#I’m robbing them blind without a gun

[cyarsk52-20]

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For what y'all made y'all choice you wanted this man in office because u couldn't vote for a black woman so fuck y'all and y'all march 🙄🖕🏾 I’m done! No more marching for anybody unless it’s for black folks like me.

[mrslankyman]

Can I Call You Mine?

Montague (fortnite) x (fem) reader

->If I chose you life could’ve been different

->2K word

TW: guns & death

——

You were untouchable like a distant diamond sky. He couldn’t understand why he was so caught up in you. It wasn’t like you gave a shit about him. 

You were one jewel he couldn't steal. 

No matter how good of a thief he was. 

The dreams of holding you in his arms and calling you his was what gave him strength to keep going everyday. 

You had chosen the other side. 

That heist changed everything. The biggest regret of his was choosing that medallion over the one thing he cherished most. 

You.

He left you behind; speeding off in that stupid silver car. 

Leaving you to rush off and fend for yourself. 

The next time he saw you was at a meeting with the other millionaires he had gathered into his Society. 

You had joined a group called the UnderGround. As one of their leaders. 

Learning that he was on top of your hit list sent shivers down his spine. 

He didn’t wanna leave you. He was just blinded by the idea of wealth. 

Pretending like you were an enemy hurt his heart. He didn’t know what he would do if he ever came face to face with you. 

The lingering reality hung in his mind. 

It’s you or him if it came to that. 

You were leader of the UnderGround and he was leader of the Society. 

One of you had to go. 

Yet he would let you pull the trigger if it came to that.

He couldn't kill you. 

He was far too caught up in you. 

Which is why the night he caught you sneaking in hurt him. He had heard the noises coming down stairs. Somewhere near the vault. The thought of him just hearing things crossed his mind yet it was too loud for him to just be hearing things. 

Heading down the stairs from his master bedroom he eyed the door to the vault. His hair was messed up, dress shirt loosely buttoned and dress pants without a belt. He looked like a mess. 

“Who’s there?” His voice came out slightly shaky, holding up his pistol. Aiming it at whoever might be down there. 

The rustling noise stopped. He headed down the steps to the vault, the shadow of a person coming into view. 

“{Y/N}?” He dropped his aim slightly. 

“Montague.” Your voice seethed as you looked up at him. 

His eyes softened and he stepped down a few steps to get a better look at you. 

Instinctively you raised your own pistol, aiming straight at his head. 

“Woah- come on.. Let’s not do this.” Montague raised his hands; pistol in one. 

“Hand over the medallion now.” Your voice was so demanding, much rougher than he remembered. “Come on.. Let’s talk.” Pleading wasn’t something he did often. He would rather be shot than anyone hear him beg. For you on the other hand. He would do anything to have just a moment with you again. 

He missed how you both could talk about anything. Sit in an abandoned building and plan out the next heist. 

Stealing was the way you both lived. You had grown to trust each other in those heists. Robbing banks, jewelry stores, and random rich people. 

Montague had become the person he swore to you he wouldn't.

“We are doing this Montague.” He couldn't see through you like he used to. You seemed so truthful. Like you were serious about blowing his head off if you had to. 

“{Y/N}... please just let’s talk. I’ve missed y-.” He had taken the last few steps to reach you; hands still in the air. 

He felt the end of your gun press to his forehead. His eyes stared into your scrunched up ones. Anger prominent in your {e/c} eyes. In that moment he knew he lost you. He just wanted you. 

“Why miss me? You were the one who left me behind. Without a second thought.” That silky voice of yours despite seething with anger was so angelic. The feeling of the gun pressing against his forehead harder snapped him out of his thoughts. 

“I know what I did.. I know.” His voice was soft and pleading. He looked you in the eyes as he spoke. 

He had missed them. 

“If you don’t give me that medallion now, I’m gonna blow your head off and take it myself.” You shoved him against the wall holding the gun to his head. He didn’t even flinch. He just liked that you were somewhat touching him. 

“I miss you.” Those words hit your ears and for a moment the grip on your pistol faltered. 

His voice was almost a whisper and his breath tingled your neck. 

“Don’t do this to me Montague.. I can’t let my group down.” The feeling of the trigger between your fingers reminds you of how you controlled the situation despite his words. 

“I miss you, I miss you more and more everyday..” He stared into your eyes so desperate to change the emotion in them. He wanted to see that smile. 

The happy look in your eyes when you’d see him. 

He missed that. 

“I’m not falling for this Montague.. Let me in the vault.” You demand voice breaking between anger and sadness. 

He tore off his medallion and held it in front of the vault's scanner. The vault unlocked as it scanned the diamond. 

Your eyes widened slightly as you watched the vault open before turning back to him.

“I don’t want to hurt you {Y/N} trust me when I say that.. I didn’t mean to leave you behind. I was stupid for it..” 

You hesitated between letting him go and getting what you needed or holding him there against the wall.  

The way his eyes pleaded for you almost made you believe him. 

If you didn’t know him so well you’d think it was an act.

“You’re right. You were stupid for it.” Was the only reply you gave before kicking him in the crotch. His low groans filled your ears. You almost wanted to say you were sorry.

Too bad you weren’t 

He fell to the floor holding his crotch, letting out foul language in his native tongue. 

You quickly stepped into the vault looking around before grabbing the map you had been searching for. Just where Hope said it would be stored. Montague really wasn’t that good at hiding things. 

Something you always knew he faltered at.

A good thief but a terrible hider. 

You walked out stepping over Montague who laid on the floor still. 

You stopped and turned around to look at him. 

“I won’t be so nice next time.” Your voice was icy cold in warning. He simply looked up at you: regret covered his face. 

“{Y/..N}” He closed his eyes tightly as tears pricked the corners. You didn’t know what to do. Leave him there or stay. He used to be your best friend. Your ride or die. Now he was just..

Nothing.

The sound of your feet coming closer gave him strength to sit up. You crouched down to his level offering a small smile gaining one in response from him. 

“You’re so beautiful.. I wish I told you that sooner. I wish I told you a lot of things before I fucked us up.” His hand reached out and cupped your cheek. Letting yourself lean into his touch made memories flood back. 

How close you two used to be. 

His touch always calmed you down. No matter the situation. It still did.

“Oh Montague..” Your voice cracked slightly as you allowed yourself to soak up his warmth. 

“Please.. Don’t go.” He begged as he pulled you closer to him. His arms wrapping around you. 

“I have to.. I can’t let my group down.. I’m sorry Montague. It’s you or me. I can’t let it be me who gets left again.” Your words slowly soaked into him. Before he could react your pistol was back at his head. Tears streaming down your face.

It was a hard life now. No more fun and games of stealing stupid things no one would notice. 

Stealing a life would always be noticed. 

A heinous crime. 

Something that could not be undone once done. 

You knew that. 

You had to do this.

You had to win this battle. 

Jonsey, Hope, the whole organization was counting on you. 

“I love you.” 

Those three words made your whole body shake. How could you kill him after that? 

“I know you have to do this. I know that only one side is going to make it out of this thing alive.” It was his turn to start truly crying. But not from the fact he was going to die. 

No.

He was crying because at least even in his last few moments he gets to see you again. 

It was all he could ask for in this cruel world. 

“I love you too..” Your confession was all he needed to die happy. To know that he wasn’t chasing some dumb dream every night. You did like him back.. 

“Can I call you mine.. Once?” His question made your tears flow harder.

“Yes.. you can.” You sobbed harder as he leaned closer.

“I’m so glad you’re mine, mon amour.” His lips pressed against yours. For a moment you almost let your gun fall. 

Wouldn’t it be so easy to leave and run off with him? 

Possibly in your dreams. 

You would be hunted down and never forgiven for that act. 

You had picked your side to stay loyal to.

As did he.

So as you kissed him and lived in this moment of bliss you let it be the last thing he remembered. 

Before you pulled the trigger.

Leaving him with his last dying wish.

To call you his.

[dilf-din]

Yeehawgust Day 3: Wanted Poster

Rebelcaptain Western AU (Outlaw!Jyn & Cass)

WC: 1450

Characters: Cassian Andor, Jyn Erso, Syril Karn

Rating: T

Warnings: typical western violence, light language, playing god with star wars canon and added western elements

A/N: howdy y’all! This one was fun, I’m definitely going to be doing a few more mini fics for them this month. Barely proofread so sorry for any typos. Without further ado, please enjoy the misadventures of Fulcrum and Stardust ✨

Order. The Empire craved order. It needed order to survive. It relied on systems and balance and people who could keep everything in check. It relied on subdued civilians with the fight beaten out of them. A list that extensive took cold and competent people, and Syril Karn was one of the best.

Syril was the head of a system of sheriff’s departments located in the desert colonies. It wasn’t a glamorous station by far, but it was a busy one by way of crime, and being entrusted with it was a high honor. He was due for a promotion soon and had been prepping his case to present to the council the afternoon that everything transpired.

He awoke just like any other morning, five minutes before his alarm, ever the overachiever. He shaved his already smooth face, buttoned his shirt all the way to his ivory throat, and secured his gun at his hip, ready to draw at a moment’s notice. He had a plain breakfast of toast and eggs and listened to the morning news broadcast over the crackle of his radio. He checked the watch on his wrist and double checked it with the clock over his stove before pushing back from the table. Just one more day’s work to get through before his meeting with the council. He smiled smugly as he locked the door behind him, and headed down the walk to his barn.

His dark dapple grey horse stood dutifully in his stall, all saddled and ready for a day of patrolling and intimidating civilians.

“Good morning, Zero,” Syril said with a nod, dismissing the stable boy who assisted him in the mornings. “Today’s the day,” he whispered into the stallion’s ear, causing it to flick against his cheek.

The toe of Jyn’s boot drug lazily against the wooden floor, tracing a series of crooked lines in the dust as she swayed back and forth in her hammock. Her left arm hung down as she rolled out the cylinder of her worn revolver before swinging it shut in a repetitive motion. The sound of metal against her leather gloves soothed her as she waited for Cassian’s return. Sunlight streamed in through the cracks in the wood casting beams of pale yellow light through clouds of dust. Jyn had her bandana pulled over her nose to keep the dank, musty smell out. As far as hideouts go, this definitely wasn’t the worst place they’d landed. Cassian’s old friend, Ruescott, had opened up his attic space to the pair as they were currently on the run.

“Just one more job, then I promise we’re out of here for good,” Cassian had promised. Their days spent trekking across the continent with a string of livid Imperial officers on their tail were coming to a close.

People easily fit into two categories around these parts, those who disagreed with the Empire, and those who were pissed off enough to do something about it. Jyn and Cassian fell into the latter category.

The truth was, Jyn didn’t mind this life. She would’ve been bored being a housewife on a homestead somewhere. She liked the thrill of the chase, the disguises, the planning. She lived for the adrenaline rushes, the lies, the cons. Robbing those bastards blind was her reason to get out of bed in the morning. To spit in the face of the people who had killed her parents, killed Cassian’s family, left them alone in the world until they found each other.

Jyn and Cassian met back to back in a shootout trying to pinch some artifacts getting delivered to an Imperial temple. Apparently their informant had slipped up and given the tip to both of them. They took down an entire swarm of Imperial grunts in no time and escaped with their loot in tow. They hadn’t parted since that day, finding more than just a convenient partnership.

But Cassian was growing tired from running for so long. He had planned this last heist for months now, detailing everything down to the meter, the second, the dollar amount. They were planning to clear out the vault of the Aldhani treasury, a nearby town infamous for its heavily guarded store of Imperial wealth and weaponry. It was an affluent little offset in the midst of desert poverty, a real diamond in the rough. They had been waiting for the cattle drives to start making their way through town to set everyone into action, spending the last few weeks holed up in a sloping room that was somehow too wet and too dry at the same time. The prior night, Cassian and Melshi had gone to set charges on a nearby bridge that allowed the passage of the steers into town, hoping that the commotion would draw the law enforcement away to deal with the buildup of livestock and people alike. He had headed out to check and see that everything was falling into place while Jyn waited behind. The likelihood of them being recognized while they were together was high. Their faces were plastered on wanted posters across every nearby town. “Fulcrum and Stardust, wanted dead or alive by the Empire.” Jyn took to cutting her hair and pilfering new outfits as much as she could. Cassian, on the other hand, was a little harder to conceal.

Just then, she heard footsteps below her plodding into the house. She straightened herself and waited for the attic stairs to drop down and that crown of dark hair to pop through the opening in the floor.

Cassian ascended the creaky stairs and clambered into the small room out of breath.

“Well?” she asked impatiently. His face broke out into a wide grin under the thick mustache he had grown out.

“It worked. It couldn’t be more perfect. They’ve got a lot of the regular sentry men helping redirect people to another bridge on the east side of the river. Almost everyone in town is out there watching the commotion.” He took her cheeks in his hands and pulled down the black bandana to reveal her lips slightly parted in awe at the report.

“I’m going to get you out of here, Jyn. We can go anywhere, build a home, hide out from all this shit.”

She was now mirroring his toothy grin with one of her own and leaning forward to place a quick kiss to his lips.

“Let’s go get our prize then, yeah?”

Syril’s route today had changed. The commotion at the Aldhani bridge was drawing in support from all over. He saw it his duty to go supervise, nose turned high in the air, cheeks burning from the spring sun, none the wiser to the fact that one of the biggest entities under his jurisdiction was being bled dry just a few minutes away.

Cass had somehow commandeered a wagon and hooked it up to their two steeds. It was pulled up behind the treasury being piled high with sacks of coins and other valuables. Jyn was waiting in the wagon to tie everything down and throw a blanket over top while Cassian made a few more trips. She had discarded the white bonnet she had been using to shield her eyes from the sun, and had used one of her knives to cut her skirt off at the knees giving her easy access to her boots and thigh holsters. Cassian’s last trip consisted of two new rifles, a couple of explosives, and as much ammo as he could carry.

“That it?”

He nodded, and shed the officers coat and cap he had taken, leaving them next to Jyn’s discarded garments. He was left in gray trousers, overalls, and a loose fitting white shirt that he rolled the sleeves on before hopping up onto the bench. He lent a hand down to Jyn who swung up next to him just as they heard the sound of voices coming from inside the vault where they had left the back door cracked open.

“That’s our cue!” Cassian snapped the reins, and the horses took off.

Jyn’s braids whipped wildly in the wind as she turned to see two officers emerging from the dark room and shouting. She aimed her revolver and hit one dead in the chest, and the other in the shoulder. He cursed as he fell into the sand, blood streaming through his fingers as they grasped his wound desperately. She blew the smoke from the tip and twirled it on her finger before setting it on the bench between them.

“You’re crazy,” Cassian said with a wide grin.

“We both are,” she laughed right at him.

[aurabear2001]

Echoes From The Past

Echoes From The Past - Preface

"All Aboard"

Kid x OC

Warnings: Swearing - Word Count: 1169

 Author's Note: Hello, everybody! My name is Aura, and this is my first time writing here on Tumblr. I've been writing fanfiction on and off for about 15 years now, but I rarely have the courage to actually post it.

This fic is a Kid x OC fanfiction. It takes place post-timeskip and a after the events of Sabaody Archipelago. I really can't say much else about the fic without giving everything away, so you'll just have to read it for yourself!

This fic is also kind of an informal introduction to my OC, Bellatrix. I made her wayyy back when I was a sophomore in high school so she's been around for a while.

There's no warnings in these first few chapters, aside from swearing and canon-typical violence, but we're dealing with Kid and his crew, so that should just be a given...

Anyway! Enjoy the first chapter of this fic and let me know what you think!

Synopsis: The Kid Pirates are preparing to dock on an island and "greet" the locals. Little do they know; they'll get more than they bargained for.

The Kid Pirates--A notorious crew of pirates known for their violence and infamy. On this ship, there’s no time for bitching and bellyaching. This crew of pirates, led by the ever violent and bloodthirsty Eustass “Captain” Kid, didn’t take just anyone on board with them. To hang with these guys, you had to be tough. In fact, tougher than tough. Thankfully, that’s no problem for me.

I’m Bellatrix Quinn, but I go by Bella. I'm one of the few people bold enough to board the Victoria Punk and survive. I make the majority of the weaponry Kid and the crew use. I make guns, knives, swords, and gauntlets to name a few. The only disadvantage of my job is that I'm always up to my ears in repairs. If not one thing, then another.

But that's to be expected. This crew is largely made up of men, but there are a few women on it. Hip, Hop, House, Dive, Quincy, Emma and I are the only girls on this sausage fest of a ship. I love them all to death, but if Quincy doesn't give my bra back-- Okay, I'm off topic.

Anyway, I don't want anyone to think I'm ungrateful. I'm damn grateful to the crew, especially Kid, for taking me in. He didn't have to save my ass like that. I'll be the first to admit that I was in pretty bad shape when they found me. If they hadn’t taken me in, then…

Knock! Knock! Knock!

“Ayo! Bella!” The loud gruff voice of my captain broke me from my thoughts. “You in there?”

“Yeah.” I hollered back, putting my wrench down on the table. 

The door opened and a fiery red-haired man with a large imposing stature and a large metal arm walked up to the work bench.

“Arm giving you fits again?” He said, looking down at my smaller metal arm.

“Nah, a screw or bolt or something is loose.” I said squinting as I aimed the wrench at my arm. “I just can’t find which one it is.”

“Lemme see it.” He crouched beside me and took my wrench. “While I’m fixing you up again, I’ll let ya know what’s going down.” He took my arm and sat it on his lap. “We’re stopping at an island a little North of here. Killer says there’s a family there rich beyond your wildest belief.” He examined my arm and began to tighten a screw. “We’ll stop by, rob ‘em blind, and be outta there by morning.” He let go of my arm. “How does that feel?”

I move my fingers and nod. “Feels good as new. How much supply do you reckon we’ll need?”

Kid shrugged and gestured with his hand. “At least one sword and one gun for everyone here. Wouldn’t hurt to have backups, but your shit don’t break easily.”

I smirk. “They’d hold up a lot better if ya’ll weren’t hell on them.”

Kid raises an eyebrow at me. “Watch it, Bell. Mouth off again and I’ll throw you back in the sea.”

“Oooo, I love a good swim.” I smirk wickedly at him and giggle. “How far are we from the island?”

Kid scoffs at me. “We’ll be there in about an hour.”

“Sounds like a plan.” I go over to the weapons closet. “See ya on the deck!”

After getting a box of firearms and swords, I make my way up to the deck of the Victoria Punk. I set the boxes down, crawl up onto one, and sit down. I scan the crew, looking for House, Emma, or one of the girls. I mostly see the guys sitting around playing cards or chatting away. Where the hell are they, dammit? I look across the deck and see Kid standing at the ship's bow. I imagine he's sporting that devilish grin of his.

I feel someone tap on my shoulder. I turn over and smile. “Oh, hey Killer.” 

"Hey Bella, how's your eye?"  He gestures to his left eye. I gently touch my right eye. I went a little crazy during a fight with another crew. To put it simply, I am nearly blind in one eye and had to cut my hair off to save my skin.

“It’s fine. It’s healing pretty well, actually.”

"Good to hear. Take care of yourself today." Killer said and began to walk away. He's a pretty nice guy. He makes sure we all keep our shit straight. He's even pretty good at keeping the captain reigned in. He's kept Kid from dragging us into the belly of the beast more times than one. I'm glad he's here, because God knows he won't listen to any of us!  

“Bella! Shit, there you are!” A girl with silver-blue hair came trotting up to me. 

I turned around, hopped down from the boxes, and grinned at her. “There I am? House, I’ve been looking for you for the past 30 minutes!”

“Oh, lay off, Bella Quinn,” House rolled her eyes. “I had to get the sick bay ready and it’s not my fault you practically live in that stupid workshop!”

“I don’t live in the workroom!” Well...she’s kinda right. I'm always behind on repairs, trying to finish weapon blueprints, or designing new ones. I barely leave the workshop to eat, let alone sleep!  Luckily, Kid has a trundle bed in the shop, so I'm not sleeping on the floor.

House crossed her arms at me. “Oh yeah? I bet 50 berri you won’t be in your own bed tonight.”

I chuckle deeply. “That’s all I have to do? Sleep in my own bed? That’s easy!”

“Yeah, in your own bed and not someone else’s…” House smirked at me wickedly, glancing over towards the bow of the ship.

I blush darkly. "That was one time, and nothing happened!" I might as well tell you my dirty little secret. I was up late, playing poker with Killer, Kid, and some of the other crew. I was on a losing streak and drank entirely too much. The next morning, I woke up in Kid's bed, with him snoring in my ear and nearly shoving me against the wall. Quincy, I swear to God, your ass is grass!

“Alright, listen up!” 

Speak of the Devil. 

House and I turn around to see Kid standing in the middle of a small crowd that’s begun to form around him. It’s go time.

“This job should be simple for you bunch of idiots. If you need a new weapon, go get one from Bella. She’s got a whole box of ‘em over there! Now, I don’t want any damn excuses! Let’s go in there and kick their asses!”

The crew cheers, and I smirk slightly. Sailing on the open sea is nice, but I've been itching for a good fight. It's been a long time since I've fought someone worth a shit. It'll feel great to get out there and start raising hell again!

The ship docks at the harbor, and we all start filing off. I can feel adrenaline rushing through my veins. 

Let’s kick some ass!

Thank you for reading! Please let know what you think and leave any comments or questions you may have!

[thatrandomwriter]

Returning the favor

Merle x female reader, reader saves Merle’s life after he cuts off his hand

Warnings: sexual language, slight gore, cursing

A banging at the door made me jump awake - I never slept deeply anymore, and I spent most of my nights in and out of what could barely be described as sleep, easily woken and constantly exhausted.

My first thought was a particularly persistent walker. But then I heard a voice, raspy and southern “I saw you through the window. Open up. Or I swear, I’ll kick this damn door down.” It was most likely a looter. Opening the door to him seemed immediately like the stupid option, but if he was serious about knocking my door down then I would have to find a new place to hide out, an extra risk I could not afford to take. My best bet was to overpower him at the door. He’d seen me through the window and probably assumed that I’d be easily threatened, but what he hadn’t seen was the pistol I kept hidden by the door, or the knives I had stashed under my mattress and around the small room.

The banging on the door got more persistent. I grabbed a knife, and ensured my gun was easily in reach. It wouldn’t hurt to have extra weapons he didn’t know about.

I swung open the door. A tall, broad man stood in my doorway. One arm was pointing a gun vaguely in my direction, the other dripping so much blood it almost looked black. His hand had been cut off.

“Get out. All your shit is mine now, don’t think I won’t shoot you just cuz yer a girl,” He sneered at me, feigning confidence, but his skin was tinged grey and sweat was beading on his brow. He was weak and there was no way he could physically overpower me in this state, despite his muscular frame.

I raised a sceptical eyebrow at his threat. Then, in one swift motion, I knocked the gun from his hand and pushed my knife to his throat, firmly enough for a small bead of blood to gather on the edge of the blade. He opened his mouth, probably about to say something stupid, before the full weight of his body collapsed into me and he lost consciousness.

*

Somehow, with strength I hadn’t even known I had, I half lifted, half dragged the man’s body over to my mattress on the floor. It was clear he had lost far too much blood. I knew it was stupid, but some part of me wanted to help him, even though I knew he had come here to rob me blind, and possibly to kill me after he had taken all of my possessions. I told myself it was because leaving him outside would attract walkers. But really some part of me was still weak and soft, and somehow I had sympathy for a man who could not give less of a shit about me.

Minor medical training from books I had scavenged and stolen told me that he was in desperate need of stitches, and likely had a severe infection from his wound, and that it needed to be treated fast or there was no way he could survive without a hospital, which, for obvious reasons, was not an option. The building I had set up camp in was a small convenience store in the city which I used to run, and decided to stay in when the dead started walking. Unfortunately, the store had tempted many thieves in the early days, but as time went on, less and less people braved the city. The man must have seen that my store was the least damaged for several blocks, and identified it as his best bet at survival. He was right - behind the counter were antibiotics and just enough first aid equipment for me to have a chance at saving him. Even if he had stolen my supplies, it was unlikely that he would have managed treating his own wound.

The stitches were the worst part. I had never liked needles, and as far as facing my fears went, this was seriously hands on. It was messily done, probably a laughable job compared to professional standards. And I was sure that the amount of blood on the floor, my hands and staining my clothes was biologically impossible. But somehow he was still alive, something I still hadn’t decided was a good or bad thing. At least he was unconscious for now.

*

Two days passed. I was getting used to sleeping with him around, trying not to think about what he might do if he awoke while I was asleep- waking up to a gun in my face was a real possibility, but one that I had to risk. I slept on the floor next to the mattress he was occupying, uncomfortable enough to be exhausted but easily woken if he or the walkers became an immediate threat.

I sat next to him on the mattress, cleaning his arm, checking that the infection was fading and that the stitches were holding like they should be. It was strange looking after someone who had barely spoken two sentences to me, those sentences being delirious threats after severe blood loss. I often found myself wondering what he would have been like if we had met before the world had ended, at a bar maybe, where he could have bought me a drink or two. I like to think that he would have been the type to hit on me shamelessly and I would have been cynical but secretly loved his advances. I cut myself off in my head. It was ridiculous to think like this. With some effort, I focused back on his arm and began to change his bandage, but my eyelids were growing heavy and I had forgotten how comfortable the mattress was. Every time I closed my eyes, sleep tried to pull me down. I just had to keep them open, just had to focus-

I jolted awake. It almost pitch dark, if I had to guess a time I would have said an hour or two before dawn. There was a hand around my mouth and an arm was around my waist, holding me still against the warm, hard body behind me. He had woken up. Immediately I struggled against him, biting his hand and elbowing him in the stomach. He swore under his breath, but his grip only tightened around me.

“Stop wrigglin’. There’s walkers in here, I’m tryna figure out how many, so for fuck’s sake stay still.”

I nodded. He removed the hand from my mouth, but the arm around my waist stayed. Probably a precaution in case I tried anything again.

“Sorry,” I whispered back. “How did they get in - and when did you wake up? What’s your name? Why haven’t you killed me yet?” Now wasn’t the time for questions, but I was desperate for answers. For all I knew, the only reason he hadn’t killed me yet was to keep me as bait for the walkers.

He shushed me. Then, he finally let go of me and stood up. “Wait here.”

He walked off in the direction of a shuffling noise, and seconds later I heard the thunk of a knife through a skull, and the sound of a body hitting the floor. The sound, quiet as it was, caused another walker’s movements to become frenzied. I heard snarling and then the sound of a second body hitting the floor. There were no more walker sounds, just the sound of the man walking back towards me.

I jumped to my feet and reached for the knife normally hooked through my belt. It was gone, as was the knife under my mattress. I had no defence against the stranger that I had so stupidly taken care of.

“Window’s broken, s’what woke me up. You were out cold. Hope ya had a nice nap.”

I stood up, trying to read his face in the growing bit still dim light.

“Name’s Merle. And you, sugar tits, are exceptionally lucky that I believe in returning favours.”

So he didn’t plan on killing me after all. I shook off the lingering fear caused by both him and the walkers getting so close.

“Thanks. And you’re welcome, I stitched you up good. And don’t call me that, or I’ll chop of your other hand,” He smirked at me, knowing my threat was entirely empty.

“Oh yeah? I’m not so sure you wanna do that, sweetheart, you haven’t seen the half of what I can do with this hand,” His smile was suggestive and I could feel my face getting hot.

“I’m gonna board up the broken window,” I attempted to ignore his last sentence, but it was clear he could tell I was flustered as he stepped forward, closing in on me.

“Don’t ya think we should get to know each other a little first?”

[rhysismydaddy]

Casual Ruin Pt. 3 (Elriel)

Elain’s part of the Damnation Series.

Part 1 | Part 2

God help yall this shit was a rollercoaster to write

________________________________________________

~Elain~

For a second, no one breathes, let alone moves.

Azriel’s hands are steady as he grips the gun, body lined with tension, eyes so cold I shiver. The barrel’s close enough that if I leaned forward an inch, it’d brush my forehead.

The man next to him holds a cigarette halfway to his mouth, looking at me like he’s never seen a woman before and has absolutely no idea what to do. 

And me? I’m frozen in place, horror rushing through my veins and mixing with the shock to create a nauseating cocktail I’m not sure I’ll survive.

It’s the brutalized man in the chair slumping over and hitting the floor with a loud thud that finally snaps us out of our momentary haze.

Azriel blinks and throws the gun to the side so hard it makes a dent in the wall, the stranger drops his cigarette and reaches for me, and I sprint like my fucking life depends on it. Because at this point, I’m pretty sure it might.

What the hell did I walk into? 

I race up the stairs toward the garage, where less than a minute ago, I’d heard Azriel’s voice and gone to surprise him. By the look on his face when he turned around, I’d at least succeeded in that.

I can practically feel the man behind me, can tell he’s reaching a hand out to grab me.

I’ve never been a violent person in my life, but with the amount of adrenaline coursing through me, I don’t even question the urge to use the wine bottle in my hands as a weapon.

It breaks over the man’s head, but unlike in the movies, he doesn’t go down immediately. However, he does lose his balance enough that with a firm shove to his chest, he goes crashing back down to the hellhole I’m running from.

I make it to the garage and slam the door to the basement closed, locking it for good measure. Then I drag the heavy workbench next to the line of pristine cars over in front of it for even better measure. 

I refuse to let myself stop and think, because I’m pretty sure if I do, I’ll break down into a pool of tears and never get up. I’m running on nothing but adrenaline, and I know I’ll crash soon, but I force myself to keep going.

For a moment, I’m tempted to steal one of the cars to get away, but the sound of angry Italian shouts behind the locked door makes me hesitant to waste any more time.

I also definitely don’t have time to call the cab driver that dropped me off and beg him to come back.

The fear and terror don’t give me time to doubt myself as I take my heels off, take off up the driveway, and pray I’m fast enough to escape the devil on my trail.

~Azriel~

“Get that goddamn door open,” I shout at Luca, who’s dripping wine all over the place and has a gash on his forehead from where little Elain Archeron shoved him down the stairs.

I almost fucking shot her in the head. Her. 

Dolcezza mia. The girl I’m stupidly obsessed with. The one who’s always quick to smile--the same one who sighs when I kiss her and lights up when I walk into the room.

I almost shot her between those beautiful brown eyes, almost snuffed them out forever.

I run a hand over my face, listening to the sound of Luca throwing himself into the door repeatedly. “I’m trying, boss, but I think she pulled something in front of the door.”

Smart.

Fucking annoying as hell, but smart.

If I wasn’t so damn pissed at myself for not locking the basement door behind me and allowing her to find us down here, I’d be mildly impressed. 

Two of the most dangerous men in Italy, trapped in the basement like idiots. 

I pull up the app to track her phone--which was originally for her safety, not because I’m a complete stalker--and see that she’s on foot, going behind the houses instead of down the road. She probably thinks I’ll drive by her while she gets away right under my nose.

“Fuck,” I mutter, sending out a text to all my neighbors to tell them not to shoot the beautiful young woman trespassing through their properties. She has no idea the people around us have security systems better than the President’s. “Luca!”

“Working on it,” he grunts back.

“If that shit isn’t open in the next twenty seconds, you’re going in the incinerator after this asshole,” I warn, nudging the dead body on the floor with a boot.

The threat must work, because a second later, there’s a loud bang and the telltale sound of the workbench from my garage toppling over. “Got it!”

I storm up the stairs and tell him, “Run interference with the neighbors and local police. Anyone talks-”

“Got it,” he interrupts, grabbing his phone to start threatening people.

Pulling up the app again, I track the path she’s on, curse when I see she’s headed to the bus station about a mile from here, and take off after her.

Technically, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if she got away. She’d probably go to the police and tell them what she saw, not knowing that Marco, the deputy on duty, has been on my payroll since the day he passed the police entrance exam.

Having done her civic duty, she’d probably try to recover from the trauma of what she saw, eventually finish her classes and move on, and leave. Forgetting all about me in the process.

Technically, for her, this option would not be the worst thing in the world.

But in my head, it feels worse than being stabbed. In my head, there isn’t a question about it. 

I’m going after her. 

There’s this weird, itchy feeling in my chest I’ve never felt before as I run and run and try not to think about the look on her face as she saw the body fall to the floor.

I realize the feeling in my chest as panic, something I haven’t felt since I was a teenager getting booked for stealing my first car.

She knows.

She knows, and the look on her face... she looked at me like I’m a monster. 

And fuck, maybe that’s true. Maybe I am beyond saving.

But having her look at me, and having her take away the easy smiles and bright eyes I’d grown strangely accustomed to... it feels like being robbed.

And it makes me panic.

So I’ll chase her, and catch her, and do whatever I have to do to get her back. 

Because I need her, and damn if I’m going at this alone. 

After a surprising amount of time, I see the thin outline of her off in the distance, sprinting like the devil himself is chasing her. 

I take a deep breath and try to stay quiet, but it’s hopeless. Like she’s the one with the tracker on me, she can tell the second I’m close. I can see it from the way her shoulders go stiff and her pace increases.

“Elain!” 

I call out again for her to stop, because I don’t want to tackle her and risk hurting her. She ignores me and keeps running, turning behind the coroner of one of my dealer’s house. 

That sticky, awful, panicky feeling in my chest grows as she disappears from sight, and without thinking, I follow.

Which, if I had been thinking, I never would’ve done, because shit like this leaves you open to attack. 

Which reminds me: I’ve now broken all three rules for this woman, because I don’t have a single weapon on me to defend us if something happens.

I hit the ground hard enough the wind rushes out of me and my stupid brain rattles around in my stupid skull. 

Blinking through the blur, I look up to find Elain standing over me with an empty metal trashcan raised like a bat, ready to strike again. 

I need to explain, need to talk to her, but all I can seem to say is her name.

“Elain,” I croak, trying to force air down my lungs.

As my vision clears, I notice she’s crying, beautiful face streaked with tears and dirt. 

She pauses and looks at me, like the sight of me knocked on my ass hurts her just as much as it does me, then shakes her head to clear it. 

She throws the trash can at me and turns to flee, but I know I can’t let her go, at least not like this. Grabbing her ankle, I yank her down to me, making sure she lands on me instead of the ground. 

She screams, the sound scraping away another layer of the trust we’d built, and I don’t think I’ve ever been so desperate in my life. Elain flails around, but I use my weight to pin her, trying not to hurt her. 

She has to let me explain. She has to.

I hate what I’m about to do, but the only other option I have is making her pass out the old fashion way, which I know I could never bring myself to do.

The second the needle goes into her neck, she goes stiff underneath me, looking at me with wide, panicked eyes. 

“You drugged me,” she sobs, the betrayal in her voice making my chest hurt.

I brush the hair off her face, press my forehead to hers, and start telling her things I haven’t told another living soul.

I’ll never hurt you.

I’m sorry.

~Elain~

Am I dead?

Why does it feel like I got hit by a bus?

Where am I? 

These three questions rattle around in my brain at the same time, all demanding answers, as soon as I open my eyes. 

And the weird part is... I don’t have any.

I have no idea if I’m alive or dead, but the headache I have that seems permanently settled behind my eyes points to the latter.

I blink the haze in my brain away and realize I’m at my house in bed, but my extend of knowledge seems to stop there. 

There’s a voice in my head whispering something, but it’s too quiet for me to understand what she’s saying. All I know is that I feel like I need to do something, need to get out of here. 

I rub my sore eyes and see there’s a note on the bedside table, written in precise, calm handwriting I recognize better than my own. 

Come downstairs. 

He’s here? I thought I went to his house, not the other way around.

The blinds are closed, but when I make my way to the window and peak out, I see a dark night sky, the moon reflecting off the water and making everything seen calm.  

What the hell happened to me?

I start to leave the room, intent on going downstairs and asking Azriel that very question. 

Except as I’m passing by my closet, I see something. 

Something small and so inconsequential, I almost don’t think anything about it.

Like I’m in a dream, I feel myself walk over to the corner of the room. I feel my knees hit the floor, see my finger extend to the floor and touch the tiny drop of liquid that caught my eye.

I pull back and look, and somehow, I’m not surprised to see that it’s blood.

The floors are dark enough I shouldn’t have been able to see it from so far away, but it’s like a part of me was looking for it. 

And that’s when it comes back to me.

Coming to surprise him, seeing the door in his garage, going downstairs... I press a hand to my mouth and squeeze my eyes shut, trying to fight the tidal wave of nausea washing over me. 

I remember seeing the blood first and wondering if someone was hurt, then coming further into the room to find myself in the middle of a nightmare. If I wasn’t so strangely sure it had been real, I would think it was a horror movie.

The man strapped down had been so brutalized, I doubt I would’ve recognized him even if I’d known him my whole life.

I remember running without a thought more, giving into the fight or flight impulse to get the hell out of there. 

I remember hitting Azriel, seeing him fall to the ground and looking up at me with those deep, wounded eyes that will haunt me more than the torture he inflicted on that poor man. 

Eyes that told me everything and nothing at the same time.

I remember looking into those eyes and crying at the pain in them that was surely reflected in my own. 

And then nothing. 

Why don’t I remember? How did I get back here?

I’m sorry. 

I finally recall that last whispered promise, and if I hadn’t already been sitting on the floor, I would’ve fallen to my knees as I realize what happened.

He drugged me.

Azriel, the same man who slow-danced with me in an empty restaurant and drove me along the coast and held me in his sleep, drugged me.

And he’s downstairs.

I start to hyperventilate, because I don’t know what to do or what he’s planning to do. Why is he still here?

What am I going to do? Should I call the cops?

I realize I don’t have my phone, probably a countermeasure on his part. 

I also realize there’s no way for me to run. I remember how fast he’d caught me, how easy it had been for him to render me useless. 

There’s no escaping him. Not if he’s already down there waiting, evil plan cooking in his mind.

I have no other option, unless I want to stay in this room for the rest of my life.

So with confidence I don’t feel, I walk downstairs. 

I find him sitting at my breakfast table, leaning back casually and sipping a cup of coffee despite the late hour. 

The moonlight clings to him like it loves him, playing off of his sharp cheekbones and illuminating his features. His face is carefully blank, but there’s a flicker of something as he looks at me, something that seems almost like relief. 

He’s calm and collected and everything I’m not, and it pisses me off. My world’s on fire, yet he’s sitting here like nothing’s wrong? And he’s drinking my coffee?

I stomp over to grab the stolen drink, then sit across from him and cross my arms. 

And wait.

Because I sure as hell am not talking first. 

He stayed because he has something to say. I don’t have anything to say to him. 

For a long time, we just stare at each other, because he’s apparently playing by the same rules. 

Then he accepts his defeat, sighs, and asks, “Why did you come to my house last night?”

I purse my lips, narrow my eyes, and try to stop myself from throwing the coffee in his face. 

Because he said that almost like an accusation. 

Like the problem is that I came over unannounced, not that he was torturing someone. 

“I’m not justifying that with a response,” I eventually tell him.

He gives me a hard look. “Answer the question.”

Something about the entirely male way he demanded that, like he expects a response immediately, makes me tilt my head and ask so sweetly I almost choke, “Why? Are you going to torture me if I don’t?”

He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, showing the first sign of imperfection I’ve ever seen from him. “What you saw-”

“Was horrifying, and I don’t want to talk about it.”

He acts like I didn’t even speak. “-was something I meant to keep private from you.”

I don’t tell him that’s pretty fucking obvious at this point. 

Instead I ask, “Why?” 

I’m not sure why I want to know, but it suddenly feels important. 

He doesn’t takes his eyes off of me as he says, “Because you’re you. You shine so brightly it should be illegal, and you look at the world like it isn’t a terrible place. I didn’t want to take that from you.”

My throat feels uncomfortably tight all the sudden, but I clear it and say, “Well, you did.”

His jaw clenches, and he looks down. “I know. If I could go back and walk away, I would. Shit, I told myself I would more times than I can count. But I just... couldn’t. And I couldn’t tell you either. I wanted to, but I didn’t know how, Elain.”

The sound of my name on his lips makes my heart finally start beating again, but I still call him on his lie. “That isn’t why you never told me. You never told me because you knew I’d hate you the second you did.”

“Maybe,” he admits, looking back up at me. “But now you know, and I’m glad you do. You know everything now.”

It’s my turn to look down, because while I’d wanted to know the real him, I’d never imagined I’d find something like this. 

“No, I don’t. I don’t know anything, because you haven’t explained anything.”

He tilts his head. “What needs explaining?”

I ask the obvious question. “Who do you work for?”

“Myself.”

Once again, I don’t feel like justifying that with a response. He still isn’t saying anything that explains what I saw or why he’d do that to someone. 

If he isn’t going to say anything meaningful, I’m not having this conversation.

Eventually, he seems to realize this. Because he says, “I’m Capo of the Sicilian Outfit of the Cosa Nostra, Elain.”

I bite my lip so hard I taste blood, trying to keep my emotions in check. I don’t know how to feel, other than confused and angry.

“Any other questions?”

“Why did you drug me?”

If he just wanted to talk, he could’ve dragged me back to his place or maybe just say that. Not chase me down like a rapid animal.

“You were panicked, and I didn’t want to hurt you. I needed time to explain, needed to tell you this was never the plan.”

There’s something else there, and I narrow my eyes in a silent demand for him to continue.

Azriel sighs and admits, “My neighbors are business associates-” aka fellow criminals, “and I didn’t want them to hear you yelling and come to... investigate-” aka kill me, “or watch me get knocked unconscious by a twenty-four year old woman with a trash can.”

I give him a smug smile, more than ready to give him a repeat of that show, and try to decide what else to ask. 

But before I get the chance, he says, “I don’t see why this changes anything.”

My mouth falls open.

He doesn’t see- is he serious? “You’re joking.”

“I’m not known for my humor.”

I’m still stunned into silence, so he tilts his head and asks, “Why does it matter? Why does what I do make me a different person?”

When I don’t answer, he says, “It doesn’t. Nothing I do will ever come near you. You won’t ever have to see it again. I promise.” 

“It’s not about seeing it! It’s about knowing what you do when we’re not together. You kiss me goodbye, then go home and... there is absolutely no way I can go back to what we were doing before. You killed someone, Azriel.”

He straightens his cufflinks and shoots back, “He deserved it, Elain.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I have a feeling you’re about to tell me.”

“First off, murder is illegal. So is torture, which from the way that man looked, you’d definitely been inflicting on him. Not only is it illegal, it’s wrong! He was an innocent human being-”

“He wasn’t innocent.”

I keep going. “You aren’t judge, jury, and executioner! You-”

He’s on me before I can finish, sliding a hand over my mouth and leaning over my chair. 

God, the man is fast. Has he always been that fast, or have I just never noticed?

“Let me explain something to you, Elain. On this island, I am. I decide who’s guilty, which he confessed to being. I decide the punishment, which was a bullet to the brain. I’m the executioner, and I pull the trigger myself, because I’m not a fucking coward.”

I fight his hold, trying to push him away, but he doesn’t even budge. 

“I play by different rules, bellissima. Just because you’ve never been exposed to them, or my world, doesn’t mean it hasn’t always existed. I’m the judge, jury, executioner, and the goddamn king.”

A shiver goes down my spine at his words. 

He pushes my head back, forcing me to meet his eyes. “And it doesn’t matter.”

I shake my head, bite his finger, push at his chest. But it doesn’t do any good.

“It doesn’t matter, because like I said, we live in two different worlds. I’d never let mine impact yours.”

I want to tell him that isn’t the problem, but his hand is still on my mouth. 

“Have you even asked yourself why you’re not afraid?” he asks out of the blue, surprising me. 

I stare blankly at him, no longer fighting, waiting for whatever he’s about to say.

“You’re scared of what I do, but you aren’t scared of me. Not really. If you were, you never would’ve come down those stairs.”

That’s why he looked relieved, I realize. He was worried I’d be scared of him.

Everything he’s saying makes sense, which makes no sense at all. 

Because if he’s right, and he certainly seems to think he is, it begs the question... why aren’t I scared of him?

He seems to see my ask myself that, because he answers it a second later.

Eyes growing softer, he murmurs, “It’s because you know I’d never hurt you, nor would I let anyone else.”

I remember him whispering that right before I passed out. I’ll never hurt you. 

He comes so close I can see the individual flecks of green in his dark hazel eyes. “I may do terrible things, and I’d do terrible things for you, Elain, but I’d never do them to you.”

“So you aren’t afraid. Just angry,” he concludes. Then he looks at me like he did the other day in the sea behind his house, right before he called me his. “Do you know why you’re angry, Elain?”

Currently, it’s because he’s explaining my emotions to me, which has to be the most male, obnoxious thing that’s ever happened in all of history.

But I have a feeling that isn’t what he’s talking about.

And I have another feeling that I’m not going to like what he’s about to say.

I take another glance at the look in his eyes and realize what he means, starting to fight again. I push at his chest and hands and try to get him to not say the words I know he’s going to. 

It doesn’t work. 

“You’re upset,” he says a moment later, slow and sure like always, “because I lied to you. You feel betrayed, like you don’t know me. But that isn’t why you’re angry.”

One hand on my face, the other in my hair, he holds me perfectly still as he whispers, “You’re angry because you were falling for me.”

I press my eyes closed, trying not to hear the words he’s saying as if that’ll make them any less true. 

But it doesn’t, because they are true. 

Every easy smile, midnight whisper, and lingering kiss he’s given me in the past month has given him a permanent place in my heart, and it hurts to have that all feel like a lie.

It hurts to look at him and not know if I recognize the person holding me.

A sob escapes me, which seems to confirm what he said, and he takes his hand off my mouth to wipe away a tear. 

His brow comes to rest against mine, and I breathe him in, unable to stop myself. 

There’s a war happening inside me, and it distracts me enough I don’t stop him from pulling me closer.

My heart plays me a montage of the past month, showing me countless moments where I’d been so positive I’d found paradise, so positive I’d found someone I could trust completely. It tells me Azriel has always felt like home, like something so inexplicably right I don’t even know how to describe it.

But my brain reminds me the hands cupping my cheeks softly are covered in blood and gunsmoke and victims’ tears. It tells me I’ve never really known the man I’m currently begging myself not to have feelings for. 

The battle inside of me rages on, and I cry harder, not even knowing who I want to win.

It only gets harder to choose as he murmurs, “Ance io mi sto innamorando di te.”

I’m falling for you, too.

I don’t know what to do or feel or think, and I’m so helplessly confused it makes me want to scream. 

Yet even though I’m confused, something about this makes sense. Something about knowing what he really does for a living makes everything in my head just click.

The way he’d redirect the conversation whenever I asked about his job. The way I’d always suspected him of hiding something about himself from me. The way every movement he’s ever made with me has been lined with restraint.

He could hurt me, has had the opportunity for months, but he never has. He’s always been careful with me, has always held and looked at me like I’m something precious to him.

My brain starts shifting to his side of the argument, and I can feel my morality ripping to shreds under his hands.

Before I can think, I shove him away, getting to my feet to point at the door. “Get out. You lied to me. You’re a murderer. A monster.”

Feelings or not, I know I can’t do this. I can’t just ignore what I saw, what he’ll continue to do. So he needs to leave.

He doesn’t.

Azriel just leans against the kitchen island counter and pulls out a cigarette, lighting it as he watches me for a long moment. 

“Maybe I am,” he says eventually around a mouthful of smoke. “But just because I’m a monster, Elain, doesn’t mean I can’t give you what we both know you need. Nothing has to change.”

It already has.

“I don’t need anything from you.”

“No?”

“No.”

He prowls toward me, the intent shining so clear in his eyes I take a step back for every one he takes forward. My back hits a wall, and he traps me between it and himself, caging me in with strong arms.

The line between right and wrong, good and evil, seems to blur as he gets closer and closer, and by the time we’re sharing air, I don’t know which way is up. All I know is him.

He takes a deep inhale of his cigarette, tips my head back with his thumb, and then breathes the smoke into my mouth. 

It should be disgusting, considering I don’t smoke and make it a point to avoid cancer-causing products in general. 

It should be. But it isn’t.

It’s the opposite of disgusting. 

There’s a buzz in my veins that has nothing to do with the nicotine, and I realize too late that he’s the vice I can’t quit. 

I’m too far gone, too addicted already.

He pulls back slightly, tucking the still-burning cigarette behind his ear. His eyes burn with intensity, and his dark hair and shoulders are surrounded by the smoke clinging to his shoulders like a shadow. 

He looks like the villain of a movie I never even knew I wanted to watch, and it physically pains me to have him this close and not be touching him, so I put my hands on his chest, fingers fisting in the expensive material of his suit.

His are on the wall by my head, bracing himself as he leans in and slowly licks a line across my lower lip, like he’s tasting me. 

My want for him is a tangible thing, and I have to ask myself if he’s right. Does it matter what he does, when he makes me feel like no one else ever has? Do I care enough to stay away from him?

“You don’t need me?” he asks again, so close his lips brush against mine.

I shake my head, even though I know it isn’t the truth. I do need him, and that’s why this hurts so damn bad. Why this betrayal cuts so deep.

Even though we’re so close he’s nothing but a blur, I can feel his eyes on me, burning a hole through me. 

And then he says something that changes everything. 

“Well, I need you,” he whispers, so softly it breaks my heart.

I’m lost.

I’m so goddamn lost in him, I forget everything we were talking about, forget everything he’s done. 

My knees go weak, and I cling to him, pulling him into me as I slip down the wall.

His lips crash against mine, and I know instantly that this is him. This is all of him. I finally know exactly who he is, and he doesn’t have to hide anymore.

It’s probably our hundredth kiss, but it feels like the first, and I’m drunk on it, drunk on him.

Hands in my hair, he kisses me like he wasn’t lying--like he needs me. 

My hands pull tighter, until there’s not an inch between us, and he makes a low sound in his throat. His are on my waist, gripping me tightly and telling me he wants this just as much as I do.

The restraint from before is all but gone, and I tremble at how much power is in his grasp, how small and fragile it makes me feel in comparison. 

My willpower crumples further, like a napkin in his fist, as his tongue teases mine, making me chase him for more.

Azriel pulls my lower lip between his teeth, pulling it between us as he draws back. It’ll be bruised tomorrow, but a sick part of me likes that he’s leaving his mark on me.

“Say it,” he say roughly, voice deep and scratchy with lust.

I don’t get a change to say it, or anything else, before he’s kissing me again, running his hands up my back and into my hair.

“Say it,” he demands again.

Maybe I’m not as lost as I thought, because I know what he wants but stay silent, refusing to give it to him.

Because I can’t.

Everything he said tonight makes sense, but I just... can’t.

He kisses me again, a lingering kiss that makes my chest ache, and almost pleads, “Say it, Elain. Say it doesn’t matter. Say you need me.”

The air grows thick as I stay silent, because it’s response enough.

His eyes narrow, and even though everything inside me begs me to, I don’t stop him as he steps away. 

“Only two more months here, and you want to spend them lying to yourself?”

I hadn’t even thought about the fact that I’m leaving so soon, but I don’t let myself get distracted. “I’m not lying to anyone.”

Except it feels like I am.

A smile pulls on his lips, but it isn’t friendly. “You’re fucking lying, and you know it. You know it doesn’t matter, you just can’t admit it, because then you’d be like me.”

Heart pounding, I shake my head, but he keeps going. “Fucking a monster would be condoning the devil’s work, right?”

He takes a step in, catching my wrists as I try to push him back, pinning them above my head, and laughing. 

“You saying you don’t want me is the most pathetic lie I’ve ever heard, carro. ”

“Azriel-”

Mouth next to my ear, he growls, “You’re really telling me if I slip my hand between your pretty thighs, I won’t find you wet and ready for me?”

I push against his hands and look away, all the confirmation he needs. 

He tsks, feigning disappointment. 

I close my eyes and fight my response to him with everything I have. I try to tell myself it matters, that what he does disgusts me, but it doesn’t sound believable to even myself at this point.

“I could prove it to you, make you come right here and now, but I don’t think I will.”

I’m breathing heavily, two seconds from passing out at the intensity and violence in his voice. 

“I think the next time I fuck you, Elain, you’re going to have to tell me you need me just as much as I need you. You’re going to tell me you want me, and you’re going to beg me for more.” He licks up the side of my neck, and I press my lips together to hold in the moan that wants to escape. “You’re going to tell the goddamn truth, and you’re going to fucking apologize for lying to me in the first place.”

I glare at him, silently conveying that that will never happen. He lied to me. I’m not apologizing for shit.

He sees that and everything else in my gaze, and he shakes his head slowly. 

“I’ll get your confession, Elain,” he promises, going to the door and almost ripping it off its hinges as he opens it. “I always do.”

___________________________________________________

Part 4

@perseusannabeth @cursebreaker29 @a-bit-of-a-cactus @elriel4life @girl-who-reads-the-books @shinya-hiiragi @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @bamchickawowow @live-the-fangirl-life @ireallyshouldsleeprn @nahthanks @highqueenofelfhame @autophobiax @rowaelinismyotp @ghostlyrose2 @lovemollywho @inardour @tillyrubes10 @claralady @tswaney17 @rowanisahunk @superspiritfestival @thegoddessofyou @awesomelena555 @booksofthemoon @greerlunna @jlinez @studyliketate @over300books @justgiu12 @maastrash @aesthetics-11 @b00kworm @sleeping-and-books @musicmaam @hizqueen4life @maybekindasortaace @elorcan-trash @loosingdreams @januarystears @emikadreams @swankii-art-teacher @thedarkdemigod @full-tilt-diva @biggestwingspan-az @bookstantrash @mari-highladyof-feels @pilesofriles @teddytdr

[hellimagines]

Collateral -- JJ Maybank (Part One)

Masterlist

Summary: JJ’s stunt with Barry bites him in the ass when the angry drug dealer kidnaps you and decides you’re JJ’s collateral for the stolen money.

Warnings: kidnapping, violence, angst, mentions of child abuse and drug use

Pairing: JJ Maybank x fem!Routledge!reader

Word Count: 4,800+

A/N: I started writing this after binge-watching Outer Banks, and before I knew what was happening, I had written 20 pages of this and hadn’t even gotten to the climax… So, this has clearly been broken up into parts. I have part two already finished, and I’m almost finished with part three, but I’m not uploading them tonight because I want this to see the light of day first, and gain some love before I do anything. Please let me know what you guys think of this! I know there isn’t a lot of mushy-feely stuff in this chapter, and it’s mainly angst but, I had so much fun writing this, so please give it a chance and tell me what you think. Also, it’s canon divergent because I tweaked the DCS storyline and everything after John B. finds the first gold bar.

|Part Two|Part Three|Part Four|Final Part|

Your shift at The Wreck had been a long and strenuous one, more so than usual, because Kie hadn’t shown up for her night shift which left you to pull a double and cover for her. In your opinion, the nighttime customers were always worse than the morning customers since they typically consisted of kooks and tourons who expected the best of the best and nothing less. You had a short fuse, similar to your boyfriend, and would often get snippy with customers who complained about trivial things: their drinks having too much ice, their salad too much dressing, or their Chef’s Board not enough cheese or the wrong kind of cheese. Kie’s dad kept you on morning and afternoon shifts as much as possible due to the locals of The Cut coming to the cafe during those times, and your ability to make them feel at home while they ate their toast and sipped their coffee. So, having to work a night shift unexpectedly without a break from your morning shift left you feeling exhausted and detached from the world.

As peeved as you were with Kie for pulling a no-call-no-show, you were more worried than anything; especially when you noticed JJ wasn’t waiting outside to walk home with you like he normally was. You hadn’t heard from any of the other pogues since yesterday, when you had to go to work and they went over to Crain Mansion in search of the gold. You would’ve gone with them, but you couldn’t risk missing another day of work and possibly being fired. After your shift yesterday (and noticing the lack of blond curls outside the cafe), you had headed home with the plan to meet up with your friends and learn of any new updates--but, when you arrived, nobody was there. You waited around for the rest of the day, but when 10 o’clock rolled around and nobody had shown, you retreated to your bedroom and fell asleep. When you had woken up around 5 a.m to get ready for your shift at work, you were relieved to find JJ curled around you fast asleep, and your brother, Sarah, Kie, and Pope passed out together on the futon in the living room. They had a pot cradled between the four of them, but you thought nothing of it as you got ready for work. You left behind a note, asking them to stop by The Wreck when they woke up to fill you in on whatever you had missed, but they had never shown up. 

Now, as you locked up The Wreck at the end of your 10 o’clock shift and waved to the cooks and other wait staff as you all parted ways, your worry only increased. The Cut was warm and humid as you made your way toward the chateau, forcing you to shed your work shirt in favor of the tanktop laying beneath. Your hair was pulled into a high-pony, and while it had been sleek and put together at 6 o’clock this morning, you now had frizzed strands falling into your face and the bottom of your hair was sticky from an exploded champagne bottle earlier that night. Your feet ached and your hips felt unbalanced from the constant speed-walking and maneuvering around tables and patrons, and you wanted nothing more than to collapse against JJ in your room and sleep for a solid 12 hours straight. Before you could do that, though, you had to continue your thirty-minute walk to said paradise and make sure everyone was okay. 

As you left the hustle and bustle surrounding The Wreck and the docks, and ventured further into The Cut, you felt the tension beginning to ease out of your body at the familiar surroundings. As much as you loved The Wreck, you were not a fan of the kooks and tourons that migrated there throughout the night, bothering you during and after your shifts. As expected, the night held the worst of the batch, with alcohol and other drugs filtering their systems and giving them loose tongues and firm hands. Even though you could handle yourself and those who tried making a move on you, you never felt at ease or safe while leaving The Wreck; unless JJ or your friends were with you and you didn’t have to check over your shoulder every few feet. Crossing the imaginary threshold between The Wreck and The Cut always eased your mind, allowing you to slow your steps and cease checking your shoulder. This was also primarily because on The Cut, people knew who you were--not only as a waitress, a pogue, or (Y/N) Routledge, but as ‘JJ Maybank’s girl’. It pissed you off to no-end that people referred to you as ‘JJ’s girl’ more than your own name and you’d often chew people out on it, but you couldn’t deny the protection (and love and warmth and all-things-JJ) it gave you. You and JJ had been dating for two years, and while you loved him more than life and he loved you more than surfing, you often wished you could be seen as your own person: as (Y/N). Regardless of your annoyance at being solely known as JJ’s girl, as you walked the barely-lit streets of The Cut in nothing but a tank top and shorts, you were appreciative of your unofficial title. Very few people were walking around this late at night, but those who were offered you a simple nod or kept their eyes trained on the ground as you passed by, a complete contrast to the tourons near The Wreck. You expected this to continue until you reached your house, no longer looking over your shoulder for an unwanted kook or a touron that didn’t know the rules. 

You turned another corner, now only fifteen minutes away from home, and rolled your shoulders to try and release some of the built-up tension you gained from your shift as you walked. You closed your eyes for a brief moment, letting your muscles relax and a gentle breeze from the ocean to cloud your senses. Just as you were about to open your eyes and continue forward, you heard footsteps approaching you from behind. Your eyes shot open and your body turned but before you could see who it was, you felt the barrel of a gun press against your lower back. The metal was cold against your tank top as it dug into you, the owner’s hand coming up to grab your shoulder and keep you from moving away. 

“Maybank shouldn’t be leaving his things unattended, especially ones as pretty as you,” a voice muttered into your ear, jabbing the gun harshly into your spine. You froze, trying to place the voice to a face as you heard a vehicle approach and stop beside you.

“I’m not a thing, actually,” you retorted, keeping the fear out of your voice as the man behind you jerked you forward toward the black SUV. The backdoor swung open, but you couldn’t see who was driving it or if there was anyone else waiting for you inside. “What do you want? JJ isn’t his dad, whatever Luke’s done to piss you off is his own problem, not ours.”

The man laughed sharply in your ear as he shoved you forward, causing you to drop your shirt and tumble off the sidewalk, and your torso to fall into the backseat. You yelled out when the man grabbed your legs and pushed your body into the car, your body bending painfully as he slid in beside you. The door slammed shut and the man backed you into the corner of the SUV, caging your body against the door. Your hand shot down to the door handle, yanking on it to open the door and let you fall out, but it didn’t budge. 

“Child lock, snowball. You’re not going anywhere.” 

You looked up, finally able to see the man’s face as he grinned down at you. His grill shined each time the SUV passed under a streetlight and the black hair dangling in his face tickled your nose from how close he was. Instantly, you brought your foot up and kicked him in the stomach, pushing him away from you as you struggled to sit up. 

“What the fuck do you want, Barry?” you snapped while the dealer across from you laughed loudly and held onto his stomach. 

He smirked at you, “I forgot how much of a kicker you were, snowball.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have been tryin’ to sell blow to fucking 8th graders,” you shot back, glaring at him. “Now tell me what the fuck you want.”

He raised his hands in surrender, the smirk never falling from his face. “I want my fucking money back. You little shits stole 25k from my goddamn house.”

“What the fuck are you on about? The last time I went to your shithole was a year ago to buy an 8ball,” you scoffed. 

“And while I do miss the revenue you brought me during your time as a cokehead, I’m not talking about you, snowball. Your boy, your brother, your brother’s new whore, the ex-kook, and Heyward’s son stole from me. I know you’re too smart and levelheaded to pull a stunt like that, and the ex-kook and her boyfriend have too much going for them to fuck it up by crossing me. This means it was either your boy or your brother,” Barry explained, his jaw tight with anger as he spoke.

“First of all, Kie and Pope have names. Second of all, they’re not dating. Third of all, what makes you think it wasn’t Sarah? From what I’ve heard, the Cameron’s have a history of robbing you blind.”

“Because my sister is too much of a pansy to pull a stunt like this, and she doesn’t even know who the fuck Barry is.” Your head shot up at the new voice, and you made eye contact with Rafe in the rearview mirror. “You dirty pogues have corrupted my sister.”

“I see someone’s been bitched,” you chuckled with a roll of your eyes. Rafe’s foot slammed on the break and caused you to slam into the back of the passenger seat with an oomph. He turned around, his arm already raised to throw a punch, when Barry grabbed it first.

“Chill the fuck out, Country Club. Can’t go beaten on her just yet. Now hurry the fuck up and get us to the hanger.” Rafe’s nostrils flared at Barry’s demand, and after a moment of his fist flexing in Barry’s hold, Rafe relented. He jerked his arm back and continued driving in silence. “Don’t piss off the driver, snowball,” Barry tsked, waving his finger in your face.

“Look, why would JJ or Birdie steal 25 thousand dollars from you? You know how much JJ despises you and your business because of what it’s done to his dad and the hole I fell into last year, and my brother doesn’t even know who the hell you are. It doesn’t make any sense.” 

Barry chuckled, “I see they’ve kept you in the dark. Did they tell you about the gold they found? That they tried pawning off to me this morning?” At the frown on your face and your furrowed brows, Barry laughed even harder. “Oh yeah, they brought in a seven-pound chunk of gold to the shop this morning. Offered ‘em a cashier’s check worth a couple thousand, but your boy is quite the negotiator. So, I sent them to the warehouse for the cash they wanted.”

“And let me take a wild-fucking-guess: on their way, you jumped them, stole the gold, and left them with nothing but dirt under their nails?” 

Barry grinned at your words, his tongue sliding over his grill as he laughed. “See, this is why they should’ve brought you along! Would’ve saved them from all the trouble they’ve gotten themselves into.” 

You rolled your eyes, “Well fuck, no wonder they stole from you. You stole from them first, Barry. An eye for a fucking eye, it’s the way of the jungle ‘round here. It’s the only damn law you follow.”

“You’re right, it is the only law I follow. Which is why you’re here, snowball. You see, before I could complete my task, they jumped me and stole my wallet and the gold. You’re smart, I bet you’re starting to see the problem now. No gold, no wallet, no 25k,” Barry seethed, the smirk falling from his face as he leaned forward, pushing you back into the corner of the seat. “JJ Maybank stole from me, plain as day. If I had seven pounds of gold in my hand it would be different, I wouldn’t be as pissed. But, you see, I don’t. So, as you said, it’s an eye for an eye. And what better to steal from JJ Maybank, than the only thing he cares about? The only thing he owns?”

“He doesn’t own me, so jot that down.”

Barry threw his head back and laughed loudly, shooting an unnerving feeling down your spine. Rafe laughed along, though anyone could tell it was forced as his eyes darted from the mirror to the road. “This entire goddamn island knows that he owns you, snowball, and you damn well know it too. Which means until I get my money back, you’re my collateral.”

--

The bruises decorating JJ’s torso ached with each step he took, but he had to keep moving toward the chateau: he had to prove to the others that he was good. He had to prove that he could do the right thing with the money he stole. Even if his dad couldn’t do the right thing, and wouldn’t let him back in the house without another beating, JJ could do the right thing and be good. Even if he stole the money it didn’t matter, because Barry stole his life, and Barry didn’t deserve the money, and Barry wasn’t good. The money would pay off his restitution, and you wouldn’t have to worry about it anymore and Pope wouldn’t have to feel guilty or worry about it anymore, either. Nobody would have to worry about him anymore, and it would all be good. 

But as JJ limped up the chateau’s steps, repeating to himself that, ‘it was all good, he was good, and everything would be good,’  he wasn’t expecting for the screen door to slam open and for John B. to body slam him into the ground. The blue thermos shot from his grip as he was flung down the stairs, and JJ couldn’t bite back his scream of pain when his already-aching body slammed into the dirt. He didn’t get a second to gather his bearings before John B. was pummeling his fists into his stomach and his arms and his face and anywhere else he could land a hit. JJ couldn’t even lift his legs to fight off his best friend from beating on his twice-battered body.

“This all your fault!” John B. screamed, his face an angry red as tears and spit rained down onto JJ. “He took her because of you!” He ceased his punches only to wrap his hands around JJ’s throat, squeezing and pressing down in an attempt to strangle the life out of his best friend.

Faintly, JJ could hear Pope, Kie, and Sarah screaming, but he couldn’t understand what they were saying. His entire body felt cold but his head felt hot, and the buzzing in his ears was growing louder and louder until it was all he could hear. He could see John B.’s face above him, his lips moving as he screamed and sobbed, and JJ could see his own blood splattered on his best friend’s jaw and shirt. Black spots began to dance in front of his eyes, moving inward until he could only see the murderous rage filling John B.’s eyes. Just as the darkness settled over him, he felt John B.’s weight lift off of him and air came rushing back into his lungs. For a few seconds, all JJ could do was choke on the air whilst his body convulsed, and someone rolled him onto his side in a desperate hurry.

“-eathe, breathe JJ, come on.” Someone was talking to him, rubbing their hand up and down his back as he continued to shake. He still couldn’t see anything and he couldn’t tell who was talking to him and rubbing his back and all he really wanted to do was blackout for a bit. A harsh slap against the center of his back had other plans, causing the air to finally force itself into his lungs. JJ began to cough violently, continuing to choke on the air that was now entering his body. He tried pushing himself to his knees as he dry-heaved onto the ground, but his shaking arms and legs were too weak to support him.

Pope was yelling in the background, “Chill the fuck out, JB! You almost killed him!”, his voice bringing JJ’s senses back to where they belonged. 

“He fucking deserves it! He’s the reason she’s gone!” John B. yelled back, his voice deeper than JJ could remember. JJ blinked a few times, trying to focus on the bloody grass in front of him while his two friends continued fighting in the distance. 

“Hey, just keep breathing,” the person helping him - who JJ now recognized as Kie - soothed, pulling his sweaty hair out of his face as more blood dribbled from his lips. She was upset, JJ could tell by the way her hands were shaking and the sound of wet sniffles every few seconds. He opened his mouth to ask what was wrong, who John B. was talking about, but all that came out was a harsh wheeze from his burning lungs and even more blood. “Don’t- don’t say anything. Please, JJ, just… just breathe for a few minutes,” Kie whimpered before a sob slipped from her lips. 

He did as she asked and allowed his eyes to close, his body sinking into the ground as he focused on regulating his breathing. After a few minutes, JJ could hear John B. storm inside the chateau, kicking JJ’s crumpled body on his way up the stairs.

“John B., stop it!” Sarah yelled as she followed him inside. 

Pope came and knelt in front of JJ, wrapping an arm around his shoulders to help him sit up. “You fucked up, JJ, worse than I ever thought possible,” Pope sighed as he adjusted JJ against the railing. 

“What-” JJ broke off to cough into his fist, ignoring the blood that splattered across his hand, “what happened?” His voice was hoarse and barely understandable, but Kie and Pope knew what he was saying. 

“You stole twenty-five-thousand dollars from a drug dealer. One of the most nefarious drug dealers on this island, that’s what happened,” Kie said, standing up and pacing in front of the blond. “What did you think was gonna happen, JJ? That he’d let it go?”

“What did he take? The HMS Pogue?” JJ rasped, looking up at his friends in confusion. “(Y/N)’ll be pissed, but we can get it back, or I’ll buy her and John B. a new one with the money.” His thoughts didn’t make sense inside of his pounding head, but he still voiced them regardless. 

“How are you so stupid?” Pope yelled, causing JJ to flinch as the other to shot to his feet. “Why would John B. try to kill you over a boat? Don’t you think (Y/N) would be out here yelling at you, too?”

“My girl doesn’t yell, you know that, Pope,” JJ shook his head. “She’s got work and the boat- the boat is all they’ve got left of Big John,” JJ said, coughing a few times. His head was foggy and his vision was still blurry, so he couldn’t see the mentioned boat sitting on the dock to his left.

“No, JJ,” Kie sighed, “Barry didn’t take the HMS. He took (Y/N). He left a note on the van--he wants his money back, plus the gold, and an extra 5k in exchange for (Y/N). He’ll be back in a week to make the trade.”

“He didn’t say what he’d do to her if we don’t give him what he wants but… it’s not something that needs to be said,” Pope whispered as he carefully watched for JJ’s reaction.

A cold chill fell over JJ, causing him to shiver violently despite the warm temperature outside. “You’re lying,” he spat, forcing himself to his feet. Pope and Kie backed up, steering clear of his sudden burst of energy. “You’re fucking lying, she’s not- she’s not gone, he didn’t lay a fucking finger on her. Barry knows better. You just… you just want me to return the money, that’s it, she’s fine, she’s inside right now, she’s-”

“JJ, stop, please,” Kie cried as JJ spun around, tripping over himself in his haste to run up the stairs. Pope grabbed ahold of him before he could make it very far, pulling him away from the house and John B.’s anger. JJ flailed in his grasp, but he was too weak from the lack of oxygen and two beatings his body had just endured, to fight Pope off. 

“She’s fine!” he screamed, not noticing the tears that were falling from his eyes. “I told her I would protect her, I promised nobody would ever lay a finger on her! She’s inside, and she’s fine--Barry didn’t fucking touch my girl, you’re lying,” he sobbed, straining against Pope’s hold on his biceps.

“Why would we lie about this?” Kie yelled back, suddenly overwhelmed with having to watch JJ fall apart like this in front of her. “Why would your best fucking friend try and beat you to death if it wasn’t true? Why would the gold have been included in the letter? Huh JJ? Do you think (Y/N) would have ever gone along with something like this?” she screamed, her voice hoarse from crying as well.

“We’re telling the truth, JJ. She’s gone,” Pope said, holding onto JJ even tighter as his thrashing momentarily increased. 

JJ let the words wash over him, the truth of his mistake settling deep in his bones. The guilt, and the grief, and the anger weighed him down, and before he could stop himself, he let out a deep, guttural, inhumane scream of agony. Pope couldn’t hold him up anymore as JJ’s knees gave out, his entire body collapsing to the ground while he screamed. His throat burned more than it had before and he didn’t notice when his voice gave out, leaving him a mess on the floor with spit and blood dribbling from his gaping mouth. Pope cradled JJ to his chest, crying into his best friend’s shoulder while Kie fell beside the two, trying to get JJ to breathe again through her own tears.

--

Half an hour later, you were pulling up beside a hanger at the very back of a storage facility. You knew kooks used this area to store their boats, planes, cars, and other expensive things when they weren’t intending to be used in the near future--so you weren’t surprised when Rafe got out of the van and opened up the hanger, revealing a vintage boat and a handful of different furniture. With hurricane season already underway, and summer having begun, you knew kooks weren’t going to be visiting the storage facility very often, meaning there wasn’t a high hope that someone would stumble across you. 

“Welcome to your new home, snowball,” Barry leered, before opening the backdoor and dragging you out of the SUV. He kept the gun pressed against your waist while leading you into the hanger, leaving Rafe to pull the SUV around the corner. It was cold inside, much colder than you were expecting, and you had to fight to keep a shiver from trickling down your spine. “You and I are gonna be real comfortable in here for the next week, maybe longer if your boy doesn’t come through.”

‘He’ll come through’, you thought to yourself, worry spiking inside of you at the mention of JJ. You looked over your shoulder as Rafe came into the hanger and loudly pulled the door down behind him. “So, what? You’re just going to keep me locked up in here until you get what you want? I have a fucking job, Barry. I’ve already called out enough as it is, pulling a no-call-no-show for an entire week is going to get me fired.”

Barry reeled around to stare at you, an incredulous look on his face. “I’ve just kidnapped you and held you at gunpoint, and you’re worried about your damn job?” he asked, waving the gun in front of your face for emphasis.

“Uh, yeah, no shit. My job is the only reason DCS hasn’t snatched me and my brother into the system. Mr. Carrera has agreed to help us maneuver a few technicalities with DCS--so long as I take on extra shifts when needed, and show the fuck up. Plus, a week’s worth of zero tips means bills won’t be paid and stomachs won’t be fed,” you scoffed, knocking the gun away from your face.

“I don’t think you understand the situation you’re in, snowball-”

“Ay, nuh-uh, Country Club. Get your own nickname,” Barry cut in, prompting you to raise your eyebrows.

“But you-”

“Nope. Get your own.”

Rafe paused, glaring down at you in thought, before nodding to himself. “I don’t think you understand the situation you’re in, Maybitch-”

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” you groaned, pressing your fingers to your forehead in exasperation. ‘It’s got a nice ring to it, though, and JJ would eat it up… Could even get a laugh out of Pope, I bet,’ you couldn’t help but think.

Barry knocked the gun against Rafe’s shoulder, shutting him up with a look of annoyance. “Your boy has gotten himself in a lotta trouble, 25k worth of trouble. So until I get my fucking money, you’re not going anywhere,” Barry simplified.

You pouted in mock disappointment, “Could you at least write a note to my boss?” Barry groaned with a roll of his eyes before he nodded his head at Rafe and directed him toward something you couldn’t see. “Look, I’m gonna be honest with you, Bear. JJ and the others have probably spent the money already. JJ’s got restitution to pay, Pope has an interview he needs a suit for, Kie’s been wanting a new surfboard, and Birdie’s been wanting to fix up our boat with somethin’ pretty. There’s no way they’d let 25 thousand dollars burn a hole in their pockets.”

Barry chuckled darkly with a shake of his head and turned your body around. He forced you to face the spot he had sent Rafe to, where you saw a metal chair bolted to the ground with Rafe stood beside it. He held a boat chain, a lock, and zip ties in his hands and a wicked grin was cracked along his face. Barry moved your ponytail out of the way so he could lean his chin on your shoulder, taking satisfaction in the way your body trembled. “Trust me, snowball, after they see how well you’ve been treated at Hotel Barry, they’ll find a way to get me my money. And you,” he paused to laugh softly in your ear, “you’ll be providing me all the information I need on where to find the rest of that gold.”

‘I’m so fucked.’

--

All Writing Taglist (OPEN): @sophster1881​ @alilcloudy​

[rosalielesbianhale]

The human Jacob AU that no one asked for but I can’t  stop thinking about

° The books are the same up to the movie theatre with Mike and Jake (except there are no mentions of Sam’s “gang” because it isn’t a thing, Embry is still hanging out with Jacob and Quil, Jake isn’t afraid he’s next)

° Jacob and Bella have a little laugh at Mike’s expense but make sure he gets home safe.

° Jacob doesn’t get “mono” and drop off the face of the earth, he and Bella just keep getting closer.

° and so, Jacob is with her when she find the meadow and Laurent finds her

° in my version of events Laurent did not decide to suddenly side with Victoria because that makes absolutely no sense. He had no trouble ditching her and James in the first book and has supposedly found a partner in Irina who is friends with the Cullens so why would he be doing Victoria a favour and scouting the area?? make it make sense.

° no, instead, Victoria located him and started asking questions about the Cullens and he, trying to dissuade her from going against them, tells her what he’s learned about them since coming to stay with the Denalis. Alice’s visions, Edward’s mind reading, he lets it all slip in the ernest belief she’ll decide it isn’t worth going after Bella, after all evasion is her heightened power; she should cut her losses and run.

° after talking to Victoria, Laurent decides to warn the Cullens, he has a bad feeling after their talk and suspects she won’t give up so easily.

° he finds the house empty which is peculiar, they seemed so invested in this little human and who do you think he runs across in the meadow but that very human accompanied by a friend.

° he tells her about his talk with Victoria but there is a menacing undertone to everything he says. He is trying not to kill humans for Irena’s sake but as his eyes can attest to, he’s had some slip ups, and, really, she does smell delicious. If she is no longer under the Cullen’s protection then there would really be very little harm in draining her and there’s only one witness to take care off. It might even be a mercy because if Victoria gets her hands on her she would not make it quick, he’d do it as painlessly as possible.

° all of this is said aloud because the reader has no insight into Laurent’s mind otherwise and he seems like a person who’s inclined to give the occasional monologue

° he tells her to run, before he changes his mind

° meanwhile, Jacob is freaking the fuck out. As soon as they reach the road Bella guns it for her truck while Jacob just keeps up a continuous stream of “what the fuck. what the fuck. what the actual fuck. they’re actually fucking vampires? what the fuck. oh, god, dad was right. What The Fuck.”

° after that the whole story comes out, how Jacob was actually the person who helped her figure it out, how she had envisioned spending eternity with Edward and how, now that he’s gone, she hasn’t just been robbed of the person she loves but of what she had come to accept as her future. She has never been able to confide in anyone about the whole story so she tells him everything, right down to what actually happened when she got injured in Phoenix. It’s not like they’re coming back, it doesn’t matter if she tells Jacob.

° Jacob is understandably on overload, Bella drives him home and he says he needs some time.

° this is when Bella starts trying to reach Jacob but he’s unreachable. He’s processing a tremendous amount of information and needs some time away from the madness of Bella’s life.

° Bella starts to get restless. Jacob isn’t talking to her, she feels isolated and she needs to see Edward. She jumps off the cliff.

° I kind of want Sam to be the one who sees her jump and who fishes her out of the water tbh. He doesn’t have Charlie’s number so he calls Jacob’s house.

° Jacob promptly freaks out.

° he brings Bella home, Harry Clearwater has had a heart attack.

° Jacob is frightened for Bella after her jump but he also needs to be there for his dad right now and Seth is so young, Leah seems different after she lost her dad too. He needs to be there for them.

° There’s also the fact that the girl he’s in love with is in love with a vampire but staying away from Bella did not give him the clarity he’d hoped for. It’s still a mess.

° Alice arrives, she doesn’t need blind spots in her visions to go and knock some sense into Bella. Yes, she’s alive this time but she saw her voluntarily jump off a cliff into a raging ocean. Before she left she was a mess talking about how Bella tried to commit suicide and she had to go ensure she wouldn’t attempt it a second time.

° When Jacob rolls up to the house and sees Alice there it feels as though his insides have turned to ice. Are they all back? Is he losing Bella before he ever really got to tell her how he feels?

° Alice leaves to let Bella explain the situation. She tells him only Alice is back and why she came to visit.

° Jacob is a mess, this whole thing is a mess, but he’s left with the feeling that he had when he saw Alice was there. He needs to tell Bella how he feels.

° They have the almost kiss in the kitchen. Jacob is still dumb enough to answer the phone in someone else’s house, he still tells Edward that Charlie’s at the funeral.

° Alice returns, frantic. They have to leave for Volterra. However, Jacob doesn’t basically beg Bella to let Edward kill himself and stay with him. Once he understands that Bella is serious and Edward literally is going to try to get himself killed because he thinks Bella is dead he understands that the only way she can live with herself is if she tries everything she can to stop him from succeeding.

° Instead he is the voice of reason: “Bella, listen to me, Charlie is about to come home to an empty house after burying one of his best friends. He will be beside himself with worry and this note is bullshit, you’re a horrible liar. Tell him you’re staying with Alice tonight because you’re going to Seattle together in the morning, there’s a sale or some shit that she wants to drag you to. Tomorrow night you call him and tell him your car broke down, you have to stay in Seattle while they order the parts for you. It might be a few days. That’ll buy you some time.”

° “And call me when you land or, I don’t know, I might worry too.”

° It feels like tearing his own heart out but he lets her go. He doesn’t beg her to stay.

° The events at Volterra play out the same way they did but Charlie isn’t left to deal with the same amount of shit he was in the original.

° When they return Jacob comes to visit her, she fills him in and, let me tell you, he has a few things to say.

° “I can’t believe you’re just going to get back together with him. Bella he lied to you, manipulated you and left you. His sister can see the god damn future, if you think he didn’t know how this would affect you then you’re wrong. And he still did it. Maybe he’s telling you the truth and he did it because he thought it would be better for you in the long run but he made that decision without you. If you just take him back then you are essentially telling him that was an okay thing for him to do and it just wasn’t.”

° Jacob is so angry at the Cullens and really, what he’s saying isn’t wrong. The angrier he gets the more Bella can feel her own anger flaring to life, it had been buried under the sheer relief of finding Edward alive, the euphoria of being told that he still loves her. Now she feels indignant; how dare he just make this decision for her, how dare he not take into account her own feelings on the matter, how dare he prioritise his own concerns over hers, and how dare the entire family just go along with it. They all left her.

° She drives herself over to the Cullen’s house to have a talk with them. The vote stays the same, the “if you don't want me, then I'm not going to force myself on you, whether Alice is willing or not” part definitely stays in. However, Bella, after having taken the vote has a few choice words for all of them. “You all left me. I have spent months trying to learn to survive without you and it didn’t go all that well. I want to join you, I really do. But I don’t trust you anymore. You all made an enormous decision for me, without my say so. You’ve now made another decision that I was a part of and even though we don’t all agree, we all got a say. It’s going to take time for me to learn to trust you again, in the meantime all I have to say is this: you will never make a decision regarding me without my input again. Never.”

° She also talks to Alice separately, discounting Edward she feels the most hurt by the fact that she would have left her.

° Since Jacob is now the only person outside of the Cullens who she can actually talk to about her life, she tells him about her talk with them, including the vote.

° Jacob has an understandable freakout regarding the fact that Bella has definitively chosen to become a vampire. This is definitely not what he’d thought would happen after he and Bella had their last talk. And because he’s an impulsive teenager he brings Charlie the motorcycle, hoping that Bella will be grounded and get some distance from Edward and maybe even change her mind.

I have a lot of thoughts regarding the continuation of the series but it’s already a mammoth post so idk, i might do a separate post about Eclipse at some point.

[tamagoincident]

To Lure a Bird

arthur morgan x reader

summary: The Van der Linde Gang plans to rob a train, too bad you hit it first. You, being the reasonable person you are, coerce rough-looking men to run a job with you in exchange for the stolen money, and everyone gets more than they bargained for.

chapter: 1/10

link: AO3

Chapter One - A Mutual Enemy

On the evening you first heard of the Van der Linde Gang’s presence in Valentine, you stood at the bar of Smithfield's Saloon disguised in men’s clothing. Not a typical Friday for you, as you tried not to make it a habit of sticking around places where reckless men became more reckless the further they disappeared into their cups. But years ago you’d helped the bartender, a giant man named Ernest, drum up enough money to pay off his debtors, and he held you in the highest of regards ever since. It was the only place you could drink without being disturbed. Ernest made sure of that.

“What’ll it be, the usual?” he winked at you, his large hands already reaching toward the whiskey.

You smiled and nodded.

“I have information you might want to hear,” he continued, pouring the liquor into a glass and sliding it towards you. You caught it easily.

“Oh?”

“There was a young lady here last night. Overheard her talkin’ to some fancy pants New Yorker who kept braggin’ ‘bout the luxury train he’ll be taking back to the North. She seemed awfully intrigued,” Ernest said. “And get this, it weren’t the only instance I’d seen her, neither. Few days ago she’d been traipsin’ around the outskirts of Valentine with a bunch of scary lookin’ out-of-towners.”

“Figure they’re planning on robbing the train?”

Ernest shrugged. “It’s easy pickin’. You know how naïve high society can be.”

Maybe easy enough for a one-person job, if done quickly and with care. You’d only robbed a train once with two people you used to run with. You didn’t run with them anymore. It hurt you to think of it.

You held up your glass for a refill and leaned forward, brimming with interest. “Tell me more about this train.”

—

The train tracks rattled underneath Arthur’s feet.

“Get movin’,” he said to Sean, pointing towards the trees hidden in the darkness. Arthur climbed atop the wagon they’d rode in on and placed in the middle of the tracks, which bore five hundred gallons of oil. He widened his stance for balance and pulled a bandana over his mouth and nose. “Here she comes.”

Arthur squinted against the blinding brightness of the incoming headlight, cocking his rifle as it approached. The train’s horn bellowed into the night.

It saw him. Good.

It came to a hissing and screeching halt. A uniformed man stormed out from the front cab. “What's goin' on here? What's—aw hell,” the engineer wailed, kicking the dirt underneath his feet. “Not again! Gettin’ real tired of this shit.” Behind him, a shadow of blurred movement. Charles, ready to strike him unconscious.

Arthur jumped off the wagon. “Hold it!” he yelled to Charles, who paused his assault and instead restrained the man with a pistol aimed at his head. “What d’you mean, ‘Not again?’”

“If y’all are trying to rob us, we’ve already been hit,” he wheezed.

“You’re bluffin’.”

“You and your boys are more than welcome to board and check. Reckon it’s a waste of time though.”

Arthur swore. “Let him go, Mr. S.”

Charles let go. The engineer stumbled forward, sputtering and coughing. In between heavy breaths he said, “Happened near the Heartlands. Strange feller in a mask robbed us blind and then pointed a shotgun at me, gruntin’ at me to start the engine or he’ll call for his gang to kill everyone on board.”

“Why in God’s name would he do that?” Arthur said.

“Beats me. But now that I think of it, he was probably expecting y’all. Here, he gave me this—” he moved to reach into his coat pocket, but ceased upon the chorus of rifles cocking. Sean and John had appeared to find what the holdup was.

“Don’t move a goddamn muscle,” Arthur growled. “Mr. S., if you could kindly grab whatever’s in that fool’s pocket.”

Charles complied, plucking out a wad of paper. He handed it to Sean, who read aloud:

Don’t want the loot, only your attention.

Have your lady informant go back to the saloon and talk to the bartender.

He’ll tell you where to find me.

Cause any trouble and you won’t see a cent.

Sean laughed bitterly, waving the note in the air. “Got us good, didn't he?”

“Give me that, you idiot.” Arthur snatched the note and tilted the lettering towards the train's headlight. “Goddamn it—”

A bullet whizzed by Arthur’s head. The engineer dove to the ground for safety.

“Get on your horses!” Arthur yelled to the gang and whistled. Once in the saddle, he spurred the horse on and rode hard into the trees, past the storm of bullets, and evaded capture.

He was the last to arrive back at camp, after making sure he hadn’t been followed. He passed Dutch’s closed tent and found Sean blackout drunk near the fire. John sat close by, clearly on the same trajectory as the Irishman, with the amount of empty beer bottles at his feet. Arthur cleared his throat. “Where’s Charles?”

John glanced up, eyes bleary and lined with red. In the firelight he looked small and exhausted. “Asleep.”

“You should be too.”

“Well, I ain’t,” John mumbled tipping the beer to his lips and draining it. He tossed the bottle aside with a crash.

“Need me to tuck you in Marston? How ‘bout a bedtime story?”

“Real funny, Arthur."

Arthur sat down across from John, allowing the sound of crickets and snuffling horses to fill the silence between them. When he spoke, his tone was softer. “Don’t think I’ve seen you this shaken. Not even when you was freezin’ your ass off after them wolves got to you.”

John’s gaze dropped to his lap. “I’m a bit rattled, s’all. I got a bad feelin’, Arthur.”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t you think the law showed up a little too fast?”

“Maybe,” Arthur said. “I’m more curious about the son-of-a-bitch who knew we was gonna rob that train.” He turned, pulling the note he’d stashed into his saddlebag and brandishing it.

“See? You’re worried too. S’not just me.”

“I’m not worried,” Arthur cast the notion aside. No use in admitting to being worried unless there was really something to lose sleep over, especially in front of John, who looked like he was fixing for an excuse to leave again. Arthur didn’t want to be the person to give him one. He would gladly take a bullet before he watched Abigail’s face twist back into sorrow and disappointment on account of John flying the coop.

“We gonna be okay, Arthur?” John asks.

“Can’t tell the future anymore than you can, Marston,” Arthur said, crumpling the note in his fist. “What we can do is find the bastard who pulled the wool over our eyes, and deal with the rest as it comes along. I’ll talk to Mary-Beth tomorrow. Ask her to go back up to the saloon.”

John watched as Arthur tossed the paper into the fire, the edges curling into black.

—

You waited across the tracks from the abandoned trading post in Roanoke Ridge, taking shelter behind a sturdy tree (you’d almost hid behind one crawling with poison ivy vines, what a sight that would have been). The instructions you’d given Ernest to pass on had been clear: Whoever is sent must be on time and arrive alone. You checked your pocket watch. Already a half hour late. Out of desperation you remained a few minutes longer. The sun was almost at its peak in the sky, and you were getting hot with your scarf obscuring the lower half of your face. You cursed yourself for wearing such bulky trousers and long sleeves.

In your mind, the heist had been preferable to wasting away in the heat. With a little theater and luck, you managed to rob the train heading north. You still couldn’t believe your good fortune. Keeping your voice low and husky, the passengers and engineer had mistaken you for some hardened outlaw. You’d threatened them with your non-existent gang that was supposedly trailing close behind. In reality, the only thing riding alongside the train was the horse you’d borrowed from Ernest.

You scanned the landscape with binoculars, on the precipice of calling it a day, when you saw a pair of figures ascend the hill behind the dilapidated structure. The taller of the two was wearing a fading grey shirt that you imagined was once white, which stretched across his broad shoulders. He staked a far contrast to the companion at his left, a leaner man with dark hair that extended past a deep scar on his cheek. Both looked tough and mean. Exactly the type of men you’d hoped for.

Though two against one, the odds weren’t good if things went south.

You dropped the binoculars and reached for your rifle. Steadying yourself, you squinted through the scope, drifting down the length of their bodies until their dusty leather boots came into view. You cocked the gun, exhaled, and took the shot, aiming inches away from them.

“Shit!”

“Thought I’d said to come alone,” you called out. “If one of you gentlemen doesn’t get going, the next two bullets will be right in the forehead.”

“Jesus Christ,” the dark-haired man yelped. “Is that a woman shooting at us?”

“Woman or not, doesn’t change the fact she’s got a goddamn rifle!” the other fired back. “Alright, miss, my friend here is gonna get on his horse and leave. Ain’t that right, Marston?”

“Rode all the way out here for nothin’,'' he complained loudly and whistled. When his horse came around, he placed his foot in the stirrups and swung his leg over the saddle. “If you ain’t back by sundown, I’ll come lookin’ for you, Arthur. Hear that, lady?”

Arthur waved a dismissive hand. You waited until the horse disappeared behind the hills before coming out from the brush. At this distance, you could discern more of his features. The first of which you noticed were bright blue eyes that writers and painters alike had mused over for centuries.

He directed them at you. “There,” he said. “Happy?”

You lowered your rifle. “We’re off to a poor start, I’m afraid.”

“Don’t want no trouble. Just didn’t know what we was walkin’ into,” he said, moving closer, hands up slightly as if to not appear threatening. “You were real vague in that note of yours.”

You reaffirmed your grip on your rifle. “That’s close enough,” you said. Any closer and he’d eclipse you, your neck within snapping distance of those strong hands.

“Then, how about you tell me how this is gonna go?”

In the days leading to this moment, you’d thought of the ways you were going to approach this. Never did you imagine getting this far. “Do you have any idea why I may have invited you here?”

“To gloat, perhaps? About beatin’ us to that train?”

An involuntary upward twitch at the corner of your mouth. “Not quite, sir. I value my time and yours, so I’ll keep it short. I need you.”

Arthur pointed to himself. “You... need me?”

“Yes, you.”

He dipped his head, obscuring whatever expression he was making beneath the brim of his hat. Rubbing his neck, Arthur said, “Can’t imagine why you’d need me, lady. Accountin’ for the fact you don’t even know me.”

“I’ll rephrase. It’s not you I need exactly, it’s somebody like you. And your friend, for that matter.” You paused. “I used to have partners, too. One is dead, the other is in need of rescue. She was kidnapped. I want to hire you to help get her back.”

“Why not go to the sheriff? Seems a hell of a lot easier than getting up to all this trouble.”

“The sheriff?” you scoffed. “You really think he’d risk himself and his men to help me save a working girl from outlaws? Most likely he’d look into my background, and then I’d be arrested before I could even blink.”

“So all we gotta do is save your friend from her kidnappers and what, you’ll pay us?”

“You’ll get the money from the train, and I’ll throw in seventy dollars on top of that,” you said.

“What’s the catch?”

“Pardon me?”

“The catch,” Arthur repeated. “Seems too easy.”

“Didn’t say it’d be easy. Are you familiar with the O’Driscoll Boys?”

A spark of recognition. He was, in fact, familiar. “Yeah, I heard of ‘em. Your friend Emma… them boys captured her?”

You nodded. “A former client of hers runs with that gang. He found us in a hotel room, shot Henry, and knocked me out. When I came to, Emma was gone, and I was alone.”

“Under ordinary circumstances, I’d be glad to help,” he said. “You see, there’s someone I’d need to run this by and he’s already got it out for their leader, Colm O’Driscoll. This’d be the perfect excuse for him to do something goddamn stupid.”

“Please. If you’re familiar with them, you can imagine how awful it must be for her. I’ll even give you half the money upfront,” you said, decocking your rifle and slipping it back over your shoulder by its leather strap.

“Can’t promise nothin’, but I’ll talk it over with some people tonight. Meet me at that saloon in two days, same time. If it goes in your favor, I’ll take you to see the man who makes all the decisions.”

“Are you going to make me wait again?” you asked.

“You’re the one asking for favors, miss.”

“I’m offering a job.”

Arthur’s lips set into a hard line. “A job that might get us into a world of trouble, adding fuel to a fire that’s been burnin’ for a long time now. Frankly, you don’t know what you’re getting into.”

And because you didn’t want to push your luck, you fell silent. You watched him call for his horse and mount it.

“I’ll be on time,” he mumbled as an afterthought, and rode off in the direction he came.

[itcamefromthetoybox]

Give This Man A Spinoff Series

Hey Everyone, I know this review’s a bit later than expected, and that’s because my condition’s been kicking my ass lately. While I had some spoons today, though I wanted to get this review up.

I love Hondo Ohnaka. I’m just gonna get that out of the way now, so you know that I’m going into this week’s review with some bias. He’s one of my favorite “Star Wars” characters, and if I could, I’d own every toy of him ever made. With that in mind, it should come as no shock that I pounced on this week’s figure, “Star Wars: The Vintage Collection Hondo Ohnaka!”

If you never saw any of the “Star Wars” animated series, you should go watch them right now. The first two, “Clone Wars” and “Rebels,” are amazing. The third one, “Resistance,” is also a “Star Wars” show. Hondo Ohnaka is a space pirate who debuted in “Clone Wars,” and who somehow managed to survive to the time of the prequel trilogy. He’s an egotistic, unpredictable, book-dumb, street smart, card-carrying, scoundrel whose loyalties are first to himself and second to money and booze. Think of a more flamboyant Jack Sparrow. In his time, Hondo managed to throw a wrench into the plans of every major schemer in the “Star Wars” universe, including Anakin Skywalker and Palpatine, just by being too damn unpredictable to effectively stop for long. He delights in piracy, boasts of his own fame, and is more than happy to rob you blind and then buy you a drink with your own money, which he will then steal back from the bartender.

The “Vintage Collection” is a line of 3.75 inch “Star Wars” toys. They’re meant for screen accuracy and a lot of articulation, like a smaller version of the “Black Collection” or the “Marvel Legends” toyline. They’re a line of figures aimed at collectors, but they can also be given to kids who know not to eat them.

“Yar, har, fiddle-de-dee! Being a Pirate is all right to be! Do what you want 'cause a Pirate is free! You are a Pirate!“

Hondo’s figure perfectly captures his appearance in the show “Star Wars: The Clone Wars,” which is some damn fine television if you can get past the very bad pilot movie, and his appearance at the “Star Wars: Galaxy’s Edge” attraction at Disney. His figure wears the long coat he had in the series, as well as his iconic helmet and goggles, and comes with a blaster he can hold in his hand or store in a thigh-mounted holster. Honestly, he looks fantastic.

Hondo’s got a ton of articulation, which is the norm for this line. The issue with that, though, is that the length of his coat does limit what his legs can do. Also, due to the weight of his coat, you can only put him in a select few poses without him falling over, which is either an issue or an excellent rendition of “drunk off his ass” Hondo, depending on what you’re going for.

“I may not be as young as I once was, but I'm older!”

His gun fits firmly into either hand and his holster, all of which are the softer plastic that more collector-aimed toys use. This does mean that improper storage can bend his trigger finger or his gun, so watch out for that. While the gun can fit in either hand, his right hand is specifically molded with the trigger finger ready, showing which hand it’s meant to go in. There’s nothing stopping you from putting anything in the left hand, though, so you can totally give him a lightsaber if you want.

“THIS EFFORT! IS NO LONGER! PROFITABLE!”

Overall, I do have one issue with this figure, and it’s honestly a big one: he can’t stand at all. I mentioned the balance issue earlier, and it’s a real problem with the figure. To get Hondo to actually stand for the pictures, I had to do a lot of careful fiddling with his feet, and he still fell over. His coat also makes it so you can’t sit him down easily either, so if you wanna display him, your best bet is to prop him up against a wall or similar surface.

Hondo, like the rest of the “Vintage Collection” figures is designed with collectors in mind, but he does make a good gift for kids who love “Star Wars.” He goes for about $15 and can be found at most major retailers. If you can get past the balance issue, I’d recommend him in a heart beat. Anyways, you can expect the next review probably next Sunday, unless my health gets to me again. The joys of a chronic illness. This is JL, signing off and wishing you Happy Toy Hunting!

[sakura-83]

Things from Anne with an e that I feel like writing down

Season 1 Episode 7: Wherever You Are Is My Home

⚠️WARNING!!!⚠️ this episode not only talks about suicidal thoughts but also a character trying to commit such acts, of you are sensitive to this I suggest you just skip this post or at least skip #75-77

1. Anne calling it comforting that no two snowflakes are alike, as well as calling snow a sign of gods forgiveness as he blankets the dead world in a beautiful frost

2. Josie gossiping about her while she’s RIGHT THERE

3. Her and moody just talking

4. “And I love Christmas, don’t you?” “I don’t know, but I plan to.” “Did you not have Christmas at the orphanage?” “There wasn’t much to it really. I’m not sure why Father Christmas wasn’t able to stop there, maybe the matron scared him off.”

5. “Do you at least know if they’re going to keep you?” “Keep me!?”

6. Anne trying to sing with the others but the other voices quickly fading out as she panics and rushes home

7. “They’re not going to send you back, you’re in the Bible and everything!”

8. Marilla has every right to be angry that Matthew rushed their home without even discussing it

9. “I knew you’d lose your head-“ “Oh, I oughta smack yours right off your shoulders!”

10. Matthew is prone to heart attacks, the very same thing causing his death in the books

11. “He’s had an episode of the heart” just a funny way to say heart attack, sort of long winded

12. Marilla not understanding the complex math because she had to leave school when she was young

13. Anne helping her with it because she’s top of her class

14. “Not keeping you? You’re a Cuthbert, for better or for worse! No getting out of it now.”

15. The awful bank not relenting on the payback schedule despite the fact that Matthew cannot work. Corporations are cruel and ungiving despite the human struggles and needs of its clients and it hurts. I know the bank invested that money and they need it back but Matthew was indisposed by a tragic event and to not only not extent but to SHORTEN the payback schedule is just unfeeling

16. Marilla putting out an ad to the mainland to take in borders

17. The terrifying idea that you must sell everything you have in order to survive

18. Marilla being desperate yet still too prideful to accept charity

19. The fact that it not only effects the family but also Jerry, as they can’t afford to pay him. It puts him out of a job and lowers his families income

20. A reoccurring theme I love in this show is the idea that the characters will give up their belongings, no matter how sentimental, in the name of family. Matthew selling his dead brothers watch, Marilla selling her grandmothers brooch, Anne selling the dress of her dreams, all because no matter how important these items are, they are just things. That family is more important, so even though it pains you to have to give those things up, you do it in the name of love for others

21. “Theyre just things.”

22. Anne feeling sorrow and yet being excited to stay at aunt Josephine’s

23. Despite being told she can keep the dress, Anne insists on selling it back because it’s a family effort

24. Anne being exited for a solo adventure and then getting stuck with jerry

25. Jerry has to be there to get money Anne his family is hungry :(

26. “I don’t actually need your help.” “When’s the last time you drove a sleigh? Auctioned a horse? Let’s go.”

27. Diana giving her things to sell as well

28. Jerry knows how to drive a sleigh?????

29. “It’s not so bad to ask for help sometimes, y’know?” “If I needed help I would say so.” “No you wouldn’t.” “Yes, I would.” “Wouldn’t.” “Would! Times infinity.” “What???”

30. Jerry singing in French

31. “No singing. I mean it. I’m serious, Jerry! This is an important journey! I WILL KILL YOU WITH MY BEAR HANDS!”

32. Jerry grinning as she gets madder

33. Anne bring mystified by the dress shop

34. “I’m here to return a dress.” Is something wrong with it?” “Not a thing.” “Do you not like it?” “It is my very favorite thing that I have ever possessed in life. But I need to return it to help my family.” “You’re Anne, Matthew’s Anne!” “I am! How nice it is to hear it said that way.”

35. Anne being upbeat until Jeannie asks what’s wrong and then ask just breaks down

36. Poor Jerry waiting outside in the snow for her

37. Either Matthew spent some much money on Anne’s dress or Jeannie gave her extra, or both

38. “Did Matthew really spend this much?..” “You’re worth a lot to him.”

39. “I hate to say goodbye…” “😏 I won’t be so long~” “To the HORSE, Jerry. Why are you so annoying.”

40. “You’re a good horse Birdie, try to remember that. Someone will be very lucky to have you.”

41. Birdie really is a beautiful horse though

42. Anne’s little “my parents are spies” act she uses on the pawn broker

43. The pawn broker is so understandable rude because of his profession, it makes him equally annoying and funny

44. “What a piece of work you are.”

45. Anne is so good at making up stories on the spot

46. “If you can’t afford it I completely understand.”

47. I love how snide remarks of “being a good Christian” are frequent and effective insults in the 1800’s

48. Poor Jerry doesn’t just get beaten up and robbed, he gets brutally beaten by two grown men and there’s nothing he can do despite that being… his last paycheck. That was the last income he was going to give his family and he’s so ashamed of himself that he keeps apologizing for it despite most of the money being his. He apologizes to Anne, to Matthew, it bothers him for months to come

49. Gilbert’s back!!

50. “Still seems unreal. Even though I just sold all our… everything.”

51. “He’s a good man.” “I love him with all my heart. I don’t know what if do if…”

52. Them arguing over not arguing

53. Anne apologizing

54. “Anyway…” “Anyway..”

55. I genuinely didn’t realize that the men who beat up Jerry are the same men that took in borders at green gables, I got the same face blindness as Jerry himself

56. “I’ve missed you.” “Yeah?” “At school, theres.. no one to compete with.” “”You want to spell out a few words for old times sake?” “How about… truce?”

57. Jerry thinking Gilbert was going to hurt Anne and take her money and immediately jumping in to stop him despite swaying on his feet

58. When Anne asks him if he’s okay he immediately starts apologizing about the money

59. “I don’t like the city.”

60. “Just take care of yourself, and come home someday.”

61. Anne and Gilbert staring at each other quietly

62. “This is a palace, not a house.”

63. Jerry assuming that they’ll make him sleep in the stable instead of inside the massive house

64. “I’ll look after belle.”

65. “This city is rife with ruffians!”

66. Aunt Josephine insisting on helping

67. Matthew lamenting his own life, talking of how his life insurance will give them a sizable sum and how he drags them down despite them needing him

68. “Anne loves you, you have to remember that.” “But her future…” “Which do you think she would choose, this house or you?”

69. Jerry bring terrified to stay in a room by himself because he’s always had his family around him

70. Anne making room for him only for him to sleep upside down

71. “Don’t worry, I don’t kick like my sisters.” “Yeah, you’d better not.”

72. “Everything will be alright. It’ll be alright..”

73. Aunt Josephine helping by paying for Jerry to work at Green Gables, as well as giving Anne books

74. “We’ve been together all these years, thick or thin, so don’t think I’ll put up with you slipping away now. Anne will be home today, and she’ll be very happy to see you.”

75. Matthew trying to kill himself because the life insurance would pay off the debt he caused

76. Jeannie happening to show up and find Matthew with the gun just in time as he tries to hide what he’s almost done from her, realizing what he’s done

77. The way they stress how his passing would effect Anne the most because of what they mean to each other, that she will suffer without him despite what he’s trying to do

78. “Don’t ever get old…” “Too late for that.”

79. “You would’ve left us that way!? Left me?..”

80. “Give it back. I won’t take charity.” “But.. love isn’t charity.” “I won’t take it.” “Nay I ask why not?” “We will not be pitied! I don’t want people thinking we can’t fend for ourselves.” “Well at the moment we can’t, and I’d sure give my last bit of strength or my last dollar to help a friend. Then I know that friend would feel grateful and loved above all else. And I do. I feel very grateful to have such a dear friend as Miss Barry. Sometimes you just have to let people love you Marilla.”

81. Anne selling her cleaning services to make steady income

82. “We’re rich, aren’t we Matthew?”

83. Jerry carving a star for the Christmas tree!!!!!!

84. Anne’s friends coming to sing carols at their house

85. Anne helping Matthew walk outside

86. Not Nate :(

87. Nathaniel, the bane of my existence

[go-learn-esperanto]

OH BOY oh no oh wow

I just finished rereading TUMOASD and just

I did NOT REMEMBER READING THE TRUE ENDING ALRIGHT-

My condolences.

The author's note really hits you doesn't it?

Also, Quagmire is the best character, hands down. He just wanted to rob in peace. RIP

The more time passes the more I appreciate the funny moments again. After the initial shock and immeasurable pain, re-reading the earlier chapters, even if I now have a extremely sad context to it, still cracks me up.

If I had to point out a favourite scene it would be this one. I simply cannot forget it despite so many months passed since I last fully read the fic:

“Eyyyy’ man you want some drugs?”

 

Big Q aka Quackity.

 

Tommy watches as the other guy shuffles awkwardly, pulling out a few notes and trying to slyly slide the money to the drug dealer. 

 

He turns to Clementine to sigh quietly, “Never do drugs my child,” Then he reconsiders, “Actually, do drugs, but don’t buy them from him.”

It’s best to just get this over with.

Tommy steps out from behind the cover of the tree and clears his throat loudly. Both men let out a yelp of surprise, turning to look at him in unison.

Quackity looks surprised for a moment before grinning, “Eyyyyy man, it’s my boy TommyInnit. What’s good?”

Tommy sets Clementine down on the grass. “Not much to be honest, just, y’know, stopping a drug deal.”

Quackity laughs, “Woah that’s great man, you’re popping off. Who you stopping?”

Tommy reaches behind him and pulls out his dart gun, “You.”

Quackity frowns before laughing, “Nah man, this - this ain’t a drug deal? What are you blind? I’m giving this guy therapy.”

Tommy lowers the gun slightly, “Therapy?”

“Yeah dude,” Quackity explains, “This guy is traumatised, went through some deep emotional shit.”

“Oh fuck, seriously?” Tommy scratches his head awkwardly.

“Yeah, sucks balls dude. This guy, like - hah - he, like, tried robbing a store and got scoliosis.”

“What the fuck?” Tommy raises an eyebrow, “Isn’t scoliosis like, like, a medical condition?”

Quackity shrugs with a grin, “I dunno man, I’m just the therapist. Apparently he got like, a stick to the back? And it like, totally fucking, rearranged his spine.”

That sounds kinda familiar…

Tommy glances at the other guy for the first time, squinting to get a better look. Black mask…

“Quagmire?!”

(Chapter 4: I Just Spoke To TommyInnit He Said Give Me A Goddamn Minute)

Just everything about the whole scene. It keeps going and it keeps getting more ridiculous. Without a doubt one of the funniest scenes in the whole fic. Which is a difficult thing to achieve since it's a hilarious fanfiction for like 23 chapters of the 30.

[fanmoose12]

catch me if you can

Сharacters: Hange Zoe, Levi, Erwin Smith, Kenny Ackerman

Genres: Mystery / Romance

Summary: The Ackerman duo. Just the mention of this name filled Hange with so many feelings. Mostly, when she reread the files of their cases over and over, until her eyes watered, she felt pricking annoyance. Sometimes, when she stared at the dead bodies of those scarce unfortunates who stumbled upon their crimes, she was filled with hatred and a pushing need for revenge. Hange couldn’t deny, however, there were times when she marveled at the impudence of their crimes. And, when she was investigating the Ackerman’s cases and saw just how meticulously planned they all were, she couldn’t help but feel something close to fascination.

No one knew who they were. No one had seen their faces, no one knew their true names. Almost everyone knew of their crimes.

Hange was determined to unravel every last one of their secrets. She will put an end to their crimes and then she will get the elusive Ackermans behind bars.

Chapter 4/?

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

“I can’t talk right now, Nile,” Hange hissed into her phone, taking a step away from Levi. “I’m—”

“On a date, yes, I know. There is a hardly a pen in our department that doesn’t know that some loser asked you out on a date.”

“I’m off duty,” Hange gritted. “So if you’re calling simply to annoy me, then I’m hanging up.”

“I knew I should have asked Erwin to do this…” Nile muttered darkly. Hange could practically see him closing his eyes and breathing heavily through nose. It was a sight she was quite familiar with. She was seeing it almost every time that hers and Nile’s paths crossed. “Zoe, I know we don’t usually see eye to eye, but this is important.”

“Important?” what that could possibly mean? The only thing more important right now than her date with Levi was…

“It’s about the Ackerman case.” Nile confirmed. Hange gripped the phone tighter in her hands.

“Was there another robbery?”

“No. But we just apprehended a criminal.”

“Ackerman?”

“No.”

Hange cursed. “Why are you calling me then, Nile? To brag that your team isn’t a bunch of complete idiots? Well, congratulations, but I’m kinda busy right now.”

“Would you shut up for just a second?” Nile snapped. “I’m trying to tell you something, Zoe!”

Hange huffed, irritated. “I’m all ears,” she said sarcastically.

“We caught a thief, name’s Traute Caven. You probably don’t know her.”

“That’s right. I don’t.”

“Well, she wants to talk with you.”

“About what?” Hange questioned. “And why me?”

“She asked me to bring in detective who leads the Ackerman case. And she refuses to say anything else.”

“Fuck.” Hange exhaled. She was having a really good time with Levi… she didn’t wish to leave him, but… her duty and work came first. Always did, always will. “I’ll be there soon.”

“Stay where you are,” Nile said. “I’ll come and pick you up.”

He hanged up before Hange could give him another sarcastic comeback.

With a heavy sigh, she returned to Levi’s side.

“I need to go,” she told him, shamefully avoiding his eyes. “Sorry for ditching you, but… it’s an emergency.”

“Do you want me to walk you back?”

“No, thanks,” her face changed, turning into a sour mien, as she thought of Nile and his awful, ugly goatee. “My, um, friend will pick me up.”

“Oh, alright,” Levi nodded, looking lost, like he didn’t know what to do. Hange felt another prick of guilt.

“I’ll text you, yeah?” she wasn’t sure if Levi would want to see her after that, but, well… she was an eternal optimist. “So we could meet again. If you wish to, that’s it?”

“Sure,” he agreed. “I would love that.”

“Awesome!” a bright smile bloomed on her face. Giddy and excited, she snickered, giving him finger-guns. The exasperate roll of his eyes that followed made her giggle again.

Out of the corner of her eyes, Hange saw a car approaching, its bright headlights almost blinding her. It was time to leave, it seemed.

“See you soon!” she gave Levi one last wide grin, and hurried to Nile’s car.

 ***

“Jesus, Zoe!” Nile looked over Hange’s wet hair and clothes with disgust, written all over his features. “Did you get dunked in a pile of snow?”

Hange hid a smile. “It’s called a snow fight, Nile. If you already forgot what that is or you’ve never knew because you were a giant nerd as a child, it’s when two or more people—”

“I know what a snow fight is,” he threw Hange a quick, annoyed look and then started the car, riding out on a street. “I have kids, you know. And I wasn’t a nerd.”

“Erwin tells a different story.”

“Erwin is full of shit,” he grunted, stopping before a traffic light. In a second before the green lightened up, he looked at Hange once more. Her arms were wrapped around her body, and her teeth were almost audibly chattering.  Nile rolled his eyes, let out a tired sigh and turned up the heater.

“Thanks,” Hange quietly said, bringing her red fingers closer to the source of warmth. “How are your kids, by the way?”

“They’re good,” Nile nodded, his expression softening slightly at the mention of his children. “And how was… your date?”

“Good!” Hange answered, a smile breaking on her face. “It was really, really good.”

“So what, you like, er,” Nile winced and then frowned. “You like… them?”

“I do,” she watched his obvious discomfort with amused look. “And I was meeting up with a man, if that’s what confused you so much.”

The tips of his ears became red. “I just didn’t want to assume,” Nile grumbled with a stubborn scowl. “Your last date was a woman, so…”

The awkward silence fell over the car. Hange thought of fiddling with a car’s radio, but quickly decided against it. Her relationship with Nile was tense as it was, there was no point in adding fuel to an already raging fire.

She estimated that it would take them another ten minutes to get to the precinct. She desperately thought of a new topic for a conversation. Casual small talk proved to be too awkward for her and Nile.

The metaphorical bulb lightened up in her head. Of course! What was the only thing in the world she and Nile had in common?

“So what about that woman you’ve apprehended? Traute Caven, right?”

“Oh yes,” Nile nodded, obviously relieved to have something else to discuss and fill the silence with. “I brought a case file with me, it’s in a glove compartment.”

Hange followed his directions and took out a thick enough folder. Quite a portfolio that Caven had, she thought with a grim smile. She didn’t open it, instead glancing at Nile’s face again.

“You’ve spoken with her, yes?”

“Yeah.”

“And? Do you think she really knows something? Do you think we should trust her?”

“I don’t know,” Nile answered truthfully. “She asked to speak with you, Hange. So, it’s up for you to decide.”

“Awesome,” Hange grumbled, opening the folder on a first page. “No pressure at all.”

***

Standing in front of a sturdy, metal door, Hange recited everything she had just read.

Traute Caven, 47 years.

Was involved in a life of crime since teenage years. At young age of fifteen, she was apprehended by a police for the first time. Caught for shoplifting at a local mall, they let her go. A couple of months later, she was detained once more, this time for stealing from a jewelry store. Because she was caught before she could actually steal anything, she got away again once again. Just after she turned seventeen, Caven and a few of her friends decided to rob a bank. The police got them fairly quickly, and Caven received a jail sentence. She spent three years behind bars, but jail wasn’t able to change her. Once she was a free woman again, she returned to stealing, but this time— she was more cautious. She changed her name and appearance after each theft, and she had gotten acquainted with a skill of fraud as well, which complicated her arrest even more. The police spent years, chasing after her. Hange was actually quite impressed that Nile and his team were able to get her.

And now Caven wanted to talk with her.

About Ackerman case.

Hange couldn’t lie, she was excited. And nervous. Very, very nervous.  

After all that time and efforts she poured into that goddamned case, just a small clue, a seemingly insignificant detail meant the world to her.

And what if she was at the verge of breakthrough?

Just the thought of it made Hange feel giddy. If Caven really knew something, if she could really lead them to Ackermans…

She was getting ahead of herself.

Too much haste is too little speed, Erwin always reminded her.

She needed to pull herself together.

Hange gripped the folder with Caven’s case tighter and put on a serious, determined face.

She had to look professional, authoritative.

She inhaled, exhaled and then opened the door.

Traute Caven didn't look like a thief. With her long blond hair tied up in a neat ponytail, in an elegant dark blue dress suit and white expensive-looking coat, she looked gorgeous, despite the unnatural lighting of the interrogation room.

A life of crime paid well, Hange thought bitterly. Much better than what she received for trying to catch the scoundrels.

"Miss Caven," she greeted. She sat down on the opposite side of a table and leveled her with a hard gaze.

"Detective Zoe, I take it?" Caven retorted, her each word slow and measured.

Hange nodded, taking a notebook out of her breast pocket. "You wanted to talk to me, right?"

"I have something to tell you," Caven confirmed.

"So I've heard. And what is it that you wanted to discuss?"

Caven curled her wine red lips in a smile. "Let's discuss the details of our deal first."

Hange answered her with a sly smile of her own. "Tell me what you know, Miss Caven. Or I'm walking out of here."

"And miss your chance to catch Ackermans?"

"I'm sure I can manage without your help."

It was a bluff, and a weak one at that. Erwin would have done a much better job, but Erwin wasn't there and Hange didn't have enough time to come up with a more efficient trick. But it seemed like she didn't have to. Despite the confident way she held herself, Hange caught a glimpse of what she was hiding behind that tough exterior – in truth, Caven was too desperate to argue.

"So let's hear your offer first," Hange prompted. She threw Caven an expectant look and uncapped the pen, holding it above the notebook.

"Fine," she gritted, flicking her hair. "I'll tell you what I know. But that’s it. I refuse to cooperate further, if you don’t uphold your end of a deal.”

They had no deal, Hange wanted to remind her. But if Caven’s information was worth at least something… Hange was ready to beg Erwin to shorten her prison term.

“I’m listening, Miss Caven,” she told with a sweet smile.

Caven sat back in the chair, folding arms across her chest. On her face she wore an expression of superiority and complacency. Hange unconsciously leaned closer.

If her previous distress so quickly turned in such blatant display of arrogance, then what she knew must be good, real good. Hange’s heart hammered in her chest, as she anxiously waited for Caven to start talking.

“I know one of the Ackermans. And I can lead you to him.”

Hange blinked a few times. Opened and closed her mouth. Looked up and down, pitched the skin of her arm.

She wasn’t dreaming.

Hange narrowed her eyes, studying Caven’s face. She didn’t look like she was lying. And why would she? As soon as her lie uncovers, she’d get sent in prison, for a much longer time than her original term.

So Caven wasn’t lying, and she was evidently real, so— it wasn’t Hange’s dream or fantasy. And that meant—

Whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.

This was all real.

Caven really knew an Ackerman. She could bring Hange to him. She wasn’t just at the verge, it was a breakthrough.

I know one of the Ackermans, Caven had said. Meaning there were two of them, meaning they didn’t always operate together. Hange quickly scribbled it down in her notebook. Compared to Caven’s other revelation, this seemed like a laughably unimportant detail. But Hange was a creature of habit, and she wrote down a few words, no matter how insignificant they might have looked to others.

“I want to have my term shorten by a half. At the very least.” A smirk didn’t leave Caven’s face. She was glowing, basking in the effect her words had on Hange. “So do we have a deal? If we do, I can call him right this second.”

“No!” Hange cried out, bending over the table to grab Caven’s hand in hers. “No need to call anyone.”

Caven raised her eyebrows, watching Hange closely. As she noticed the almost feral look in her eyes, she tentatively backed away.

“You don’t want to apprehend them?”

She did. More than anything, Hange wanted to throw the bastards behind bars, where they rightfully belonged. But they were hurrying things up.

Too much haste is too little speed.

She couldn’t get to Ackermans, not now. She didn’t have any proof to back her up in a court, they could easily whisk away, far out of her reach.

She shouldn’t rush things, she had to act cautiously, taking into account every possible outcome.

She should approach it just like Erwin would.

“Miss Caven,” Hange pushed the glasses up her nose, smirking deviously. “How do you feel about committing one last robbery?”

 ***

“Erwin!”

Hange was on the phone with him, as soon as she walked out of the interrogation room. She had a person, who would lead her to Ackermans, she had a way to get to them, she had a plan on how to orchestrate all of it and get the evidence they needed to put them behind bars. All she needed now was support from Erwin. If he would believe in her plan, if he would agree to back her up in front of their colleagues… the success was practically guaranteed.

“You like a good gamble, right? I have a perfect one for you.”

 ***

It's been four days. Four days since Hange had left him in the snowy, quiet park. And she was yet to call or even text him.

Rationally, Levi knew that she must be incredibly busy. She was probably working day and night, doing her best to protect this city from... People like him.

This thought was rational, problem was - nothing about his relationship with Hange Zoe was rational.

If he was thinking rationally, if he was acting with a clear head, he'd run away from her, as far as it was possible. Or he would fool her, making her fall for him, just so he could get closer to the evidence she had gathered on him and Kenny. He'd destroy it, break her heart and then - of course - he'd run away, as fast and far as he could.

If he was thinking rationally, he wouldn't be glaring at his black phone screen, waiting for it to light up and announce a new incoming text - or better yet, a call.

But four days went after their date, and - he got nothing.

It made him angry. And worse than that, it made him sad. He felt neglected. Abandoned. Forgotten.

He wasn't used to neither of those feelings.

He tried contacting her, of course. His finger hovered above the call button dozens of times, and he typed several texts only to delete them just before pressing send.

Hi, how are you seemed too trite.

What you've been up to sounded too nosy.  

It's been a while made him look like he was too clingy.

Hey, do you want to hang out would probably make her think he was too needy or demanding.

Levi would never think that texting someone could be so hard. Picking locks to high-security doors was easy. Hacking all the survey cameras in the building at once was easy. Climbing through ventilation shafts and jumping off the skyscrapers with one thin rope as his back up was easy. Communicating with another person was not.

He had half a mind to go and ask Kenny for an advice.

But, obviously, he wasn't that desperate. For now, at least.

In the end, Levi didn't have to ask. Kenny came to him himself.

"So that's it?" Kenny walked into the kitchen, joining him at the table. Shifting his gaze from the phone to his uncle’s face, Levi raised an eyebrow, silently asking him to elaborate.

***

"Your date!" Kenny clasped his back, almost making Levi choke. Letting out a deep, amused chuckle, he continued. "Did she get sick of you already?"

"What the fuck—"

"That must be a record, I'm sure," Kenny carried on, ignoring Levi's sizzling gaze. "To be done with you just after the first date. Her loss, I guess," he shook his head in fake disappointment. "Or yours. Since now you're definitely going to die a virgin."

"I'm not—" Levi paused, taking a deep breath and mustering his expression into the murderest one he could manage. "I'm not a virgin!" he hissed.

"Really?" Kenny, that fucking asshole, had the audacity to look shocked. Levi's hands curled into fists. "Was it that waitress then? The one I told you to seduce? I didn't expect you to get in bed with her. Good job, Levi!” he received another hard pat on his shoulder. “Or, no, wait! Did you do it with that artist? The one that had the security code to the gallery safe?"

His ears were burning. He was sure his cheeks were red too, because Kenny kept looking at him with that insufferably smug smirk of his.

Levi was going to kill him. He was going to murder his own uncle. He could plunge the knife into his chest, or maybe, throw the tea cup into his face..... As soon as he finished the tea, of course.

"This is none of your business," he said, his voice much calmer than he was actually feeling. "And my date didn't grow sick of me."

Levi hoped so, at least.

"Oh? Then why have you been boring holes into your phone for the last few days?"

He shamefully averted his gaze. Kenny started laughing.

"She's probably busy," he muttered.

"So busy she can't reply to your text?"

"...I didn't send her a text."

"Have you called then?"

"...No."

"Levi!" Kenny cried out. "Are you serious? You didn't try to contact her and that's why you're brooding? I didn't know you're that shy!"

"I'm not shy," he grunted. "I'm just—"

"Terrified of making the first move, eh?" the smirk was back on Kenny's lips. "I bet she was the one who asked you out in the first place."

Levi turned his face away, hiding from Kenny's amused look. The fucking bastard was right but— he'd rather die than to admit this to Kenny.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Levi," Kenny gave him look so full of disappointment that the beginnings of shame actually prickled his heart. "Just send her a picture of a funny cat or some other shit. Stop being such a goddamn chicken."

Levi slowly nodded, pondering.

That was.... A sound advice. He wouldn’t send a picture of a funny cat, of course, he had a feeling Hange was actually a dog person, but....Sending something to get her attention. That way he could easily initiate dialogue without directly asking for it.

Huh. Who knew that Kenny of all people would give him a good advice.

As he moved his hand to grab the phone, Kenny stopped him.

"Wait, before you start making a fool out of yourself, I need to discuss something with you."

"What?" Levi snapped, quickly pulling his hand away. He crossed arms on his chest, glaring at Kenny beneath his eyebrows.

"Remember I told you about a job? We need to do it soon."

His glare turned into a frown. "You said we'll wait..."

"And wait we did." Kenny retorted. "We need to hurry."

Why, Levi wanted to ask. But he felt like he already knew the answer.

"Who is our client?"

Kenny hesitated. For a moment he shifted his gaze to the side. It was all the answer Levi needed.

"It's Reiss, isn't it?"

"Levi it's—"

"It's bullshit, that's what it is!" Levi growled. "I get that Uri was your friend and you owed much to him. But why the fuck you continue working for his deranged brother is beyond me!"

"You don't have to understand anything, Levi." Kenny told him, his gaze hard and his lips pressed in a tight line. "You just need to do what I say."

Kenny stood up, turning on his heels. "End of discussion. I'll call you when I finish the plan."

He left the room without another glance at him. For a few moments, Levi watched the spot his uncle was just sitting at, his anger growing and growing. He wanted to punch something. Or someone. Preferably, Kenny.

He almost rose up to go and do just that, but then he remembered.

Detective Zoe. He needed to text her.

His tea now completely forgotten, Levi grabbed his phone. Kenny was a shithead and a jerk, however... his advice wasn't that bad. But he still had to find a way to implement it. He opened the browser and furrowed his brows. What would Hange enjoy?

A link to an article? Not a bad choice, but what should he chose as a topic? Science? News? History? Or, maybe, a video from YouTube? A song? But he didn't know what music Hange liked and he wasn't sure their music tastes would be compatible. Or maybe—

His musings were suddenly interrupted. By a loud ping. Levi almost jumped at the unexpected noise. He glanced at top of his screen. He had an incoming message. From Hange.

In a span of a heartbeat, Levi opened it.

hey! sorry for being absent for so long, work is kicking my ass :( are you free this evening? do you want to go to that place you've showed me? i have the first day-off in forever :D

It was a simple message. It had no right in making him that flustered.

Levi stood up, went to a sink and put his cup in it. After washing it as thoroughly as possible and wiping his hands, he returned to the table.

He took the phone in his hands, he received a message from Hange five minutes ago. It was probably an appropriate time to respond. He didn't reply instantly, so Hange wouldn't think he's too eager. And he didn't reply too late as well, meaning that he wouldn't come across as negligent.

i'll be there at 8, he wrote back.

He went to brew another cup of tea, an unusual lightness taking residue in his chest. For the first time in five days, he was content.

***

"Hange," Erwin walked up to her, laying a hand on her shoulder. Tearing her gaze away from the papers on her desk, Hange blinked a few times, adjusting to the sudden brightness in the room. The sun was already up? It was up for quite some time, if Erwin was already here. "Did you really spend another night in here?"

The crease between his bush eyebrows was disapproving. Hange averted her eyes in shame.

"I just wanted to check one thing, and I guess I got carried away a bit..."

Erwin sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I appreciate what you do, Hange, I really do. I'm proud of what you’ve accomplished, but you need to take care of yourself. C'mon," he wrapped his hand around her arm, pulling her upwards. "Go home and get some sleep. Come back in the morning."

"But—" Hange cried, her eyes widening. "The today's shift has just begun! You want me to skip a whole day of work?"

"That's exactly what I want you to do. The precinct will survive one day without you, Hange."

"But!" she lifted the papers from her desk, shoving them into Erwin's face. "My work! My operation! It's important, Erwin!"

"You did all that you could for now," he reminded, his expression turning darker. "We still have a couple of days before Caven contacts Ackermans to lure them into our trap. So take this time to rest. And then give this operation your best."

"You really won't let me work, eh?" Hange's shoulders sagged, as she put down the papers, the plans she so carefully crafted. "I'll go home then, fine, but," she narrowed her eyes, glaring at Erwin, who, unfortunately, didn't look fazed at all. "I'll be back tomorrow."

"I don't expect anything else," he smiled, patting her arm. "Have a nice day, Hange."

She answered him with a smile of her own, albeit hers was too weak in comparison. With a defeated look, Hange started to pack her things.

She was grateful to Erwin for everything he's done to her, for all the times he stood behind her shoulder, backing her up. Without him, this operation would never be allowed to come to fruition. But all that aside, there were times when Erwin pissed her off so much. Sometimes he became too overbearing, breathing down her neck and pushing her to take a break like he was not her captain, but a mother.

As she turned to give him one last look, Erwin was still watching her, taping his foot impatiently. Sturdy like a rock, Hange’s protests would never sway him. She sighed, putting on her coat and grabbing her bag.

"Bye, chief!" she waved her hand before leaving the office.

As she walked through the hallways of the precinct, expertly avoiding bumping into one of her colleagues, the exhaustion started to catch up with her. She thought long and hard what should she do once she gets home. She could go to sleep, after several nights she spent sleeping at the small, uncomfortable couch in her office, she needed that catch eye more than anything.

But what she could busy herself with afterwards?  Working was out of question, she left all printed documents in the office, and, knowing Erwin, he already blocked her access to the precinct's database. So what was left...

Hange pondered on it, taping a point finger against her lips.

And then— it hit her. Levi.

Levi!

She promised to text him after their date. And that was - Hange took out her phone, checking the date - fuck, that was five days ago. Would he still agree to hang out, she wondered.

Only one way to find out, Hange decided, unlocking her phone and opening the last chat with Levi.

***

They agreed to meet at eight. Levi entered the café at 7:30. He sat down at a table in the corner, the one that was separated from the rest of the café by a thin wall. He ordered tea and prepared to wait. He watched the entrance intently, his heart racing every time the door opened.

He finished his first cup and went outside to have a smoke. He ordered his second cup and soon finished it too. He had another cigarette. He walked inside again and ordered another cup. He paused from watching the entrance to glance at his wristwatch.

8:31

Hange was running late. Again. He was starting to see a pattern here.

He was thinking of going for another smoke break, when Hange finally stumbled inside. Red-faced and panting, she rushed to the table Levi was sitting at.

"Sorry!" she cried out, her voice ringing in the quietness of the small café and reverberating from its walls. "I swear it's not intentional, I just—" she took a deep breath. Levi pushed the unfinished cup in her direction and Hangs gulped in one go. "I just overslept."

"Overslept?" his eyebrows went so high they reached his hairline. He checked his wrist watch. "It's almost nine o'clock."

"Crazy day!" Hange giggled, sitting on the opposite side of Levi. "But I'm glad I finally get to see you! It's been a while!"

"It was," Levi nodded. It was good to see Hange, even though he couldn't quite find the words to express it.

"What do you wish to order?"

"I'll leave it up to you," Hange replied, smiling. She was sitting with her chin resting on her hand, and her eyes looking straight at Levi. Under her gaze, it was hard not to fidget.

"Do I have something on my face?" he asked, getting more and more flustered with each second.

"Nope," she said. "I just like looking at you, that's all."

Levi felt heat rise to his face. How the hell he should answer that?

"You reek," he blurted out. He cringed as soon as these words left his mouth. What is wrong with you, the voice in his head - the one that sounded exactly like Kenny - wondered.

Hange, however, didn't look fazed in the slightest.

"Yeah, sorry about that,” where any other – sane – person would start throwing insults or possibly even slap him, Hange just carelessly shrugged. “I was kinda living in my office and didn't have the time to take a shower. Today is the first time I came home, and I was so excited to see you that I totally forgot to clean up."

What she just said - it disgusted Levi beyond compare. Hange’s hair was greasy, her body emanated heinous odor of sweat and he was pretty sure she hadn’t brush her teeth too.

But at the same time - what she just said - it made Levi's chest feel weird. His heart skipped a beat and a warm, fluttery feeling settled in his stomach. It almost made him forget about his disgust.

"So what you've been up to?" he asked after Hange's order arrived.

She looked up from a cake she'd been devouring to give him a silly grin. The corners of her mouth were stained with cream. Levi sighed, bending over the table to wipe it out.

"Thanks," she mumbled. "And about work... sorry," she spread her arms. "That's kinda classified."

Of course, it'd be naive to think Hange would reveal her cards so easily. But if he could get at least something from her...

"You seem pretty excited," he noted, watching her carefully.

"I am!" Hange exclaimed, sending another spoon of cake into her mouth. "I feel very, very good about this operation. I've been working for more than a year to get to those bastards. Can't believe I'm so close to doing it!"

A chill ran through his spine. Hange was close. Hange was close to catching them. They needed to run, needed to get out of the city. He had to warn Kenny. Before it became too late.

His heart beat in unsteady rhythm and his hands turned clammy, as he tried to concentrate on what Hange was saying. His thoughts were going in circles, as he forced himself to snap out of it. He had to keep up his lie, had to play the role until the end, otherwise he risked rising Hange’s suspicions.

He had to think of something, some change of topic, something that would distract him from his possible downfall.

Putting on his best poker face, he straightened up, looking her in the eyes and willing his heart to calm down. A new direction to their conversation was already at the tip of his tongue.

Unfortunately, talking had never been his strong forte.

"I have been wondering..." Hange perked up. Levi winced, continuing. "Are you a cat or dog person?"

***

Finally, he was in his element.

After numerous discussions and arguments with Kenny, he was unable to convince him to leave. Not until they finish this job, or so Kenny had said.

“It's a piece of cake”, he had said. “The easiest job we've done in a while. Walk in, grab the money and walk out.”

“We can leave the city after that for a while,” he added. “Go on a vacation, travel to Caribbean or some shit.”

Levi hoped it wasn't one of Kenny's bullshit lies. They needed to get going and soon, the threat was hanging over them, so close that Levi could almost feel the tip of that metaphorical sword on the top of his head. But Kenny didn't understand. And Kenny wouldn't understand, because explaining to him meant revealing the way he got this information. And Levi couldn't allow that to happen. If Kenny finds out, he would never trust him again.

Or worse, he would decide to do something stupid. For example, try to outsmart the police. His uncle was a cunning man, but Levi knew what Hange was capable of. And he had met her boss, Erwin Smith. Kenny didn't stand a chance against the two of them.

To his credit, Kenny didn't lie, not this time at least. Getting inside the house was indeed surprisingly easy.

***

"First, you hack into security cameras," Kenny had instructed. "Judging by the blueprints of the house, there shouldn't be many of them."

"The house is small then?"

"Not the smallest one we've robbed."

"Who is our target?"

"Don't remember the name," Kenny gave his flippant reply, scratching the back of his neck. "But he's some big shot politician."

Politicians? Since when did they start targeting politicians? Something was up...

"Don't give me that look, Levi!" Kenny snapped, taking notice of Levi's furrowed eyebrows. "It doesn't matter anyway. What matters is this - will you be able to get through their security system?"

Levi huffed, rolling his eyes. "Please. Do you really need to ask?"

***

Just like Kenny had said, getting in was surprisingly easy. He hacked into security cameras and turned off the alarms in a record seven minutes time. And that incredible feat was achieved, despite the fact that he was working, using a shitty Wi-Fi signal from a nearby cafe.

Once that was done, they could move to a next stage of a plan.

***

"I take it the house is surrounded by a fence?"

Kenny huffed. "Obviously."

"Barbed wire? Guards? Dogs?"

"Nothing of the sort. We're breaking into a house, Levi, not a prison."

They broke into a prison once, to help escape one of Kenny's associates. It was a tough job. And a surprisingly fun one.

"We just climb the fence and that's it,” Kenny assured. “Don't worry, I'll help you do it."

"Fuck off," Levi growled, sending Kenny a death glare. When his uncle did nothing, but smirk, he scoffed and returned his attention to the blueprints on the table. "What do we do next? Which entrance do we use to get in?"

"Whichever we want to," Kenny replied, shrugging. "The house will be empty."

Levi pursed his lips. "You sure?"

"Sure as can be. The whole family is going on some kind of auction for rich assholes. Reiss will be there too, he promised to make sure that our guy stays for as long as possible."

"At least, he's useful for something," Levi muttered. His finger traced the outline of blueprint, as he announced his decision. "We'll use the back door. No need to raise suspicions. Who knows how nosy his neighbors are."

***

Another advantage of using the backdoor was a fact that usually they weren't as protected as the main entrance.

And this door was no exception, Levi picked its lock in less than thirty seconds.

"Welcome," he grunted, pushing the door open and letting Kenny go in first.

The house, as expected, was engulfed in darkness. Kenny with his black pants and jacket instantly merged with the shadows. After carefully closing the door, Levi joined him, becoming one with the darkness as well.

***

"Do we know where he keeps the money?"

"Where do all rich douches keep their money?" Kenny snorted. "The study, of course."

"Alright, so we do what? Just simply walk in there?"

"You want to use the window? Or try looking for a ventilation shaft? It's an easy job, Levi," Kenny patted his shoulder. "Relax and don't overthink it."

***

The house was not only dark, it was quiet. The unnatural silence got on Levi's nerves.

Usually when they were on a job, there were other people there. Banks were full of workers, going about their jobs several floors above the vaults, museums and art galleries had guards, casinos were bristling with noise and chatter no matter the time of a day. And when they escaped the noise, moving closer to their goal, silence was a good thing. Silence meant they were undetected, meant they were safe. Silence used to bring him comfort.

This house was an exception. The silence there... It didn’t give him a sense of safety, only unease. It made him even more alert than usual.

The smiling faces in photo frames that stared at Levi from every wall were unnerving him even more. Two redheaded kids, standing between their grinning parents seemed completely out of place in this dark, silent house. Levi breathed a sigh of relief when they finally reached the study.

"You take care of the safe," Kenny told him. "I look around."

Levi gave him a curt nod and, without another word, set out to work.

The safe was of medium size and it stood in the corner of the room, half hidden by a large dieffenbachia.

Levi crouched next to it, taking out his instruments.

The safe broke down quickly. It almost felt like an insult. Kenny and him were world class thieves. And this house could be easily robbed by an amateur.

Smoldering his annoyance, he opened the safe. As soon as he did, Kenny pushed him aside. He grabbed something from it, pocketing it inside his jacket. His movements were quick and the room was dark, but Levi's eyes were sharp. He saw a document - a birth certificate - and a photo of a young girl whose blond hair was vivid enough to be visible even in the darkness.

"What the fuck was it?" Levi hissed.

"Does it matter?" Kenny laughed so carelessly that to Levi's ears it sounded almost forced and insincere. "Let's just get out of here.”

He threw the door of the safe shut and turned around, motioning Levi to get going. Levi grabbed the back of his jacket before Kenny could take another step.

Perhaps, he was getting paranoid – he hoped he was – but he had heard something.

The noise, the barely audible clatter downstairs. And the sound of footsteps that sounded closer and closer.

"Fuck!" Kenny hissed, his eyes widening. So he wasn’t paranoid. "Shit! They were supposed to be gone for another hour at least!"

"And yet they're already here," Levi snapped, the tension getting to him as well. "We’re on a second floor, jumping is—"

“The only way to escape,” Kenny finished grimly. “Go, Levi.”

He didn’t like the way Kenny had said that. And he really didn’t like the hand that Kenny put under his jacket.

That’s where he kept his gun.

His heart fell.

“Kenny, no!” Levi whispered, urgently tagging at his sleeve.

“Hurry up, Levi,” Kenny replied, unusually quiet. “You don’t like when things get dirty.”

“Ken—”

The door had opened, before Levi could finish. A man, probably somewhere in his forties, stood on a threshold. Levi had seen him in one of the photos - it was the father of the family, the one, who embraced two redheaded children. However, in this moment he wasn’t smiling. His eyes widened, his mouth opened in a scream.

That was devoured by a thunderous gunshot.

“Get going!” Kenny urged, hiding his gun. He grabbed Levi by the collar to drag him forward. “This place is going to be swirling with cops any second now!”

Numbly, Levi followed him. He opened the window, climbed on a windowsill and jumped down. He roughly landed on a ground, the snow softening his fall, but ever so slightly. It left him with scratches on his palms and bruises on his knees.

Levi felt none of it. His ears were still ringing from the gunshot, and before his eyes still stood that man.

“Snap out of it!” Kenny raged, forcing him to stand up. “We need to go, Levi, you can deal with your inner turmoil later.”

“Why did you kill him?” he asked, surprised by the hollowness in his own voice. He stared at Kenny, anger growing inside him. “Why did you kill him?!” he pushed his uncle away, making him stumble. “We could have escaped!”  

“And he could have seen us.” Kenny replied, straightening his jacket. “Just a glimpse of our backs would give police an advantage we can’t allow them to have. So stop throwing a tantrum like it’s a first dead body you’ve seen.”

Kenny was right, he had seen his fair share. The first dead body he had seen was his mother’s. But it wasn’t the last one. Not all of their jobs were successful, they didn’t always remain undetected. They weren’t invisible, and, even if they were damn good at what they did, accidents still happened.

Usually those accidents ended in violence – knock the unlucky guard down, before he sees you, and you’re safe. But sometimes – just like today - those accidents ended in death.

It was nothing new to Levi, and yet – each time it happened, he felt the weight in his chest so heavy it threatened to drag him down all the way to the ground.

Violence, death – they were following him since he was born. But dealing with them, getting used to them was a skill Levi had yet to master.

“C’mon,” Kenny wrapped a hand around his shoulders, pushing him forward with uncharacteristic considerateness. “You can scold me for not valuing human life later. When we get home.”

The sirens were already heard in the distance, they had no time for arguing. Levi let himself be led, climbing up the fence and jumping off it. Hidden by shadows, they rapidly left the house behind.

His mind was still filled with images of smiling man from the photo, that vision merging with his dying expression.

 ***

It was quite a productive shift, Hange was almost pleased by what she had achieved today. The clock was nearing eight, making her contemplate if she should call it a day. There was always more work that could be done, but Erwin could come in any minute, scolding and chiding her.

It was best to be gone before he would throw her out of the office.

Hange was turning off her computer, when the door to her office was thrown open. In stumbled Mike – disheveled, panting, he looked a far cry from his usual tranquil appearance.

Hange felt her stomach drop. A thousand guesses and suspicions swam around her head, as she waited for Mike to catch his breath and start talking.

Judging by Mike’s agitation, it couldn’t be anything good.

“We’ve got another robbery!” he managed to finally say. And before Hange could start cursing, he added.

“And this time, it’s a murder as well.”

[salut-imsyuka]

Kono Hanasakuya-Hime - 𝓣h𝓮 𝓢𝓾𝓬𝓬𝓾𝓫𝓾𝓼

So here’s my entry for @ladykendalsims​​ BC ! Again thank you so much for the extra time darling ♥ I’m sorry that I couldn’t send it on time !

Outdoor Enthusiast - Kleptomaniac, Loves Outdoor, Materialistic

My bachelorette's name is Kono, she's a 41 years old sim !

Kono is omnisexual, her pronouns are she/her

She may seem rather cold and cynical at first, but Kono has very little confidence in herself, she is trying to protect herself !

She has a rather sharp and very dry sens of humour

The gang she was in called her « The Succubus »

She’s a former prostitute

Kono has an immeasurable passion for flora, she is a pro when it comes to making concoctions, poisons and filters of all kinds, she would be very helpful in Crimson's shelter has she also masters gardening

Kono is not gifted in combat. To be honest, since the virus she focuses on improving her botanical abilities, she barely knows how to use a gun ! (but she always hides a pretty dagger in her boots)

She travels with a female doberman called Ba, she is her faithful companion

Born in the pale and frozen flanks of Mount Komorebi, Kono grew up in the very essence of the traditions. Yet she did not want to lock herself in the archaic straitjacket of custom. Indeed, she could not curb her inextinguishable thirst for adventure and left as soon as possible her home to discover the extent of the world that was open to her. So she landed in the dazzling town of San Myshuno, far too big and vicious for this little, naive woman who thought she could put the world at her feet. (more in depth story below)

Her pumps, far too high for her, slammed the lino's floor in the hotel room. It occasionally annoyed her neighbors of rooms, young women, who, like her, were tempted by the lure of gain ; each had their reasons : to make money easily, to pay food for their children, or to pay for their education, as Kono's case. She often oscillated between college classes and passing with clients, an unhealthy rhythm that allowed her, in spite of everything, to perhaps one day, after all the efforts and work that she provided -- especially hope -- finish her degree in botanic. But she ended up in a shabby hotel room, like all those girls who, like her, had their head full of dreams. Kono was caught in a vicious circle. She robbed her clients on the orders of her pimps, when she realized that she could earn much more than she imagined, she could no longer resist stealing, not without scruples.

In the mirror riddled with blinding white LEDs, she often looked at herself to touch up her gloss, her eyeshadow that sometimes flowed ; and with a stroke of a brush she became again the pretty doll adored by her customers. In a whisper comming from the hollow of her lips she repeated to herself, in a loud voice and standing proud in front of her reflection, that she was the best, that she was strong, powerful and beautiful, that one day her dreams would be within her reach. Only, she could not look at herself very long in the mirror, her atrocious reflection reminded her of the biggest mistake of her life, she embodied this mistake. She could see her younger self  in her disguting reflection : a joyful little girl like the others, running through the frozen and arduous forests of Mount Komorebi. Each plant, each flower, she tried to gather them all in a small notebook with pages that were twisted by the snow. It was decorated with drawings of children and coloured with paint. It was as if she had never existed, or worse, as if Kono had slaughtered her childhood dreams with a backhand.

Kono has never had particular problems with romantic relationships : sure of herself and very enterprising, she was not afraid to trigger discussions, she even liked contact rather well. But it was over. Erased by prostitution, she thought, sincerely and from the depths of her heart not to deserve a single ounce of love, if not the one that her clients gave her : false, livid, she was the loved toy, but the one that you didn't want to take care of, because it was dirty and worn out ; instead, it was the doll that was passed from hand to hand for a limited time, a session of pleasure that did not exceed twenty minutes. She had wasted herself all her chances of one day meeting love, she was convinced. Still stuck in her tight dresses and lingerie, she thought she was worthless to anyone, to herself. As a result, Kono has a rather dismal relationship with her body, she has difficulty in taking into consideration her fleshly envelope, seeing herself only as a way of satisfying the urges of men. She therefore had little confidence in herself, and hid herself badly behind her make-up and her style, which, as she hopes, discourage anyone from approaching her.

In the misfortune of others she thought she could find a way out with the zombie virus spreading. She could leave the gang that had held her on a leash for many years, she was now the mistress of her own destiny. In the occasional panic sown by the hordes of zombies, she had, during a fiery afternoon, taken advantage of the surrounding panic to flee, bringing with her women who, like her, were alienated to the gang. They had become her sisters, her friends, her daughters, her family. For about fifteen years Kono took care of these girls as a mother would have done, each with her skills participated in the life and prosperity of the shelter. But Kono realized that she had never lived for herself. She, of such an independent and adventurous nature, had never taken care of herself. She left the shelter under the protection of Jolynn, a young woman who had followed her when she ran away from her gang. Jolynn, like all these girls, was a former prostitute, unlike Kono, she had warm blood, but Konno was sure that it would serve the protection of the shelter, she had blind confidence in the young woman ; and for good reason, they had a truly merging relationship. That’s how she went out on the roads to discover herself. Deep down, Kono was just a human, but she was about 40 years old, it was now or never. (btw I’d like to add that I am aware that sex workers aren’t always forced to do their jobs (there isn’t always a pimp behind), it was only the turn I wanted Kono’s story to take. I fully support sex workers ♥)

[longitudinalwaveme]

Arkham Sessions: Captain Cold

These vignettes, and, more specifically, the characterization of Dr. Hugo Strange, are based on the wonderful Arkham Files YouTube videos produced by Mr. Rogues.

Here's his channel:

https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCyxNOHiNclZlVpeRhYV2QRQ

Since I am a huge Flash nerd, I decided to use this idea as a jumping-off point to explore how the Rogues would respond to therapy sessions. Again, all credit to the basic format goes to Mr. Rogues.

Not everything Dr. Strange says should be taken as truth; his bias against costumed vigilantes affects most of his interviews with the patients.

Hugo Strange: From the patient files of Dr. Hugo Strange, director of Arkham Asylum. Patient: Leonard Snart, also known as Captain Cold. The patient displays a number of antisocial tendencies, but no formal diagnosis has ever been given to him, and since he arrived at Arkham only a few days ago, I have not had the time to give him a complete psychological examination. Session One. Good day, Mr. Snart.  

Capt. Cold: Len. 

Hugo Strange: Pardon? 

Capt. Cold: Just call me Len, Doc. I ain’t the type to stand on formalities. 

Hugo Strange: Very well, then. (Pause) So, Leonard-

Capt. Cold: Not Leonard, Len. 

Hugo Strange: I take it you’re not especially fond of your given name? 

Capt. Cold: Believe me, Doc, if your name was ‘Leonard Snart’, you wouldn’t be fond of it, either. 

Hugo Strange: Fair enough. So, Len, what exactly influenced you to put on a parka and go running around robbing banks and jewelry stores with a freeze ray?

Capt. Cold: It ain’t a freeze ray, it’s a cold gun. 

Hugo Strange: Besides semantics, what is the difference? 

Capt. Cold: Mr. Freeze-you got him locked up somewhere in this loony bin, right?- has a freeze ray. It shoots ice. Me? I’ve got a cold gun. My gun negates thermal motion. Stops protons and electrons dead in their tracks. People too. Even the Flash slows to a crawl when I hit him with it. 

Hugo Strange: (Surprised; a bit skeptical) Do you mean to say that you have invented a weapon that can create temperatures of absolute zero? 

Capt. Cold: Yep. And I did it years before that lovesick freak got turned into a popsicle man. 

Hugo Strange: Your records indicate that you dropped out of high school at the age of fourteen, Len. How could you possibly have the requisite knowledge to create such a weapon? Are you even familiar with James Prescott Joule or J.J. Thomson? 

Capt. Cold: Who? 

Hugo Strange: J. J. Thomson is the man who discovered the electron. James Prescott Joule is the scientist who discovered the First Law of Thermodynamics. If what you’re saying is true, you managed to exceed the wildest dreams of either of these illustrious men, without even knowing of them or their theories. 

Capt. Cold: Huh. Guess I did. Well, how about that?

Hugo Strange: How could you possibly have managed this, Len? 

Capt. Cold: Just ‘cause I’m trailer trash don’t mean I’m stupid, Doc. 

Hugo Strange: Clearly not. So, how did you do it? 

Capt. Cold: Sorry, Doc. Trade secret. 

Hugo Strange: Len, we gave you a number of psychological and intelligence tests upon your admittance to Arkham Asylum, and-

Capt. Cold: (Cutting him off) About that-what’m I doin’ in this loony bin, anyhow? I ain’t crazy, and even if I were, I’m from Central City. That’s a thousand miles away from Gotham. 

Hugo Strange: A few weeks ago, Iron Heights Penitentiary’s southwestern wall was destroyed in a mysterious accident. As a result, it is currently incapable of holding supercriminals, metahuman or otherwise, and you and your cohorts had to be housed somewhere. Through a series of political and judicial decisions that I confess make as little sense to me as they probably do to you, all of you so-called “Rogues” were transferred to Arkham Asylum until such time as Iron Heights is properly rebuilt. 

Capt. Cold: I get havin’ to send us someplace else if Iron Heights is destroyed, but...I ain’t insane. Why not send me to Blackgate instead of the loony bin? 

Hugo Strange: Many people are of the opinion that anyone who puts on a silly costume in order to commit crimes is insane by definition, Len. 

Capt. Cold: That include you, Doc?

Hugo Strange: Whether or not you are insane in the legal sense of the term is not for me to decide, Len. That being said, I do believe that your decision to commit crimes in such a...theatrical...manner indicates some level of emotional disturbance. 

Capt. Cold: Hey, Doc, you’re the expert on this stuff, not me. 

Hugo Strange: In that case, why don’t we return to the subject of your astonishing invention? 

Capt. Cold: I’m stuck in the loony bin anyway. Might as well. 

Hugo Strange: Can you please refrain from describing this facility as a “loony bin”, Len? The term is pejorative, both for the staff who work here and the other patients who live here.

Capt. Cold: Pejorative? What’s that mean, Doc? 

Hugo Strange: It means that it is rude. Describing the mentally ill as “lunatics” is unkind and unscientific. 

Capt. Cold: Whatever you say, Doc. Whatever you say. 

Hugo Strange: (Coughs) As I was saying, when you arrived at the asylum, we gave you a number of psychological and intelligence tests. While your scores in the area of mathematics were unusually high, especially for someone who never finished high school, your literacy scores were abysmal. You are thirty-eight years old, but you read at the level of the average six-year-old. 

Capt. Cold: Well, we can’t all have your fancy education, Doc. What’s my reading ability got to do with my cold gun? 

Hugo Strange: I find it difficult to believe that a high school dropout-a high school dropout, moreover, who can barely read-would be able to invent a gun that can produce absolute zero on his own. 

Capt. Cold: Are you callin’ me a liar? 

Hugo Strange: Not necessarily, Len. What I am saying is that I do not believe that the Cold Gun was created in the way that you may believe that it was. 

Capt. Cold: Oh, so you ain’t callin’ me a liar-you’re callin’ me crazy. 

Hugo Strange: I did not say that either, Len. 

Capt. Cold: You didn’t have to, Doc. I may be a redneck high-school dropout, but I ain’t survived as long as I have by not knowin’ when people are bad-mouthin’ me. 

Hugo Strange: Len, I am not bad-mouthing you. I am trying to help you.

Capt. Cold: Sure you are.  

Hugo Strange: (Frustrated) Not everyone is looking to take advantage of you, Mr. Snart! 

Capt. Cold: Funny. Hasn’t been my experience, Doc. (Pause) Look. I ain’t mad, Doc. If I had a buck for every time somebody called me trailer trash or a dumb thug or a stupid hick, I wouldn’t need to rob no more banks. You ain’t said nothin’ I haven’t heard a million times before. But I want you to know this: I invented my cold gun, and I did it by myself. I. Ain’t. Stupid. 

Hugo Strange: (Looking to change the subject) Len, I never said that you were unintelligent. In fact, your criminal history makes it quite clear that you are an effective, pragmatic operative. An unintelligent man could never have organized the only successful costumed criminal combine in the nation. Every other group of costumed criminals has folded within a few months at most, usually due to interpersonal tensions, but you have somehow managed to keep your little group together for over a decade. What is it you call yourselves, again?

Capt. Cold: The Rogues. 

Hugo Strange: That’s right. The Rogues. Now tell me, Len, what exactly is the secret to your group’s...ah...success? 

Capt. Cold: (Amused) You plannin’ to start a costumed gang, Doc? 

Hugo Strange: Certainly not. I am simply curious. It isn’t often that I get the opportunity to interview criminals from outside of Gotham’s borders. 

Capt. Cold: It ain’t that complicated, Doc. The reason we’ve held together for so long is ‘cause we got an unspoken code. We watch one another’s backs to the end. Nobody gets left behind; everybody gets an equal share. 

Hugo Strange: (Surprised) Are you implying that you are...friends...with your Rogues? 

Capt. Cold: You think I’d trust people I hate to watch my back?

Hugo Strange: Admittedly, that wouldn’t make much sense...it’s just that I was under the impression that you were the leader of the group.

Capt. Cold: I am. 

Hugo Strange: Most gang bosses I know keep the majority of the profits from their crimes for themselves.Why don’t you? 

Capt. Cold: ‘Cause we’re a team. We do equal work; we get equal rewards. 

Hugo Strange: A surprisingly admirable sentiment for a common thief. 

Capt. Cold: (Proudly) There ain’t nothin’ common about me, Doc. 

Hugo Strange: (Sigh) That’s certainly true, Len. (Pause) On the subject of things that are not common, why the parka and the silly goggles? 

Capt. Cold: Practicality. Parka keeps me warm; goggles help focus my vision and keep me from bein’ blinded by the flare of my own cold gun. 

Hugo Strange: I see. (Pause) And why call yourself “Captain Cold”? After all, you aren’t really a Captain of anything. 

Capt. Cold: I’ll admit, it ain’t the most creative name in the world...but anything’s better than “Leonard Snart”. 

Hugo Strange: Why not just change your name, then? Why take up a ridiculous costumed alias?

Capt. Cold: Because I’m not just an ordinary thug. Leonard Snart is ordinary; boring…..but Captain Cold? Captain Cold is cool.

Hugo Strange: Was that a...pun?

Capt. Cold: What can I say? I admit they’re dumb, but old habits die hard. 

Hugo Strange: And the Flash had nothing to do with your decision to put on a costume and call yourself by a silly, alliterative name while committing crimes? 

Capt. Cold: The Flash? Why would he have anything to do with it? 

Hugo Strange: I was under the impression that the Flash was your arch-enemy. 

Capt. Cold: (Laughs) Arch-enemy? What is this, a Saturday morning TV show? 

Hugo Strange: The Central City papers make quite a big deal of your rivalry with the so-called “Scarlet Speedster”. 

Capt. Cold: Look, the Flash is basically a cop. Sure, he’s a cop with superpowers, and he’s good for sharpening our wits, but at the end of the day, he’s just an obstacle to our getting the score. 

Hugo Strange: Then you don’t view your battles with him as some epic confrontation between ideologies? 

Capt. Cold: Why would I do that? Ideologies don’t pay the grocery bills, Doc. 

Hugo Strange: And you haven’t dedicated your life to proving your superiority over him once and for all? 

Capt. Cold: No. I fight the Flash for the same reasons I fight the cops: I want to get rich, and he’s standing in my way. Nothin’ more, nothin’ less.

Hugo Strange: So the Flash is nothing special to you?

Capt. Cold: I didn’t say that. Like I said, he’s good for sharpening the wits. I wouldn’t be half as successful as I am if he weren’t around to keep me and the guys on our toes, and yeah, it’d be neat to finally get the victory over him once and for all...but really, he ain’t so different from us. He’s just another guy workin’ a nine-to-five, tryin’ to provide for his family. I don’t like him-he’s a stuck-up, self-righteous prig sometimes-but he’s a good person. He’s not a superhero ‘cause he wants hero-worship. He actually wants to help people. He’s even helped me, and I make a career out of trying to freeze-dry him. You gotta respect a guy like that. 

Hugo Strange: You actually see the Flash as a man?

Capt. Cold: What else would I see him as? A Martian? ‘Cause I’ve seen Martians, and I can tell you, the Flash ain’t green enough to be one.

Hugo Strange: It’s not that. It’s just that I’ve spent so much time with the patients who view Bruce Wayne, formerly the Batman, as some sort of supernatural entity or as a grand opposite in a never-ending conflict between order and chaos that it’s rather...odd to listen to a costumed criminal who claims to view their local costumed vigilante simply as a person. 

Capt. Cold: Man, you have got to get out more. 

Hugo Strange: (Coldly)  I don’t recall requesting life advice from you, Mr. Snart. 

Capt. Cold: Well, you should take it anyway. Ain’t often I give stuff away for free. 

Hugo Strange: (Annoyed) This session is not about me, Mr. Snart. It’s about you. 

Capt. Cold: What else do you wanna talk about? I’m not stupid, I’m not creepily obsessed with the Flash, I don’t butcher people for fun, and I don’t have any weird hang-ups about dead relatives or riddles or plants or dolls or jokes or the number two. I’m not a good guy, but I think I’m a pretty normal guy, all things considered. 

Hugo Strange: Mr. Snart, no one puts on a costume without some sort of psychological disturbance. Even if the Flash was not in some way responsible for your decision-something which I am not yet fully convinced of-no rational human being would do such a thing. I just need to find out what your disturbance is. (Pause) Perhaps it began in your childhood, Mr. Snart? 

Capt. Cold: (Icily) My childhood is none of your business. 

Hugo Strange: I am your psychologist, Mr. Snart. That makes it my business. (Pause) Let’s see. Your file says that you were born to Lawrence Snart, a forty-year-old police officer who was kicked off the force for public drunkenness and suspected corruption, and Shirley Snart, a fifteen-year-old high school dropout. You and your family lived in a dilapidated trailer park, and your father was a known alcoholic who drank away your family’s welfare money. Five years after you came along, your younger sister, Lisa, was born...and your mother ran away, never to be seen again. The neighbors called the police because of domestic disputes between her and your father no less than thirteen times in five years, which leads me to suspect that she was spurred to leave the family because of her husband’s abuse. You were left to raise your sister, essentially on your own, at five years old, and you were effectively the head of the household from that point on. You never had a childhood, Mr. Snart. 

Capt. Cold: Don’t you talk about my sister!

Hugo Strange: I take it that you’re close to her? Understandable, I suppose, given that you grew up with her in an abusive household. Your grandfather, who drove an ice cream truck, did his best to protect you and your sister from your father’s cruelty, but he was old and in poor health, and he died when you were only twelve years old. You never got over the loss, and your father’s abuse only got worse as you and your sister got older. When you turned 14, you dropped out of high school; you then worked a number of odd jobs to support yourself and your sister. However, shortly after you turned 18, you and your father got into a dreadful argument, one that ended with you running away from home and leaving your little sister alone with your father. After that, you eventually fell into a life of petty crime. 

Capt. Cold: I...I had no choice. If I hadn’t left, he would’ve killed me! 

Hugo Strange: I am not blaming you for choosing to run away, Mr. Snart. You were an abused child with very few options available to you. 

Capt. Cold: (Quietly) I could’ve taken her with me. 

Hugo Strange: And why didn’t you? 

Capt. Cold: ‘Cause I was an 18-year-old dropout. Nobody was gonna give me custody of my sister...and besides, I’d started hangin’ out with dangerous people. I...I didn’t want her to get hurt. 

Hugo Strange: In other words, she would have been in danger no matter what you had done. 

Capt. Cold: It don’t matter! I’m her big brother! I was supposed to protect her! 

Hugo Strange: (Coming to a realization) And because you weren’t able to protect her from your father as a boy, you’re trying to make up for it now by becoming this “Captain Cold”; a larger-than-life persona that can do all the things you weren’t able to do as a child. You’ve made yourself too powerful and dangerous for anyone to threaten, and you’ve made a surrogate family for yourself and your sister. That’s why the Rogues are so successful...it’s because they aren’t really a gang at all. They’re your family. Isn’t that right, Mr. Snart? 

Capt. Cold: (Sarcastically) An’ I suppose the fact that my grandpa drove an ice cream truck somehow subconsciously influenced my decision to become Captain Cold? 

Hugo Strange: (Aware of the sarcasm, but ignoring it)  That’s perhaps a bit of a stretch, but it isn’t impossible. 

Capt. Cold: I don’t believe this….

Hugo Strange: Don’t be afraid, Mr. Snart. Admitting you have a problem is difficult, but it’s also the first step on the road to recovery. 

[emmy-writes-sometimes]

End of the World

Pairing: Spencer Reid x female!reader

Summary: In an attempt to rescue Spencer from an unsub, you are both buried alive. You have five minutes of air left, and if nobody finds you... Title inspiration: End of the World by Rob Dickinson. Overall inspiration: That one episode of Bones where they get buried alive. 

Warnings: Guns, being buried alive, etc? 

-

“Are you sure you can handle it?” Hotch asked as you started taking off your vest, already having removed the holster at your side. There was a gun hidden in your pants, hopefully invisible behind your baggy sweater. 

“I promised him I’d get him out,” you replied. So no, you weren’t sure. But you had to. You had promised Spencer when he went into the scene alone that you’d be the one to find him and take care of him. You had promised him, and you weren’t going to give that up. He had never once broken a promise to you, and you weren’t going to do that to him. 

“Alright. Just be careful. I can’t lose one of you, much less both of you. And if you’re not back in fifteen minutes, we’re moving in. I have a feeling this one isn’t going to come with us alive.” That was Hotch’s weird, twisted way of saying that he cared about you and didn’t want either you or Spencer to die. This unsub was known for burying people alive after hours and hours of torture to mimic an abusive childhood they’d had. You were certain that you could talk him down, get Spencer out. If the unsub wasn’t the wild card that Rossi had been insisting he was. 

“Love you too, Hotch,” you joked. The man didn’t smile back, but he almost never did. You put your vest on the seat of the SUV and started walking, hands up, into the gates of the farmhouse the unsub lived in. You wanted to call out Spencer’s name first, just to make sure he was okay, but you didn’t. 

You proceeded into the house, wondering if the unsub was in there or if he was in the backyard, the killing field, as the locals had started calling it. You called out, but you got no answer. There was no use to stay in the dirty, nearly empty house, so you walked straight from the front door to the back door a few feet away. There, you spotted it - a light on in the shed, the door open, and inside was Spencer and the unsub. 

Spencer had a gun to his head - what was new there? - and the breath left your body when you saw the condition that he was in. His nose was bloody, and so was his lip. There was a gash that spread from his ear to his cheekbone, and his clothes were torn and tattered. He looked as if he was in a daze. Maybe to try and make the situation better, maybe because he’d been drugged or something. The unsub looked at you and your eyes moved up to him, your hands moving above your head. 

“Get down on the ground, next to him,” the unsub said. You weren’t scared, not really, at least yet. 

“We can help you,” you said. “I’m sorry this happened to you.” 

“Shut up!” The unsub snapped. You kneeled down next to Spencer, who just shook his head at you. He’d probably tried to reason with the unsub, too, and if Spencer couldn’t make something make sense then nobody could. The unsub turned to Spencer, holding a gun just a few inches from his eye. Spencer’s body didn’t flinch, but his eyes blinked rapidly for a second. 

“If you’re going to shoot someone, shoot me,” Spencer tried to reason with the man again. “She’s just trying to help you. I’m the one that came here to try to stop you.” 

“Both of you stand up,” the unsub said. You made no attempt to move, mostly wondering if Spencer even could move, and the gun’s safety clicked off. “Stand up!” 

You stood up this time, and let him lead you back into the field. There was a grave already dug. But only one. Which meant two things; either he was only going to kill one of you, or you were both going in. Either way, it wasn’t good. You looked over at Spencer as you walked, wondering what he was thinking. In the five months you’d been dating Spencer, or the two years that you’d known Spencer, not once had you ever been able to figure it out. The man was just too smart for his own good, and he was too good at hiding the way he felt. If he didn’t want you to know something, you didn’t. And now he wasn’t giving you any hints at all. 

“Both of you, get in,” the unsub instructed. You looked at Spencer, who didn’t hesitate to hop into the deep hole that had been lined by a box that resembled a coffin, filling the bottom of the hole. It was only there to torture you more, even though dirt in the lungs wasn’t exactly a good way to go. Asphyxiation was probably more fun, according to the unsub, at least. Spencer’s head stuck out, he was much taller than you, and the unsub moved the gun back to Spencer until he sat down, his long legs to his chest to properly fit. You gulped when the gun turned to you. You braced yourself as you got into the hole, next to Spencer. The bottom of the box was hard, but one of Spencer’s arms went around your back when the unsub couldn’t see. 

You wanted to say something, to try and bargain one more time, but the unsub shut the lid to the box. You heard what sounded like dirt being piled on top of it, leaving you and Spencer in total and complete darkness. You looked in his direction, able to feel a little of his hair against yours. 

“Hotch said if we’re not back in fifteen minutes,” you whispered. It sounded so loud in the box, but you knew it was a faint whisper that no one above you could hear. 

“We have five minutes left of air. Ten, really, but with two of us...” Spencer said as if he hadn’t even heard what you had said a second ago. “I’ve always wondered how the end of the world would feel. I never thought it would feel like this.” You put your head on your boyfriend’s shoulder, not quite able to accept the situation. Realistically, you were both going to die. Spencer first, probably, because he needed more air than you because he was bigger and hurt already. Your lip started to tremble at the thought of being in the world without him at your side, even for a couple of minutes.

“Hey, hey, don’t cry, pretty girl,” he murmured in the darkness. You flinched when his bloodied hand moved to your mouth, touching your lips in an attempt to cup your cheek. You leaned your face into his shirt, not even caring that it gave you less air, and started crying. 

“Don’t cry,” Spencer repeated. “You’ll run out of air faster.” 

“You need it more than I do,” you responded, “you’re hurt. There’s a gun in my waistband. Maybe we can shoot and they’ll find us.”

“We’d have to time it exactly right. Give me your hand.” You reached your hand over, wondering what he was going to do. But Spencer grabbed your watch and slid it off, looking at the time. 

“What are you doing?”

“You said fifteen minutes. It’s been approximately two. If one of us can stay awake and time it right, maybe they’ll be in the backyard and find the hole we’re in. They don’t have time to search all of them.” Your chest started to feel tight, and you figured that was probably a good time to remind Spencer, and yourself, that you were asthmatic. It never really affected you unless you were in a tight space with very little air, so you quite literally forgot it even existed.

“You have to,” you said to him. “I have asthma.”

“I’m hurt, realistically...”

“Can you stop being realistic for two seconds?” You asked in a frustrated cry, letting out a sob. “I don’t want to live without you, Spencer, can you not fucking understand that?” 

“Don’t yell,” he said calmly. “I don’t want to live without you either. But if one of us can survive, it’s you.” He was looking at the almost blinding light of your watch, trying to time it even though the watch was digital. You knew he was counting seconds in his head. 

“If I don’t make it, or if you don’t make it...” you started to say. You coughed and wheezed in a breath that sounded deafening in the box. 

“Come here,” Spencer interrupted. You couldn’t see him, really, but you didn’t need to. You had memorized how his lips tasted and they didn’t taste like anything but blood now. You cried as you kissed him, knowing that it was him or you, you or him. He was hurt and your lungs were collapsing in. Statistically, Spencer would say, there was no way the both of you could survive. 

“I love you,” you said softly. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get to you.” 

“I love you too,” he responded. “Just put your head on my shoulder and rest, okay? If you can calm down a little bit that can save us some air.” Anyone else on the team would’ve yelled at you for crying like a baby, but not him. He was always just so gentle with you, even when you were both about to die because you couldn’t talk the unsub down. 

“Five minutes,” you murmured. You laid your head on Spencer’s shoulder again and one of his arms moved to your back, squeezing you to his body. You could feel your head getting lighter and lighter as he kissed your forehead. It felt like laughing gas at the dentist almost - light and airy and it almost made you smile. 

“Five minutes,” he said back. “The world ends in five minutes. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere but with you.” You heard him tell you he loved you, one more time, and then the world started to fade away. You only woke up when you heard the gunshot. 

Spencer had timed it perfectly - the team ran to the pile of dirt where the bullet was lying, and they started digging with their hands. By the time they got to you, both you and Spencer were out. Spencer, somehow, was in worse shape than you were. He died in the ambulance for seven minutes and twelve seconds from blood loss and exhaustion. It only took you a few puffs of air to come back, and even though you wanted to wait for Spencer Rossi insisted that you get checked out, too. 

Eventually they let you in to see Spencer, who was already up and walking around again. You smiled when you saw him, you couldn’t help it. He just radiated sunshine, even when he had gone through literal hell. 

“You look beautiful,” he said when he saw you walk into his room. You rolled your eyes. 

“Spencer,” you groaned. “How do you feel? They told me...” You walked over to his bed and sat down right beside him. 

“I apparently died. And, you know, I don’t understand the obsession because I really didn’t see anything. Not like I saw last time, anyway.” You were careful not to block any of his breathing as you laid your head in his chest, trying to smell a little of what was left of his cologne. You couldn’t smell anything, though. 

“I really thought we were goners,” you admitted as you laid a hand on his waist, pulling him to you a little bit. You wanted to be close to him, always, but now you wanted to crawl into his skin. 

“Yeah, me too,” he replied. “You said you didn’t want to live without me.” His eyebrows furrowed, like he was confused, and he pouted a little bit. As if the statement shocked him, when it really shouldn’t have. 

“I don’t.” 

“So, theoretically, if we really did have five minutes left to live...”

“I’d want to be with you,” you admitted. You started playing with the scratchy hospital bed sheet. He smiled, wrapping both of his arms around you even though one of them had a saline solution in an IV. 

“Realistically, though?” He asked. 

“Don’t start with that realistically crap.” 

“I was going to say, realistically, we would be together. Because we’re together all the time. So I want you to stop worrying about five more minutes, okay? Because we have forever.” You wanted to cry at his statement, knowing that it was probably just to make you feel better, but you literally wanted to break down into tears over it. You loved Spencer so, so much, and he was right. If the world was ending, you probably would be with him. Or you’d do everything in your power to get to him. 

“Spencer Reid, that is the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me,” you finally said. He just laughed and kissed your temple. 

“Yeah. But it’s true.” You giggled for a second before calming down, and this time when you fell asleep, you woke up right next to him.