#Like legitimately I don’t know how I lucked out so much | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

seoafin · 1 year ago

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pairing: fushiguro toji & reader / side pairing stsg x reader an installment to the exposure therapy au warnings/tags: mentions of sex work/escorting, gambling, don't read if weird teacher/student dynamics squick you nothing is meant to be romantic and toji is a shitty teacher word count: ~4.7k

“So,” Toji says, eyeing your lone figure in the classroom with a raised eyebrow. “Just you today huh.”

You look up from your book at him, and then your gaze circles the empty room, the three unoccupied desks next to yours make the room feel emptier, bigger. Sorry to disappoint, you think. He’s not the only one. “Just me,” you reply plainly.

Satoru, Suguru, and Shoko aren’t here. The three of them are in Fukuoka. Before they left, Satoru had boasted about a certain famous shrine dedicated to Sugawara no Michizane belonging to his family. Suguru had slammed his closed fist down on his head with a roll of his eyes, dragging Satoru away by the hair, leaving you with a smile and a promise to return promptly. Don’t go anywhere, okay? We’ll be back soon.

When a sleek black car had pulled up to the base of the school, Shoko had reluctantly disentangled herself from your side, complaining about unnecessary appearances.

That had been four days ago.

You heard of a brewing storm in the area. You hope the three of them are staying warm and out of the rain. You hadn’t even expected Toji to drop in on class today. He seems to call out at the mildest inconveniences. The other day he had cited not wanting to see Satoru’s face as a legitimate reason to skip on his duties as a teacher. He’s the worst teacher you’ve ever had.

You close your book. “What’s on the agenda today?”

“Hell if I know,” he shrugs. “Got any ideas?”

You stare at him.

“Forget I asked,” he scoffs. “Right,” one foot is already out the door, “I’m out.”

He stops, back turned to you. Then he sighs wearily, as if you’ve somehow exhausted him.

You are promptly plucked out of your seat, Toji's fingers curled around the back of your collar. When you look at him inquiringly, he simply says: “Field trip.”

—

Your eyes water as you enter the pachinko parlor. You are greeted by the omnipresent acrid scent of smoke clinging to the yellowing walls and ceiling. You blink away the tears stinging at your eyes, and quickly follow Toji through the large room, passing by multiple seated older men, eyes glued to the bright machines in front of them. All you can hear are the sound of balls clacking and levers being pushed. From what you can gather, nobody has won today. It slightly amazes you how Toji thinks he’ll be the exception.

You follow his dark, foreboding figure to the back of the room, to the very end of the row, where there are only three other men. Only one spares you a glance. There are eyes all over the ceiling, scuttling about. Curses, you note, traces of all the ill will that’s gathered.

There’s a wooden stool. He barely gestures at it before saying, “Sit.”

Toji gets comfortable in front of a large flashing machine, and proceeds to pull out his wallet.

You’re aware gambling is a vice. It’s not really any of your business what your teacher decides to do in his spare time. It’s not as if Megumi and Tsumiki aren’t being taken care of. If this is what Toji would prefer to do over buying the kids new school supplies then…

All that work into keeping Megumi only to gamble his time and money away.

It would be one thing if it was entertaining but…

He’s losing.

Badly. You never expected it to be like this. How awful. If it were you, your dignity could only take so much.

You think it takes a special kind of resilience to be a gambler, but more importantly it takes luck.

You rise from your seat to take a closer look. Not a single metal ball has reached the prize slot no matter how he tries to align his timing with the press of the lever.

You glance at Toji, face alight with a fierce concentration, jaw tight. You sigh.

“You’re losing.”

“Shaddup.”

You sigh again, turn around and seat yourself back on the stool. You open your book. You told Suguru you’d try to finish it by the time he returned.

Someone is hovering. You can see a man out of the corner of your eye. You look up at him, a skinny balding middle aged man in a worn suit, tie loose around his neck, and he nearly flinches. You can hear the plink plink plink of money being lost in front of you.

“Is something the matter?” you ask politely. You figure if anything he’ll ask you for your ID. Without the jacket of your school uniform, you can usually pass off any suspicions of being a student. You aren’t an adult, but you aren’t a child anymore either. You’re of age.

He hesitantly takes a step closer. “How much?”

There are thin, wire glasses on the bridge of his nose. You can see the perspiration building on his forehead. You tilt your head.

Anxious energy radiates off of him. His gaze is fixated on your chest. “Just for the night,” he says quickly. “One night.”

Understanding quickly dawns on you. “I’m sorry,” you start apologetically. “You seem to be mistaken. I’m not an escort.” The man blinks. You continue. “In fact, if you’re looking for one, you might want to look at the man right there.”

You wonder if Toji is into men. If it even matters. Customers are customers. Money is money, and something tells you he isn’t picky.

That elicits an indelicate snort from the aforementioned man. So he is listening.

The man looks dissuaded for a minute, before pressing forward once more. “I can pay,” he says breathily, inching closer to you. His eyes dart to your slightly spread thighs before going unfocused.

Now, just how should you handle this?

You could take his hand, momentarily stop him in his tracks. You’d be gone before he gained consciousness once more. But you’re technically not allowed to use your cursed technique on civilians, and you don’t like doing it either, despite Satoru’s protests about the underutilization of your technique.

A shadow looms above you.

“You bothering my girl?”

You involuntarily shudder at the statement, but the man pales, looking up at Toji fearfully as if he descended from the parted heavens.

“Y-Y-Yours—”

“Mine." Lips peel back, revealing bared teeth in a mockery of a smile. “Fuck off degenerate. Or you’ll be seeing my fist next.”

The man scrambles backwards, almost tripping on his feet. He gives you one last look before you watch him disappear through the rows of metal machines. You look back at Toji, gaze dropping to his empty hand.

“Wow. You didn’t win a single thing.” You think that in itself is a special skill.

An irritated look crosses his face. Green eyes flash. “Damn things are rigged,” he seethes. “ All of ‘em.”

Just as he finishes that statement, shouts fill the front of the room along with shrill celebratory noises. You look at him. His face grows cloudy. You hop off the stool. “I was wondering how long it’d take you to give up.”

He changes the topic. “You look fine for someone who was just solicited.”

You shrug. “Nothing would’ve happened.”

Toji begins to trudge to the exit. A walk of shame. “He looked like he was gonna haul you off to the nearest love hotel.”

“I’ve never been to a love hotel." You had told Satoru and Suguru of your interest to see the interior of one once. They had both fallen quiet for the rest of the walk home. “But it’s not exactly the kind of place you go to alone.”

He shakes his head. “You’re a full time job, you know that?”

You look at him curiously as you step outside. Your lungs are glad to trade the smoke-laden air for fresh air.

“It’s a shame he didn’t solicit you instead,” you remark as the two of you start on a journey to the nearest convenience store. You’d like a drink. Maybe if you’re in a lenient mood you’ll buy Toji one too. “I’m sure you could’ve shown him a better time than me.”

“Dunno about that.” He gives you a scrutinizing once over. “A virgin like you? Hot commodity. ‘Sides,” he smirks. “I’m expensive.”

An unmarked virgin maybe. But any man would recoil from the scars that mark your body. All the assignments from before Shoko. And if not that, then the disfigurement of your side gifted to you from the man right next to you.

“That explains how you can afford to lose so much money.”

Unexpectedly, he takes you in good humor. “You’re a mean little thing when you want to be,” he says. “The mouth on you.”

You blink. Nobody has ever called you mean. Not to your face anyway. You think about it. Maybe this is what Satoru used to dislike about you, back when you hadn’t cared about how he perceived you. All you knew back then was that you said all the wrong things. Now you eagerly await text messages from Shoko. You like it when Satoru smiles, when he flashes you a grin so bright that you can’t help but smile back. You like the soft crease of Suguru’s gaze when he regards you. You like it so much that you can’t sometimes can’t breathe. You’re a different person now. Sometimes, you need to remind yourself of it.

Inside the convenience store, you select black tea for yourself and a coffee for Toji. You walk outside to him chewing on a pork bun and you hand him the drink. It’s a brand you’ve seen him drink before. He stares at the black label. You don’t expect a thank you.

“Tsumiki is starting middle school soon,” you say, staring out into space. “She could use some new school supplies.” Along that line of thinking, Megumi could use a new randoseru.

He’s silent. You’d buy her some yourself, but you think it’d be more meaningful coming from the man who is technically her step-father. She’d be delighted even, you think, and Megumi for as aloof as he tries to be, can only be so distant when it comes to his beloved sister. There have been too many mistakes, too many burned bridges, but this could be a step in the right direction. You don’t think he sleeps at home.

The two of you enjoy the quiet. You finish your drink, and then stand. You’re in a familiar area of the city, and there’s someone you’ve been meaning to see.

—

“You’re late,” Marie scolds, hand on her hip. You close your eyes at the scent of plum blossoms wafting from her skin. “Think of me as one of your clients. Be punctual!”

“This one’s fault,” Toji grunts out. His knuckles dig into the side of your head with enough force to tip you over, and your eyes snap open immediately. If you were a lesser person, you’d be on the ground. You frown, your head sore. “Found her hoverin’ over some damn stick in the park.”

It would have made an excellent walking stick. You clutch your shopping bag to your chest. “Satoru and Suguru never complain…”

That’s a lie. Satoru has resorted to either holding your hand or staying attached to you at all times to make sure you don’t wander like some bodyguard. Suguru too. You don’t know why. You’d rather just find them later to save them the trouble of finding you.

“Make your boyfriends wait, not me.”

You make a face. He should’ve just left you. Despite that, you hang your head apologetically. It is your fault. You had become distracted multiple times along the way, and a specific distraction had culminated in the shopping bag in your hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize Fushiguro-sensei made plans to be here by a certain time. It was my fault.”

“Damn right.”

He’s a sore loser, you think. You may have said it out loud because his gaze slides to you, mouth opening with what you think is a nasty reply.

Marie shoots him a sharp look. “Now, now Toji. A man like you knows better than to run his mouth like that.”

“Off the clock,” he replies before stepping forward. A throng of women gather around him, cooing and ah’ing, hands skirting over his arms and chest. A man like him has no need to pay for a woman, so you gather they’d sleep with him willingly for free. And from the looks of it, he has a plethora of choices. You hope they aren’t expecting more. Like money. You think many women have been reduced to tears by the man.

Marie clicks her tongue, and a collective sigh sounds the air before the crowd disperses to their actual clients, leaving just one lucky woman who pulls him towards the back of the room, towards the more private area.

“They pulled sticks earlier.” Marie looks amused. “It’s not often Toji comes around for anything other than drinks.”

You smile. “He likes your company. You shouldn’t discount that.”

Her eyes are fond as they look at you. Her fingers brush the hair away from your face. “What a man like that is doing around a sweet girl like you is beyond me.” She sighs, shaking her head. “He’ll corrupt you.”

It’s not that bad, you want to say. Not as long as you hold no expectations about the person he is. The only thing you’ll hold him to is being a father. But other than that you’ve found that you seem to feel a certain kinship with miserable people and your teacher is one of the more miserable people you’ve ever met.

That’s when you see them. A group of girls hovering behind Marie. They span from what looks like your age to a little older, and they seem to be waiting.

“Honestly,” Marie turns to them. “What have I said about standing around the front?”

The girl in the very front pouts, glossy bottom lip jutted out. “But Marie, you said they’d be here! Those two hot guys. I want the black haired one, he was charming!”

“Then I’ll take the one white haired one. Those sunglasses…”

“No, I want that one!”

“I’ll take them both!”

“As if they’d be interested. You’re practically made of plastic!”

“What did you say—”

“GIRLS!”

They reluctantly settle.

“Toji’s students are they?” Another girl asks, voice breathy.

“Not like that,” Marie says chidingly. “Those two respectable high school boys wouldn’t come to a place like this if they didn’t have to,” Marie glances at you. “And I never said they’d be here. You girls and your selective hearing give me a headache!”

“We’re graduating this year,” you say. You don’t think it matters. Jujutsu High is a year longer than regular civilian high schools. Nobody in your class is underage anymore. “I’ll be sure to pass them your way after. But—”

The girls squeal. Marie winces. You’re surrounded at once, the surrounding clash of perfume making you go lightheaded. Someone’s large endowed chest is pressing against your back, and both your arms. Someone is tightly clutching your hand. Everyone is speaking. Their names, their phone numbers, their availability. Not a single girl has listed her rates. You want to tell them that they should because Satoru and Suguru have money to spend. Special grades make a salary far beyond anything normal jujutsu sorcerers do, and that was coming from someone who considered their own pay more than comfortable.

You suddenly understand every single man in the host club more than you ever had before. You, too, would pay for the experience of a beautiful woman looking at you like the only person in the world.

Your face is hot. You’ve never been surrounded by so many beautiful women in your life. Satoru and Suguru and even Toji regularly experience this? You think that’s unfair.

“GIRLS!”

“Satoru and Suguru are in Fukuouka right now,” you say apologetically. Shoko too, you think. But that’s something you’d like to keep to yourself, lest you lose her to another prettier girl.

The girls sigh a collective “awwwww.”

You are reluctantly let go of, on unsteady feet. Marie looks downright annoyed. “I should put you all out for the night! Stop bothering the poor girl, and get back to work!” She barks.

The girls slink away, casting you pleading looks. You smile. Something flutters to the ground. You pick it up. It’s a business card with a number written on the back. Someone had stuffed it into the sleeve of your shirt. You discreetly slide it into your shopping bag. You’ll give it to Satoru and Suguru later. Satoru, when he inevitably complains about how you hadn’t bought him a gift.

And then you feel something more in your shirt.

“Those girls,” Marie scowls as she straightens your shirt and hair with all the vigor of a mother cat grooming her kitten. You almost close your eyes. “The new ones go crazy for a pretty face. They’ll learn soon enough.”

You follow Marie to the bar, unable to help your curiosity as you glance at all the men being entertained on love seats. You recognize some faces from the women that had surrounded Toji, but instead of the excited air that had prompted a frenzy around Toji, everything now is strictly professional.

The life of a jujutsu sorcerer is hard, but in a way you envision anything else. If you ever became a hostess or an escort, you’d fail. People like Toji and the girls can do things you could never do.

Marie pours you a drink as you take a seat. It smells sweet. “I’m sorry about that,” she sighs. “How have things been?”

“Good,” you reply truthfully. Unexpectedly so. You’re visiting Riko next month and you are carefully readying souvenirs to take to her. No deaths (as of now). Suguru and Satoru are happy. Shoko is preparing for medical school. Things are unusually good. You pause. “I was solicited by a man.”

“Oh dear,” Marie closes her eyes. “Now just where has that man been taking you?”

“Just the pachinko parlor.” And the race tracks, but that’s a story for another time.

“Not that seedy place!”

“It wasn’t that bad,” you say. For you. “But I don’t think Fushiguro-sensei has a single yen to his name right now.” In other words: you really hope the woman currently with him isn’t expecting anything other than a good time.

“Oh,” Marie groans. “Born under an unlucky star, that one. He just doesn’t learn.”

“I’ve never seen anyone so unlucky,” you reply gravely, sipping at your plum wine. “I am curious though. I wish Fushiguro-sensei hadn’t scared him off so early. I’ve been wondering about how much he would’ve paid.”

Toji slides into the seat next to you. There’s lipstick on his chin and smudges of it on his neck. “A cheapskate lookin’ guy like that? He would’ve shorted ya. Consider yourself lucky I was there.”

You frown once again. “Nothing would’ve happened.”

He eyes you dubiously. “With you? Who knows.”

You don’t have a reply for that. He’s right.

Marie hums, cleaning a cocktail glass. “That was quick,” she says to Toji. “Done already?”

He waves a blithe hand, not responding. You also look at him.

“Oh dear,” she says in mock concern. The corners of her lips are fighting not to tilt into a smile. “Old age getting to you?”

He narrows his eyes playfully. “Why don’t you find out?”

You eagerly take a long swig of your drink.

Marie straightens, not in the least ruffled, gazing down at him with the countenance of a regal queen. “Things have changed since we first met, Toji. You couldn’t afford five minutes of my time.”

You nod.

Toji grins, and it looks devastatingly charming. “No discount for little ole’ me?”

“You bastard,” a derisive snort. “I’d make you pay more. You’ve never paid for a girl in your life.”

It doesn’t dissuade him. “You know I’d make it worth your time.”

“All this with another woman’s lipstick on your face,” she leans over and lightly pats Toji’s cheek in a vaguely warm, yet condescending manner. She turns to you. “Never let a smooth talker into your bed.”

“You know I do a lot more than talk, Marie.”

Marie rolls her eyes. “Toji, dear. Shut up.” She smiles. “I want to hear about those boys of yours.”

It takes you until Toji snorts to realize she’s talking about Satoru and Suguru.

“They’re fine,” you say. Maybe she’s angling for their wallets. It’s an endeavor you wholeheartedly support.

She imperceptibly leans forward. “Is that all?”

“No girlfriends if that’s what you’re wondering,” you report. You’re sure the two of them will make her money.

Speaking of Satoru, Suguru and Shoko. You take your phone out of your pocket and stare at it. No text messages. It’s been like this for the last four days. They must be busy. You’re not upset by it.

Just…

Maybe a little lonely.

“Thank you for inviting me out today,” you tell Toji. Well. More or less he had dragged you out of your seat under the guise of a field trip. But you’re still glad nonetheless. You enjoyed it. The school is too big without your best friends, and Nanami and Haibara were out on a joint assignment this morning. You don’t know what you would’ve done by yourself. You don’t like to be alone with your thoughts. “It was very educational.”

An eyebrow quirks upwards. “Was it now.”

You look at him. “Yes. I’m never betting on pachinko.”

He clicks his tongue sullenly. Marie exhales a wheeze of laughter.

Then he reaches over to pluck your phone out of your hand. After a second, he tosses it back at you.

Your phone is alight as text messages fill your entire screen. You stare at it, wide eyed as texts start piling in, the latest from Satoru, Shoko, Suguru, or all three.

satoru

[13:04] respond

[13:06] what r u doing

[13:06] answer

[13:07] answer

[13:07] IT’S BEEN 4 DAYS

[13:09] are you mad at me

[13:10] fine

[13:10] don’t reply.

[13:15] hello

[13:20] hello

[14:05] WHAT FIELD TRIP ANSWER ME RIGHT NOW

shoko

[8:43] your phone is on silent isn’t it

[8:45] see u soon

[30 picture attachments]

suguru

[12:04] yaga said you were on a field trip with fushiguro-sensei

[12:04] can you tell me where you are?

[12:05] nowhere dangerous right?

[12:06] are you still with him? what kind of field trip are you on?

[12:06] this is inexcusable. you shouldn’t be on an unsanctioned field trip just the two of you.

[12:07] are you back at the school?

[12:07] you don’t need to be there. just leave him.

[12:07] please don’t do anything you would normally do

“Your phone was on silent,” Toji says flatly, if not a bit amused. “How old are you again?”

You’re too eagerly engrossed in reading your text messages that you don’t respond. Marie and Toji share a look.

“I don’t know…” you trail off, ungluing your eyes from your screen. Too many texts. You don’t even know how to begin to respond. So you don’t.

A memory suddenly hits you. Before the three of them left you had been at a cafe with Satoru. While you had been in the midst of typing out Shoko a heartfelt response Satoru had snatched your phone out of your hands, clicked around with it, and slipped it into his pocket.

After then you had subsequently received no text messages. So he had put your phone on silent. You resolve to learn that setting as soon as you go home.

suguru

[17:54] we’re coming back. i’ll see you at the school.

You excitedly stand, waving the text in Toji’s face. “They’re coming back!” You exclaim. “I’m going to meet them.” You quickly bow to them. “Don’t bother coming back early,” you tell Toji. Then you rush out.

—

You nearly run into Shoko’s open arms, burying your face into her shoulder. She smells like dewy grass. Back inside Satoru’s room in jujustu tech, the four of you are together. It feels as if they never left.

“Welcome back,” you say breathlessly. “How was Fukuouka?”

“Wet,” she says, making a face. “How was your field trip?”

“Interesting. I think Fushiguro-sensei is the unluckiest man in the world.”

“Well, I don’t doubt that,” she replies. “I bought you souvenirs.”

“Me too,” you blurt out. Your face warms. “Well not a souvenir, really.” You give her the shopping bag in your hand. “I saw it and thought that…” that it’d look perfect on her, “that maybe you could wear it to the next festival…?”

Before she can unravel your impromptu gift, an airy voice cuts through.

“So the two of us are chopped liver now, are we Suguru?”

“It seems that way, Satoru.”

“How awful,” Satoru sniffs. “After all the trouble we went through to get here early.”

“It was an ordeal, wasn’t it?” Suguru’s smile turns a hint menacing. Your fingers go sweaty. “I’m more interested in this ‘educational field trip. ’”

“It was educational,” your rebuttal is weak.

“Is that right,” Suguru hums. “I’m looking forward to hearing all about it.”

You look at Shoko helplessly. She shrugs.

Satoru frowns, rounding on you. “I can’t believe you! Not a single text the entire time we were gone! Just what were you two doing anyway? Confess!”

“You’re the one that put my phone on silent,” you reply. “I didn’t even know. I thought the three of you were too busy to update me.”

Satoru opens his mouth. You can see the moment he realizes you’re right. His mouth closes.

Suguru rolls his eyes. Shoko shakes her head. The two of them promptly slap the back of his head, earning a yelp from the white-haired boy.

“Besides, I haven’t forgotten about you two,” you say, thinking about the cards. Satoru perks up at the prospect of a gift. He’s surprisingly easy to handle at times. Like a child. It’s not bad, you think. Not at all. You smile, reaching into your pocket and pulling out a stack of cards.

“For you two.”

They momentarily glance at each other before taking the cards.

“Wait,” you pat down the sides of your body. “Ah—” three cards tucked into the waistband of your skirt that you hadn’t noticed before “—here you go.”

They stare down at the cards in their hands in silence.

"...Thank you," Suguru says, ever polite, voice strained.

You beam. “Your welcome. The two of you should go with Fushiguro-sensei next week." The two of them wear matching grimaces. "The girls really want to see you again." You look at Satoru. "Even you Satoru!"

"Hah!? What is that supposed to mean!?"

You're sure the prospect of being surrounded by beautiful women will make them more amenable to the idea. Shoko is laughing.

“Wait right here,” Shoko says quickly, getting up from the floor. A quick squeeze of your arm. “I’m getting your souvenirs.”

You turn back to them. “Was Fukouka fun?”

“...The same as always,” is Satoru’s somewhat peeved response as he throws you a box of mentaiko flavored chips. “Annoying old geezers nearing the grave. We skipped the onsen.”

The fact that Suguru doesn’t even correct Satoru on his words says enough.

“Oh. You shouldn’t have.” It would’ve been a nice way to end their trip. You plop a chip into your mouth. It’s too salty for Satoru’s tastes, but you enjoy it just fine.

Suguru smiles. His fingers are playing with the edges of your hair, lightly tugging. “Next time, we’ll all go together.”

“That would be fun. I’d like that.” You go quiet for a few seconds. “I missed you two.”

Satoru puffs up. “Tell me more.”

“I was a little lonely without everyone. I think that’s why Fushiguro-sensei took me out on a fieldtrip today.”

In other words: he was being oddly considerate. In his own way.

Satoru deflates, pouting. You don’t notice, lost in your thoughts.

“Satoru, Suguru.” The two of them look at you. “If I were an escort, how much would you pay for a night with me?”

The two of them go silent.

#toji n ripmc are petty4petty badchildhood4badchildhood solidarity fr #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #m.jjk #et au

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nerd4music · 1 year ago

Note

I think overall there’s one of two „big“ problems happening for people who have a problem with TOWL (racists and the likes aside… 🙄).

1- The misunderstanding that this was truly much more a Rick and Michonne story than a TWD one. This was not TWD S12. It was about telling the story of these 2 characters and being able to put a dot at the end (or a dot dot dot). And you’ve laid all of that out perfectly. Like yes, in TWD, Beale (& the CRM) would have been draaaaagged out. But this was much more of a Terminus approach than a Saviors one if we will…

2- TWD was never the most ..subtle show. They tended to hit the audience over the head with stuff. And I’m not sure I would go as far as calling TOWL subtle outright either (idk, didn’t think about this until right this moment lol -obviously elements of it are, sure -just as elements on TWD could be on the subtler side) but compared to TWD, it certainly is lol. And there has been a very big „media literacy“ and „basic comprehension skills“ problem happening for a minute now. And I really don’t say this to be mean or make fun of people or anything but these are just facts. Some people really struggle with getting the information when they are not being hit over the head with it, over and over and over again. After the finale I saw several posts on my tl of people wondering why this, that or the other was not addressed or how/why this, that or the other did happen… and I was utterly confused because those things they claimed were missing were very much shown? I was like, there was literally a scene dealing with all of this? And it didn’t require any reading between the lines to be honest, no subtext, it was very much the text of the scene?! So it seems like some people just didn’t get a lot of things that were happening 🫤

(BTW I don’t mean that even if someone didn’t have these specific problems with the show, they MUST love it then. Likes and dislikes etc etc. As much as I really loved the show as a whole, if I decided to put down the Richonne-colored glasses I wanted to and did watch to the show with.. I’d definitely have a few complaints lol, though still very much enjoyed the show even then)

That's definitely what happened. And to some extent, I get why, considering Rick and Michonne are 2/3 of the main show's Big Three. But when the press and promos started, and people were still talking about some Marvel-style meet-up, I was like...oh they're definitely not listening to what's being said, because it's six damn episodes, and also The Richonne story, not the Team Family jamboree. And then acting as if it's somehow 'insulting' to the rest of the characters if Rick and Michonne didn't talk about them. The man had PTSD so bad, he couldn't remember his own son's face. Why would you think it would be good time for him to pause in the middle of his wife telling him about a traumatic moment during her pregnancy to ask about anyone else? Please be fr.

I feel you on the comprehension thing, which is nothing new for this fandom. The fact that so many people legit thought Rick didn't know how to drive stick and questioned the 'realism' of it but never stopped to think that it was because he only has one damn hand. Y'all were fine with every silly ass moment that happened in the main show, that was either sheer dumb luck or handwaved away, but now we need a complete breakdown from experts on how Rick managed to fight off walkers one-handed. Now y'all want the realism, when you've been so giddy for weeks because you need one of them to die for the show to be 'interesting'.

I'm really not listening to people who need the narrative to hold their hand through everything, or need to see every piece of the plot onscreen for it to be considered 'legitimate'. (I'm officially banning the phrase 'plot armor' for the foreseeable future).

People didn't get things, because they don't take a minute to sit with the damn material anymore. From live reactions videos to live tweeting/blogging, people are just watching TV to make content and have an online moment, not for what's actually being shown. And yeah, TOWL isn't perfect, but the minor criticisms I have for it doesn't take away from the fact that it is very enjoyable and easily the best material from the TWD landscape in a long time.

(sidenote: I will say one of my favorite things from these past six weeks is everyone struggling to figure out the overall TWD timeline, lmao.)

#.answered #towl spoilers #twd: the ones who live #richonne #I am once again rambling #but I appreciate the message!

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moonlight-coffeebean-147 · 8 months ago

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Doodles featuring @twistedtummies2 ft. Usagi. Or as I like to call it… late night doodles to distract myself from how I’m being boiled alive in my apartment/hj (The boiler’s being garbage)

1. Not much to say other than it’s just based on a meme �� And I love Smitty’s confused face here

2 & 3

It’s super funny drawing Elias as dog images 😂 Especially with the second which I felt goes perfectly with that part in Chapter two of his introduction story. There is a third one that is still a w.i.p. But I might finish it. Btw…. At this point I’m basically gonna be known as the “Elias artist” aren’t I? 😂/lh

4. I was originally gonna do all of your Twisted ocs… but I need to at least try to sleep it’s like 3 AM 😭. Plus to me it’d be poetic for me since these four were the characters that were the most developed and I grew the most familiar with when I first discovered your page. With this I added how I drew their eyes… since I’m trying to practice with eye style variety. Technical details:

Nakoda: I’ve actually doodled him once in one of my sketchbooks before. And he was actually fairly easy to draw, I’ve had ocs that had similar hair to him before. And… I have plenty of ocs who are just as flirtatious as he is and have made the exact look I drew him with 😂

Billy: Other than Elias… he was the easiest to draw and figure out how he’d work in my style. I was at first worried about his hair since it was my first time drawing his kind of hairstyle and I’m not that used to drawing short hair. But it actually worked out. It also helped that he’s similar to one of my own giant ocs in terms of personality. Fun fact, to the point where I almost thought he had freckles… which is a trait on my oc… but he doesn’t so… 👌

Elias: Is it obvious who my favorite is 😭

Reno: ……I’m just gonna say it. His hair SUCKED to draw 😭😂 I don’t know if it’s because I’m tired… the heat was getting to me.. or what… but his hair was not working out. Like with Billy I’ve at least drawn hair similar to his in the past… with Reno it was like the first time I’ve ever drawn that hairstyle in general. Even now I’m still not that happy with it… even in the first doodle. Like bruh I just 🥲I know that’s probably just me being over critical of myself since this does count as fanart of someone’s ocs, not just that, but someone who I admire the work of, believe me my years of participating in Art Fight has familiarized me with that feeling but just….. don’t be an artist guys 😭/j. Maybe when I do the others I’ll redo him.

5. ….Usagi going through how I feel right now

Don’t know who’s next to her… could be any of the pred lads… Insert “Twisted Wonderland isn’t an Otome Game” joke here. Though I do think this could be an interesting Vore concept… being so hot and just done that even the idea of being in a warm stomach is just… “bruh can you not?” 😂. Btw… this is how Usagi acts when their in one of her moods… a lot more snappy, sarcastic, and blunt with their wording…. I wish your bois good luck with that. Also fact about Usagi is that they literally have trouble finding pjs their size since she’s a frail little thing.

Also fair warning to all the Vore enthusiasts.. it’s not necessarily a big kink for me, hell it’s why safe Vore is in the neutral section of my pinned post so in turn….. I don’t take it seriously. I very much make a lot more jokes and memes involving it.

6. To end things off… this

Death stare Usagi. Is not something to be messed with. They may be small… but they will bite and is legitimately terrifying sometimes.

Would like to know reactions to not even just Usagi, the Prefect in general making this face 😂

Anyways that’s all from me for tonight…. Or morning technically lol

Moon signing off… wish me luck in this heat. Art is hard

#not moon’s ocs #moon’s stuff for other people #moon’s ocs #moon’s shitty art #idk what else to put for tags I’m fairly new to this #Usagi.oc🐰🦐#update: to all reading this sorry if I come off as more passive aggressive than usual #I was going through it last night 😭#twistedtummies2 #twisted wonderland

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gothmiqote · 10 months ago

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dt spoilers kinda, varha/estinien stuff ofc ofc but it's msq plot related naturally :p

estinien being only Sort Of around for this expansion kills me lmao like he on the periphery and whatever it is he’s doing intersects with varha when it counts (fighting the cyberpunk army in the desert etc etc) he’s also just like. ostensibly doing who knows what the fuck between appearances?

after the events of ew those two were definitely around each other a Lot (seeing her friends disappear one by one like that will apparently lead to some nasty separation anxiety, who would have guessed) & getting on the separate boats to go west is probably the first meaningful amount of time they’ve been apart since. to a degree she’s like it’s fine I’ve got this handled, although I don’t uh. Think he told anyone Where he was going? so she probably knew he was going to be away for a bit but not how long exactly or even really where (which she actually is cool with for real, they’re both kinda Like That TM so it’s normal). So yes, she’s very much starting to feel the yearning & the pining & what have you by the time they randomly cross paths in the throne room again.

But thEN he just. Walks out? Just says some complimentary words and fucking Leaves? I like to think he’d end up stopping by her inn room or whatever later on but based on how he was for the entire expansion I don’t even know if he would actually stay the whole night 💀 which is frustrating for her but at this point nothing super weird. Or so she thinks anyway because some point after Krile pulls her aside and is like Hey is everyone cool? Like are you good? Because Varha considers her one of her closest friends & she likes to torment Estinien psychologically for sport she knows them pretty well. To which Varha is just ?? Of course we’re good why wouldn’t we be good? But it makes her think anyway. It does Not help that Wuk Lamat flat out asks if she knows who he is personally, because the greeting she got was apparently the kind you’d reserve for acquaintances.

By the time she’s on the mini road trip with Erenville she’s trying Very hard to not think about her relationship because she’s keenly aware of how good she is at making herself quietly spiral & twelve help her, they see him and he does it again. Says some weird shit to her and fucks off into the sunset. Shout out to Erenville for not commenting on the weird vibes that were absolutely happening here. & it’s at this point she’s also starting to get kind of upset for real? Tries to back track mentally between the moments of dealing with an active crisis and no, she doesn’t think she’s done anything wrong, he didn’t seem to like her any less when he left—but that doesn’t mean things don’t change, & for all she knows maybe he’s just decided that she’s become more trouble than it’s worth to know her intimately like that (she wouldn’t blame him, she’s aware of her baggage). What kind of send off is ‘go do what it is you do’? No ‘good luck, stay safe’ or anything even remotely close? She needs to be focused on current events so she makes herself tunnel visioned but it’s still on her mind.

Meanwhile this man decided after getting paid for keeping Wuk Lamat’s dad entertained he wanted to plan a little romantic wilderness excursion in Tural. It’s literally the exact opposite scenario she’s been dreading and picking up on, they both like ‘camping’ (for lack of a better term) & this is a new area to explore, he thinks it’s a great idea. And it is! A similar trip was the catalyst for the getting together in the Steppe, albeit that one was unplanned & nothing was official until after she got back from the first, but still. Unfortunately he’s just so singularly focused on this plan (he’s looking for some decent locations when they run into each other outside of the city) he’s legitimately unaware of how he’s coming off in the present. In his mind he’s just in a good mood, & will at some point let her know what he’s been quietly putting together for them. He just wants some sort of concrete plan in place before he stops being cagey. Like he’s just in a good headspace in a relationship he’s actually very happy in & that’s manifesting in ways that make sense for Him once you know what to look for. It’s like being around your crush, except you’ve been serious about each other for the better part of the last few years now & also you never really learned how to flirt ‘normally’ (I feel like Aymeric probably tried to help with this at some point in the distant past & eventually just gave up to let his weird friend be weird. Sometimes that’s as good as it gets) because you’ve never been much of an extrovert or particularly socially gifted, so it usually comes across either insanely awkward and/or painfully earnest when you do give it a shot. All that to say, he’s doing his best, it’s just filtered through his methods every single time.

And to be fair to him also, she’s competent as hell. He had zero reasons to think she’d need any more help with the contest stuff, his presence would 100% just be overkill. He’s not saying this because he feels like it’s objectively obvious. Unfortunately it is Not, she is fully not getting this impression from any of his actions & ultimately just ends up stewing quietly over it. Initially she’s annoyed but over time gets progressively more sad lmao. If you click on him before one of the few trials you can run with npcs he’s like “I saw a big lizard, I’m going to hunt it later” which is so very baffling to her. AGAIN no real commentary on her actual situation or that she might not come back through that portal. Run the lizard through a translator and he actually meant something to the effect of I know you’ll take care of this, so I’m not worried, & as soon as you do come back we’re going to grill that lizard meat for dinner. In HIS mind this is what’s coming out of his mouth in fewer words. She’s just tired lmfao.

Once everything is taken care of & there’s some downtime she’s finally able to pull him to the side and ask what his deal has been lately, has she done something without knowing, has she been pulling away unconsciously etc etc etc. His turn to be confused now. This legitimately only becomes a miscommunication issue because every single conversation got cut short until this one, which of course gives him ample time to explain what’s actually been happening & also no, he’s definitely not bored or unhappy or anything like that, he’s been enjoying the opportunity to try and orchestrate something nice for her (even if the execution wasn’t. The greatest) and honestly didn’t realize how it looked from the outside. He was very much talking her up at any given opportunity each time someone asked about her, to the point where it was inevitably deduced that his descriptions of the Warrior of Light were apparently a good deal more personal than other accounts. She’s effectively been on his mind in some capacity since he got here.

& She feels extra dumb for getting upset at all, because that’s actually incredibly sweet and it makes perfect sense when you lay it all out that way, in hindsight she didn’t need to get worked up and just feels weirdly guilty now. Varha has been in a small handful of situationships, she’s never actually been important enough to anyone for them to go out of their way for her like that (she’s never even really had friends up until recently, it’s all uncharted territory), she does not know how to properly interpret it when people just decide to do things for her because they like her. She reacts like an asshole (in her own opinion, literally no one else thought that she was anything aside from maybe a bit Off since she internalized everything so much). This does not make her feel particularly good either, she has unfortunately looped back around to kicking herself for missing the obvious.

& Estinien, being himself, is still not the best with words when it comes to this sort of thing. Because he knows he didn’t actually do anything wrong here, so he’s not experiencing misplaced guilt, but she’s clearly still upset on some level for misreading things and he doesn’t like that for her, especially when this conversation is almost definitely taking place on the sidelines of a post-battle celebration back in the city. He’s not coming up with anything directly helpful to the situation. He’s task-oriented, hardwired to look for solutions. The one he comes up with on the spot here is:

“Do you want to hunt the lizard together?”

Long pause. Yes, she does. She wants to hunt the big lizard together very much. It sounds like a good way to kick off a small wilderness excursion together. The big lizard does not fix her pre-existing self worth problems, but it’s definitely effective for the immediate situation (which is about the best he can hope for right now). Problem solved-ish, she seems happier & now they can bond over the big lizard hunt together. He’d honestly just be pleased to spend time together doing whatever but this is probably the best outcome of that whole situation. (Also he Does end up kissing her right there, partly to get people to stop pestering her with questions but mostly because he wants to.)

#varha naiarro #wolstinien #estinien x wol #estinien varlineau #oc tag #my writing #kinda dhjfkf it’s more like a long summary than actual fic #he was funny as hell for no fucking reason the entire time #what an absolute specimen of a man. why is he like that.#anyway once again they’re both weird and it ends up being a complimentary sort of weird.#she straight up could not date someone more normal lmao #oh right #dawntrail spoilers #kind of like I said dhdjjf

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cowboyemeritus · 9 months ago

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Il Suo Campione (Copia/Reader)

Chapter Seven

Series Masterlist

Summary: An exhibition match.

Warnings: violence, blood, descriptions of injury, gang violence, death

Read on AO3

Notes: i was originally going to have this chapter end somewhat differently but for the purposes of Plot changed my mind, so if parts are clunky... whoops. not sure how i feel about this one.

thanks again everyone! i'm glad y'all are enjoying the story so far. y'all are so sweet :)

feedback is always welcome!

Copia has the uncanny ability to get people to do what he wants. You probably wouldn’t be in this position if not. Maybe that white eye is magic, imbued with the power to bend others to his will. If that’s the case, then it’s no wonder the Emeritus Family has been able to carve out such a large slice of the city for themselves in only a few decades.

Whatever… gift Copia has, whether it be luck, natural charm, or some sort of animal magnetism, it’s at work tonight. The noise from the crowd is thunderous, bouncing off the walls of the old gym and magnifying to an almost intolerable degree. Based on the sound alone, this is for sure a new attendance record. Under normal circumstances, that would be enough to satisfy him for the night, regardless of the outcome of the fight.

He’s trying not to look nervous, leg bouncing as he sits on a folding chair nestled between his two brothers. You’re not the only one who notices. Secondo nudges Copia in the side, uttering something to him. One of the bookies passes by, obscuring your view so that you can’t read his lips. When Secondo looks back up, your eyes accidentally meet. A chill runs down your spine.

“He can be rather aggressive when he is upset about something,” Copia explained over breakfast after your trip to The Pinnacle. “I don’t know what set him off.”

You have to tear your gaze away from the second Emeritus brother, your skin crawling. Instead, you look to Copia. There’s still nervous tension on his face, but when he sees you he forces a smile, throwing you a little wave before sitting back in the chair and doing his best to look nonchalant.

“I promise you did nothing wrong, cara. You were perfect. Me?” He sighed, poking at a piece of pancake. “Do you think I sold them on it?”

The pressure is on, just as much for him as is it for you. Awkwardly, you wave back.

Terzo has been chatting with his guests, Cumulus and the silver-haired woman you saw dancing. Why either of them would want to be here is beyond you. His younger brother’s restlessness catches his attention. Seeing that Copia’s eyes are still on you, he turns and shoots you a wink. You cringe, the taste of licorice and bile burnt into your memory. Now, with three pairs of green and white eyes trained on you, you’re starting to feel a little uneasy.

The bell rings.

You’re half-listening to the announcer prattle on about this evening’s show, checking and double-checking your wraps to make sure they’re secured. When he steps back you know it’s time to go, rising from your seat in one of the corners, your opponent mirroring you. Through the building rush of adrenaline, you feel anxiety, like pins and needles, in your stomach. This woman is at least a head taller than you. Unlike legitimate boxing, there are no weight classes here. Although, as Copia says, it makes for a better show when the fighters are evenly matched, that isn’t always feasible. Sometimes, you just have to put your head down and fight whoever’s in front of you, even if it means getting your shit rocked.

This isn’t one of those times, though. Copia is counting on you tonight.

Your opponent is bouncing on the balls of her feet as you approach, the two of you sizing each other up. From between her raised fists you can sort of get a look at her, something you neglected to do before. She’s pretty in a rugged sort of way, with well-sculpted muscle and bronze skin like an well-polished statue. A valkyrie, versus the feral animal thing you’ve got going on. She looks down at you with sympathy, maybe even a little pity, in her eyes. Both of you know this match-up isn’t fair.

“No hard feelings, yeah?” You respond by throwing the first punch. She’s able to tilt her head to the side in time, the blow glancing off her cheek. Again you swipe at her, and this time she blocks you with a raised arm. When your fist connects, she doesn’t budge at all. She’s rock solid.

You dance around each other for the rest of the first round. Your opponent takes a few swings at you, but you’re able to dodge them. Still, her speed is worrisome. At the beginning of the second round you go to block a punch and her fist connects with your left wrist. Something pops. If it’s supposed to hurt, the pain is drowned out by the blood racing through your veins.

You certainly feel it the next time she gets you, socking you right in the eye with fifteen seconds left in the round. The full force of the impact is brutal, momentarily throwing you off balance. As you stumble she’s able to hit you twice more, each blow harder than the last. With the first punch you feel your teeth cut the inside of your cheek. When she hits you again you’re able to turn your head to the side, your brow ridge taking the brunt of it. The skin splits, and blood begins to pour down your face, hot and sticky. It gathers in the grooves around your already swelling eye, making it nearly impossible to see.

The round ends with a heavy, uneasy feeling settling into your gut. Even considering the size difference, you’re performing poorly. It’s not like you to be this jittery. Taking a short, life-giving sip of water, it does little to wash away the coppery taste in your mouth. As you’re catching your breath and trying to steel yourself, Copia ducks under the ropes, a washcloth in hand. You simultaneously wish he’d go away and wrap you his arms. You’re angry at him for putting you in this position, and yet you can’t help but want to please him. He needs you. It’s hard to look at him as he wipes away the blood gumming up your eye; he’s trying to play it off but you can tell by the slight scrunch of his eyebrows that he’s nervous. Neither of you say anything, and the break ends dreadfully soon.

You go into round three with a plan: evasion. Move around as much as possible and tire her out. Not a strategy you’d normally opt for, but these are desperate times. The bell chimes and she comes at you fast, leaving you scrambling to avoid her. When the opportunity presents itself you take it, ducking under her arm to hit her in the torso. Your wrist complains with each blow that lands but you ignore it, the rush starting to take over. Miraculously, you go to fake her out and she falls for it, giving you a clear shot. You deliver a vicious right hook to her face and her nose immediately begins gushing blood. She pays you back in kind almost instantly but you’re so caught up in a sense of smug satisfaction that it hardly fazes you.

All you needed to do was turn the gas on. This is fine, actually. You can do this.

You go blow-for-blow until the last thirty seconds of round four. The laceration on your eyebrow is still bleeding and no matter how many times you wipe the blood away, you end up blind in that eye. Both of you are sweaty and breathing hard, keen to make the other drop as soon as possible and finish this. You’re trying to focus on making that happen, planning your next strike, but it’s hard now that your vision has started to go double. The sense of urgency builds inside you, your heart hammering as you fight to control your breathing.

The mat beneath you is soaked with blood and sweat. Trying to evade one of your opponent’s blows, you step in one of the small puddles, your foot nearly sliding out from beneath you. It’s all the opportunity she needs. Before you can even raise a fist in defense she swings, catching you in the jaw. The roar of the crowd is only surpassed by the thump of your pulse. Like carrion birds, they can sense the end drawing near. Your vision narrows as you stumble, black spots dancing around the room.

The round is almost over. You can make it through this. You have to make it through this.

You’re off balance, swaying as you try and plant your feet again. The gym is spinning. If you could just lay down, even for a second, you’re certain you could make it stop. You don’t dare look at the time, not when your opponent is so close. Why won’t the round end already?

She steps towards you. You can see her clear as day, but your brain, fogged up, is light-years behind. By the time you register what’s going on, her fist is already coming at you. The best you can do is turn your head to the side. You can feel the nerves light up as she makes contact by your ear, but you’re already unconscious before the real pain sets in.

I am a fool. A miserable, pathetic fool.

The crowd goes wild as you crumple to the ground. Those who bet right scream with excitement, while others groan and hang their heads.

How could I do this?

When presented with the size difference between you and your opponent, Copia had turned his head. It didn’t matter. He thought — he knew — you would be victorious. You always are. And what a better way to win over his brothers than by taking down someone twice your size? Everyone loves an underdog.

Things had gotten off to a rocky start, but you were turning it around. What happened?

The count begins. Perhaps you’ll get up. It’s happened before, you rising like the dead to claim your rightful victory. It’s unlikely, given the way your body fell limp, like a rag-doll, but Copia clings to that hope nonetheless, riding the edge of his seat. If anyone can pull it off, it’s you. It’s his campionessa.

One, two, three-

“Come on, girl,” he hears Cumulus murmur. “Get up.”

Four, five, six-

“Get up!” From the seat next to him, Secondo scoffs.

Seven, eight, nine-

Terzo places a gentle hand on Copia’s shoulder.

Ten.

He sighs. “That is really too bad, fratellino.”

There’s a sinking feeling in Copia’s stomach, like he’s falling over the edge of some vast, inescapable chasm. Disappointed and more than a little regretful, he sits, overthinking, as the crowd begins to disperse. He can still salvage this, he just needs to-

“She’s still not moving,” Mist observes. Copia is torn away from his train of thought. In the ring, a small crowd is gathering around your prone form, more than a few people looking expectantly in his direction.

“Shit,” he mutters, immediately rising from his seat. “Shit.” Every atom of his being screams at him to run to you, but he knows he can’t. He has to maintain the usual illusion of calm and detachment. It’s a performance he puts on not only for his clients, but for himself. He settles for a hurried jog. His heart pounds, not from the exertion, but with fear at what he might find beyond the ropes.

What have I done?

You’re lying flat on your back. If not for the blood on your face, still gushing from your eyebrow, you could be asleep. The referee is trying, with no success, to rouse you, lightly tapping your cheek with a flattened hand. Your victorious opponent is surrounded by a gaggle of admirers, but observes out of the corner of her eye with clear concern. She’s more sportsmanlike than you, that’s for certain.

Copia comes to kneel by your side. He jostles you with a hand on your shoulder but still you remain unconscious. Anxiety, like a hot iron, pokes and prods the inside of his stomach.

“Dolcezza.” He shakes you again. “You have to get up.” For a moment he’s considering blowing the lid off this whole operation and calling for an ambulance but you groan, eyes cracking open. You squint hard under the old fluorescent lights, like you’re looking directly into the sun. “Oh, meno male.”

You perk up a little more at the sound of his voice. “Papa..?” The ref gives him a suspicious look but says nothing. Copia laughs, suddenly uncomfortable, pulling the washcloth out of his jacket pocket and dabbing at your bloodied face.

“I’m here,” he says, fighting the urge to go full mother hen. “You scared me, cara.” Your eyebrows scrunch together.

“Have to go to work,” you mutter weakly. “Where’s Mary?” There’s a pinprick of something in his chest — he doesn’t dare call it jealousy — at the mention of your brother, but it’s quickly drowned out by worry, bordering on panic. Not good. Not good at all. He scans the crowd of remaining spectators, knowing at least a few of his regulars are doctors. There are none that he recognizes, but he notices Aether placed tactically among the swarm, monitoring the flow of people. A paramedic in his past life, surely there must be something he can do for you. Copia is about to call for him when your opponent approaches. She’s got some welts on her face and twisted cotton balls stuffed in both nostrils, but otherwise looks to be in decent shape. She’s gotten off miraculously easy. He still thinks you could have beaten her.

“Is she okay?” The woman asks, a fearful edge to her voice. You jolt, grimacing as you try to get up. There’s a wild look in your eyes. Copia has to coax you to lay back down, one hand supporting your head, the other pushing down on your shoulder.

“Easy,” he warns. “The fight is over.” The look of confusion on your face transforms into something else. It’s a myriad of emotions: pain, anger, sadness, shame.

“I lost…” Copia nods. Your eyebrows knit even further together as you stare at the ceiling, unable to meet his gaze. “‘M sorry.”

It’s like his heart is being torn from his chest.

“I- No, dolcezza.” This is my fault. I made her do this. I put this pressure on her. “It’s okay.” It’s not entirely a lie. Not knowing what else to say and not having the bandwidth for it, he calls for Aether, shooing everyone else away. This has been enough of a spectacle already.

“Boss.” The large man gives Copia a nod as he ducks under the ropes. He kneels on your other side. “Hey, love.” Copia wants to reprimand him for calling you that, but lets it slide for now. “You got knocked about pretty hard. I’m just gonna check a few things, okay?” Using his thumb and forefinger, he pries one of your eyelids open. Your pupils are blown out, hardly dilating under the harsh light. You grunt, grabbing Aether’s wrist. He easily pries your fingers off, repeating the process with the other eye. It has the same reaction. “You know what day it is?”

“Thursday,” you mumble, sounding more with it and clearly irritated by Aether’s pestering. He nods in approval. Copia has never felt more useless in his life.

“Yeah, that’s it. Very good. Think you can sit up?” You nod, starting to rise from the filthy old mat. Before Aether can try, Copia places a hand on your back to support you the rest of the way up. Your right hand goes to your hairline, fingers massaging the area around your tight braids. The other arm hangs limp by your side. Aether gently picks it up, inspecting your wrist. It’s already deep purple and the shape of it is… wrong. He pokes at where a bone protrudes awkwardly under the skin and you frown at it. “I can pop it back in. ’S gonna hurt, though.”

You give him a skeptical look. “Do it.”

Terzo picks the perfect time to butt in. “Well, fratellino- Ahia!” He recoils as Aether manipulates the joint just right, the bone slipping back into its normal position with an audible crack. You remain unfazed other than a wince. Terzo blinks once, twice, before motioning Copia over. Hesitantly, he obeys, glancing worriedly over his shoulder at you as he heeds his brother’s call. Terzo leans against the ropes, looking up at him with a smug smile. Dread burrows into Copia’s stomach, clawing at his insides like a horde of starving rats.

“Let me guess: just a fluke?” Copia scowls down at his brother.

“As a matter of fact, it was.” He chooses not to mention his part in it. Terzo laughs.

“Always so serious. All of you.” At least he seems sober tonight. There’s a pause, Terzo glancing over to where Aether is triaging you. “I do not know what you see in the girl. No offense — we all have different tastes.” Copia scowls at him harder. Terzo makes a sweeping gesture around the room. “But, I can see the potential in all this.” Relief, like a tidal wave, crashes over him. He bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself from breaking out into an idiotic grin.

“Well, good,” is all he says.

“Secondo left already. He may need more convincing,” Terzo notes. “But I will work on him. Call it a favor, from me to you.”

“That’s fine.” Copia doesn’t like the idea of being indebted to his brother, but he can survive it if this works out.

Terzo claps Copia on the back. “We will be in touch. Go take care of your lady friend.” He’s going to protest the use of that vocabulary but before he can blink he’s gone, collecting his girls. He exchanges a few words with them, at which point Cumulus jogs over.

“We brought this,” she reaches into her purse and pulls out a bright orange sports drink, “for her.” Copia smiles. He goes to take it, grabbing one end, but she holds on tight to the other. Her eyes narrow. “You’re gonna take care of her, right, C?” It’s both a command and a threat. Gulping, he nods.

“Yes, ma’am.” Cumulus lets go of the bottle, smiling sweetly.

“Great! Thanks for having us!” She gives him a quick peck on the cheek before skipping away, turning and waving as she follows Terzo and Mist out the door.

Copia scratches the back of his head. “Yeesh…”

He’s in a much better mood as he returns to you, even when Aether tells him you’re concussed. You’re no longer confused and the cut on your eyebrow has stopped bleeding, but that frustrated, ashamed look in your eyes remains. He tells you the good news as he cleans the blood and sweat from your swollen face, and it seems to elevate your mood the slightest bit. Still dizzy, you lean against Copia for support as you file out of the old gym with the rest of the stragglers. Aether had offered to carry you, but you had politely refused, cheeks pink. Copia is relieved; he likes the weight of you on his arm — substantial, but not overly burdensome. It’s like you were made to be there. He’d be loathe to have anyone else squander that, even someone he trusts as deeply as Aether.

The street is dark and quiet, most of the buildings on it also abandoned. These are the times we live in, Copia thinks, eyes darting from one run-down storefront to the other. We all must steal to survive. That’s not important right now, though. Not when he’s one step closer to realizing his goal, to making the old man acknowledge what he’s done.

Tonight didn’t turn out exactly how he wanted, but this is still a victory. Copia decides he’s in a celebratory mood.

“Do you think you will be able to eat, cara? I was thinking about making-“

About ten yards down the street, a car explodes. The shockwave sends you both tumbling to the ground. Tiny pieces of debris pelt Copia’s back, and it’s only then that he realizes he’s thrown himself on top of you. His ears are ringing. Around you the scene descends into chaos, tires screeching as people begin to flee. The cops will undoubtedly be here soon. He looks down at you, knowing the fall couldn’t have been good for your head. You appear unharmed but are staring, wide-eyed, at a point behind him.

“Are you alright?” You don’t answer. Copia gets up and off of you, turning to see what it is you’re looking at. A man is lying on the scorched pavement, convulsing weakly. Based on the remaining scraps of clothes it’s Diego, one of the bookies longest in his employ. His body is covered in burns and he clutches at his throat, a large shard of glass jutting out between his fingers. Copia turns back to find you fixated on the dying man, eyes glazed over as you watch the lifeblood pour out of his neck. He goes to shake you, but thinks better of it. “Dolce-“

“We need to go,” Aether yells, running over to help you both up. You’re unable to rise to your feet until both men grab your arms and pull. The whole time you remain staring at Diego, who has now stopped moving, tripping over your feet as they drag you across the street to the vehicle you’d arrived in. Copia dives into the back seat with you, scrambling to buckle your seatbelt as Aether throws the already started car into drive. The wreck is in flames as he peels away. That thing had been Diego’s pride and joy. He was a good guy. A wife, a few kids; he was just another person trying to make ends meet.

Copia tries not to think about that, or about how his car was nearly identical to the vehicle you’re riding in right now.

#my writing #the band ghost x reader #the band ghost fanfiction #papa emeritus iv x reader #frater imperator x reader #copia x reader #i'm also going to make a series masterlist soon so bear with me

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quinloki · 2 years ago

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𝐵𝓊𝑔𝑔𝓎'𝓈 𝒮𝓅𝑜𝑜𝓀𝓉𝒶𝒸𝓊𝓁𝒶𝓇 𝒮𝓅𝑒𝒸𝒾𝒶𝓁!

This is my second costume contest entry for @swampstew's costume contest event \o/

Characters: Buggy the Clown Warnings: None Notes: This is Buggy's event?!? What's he doing trying to JOIN it??

Word count: 689

“Are you sure?” Buggy asks, disappearing into the costume you’re holding open for him. It’s one of those horse style costumes meant for two people. Not that this one looks like a horse.

“I’m positive.” You insist. “You wanted to enter the contest, you thief, and so you have to do it undercover.”

“There’s nothing in the rules that says I can’t participate.” He insists, moving around inside the costume with your help.

“Rules you wrote.” You point out. “No, not that way, put your left foot there, left hand here.”

“Why would I-?”

“Because you lift left and left and then right and right and it’ll look more natural for the costume.” You explain. “You’re holding up more parts by yourself than you’re used to with this, so don’t make it harder.”

“Hmph.” He grumbles, but does as you say. “What is this a costume of again? You said it was flashy.”

“It’s a mythological creature from one of the best stories of the winter season.” You answer, dodging the actual name of character on purpose.

“This is an Autumn event!” He nearly screeches.

“Ah stuff it, it’s an autumn event, but this is a flashy costume, and it suits you perfectly.” You insist, affixing a little reindeer tail to the backside of the costume. “Besides, you sprung this on me a little last minute, buster, you’re lucky I could pull anything together in the first place.”

You grumble the words from behind a row of pins in your mouth. Buggy looks over at you as you’re affixing the last few details into place. He smiles, even though you miss it, forever grateful that you put up with him so much. Putting the head piece on he settles into the costume a little better, but after a few minutes realizes there’s a small issues.

“(Y/N).”

“Yeah, Bugs?” You say to let him know you heard him.

“It’s really stuffy in here.”

“… Hard to breathe?”

“A bit.” He says. You smile, he’s trying to not make your job harder, and you appreciate that, but you’d not only hoped for this outcome, you’d bet on it.

“Lemme pop the nose off the head piece and you can put yours in its place.” You say, moving around to the front of the costume, taking the head piece as he hands it over. A seam ripper and a tug removes the little plastic black nose, and lets you quick stitch the fabric down before handing it back. “There.”

“… It’s not going to ruin the costume?” He questions. You look up at him and see he’s legitimately concerned. Poor guy, always so self-conscious of his nose.

“Not at all, Bugs. Gonna make it more accurate, honestly.” You say reassuringly. “This mythological creature very naturally, just like you, had a red nose.” You’d long since learned a way to mention his nose and its attributes without throwing him into a frenzy. Your voice took on a specific, almost professor-style tone, and it seemed to flip a switch in Buggy’s brain that assured him you were just stating a fact, and not picking on him.

“He’d been unfairly teased for his nose too, but managed to win over those around him and save the winter festival of the time.” You finish your explanation and give Buggy a smile. “Kind of like you and how you’ve won over your crew so much.”

Buggy’s eyes start to water, and you put your hands up. “Don’t cry! I don’t have time to clean tear stains out of the fur! You’ve got to be out on stage in twenty minutes at the most, keep it together for me, okay?”

Buggy sniffles hard, looking up for a moment and taking some deep breaths as he nods a little. You give him a couple minutes and he gives you a small “thanks” as you go back to working on the costume. You don’t have much time, but you’re going to make the best Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer that you can.

And as luck would have it, you didn’t have to go about finding a red nose for the costume.

#costume contest stories #buggy's spooktacular special #one piece halloween #x reader #reader insert #buggy the clown #buggy one piece

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noitsbecky127 · 3 months ago

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rebecca watches ds9: rivals

ah we’re in quark’s bar. what chaos will the ferengi get up to this episode

we don’t know either of these characters. wonder how they’ll be important

odo’s gonna find out i guess

the investing is gonna go badly for this lady

this man is NOT gonna help her

get his ass odo (idk what he’s guilty of but still)

oh hey he’s an el-aurian! like guinan!

where IS odo from?

i love how guinan’s general role in the narrative has become a trait of the species

is miles gonna play tennis?

hi julian! what in god’s name are you wearing!

i can only assume garak made him that

bro won a tennis game against a vulcan??? guess brute strength doesn’t do much in tennis. i think. i know nothing about tennis

wtf is he doing. he’s so insane. i love him

miles definitely isn’t gonna leave things there

el-auriqn guy whose name i already forgot is not having a good time in his cell

live footage of me at a hotel with my dad

that thing is gonna cause problems

is that a luck machine???

oh shit earlier he said smth about not being lucky enough to die. his prize now is death and this dude will get his hands on the luck machine and cause all sorts of trouble

time for miles to sulk to keiko about getting his ass kicked

bashir’s neurodivergent ass absolutely is not looking down on him

yeah he was just trying to have fun

why is he still wearing that fuckass outfit though

and why is he stealing everyone’s salt

how old IS o’brien anyway?

i love julian saying “that’s too young to die” with the utmost seriousness. he is legitimately concerned here lmao

ok it wasn’t salt it was some kind of sauce. guess it needs restocking

after all that, he doesn’t even eat the sandwich

prosecco! that’s from earth!

alright now we’re gonna get unlucky quark

so you just press the button and it makes you either lucky or unlucky? that’s absurd

what is he plotting now

if julian wins, miles is mad. if julian throws the game, miles is mad. if julian refused to play, i’m guessing miles would be mad. guess the only thing he wants is proper victory

a second bar. that’s the last thing this station needs

quark: crime is only ok when i do it >:(

et tu, rom?

can’t wait for the luck machine to backfire on him

oh god how many luck machines are there now. this is gonna cause so many problems

ok i’m guessing jadzia went to the bar and used the luck machine. who else did i wonder

is julian gonna change out of that thing before going to the infirmary

quark is bad at this whole listening thing

kira would not go to the bar. nor would she use the luck machine. maybe it’s just starting to radiate good and bad luck around?

yeah all those luck machines in one place would probably have some side effects

quark what are you doing

why are this many people interested in watching these two play tennis

i’m shocked quark is donating anything. guess he knew that was the only way to get them to do it

poor rom’s trying to traumadump lmao

and THERE it is. the luck machine has backfired on him. get hoisted by your own petard idiot

they’ll both regret this i think

miles put your shirt on

keiko is just ready for all this to be over so she can have her husband back

win or lose you still have a beautiful wife

god what was the costuming department thinking when they made julian’s tennis outfit. he’s neurodivergent not colorblind

how many pushups is he gonna do. he seems to be doing an unreasonable amount. but then again i have no idea what an unreasonable amount is bc i can’t even do one

i do not trust that drink

julian do NOT drink that

oh thank god he’s being smart

“it’s an anesthetic, QUAHK”

why would quark want him to drink an anesthetic though? where’s the entertainment in one of the competitors collapsing?

oh wait the bets. maybe more people bet against miles so there’s more profit in him winning. idk how sports betting works

oh i was right! guess whatever i know is correct

get his ass julian

the luck machines are affecting the laws of physics???

the luck machines broke julian’s racket. time to pause the game ig

i love how he stares at the handle like it personally offended him

glad rom’s going back where he belongs

GET HIS ASS O’BRIEN

looks like the luck machines have decided this game

at least the bajoran orphans will have lots of blankets

maybe the replicator fucked them up somehow

or wait, is it because they’re bigger? somehow? guess the area of effect is bigger or whatever

when in doubt, phaser it

get fucked my guy

oh she was scamming. of course she was scamming. i really should have figured that out

wonder who has the original machine now

#liveblogging #star trek liveblog #deep space nine liveblog #ds9 liveblog #star trek deep space nine #star trek deep space 9 #star trek ds9

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nikethestatue · 1 year ago

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I find it so funny that every time leaks come out, for the last few books now, there is always something good for elriel, and gwynriels without fail will say that Elriels are lying about Elriel being confirmed and are riling everyone up for nothing because these things don’t mean anything. It’s hilarious because first of all we never took these things as the official confirmation, but second of all, each time is like one of our theories coming true. We have shown time and time again that we understand and can predict SJM plots. Each time is confirming our beliefs in Elriel. It’s shocking that Gwynriels don’t even look at the evidence in the books, they just bury their head in the sand. I’m sure HOFAS won’t make them doubt their ship and they will continue denial. I’m sure they will spin it some how. It’s one thing to do that post-ACOSF when we had no new content. But this book gives us incredible lore about ACOTAR that it is easy to see where SJM is going with Elriel… in terms of bonds. They called Azriel desperate and going crazy when he questioned the Cauldron, and now we see that something evil was done to it. It’s just crazy to me that they probably will refuse again to go where SJM wants our minds to go with this. With any luck this will all be a fever dream in a few months! 🤞

I understand that Gwynriels are very very invested in their ship, but I wish that they'd understand that it's simply not real. I get that they convinced themselves that it's real and absolutely legitimate, but it really just...isnt. I dont know how to say it any other way. Gwynriel exists in their imagination, but it doesn't exist in SJMs.

It would be like me raging as to why Elain isn't ending up with Ruhn! Yeah, *I* personally love the ship, but like, I am rational enough to understand that the chances are kind of slim.

The issue, I think, is that they trust their mouthpieces in the fandom a little too much, and don't address the text critically. They think they'll just look at nifty Power Point Presentations, commissioned art and a few TikToks and that's enough.

I already saw an Elucien arguing about the Cauldron and how it's corruption, which was first mentioned back in ACOMAF!!! (dont even need HOFAS) is 'gone' and it's all good and mate bonds don't come from the Cauldron. Where, again, in ACOWAR, Rhys canonically offers 3 options for where the bonds come from--the Cauldron, the Mother and the Cauldron's Swirling Eddies/The Powers that Be.

And yet, no one contradicted this person or questioned her. Like they just pulled something out of thin air, presented it as 'fact' and that's it. No critical thinking at all.

But whatever. One good thing is that it seems that the shipwars are dying. It's been a long time and it seems that people are no longer blinded by PP presentations. I think they know that Elriel is coming.

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crushedsweets · 3 months ago

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hey you do speech right? if not, just ignore this ask, im mistaken.

to graduate, i need to give a speech, but i am absolutely terrified of it. ive struggled with anxiety related mental illness for a long time, but i cant have this excused because of graduation requirements. if youre alright with it, could you give some advice?

Hi anon!! Yes I was a speech coach and I currently compete in forensic speech!!

There’s a lot of conflicting advice that I’ve learned from my professors/coaches/etc, so I’m gonna give what works for me specifically, but you definitely wanna use some time to figure out what helps you

For starters, PRACTICE. At least three times alone, and at least twice in front of Real human people. I know 5 practices seems like a lot, but it really helps - both with memorization and developing impromptu skills

Some people say you shouldn’t over-practice because then it’ll make you more anxious, but personally ? ? I’ve never had that issue and students I tutored who practiced more always had better speeches

Also okay. These sound silly but they are backed by legitimate biological/psychological studies to help alleviate pre-speech anxiety: holding cold compresses (ice water, ice pack, etc) before your speech will lower your body temperature and regulate your heart rate, therefore removing physical symptoms of anxiety. Additionally, POWER POSE!!! I’m so serious. Don’t sit with your legs crossed or shoulders hunched. Before your speech, Sit with your feet flat on the floor, shoulders back, chin up - anxiety isn’t just mental, it is very physical, but that’s exactly why you need to trick your body into believing it’s not anxious! Easier said than done, but again, these aren’t just random tips for fun - they’re taught in college/universities and by ppl who coach speech for a living

Also just remember. Nobody cares (in a negative sense). Nobody who is watching you is gonna sit there and be like “wow what a shitty speech.” They dgaf. Public speaking is the most common fear, and most people are understanding of that. Your speech is a short fraction of someone else’s day, and the only reason people would be talking about it afterwards is if it was really impactful - which is a good thing!

Also don’t be too hard on yourself. All of this is easier said than done, and I used to be in weekly therapy for how intense my anxiety was, so I completely empathize with the struggle - so much of it really is just getting up there and doing it.Just practice and keep trying to retrain your brain! I’m sorry if this wasn’t helpful T_T

Anyway good luck!!! You are gonna do great!!!!! It’s scary but you will feel so so so good afterwards . And congratulations on graduating soon!

#asks

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phonydiaries · 4 months ago

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Interrogation Interlude - I, II, III, IV

Summary: Legally, Adam is supposed to be dead. He's brought in for police questioning when an FBI agent recognizes him from a Jigsaw trap case file.

In true Saw fashion, the setup for this chapter won't come to fruition until the next chapter. Timeline-fuckery abounds! Flashbacks be upon ye!

The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed just enough to make Adam wonder if they were intended as a mild form of psychological warfare designed to make him crack. The interrogation room -which personally he found to be a bit much- was cleaner than the ones he’d seen on TV, no rickety table lit only by the sickly yellow light of a single exposed bulb. That was all Hollywood set-dressing. This room was four walls of stark white tiling, broken up only by a spotless two-way mirror which he was certain half-assedly disguised a CCTV recorder. It would feel eerily familiar if it weren’t so goddamn sterile.

The man standing on the other side of the table wasn’t any more comforting. He looked like he’d had a stick shoved up his ass since at least the early 90’s and had no intentions of removing it now.

“Let’s start simple. Give me a real name.” He spoke with a calculated composure that let Adam know just how short of a leash the agent had been put on. The guy’s jaw could not possibly get tighter.

Adam offered him a painfully slow blink, really playing up how much of an inconvenience this whole ordeal was.

“David. Just like it was the other dozen times you asked.” He droned, rubbing his cuffed wrists together. Unsurprisingly, the FBI was big on security. As if the 6 foot tall loose cannon in front of him was the one that needed protection.

“Then why isn’t it turning up in our database?”

“Are you sure you’re spelling it right? It’s R, A, D as in dickhead-” Adam counted down the letters on his fingers, sure to over enunciate each one. The FBI agent, whom he now recognized as the infamous “Strahm” -who seemed to completely dominate Hoffman’s shit-list- yanked a file from the table. He threw it down with a little more aggression than was necessary.

“Forget it. This guy. Look familiar?” Strahm pointed at a picture Adam was intimately familiar with; a truly unfortunate picture of himself taken by none other than Scott Tibbs. He couldn’t have looked less prepared to stare down the lens of a camera, his forced smile cultivating a real hostage-negotiation-tape vibe. Naturally, Scott thought it was the height of comedy. Adam held to his disaffected, glazed over expression.

“I don’t know. Sure. Should I?” He asked with a noncommittal shrug. Strahm eyed him up with the intensity of a junkyard dog. His piercing gaze flickered between the photo and the real-deal with increasing irritability.

“You’re telling me this isn’t you?” It felt more like an invitation for an ass-kicking than a legitimate question. Adam tried to look mildly offended.

“Am I being interrogated because you think I look like some fag?” He snapped, sinking down into his seat. “And speaking of, whose dick do I have to suck to get a cigarette around here?” Strahm exhaled with thinning patience.

“Maybe when you manage to string together a sentence or two that isn’t complete bullshit.”

Adam made a noise of indignation somewhere between a scoff and a snort, rolling his eyes. Strahm sucked his teeth and smacked his hand palm-down on the table. If he was hoping to startle Adam, he was out of luck. He faced off against the detached glare of an apathetic juvenile.

“Let’s get back to the beginning. Why were you lurking around Angels of Mercy well past midnight?”

And there it was; the inception of this whole mess. In reality, Adam had been lurking, nosing around in the medical records of prospective players for John’s next project. His presence alone shouldn’t have been all that condemning; people rolled in and out of the hospital at all kinds of odd hours, and Adam tended to blend into the walls. He just hadn’t accounted for the possibility of running into Special Agent Hardass and his all-seeing eyes on the way out. Whoops.

“Maybe you were looking for something?” Strahm prodded.

“Swing shift. I’m an orderly.” Adam said plainly, if a little agitated. They’d already been over all this before he was even ushered into the squad car. He was sure Strahm remembered the whole tedious conversation; now he was just looking for inconsistencies.

“And how’d you get that position?” Strahm’s voice now affected an exaggerated false curiosity, bitchy sarcasm through and through.

“The last guy bit it.” Adam said, the ghost of a smile on his lips. He wondered if Strahm knew he’d landed the killing blow on that particular creep. Gordon’s recollection of events in the official police report had been less than truthful on the details of that whole scuffle. The bathroom, and by extension Zepp’s body, still hadn’t been recovered by the authorities.

“He was a prime suspect in the Jigsaw killer investigation, along with Lawrence Gordon. He went missing at exactly the same time as Adam Stanheight.”

Strahm tapped the photo of Adam again.

“Do you think that’s a coincidence?”

“Christ, is what a coincidence? What the fuck am I really here for?” Adam attempted to throw his hands up in exasperation. The cuffs impeded his efforts a bit. “Can I get that cigarette now?”

Strahm’s mouth turned up into an incredibly punchable smile. His steady gaze flickered for a moment, caught on something he could sink his teeth into. The subtle spark in his eyes set Adam on edge.

“Wrath of the Gods.” Strahm said simply, nodding towards Adam’s T-shirt. Adam instinctively moved to cross his arms, trying to obscure the faded logo across his chest. The handcuffs put a quick stop to that.

“You seen them live?” The agent asked, leaning over the edge of the table, and frankly getting a little too close for comfort. Oh, he’d seen them. In the early days, Adam was the only sucker Scott could wrangle into hocking merch at basement shows. Hell, he used to pass out their lame little flyers to anyone that would take them.

“Once or twice.” He mumbled. A believable enough lie. They did alright by white-trash indie band standards, but you’d be hard pressed to find dedicated fans. Strahm hummed with a little more satisfaction than Adam was comfortable with. What was this guy’s angle? Strahm started picking through the file again, taking his sweet time.

“You’re familiar with their front man? Scott Tibbs?” He asked, thumbing over a promo photo of the band. Adam shrunk into his seat, silent.

“He was declared missing not long after this guy-” Strahm tapped the photo of Adam again. “Was proclaimed legally dead. Week later he turned up with an axe through the skull.”

A second photo joined Adam’s, sliding across the cold sleek surface of the table. It spared most of the gory details, but a crusted over puddle of rusty-red stained the carpet, pooled up around a rickety dining room chair.

“...All thanks to a home-made Jigsaw trap.”

The perpetual sneer fell right off of Adam’s face. His stomach lurched. Jesus, he was gonna be sick.

“Why are you showing me this?” His throat felt raw.

“I wonder what gave him that idea.” Strahm probed. His unrelenting gaze was suddenly making Adam nauseous. What was he implying, that Adam had something to do with it? That there was some inherent link between him and Jigsaw?

“I have no fucking idea.” Adam snapped, drawing himself up as much as was possible in his seat. It was clear Strahm would’ve gone at this for hours if he had to, milking whatever freakish joy he got out of scaring Adam shitless, but the door to the interrogation room swung open in the promise of sweet release.

“Sorry to interrupt, I’m gonna have to get Mr. Radford out of here.” Hoffman’s voice boomed through the claustrophobic space. Adam never thought he’d be so relieved to see the head of the homicide department. Strahm, ironically, looked poised to kill.

“Under whose authority?”

Hoffman held up a handful of very official looking documents proving that David Radford was a real human being and not a quick lie thrown together by Jigsaw’s resident bullshitter. Their contents were, of course, almost entirely falsified.

“His papers check out.” Hoffman shrugged like there was nothing he could do. “No need to hold him for further questioning.” Adam had to admit, John had been onto something, getting an officer on the inside.

Hoffman tossed the papers down in front of Strahm and in one swift motion did away with the cuffs. Adam rubbed at his wrists and couldn’t help the smug look of satisfaction that crossed his face as he watched Strahm struggle to cling to his composure. The two turned and walked away.

Hoffman’s well-meaning detective act dropped as soon as the door to the interrogation room clicked shut behind them.

“You know your whole role in this gig is based on anonymity, right?” He hissed, walking Adam down the hallway and towards the exit. Their steps echoed on the linoleum.

“It was one guy.” Adam snapped. “There wasn’t supposed to be a FED camped out in the cancer wing.”

Hoffman stopped in his tracks, placing a heavy hand on Adam’s shoulder. Oops. Slip of the tongue.

“What were you doing in the oncology unit?”

Adam squared his shoulders and tried not to let the nerves show on his face.

“If you have a problem with the way I work, take it up with John.”

Blatant dodging of the question, but frankly he didn’t think much of Hoffman’s intellect. Let him draw whatever conclusions he wanted. He shoved Mark’s hand away from his shoulder and quickened his pace down the hall.

“Keep your fuckin’ head down, kid.” Hoffman’s voice echoed in warning.

“Yes sir, officer.” Adam called in reply, gracefully flipping Hoffman the bird over his shoulder.

As he reached the door, he tried to assure himself this was a minor snag. He was still on his game; still just as shifty and cunning as he’d always been. John was a reasonable man, he wouldn’t disappear Adam over something like this. He wouldn’t.

God, Adam hoped he wouldn’t.

#my writing #Jigsaw apprentice Adam #Adam Faulkner-Stanheight #Peter Strahm #lyd posting

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