on his own given that his previous criminal record didn’t indicate that he would shoot someone that he deemed a target, although Garcia is currently going through the contents of his electronics to see what she can find and—“ Reid is effectively cut off by Rossi, who states “and so we still don’t know enough about this guy to draw any concrete conclusions, but this isn’t an ordinary unsub and if he does have a partner, we need to figure out who that is before someone else gets hurt; possibly someone on this team.”

Aaron frowns to himself at this information. He thought that the team would be able to find something find more about Harrison, but it seems the universe is making him wait not only on you, but the fucker who shot you as well. Collapsing down on to the nearest chair, Aaron tries to come up with a plan, a preliminary profile, something that will help him figure out what exactly you’ve been drawn into. Staring down at his shoes, he fails to notice the way the team looks at each other, and then at him. With a sigh, Prentiss moves from JJ’s side to Hotch’s and sits. He doesn’t look at her, or even acknowledge her presence, but doesn’t shake off the hand that she lays gently on his shoulder as he continues to study his shoes.

It’s well into the early hours of the morning when the team is alerted to a development in your wellbeing by the loud squeak of the swinging door that leads to surgery. Half asleep, Rossi wakes the others from their various levels of slumber as Aaron stumbles to the doctor after he announces your name, eyes wide and hopeful.

“First, Agent Y/L/N is alive. She coded in surgery about two hours ago,” Aaron swears he stops breathing “—but we were able to revive her and finish stitching her up and repairing the internal damage. The bullets entered her abdomen and tore through her large intestine, and she did suffer more blood loss that I had hoped, but in time, she will recover.”

Aaron’s breath rushes out all at once and he almost collapses with the weight of his relief. He hears the gasps and murmurs of the team behind him which confirm their own happiness that you are alive.

“Can I see her?” the words leave him quickly, and he knows you won’t be awake, but he needs to see you. Needs to make sure you’re still here, with him.

“As you can imagine, she won’t be awake for quite some time. Her body has sustained major trauma, and we will be keeping her under watch for at least a week, depending on how long it takes her to wake up and then the rate at which her body’s healing process takes place. However, you may see her, one at a time, and are welcome to be here during official visiting hours tomorrow.”

Without turning to the team, Aaron nods and gestures for the doctor to lead the way, mind spinning with relief and worry, a dizzying rush of feelings at knowing that you’re alive. Stopping outside of a room, the doctor looks at Aaron before opening the door and stepping aside. Making his way to the side of your bed, Aaron can’t help but take stock of your appearance. Eyes tracing your face, fingers lightly following the same path before coming to hold your hand as he sits in the chair next to your bed. Exhaling slowly, he raises your hand to his lips and kisses your knuckles, eyes finding your sleeping face and finally, Aaron allows some tension to leave his body. You’re here you’re here and you’re alive and breathing.

---

Your return to actual conscious reality is slow, to say the least. The steady beeping of your heart monitor catches your attention first because it’s just so damn annoying. But hey, it means you’re alive—what a relief—so you really can’t find it in your hazy mind to care too much about the incessant beeping noise as you drift into consciousness. The next thing to draw your focus is the scratchiness of the sheets surrounding your body—are hospital sheets purposely so uncomfortable?—and the way that you can feel someone holding your hand. Aaron. Fighting to open your eyes damn those fluorescents you manage to squint your way awake. Well, as awake as one can be after what you just went through, but it’s an improvement to whatever semi-alive state you had been in even if you are still in a moderate amount of discomfort.

“…Sweetheart?” there he is. You squeeze his hand and turn to see him more fully, eyes raking over his face. Teary-eyed and smiling, you’ve never seen him look more handsome (okay besides when he was wearing his black button-down and black jacket at dinner before you got shot, but that’s obvious).

“Aaron,” his name leaves your lips on a breath and you smile back at him as he kisses your hand before leaning over and kissing your forehead.

“I was so worried, Y/N. So worried about you,” he continues down to your nose, your cheeks, and finally, finally, he presses his lips to yours. Hands intertwined with his other one coming to cup your face, you pull apart just enough to look each other in the eye. And to think you might not have survived to do this ever again. The thought is enough to bring tears to your eyes and as they fall down your cheeks, Aaron kisses your forehead again before leaning his head against yours.

“You’re okay, Sweetheart. You’re here, I’m here, the team is in the waiting room. We’re all okay,” he says gently, stroking your cheek with his thumb. You continue to cry, soft whimpers escaping you as the pain in your midsection sets in and you realize how much you could have lost if you died.

“Th’ team. Need t’see ‘em,” you mumble through your tears, and Aaron nods before reaching for his phone and texting someone, staying by your side the whole time. Your tears continue to fall, but Aaron’s presence and steady reassurance calms you and soon you’re just staring at each other, hands clasped, reveling in your closeness.

A nurse enters the room and checks your vitals on all the machines you’re connected to before remarking on how good it is to see you awake and then she’s gone; Aaron doesn’t leave your side.

A swift knock on the door turns your head, and a smile breaks across your face as the team shuffles into your room and gathers around your bed. You watch them as they come in, looking for injuries or something out of the ordinary. However, they’re all okay, looking at you with sad hopeful eyes, but they’re okay just like Aaron said.

“You’re okay,” you whisper, wide-eyed.

“We’re okay? Mama, we should be checking on you. You’re the one whose been unconscious for a day and a half,” Morgan chuckles.

“’M okay. Good. Great. Sp’tacular,” you assure them with a smirk and a wave at your general hospital-chic appearance. You don’t have to turn to Aaron to know he’s rolling his eyes as the others let out small laughs at your answer.

“Glad you’re awake, Y/N,” Rossi states with a smile as Reid nods behind him.

“We were worried,” JJ adds.

“Don’t you ever do that again! I mean it,” Garcia says, pointedly. You huff out a laugh and grimace as your abdomen twinges in pain. Note to self: don’t do that again. You catch the rest of the room in a collective wince out of the corner of your eye, but your focus is now on Aaron, as he leans impossibly closer to you, gauging your level of pain through his furrowed brow.

“We’ll be back later,” Emily suggests, laying one hand on JJ’s arm and another on Reid’s shoulder. “Get some rest, Y/N.”

“Will do,” you grit out, pain subsiding only slightly in your stomach. Your eyes shut and over the sound of your heavy breathing, you hear footsteps retreating and the closing of the door. Aaron’s hand brushes your hair back off your forehead and comes to rest on your cheek. With your eyes closed, you realize just how fucking tired you are now that you’ve confirmed everyone is fine with your own eyes. You squeeze Aaron’s hand, and as you give in to your exhaustion, you feel him kiss your knuckles with a sigh.

“You’re okay,” he whispers, and then you’re out.

---

You wake up to a hushed argument taking place between Morgan and Rossi at the foot of your bed and surprise surprise Aaron’s scowling at both of them.

Fighting through a yawn, you mumble, “G’morning, everyone,” pointedly glaring at Morgan and Rossi who at least have the decency to look sorry for disturbing you.

“Afternoon, princess,” Morgan says with a nod. “Nice to see you awake again.”

You roll your eyes and can’t help but notice the careful way Aaron’s watching your face for any signs of discomfort. Squeezing his hand—has he let go of it since he got here? A thought to pursue at a later time—you turn your attention back to the agents at the end of your bed.

“What have I missed?” Rossi looks at Aaron before taking a breath and facing you.

“We think the guy who shot you has a partner and we’re trying to figure out who it is.”

Well shit. Schooling your face into a somewhat neutral expression, you repeat “…a partner…?” and something akin to fear washes over you. There’s someone out there who wants you dead. Fan-fucking-tastic.

Steeling yourself, you look over at Aaron for confirmation and the hard look in his eyes is all you need. Fuck. Sinking further back into the pillows behind you, you stare at the ceiling and try to fully comprehend what you’ve just learned. Breathing deeply, you try and quell the panic that’s rising in your chest. Shit. Now what happens. Eyes clenched shut, you address the room.

“So, what now? There’s another guy so what do we have on him what do we know has the unsub said anything that might help us? Something? Phone calls at weird times, unusual credit card activity, change in schedule, unexplained absences from work, something has to stick out,” Your words rush out before you can stop them.

“Well—“ Morgan starts but you cut him off, rambling.

“—and what’s the name of the unsub anyway? What’s the name of the fucker who shot me two times?” you ask, eyes flying open at the realization that you only know him as “the unsub” and not his actual name.

“Parker Harrison,” Hotch states with enough contempt for you to stop and squint at him, worried.

“Sounds like an asshole,” you remark, but Hotch doesn’t smile like you thought he would.

It’s at this point that Morgan wisely makes some excuse about seeing if Garcia has found anything new and he herds Rossi out the door before the other man can protest. The click of the door behind them is deafening as you continue to watch Aaron’s face while he stares down at your joined hands on the bed. Tracing your knuckles, he doesn’t elaborate on the unsub and so you wait. You focus on your own breathing, Aaron’s hand in yours, and his presence next to you.

However, there’s only so much silence you can take when you have so many questions that you would like answered. Tugging on his hand, you wait for him to look up at you before speaking.

“Aaron, who is this guy?”

Silence.

You try again.

“Aaron, I can’t help you profile the partner if I don’t know who Harrison is. Let me help you catch this fucker,” and that catches his attention. With a small quirk of his lips, he exhales and leans closer to brush some hair out of your face.

“You shouldn’t be profiling or working at all, Y/N. You got shot. You need to rest,” he says as his hand settles on your cheek.

You snort and roll your eyes. As if.

“I can multi-task, love. Also, I need to work this case. Do you really think I’ll be able to rest and recover knowing there’s someone out there who wants me dead? Harrison is the first step to figuring this out and I can help, Hotch. I’m a profiler and he’s an unsub. This isn’t anything we haven’t faced before and we will catch him. So, once again, I’m asking you to let me help,” you implore. “I’m on bedrest, not dead. I can be semi-useful, even while lying in a hospital bed.”

With that, Hotch sucks in a quick breath and his eyebrows pull together.

“But you did die,” he says lowly. “You died you were dead. The doctor said you coded on the table. I could have lost you,” and with that last admission, his voice breaks. Bowing his head, the slight shake of his shoulders is the only sign you have to know that he’s crying. Crying over you. Oh, Aaron. Carefully sliding over in your bed—ouch—you pull on Aaron’s hand insistently.

“C’mere, love,” you whisper, and Aaron maneuvers his way on to the bed. Has he always been this tall or are hospital beds just smaller than normal ones?

Slowly, mindful of your injuries even in the midst of his own emotional turmoil, he curves himself around you as tears continue to fall. You lift your hand to card through his hair at a steady pace and eventually, just rest your hand on his face, catching tears and brushing them away. You raise your other hand, which is still holding his, to your lips and softly kiss his fingertips.

“I’m here. We’re here and we’re okay, and I love you,” you repeat gently until the shaking in his shoulders subsides and his breathing evens out to match yours. Holding your hand to his face, Hotch gives it the gentlest kiss imaginable before clearing his throat.

“I love you too, Sweetheart. So much. I was scared you weren’t going to make it, and then to find out you almost didn’t?” he trails off with a heavy sigh.

“It’ll take more than a few bullets to take me away from you, Aaron Hotchner,” you say. “I mean it.”

Instead of responding, Aaron nuzzles the top of your head and moves impossibly closer to you on the bed.

“I just—“ he stops. “I waited for hours to hear how you were doing. I was basically useless to the team because all I could think about was you and how you told me to get the guy and figure it out, but I couldn’t. Not without you.”

“Oh, Aaron,” you shift so you can smile at him warmly and then he’s leaning down to you, cradling your face, and kissing you with a desperation that makes your heart ache. You return his kiss with all the reassurance you can offer. I love you. I’m here. I’m alive. I’m sorry. Tilting your head, you move a hand to his chest, over his heart trying to do what you can to get closer to him. I love you I love you I love you.

Breaking for air, Aaron presses one last lingering kiss to your forehead before settling back into your side. Heart racing, you smile contentedly at the man in front of you before trying to get comfortable. Leaning just a little too far forward, your breath leaves you in a whoosh before the pain sets in, letting you know you’ve overdone it just a bit—and just when things were getting good, too. Ever the protector, Hotch readjusts your pillows and presses the call button for the nurse as you let out a whimper. Soon enough, a nurse makes her way into the room and asks you how you are—brilliant—and what level your pain is at—an eight—before giving you a very welcome round of pain meds.

As your body relaxes and your mind starts to drift, you turn your gaze to Aaron, still by your side. He kisses your cheek and then your forehead softly as you close your eyes. Safe for now.

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internallyinarticulate · 5 years ago

Text

Frustration

(Yandere Cop!Abbacchio x Female Reader)

Alright this is my second attempt at a jojo fanfic, I hope you all enjoy! This is the first chapter of this series! (I don’t know exactly how many chapters there will be, but there will be quite a few! I’ll make sure to link them all together on each post I make for this series!)

Also this chapter is long, so buckle up!

Chapter One: The Call

(3rd Person Pov)

The gently setting sun cascading a plethora of warm colors put (y/n)’s mind at ease, letting her know that the busy day she had earlier was finally over. Being a manager in a decently sized book store near the heart of Naples was not something to scoff at, especially considering the fact it was Saturday. The busiest day of each week, which always drove (y/n) to a point where she wanted to slam her head onto a table due to the volume of annoyances she had to deal with.

From people complaining about prices, children ‘playing’ too roughly with the books, to just dealing with the rush of people in general. Now that isn’t to say that (y/n) hated her job, in fact she loved it, most of the time she was greeted with a quiet bookstore filled with people who understood what a bookstore was and how to treat it decently. And the people that she met during these times were almost always polite, save for the few people that would come back from Saturday's and Sunday's excursion with some type of complaint. These things would frustrate (y/n) but it was nothing that she couldn’t handle. The pay for the job was not bad at all, it allowed her to own a nice maisonette with two floors to decorate to her heart’s content, and even splurge on trips around Italy. All in all, her life was tranquil at the moment, and that was exactly what she strived for.

(Y/n) entered her home and quickly took her shoes off, throwing them down in triumph as she quickly made her way to the couch positioned in front of the t.v.

“Finally, some peace and quiet.” she said as she sprawled out on the couch, letting out a content sigh as her mind raced through the events of the day. From the moment she woke up at 6:30am to the time she got home at 8:04pm, she had been running around non-stop. Even her break was spent running down to a bakery to grab food for her co-worker and herself! She let out a groan as the sound of a phone ringing was heard in the distance. She begrudgingly sat up and went to retrieve her purse from the coffee table in front of her. She looks at her phone and sees it’s a message from her boyfriend (B/n).

‘Hey sweetie, I just wanted to check in on you. How was work today?’ she lays back down as she messages him back,

‘It was crazy busy like every damn Saturday, how was work for you?’

‘Could have been better, but hey, at least we're both out of it now!’ she chuckled at how excited she imagined him sounding, he also enjoyed relaxing after a hellish day of work. Just as she was about to message back she heard a knock at her door; she stood up confused, who the hell could that be at this hour? She set her phone down on the coffee table and headed over to the door, concern filling her head.

“Hello?’ she called out as she approached the door, hesitantly looking into the peephole. No one was there, however a piece of paper on her doormat caught her attention. She opened the door and half expected to be ambushed by someone, but was met with nothing but a light breeze and a starry night sky.

“It got that dark already? How long have I been home?” she asked herself as she bent down to grab the paper. It was folded up, a bright red check mark greeted her as she unfolded the page.

“What the hell?” she said out loud, she quickly looked around her surroundings and proceeded to head back inside. She looked back at the paper in her hands, flipping it around, trying to find something else besides a giant red check mark. She sighs as she sets the paper down on her kitchen counter, it was probably some kids trying to freak her out with some stupid prank. She wonders whether to get some food or go back to her couch and fall asleep to some late night shows.

An ear piercing shatter sounds off by her head as she lets out a scream, the sound of broken glass falling from her kitchen window makes her look up and freeze in horror. Someone’s arm was working on pushing the glass shards that were left behind from the shattered window. (y/n) snaps out of her trance and bolts upstairs, just as a man places his hands on the window frame and lifts himself inside. A man with shaggy dark brown hair, a black tank-top with the words ‘Freedom is anarchy’ crudely written in white paint, an open black hoodie, and ripped up black jeans stands up slowly; almost comically, and scans the room for his target.

“Now where did you run off to little lamb?!~” he yells out as he walks through her kitchen into her living room. He glances around and makes his way through all possible hiding places while (y/n) hides in her closet upstairs.

Meanwhile in the maisonette next door, the sound of the broken window alerted a young man by the name of Alessandro Romano. He knew that his neighbor, (y/n) (l/n), was not a rambunctious person; well at least rambunctious enough to break a damn window. The loud feminine scream which followed immediately after solidified to him that she was not the cause of the window breaking, which prompted him to grab his phone and called the police.

“311 what’s your emergency?”

“Hello, I believe my neighbor’s house is being broken into. I heard a window break and I heard her scream, you have to help her quickly!”

“May I have your name, and the name of your neighbor; Along with your addresses?”

As Alessandro worked with the 311 operator the man in (y’n)’s apartment had begun to grow irritated as he looked around for his victim. He brought out a large knife and began to drag it along the wall as he started to slowly walk upstairs, calling out to her.

“I know you’re upstairs little lamb, let me in. I promise your death will be quick, though I can’t promise it will be painless!”

His footsteps were almost comically slow as he pressed the knife harder into the wall as the smile he held grew wider at the aspect of cornering his victim. Though he had to admit, he would be thrilled if when he opened the door she attempted to run, he loved it when they tried to run. He started to slam his footsteps down onto the steps leading to her room, each one louder than the last, until he was practically bashing his foot against each stair. He wanted, no, needed to scare his victim. It’s what made this all so pleasurable; Not the aspect of ending a life, but the thrill of the hunt and the case that would ensue. Sometimes from him, sometimes from them, it didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was that he caught his prey in the end, and rewarded their exhilarating tears and screams with a painful death.

(Y’n) heard the dramatic footsteps and cursed at herself for forgetting her cellphone. She cursed herself once more as she remembered the conversation she had with her boyfriend and how insistent he was to have her put a home phone in her bedroom.

‘Honey I have my cell phone on me 24/7, why would I need a home phone in my room? Besides it will be loud as hell when people call!”

‘That’s kind of the point (y/n), also you can set the tones of the calls received to be softer rather than louder.’

‘Well i think it’ll be a waste of time and money to set it up, i’ll be fine with just the home phone downstairs and my cellphone!’

‘*sigh* Alright, but when we move in I'm putting in a home phone.’

‘Fiiine!’

‘Dammit (B/n) I hate when you’re right about shit like that’ (Y/n) thought to herself as she clenched the tiny pocket knife that she had managed to grab from her dresser before she hid in her closet. She opened the door slightly and looked at the door that separated her from a grisly demise. She didn’t have a lot of furniture in her room but what she could easily move, she used. Her desk chair had been propped up against the door along with a wooden chest that she had received from her father as a nice parting gift when she moved out. She had managed to position the chest next to the chair in a way that would prevent the killer from being able to open the door too widely; It was an extra precaution just in case this mad man was able to break down the lock on the door and shove down the chair that was propped up against the door handle. She closed the door and took a deep breath; She was attempting to bottle up her emotions so she wouldn’t give this bastard any satisfaction from hearing her cry or scream in fear and frustration. All of this just had to happen to her, out of everyone in Naples it just had to be her! She would laugh if she wasn’t so scared at the moment, clenching the knife even harder as she heard the man finally make his way to her door.

“Officer Abbacchio, Come in Abbacchio do you hear me? Over.” a radio sounded off in a police vehicle which was slowly cursing down a busy street in Naples. A young officer quickly picks up his radio and confidently answers back,

“I hear you, what is it? Over.”

“We have a 10-16, break in at a residential area. Suspect is suspected to still be inside the residence, the only occupant of said residence is a young female named (y/n) (l/n), I’ll have the rest of the information relayed onto your screen. Over.”

“10-04, heading over to the address right now. Over and out.”

Officer Abbacchio turns on his sirens and presses down on the pedal, speeding along with the rest of traffic, his mind focusing on the possible situation he might be stumbling into.

‘There’s a high possibility that the perp will have a weapon, scratch that, he definitely has one considering he broke into the home through a window.’ He thought as he quickly read what popped up on his screen. He presses down on the pedal harder as he sees people moving to the side to let him through, a determined look crosses his face when he sees from his gps that he is no more than 5 minutes away from the address given to him.

‘I’ll make it there in three minutes with how quick people are letting me through, this is perfect!’

He arrived in the exact time frame he predicted and quickly got out of the vehicle, his hand gun drawn immediately. He approached the front door of the residence with extreme caution, following his training perfectly, he scoped the area and when he knew it was clear, he kicked down the door.

“This is the Naples police! Come out with your hands raised!”

A deep voice yelled out after the door was broken, the sound of two firm kicks alerted the mad man inside that he was no longer alone with his victim, an officer has interrupted his game. The man got to work and slowly opened the door, only to find it locked. He smirked as he put his blade down and quickly pulled out a multi-tool, getting to quick work on the outer casing of the door knob as the officer below started to sweep the area.

“This is the police! I am aware that you’re in here, come out with your hands up now!”

The officer yelled louder than before, worry evident in his demanding tone. The man had finished with the door knob and carefully removed the handle, undid the mechanism which locked the door, and attempted to open the door. The handle on the other side popped off and the chair that had been pressed up against the door knob fell, alerting both the man and the officer. The man tried to open the door again, only for it to open roughly halfway before having it stop yet again, the rushing footsteps of the officer downstairs gave the man an adrenaline rush as he forced his body through the door. He was greeted with a dark room, he quickly flipped on the switch as the officer made it to the bottom of the stairs.

“Come out! Hands where I can see them!” the officer yelled out again, hoping to get some kind of response. The man snickered and scanned the room, his eyes landing on the closet, that had to be where his little victim was.

(Y/n) held her hand to her mouth tightly, pressing her fingers against her lips in an effort to not scream as she heard the killer barge into her room. She had heard another voice yell out but it was muffled by the distance and doors between her and said voice; She thought it was her killer, becoming enraged at her attempts to keep him out of her room. The sound of the closet door knob moving both startled her from her thoughts and filled her with fear. She grasped onto the doorknob tightly as she felt the man desperately trying to break in.

“Come on little lamb, let me in so I can rid you of your suffering!”

The man screamed out as the doorknob stopped moving. The sound of a sharp thud alerted her as she held the knob tighter, unsure of what he was doing. The deranged man’s smile widened to a sickening degree as the knife made one final thrust into the door before the blade went through it, showering (y/n) with splinters of wood as it pierced through. A loud scream ripped from (y/n) as she saw how close the blade came to her face, just one more inch and she would be done for! She could not let go of the knob, or that would let the killer in; So she quickly tried to readjust herself before he had the chance to attack her through the hole he had just made. Loud footsteps caught her attention as a new voice shouted out

“Put your hands where i can see them!”

(Y/N) dared to look through the hole that the killer made and saw a very welcoming sight. An officer with white buzz cut hair and piercing dawn eyes glared at the man who stood in front of the closet door. (Y/n) took a deep breath before she called out,

“Officer, I'm in here! Please help me!”

Officer Abbacchio looked over at the closet door, noticing a (e/c) eye looking back at him through the knife hole the man made. He noticed the scared look in the young woman’s eye and grew more determined then before to help her.

“Don’t worry, the situation is under control.” He called out to her as he went back to glaring at the man before him who had begun to snicker. The young officer felt a chill go down his spine as he got a close look at the man, The blade he held in his hand was covered in a dark red substance, which officer abbacchio assumed was blood given the current circumstance.

“Drop the weapon now, and put your hands up.”

“Now why would I do that officer? Can’t you see i'm a little busy here?”

The psycho rammed the knife into the closet again, eliciting a scream from (y/n). Officer Abbacchio gripped his gun tighter, giving the woman in the closet a quick glance through the hole, he saw tears start to fall from her (e/c) which only added fuel to his urge to protect her.

“Do it now or I will shoot you! This is your final warning!”

The man’s smirk grew as he turned to the officer, and lunged at him. Officer Abbacchio took aim and let out a single round, the bullet casing clattering onto the hardwood floor as the sound of the shot resonated within the room.

-CHAPTER 1 END-

(Thanks for reading!)

#yandere leone abbacchio x reader #leone abbacchio x reader #yandere leone abbacchio #leone abbacchio #abbacchio #jojo part 5 x reader #golden wind #jojo's bizzare adventure #jojo x reader #jojo yandere

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nobody-wants-ice-cream · 5 years ago

Text

Everything Wrong With The Umbrella Academy. Episode 2, Run Boy Run.

Link to the first episode!

Same disclaimer as last episode: This is all in good fun! I wanted to do a really nitpicky re-watch of the series and found some really cool and interesting things I didn’t notice before. This is meant to have a Cinema Sins-esque tone. However, I did take off a lot more sins than Cinema Sins would have because I do genuinely like the series and the people that made it possible. So all of the good things got one sin off and all the bad things got one sin added. This is a really long post, so grab some popcorn. If there’s anything that I missed, feel free to add it!

Run Boy Run

Grace started the Herr Carlson record before the kids even arrived. How are they supposed to learn if they miss the first few seconds of it? What is the point of the record if they’re not even around to hear all of it?+1

The kids all have their hands on the chairs except for Five, showing that he will do something out of the ordinary. -1

Diego is causing property damage to Reggie’s chairs and Reggie allows this. Be consistent, show! Is Reggie lenient or strict? You could make the argument that Reggie doesn’t care about the chair because he’s rich. In that case, sinning for capitalism.+1

Klaus is already into drugs at the age of 13. We can see him rolling a blunt, and doing it quite well, presumably. +1

Ben is straight up allowed to read at the table. So then what is the point of the record if the kids don’t have to pay attention to it? +1

The kids expressions when Five stabs the table. The ones that we see are pure gold. Especially Klaus’s. Well done Dante Albidone. -1

Diego’s side eye when Five starts arguing with Reggie. This is the perfect expression for “my sibling is about to get in trouble”, so props to Blake Talabis. -1

Vanya’s side eye is also good. TJ McGibbon did well. -1

We see Five jump faster than a bullet, but he’s significantly slower when jumping across the table. +1

Reggie is a dick to Five, who just wants to explore his powers. We know that it’s dangerous because we see Five getting stuck, but Five doesn’t think that that is really a possibility. Reggie only talks in confusing ice and acorn metaphors. +1

Five’s face when Reggie presents the ice and acorn metaphor. -1

Vanya and Allison both give Five a look in this scene. This is what makes Five hesitate. Two of his siblings tell him it’s a bad idea, but he does it anyway because he’s a stubborn bastard. +1

Grace’s face drops when Five starts running out the door. Allison and Vanya also look absolutely horrified. -1

“Run Boy Run” is a little on the nose. Especially once you remember that The Boy is Five’s hero name in the comics. +1

No one cares that a 13 year old popped into existence out of nowhere when Five starts traveling into the future. +1

Easter egg! There is an ice cream cart outside the academy. If you’ve read Dallas, you know why I think that’s significant. Also, it happens to be my icon. -1

Five’s look of complete disbelief and horror when he is faced with the apocalypse for the first time. -1

“Vanya! Ben!” This has created a lot of curiosity in the fandom. In the comics he left before they were named, but in the show it looks like he chose to keep Number Five. Why? +1

The apocalypse looks very believable. -1

Title screen umbrella! -1

The awesome scene with Ellen Page and Aidan Gallagher continues in the next episode. -1

Where would Five have heard that rumor about Twinkies having an endless shelf life? It’s not like he was very exposed to pop culture as a kid. +1

Vanya doesn’t keep her Violin in the case. She leaves it proped on a chair, which is basically begging gravity to come and fuck up your instrument. +1

Five plays the pronoun game and doesn’t tell Vanya about Dolores. +1

The last thing Five heard for 40 years was Reggie’s stupid metaphor. That’s a sin for the metaphor and a sin for Five’s pain and suffering. +2

Vanya gives someone with a thirteen-year-old’s liver a few shots worth of hard liquor in a tall glass. +1

“You think I didn’t try everything to get back to my family?” This quote is Five at his core. It shows his exact motivation. Aidan Gallagher really could have screwed up with this line because it’s so raw, but the delivery doesn’t suck. Well done. -1

Is that liquor real? Aidan Gallagher’s face suggests that it is and he only takes two sips of it. Also, Five takes a sip when it’s just a bit, pours more, then takes another sip, and doesn’t drink any more of it. Sin for showmakers possibly giving a kid real alcohol and sin for Five only taking a sip after pouring a lot out. +1

However, if the alcohol is fake, which I really hope it is, sin off for Aidan Gallagher’s acting. -1

Five expects Vanya to believe his crazy apocalypse story. I had a hard time believing it when we were shown flashbacks as the audience. It wasn’t until they brought in the Commission that I actually believed it. If Five had explained the Commission, just like he did to Luther, then Vanya would have had an easier time believing him. +1

Vanya calls Five crazy and then expects him to not be hurt and want to stay in her apartment. +1

Vanya takes the pills after an emotionally charged scene. Pills-foreshadowing. -1

Five’s hands are shaking when he’s looking at the eyeball. This shows both his uncertainty, with this being his only clue, and shows that he is unwilling to leave his sister again even after she called him insane. -1

Mary J. Bilge. -1

The Lunar Motor Lodge has rates by the week, day, and hour. The Commission is super sleazy for putting Hazel and Cha Cha in a place that also rents by the hour. +1

Hazel and Cha Cha are an underrated duo. The “It smells like cat piss” dialogue is honestly really funny. -1

Obvious villains are obvious. I know they’re meant to be obvious, but it doesn’t change the fact that a show with a lot of subtlety just kind of thrust Hazel and Cha Cha in there with no subtlety at all. +1

Hazel stores the briefcase away and throws a screw, foreshadowing that this will be an important detail later. -1

No one, including police, notices the blinking and beeping, neon green tracker. +1

Patch is sort of right. Five made a jump in the middle of two of the local hires, which caused them to shoot each other. -1

“The guy had an eclair and the kid had coffee”. Patch’s side eye says that she thinks Agnes is getting her story mixed up. If we didn’t see what happened, then the audience wouldn’t believe Agnes either. Great acting Ashley Madekwe. -1

Agnes doesn’t stay in the back room. She crawls out so her head can dramatically pop up over the counter after Five leaves. This is a stupid decision on Agnes’s part.+1

Agnes is seen handling American money. Somehow we as a fandom didn’t notice this. Klaus also uses American money to buy drugs later in this episode. Sinning the showmakers not specifying which state at the very least, but reluctantly because I know that’s a reference to the comics. +1

“What other detective”. Camera cuts to Diego exiting Griddys. -1

Diego is a vigilante. What he is doing impedes the law. In this instance, we want him to stop Patch’s investigation because we know that the answer leads back to Five, which would be bad for the plot. However, Patch’s annoyance suggests Diego has done this to her before. How many murderers have gone free because Diego intervenes in Patch’s cases? +1

Diego did not consent to being searched and having his personal belongings taken. +1

Ebay exists but there is no internet or smartphones. What? +1

Diego thinks that this looks like a botched robbery. No way in hell does this look like a robbery of a doughnut shop in any universe. A bank robbery, yeah sure, but not a doughnut shop. What kind of doughnut shop has the kind of money that requires multiple guys with very large weapons, Diego? +1

The way Patch is described to Five by Diego in a later episode does not match the personality she actually has. +1

A whole crowd of people had nothing better to do than to watch the cops investigate a murder scene in a densely populated city. +1

Is Luther hitting his head after he wakes up a character choice? He does it again with the model airplane. After the low ceilings on the moon for four years, you would think that he would learn to duck. +1

Emmy Raver-Lampman gives an amazing performance when talking to Luther about Claire. -1

Allison has multiple posters of herself in her room. I am sinning for her younger self’s narcissism. +1

However, this narcissism goes hand in hand with Allison as a character. Props to the set designers for making these posters and hanging them up. It adds detail to Allison’s room and really shows who she was as a character. -1

“When Claire was little I used to read her books about the moon. I’d tell her her Uncle was living up there” Allison doesn’t remember that Luther was on the moon and therefore shouldn’t know about her divorce in the first episode, but says this in the second episode. +1

Luther looks so genuinely happy at being Claire’s personal superhero. -1

The ghosts torturing Klaus. +1

That fucking animal print thing Klaus is wearing. +1

Robert Sheehan is very, very attractive. This makes up for the monstrosity Klaus is wearing. -1

“You know you talk in your sleep.” “Oh there’s no point. You’re out of drugs” I love Ben as a character so much. -1

“Shut your piehole, Ben. Said with love” smooch. I love this line. -1

“I’ve got a crazy idea. Why not try starting your day with… a glass of orange juice or some eggs”. Justin Min’s delivery of this line kills me every time. -1

Pogo is really vague about why the papers in Reggie’s box are important. If he said something about the papers detailing the Academy’s powers in explicit detail, Klaus would have tried harder to get them back. +1

We don’t see Klaus pull out the Red Journal in episode one. +1

“Liar” “Drop dead” “Low blow”. This is an iconic interaction for a reason. -1

Pogo knows that Klaus can talk to ghosts, but remains offended when Klaus tells a ghost to shut up. +1

“Really awful, terrible, depressing times” Reggie is a dick to his children. +7

Vanya sleeps with the door to her bedroom open, even though we saw her close it. So she must have gotten up to open the door and didn’t notice Five was gone. +1

Where did Five go all night? Did he sleep back in the Academy? It couldn’t have taken him this long to get to the MeriTech building, so what happened to him? He changed to a clean uniform, so presumably he went to the Academy, but why did the show vague this? Did he walk into a department store and buy/steal a clean shirt?+1

Only the plot relevant person notices Five. The front desk girl doesn’t question why he’s there. And that is her literal job. I would know, I run the front desk at a medical office. If you don’t greet the patients then you’re not doing your job, front desk girl.+1

“Must have just [click] popped out.” iconic.-1

Five decides that violence is the best course of action to get the information he needs, directly contradicting “I know how to do everything” +1

The 1938 fingerprints may be Five’s. However, police usually discard this kind of evidence because there is a very reasonable doubt. Not to mention that anyone could have touched the knife. It’s a public place. Forensic evidence is not as reliable as it is portrayed in the media. +1

Diego is an asshole to everyone, but especially to Patch. She’s right, Diego is obstructing justice. How many murderers have gone free because Diego interfered in an investigation? +1

Diego’s boiler room is way too big to be a boiler room. +1

Luther’s reflection in Diego’s mask shows that Luther wants to know what it would be like to be number two instead of number one. Luther can’t lead for shit and subconsciously wishes that he didn’t have to. -1

With an aerial shot of the Academy from the outside, we can see that Reggie never bothered to take the laundromat sign off the mansion or that Reggie sold ad space on the mansion exterior. +1

Reggie is a dick to animals. See: the animal skeletons and the taxidermy. +1

Part of the mansion is painted an ugly neon green for no reason. +1

“Sorry I left without saying goodbye”. The “both times” is unspoken. -1

Vanya apologises for calling him crazy and being dismissive, but still suggests he needs mental help. He does, but maybe suggest it later when he isn’t convinced you think he’s insane? +1

Five lies to Vanya about something stupid. If he said that he was having Klaus help him with the apocalypse, I don’t think she would have minded. +1

Why does Five have so many toys in his room? Including a baseball? +1

Klaus comes out of the wardrobe as loudly as possible. The mansion does not have sound proofing (see: I Think We’re Alone Now dance party). There is no way in hell Vanya didn’t hear him. +1

This is the last time Vanya and Five interact. +1

Five’s room is more childish than a thirteen-year-old’s room should be. It honestly looks like he was the favorite because his room has so many toys in it. Like Reggie wanted to win his favor or something. Sinning for the weird set design choice and for Reggie being an asshole. +1

The fake circumstances in which Five was born in their cover story gives me immense joy. -1

In one camera angle, if you look carefully they cut two takes of “what a disturbing glimpse into that thing you call a brain”. In the one where we can’t see his face properly, Aidan Gallagher is openly smiling. Corpsing. +1

Robert Sheehan is funny. -1

Syd the tow truck guy doesn’t really look like Sean Sullivan (actor that plays adult Five) enough for Cha Cha, a trained assassin, to not see that he isn’t their mark. +1

Hazel eating a sandwich in this scene. Also the “Italian for dinner line”. -1

And Cha Cha sees the differences between Syd and Five later! +1

“Time travel’s a bitch” “Especially without a briefcase” There's other time travel methods than briefcase or being Five? Elaborate. +1

Patrick is a dick to Allison. We understand why later, but really Patrick, you’re going to be an asshole when her father just died? Don’t get me wrong, Reggie abused the hell out of her, but still! Patrick should have let Allison talk to Claire. +1

Vanya tries to comfort Allison even though she knows nothing about the situation other than that it happened. She’s never even met Patrick! +1

Allison is clearly trying to get away from this conversation with Vanya, but Vanya presses on. +1

“Well if I wanted advice, Vanya, no offence, it wouldn’t be from you”. This is why Vanya doesn’t take Allison’s advice about Leonard. Also, Allison is a dick to Vanya. +1

This scene with Allison and Vanya is interesting. Allison is projecting her pain and taking it out on Vanya, who really should have seen and heard what happened enough to leave her alone. Both of them are the bad guy here regardless of how you slice it. I am sinning the show for this moment because they really tried to villainize Allison for this scene, but she does have some well thought out points and is in an emotionally compromised state. Or in other words, the fight between Allison and Vanya is stupid. +1

Grant/Lance/whatever gave Klaus and Five valuable office time. Doctors do not have time for this sort of crap. Shouldn’t this guy have patients? +1

Aidan Gallagher looks to the actor playing Grant/Lance/whatever as if he’s waiting for him to say his line. I see this all the time with younger kids in theatre, but they can get away with it if their character has a reason to look at that character. That being said, Five would have no reason to do this.+1

The sound effect that plays when Klaus slaps Five is really out of place. +1

Seeing Robert Sheehan slap Aidan Gallagher. -1

Klaus pauses as if he’s listening to Ben before he picks up the snowglobe. -1

The snowglobe. Robert Sheehan pretending to be Klaus pretending to be Five’s crazy dad. Acting. -1

Five looks like a proud grandfather when Klaus gets Lance to show them the records. -1

Five doesn’t pay Klaus for that brilliant acting. Also, how was Five planning to give Klaus $20. He doesn’t have any money nor do we ever see him with money. Five is a cheapskate. +1

Klaus calls Five “old man”. I thought that was just a fandom thing lmao. -1

“You must be horny as hell”. Great Klaus line, but super weird that he’s saying it to someone that looks thirteen. +1

Klaus is wearing the shirt that goes with his nicest outfit underneath Reggie’s pinstripe suit. -1

“Goodbye Dolores”, a song from the soundtrack, starts playing when Five starts talking about Dolores. This is good placement of that song because we later learn that he left her in the apocalypse when he left to work for the Commission. -1

Five is a dick to Klaus. Klaus is really trying to connect with his long lost brother, but Five jumps away. +1

That taxi driver doesn’t freak out and cause a car accident when a random kid appears in his car. +1

Also, how did Five pay for that taxi? Did he jump out of the moving vehicle too? +1

Leonard is so obvious from the start. So charming that he’s slimy. +1

Vanya can’t see this and is actually attracted to him. This may go back to that conversation with Allison when she asks if Vanya has ever been in a relationship. For all we know, the answer is no. +1

Leonard took three years of German in prison. I don't think American jails are that nice. +1

Leonard picks up another person’s instrument without their consent. As a musician, this is very, very painful. +2

Diego is paranoid, but also observant as fuck. -1

But how did he get his weapons back from the police? Are knives open carry in whatever state this is in? There are some states where Diego’s harness would be legal so it’s possible. I’ll have to look into this. Sinning the show for being vauge as fuck. +1

Luther didn’t notice the boiler room door open. +1

Diego throws weapons on his siblings. +1

Reginald Hargreeves died March 21st. The funeral is on March 24th. This is way too soon. It should have been a week or two not two days between the date of death and the funeral. Especially considering Luther suspects Reggie was murdered. And if you say that Reggie, Pogo, or Grace bribed them, then I’m sinning for bribery.+1

Diego eats a raw egg. Salmonella headass. +2

David Castaneda eats a raw egg. Why did you make him do this? It adds nothing to the character other than making Diego look dumb as hell. +1

Vanya interrupts her student while he’s playing and doing well. Whenever my teacher does that I get a minor heart attack. +1

Leonard is already lying to Vanya. He manipulates her by saying his Dad was into music and that's why he’s taking violin lessons. +1

An actual place named “Bricktown” in a place called “The City.” Sigh. +1

It is four o’clock when Leonard takes his lesson, but then after the lesson we cut to night time. What happened in those couple hours, show? Are you really saying that these characters did nothing interesting for all that time? +1

Emmy Raver-Lampman clearly isn’t smoking. Which is fine because she’s a Broadway actress and needs her voice/lungs for that part of her career. It’s weird because it shows that Allison isn't smoking. +1

Pogo scolds Allison for her language. Allison is an adult, Pogo. +1

Klaus made a drink at a young age and Reggie didn’t stop him. Or talk to him. He recorded Klaus drinking, but didn’t care. +1

The showmakers show us Allison’s face for dramatic tension instead of showing us the tape. This was a good choice and I feel it helped the narative.-1

They show a sign “Gimbel Brothers Seniors Tuesdays 10% Off.” after Five walks by. -1

The most awkward and dopey smile in existence when Five finds Dolores. -1

They play “Goodbye Dolores” after he finds her. That could have worked if they transposed it to the major key. Hello Dolores. +1

“Goodbye Dolores” transitioning into “Don’t Stop Me Now” by Queen. -1

This action sequence is great. -1

Hazel’s wrist splint. -1

Five cuts Cha Cha with a trowel. -1

The dual screen thing is cool. -1

Five literally jumps over a stand and somehow doesn’t get shot. Hazel and Cha Cha have Stormtrooper aim. +1

How did Hazel and Cha Cha leave? You would think the police would notice someone leaving through the back. +1

Similarly, how did Five and Dolores get out of this? Did he wait until he could jump and teleport outside the store? Can he teleport that far? +1

How did Diego get another police scanner so quickly? Unless that’s the scanner Patch confiscated? +1

“I gotta show you something” +1

Once again, Five should be a lot sweatier. What are these magic, sweat absorbing things you can buy in a department store and where can I buy them? +1

Five sees an eyeball and immediately picks it up for no reason. He doesn’t even know that’s Luther’s body yet. He just picked up an eye for no reason. +1

Five as a thirteen-year-old boy saw his siblings' dead bodies. Sinning for trauma. +1

Aidan Gallagher portrays this trauma well. -1

Overall Review:

I love this episode and had a hard time finding things wrong with it. I genuinely like this episode and I think that it could have stood alone as the pilot.

Some acting things I noticed, David Castaneda, John Magaro (Leonard), and Ashley Madekwe were the standouts this episode. All three brought something interesting to the table this episode and I look forward to re-watching their scenes. I wish Madekwe and Magaro all the best as I know that they probably won’t be returning for season two.

The plot thickens! Hazel and Cha Cha were introduced in a very obvious way compared to the subtle way they introduced Leonard. There is a reason I adore this episode, and it’s not just for Klaus slapping Five (though that is part of it).

Total: 52

Sentence: We saw Diego eat a raw egg. That’s punishment enough for this episode.

#The Umbrella Academy #all in good fun #luther hargreeves #diego hargreeves #Allison Hargreeves #klaus hargreeves #five hargreeves #ben hargreeves #vanya hargreeves #eudora patch

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goldenzingy46butwriteblr · 4 years ago

Note

2, 12, 35?

hi fey!! i love you!!!

2. Why do you write fanfiction?

Well, this is a fairly easy one to answer. I absolutely fucking adore writing, I love it more than anything else in the entire world. I love reading, but every story comes to an end, so I go online and find more of it!

From there, it’s an easy step to combine the two. It helps that I am plagued blessed by visions for ideas :>

12. Tell us about a WIP you’re excited about.

I could talk about all of them and have us here for days, so I think I’ll keep it to the unpublished ones :kek:

(okay well apparently this got super long because i started rambling so, uh, here’s a cut)

Well, there’s the mafia AU I started a few days ago and am now c o n s u m e d by... the vibes are perfect. The Word document tastes like danger and leather and blood and I am here for my own WIP,,, anyway.

Harry sees a man at a party and god, he’s so beautiful, and he makes conversation. He gets stalked, gets a boyfriend, gets kidnapped, and finds out that he’s dating the head of the mafia. Sure, this is his life now.

There is, of course, the sword fic. Oh god, the beauty of this fucking fic-

I screamed ‘sWORD’ into the void and a wild plot came and strangled me, and I adore it.

In a world where the oldest son is expected to behead his father on his eighteenth birthday, Harry Potter meets Tom Riddle. What follows is a curious tale of unknown magic, a medieval world, and a neverending winter.

blood soaked pennies (your heart is rotten, my darling, and it tastes so sweet)

the font for this fic is comic sans. this is relevant to nothing, but i thought you ought to know anyway.

Vigilante!Tom and corrupt cop!Harry

Harry didn’t know when he started taking money, or when that escalated into excusing murder then committing murders himseld. He does know, however, that the killer they’ve been hunting finds the worst of the taint and obliterates it.

Hunger Games AU!

This might be my oldest unpublished WIP. Maybe.

(i’d love to give some kind of a summary, but it needs a bit of adjusting and reworking so i can’t promise you anything other than harry comes from district 12).

Pirate AU >:)

I think this is another ‘idiots in love’ fic, which Harry Potter and Tom Riddle as rival captains.

The ship ‘Gryffindor’ is run by a horrendous crew nicknamed ‘The Chosen Ones’, and painted an obnoxious red and gold. Their rivals are the ship ‘Slytherin’, run by an extremely competent crew nicknamed ‘The Death Eaters’. Features: And they were jailmates, oh my god they were jailmates, there was only one bed, drunken confession, innuendoes, and lovesick scavenger hunts.

A Christmas Carol AU

I think this one speaks for itself. (That said, I’m willing to entertain asks about it :kek:)

jAIL BREAK JAIL BREAK JAIL BREAK

owo, what’s this? Yes, it is Harry being a creepy fucking serial killer in the cell next to Tom’s, a slightly terrified murderer of one (1) person. Tom clearly lost a bit of his sanity to his neighbour, as eventually he ends up dating said creepy fucking serial killer. Yes, that happens.

Dutch fic 1

Yes, that’s the name of it, as it’s written for @itsevanffs, and you know what that means.

Tom is a God of destruction and wrath. Harry is his child. They decide to take Harry away to stop him from turning out like Tom.

Stabs’ birthday fic

For my lovely spouse’s birthday! I don’t want to say too much and spoil it, but it involves a mugging and an awful lot of crack.

Vendetta

(Crack fic and dark fic version impending)

Harry kills a man. Tom gets his revenge... only Lily Potter has other plans.

And as I’m an idiot with too many WIPs, this isn’t even half the unpublished ones. Send me asks if you want to hear about them!

35. Ramble about any fic related thing you want!

This is your mistake, not mine :kek:

(I’m kidding. I’ll spare you this time, and just give you my wandering brain)

sensible brain: you should finish up chapter three of alone on the ice! it's nearly done anyway :)

desire brain: write more of my heart beats or perish

panic brain: hey remember war of wars? yeah? update it, bastard

gremlin brain: mAFIA AU MAFIA AU

spiteful brain: hey what if you write murder train just to spite all of them

pressure brain: remember traces of death, huh? you ought to DEAL WITH IT

obsessive, hyperfixating brain, salivating at the mouth: SWORD FIC

demon at the back of my mind: remember wish upon a satan?

soft brain: marauder’s era fic!!

wandering brain: [attempts to write all fics at once]

my computer: [binging softly] you need to memorise that script before the audition

ANYWAY SEND ME ASKS I LOVE YOU

#tomarry #writing #my writing #fanfiction #ask meme

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prisoncitystories · 4 years ago

Text

Fiction: Just Another Day at the Office

The smoke from the cigarette wafted freely through the air like the sultry melody of the dingy saxophone on the radio. I, however, was tied to a chair.

“What shall we do with the pig, Ms. Morgana?” The thug in the dragon mask said to his partner.

“Surely, we can have a little fun before we gut him, Mr. Pendragon,” Ms. Morgana replied. The pair are part of the Round Table Gang, the latest colorful characters to hit the city with their own particular brand of crime. Of course, they chose the boring task of robbing banks but really who’s keeping track, right?

“Fun, huh? What are we playing? Parcheesi?” I say, with a smirk. Pendragon rears up a fist and drives it right into my gut. I feel his knuckles press against the skin through my shirt. Thankfully, this isn’t my first rodeo.

“Quiet, pig!” Pendragon said. “How about a different game? Five finger fillet?” Pendragon pulled out a knife, waving it back and forth in front of my face.

“Maybe we could play chess, instead?” I said, edging him further. He threw his fist into my stomach again, this time a little harder. Thankfully, he didn’t notice my slight adjustment to put most of the pressure on the back of the wooden chair. A few more moves and the knight would take the bishop.

“Yeah, wrong supervillain, mate. Chess makes my head hurt. Now, Ms. Morgana, she’s the only one smart enough to handle that black and white board.” He said, turning to her and grazing her ornate horse mask granting him a devilish purple-lipped smile.

“Oh? I just assumed you were the same annoying, narcissistic, backwards-” I said, interrupted by a slap across the face from Morgana.

“I’ve trained you so well.” Pendragon said, pulling Morgana into a kiss. Who says crime doesn’t pay?

“If you’d like me to come back, I’d be happy to go. Otherwise, let’s get this threesome underway.” Pendragon stopped and turned to me. Even underneath the red dragon mask, I could tell I was getting on his nerves. It’s all in the eyes. The little flicker that hides a deep, deep rage and right now, my voice and face are like a broken urn full of oil.

“If you speak one more time, I swear to the gods I will cut your tongue out. Do you understand?” I remain silent. “Do you understand or are you just as dumb as we thought you to be?” He repeated much angrier.

“You told me if I spoke that you’d cut my tongue out. Not an outcome I’m betting on if we’re being honest here.” His face turned to stunned surprise and he brandished his knife again. He raised his leg to boot me backwards and I made my move. As he sent his leg toward my chest, I titled the chair back with my feet that could still touch the floor even tied up, sending me back faster than his boot could catch. While his boot was catching nothing but air, the chair was breaking against the cold concrete. I was initially a little jarred as my hands were the meat in a wood-concrete sandwich (which really hurt), but I quickly scrambled to my feet as Ms. Morgana regained her composure from the sight.

“Why you little bastard!” She said, sparking up her electrified gloves. I have to stay away from those. She stepped forward but her form was so uneasy. Unfortunately for her, confidence isn’t everything. She swiped like a cat and I only narrowly avoided a swift jolt by deflecting her strike with my forearm. I did the same maneuver but this time added a leg sweep, surprising her and sending her to the floor. I heard the clatter of a knife behind me as Pendragon swiped his knife, gashing my thin black necktie in the process.

“Eh, I never really liked it anyway. Gift from a few exes ago,” I said as he continued swiping. Similar to Morgana, I had to subdue him by using his strikes against him. I batted his arm aside as he hacked and slashed and when the moment opened up, I used a classic disarm and sent the knife out of his hand and back to the floor. Suddenly, I felt way too many volts pass through my leg, bringing me to my knees.

“What kind of detective are you? You fight like a drunkard. You can’t even disarm us both.” Pendragon said. He walked over to pick up his knife again as Morgana stood back up and placed one of her gloves on my shoulder. “Any last words, pig? You blew your chances on a last request.”

“Is it just you and Morgana or are Percival, Lancelot, and Galahad screwing around in your pants too?” I said, baiting him again. As he drove the knife forward, I ducked to the side making him lunge a little too far towards Morgana. I grabbed her arm at her forearm and hand and pushed them into Pendragon’s gut and activated the shock gloves. The electricity ran through him and sent him toppling. I shot up and brought a swift elbow to Morgana’s chin, flooring her as well. I finished her off with a blow to her face. I walked over to the table where that cigarette was still burning. I picked it up, began a drag, but quickly pulled the disgusting thing away.

“Menthols? Dear gods, you guys really are stupid,” I said, throwing the cigarette on the ground, stamping it out, and clicking off the jazz music at the radio. I look around the dingy, chip-titled torture room and find my coat hanging on a coat rack. “At least they aren’t savages.”

I made sure they didn’t steal anything. Pockets still have all my belongings. For bank robbers, they certainly aren’t great at petty theft. I throw the brown trench back on and move towards the door. I slowly turn the handle and open the door to the hallway where fortunately the other members of the gang are not waiting for me. I handled Pendragon and Morgana easily but three more thugs would land me back in the chair. Not to mention if they’ve added more since their last hit. We’ve been chasing them around the city for about three months, and they’ve robbed four banks in that time. We still can’t peg why they would need that much cash or how they could possibly spend it. They certainly aren’t investing in a headquarters.

Suddenly, I hear a voice from around the corner. I slink behind an open door in the hallway, making sure just to stand in the doorway and not shut the door. I spied through the peephole and saw a blue wolf mask. Lancelot. I think our dossier said he was a sharpshooter. Seems like he’d be useless in a fist fight. He was radioing to someone on his walkie.

“Pendragon, you done with the cop yet? Pendragon, I said are you done with the cop yet?” He put his walkie-talkie back in its holster and pulled out his sidearm. Something street trash would use, not really the mark of a deadeye. “By the gods, do I have to do everything myself?” He said, scoffing and stomping down the hall. I moved into the open room and behind the wall as he walked by towards the torture room. He opened the door and before he could reach for his walkie, I sprang into action and put him in a headlock. He quickly pushed back and slammed me into the wall behind us, but I held firm. I knew if he even got one good aim with his pistol, I was toast. He stomped his feet wildly, trying to bash me anyway he could. He bashed me back again, this time against the door frame, loosening my grip. We both fell to the floor, me out of breath and him gasping for air. We both took a second to regain our bearings and then shared a brief cutting moment. He got up quicker than I could and kneed me in the face. I shook off the throbbing pain and used the wall behind me to brace myself.

“Percival, Galahad, get-” He started to say into his walkie-talkie but I gave him a solid haymaker to the head.

“Now now, none of that.” I said, taunting him. I used his imbalance to disarm him of his gun, sending it to the floor. He grabbed my neck, but I kicked his legs out from under him. I used the momentum of the fall to bring my forearm down on his face, disorienting him again. He relinquished my neck and I dealt him a clean knockout blow to his smug face. I stood up and dusted myself off and down the hall were the last two members of the Round Table Gang, Mr. Percival and Mr. Galahad, staring at me. I was admittedly a little disoriented from the last two altercations but I can’t imagine I was getting out of here without at least one more.

“Well come on then. Let’s go.” I said, putting up my dukes once more. I examined the two of them briefly, really hoping that Percival came at me first. He was small, compact. Intel said he was the demolitions expert of the group. Can’t be that great of a fighter either, although Lancelot surprised me. He adjusted his gold hawk mask. Mr. Galahad was much larger and muscular than his counterpart. Comically, he had a green cat mask. I don’t know what these guys’ fascination with stupid masks is. Galahad came stomping towards me.

I delivered several quick blows to his abdomen which frankly hurt my knuckles quite a bit. He just chuckled.

“That ain’t going to work, little man.” Unfortunately, he was right. I had to use his weight against him. He reared up for a downward strike, but I only narrowly avoided piledriver fist to the top of my skull. He came down on my shoulder which sent pain through my arm. I used the other arm to swing a fist, tilting his head to the side. He cocked his head back at me and I could see the annoyed look in his eyes. He grabbed me by the shoulders and sent me swinging through one of the walls of the hallway and into the room I initially hid from Lancelot in. Same dingy tile as the other room hit the back of my head hard.

“You call that a throw? Better invest in some gym memberships, mate.” I said, as he stepped through the me-shaped hole he just created. “Although your budget might be taken up by renovations.” He didn’t care for the banter. He stomped up to me and raised his leg up to smash me, but I rolled to the right. The tile cracked underneath and I got an idea. While his foot was still depressed, I swung my body around and kicked his stomped leg with all the force I could muster. His leg jutted further into the floor as he fell and the angle caused him to slam down harder than just a simple fall would do. I clumsily stood up and went to the groaning bastard.

“Nighty night, kitty cat.” I said, stomping his face and breaking his mask in the progress. I briefly take a look at his face. Ugly bastard, really. Maybe it was better with the mask intact. “Alright, Percival. We both know you’re a cowardly bastard so let’s get this over with. If you come quietly, I won’t have to break your nose too.” I said, walking out into the hallway and Percival was kneeling on the ground and he had already cuffed himself.

“Please don’t hurt me! Just don’t tell the others I surrendered.” I chuckled at the weakling. Just another day at the office, I suppose.

#prison city #detective squall goode #round table gang #mr. pendragon #ms. morgana #mr. lancelot #mr. percival #mr. galahad #dnd #dnd homebrew #prison city stories #noir

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thanksjro · 5 years ago

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The Transformers #22- Chaos Theory Part 1: Space Racism, Space Classism, and Space Pseudo-Romantic Tension Between Rivals

Before I jump into this comic, it is positively vital I talk about Drift.

Drift is an IDW original character, born on the page without any previous rendition. He was introduced in All Hail Megatron #5, which was Shane MeCarthy’s fifth solo writing credit for IDW publishing. He waited a whole five comics to introduce an original character, and Drift had reason and purpose to his creation- he was meant to honor Japan as the home of Transformers. He existed to show what a Decepticon defector would be like, and how both factions were losing the plot of the ideals they fought for. Pretty thought out stuff.

Meanwhile, in The Transformers #22, on the FIRST FLIPPING PAGE-

Okay, to be fair, Rung isn’t super important here. He will be later on, but as it is, he’s just a funny little creamsicle man who’s wandered into the scene. This also isn’t technically his first appearance within the IDW publications; in the Last Stand of the Wreckers, there are several character profiles, penned in-universe by Rung, going over the members of the Wreckers and their various emotional/mental ailments. This is still quite the step up for him, however. To think, he started out as a one-off psych joke in Eugenesis. He’s come such a long way. I’m so proud of him.

Anyway, our story begins in the past, at Maccadam’s New Oil House, where it’s time for Megatron’s character depth injection. He and Impactor are having drinks- Impactor’s had several glasses of what appears to be molten lava, while Megatron’s more of a children’s cough syrup kind of guy- and Megatron’s showing his friend his writing. You see, Megatron’s a bit of a revolutionary, and an intellectual one at that.

Megatron is dissatisfied with the current state of affairs on Cybertron, and as a man of the people- he is but a lowly miner at this point in time- he feels it is the duty of the public to incite change through the power of language and critical thinking.

That’s not really Impactor’s style though, as we find out when Rung gets tossed onto their table, and Impactor decides that the best course of action to take is to start punching the guys who’re throwing entire robots around in a bar full of very breakable glasses and drunkards.

In the present day, Megatron’s still hooked up to that full-body harness, and is currently being seen to by Ratchet… and Perceptor. When the hell did Perceptor get here?

Oh, okay, cool. Thank you, TFWiki.

Ratchet runs a bit different than one would expect him to here, not quite as grumpy as he’ll end up in MTMTE, and a bit superstitious. No, the role of the strictly-fact-based bluntness has been awarded to Perceptor this issue, who quells Ratchet’s concern with Megatron using his labelled black hole/antimatter powers by telling him to stop being stupid.

Meanwhile, in the observation room, Ironhide, Optimus Prime, and Xaaron are watching this scene go down. Xaaron’s here to act as legal council, since Megatron’s surrendered himself to the Autobots and is therefore a prisoner of war. Is this the first time legal precedent has been taken into account by the Cybertronian population in the IDW run? No, but it does seem as if Xaaron’s just about the only form of legal council they have. No wonder the planet’s such a mess.

There’s a reference to the fact that Ironfist is fucking dead, and then Xaaron leaves to talk to Wheeljack.

Don’t you smile about that, you absolute jag.

Something is bothering Optimus Prime. Megatron seemed off when they last spoke, as if he were putting on a performance. Which he kind of was, considering he invited the entirety of his Decepticon forces to watch him and Optimus beat the shit out of each other. Does Megatron want to- dare we dream it?- end the war? Only one way to find out: Ironhide suggests a heart to heart.

Back in the past, Megatron is being questioned by a cop, in the aftermath of what happened at Maccadam’s.

Did Megatron get his group’s tagline from some prison graffiti? I suppose inspiration can strike someone anywhere, at any time.

Springarm’s questioning Megatron, or at least he’s attempting to- seems to be having a hell of a time with both reading comprehension and having an outdated form. Cold construction gets its first mention in officially published media- an idea played around with in Eugenesis- and then Whirl shows up to save Springarm from embarrassing himself further. Whirl is a cop here, but don’t worry, he gets better.

Back in the present, Optimus is psyching himself up for his conversation with Megatron. He enters, has the audio in the observation room cut, and Wheeljack loses a bet.

Oh hey, Drift, been a minute.

Optimus wants a proper conversation with Megatron, but Megatron points out that it isn’t exactly fair that he’s strapped in place, filled with inhibitor chips, and primed to be electrocuted to death if he so much as sneezes. Optimus agrees with him, and releases Megatron from his bonds, then offers him a chair and a cup of tea.

So, Optimus and Megatron get to talking. Actual talking, not the “taking turns reacting” stuff they usually get up to.

And then Optimus more or less calls Megatron a hateful son of a bitch to his face. Which Megatron seems to take in stride.

I think Megatron is the only guy in the universe to hate so insanely hard that it turned off his ability to get hot and bothered.

Of course, Megatron doesn’t hate Optimus- oh, he could never. He just hates everything he stands for, and everything he does. Which, uh, doesn’t leave a whole lot left over to not-hate. When asked if he hates Megatron, Optimus isn’t nearly as composed and elegant about his thoughts. It’s like he thinks “hate” is a dirty word. So did I, when I was, like, six.

They’ve been at war for so very long, it’s gotten to the point where the entirety of the galactic council has kicked any Cybertronian representative out, because these guys clearly have some issues that just aren’t getting resolved. Maybe if they had more than a single mental health specialist for the entire population they’d get somewhere.

As it currently stands, Optimus just wants to know what the hell Megatron is even doing all this for. Megatron says it’s for control and dunking on lower lifeforms with space racism. Optimus thinks that’s a load of horseshit, and presses for more details.

There’s our first mention of the Knights of Cybertron, who become a major plot point in the IDW Phase 2 publications. We’ll hear more about them later on.

It seems as if Optimus and Megatron share the basest of values- both want peace. Optimus just isn’t really digging the whole “subjugate the people for a better tomorrow” shtick Megatron’s touting.

Megatron doesn’t like being compared to Optimus, who’s about as centrist as it gets- Megatron is a radical if there ever was one, and he’s been fighting for his beliefs for the last four millions years, tooth and nail.

Not that these robots have nails.

Back in the old days, the Senate divvied up the populace by alt-mode, and whatever you turned into, that was your job. Personal taste, interest, and talent weren’t factors. That’s why Megatron worked in the mines- he wasn’t allowed to do anything else. This is Functionism, another plot point that will be factoring into Phase 2 pretty heavily.

Optimus didn’t really oppose Functionism at the time, seeing as he was a rather privileged individual, and also a cop back in the day. Everyone’s a friggin’ cop in this continuity.

But enough about systemic oppression of the masses, it’s time to reminisce on the good old days- also known as every single time Optimus and Megatron have ever tried to kill each other. It’s a lot. Like, a lot. And then they have a good laugh about it.

This isn’t a healthy response to stress, you two. Someone throw Rung in there and lock the door for a couple weeks.

Optimus says that he wants to end the war. All Megatron has to say is that he wants it too, and it’ll end. Megatron doesn’t say anything to that. Optimus still hasn’t figured out just why Megatron surrendered, but it looks like time’s up, and he strings Megatron back up and exits the room.

Later, Autobot High Command is having a meeting, with Bumblebee, Ultra Magnus and Prowl having telecommed in. It’s an emergency meeting, over the complicated legality of Megatron’s trial. Since the Galactic Council isn’t returning their calls, they don’t have any sort of neutral third party to run this thing, and the Autobots can’t just hand out sentencing themselves, because they have a natural bias. Magnus suggests they give Chief Justice Tyrest a ring, seeing as he’s considered a neutral by the Galactic Council.

There’s another part to this issue though; because of the nature of this case, the prosecution gets to decide Megatron’s punishment, should he be found guilty. They start putting it to a vote, but Optimus says that it’s his decision since Megatron has been his responsibility for the last few million years, completely cutting Bumblebee out.

Y’know, Bumblebee. The current appointed leader of the Autobots.

Why do we even bother having elections, if Optimus is just going to pull this whenever it’s convenient?

Then Rodimus calls Optimus out on being potentially compromised, since he listened in on his little chat with Megatron. Optimus reacts to this about as well as he can.

That is to say, not at all.

Back in the past, it’s time for some good old-fashioned police brutality.

How in the hell do you even punch someone when the closest thing you can make to a fist is more akin to a torpedo in shape? I guess only Whirl knows.

Whirl’s decided that he’ll be killing Megatron for his two little buddies, and he almost gets to it before Springarm busts in and stops him. Megatron’s being released, on the captain’s orders, because the captain went through Megatron’s things and read his writing, revealing himself to be a violenceless revolutionary.

Impactor, what the fuck.

The captain is Orion Pax, by the way.

In the present, Optimus is back in Megatron’s room, because that will certainly help his case of being on the up and up. He wants to know why Megatron surrendered, and he wants to know NOW DAMMIT. Megatron asks him to rephrase the question, then goes full edgelord in an attempt to make Optimus react, because it’s the only way the two of them know how to interact at this point.

Megatron gets what he asks for, and Optimus realizes that perhaps attempting to murder his greatest rival minutes after having been revealed as a have a soft spot for the guy wasn’t the greatest idea. He leaves the room before things can get more awkward.

He runs into Ironhide in the hallway, who asks how things are. Not great, Ironhide. Not great. Optimus committed an act of violence on a bound man, thus feeding his hatred of authority figures.

In the past, Megatron finally corrects the etymology error everyone’s been making with his name.

Because that’s not a massive red flag right there.

Megatron’s free to go, and Springarm gives him his little journal back. Too bad Megatron’s been tainted by the ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀ ᴏꜰ ᴠɪᴏʟᴇɴᴄᴇ and doesn’t nearly believe as much as he once did in the power of the written word. He tosses his writing away, causing his first incident of property damage and foreshadowing his future.

That’s the end of the comic, but not the end of the issue. In the back of the book is a little blurb welcoming Roberts to the writing chair and calling him out as a bit of a dork, then a sign-off from Andy Schmidt as Senior Editor of IDW, which also calls him out as a bit of a dork.

So that’s the start of the Chaos storyline. Lots of setup here, both for Chaos and things further down the line. This is a sharp left turn from how the prior issues of this series have gone. It’s not just people punching one another in the face. I’m getting a feeling that character motivation is lurking in the wings here.

#transformers #jro #the transformers 2009 #issue 22 #maccadam #Hannzreads #text post #long post #comic script writing

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fxckingfinan · 5 years ago

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So It Goes (Stilinski) - Chapter 2

Pairing: Stiles Stilinski x Reader

Summary: Everything seems normal to the naked eye when referencing Beacon Hills, almost boring if you were to ask the residents. However, it’s what lies beneath the surface. When Y/n and her two best friends Scott and Stiles are thrown into the adventure of a lifetime. Secrets come out, and changes are made. And to think it all started with half a body. (Season 1)

Word Count: 3,364

Warnings: A couple swear words, very very brief description of blood, angst if you squint

As Y/n stumbled through the woods trying to find her two idiots friends, she quickly realized how awful of an idea it was to go dead body hunting. She also realized it's a particularly awful idea to wear slippers whilst doing so. She rubbed her sweatshirt clad arms attempting to get rid of the rising goosebumps. Stupidly enough she never realized how cold it could get at night.

Y/n was never one to think the woods were creepy. Until now. It was eerily quiet, apart from the occasional sound of leaves shaking. The small breeze disturbing the (almost) peaceful forest. It was quiet. Far too quiet for comfort. This was the woods, an area usually bursting with life from the treetops to the dirt-covered floor. She waited for anything to cut the thick silence. Birds, squirrels, anything rustling through the leaves that had fallen. Yet nothing was doing so except her hard breathing and a heavy heart.

The girl furrowed her eyebrows, stopping in place when she heard more sticks breaking behind her. For a second she was almost relieved to hear movement. She was relieved until she realized she should be alone and the sound of heavy breathing reached her ears. The sharp panting sounding anything but human. Her eyes widened as she let out a ragged breath, unable to ignore the gut-wrenching fear she felt.

Slowly she turned around, her body stiff. Crimson red eyes met with her fear-stricken orbs, taking her breath away completely. Her feet stumbled backward when the creature let out a snarl. Body turning itself around before her mind had fully registered what was going on. Not even seconds later breaking into a full sprint through the dark woods.

"Shitshitshitshit" Y/n’s breathing was labored as she ran, wincing as a branch scraped her arm. Closing her eyes she prayed to any god out there, ’for the love of god please don’t let me die out here’. She closed her eyes for only a second before running smack dab into something, causing her to fall harshly onto her back. A whine emitting from her throat as any air she held in her lungs was stolen from her. For a second Y/n thought she was dead; whatever the hell that was had caught up to her and killed her before she even had the chance to scream.

"You sure do know how to make an entrance." Her eyes snapped up to meet the faces of Stiles and Scott. Letting out a heavy breath of relief, before shooting up off the ground and pulling her brother into a bone-crushing hug.

She was alive.

"Shut up. I've never been so happy to see you two in my life" She mumbled into his collar bone before he peeled her off of his body. He kept her an arm's length away to look her over. Clearly taking notice of the small scrapes on her arms. Familiar crimson dots of blood forming along the small lines.

"Why were you running-" Scott started, concern lacing his voice. She was a wreck. Her usually pink cheeks had turned into a bright red. As if someone whipped cherry juice onto them. A stark contrast to the rest of her face which was visibly paled from fear. If she hadn’t just been running for her life she might’ve been embarrassed about her disheveled state. Maybe.

“Guys c’mon!” Stiles broke away from the two, quickly running ahead.

“Stiles-“ Scott called out, dragging Y/n with him as he attempted to follow his spastic friend. Quickly forgetting that his sister had been so helpless just seconds before. He followed closely right up until a cop came into sight catching Stiles immediately. The police canine snapped at Stiles aggressively startling him enough to knock him onto his back. Scott quickly dipped behind a tree, shielding himself from the police officer.

“Hang on, hang on... This little delinquent belongs to me.” Officer Stilinski’s voice was gruff. Quite the opposite of his sons.

“Dad, how’re you doing?” Stiles asked nonchalantly.

Naturally, Y/n tried to scoot in next to Scott as the father and son conversed; it would’ve worked. If Scott hadn’t shoved her out immediately into the sights of Officer Stilinski.

Asshole.

“Y/n?” She froze like a deer in headlights as the sheriff addressed her. Awkwardly raising her hand in a small wave as she found her place next to Stiles. She would have to settle for yelling at Scott later. Though she couldn’t shake the thought of whatever terrifying monster she had encountered, Y/n tried to stay calm and engaged in her current situation. “So not only are you listening to my phone calls, but you’re dragging an innocent with you?”

“No!” Stiles wheezed before hesitating, “Not the boring ones. And how do you know this wasn’t her idea and I’m the innocent one?”

Y/n’s head snapped to the boy beside her. Crossing her arms before kicking at his leg. A wince sounded from him as she returned her eyes to Sheriff Stilinski. What was with these two throwing her under the bus?

“So where is your usual partner in crime?” He continued, choosing to ignore the prior comment Stiles made. Stiles’ dad was clearly unimpressed with his son, his facing conveying that clear enough. It was almost comical to Y/n that he was so used to his son's shenanigans.

“Who, Scott? Scott's home. He said he wanted to get a good night's sleep before the first day of school tomorrow. It’s just us. In the woods. Alone.” Stiles floundered, heavily wheezing as he tried to convince his dad. It was almost painful to watch as his lying continued to worsen through the sentence. Y/n quickly cut in, trying to save his ass while still even remotely possible.

“It’s true Mr. Stilinski. Just us out here. Scott wanted to make sure he was up and ready for lacrosse tomorrow! You’re coming to the first game right?” She tried to divert the attention away from her friend’s awful lying. Taking a small step forward as if to put a spotlight on her.

“Depends on everything at the station, but I’ll let you know. Do you have a ride home?” The sheriff's face was still unimpressed, just slightly less so.

“No sir, Stiles and I came here together.” Y/n let a sweet smile play at her lips, really trying to sell it. She hoped to god he didn’t pester any further.

“Of course.” he started, “Stiles, take the girl home and then yourself. When you get there we‘re gonna have a discussion about something called violation of privacy.”

Stilinski led the two to Stiles’ banged-up jeep, having them hop in before bidding them goodbye. Y/n let out a breath of relief she hadn’t known she was holding. Whether it was to finally be out of the thick woods or to be done with the sheriff's wrath she wasn’t sure. Whatever she saw tonight was unlike anything she's heard of.

Spending the remainder of the car ride in silence, she wracked her brain for any sort of answer. Finally coming up with one solid conclusion,

“I think I know what killed that jogger.” Y/n’s voice was meek, waiting for his eyes to meet hers. The sound of her own voice confused her. She wasn’t used to sounding so weak. Y/n McCall was many things; weak and uncertain did not fall anywhere on that list. It was clear she was still shaken up, it was just a matter of what exactly had this effect on her. She wished she knew the answer to that. Y/n was so caught up in her own crisis she didn’t even get her usual butterflies she does around the boy driving her home.

“What do you mean what? Don’t you mean who?” Stiles tore his eyes from the road in front of him to make eye contact with her briefly. Turning his head back when her eyes faltered. She was nervous. Sweaty palm, wavering voice nervous.

“That’s the thing. It wasn’t a who.” She gulped before continuing, “I think it was a wolf. A really big fucking wolf.” A laugh bubbling from the boy's chest caught her off guard. He’s laughing at her. Tears had even started to form in his honey-colored eyes.

A scowl quickly took over her features as her annoyance flared up. Like someone lit a fire in her lungs. She recognized the uncomfortable feeling as embarrassment.

“I’m being serious you asshole!” Her arms were firmly crossed over her chest. Any form of uncertainty she had before was out the window. His inability to give her discovery even a single thought fueled the fire that was still burning in her chest. This time the burning was different though. Almost like it was burning hotter and brighter than before. This was pure, jaw clenching anger.

“I’m not trying to be an asshole, but you do know there haven’t been wolves in California in probably sixty years, right?” Stiles justifying his little episode only boiled Y/n’s blood more. She couldn’t remember a time she had been so upset with him. The only account coming to mind was when he ripped the head off of her only ken doll in the first grade.

“Stiles. I know what I saw.” She spoke with conviction to signal the end of the conversation. Her own hand dug into her bicep subconsciously. The rest of the car ride was silent. Tension so thick in the air she could practically taste the bitterness on her tongue. Y/n always had Stiles’ back, so why couldn’t he have hers? She was smart too. Granted, not as smart as Stiles but still. She wasn’t blind and she knows what wolves look like.

If she wasn’t so infatuated with the idiot she was sure her fist would be in his mouth.

They finally reached the McCall residence, slowing to a stop at the curb. Stiles didn’t have a chance to say anything before Y/n was up and out of the car, slamming the door behind her. She needed to sleep this off. It was extremely late by the time she made it to her room; checking to see if Scott had made it home never crossed her mind.

Y/n kicked off her muddy slippers, crawling into bed slowly. Letting out a groan when she finally flopped onto her right side, letting her head hit her pillow. Stupid Stiles and his stupids smarts. Who does he think he is. With his perfect brain and stupid haircut. She felt herself nod off, closing her eyes for what seemed to be only a second.

Y/n gasped, shooting up in her bed as the sound of her alarm cut through the thick silence. She grabbed her phone to turn the blaring alarm off. She sighed sitting on the edge of her bed, attempting to rub the sleep out of her eyes. Continuing to the bathroom to shower for school. School. She was fully awake now at the thought. It was the first day of sophomore year and she was going into it mad at her best friend. With great reason of course. She deserved the same amount of respect and trust she gave her friends, and she’d be damned to not stand up for herself.

“Scott! Are you ready?” Y/n trampled down the stairs in search of her brother. Only to be surprised that he was already standing next to the door, waiting for her. “Woah, you’re never up before I am.”

“Lacrosse. Remember?” Scott countered, fidgeting in his spot. Y/n narrowed her eyes as she slowly stepped closer to him. Her brother seemed to gulp at the intense stare. She assumed he was hiding something, the tell of his jaw clenching giving it away.

Y/n let a smile break out onto her face, simply patting Scott on the chest and continuing through the front door. Dealing with Scott hiding something could wait. If it were that important he would tell her; she was sure of it.

The two set off on their bikes towards the school. Neither spoke to each other and that fact alone was odd. Scott almost always had something to say to Y/n. She brushed it off, assuming he had tryout jitters and that was the reason for his odd behavior. Plus she was still thinking about Stiles. Not in the usual way of admiration though. Just the thought of the conversation the two had the night before was enough to relight her hate fire. Y/n’s knuckles turned white as she gripped the handlebars. Letting out a quick breath to calm herself down.

Her grip loosened as the school came into view bursting with life. The parking lot filling up quickly, kids were hopping off their bus to shuffle into the building, and cliques were already being formed. Y/n sucked in a breath of air, holding it in her cheeks as she mentally prepared for hell.

The two pulled up to a bike rack, taking their time to take off their helmets and lock up. This year was going to be different. Y/n could feel it. She couldn’t tell if it was her outfit choice or something bigger. She chose her outfit. Consisting of a sweater tucked perfectly messy into an a-line plaid skirt. Not only did she look good, she felt great. This year she was going to dress as nice as she wanted, straying from her usual way of dressing. The teen always felt like she was being stared at. She hated that. This year she wasn’t going to care if people stared. As long as she felt comfortable with herself it no longer mattered to her.

The sound of an engine getting closer invaded her thoughts. Her head whipping to the side to find the intrusive sound. A silver Porsche pulled smoothly into the spot next to them. Jackson Whittemore. She identified the king of a-holes immediately.

She watched Jackson step out of his ridiculously short car, promptly hitting Scott with the door.

“Dude. Watch the paint job.” His stupidly blue eyes settled intensely on her brother.

“You hit him, asshole.” Y/n stepped in, crossing her arms as if to challenge him. He scoffed, raising his eyebrows before biting back.

“Whatever.”

“Bite me.”

They watched as he walked away. Keeping an icy stare on the two as he did so. Scott pulled her towards the front of the school, mumbling something about making enemies on the first day. Stiles bombarded the two, desperately asking Scott to see something. Y/n looked between the two. See what? Just as she was about to open her mouth Scott lifts up his shirt. Revealing a large patch of gauze. Blood visibly seeping through the protective covering.

“Scott, what the hell happened.” Y/n’s fingers traced over his side, moving like her hands had minds of their own. Apparently too harshly as Scott jumped back wincing. Her eyes widened, instantly feeling terrible. He barely looked at her and instead continued to talk to Stiles.

“It was too dark to see very much, but I'm pretty sure it was a wolf.” Y/n’s eyes widened, gawking at her brother. A wolf. Just like she said she had seen just hours before.

“Oh, now you too? Not a chance.” Stiles laughed. Instantly reminding Y/n of her anger towards him. He’s still being an asshole. She may have a crush on him, but she wasn’t blinded by the fact. If anything it made her even more critical of the situation.

“Huh. Isn’t that funny he says that Stiles?” She cocked her head sideways, clearly mocking him. While Stiles’ eyes softened, Scott seemed oblivious to the tension as he continued to argue with Stiles.

Y/n stayed walking by the two. She had decided to argue with Stiles at this moment was pointless. If he wasn’t going to listen to her then so be it. She wasn’t going to listen to him. Instead focusing on her class schedule. Mentally mapping out the fastest routes through the school.

“I heard a wolf howling.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“What do you mean I didn't, how do you know what I heard?”

“Because California doesn't have wolves, okay? Not for like sixty years.” Stiles continued to laugh, settling his hand on his backpack strap. They stopped walking, causing Y/n to stop walking as well.

“Really?” Scott says, his tone teasing.

“Yes, really. Look, there's no wolves in California.”

“Really Stiles? You can’t stand to be wrong just this once?” Y/n threw her arms up, “For fuck's sake, two people are crying wolf!” Her blood boiled. Baffled that her usual partner in crime had such a huge stick up his ass over this.

Stiles just sighed dramatically and rolled his eyes.

“What’s up with you two?” Scott asked, looking between the two. Y/n shook her head, mumbling an incoherent response. She shifted her eyes to the ground. “Well, if you don't believe me about the wolf, then you're definitely not gonna believe when I tell you I found the body.” His voice trailed off.

At this point, Y/n couldn’t care less about the body. She just wanted to have a good first day. Clearly, that card wasn’t on the table.

“Are you kidding me?” Stiles’ eyes flashed like lightbulbs. Excitedly reaching his hand out towards her brother.

“I wish. I’m gonna have nightmares for months.” Scott said, a visible shudder wracking his body.

“That is freaking awesome!,” Stiles cheered, “I mean, seriously, it's the best thing that’s ever happened in this town, since-” His eyes shifted to look straight at a familiar strawberry blonde walking by, ”The birth of Lydia Martin. Hey, Lydia! You look- like you're gonna ignore me!” The boy waved, only to slightly deflate as Lydia ignored him.

Y/n inwardly scoffed. Of course he still has a crush on her. Why wouldn’t he? This was the icing on top of her anger cake if that was even a thing. How ignorant could this boy be? She turned around to walk away, trying to contain her sigh of annoyance threatening to surface.

“Hey, where are you going?” Scott called after her, confusion lacing his voice. Y/n turned around, walking backward in her heeled booties.

“Class” The girl shrugged. Technically it wasn’t a lie. She did have class, just not for another 20 minutes. Her creative writing class called her name, seeming even more intriguing as she looked for an excuse to leave the conversation.

Y/n made a pit stop at her locker, swiftly entering in the code. Her body jolted in surprise, someone slamming their locker beside her. Her eyes turned to mere slits, realizing her locker neighbor to be none other than Jackson Whitmore. This day just kept getting better and better.

“What are you looking at? Buzz off.” Jackson said, his voice rapidly becoming more annoying. She barely had enough time to scoff, soft tresses of strawberry blonde hair distracting her. Lydia Martin.

“Jackson. Let's go.” Her voice was demanding, a feminine edge to it. Y/n resisted the urge to roll her eyes, unable to control her overwhelming bitterness. She hadn’t even noticed Lydia’s eyes trailing over to her. “I love your skirt.”

“What?-Oh. Thanks.” Y/n was caught off guard, hands instantly coming down to stroke the plaid fabric. Lydia Martin. Complimenting her. Was this an alternate universe? She didn’t know how to react, too caught up on her prior thoughts. Lydia Martin was a heinous bitch. Wasn’t she?

“You’re Y/n. Right? We had health together last year.” A gentle smile played at Lydia's lips.

“Yep, that’s me!” Y/n replied, internally cringing at the blatantly obvious fake happiness. Clearing her throat she passed the ginger a smile before closing her locker. Turning to walk away from the horrendously awkward situation.

“You’ll have to show me where you got it sometime!” Lydia called out after her. Catching her off guard as she sputtered to a stop.

Y/n threw a quick smile over her shoulder, “Yeah, definitely.” She mumbled, clearly still loud enough as Lydia smiled in response. Promptly flicking her hair over her shoulder before turning back to her boyfriend to reprimand him for being so slow. Y/n continued walking, confusion settling in her brain.

What the hell was happening in this town?

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luki-fanfic · 5 years ago

Text

KHR/BNHA Fanfic: Role Model Part 1

Sometime last week in the dead of night

My Brain: Hey, you know what?

Me: It’s 2am, why are we not sleeping???

My Brain: If Dabi is Todoroki Touya, then it means he’s a character that was trained for a future role he couldn’t have, that was taken away from him by his father figure due to circumstances outwith his control, was heavily scarred because of it, and as a result; wants to kill said father figure.

Me: …And?

My Brain: …And who would you say that describes almost perfectly?

Me:…

…

No. Nonononono! I do not need another plot bunny setting up shop in my-and we’re already getting out of bed and writing this down before we forget aren’t we?

My Brain: ^_^

Enjoy!

—

Role Model: Part 1

Xanxus would really like to know why, when other Trash screw up, he’s the one who has to pay for it.

Seriously, if it’s not his asshole of a not-Father lying his face off for a decade, it’s the baby-Trash getting flung into the future and knocking out the entire Varia high command for 48 hours while they process an additional decade of memories, or some kind of ramen-eating-God trying to kill his Mist via flame-devouring-pacifiers before he shoves one on Xanxus to do the same.

And people wonder why he has a short temper. He’s a reasonable man! Just give him a mission that doesn’t involve everything he’s ever known getting flung into a blender with a side of magical-crap and tossed 180 degrees in the air. Whatever happened to good old Mafioso shoot outs and negotiation’s over dinner?

…God he misses assassinations pre-flame bullshit. They were so much more fun when he was the only one in the room that knew how to use them.

And now…this.

In the toilet attached to the lavish meeting room he’d found himself in, he leans over the sink and scowls at the face in the mirror. A good decade older than he should be, with red, spiky hair and matching stubble on his chin. Inarguably Asian features, skin paler than his own had ever been, and shoulders like goddamn Levi.

For fucks sake! Now he has to deal with idiot-Trash in other universes screwing him over? This kind of thing is supposed to happen to the Baby-Trash! Not him!

He’s still not entirely sure what happened. One minute, he’s enjoying the last glass of scotch the Bronco-Trash sent over in gratitude for a job well done, the next, his brain’s free falling into nothing. For a brief moment, panic had taken over, and - positive he was being put under the Zero Point again - lashed out the second he could use his arms.

This resulted in him knocking out someone leaning over his body, and when he heard metal smashing against hard floor – two things that shouldn’t have been anywhere near him - his eyes slammed open to reveal the inside of an ambulance, and a very nervous looking medic overlooking him.

“Endeavour, please relax,” he urges in Japanese, trying to retain eye contact as he kneels down to check on his prone partner. “We’re still checking for any other effects from the Villain’s quirk. Do you feel okay? Is there any negative blowback?”

Xanxus just glares at him, trying to piece the words together and wondering why the hell Squalo had called in an ambulance when they have a Quality medical team in the damn mansion, before his eyes catch a glimpse of his legs.

He can’t stop gaping as turns and takes in his full body, pulling up his hands in furious disbelief.

“What the fuck?” he yells, turning them over as if the front will be any less ridiculous.

Xanxus has never, in his life, worn something this humiliating. It’s a skin tight (almost obscenely so), navy blue bodysuit with orange highlights, along with white bracer’s that go up half his arm and a pair of knee high boots – all of which reek like they’ve been hung to dry in a building undergoing an arson attack.

His first thought, is that whatever mist did this is going to pay. Painfully.

“Endeavour, what’s wrong?” the man asks again, only to squawk as Xanxus shoves him with the heavy hand and stumbles to his feet, jumping out the door.

What he sees when he staggers outside the ambulance doesn’t help the situation. While there’s cameras, they don’t look like they’re filming so much as reporting. There’s chaos outside, but the citizens trapped behind yellow tape have him wondering if someone drugged his booze. Horns, wings, two heads…so many people in the crowd are just ‘off’ in a way that doesn’t make sense.

An even deeper glance in front of the tape doesn’t make things any easier. One of the men – he’s assuming police – has a cat head, while there are several men and woman dressed even more ridiculous than he is. One of them is dressed feet-to-nose in fucking denim!

There are so many possible scenarios, and one is not raised by Vongola standards without acknowledging the truly ridiculous. As such, the realisation comes very quickly. This is not his world. Not even remotely.

Denim-Trash is starting to make his way towards him, and he can feel the paramedics staring at his back. His eyes flick down to his hand, and he tries to reach for his flames – searching for the primal rage and right of rule that encompass his entire will.

But there’s nothing. His core feels empty. Not sealed, but rather, just not there. Wherever he is. Whoever he is, flames don’t exist.

No flames.

That…complicates things.

The man in the ridiculous denim getup appraises him.

“You’re not Endeavour, are you?” he says. Xanxus looks him over. Considers his options.

“What makes you say that?” he growls. Denim-Trash raises one eyebrow.

“Endeavour would be screaming blue murder at being put in an ambulance where anyone could see him.”

Well doesn’t ‘Endeavour’ sound like a charmer. Not that Xanxus would act any differently, but he’d never need the fucking ambulance in the first place.

The survivalist in him wants to play along. Bluff his way into solitude until he can figure out what’s happening. But the Boss part of him has already lined up his options. There’s just too many variables here. If he wants home, he’s not going to figure it out alone.

He huffs and crosses his arms.

“No,” he admits. “Looks like somebody royally screwed up.”

Denim-Trash sighs, and runs a hand through his perfectly styled hair.

“And to think, I thought this was going to be a slow week…”

—

He’s immediately ushered to a tall skyscraper not too far away from the incident site, and taken straight to the top floor, where the office of his ‘host’ resides. There, he finds his way to the bathroom he now finds himself in, trying to compose himself while he figures out what the fuck to do. Denim-Trash had handed him off to some kind of support staff, but it had been clear nobody had wanted to answer any questions until they had him contained.

It at least gives him time to recover. He desperately wants a drink, if only so he can throw something at the assholes who are going to come escort him again.

The information he has is limited. There was a phone in his host’s pocket, but without knowing the code it was useless. All he can go on is what he’s seen. This city looks very Japanese, but the people barely qualify as human. And the advertisements are all showing people he doesn’t recognise, who look like they should be hand drawn on the front of the comic books he used to read as a kid.

His flames are also gone, and as far as he can tell, the concept doesn’t exist here. But this outfit was designed to handle fire, and he keeps hearing the word ‘quirk,’ which makes him think there might be something else that substituted on a more mainstream level.

When he hears voices entering the office, he slams the door of the bathroom open and strides into like he’s not dressed like some idiot on a Sentai show. He gives a huff of approval as he takes in the room again – the idiot’s whose body he’s somehow possessing might have awful taste in clothes, but he at least knows what he’s doing with interior decorating.

There are five arrivals when he drops into the plush office seat, and he makes a point to push it away from the computer. Along with Denim-Trash, one of them is dressed worse than he is and looks terrified to be here, while another screams ‘cop’ with his suit. The third is an old woman, who merely cocks her eyebrow as Xanxus glides over the floor in the chair, and at her back is a man about Xanxus’s age, dressed in shapeless black and the world’s ugliest scarf. Seriously, if his Sun was here, that thing would already be aflame, and the world would be better off for it.

He leans on one hand and scowls.

“So?” he asks. “Figured out how to undo this yet, Trash?”

Terrified makes a squeak that reminds him of the Baby-Trash, but it’s Scarf-Trash that steps forward.

“We spoke to the Villain who attacked Endeavour, and tried to deactivate his quirk,” he explains. “Unfortunately, once activated, it can’t be shut off.”

Xanxus files away the term ‘quirk’ for future research, and Cop-Trash starts speaking.

“Three days,” he says. “That’s how long it takes to wear off. Which is three days longer than anyone really wants the number 2 hero out of commission.”

“To be honest, it might be to our benefit,” the old lady adds. “Endeavour is known for burning the candle at both ends, no pun intended. A few days of forced relaxation could be just what he needs. More importantly, I want to know exactly who we’re dealing with in the mean time.”

Xanxus immediately titles her as the smartest person he’s met so far. Nobody else has even thought to ask.

“Yes,” the cop says. “According the registry, his quirk swaps a person’s mind with someone of a similar mindset. However, he also said that quite often, the people he brings do not seem familiar with this world.”

All of them - minus Terrified, who looks like he wants to sink into the floor – face him with curious looks. Scarf-Trash also has a hand on his accessory, while Denim’s fingers are twitching.

“So, who are you?” Scarf-Trash asks. “And what’s your quirk? According to records, it varies on whether or not it follows.”

Xanxus stares back, glaring in challenge. The Cop’s eyes slide away, but the other three match him head on. His lips twitch slightly in respect.

“My name is Xanxus,” he offers. “And where I come from, superheroes belong in comic books. I’ve never heard of ‘quirks’ before today.”

Terrified seems to perk up at that, and the others seem somewhat relieved.

“Well, this world may seem a little strange to you, but I promise you’ll be kept in good hands,” the older woman offers. “And I’m sure Endeavour will try to keep a low profile until his return.”

Xanxus thinks about what would happen if a self proclaimed hero suddenly landed in the middle of the Varia mansion, and can’t fight the snort of laughter that follows. It makes the old woman frown.

“That amuses you?” she asks, and Xanxus grins.

“My world is a lot more dangerous” he tells them. “The criminal underworld is still a thriving commodity, and no quirks, so we don’t have heroes, and don’t look kindly on those that think that’s an option.”

Well, not unless you count a certain brat in Japan who still seems to think he can make the mafia a nice place through the power of friendship…

“It’s a cruel irony,” he continues. “Your Endeavour isn’t going to know what to do with himself. Better not get himself killed before we swap back.”

Their faces go dark at that, and Xanxus allows himself to grin. If it’ll kick their asses into gear and get them to figure out how to get him home quicker, he’ll tell them anything they need to know.

“What about yourself?” Scarf-Trash asks. “Not a hero, and no quirk, what is it you do back home?”

Xanxus quickly amends his earlier thought. Certain things would not go over well in such company, and he’s still not sure how well he can defend himself. It’s probably going to be better for everyone if he doesn’t mention his own personal alliance. He’s sure Endeavour will do a fine job of explaining that once his traumatised ass returns.

“I run a field office that’s part of my adopted father’s company,” he bluffs. “Lot of classified, high pressure, time sensitive work. Not looking forward to having it sit on a desk for 3 days. My employees are going to go mental.”

There’s an understatement. He guarantee’s Levi is already halfway through a mental breakdown, and Squalo will be screaming at whatever idiot made the mistake of walking down the hall. Bel will take the opportunity to go ‘play’ (hopefully not with Xanxus’s body), and Mammon is already charging him for the inconvenience of this whole affair. He’s calling it now.

On the plus side, his audience seem to buy it.

“Well then, Xanxus,” the cop says. “We’ll do our best to get you back as soon as possible. Until then, I hope you’re willing to work with us to mitigate the damage.”

Xanxus rolls his eyes.

“What do you Trash want me to do?”

—

In the end, his jury decide that since Xanxus doesn’t have a quirk, and doesn’t appear to be able to use Endeavours (fire, which makes sense and is something he might see about rectifying while he waits), that they’ll hide him in his host’s home for the three days. The man’s family has already been informed, but if he steps out of line, they’ll be taking him back into custody.

It could be worse, he guesses. He’s in the body of someone important, which means they won’t do anything too damaging to him, and they’re working as fast as they can to get this Endeavour guy back. He doubts he needs to do anything but stand aside and let them work. Since he’s the victim of a quirk and had no say, he’s clearly being treated with kid gloves.

No, the biggest threat to getting home is, ironically, home. If Endeavour is a- oh for fucks sake he can’t believe he’s saying this with a straight face – hero, having him land in Xanxus’s body will not end well for anyone. The Varia are many things, and most of them are obvious – not even the densest man on the planet could look at them and think they were anything but criminals. Which means he might run, and that’ll end badly since he’ll be eyeball deep in Mafia territory and probably try to find, ugh, law enforcement. God willing, his inability to speak the language will convince the Vindice that it’s clearly not Xanxus doing it and keep him out of Vendicare.

Then again, that might be preferable for Endeavour trying to act his way out of it. For all his complaints, his men are Quality, and trained to spot possession and plants. If Squalo or Bel don’t notice something is off within five minutes, Mammon will. The lot of them are crazy, not stupid, which means when he gets back, his body will probably be covered in additional scars from ‘interrogation’ while they try to get him back ‘Varia-Style.’ They definitely won’t call in Vongola’s tech team till they’ve tried their own avenues, and Xanxus just prays they confirm that it’s his body before they let Lussuria bring out his ‘toys.’

He really wants a drink, but he’s expected to keep this body in top condition, and no doubt the man’s family will want their precious hero in one piece, so it’s going to be a long three days unless he can sneak something. Or maybe Endeavour will turn out to be a secret alcoholic and he’ll be just fine. If not, he’s going to need to find something for entertainment, or flame or no flames, something is going to burn.

‘Terrified’ is apparently some kind of support aide for Endeavour’s agency, and is put in charge of handling Xanxus while he hides out. It doesn’t fill him with confidence – the man is definitely used to sitting in the back and giving ‘yes, sir, no sir,’ answers. As such, he’s not putting much stock in the Todoroki family bios the man is awkwardly stuttering out as they drive to his temporary home. It sounds like the blurb for some crappy sitcom. A stay at home wife, two teens, a pre-teen and a brat, all living in harmony. The eldest son was supposed to be following in his fathers footsteps, but had to hold back on applying due to illness. The daughter is a perfect Nadeshiko in training, the next boy is thinking about medical school at fucking 12, and the youngest is already on the path to enter hero school in a few years.

Xanxus is the last person to ask about functioning families, but there’s no way this happy cookie cutter description can be accurate.

The car rolls up to a lavish Japanese style house, and Xanxus gives it an approving nod. He’s always preferred Western design, but he won’t deny quality when he sees it. The security is actually much better than he’d expected too – proper walls and cameras set up in a manner that means he’s missing at least a few.

When they stop, the front door opens to reveal the Todoroki family, and his good mood evaporates. The woman is a twig, hands a little tight on the youngest boy, whose hair would probably make his Sun squeal. Both of them are looking at him with some suspicion. For that matter, so are the pre-teen and the girl. However, to the side…

The oldest boy has a shock of red hair similar to his current body, and while he refuses to meet Xanxus in the eye for more than a few seconds, his body language is clear. He’s relieved.

Interesting.

Terrified has been speaking to the wife while he took in his own impressions, but he turns his attention back when he realises they’re looking at him.

“It’s strange,” the woman says. “You still look so much like him. The expressions are…well, very familiar.”

She gives a strained smile, and Xanxus feels satisfaction curl inside at the pain the woman is hiding.

‘I knew it. This Endeavour fucker isn’t half as honourable as they think.’

“I’m Rei,” she continues, oblivious to Xanxus having read her actions. “We’ll set you up in one of the guest bedrooms for now, is that okay?”

“Is Dad really gone right now?” The pre-teen pipes up, and Rei’s head turns sharply in his direction.

“Natsuo!”

The boy in question pouts.

“What? If he’s gone, that means we can play with Shouto today right? He can’t be trained.”

The youngest, still pinned by Rei’s hands, looks up at his mother with something resembling hope. Her eyes flicker between him and Xanxus, unsure what to say.

“I haven’t got the slightest clue what training Endeavour-Trash was doing,” Xanxus says, making the decision for her. “Do what you want.”

The little brat and the pre-teen both grin, but Xanxus notices the red head turning to look at them-

Oh, now that’s interesting. It’s not there for long, but there’s a very specific array of emotions flashing on the teen’s face when he looks at his youngest sibling. They’re gone almost too quick to notice, but Xanxus caught it all.

He’s the only one though, as the girl takes his comment as an invitation, suspicion fading away as she steps forward and into a quick bow.

“I’m Fuyumi,” she says. “We’ll try to make your stay as comfortable as possible. Is there anything you need?”

A drink and a plane ticket to Italy, Xanxus thinks, but he doesn’t answer, choosing to stare at the boy on the end.

There’s something about the Trash’s appearance that’s bothering him, and he can’t figure out what. His hair is long, definitely grown to hide his face, and he has the personality of a mouse judging from how much effort it takes to get him to raise it for more than a few moments. Every inch of his body is covered, from the turtle-neck down to the combat boots. Given that it’s not a cold day and everyone bar Xanxus is in shorts, it’s probably a style choice. But whenever he does look up, he’s grinning, and trying to hide it – between that and the earlier interaction, Xanxus makes his mind up rather quickly.

“How about a tour of this place?” Xanxus asks, and points at the teen. “Yo, Trash, show me where I’m allowed to go.”

That gets the boy’s head up. “W-what? Me?”

Fuyumi looks a little blind sided, as does Rei, while Natsuo is frowning, but Xanxus just nods.

“Yeah, you,” he says. “That a problem?”

“Touya?” Fuyumi asks, glancing at her other brother, but the teen – Touya, Xanxus tries to remember – just swallows and gives a shaky nod.

“Okay. I can do that,” he says, and gestures with his arm. “Follow me.”

Xanxus grins and does just that, passing the confused family and immediately tossing them out of his mind for now. When they enter the building, the boy risks looking up at him, agitation on his face for the first time.

“Why me?” he asks. “Fuyumi would have done it.”

“I didn’t want Fuyumi-Trash to do it,” Xanxus said. “You’re more interesting.”

Touya’s eyebrows furrow, and Xanxus smiles – the expression slipping off when Touya flinches.

“Your old man, he’s Trash, isn’t he?”

The teen at his side pauses as he walks down the hall.

“He…Endeavour is the Number 2 hero in Japan,” he replies.

“And my old man is one of the most powerful men in the world,” Xanxus counters. “Doesn’t change the fact that he’s a piss poor father”

Ah, there is is. Touya’s lips peel back in a wicked smile for a quick second, and Xanxus goes in for the kill.

“I picked you, because you’re the only one in this family not trying to hide it.”

Another flinch, and then the teen looks up at him, confusion in his eyes. Xanxus faces him head on.

“I saw the look you gave the baby brat, Trash,” he tells him. “Back when he learned he didn’t have to ‘train.’ I might have only gotten the media approved profiles, but I’ve seen this before.”

God has he ever seen it before. Resentment at a sibling, followed by guilt for feeling resentment, finished off with anger at the whole situation. He knows that look well. Before his brother’s died, when the Ninth chose them one after the other instead of him, he wore it on a daily basis.

Before he knew why, and resentment and guilt disintegrated into pure rage.

Touya almost looks guilty, and his eyes are getting wider by the second. Xanxus grins.

Looks like he’s found his entertainment.

“I’ve got three days here, Trash,” he says. “Quality can destroy worlds in one. So why don’t you tell me what’s really going on in this house?”

#Katekyo Hitman Reborn Fanfiction #Boku no hero academia fanfiction #khr x bnha #crossover #fanfiction #fanfic #Role Model #Xanxus #Dabi #Todoroki Touya #KHR #BNHA #TTXanxus didn't want to play ball #So I shoved canon!Xanxus into Endeavour for funsies #dabi is a todoroki

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theresnosuchthingasmonsters · 4 years ago

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(Prompt: “I’m going to take care of you, okay?” with John and Ainsley, sent in by @silvershewolf247)

-----

Daddy once told her that there was no such thing as monsters. But that wasn't true. He had been one of them the whole time. Daddy had also told her that if monsters did exist, they would never come hurt her. They wouldn’t dare. Now, she understood why he’d said that. Because daddy had been the monster that the other monsters had nightmares about. Either that, or he had been their king, and they had obeyed him without question.

But with their king gone, she knew it wouldn’t take long for the other monsters to come.

And the monsters did come.

Ainsley could hear every little bump they made in the night. They were not the distant, dampered sounds of her brother getting a midnight snack from the kitchen below, nor the sounds of her parents going to --or returning from-- late night galas or hospital shifts. No, the sounds she heard were the sounds of softly thunking rubber-soled boots. The kind with a deeply-defined waffle pattern on the bottom. The kind that were always some shade of deerskin brown. The kind that smelled good in the stores, at least when they were virgin boots that had never touched the earth which they were meant to grind under their heels.

That night, Ainsley slipped out of bed and wandered downstairs.

She was exhausted of being scared, and she was exhausted of feeling grief and confusion. She was so emotionally worn out that her fear had ebbed into a numbness that consumed her. She felt too hollow to care about her self preservation. She only wanted to sleep, but she couldn’t sleep when those monsters were downstairs, making their distant, gentle, thunk, thunk, thunking noises.

She chose to haul along the biggest and supposedly scariest of her stuffed animals; the one that would keep her the safest in daddy’s absence because it was the most like him. Her biggest, fuzziest brown bear --the one with little white felt teeth that looked like they belonged in the mouth of a stuffed shark.

The girl stood in the hallway, wondering if she should wake Malcolm or mommy and inform them of the monsters downstairs so they could handle the situation. The thought caused her guilt. She knew they both had had trouble sleeping lately, too. She felt that she herself had to be the one to deal with the monsters that night. She had to be strong, like her parents had always told her to be. Strong, and brave, like Malcolm always seemed to be.

She took her time down the stairs, sliding one hand along the banister in the dark. She silently waddled towards the main floor of the large house with big, slow, careful steps as she imprisoned her bear against her chest in a one-armed hold. She was careful not to trip on his dangling paws.

Ainsley stopped on the stairs as the kitchen came into view, deep and black and cavernous. A shadow shifted, spotting her, and as the child’s eyes slowly adjusted to the night, she saw that it was not a monster. It was a man.

They didn't speak. They both remained very still, and simply stared at each other. The child didn't scream. She wasn’t scared. She was only numb, and tired.

She couldn’t see the man’s face; only his frame. He was outlined in a vague silhouette, backed by a hue of the kitchen that was more blue than black. She noticed that he had a beard and wild hair like daddy’s before it was combed. But he was not daddy. Even in the dark, and even while relying on sleep-deprived eyes, she could tell that he was someone else. Someone new. Yet someone just similar enough to her father that it made her think of him, and wish it was him.

Her lifeless expression animated only enough to distort with homesickness, and she saw the stranger in her kitchen as little more than a ghost. Not a monster. A ghost of her father. A shadow that he’d left behind. A part of him that the light did not touch. A part of him that had never revealed itself, until now.

A part of him she’d never met before.

At the time, Ainsley didn’t understand that human beings could be monsters, sometimes. She didn’t understand why they called her father one, even though he didn’t look like or act like one. She would later learn that her father was a monster, on the inside, and that this visitor was also a monster, on the inside. Just not the kind of monster that was born from cluttered closets or crept beneath the floorboards.

Except, in this man’s case... maybe he was that kind of monster, too.

“Who are you?” she mumbled, breaking their brief silence.

The man didn’t answer her at first, frozen with caution. He split his attention between the child, the higher reaches of the staircase, and the nearby door leading to the basement. With a whispered rasp, he replied, “A friend.”

“What are you doing in our house?” the girl mumbled with innocent, lethargic curiosity.

The man hesitated again. “I’m… picking up a few things,” he explained carefully. “For your dad. That’s all.” His voice possessed a rugged, grinding quality, like gravel, but was also somehow smooth, like silt.

He was daddy’s friend. Ainsley processed that for a moment, removing her hand from the banister to hug her stuffed bear with both arms. “Don’t come upstairs,” she told him. Her despondent demand was a simple one.

He would obey it, on one condition. “Don’t tell anyone I’m here.” As he made his negotiation, he tilted his head and his voice lightened --like how daddy’s head tilted and like how daddy’s voice lightened when he gently told her not to let her mother know he’d allowed her to have a cookie before dinner. “Okay? It’s a secret.”

Ainsley’s baby cheeks shifted as she struggled to swallow around a small lump that gradually welled in her throat.

“Your mom would be pretty mad if she knew I was here,” the man warned, taking a slow step closer. His boot gently thunked, once.

The six-year-old promised him nothing. She looked at his hanging hands, seeing that they were empty. “What are you picking up for dad?” she asked. Was the man lying, or was he having trouble finding whatever it was that daddy wanted him to pick up?

“Just… some papers,” the man shrugged, taking another step with a gentle thunk of his boot. “Whatever the cops didn’t take.”

“Mommy burned everything.”

The man ceased his stalking. “What?”

“She burned everything the cops didn’t take,” Ainsley muttered with a pout. All of daddy’s clothes, and all of daddy’s books, and all his little trinkets, and all of the sketches and comic strips that he’d drawn for her.

“Oh.” The man visibly relaxed. A lot. “Well. Good.”

A distant confusion crossed the girl’s face. Why was that good?

The man became much more interested in the basement door than the stairs, and he stepped towards it with a few more quiet thunks of his boots. This time, he moved without caution, but perhaps instead with haste. “I’ll be going, then.”

“Will you tell daddy I said hi?”

He stopped and glanced back. “Yeah. Sure.” He continued for the basement door, reaching out to pull it open.

Feeling a flash of panic --the first thing she’d felt since the numbness began-- Ainsley hurried down the last few stairs to the main floor and spoke up again. However, her voice quivered, and she hugged her bear tighter to try and stabilize her emotions. “And --will you tell daddy I’m not mad at him?”

The man hovered in the open doorway to the basement and looked at the child again.

Ainsley felt the lump in her throat swelling to its full size, and her eyes were already beading with moisture. “Will you tell daddy --I --miss him?” She grimaced and strangled the stuffed bear in her embrace, inhaling sharply through her words as the sobs came. “And --and that I want him to come --h-home?”

The man stared at her from the shadows as she succumbed to tears.

A rather loud hiccup of sorrow spurred him to rush over to the girl, glancing at the staircase as he hushed, “Heyhey shhhh, shh shh,” with his arms outstretched, aiming to grab her shoulders. She thought about burying her face in the fur of her bear to hide her crying, but as he descended to his knees in front of her, she found herself lunging forward and darting straight past his hands to bury her face in the fabric over his shoulder.

He didn’t really know how to react or respond, but he kept his focus on the stairs and placed a hand on the back of her head to keep her face pressed against his collar and muffle her crying. “Shhh, shhh.”

The man was wearing a sweater, but not the winter kind that were thick and wooly like daddy’s favorite sweaters. This man’s sweater was more of an autumn one. Light, and simple. Akin to what a man might wear as a pajama top. It had tiny weaves that were tightly-knitted and canvas-like. Hugging him didn’t feel like hugging daddy. His shoulders had less surface area to rest her head against, and his body was more firm than squishy. But he was still big and tough and warm and produced the faded scent of a forest.

His shushes worked, and she sniffled into a calmer state of crying.

She peeled away from the puddle she’d created on his shoulder to wipe her eyes. Between each pass of her balled fist, she saw his face. She studied the tangle of the soft, wiry hairs in his beard and the slight squint of his eyes, which were only just starting to grow crow’s feet.

“It’s alright.” The man held her shoulders tightly and nodded with a small murmur, “I’m gonna take care of you, okay?” He rubbed her whole back with a strong hand that could push her right over if he applied any more force. It was soothing to her, like a deep massage. “You want some water or somethin’?”

Ainsley shook her head and wrestled around the lump in her throat to mutter, “I want cocoa.”

“Cocoa, huh?”

She nodded.

He glanced up to the second floor again before standing. “Okay. Alright. Come here.” He guided her to a spot in the kitchen, continuing to speak hushed words to her between throwing cautious looks behind his back. “You stay right there, and you hold onto your bear, and I’ll get you some cocoa.” He glanced at all the cupboards and did a double take at the knife block before scratching a hand through his loose, wavy hair.

Ainsley pointed out which cupboard had the cocoa powder. The man quietly and carefully fetched it, and a mug, and shoveled a couple spoonfuls of powder into the mug before moving towards the refrigerator. The child would have told him that he was doing it wrong (you always boil the milk first, then add the powder) but she forgave him for not doing it right, like how daddy did.

A broad, harsh ray of light poured over the man with a nearly holy-like nature as he opened the door of the fridge. He knelt behind it as cover, fetching the milk and making as little noise as possible. Behind the door of the fridge, he slipped his hand in his pocket and pulled out a special ingredient to add to the concoction.

Ainsley climbed onto a stool at the counter, slightly scraping it against the floor as she did so. It startled the man, and he shushed her again. She sat her bear on her lap and watched him stir the cocoa with a coffee stick. “Is daddy okay?” she whispered, hugging her bear tight.

“Yeah, he’s fine,” the man muttered without interest or concern, quietly placing the mug of half-mixed, cold cocoa in front of her. He kept looking up at the stairs between watching her. “Drink up.”

She used both hands to hold the mug as she drank from it, and tried not to feel too disheartened that the beverage wasn’t warm and creamy like the kind daddy always made. “Is he sad?” she asked with a chocolate mustache.

The man didn’t tell her ‘no,’ so the answer was clearly, ‘yes.’ But he wasn't sorry about it. “It’s his own fuckin’ fault he’s in prison,” he grumbled, explaining, “He wasn't careful, and he didn’t listen.”

Ainsley whispered between two more large sips. “That’s a bad word.”

The man kept his mouth shut and didn’t say any more bad --or worse-- words.

She wasn’t incredibly enthusiastic about drinking the rest of the subpar cocoa, and when she pushed the mug back towards him and told him that she was done, he took it and dumped the rest in the sink without scolding her for failing to finish it. She didn’t have to finish it. She’d consumed enough.

“Now, go back up to bed,” he instructed, pointing to send her away. “Hurry, before you fall asleep.”

Looking forward to being able to sleep again, she clumsily made her way down the stool and back toward the stairs. Partway there, she realized she’d dropped her bear, and turned back for it. The man had already scooped it up and was carrying it over to her, still cautious of the stairs as he drew closer to them. “Go on, get up there.”

She took her bear from his hands and hugged it tightly before waddling up the stairs one step at a time, holding onto the banister again. He didn’t follow her. He gravitated towards the basement door. When she was halfway up the stairs, she turned around and asked, “Are you going to come back?”

Her voice made him stop again, but he struggled to decide how to answer her.

“Please?” she whispered. Her look reminded him that he had vowed to take care of her.

“Yeah. I’ll be back,” he promised. “Go to bed.”

The girl continued up the stairs, her steps more sluggish. As Ainsley went in her room and climbed into her bed, she heard the steady thunk, thunk, thunk of his distant boots in the rooms below her. The sounds gradually faded away, and she easily slipped into a deep, peaceful, sedative sleep, no longer afraid of any monsters that may come for her in the night.

The monsters would not come.

They wouldn’t dare.

Daddy had sent a guardian angel to keep her safe and to take care of her in his absence.

----

I hope you enjoyed it @silvershewolf247! Want me to write a short scene? Send me a prompt with a pair of characters! Check out my #starter and #prompt tags for more ideas and responses!

#john watkins #prodigal son #ainsley whitly #prodigal son fanfic #prodigal son fan fiction #ainsley #john #asks #ask #starter #starters #my writing #mine #john and ainsley #prompt #little ainsley

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scotianostra · 5 years ago

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Happy 77th Birthday to The Big Yin.

The comedian and actor Billy Connolly was born on November 24th 1942 in Glasgow, into a poor and not altogether stable family; he left school at age 15 and served as (among other jobs) a shipyard worker, a paratrooper in the Territorial Army, and a welder, the latter including a stint building an oil rig in Nigeria. Shortly after his return, Connolly quit working and, supporting himself with the money he'd saved, concentrated on learning to play folk music on the banjo and guitar. He became a regular on the Glasgow folk scene, instantly recognisable with his wild hair and beard; he drifted in and out of several bands before forming the Humblebums with guitarist Tam Harvey in 1965. Gerry Rafferty (later of Stealers Wheel and "Baker Street" fame) joined sometime later, and the group built a following with their live performances, which spotlighted Connolly's humorous between-song bits.

As Rafferty's songs became the Humblebums' primary musical focus, tensions among the members escalated; Harvey departed, and Connolly and Rafferty recorded two albums in 1969 and 1970 before disagreements over Connolly's concert comedy split them up in 1971.

Connolly soon began performing around Scotland and northern England, concentrating more on comedy but still mixing occasional folk songs into his act. 1972 saw the release of Connolly's first album, Live, and also the debut of The Great Northern Welly Boot Show, a musical play Connolly co-authored with poet Tom Buchan based on his experiences in the shipyards of Glasgow. The show was a hit in Edinburgh and London, and Polydor signed Connolly to a recording contract. In 1974, his Solo Concert album sparked protests from the Christian community over a rowdy routine in which Connolly described the Last Supper as if it had taken place in Glasgow; all the publicity only helped his career, and he was quickly becoming one of Scotland's favourite entertainers.

His 1974 follow-up album, Cop Yer Whack for This, became his biggest hit yet, going gold in the U.K., and the comic take on Tammy Wynette's "D.I.V.O.R.C.E." became a surprise number one hit single in 1975. That same year also saw Connolly put in star-making appearances on Michael Parkinson's chat show and at the London Palladium. He consolidated his success with a rigorous touring schedule over the next few years (including the massive Extravaganza tour of the U.K. in 1977), and continued to release comedy recordings on a regular basis into the '80s.

During the late '70s, Connolly began taking on acting roles in television and film productions, and tried his hand at playwriting, with somewhat less success. His first marriage dissolved in 1981 amidst an affair with comedienne Pamela Stephenson (whom he would later marry in 1989, the same year he shaved off his trademark shaggy beard). Taking up residence in London with Stephenson, Connolly continued his comedy career while taking on more theatrical and television roles.

Toward the late '80s, his appearances on American television became more frequent, which -- along with an unsold pilot for a Dead Poets Society series -- helped Connolly land a gig replacing Howard Hesseman on the high school honour-student comedy Head of the Class in 1990. His highest-profile American exposure was short-lived, however, as the series was cancelled after just one season; however, Connolly was back on American airwaves in early 1992, starring in the sitcom Billy. It too was cancelled after a short run, and after appearing in the film Indecent Proposal, Connolly returned to the U.K. (though he still officially resided in the Hollywood Hills).

In 1994, he hosted the acclaimed series World Tour of Scotland, which explored the flavor of contemporary Scottish culture. It proved so successful that Connolly hosted two further exploration-themed BBC series: 1995's A Scot in the Arctic, in which he spent a week on a remote northern Canadian island, and 1996's World Tour of Australia. Lent a new respectability, Connolly appeared in BBC Scotland's historical dramas Deacon Brodie and Mrs. Brown, the latter of which also featured Judi Dench and was released worldwide to much acclaim. n 2012, Connolly provided the voice of King Fergus in Pixar's Scotland-set animated film Brave, alongside fellow Scottish actors Kelly Macdonald, Craig Ferguson, Robbie Coltrane, Emma Thompson, and Kevin McKidd. Connolly appeared as Wilf in Quartet, a 2012 British comedy-drama film based on the play Quartet by Ronald Harwood, directed by Dustin Hoffman. In 2014, Connolly appeared in The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies as Dáin II Ironfoot, a great dwarf warrior and cousin of Thorin II Oakenshield. Sir Peter Jackson stated that "We could not think of a more fitting actor to play Dain Ironfoot, the staunchest and toughest of dwarves, than Billy Connolly, the Big Yin himself. With Billy stepping into this role, the cast of The Hobbit is now complete. We can't wait to see him on the battlefield."

In September 2013, Connolly underwent minor surgery for early-stage prostate cancer. The announcement also stated that he was being treated for the initial symptoms of Parkinson's disease.

Connolly had acknowledged earlier in 2013 that he had started to forget his lines during performances, adding later he was finding it hard to remember how to play his banjo.

In 2017for his 75th birthday Glasgow bestowed upon Billy three 50 foot murals , to add to the many murals in the city, in 2007 and again in 2010, he was voted the greatest stand-up comic on Channel 4's 100 Greatest Stand-Ups. He once again topped the list on Channel 5's Greatest Stand-Up Comedians, broadcast on New Year's Eve 2013.

Recently Billy has spoken about his Parkinson's saying that he now walks "unsteadily" and that his "hearing is going". He admits he would love to go back on stage but that "I don't know if I can do it with the state my mind is in." he appeared on Radio 2's Chris Evans show and told him "I don't think the way I used to," he went on..."....and steadily more symptoms come and it's incurable. It's not going to end. As a matter of fact, I had a Russian doctor in New York who said, 'You realise this is an incurable disease?'"And I said, 'You got to get a grip of yourself, stop calling it an incurable disease, say we have yet to find the cure. Give the guy a light in the tunnel.'"

Billy retired from his stage shows oficially last year, but he has kept himself busy, he hit our screens with a new series of his Great American Trail, which will follow him as he replicates the route taken by Scottish immigrants who came to America in the early 18th century. He also brought out a new book, called Tall Tales and Wee Stories, to launch it Billy's face was projected on to buildings in Galsgow and Edinburgh, as seen in the pics. The other pic is The Big Yins own art projected onto MacLellan's Castle in support of World Parkinson’s Day 2019. In November 2019, The Evening Times named Connolly as The Greatest Glaswegian as determined by a public poll.

In the independence referendum held in September 2014, Scotland voted to remain part of the United Kingdom. Connolly has previously expressed support for the union, this was no surprise to many, he has been friends with the Royal family for some years. However he said recently....

"Politically, [Scotland] is in extraordinary shape, It's beginning to stand alone, and they won't take crap anymore. They don't want to settle for whoever England votes for. Asked directly if he would support Scottish independence in the event of a second referendum, he replied: "I don't know. If Scotland would like it, I would like it."

I'll leave these poignant words of Billy's to end this post...Billy said he viewed old age as an adventure that was preparing him and "It doesn't frighten me - it's an adventure and it's quite interesting to see myself slipping away, as bits slip off and leave me, talents leave and attributes leave. "It's as if I'm being prepared for something, some other adventure, which is over the hill. I've got all this stuff to lose first, and then I'll be at the shadowy side of the hill doing the next episode in the spirit world."

#scotland #scottish #glaswegian #actor #comedian #writer #singer #musician

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alwaysrunningoutoftime · 5 years ago

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(Pictures: 2, 3, 4, 6, 7, 9)

Your Friendly Neighbourhood, Wizard. (Alex Russo/Justin Russo Fanfiction)

Prologue

Pairing: Superhero! Alex Russo x Justin Russo, Slowburn.

Genre: Action, Humour, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Romance

Warnings: mild/explicit language, Injuries, sisterxbrother.

Set: After Season 4x10 "Wizards Vs. Angels" (Which is somewhat heavily involved in both Alex and Justin’s separate storylines.) + “Back to Max”.

Est. Length: 8 Chapters.

Summary: After defeating the dark angels, Justin continues to teach his delinquent class unconsciously suppressing his guilt over the ramifications of the moral compass. Simultaneously, Alex unconventionally stumbles into a superhero gig. Inept and unprepared, great power and an even greater burden is placed on her shoulders. Bothered by his sisters reoccurring absence, Justin determinedly investigates her distant behaviour. Meanwhile, Alex is forced to face a truth she’d always buried, discovering it unwillingly from a formidable powerful being she will have to defeat.

Disclaimer/Author's Note: I’ve been brainstorming this fic probably since quarantine started. It’s mostly inspired by Spiderman! Into the Spiderverse, Holland! Spiderman and Garfield! Spiderman. As well as the looks and feel of DC Comic’s Raven and Marvel’s Scarlet Witch. Other inspirations include music from Birds of Prey, On My Block, Euphoria. All of which I do not own. In addition, I sadly do not own Wizards of Waverly Place.

However, Alex’s origin story is wholly my own that I personally thought up myself (so let’s hope it’s believable) and if it correlates with any other superhero storyline it’s purely coincidental. The OC’s are also obviously my own creation.

“Do you know why you’re here, Alex Russo?”

“Ummm…” Alex backed up at the man's intense stare. She was pretty sure he was going for intimidation, but it fell short landing right on uncomfortable. “Not really…”

“Well, young lady,” His words were layered thick with haughtiness. Alex had just met the man today and she already knew she disliked him. “It seems you were part of a riot in central park.”

“No…” She narrowed her eyes at him, shook her head, even elongated the word in an attempt to get it through his thick skull. “I was trying to get home.”

She was actually trying to find her wand, but he didn’t need to know that. The wand that Rosie and Gorog decided to fling off the dark realm tower. The detailed image of it glowing magic in the night sky as it twirled to its doom stayed seared to the front of her mind. She could even hear her own cry for it as everyone watched it go. My wand.

“So what were you doing in Central Park?” Right after returning the moral compass she searched Central Park assuming it had landed there. Key word: assuming. It was hard to calculate where objects falling off towers landed. For her, it was hard to calculate in general.

“A girl can’t go to one of New York City's finest parks just for the fuc- fun of it.” She replied with a smile, catching herself before she swore. It was just her luck to get the arrogant, novice, goody-two-shoes, by-the-book cop. They didn’t enjoy it when she did that.

“And you just happened to be hanging out with an enraged mob?” He asked mockingly. Okay so...she did get mixed up in a riot. Which wasn’t her fault. She was too focused at the task at hand to pay any attention to the crowd of screaming people she had walked through. What was more concerning was that one of those fuckers was stepping all over her wand, or worse one of them had already snapped its cherry redness in two.

“I wasn’t hanging out with them-”

“Yeah, instead you were disturbing the peace and provoking assaults.” Alex had to stay low to the ground for any sign of her wand which perhaps caused a few people to accidentally trip over her. There was also a minor possibility that her assertive bumping into others unintentionally started some fights. This all lead to Richard here (according to his desk tag), cuffing her and bringing her to the NYPD Central Park precinct. Meaning her wand had been left behind, defenceless against the grimy boots of crabby New Yorkers...if it was even there to begin with.

“How do you disturb the peace in a riot?” Alex fired back.

“Ms. Russo, you’ve had a record since you were twelve.” He said, abruptly switching topics and ignoring her. Rude much. To prove his point he made a show of flailing her folder around. It was a decent size for her age, Alex inwardly complimented herself. The first crime listed there was in summer 2004, when she sold those fake broadway tickets to unsuspecting tourists. That summer was a blast: hundreds of ice cream sandwiches and magazines.

“This behaviour is to be expected.” He finished. Alex suppressed an eye roll, this dude was getting on her nerves. Yes, she had a few run ins with the cops, but that didn’t mean she was always guilty of doing something vaguely illegal. Ever since she became a wizard, she'd barely caused any trouble with the mortals, Alex commended herself. Her last record was a good year ago, with a little vandalism and conning going under the radar but that was it. In their eyes, she could have set herself straight since then. Which she did.

What happened to the benefit of the doubt, what happened to believing people could change. Screw him and his patterns. And screw her wand for not being in Central Park. Now she’d have to buy a new one she sulked, slouching lower in the hard chair.

“I don’t like your attitude, Missy.” He said, noting her behaviour. ”Kids these days, not respecting the police.”

Oh my gosh, I just wanna go home. Richard Owens (what a lame name) continued typing at his computer, probably adding ‘riot starter’ to her record. He’d been holding her here for an hour now, still trying to gather evidence and witness accounts to file in her record. So far he had zero, zip, nada, not a single thing. Since everyone's memory seemed to be fuzzy, which she guessed was due to the moral compass.

Alex was annoyed at him and his cockiness. Annoyed at this hard chair that was making her butt fall asleep. Annoyed at the amount of people in this room, and how overly hot it. Would it kill them to crack open a window or turn up the air conditioning.

“Is that you, Alex Russo?” A woman said, approaching the desk. Oh finally her saviour.

“Wassup, June!” Alex grinned up at Song Namjoo, or June, as Alex called her. Much to Namjoo's displeasure. Not so much the name as it was Alex being an annoying little shit.

“What’d you do now?” She asked, placing a hand behind Alex’s chair, leaning forward to scan over the computer. The woman had her hair pulled down into its signature low bun, not a hair out of place. Her pristine police sergeant uniform was pressed to perfection with not a single crease, something Justin would greatly admire.

“No way, June you passed your Police Sergeant Exam!” Alex exclaimed. “You look dope.” She nodded in approval.

“Yeah.” June modeled for a second, before straightening her posture. “Passed about six months ago.”

“Well congratulations.” Alex smiled, genuinely proud. June was her life saver, and lowkey pain in her ass. Wherever she caused a ruckus (exclusively non magical) June would shortly be there. June had stopped a lot of unwanted things from going on her record, and also had a way of calming down Jerry and Theresa when they threatened to send her to the military. On the other hand, it's like she had some sort of Alex specific third eyes always managing to catch her in the act. Plus, her lectures were lengthy and boring and she didn't even allow Alex the option to sleep through them. In a way, she was Justin, if he were in the police force and was, you know, a Korean woman.

She shivered at the thought. Sure, Justin saved her a few too many times but that was because he was her brother. June was altruistic, she held herself with poise and grace. Like a cool aunt who'd let you off the hook halfway then let you decide for yourself the rest of the way. Besides, June was high-key a badass and Justin still cried over 'Mantooth'.

She felt a light pinch on her arm, automatically ready to shout 'POLICE BRUTALITY!' catching herself as she connected eyes with June.

June subtly raised an eyebrow in question towards Alex as if to say ‘What did you do now?’ Alex shrugged in response, her face saying ‘I’m innocent I swear’. June in turn gave her a half believing/ half disbelieving expression, before rolling her eyes. Which was always code for ‘Fine, I believe you’. After knowing June for a good 5 years they'd learned to read each others facial expressions pretty well. It helped with her record, it definitely helped with the parents.

“Okay really Richard a riot starter.” June stared at the man with clear judgement on her face. “Leave the girl alone. We have bigger things to worry about then a riot starter.”

“Oh, like what, June?” Richard goaded. First he disrespects Alex, and now June. Alex doesn’t know a lot of things she will admit, but she picked up on workplace professionalism. To begin with June was a higher ranking officer meaning she was above him. And Richard said her name without its formal title, displaying a lack of respect. Alex watched as June’s expression turned perplexed, or more accurately her ‘bitch, what did you just say?’ look. Alex wished she had popcorn now and a comfy chair.

“First of all, that is Sergeant Song to you Richard. Secondly, maybe you’ve been on desk duty for too long but we’re dealing with a lot more than riots.” June started. This was gonna be good. “There have been innumerable cases of aggravated assaults, burglaries, thefts, property crimes, arsons, and attempted murders. The crime rate has exponentially increased on this day alone. It’s worst than the 80s, Richard.” As the venom dripped from June’s mouth, Alex was quickly realizing what truly happened this night. “Every precinct in New York is packed to the brim and every hospital too. There are more citizens than staff members. And to top it off, a lot of these people had no previous record before this night. No explanation why they would do this and barely any remembrance of what they did. Not even a full moon could explain this utter fuckery!” She exclaimed, motioning around the precinct.

Alex cringed, knowing exactly what had caused this, or more accurately who. She didn’t realize how serious turning that moral compass was. It had only felt like a game of tug a war with her brother like what they did as kids. She even played around with him, tricking him into thinking he had broken the thing so she’d gain the upper hand. When they were flying above the dark realm tower, pulling and pushing they felt so far removed from the world. It was literal child’s play, no throwing punches, no broken bones just like a high school grip test.

But, she could see the damage they caused now. The place was overfilled with people. At each desk, in the cells, standing around. Some bleeding out, others with lost expressions on their faces, the ones she couldn’t even look at were the people crying. All these people had done something bad or suffered because of it. All because that moral compass pointed in the wrong direction a little too long.

“And out of everyone in that riot you chose the person farthest from the action, a clear bystander.” Alex wanted to laugh bitterly at that, if only these people knew just how involved she really was in this. If only they knew their desire to do good relied on a floppy arrow on a disk. But, she’d never tell them this, she’d let people continue to believe they had a bigger choice in their lives. That’s what she had to do as a wizard. As long as it saved her ass. As long as it didn’t affect her.

“So yes Richard there are bigger things than a 17 year old girl.” June finished. The room was completely silent, all eyes staring at Richard. It was so quiet Alex could hear the sound of Richard’s ego deflating like a balloon, saw his face turning as red as a tomato until he resembled a sheepish boy who had just been scolded by his mom in front of all his friends. She couldn’t even take pleasure in his pain, now faced with her own mistakes.

Ha, take that dick. She tried to lighten her spirits. Cause like dick is the nickname for Richard. It didn’t work that well.

And…

Richard let her go, with no new record of ‘inciting a riot’, all thanks to June and how she completely dragged him through the mud.

June walked her to the front door of the precinct, stopping at the door.

“Okay bye Alex. I wish I didn’t have to say this…” June said, taking a deep breathe and closing her eyes to ground herself. “See you soon.” She gave a fake smile.

“You know me so well June. I’ll be sure to bring my best stuff next time, though.” Alex replied back keeping her humour up. She was still a little unsettled at the amount of people she saw on her way out.

“Aha.” June laughed drily, clearly not amused. “Stay in school, kid." And then she was pushed out of the building.

Just as Alex took her first steps away from the precinct, "Hey! The streets are worse tonight, stay safe Alex.” June shouted before shutting the door.

Alex looked back, a sigh heavy on her lips. She composed herself, her mood quickly lightening at the prospect of going home. Which meant her bed, which meant lying down, which meant sleep.

She wouldn’t walk of course. Use magic, definitely. If someone thought she was gonna walk home, they were sadly mistaken.

Looking around to see if anyone was watching she backed into the nearest alley.

“Woah, watch out kid!-”

She was pushed with brute force into the alley wall. Are you kidding me? She smacked right into the bricks, her elbows preventing her face from getting smashed. Hadn’t she been jostled enough today. She stiffened as she felt a bolt of magic graze past her, causing the hairs on her arms to stand up.

Wait a minute… Magic? There was a wizard.

She turned around to see a woman in a Kevlar black suit push a man further into the alleyway. The woman threw a punch to the man’s face, a crackle of blue magic extended through her fist causing the man to crash into the wall.

“What the fuck.” Alex whispered. She must have actually hit her head because this couldn’t be real.

The woman turned to Alex, her dark blue boxer braids swinging with the movement. A mask covered half her face, but all Alex could see were her eyes glowing blue in the dark, as if rimmed with the magic. “Leave, now-“

“Watch out!” Alex screamed back, seeing the man getting up already. A bright pulse of white magic extended through his fingertips towards the masked woman, who quickly ducked dodging it, giving a swift kick to the man's stomach.

He was thrown off balance, long enough for the woman to turn to Alex shooting a burst of blue magic into her direction.

Alex brought her hand in front of her as if to stop it. Was this woman trying to kill her? She closed her eyes, ready for impact.

Then opened them to silence and a vast space of whiteness. She was in the wizard portal. The masked lady had teleported her here.

So, the blue magic lady was a wizard and a superhero…and people were still being bad even after the moral compass was returned.

Alex thought about it for a moment. Then with a shrug of her shoulders she brushed it off, beginning to walk to the lair.

Frankly, Alex was exhausted: her back hurt from flapping those wings, her knees were sore from all of the heavy landings she endured with the wings, her arms ached from that tug-a-war contest she had with Justin, her butt was sore from that hard chair, her feet ached from all the walking she did and she nearly got zapped in the face with magic. On top of all of that, she still didn’t know where her wand went.

Alex sighed in relief when she finally got to the lair. All that walking was making her even more tired. She pushed the door open, determined to get to bed and collapse. But her steps faltered when she was greeted by the sight of her brother looking down at a white feather.

It didn’t take a genius to realize the feather was Rosie’s. Alex was worried at the sight of him, grasping a feather from another lost love wasn’t a good sign. And more than that he hadn’t been himself for the past week. She’d barely talked to him for the past week, so she was nervous to see how he was after everything.

“Justin…” She began, confusion laced in her tone. He turned at her voice.“What are you doing still up? It’s late.” And also past his appointed bedtime.

“I stayed up because I owe you something.” He began. Her cherry red wand in his hand. Her glorious cherry red wand she’d been looking everywhere for. Finally, reunited with what had been plaguing her mind all night her eyes immediately brightened at the sight of it. She grasped at it with both hand, smiling down at her wand.

“I found it in Washington Square Park.” Oh, Washington Square Park. Damn she really did suck at calculating. Nevermind, the fact that it was in the complete opposite direction. “A two-headed dog had it. Pretty sure he didn’t start out that way.”

So her wand was chilling in lower Manhattan with a two headed dog as she searched the grounds of upper Manhattan, tripping people over and starting fights, and getting caught by the police. She giggled at that, amused with what her night turned into.

“Thank you.” She genuinely meant it. “What about your wand?”

“I, uh…” He held his wand up, inspecting it for a moment just to show her the sad state it was in; snapped in half with duct tape barely holding it together. She laughed at her brother’s antics. Secretly, relieved to have her brother back. Him and even his humour. Yup, he was still Justin. “I’ll find a spell to fix it.”

He set his wand down and turned to face her, an earnest expression on his face. Alex was taken aback by the swift change in atmosphere, the room suddenly feeling more serious. “And I owe you something else.”

He came forward. Her eyes flickering at his movement. Oh, And we’re hugging.

His arms wrapped around her, bending down to rest his chin on her shoulder. He quietly uttered, “Thank you for saving me.” while comfortingly rubbing her back as he always did. Ever since they were children, it was a soothing motion he always did when he hugged her. A distinct movement they could focus on together to calm down. She nodded slightly, silently appreciating the moment.

“It’s for all the times that you saved me when I wasn’t so good.”

Countless images were brought to mind, most prominent of all: a campfire in the rainforest. She began to feel nostalgic and a bit anxious. Not fond of the emotions, she quickly lightened the atmosphere. “And for a couple more times in the future, so we’re even.” She finished with a smile, satisfied with her little joke.

“No, we’re not.” Justin replied, coming to sit down on the desk beside her. “You saved the world today.”

She studied him for a moment, silently disagreeing with his words. She was only trying to get him back, everything else, saving the world was secondary to that.

She’d never admit how anxious she felt seeing Justin so unlike himself: stealing flowers, using magic in public, and stomping on people's groceries. Overall being a jerk. The worst of it was when she revealed Rosie's true nature, he still chose her, a girl he’d known for less than a month than his own sister. A dark angel, whose values would never align with his own. And when she tried one last desperate time to get him back he still chose darkness. Only turning good because of that girl. It hurt more than she thought it would.

But Alex had to remind herself of something very important: that Justin was the one influenced by dark angels. That he wasn’t himself at the time and that scarily some powers are greater than her connection to her brother. So she’d keep it to herself, shove it in the back of her mind like she usually did with all of her emotions, and ignore it, until she’d be forced to confront it.

Instead, she focused on the reassurance she’d gotten when Justin finally came back. How happy she was when he immediately told her to put the moral compass back, in that commanding voice he used when he would clean her messes. The ease she felt now that he was once again right beside her. Like a puzzle piece clicking back into place (and screw him for making her think of boring puzzles). This is where he was meant to be.

She would never say that out loud so she said, “You gave up a girl to protect it” instead.

She watched a faraway expression take on his face, familiar to the one he wore in Transylvania when he lost Juliet. He’d lost Rosie now, and a few weeks ago she'd learned she wasn't meant to be with Mason. It’s like they were both cursed to never have a happy ending. Only ending up with the comfort of each other.

She didn’t think about how established this felt. Or the strange notion that perhaps this was how her happy ending was supposed to be.

In an attempt to stop herself from wandering too far back in her mind, she asked him. “Why do we have to keep dealing with stuff like this?” He was Justin and he always had the answer. She could always count on him.

“We’re wizards.” And it was like that was the be all, end all. “I don’t think we have a choice.” The plain and simple answer.

It was horrible how that answer alone made complete sense to her. How she’d just thought about it in that overpacked precinct. All of her mistakes and losses were always tied into being a wizard.

So, maybe she was past the point of caring, past sadness and moving into delirium with a little sprinkle dead tiredness because she smiled instead. She smiled up at him and he caught her before she turned away. He bumped her with his shoulder, bouncing her away and back to him.

They were settling back into their pattern. Just the two of them: Justin and Alex. She sighed contentedly and a little tiredly resting her head on her big brother's shoulder, feeling his head rest on hers.

For all her mistakes and all her losses at least she always had her Justin.

And she hoped he knew for all his mistakes and all his losses he’d always have his Alex.

She closed her eyes, fully ready to sleep.

“We’ll be okay, right?” Justin quietly asked.

Alex yawned, furrowing her brows slightly at the unexpected question. Maybe they should have been more aware in this moment, appreciated it more. Maybe she could have helped him better if she’d paid more attention. Maybe, he could have protected her better from darker things than angels.

“Yeah, we’ll be fine.”

For Alex would soon face a burden so great it would compromise her relationship with those around her. After all, with great power comes great responsibility.

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