#also it keeps setting off car alarms and I’m so paranoid it’s my car (it isn’t)

[badolmen]

If lighting could stop hitting the tree right outside my window. FOR FIVE MINUTES. That’s be great.

[cryinginthebackseat]

you’ve got more poison than sugar - part i

AO3    part ii

Fandom: Call Of Duty 

Pairing: Russell Adler x Bell

Words: 4.009

Summary: Russell Adler should have known better that it wouldn’t take an entire nation or continent to bring him to his knees.

Warnings: just swearings, sexual tension, blood, mentions of past abuse and brainwashing. adler being that manipulative asswipe like usual. 

Author’s note: i don't know what i'm doing. one moment, i was watching the walkthrough of the new call of duty game, found myself curious, acutely curious by that guy with the scars and shades on- a younger, shadier (no pun intended) Robert Redford in Spy Game and oh my... fast forward to 2 weeks later, here we are.

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A house somewhere on foreign soil,

Where ageless lovers call,

Is this your goal, your final needs,

Where dogs and vultures eat,

Committed still I turn to go.

I put my trust in you.

A Means To An End - Joy Division (1980)

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It's mystifying how little she talks. Or when she does, it's always in fragments. Like a crossword puzzle in your local newspaper, but several letters are missing. He initially thought maybe MK-Ultra fucked her head or worse, if it hasn't worked at all, but the more he watches her, the more he realizes it's just the way she is. And it's ironic because he named her Bell. He expected her to chime like a goddamn goldfinch yet here they are. 

But he won't be fazed. Russell Adler is a man who's stopped at nothing in getting what he wanted before, he sure as hell won't stop now for a close-mouthed science project.

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“We've got a job to do, Bell."

It intrigues him, every time, the way the words trigger something deep within her psyche, the way her eyes change, her body stands a little straighter, like a machine ready to function at his disposal. It reminds Adler of one of those cartoons he watched when he was a kid about wizards and magic words, except there are no musical dance numbers playing in the background or a talking cricket perching on his shoulder. This is his power over her, over the USSR, over Perseus. That monstrous filth. It really does take a beast to tame another. 

Although he surmises calling Bell one would be superfluous. 

She barely looks like one, but Adler knows too well than to underestimate her. Just because Bell hasn’t shown her set of claws, that doesn’t mean she’s harmless, delicate, like a miniature China Doll in his breast pocket.

Bell never offered him her reply before, but now, now, she nods, head almost bows, obedient pretty thing, and says:

“Yes, Adler.”

So it goes.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It takes West Berlin for Adler to realize she’s left-handed. 

She wears her watch on her right hand, smokes with that same said hand only when she’s writing or moving her pieces for an impromptu late-night game of chess against Lazar. And she always wears her gloves all the time- leather, black, lined with silk and pretty, small buttons on the cuffs, covering those striking red nails underneath. Whether it is for the theatrics or an old habit of hers, he can't really tell.

He doesn’t know why he begins to take notice of these mundane details about Bell, but rationalizes because he’s never been in the same room with this version of her, post-brainwash Bell, for more than 10 minutes. And for all intents and purposes, there’s still a lot of question marks surrounding her character; who is she? Where did she come from? What is her connection to Perseus? 

Are they in a possession of a walking, breathing bomb about to destroy them all or the West’s only salvation?

He supposes he’ll find out soon enough.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Adler hears Bell from his table, typing busy on the computer- barely blinking- all soaked up in that caffeine-infused energy at 1 am. She's always like that, he learns, when it comes to working, always with that steel determination, pulling out all the stops as long as it gets the job done- that Soviet discipline at it's finest.

Reminds him a little of himself when he's young.

Adler walks up to her. 

“You done for the night?” A shake of her head is her only response. He sighs. “You should go home, Bell.” 

“You go. I’ll lock up behind you,” Bell replies, low and monotone; that youthful stubborn.

If she was any other person, he would probably commend her for such fierce willpower, but she is Bell, the walking conundrum, his ace in the hole. Call him paranoid, but the idea of her having the safehouse for herself does nothing but raises every alarm in his head.

“No, we’re going home,” he says instead, tone brooking no argument and she frowns at the screen, her fingers stop moving then looks up at him with those goddamn empty eyes. "Come on, it's late anyway."

She doesn't say anything. Adler wishes he could read her mind- or crack that lovely skull on the back of her head, dissect her brain, learn its secrets and answers. 

Adler has his gun with him. It wouldn’t take long. A quick, true shot to the heart to keep the brain intact. He’d have Hudson contact one of his people inside BND and he'd deliver the brain himself if he has to. They could do it. He heard they’ve been studying inmates' brains for decades now, anyway. 

Before he has a chance to entertain the idea further, though, Bell nods once and rises up from her seat. 

Bell walks past him. Her scent, like honeysuckle on ice, hits him like an uppercut in the face. Adler inhales, as if against his will. 

He thinks he could get drunk on it.

“Hop in. I’ll drive you back to the hotel,” he says once they’re outside, regretting the decision the moment the words left his lips, but he knows he can’t just leave her on her own at this late hour.

The irony isn’t lost on him, though, considering he just thought about unspooling her brain a few minutes ago.

Bell complies without a protest. Getting inside the passenger seat, wordless still, fingers toying with the radio. An angry, krautrock music comes blaring all over his car. Adler winces, but at least the riot is loud enough to muffle the one's brewing in his head. 

"How's your memory these days?" 

Bell shrugs. "Nihil novi sub sole." There's nothing new under the sun.

Good, he muses. The least she knows about herself the better.

Though that doesn't mean he's out of the woods yet.

"Listen, from now on, I want you to keep me informed if there's any new progress about your memory or if you've developed any new symptoms. I want to know everything." He steals a sidelong glance at her, making sure she is listening (she always does, but Adler needs an excuse)

(An excuse for what?)

"Alright, Bell?"

"Of course," replies the woman in question.

"Good." Adler shifts his attention back to the road. "Good." Taking a long drag, he considers trying to appeal to her sentimental side. It's not something you'd improvise last minute- at least not with someone you brainwashed to believe you are her mentor/confidant for the past decade, but he's itching to know where he stands with her.

"You know, I'm just tryin' to look out for you, kid."

Her lips twitch but the rest of her visage remains impassive and faraway, more like a flick knife than a woman. The correlation is uncanny.

That's when she inches closer. The space between them bridged. He freezes. Hyper-aware of just how dangerous this is, but can’t bring himself to pull back, to look the other way. Not when her hand reaches out to pluck the cigarette from his mouth, eyes still glued to his, and curls her lips around the filter. One heavy pull, and then she rolls down the window and tosses it out on the side of the road.

"Thought I'd reciprocate the sentiment."

And with that, she leans back in her seat before Adler could even process what has just transpired.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Welcome back to the land of the living, kid,” Adler greeted her, about a month ago. 

Park had insisted that he had to be there for her when she woke up (naturally, Adler had balked at the idea, but at the English woman’s fact-of-the-matter explanation, also because it had somewhat dawned on him last minute the logic behind her machinations- “both of you are supposed to have known each other for years now. If she doesn't see you by her side, she’s going to wonder why”- thus, here he was)

“How are you feeling?” 

Bell blinked owlishly and stared at the older man with those bottomless, cat-like eyes that had haunted him since January.

Her gaze eventually softened as recognition flickered across her face.

“Like someone just hit me in the chest with a bulldozer,” she said hoarsely. “Where are we?”

“St. Dismas’ hospital, Pittsburgh.” Adler got up and fetched her a glass of water from the table. “Although not a bulldozer, but bullets did. That, and you hit your head really hard on your way down. Thought we’d lost you there, Bell.”

Bell drank in silence. She’s still watching him, thinking. This was the first time he realized that he couldn’t exactly read her expression and somehow that threw him off.

“What happened?” she asked, one hand mid-air, like she was deciding which to touch first, hesitating and abandoned the idea. 

“You don’t remember?” She shook her head. Adler pretended to look remotely distressed about it. “The doctors warned me about this. It must have been because of the fall- heck, I could even still hear that sickening crunch from here.” He dragged his chair closer towards her bed.

“We were in Amsterdam. Remember Fohler?” she shook her head again. “Well, we’d been tracking this son of a bitch for months, but we were chasing him in Amsterdam. He was running away and climbed up some scaffolding. You were about to go up after him,” he recited the fabricated story he, Park and Hudson had crafted. “He shot you and you fell and hit your head against the pavement.”

Bell looked away first, silent. Her hand gingerly touched the back of her head and winced, albeit only slightly. 

Adler was almost impressed, if not, disarmed by how calm and composed her reaction was to all of this. But then again, after having had witnessed first-hand how the woman barely flinched under any kind of interrogation technique they threw at her- a personality built for wrestling tigers- he really shouldn’t be surprised. 

“Bell, what is the last thing you remember?”

Bell frowned. “Not much. I remember ‘Nam, but-”

“Vietnam? Kid, that was thirteen years ago.” Adler watched the way her throat bopped, like she was swallowing her own blood and the color drained from her face, just like the first time he’d seen her, and proceeded to drop the bomb:

“Bell, the year is 1981.”

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"Bell dear, would you mind taking a look at this?" 

Park's voice sails from across the room. She says it like it's a compound word: Bell-dear. Like the two words belong together. Bell-dear. 2 syllables, 1 word, 9 characters and that just might be the weirdest thing he hears this year and he heard many things.

"Bell dear?" Adler asks much later, his gravel-and-smoke voice reduced to a whisper, when she delivers a document to his table.

Park shrugs as if that explains everything. "What? I like her." 

He's tempted to say you really can't put a term of endearment and someone you brainwashed into submission in the same sentence, but what else is new?

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They wind up in a bar. It’s called Die Stube and the place’s brimmed with artists and all sorts of leather-clad, Bowie-esque dramatic, chromatic blue eyelids young people chattering over a dirty cloud of smoke.

The two of them colonize a lone booth in the back. It’s dark and the quietest. She orders a beer and he, a scotch and they drink in silence. There are moments where her head would twist to the side, as subtle as a needle and survey the phantasmagorical scene before them, like studying something from a petri dish. 

While he’s watching her.

Only to tear his gaze away to the nearest object he can find.

It lands on his watch.

"It’s almost ten. Hudson's contact should be here soon," he announces, if anything to distract himself. She nods mutely in reply, as always, and runs a finger around the rim of her glass.

"The place ain't much of your scene?" 

She shrugs, like it's self-evident. "I didn't know this was a scene, though."

"Well, that’s West Berlin for you. A worry-free playground for the hedonists, hipsters and proto-electro NDW enthusiasts with drugs on tap," Adler says, sipping his drink in practiced nonchalance. "Always makes my head spin."

"I guess I remember it differently," Bell replies, tinged with something akin to begrudging. 

That warrants his full attention. "What do you remember?”

Bell shrugs again and lights a cigarette instead, menthol, one of those long, skinny cigarettes they only market for women; biding her time, making him wait. She lets the smoke flares from her nostrils so her eyes are veiled.

"It’s hard to explain, but I suppose it’s grittier?” she gesticulates, searching for the right word like she’s skim reading the entire Oxford dictionary in her head. “Bizarrely, infinitely grittier and dimmer? Like being in an underground tunnel and there's not much to see."

Interesting. Maybe she’s recalling one of her ops for Perseus or her mind is confusing her with the world on the other side of the wall.

“Maybe you’re remembering one of our clandestine ops here. It was a few years after Vietnam,” Adler supplies, passing over the tale like bait.

She falls for it, hook, line and sinker.

“Ah, I guess that also explains my fluency in German.”

“I taught you that.” It’s only logical, he decides, that she learned from him. She’s supposed to be his protégé after all. 

An elegant brow quirk. "You did?"

"Yeah, though you were already fluent in Latin, Russian, Vietnamese and Portuguese when we first met anyway. You have quite a natural ear, kid.”

She gives him a look. He really can’t categorize it, but it makes it a whole lot harder to fight against her stare.

 “What else did you teach me?” 

If they were anyone else, the lines could have a potential to entice, to seduce, that winsome, catty-eyelashes coquette, but they aren't anyone else and Bell does not voice it like that. Yet the implication behind the question stirs something in the pit of Adler’s stomach anyway, that tight knot of confusion as it is buried with something else and he finds himself, once again, uncharacteristically speechless.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

That particular question of her stays, even hours later, unbidden. Interspersed with her scent and face. 

His emotions are a minefield whenever she’s near now. It evokes that newfound rush of terror within him, like walking on a tightrope or being thrown into the pit to face hundreds of hungry lions, bare hands. It makes Adler questions his every decision, and he can’t have that in his line of work. 

Adler lights his sixth cigarette, contemplating everything, nothing. Anything to distract him from her. It's 4 am and he’s exhausted, but his mind won’t stop whirring. This isn’t like him at all- like he's lost somewhere in a Dali-style labyrinth that is his head and he wonders if this is a byproduct of his fear or fascination or confusion for the young woman.

He fears it is all of them.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

(They're only 10 minutes away from East Berlin when he senses it, something akin to burning on his peripheral vision, pulling him like weight.

Bell is staring at him from across the seat.

He cocks his head slightly to the side.

Adler catches the quick, telling quirk of her lips, like she's about to smile but lights a cigarette instead.)

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“Did you hear that?”

Krauss has just crossed the wall and their soles are slippery from the rain. She's panting. Her breath is white like a fog. Adler muses it must be from the running, until his iris trails down to where her hand is clutching his jacket sleeve, the leather creasing like a modulation signal.

“What is it?” Adler asks, hushed. There are no Stasis here, but even one can't be too careful.

“The TV.” She’s gaping at the broken TV next to them. Adler looks at the said object, frowning, then back to her. “Y-you didn’t hear it?”

"Heard what? Bell, the thing's dead."

Bell withdraws from him. Stepping back until her back meets the walls, her eyes seeing and unseeing, like a lens finding focus in the dark, then she closes them, as if trying to regulate her breathing. Adler has never seen her scared shitless of anything before. The sight confuses as it intrigues him. 

"Bell, what's going on?" Adler steps closer, but he dares not to touch her. 

She shakes her head, dismissive. In just a span of seconds, Bell dons that mask she likes to wear again; deadpan and frustratingly distant. A spike of annoyance drives through him. Just when he thinks he can get through her, there she goes again, retreating behind her palisades.

"Nothing." Bell turns away abruptly and she’s walking again."Let's just go. The others are waiting for us."

He doesn't pry about whatever she heard on the TV- Adler knows better than to beat a dead horse, thank you very much- not even after they save her from Volkov's clutches, after she bashes his head against the steel door and reeks his blood all the way home, it seems superficial at the time.

Until two days later.

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The day starts, as it mostly does for the team, with a briefing. 

Fifteen minutes in and something like a gasp pulls his attention to her. 

That’s when he notices it; her hands are shaking, coffee spilling out of the mug over her hand. A shatter follows. Her mug smashes to smithereens at her feet. She’s swaying, near collapse, like a house of cards about to fall, a hand on her nose.

Adler catches her before she tumbles to the floor.

“Bell!” His arm around her waist tightens, trying to keep her steady. Lazar rushes to their side in a flash and helps him move her to a nearby chair. 

"Jesus Christ," he curses, more to himself than to her as he watches blood, a bead of angry red, trickling down her nose. "Sims, get me a washcloth from the bathroom."

He kneels before her once Sims returns with a damp cloth. Nicotine-stained gloved fingers tentatively grasp her chin, holding her still. 

“Kid, you alright?” Adler asks, worry bleeds into his voice without him realizing it. He firmly presses the cloth under her nose, his other thumb touches the pulse at her throat- it's almost sickly affectionate. “Bell, talk to me."

Bell looks at him, discombobulated, like he's a figment of her imagination, then blinks. Again and again until she heaves a deep breath.

"I-" she hisses. One hand flies up to her head. "Fuck. My head.”

Adler’s eyes immediately search for Park’s. A knowing look passes over her face and he knows without saying that she's thinking the same thing, like they're attached to the same brain-wire:

MK-Ultra.

There’s a fraction of pause, then Lazar asks, "Should we give her something?” 

Before Park can voice her answer, Bell beats her to it. "I already took an anticonvulsant this morning. It should have helped.”

“Wait, this has happened before?” Adler asks.

Bell looks away, a hesitating look shadowing her face. He fears the worst.

“Bell…” he tries again, a slight warning to his tone.

She sighs loudly, as if mentally preparing herself before walking into a storm. 

“Yes. Two days ago."

His mind instantly refers to East Berlin, the TV. Trying to connect the dots in his head. It seems far fetched, but now he wonders if she saw something that triggers this. Although he's never read about this on other subjects before, the correlation is just impossible to ignore.

Fuck. He heaves a breath, willing himself to calm down, to think. They can't afford complications at times like these. Not when there's so much at stake right now.

Adler snaps his attention back to Bell when she tries to scramble awkwardly to her feet, swatting his hand away. The hand on her neck immediately reaches for her waist again and pushes her back down onto the chair. His grip's tight enough to leave marks on her skin, but he doesn't care.

"Bell, for fuck's sake, stay still or so help me," he says, exasperated, not letting go of her waist. 

"I feel better now." Stubborn little shit.

He is tempted to scream at her face and grab both of her shoulders and shake. “The hell you’re not. Stop fighting it. You’ll only make things worse.”

Her face sours, if only for a millisecond before it morphs into guilt. “I’m sorry.”

Adler watches her for a long moment. It’s only now that he realizes that he’s still holding her waist and the cloth on her face. 

He backs away from her like he’s been burnt. 

“You should have told me. I thought I made it clear the other night to keep me informed regarding this,” he scolds. 

“I’m sorry,” she utters again and she looks so pliable like this, a blank canvas perfumed with obedience and lethal mind. It makes him almost feel sorry for what he has in plan for her once the shit show is over.

“Look, just go back to the hotel and take a day off.” Her mouth cracks open. He raises a silencing hand. “That’s an order, Bell.” But she merely scowls, looking more like jagged ice than a person. Hudson may have just met his match, after all.

“I told you I’m fine.”

“That’s not how it looks to me.”

“It is. It’s my body and I know what I’m feeling, and I’m telling you, I. Feel. Fine.”

His jaw clenches. “Are you disobeying a direct order, agent?”

Bell doesn’t answer, but her whole face remains challenging and hard. Undeterred.

Adler holds his breath. He feels the whole room collectively does the same. It’s like staring down the barrel of a gun and there’s an awful sort of danger to be found in that. 

Just when he thinks an imaginary bullet would dig itself into his skin, however, Bell utters, “Of course not.”

And so the woman resumes to her normal, docile self at a drop of a hat. Even when Park steps in and whisks her out of her seat, drives her back to her hotel with Lazar on shotgun. 

It doesn’t assuage his worry, though. He’s still restless throughout the day, like a roaring ocean inside a bell jar. She’s never done this before, openly rebels against him. Now, the situation is just bad. Not casually bad or almost-got-shot bad, this is the-entire-Europe-could-turn-into-a-nuclear-wasteland bad, an-armageddon-waiting-to-happen bad. 

What if this is the beginning of her old self trying to scratch her way out of the surface? Adler’s blood goes cold at the thought. He is going to have to keep a close eye on this development.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

West Berlin - 1 am, local time.

“How is she?”

“Stable. I’ve administered another dose of Propranolol before I left the hotel. She should be fit as a fiddle in the morning.”

“Tell me, what do you think happened to her?”

“My theory? Traumatic brain injury. A cumulative product of torture, trauma-based mind control and chronic stress. I've read reports about cases like these before in MI6. None of them is still alive to recount the tale, unfortunately."

Adler grips the phone. 

“How long do you think we have?”

“Theoretically, 2-3 weeks tops.”

“But?”

He hears Park sighs on the other line. “But then again, none of the subjects I’ve encountered before were like her. So, I suppose it’s still a little too premature to determine at this point."

Adler kneads his temple, feeling the start of that familiar Bell-induced headache forms in his head. Can things just be fucking simple for once? 

“We don’t have that much time anyway, Park. And if Hudson gets a wind of this, he’ll want her gone by morning. I can’t let that happen. Not…” he pauses. “Not when we are this close.”

"What are we going to do about her, then?" 

Adler sighs.

"Raise the dosages of her drugs,” he says. “And keep an extra eye on her. I think we may be heading into uncharted waters now.”

Tagging: @mvalentine cause you said to tag you with everything i write so  👁👄👁

[jaceyneedsabetterusername]

Gin and Paleta

Pairing: Javier Pena x Reader

Summary: When a storm knocks out the power, you ask Javier to spend the night with you to ease your fear of the dark. A few drinks later, you admit more than you ever meant to. 

Warnings: Drunk and emotional reader, a wee bit of angst at one part, anxiety because of the dark, Javier teasing you, mentions of prostitution

Word Count: 5400

A/N: This is my first time writing for Javier and I’m a little nervous about it. Hopefully it’s alright!

__________________

The wind outside howled with an intensity that you hadn’t experienced in a long time. You clutched your hot tea to your chest, allowing it to warm you in the nice cool Bogota night as you watched the rain fall hard and heavy outside your window. Every now and again there was a flash of lightning that crackled across the sky that was followed by a loud rumble. The storm was right over you and the lightning had gotten closer and closer to the apartments the embassy had put you up in when you moved to Columbia. 

It really was quite beautiful, this storm that raged across the city. It had been hot and muggy for days leading up to the storm but now the angry gray clouds that blocked out the stars and the pounding rain brought a blanket of coolness to offer refuge from the constant Columbian summer heat. Your favorite scented candle burned on the table, the smell mixing perfectly with the scent of wet earth, asphalt, and trees overtaking your apartment through the small crack in the window you’d left for exactly that purpose. The TV played mindlessly in the background to create further ambience.

Suddenly, there was a loud flash just outside your apartments that lit up the entire street, sparks flying everywhere out your window. You yelped in shock as the power surged and then cut out completely, leaving you in total darkness aside from the flame of your candle. At the same time, there was a deafening rumble and the whole apartment shook with thunder. 

Your heart raced and you panted as you walked towards the window to see that the power was across the next few blocks. There was a downed wire in the next street down that still sparked occasionally in the rain. Car alarms went off in the street. Lightning must have struck the wires. 

Then the darkness crept in. When you turned to face your apartment, the utter darkness and silence of every corner began to feel suffocating. You reached over to the table and held the candle up as your breathing struggled to stay level. On shaky legs, you made your way over to a set of drawers that held various boxes of matches and a few old lighters before searching the house for every candle and flashlight you could find. After about ten minutes, you had set up candles all across the main room of your apartment but it still wasn’t much light. Small halos of warm yellow light illuminated only a few feet in diameter around each small flame. 

For the final, and perhaps most paranoid move of all, you reached to grab your gun but stopped, fingers flexing and clenching into your palm as you tried to calm yourself down. “It’s just the dark,” you told yourself, breathing deeply, “Just the same things that are here in the day time. Stop being ridiculous.”

It was irrational to have your gun on you. What was gonna happen? The boogeyman was going to jump out of your closet and eat you? Maybe Escobar’s men would come and pick you, Steve, and Javier off now that it was dark. They did know where you all lived and they had already shown they had no problem flexing that fact when they killed Steve’s cat. That also was irrational and you knew it. They had better things to do and plot a whole assassination on three Americans during a power outage when God knows they had many other more menacing enemies. 

And even so, every little creak from the storm that had previously been endearing now became footsteps of intruders or monsters. Here you were, someone literally trained to take down drug lords, who had been in their fair share of gun fights and seen first hand the horrors that men can do to one another, cowered in the couch trying to stave off a full blown panic attack as you sat alone in the dark.

Maybe you could hang out with Steve and Connie for the night, at least until the power returned, you considered. No… they had Olivia now and you were sure they had their hands full without worrying about a whole grown ass woman who was just scared of the dark. You weren’t close with anyone else in the building except for Javier but that idea made you cringe. He would just make fun of you and you knew it. You already knew how dumb it sounded to be an adult who was scared of the dark. You really needed to just grow up and get over it. That was exactly what you’d resolved to do. 

Twenty minutes passed before you gave in. Twenty minutes full of startled gasps when the wind blew some leaves off the tree and into your window, the car alarms were silenced, or the wood floors creaked beneath your feet. Against your initial judgement, you pressed yourself off the couch, scooped up the candle that you’d had placed on the table and made your way downstairs to Javier’s apartment. 

You rubbed your arm nervously while you waited for him to answer the knocks, already foretelling all the shit he was about to give you. He opened the door and you noticed the single flashlight in his hand that seemed to be the only light in his entire abode. “Y/N, you alright?” He asked, noticing right away the way you kept peeking over your shoulder with an anxiety that radiated off of you. 

You nodded, “Uh, yeah. Your power’s out too?” The question was stupid and obvious and you both knew that. No shit the power was out. There wasn’t a single light on in the entire building. 

“Yeah.” He answered simply but there was little intonation in his voice that was certainly mocking you in his typical lowkey asshole way. He leaned against the doorway coolly and if you hadn’t been freaking out so badly, you would have stopped to admire. Maybe it was best that everything but his general outline was concealed in darkness. You’d been pushing down a crush on your friend and partner for months now, knowing it was unprofessional and knowing that he would probably never think of you the same way even if it wasn’t unprofessional. Coming to him like this made you feel like a damsel in distress and you weren’t sure if you liked that analogy, especially considering that you were convinced nothing would ever come of it. 

You rocked back and forth on your heels, “I was wondering if, um, maybe you’d be willing to hang out with me until the power comes back on?” 

A small smirk appeared on his face with a quirked eyebrow, “Are you scared of the dark, L/N?” He asked, using your last name as if to exaggerate the humor in the fact that a DEA agent who’s been shot at before is scared of something as little as the dark, “How old are you? Eight?” 

You rolled your eyes, cheeks burning red but playing it off with a chuckle. “Shut up,” you whined, “Look, I know it sounds stupid but I can offer beer or gin and a few paleta that I need to eat before they melt now.” 

Javier looked you up and down in the low glow of the candle that was held between your hands, almost as if you were using it to keep your hands warm. He couldn’t help the little endearing smile that crept on his lips. In all honesty, he didn’t care much that you were afraid of the dark. He just loved to see the way you got flustered when he made fun of you. His jokes were never meant maliciously, especially when directed towards you, and he was glad you could take the jabs and even throw them back. It was one of the things that made him crazy about you. 

After a moment, he nodded, “Yeah, I can come hang out for a few. Just let me grab my keys.” He disappeared back into his apartment, flashlight illuminating his couch and table as he grabbed his keys from the kitchen counter. Soon, he was following you down the hall and up the stairs to your apartment.

You hadn’t even locked the door in your hurried state to get down to Javier but you knew it wasn’t going to be a long trip. He noticed the various candles burning around your apartment, lowly illuminating the small space. 

“Beer or gin? I got water too if you want that though.” You offered, making your way to the kitchen to hold up your end of the bargain. 

“Uh, gin, please.” He walked in and made himself at home like he practically lived there. He had come over often to go over files sometimes over drinks and food late into the night. He was comfortable in your space and you were in his, with the exception of that hyperawareness of your every move when you’re around the person you like. There was a slightly electric feeling in the air for both of you but neither of you knew that the other felt it too. 

You brought two glasses of gin, probably a little fuller than they should have been, in and handed one to Javier and one for yourself. The pair of you sat on your tan sofa and you quickly inspected the packaged popsicles in your hand, “I have cajeta and chamoy.” 

“Don’t really care.” He shrugged, “sipping” his gin. You looked between the two and picked your favorite, giving him the other one. 

Two hours later, the pair of you were two paleta and three-quarters of a bottle of gin down (most of which you had drunk) and things had gotten personal. Topics had bounced from work stuff, to you teasing him about his well-known rendezvous with his informants, to childhood pets, and more. A silence had settled over the pair of you. Neither of you knew how late it was anymore, just that it was silent out save for the rain and the occasional gunshot. It had become evident early on that Javier held his alcohol better than you did but even he was slipping after this many glasses of hard liquor. 

“Do you ever get tired of being alone?” You asked out of the blue, staring up at the ceiling. 

Javier looked over at you, the way you tapped your nail against the side of the glass with too much focus. He couldn’t tell if you were trying to avoid his gaze after the question or if you really were just that interested in the sound it made in your drunken state. Your partner just shrugged though and deflected the question, “Get a dog or something.” 

Your face twisted in an over exaggerated look of thought. “I thought about it but it makes me sad to-,” you hiccuped, “to think about a puppy being stuck inside all day while we’re out chasing Escobar. No yard or anything for them to run around in.” 

Javier nodded in understanding, “Guess you’re right. Wouldn’t be a good life at all.” 

“See, though, Javi,” You pointed sloppily at him with a lifted finger from your fifth - no sixth - glass of gin, “You and I both know that’s not what I’m asking. But who am I kidding? You’ve always got all those little informants of yours hanging around. You’re probably not too lonely.” 

Your partner sighed, used to Steve giving him crap about it but you didn’t usually say much about it. “Yeah, well we all have ways of dealing with the loneliness.” Seeing the prostitutes in town wasn’t his proudest repeat offense and, if he was being honest with himself, he didn’t just see them for the information they had on Escobar. Even for people who had commitment issues, like himself, being alone got really damn hard sometimes. 

“It’s so unfair that they don’t have male prostitutes like they have women. What about all the lonely and frustrated women of Bogota?” You complained, taking a sip to punctuate your sentence. 

Javier couldn’t help but laugh a little, “You’re telling me you’d really go see a prostitute if there were men out there that did it?” Yeah, right, he thought. 

You shook your head and sighed in defeat, “No… I don’t think I would. I think I actually want someone to love, y’know?” You laughed at your own clicheness, “What about you, Javi? I know you have all your lady friends but have you ever loved someone?” 

If perhaps you’d been sober, maybe you would have noticed the way he sucked a guilty breath in and backstepped, maybe even might have apologized for prying into his personal life. In your drunk state, though, you had no qualms with your personal questions. 

“I, uh, I did. Once.” 

“Yeah? What happened?” 

He scratched his nose and hesitated. Another one of his less proud moments that he didn’t like to share. The only person he’d told that wasn’t family or a friend from back in Texas was Steve. Nevertheless, he swallowed hard and continued, the drinks even making him loose at this point, “We were supposed to get married but…”

“But?” You pressed, the intoxication making you obnoxiously impatient. 

He gave you a vaguely testing look before continuing, “But I never made it to the wedding.” 

You gasped, leaning forward and setting your drink on the table, “You left her at the altar?!” 

Javier flinched back at your sudden lurch towards him and looked at you with a slightly annoyed expression, “I know it was a shitty thing to do!” While he didn’t appreciate the judgement because he already felt shitty enough about the whole incident, he knew it was more the gin than you to blame for your outburst. He leaned forward and pulled your half-full glass of gin back towards him, not to drink for himself, just to get out of your grasp. “What about you? You ever been in love?” 

You bit your lip, “I don’t know. I’ve never really been in love before but there’s this one guy that I know that I think I could be pretty close to it.” 

Javier’s chest tightened at the thought of you loving another man. He knew he had no right to your heart but that didn’t stop the pang of jealousy at the thought. Part of him wanted to pry further, just so he could know you were safe (or maybe to fuel some twisted personal hatred for the man he didn’t know). In typical angsty Javier fashion, though, he opted for the aloof, detached, and slightly annoyed response, “Then why are you complaining about being so lonely? Sounds like you have someone.” 

You pulled your knees into your chest and threw the blanket that was draped over the couch over your now balled up form. You shrugged, glancing up at Javier with a look he might have noticed was longing if he hadn’t been looking anywhere but at you. “I don’t think he likes me the way I like him. I think maybe that’s why it feels so lonely. Knowing you could have someone but still being alone.” 

“If you could have him then get him.” Javier Pena, always the blunt one, especially when his own feelings were in the mix. 

You shook your head, “It’s not that simple.” 

Suddenly, Javier got a little nervous at your tone, “He better not be one of Escobar’s fucking men.” The thought of you loving someone else made him jealous and angry but the thought of you loving a sicario made him lividly angry. There was no way you could possibly love a monster like that but it didn’t stop the thought from crossing his mind. 

Your mouth dropped in offense, “Fuck, Javi, is that how low you think of me?” Your moods had been swinging all night thanks to the gin but you were pretty sure you still would have found the very suggestion just as offensive if you’d been sober. 

“What- wait - no. That’s not what I think of you, I ju-” 

“Well, clearly it is or you wouldn’t have suggested it.” You stood up off the couch, stepping away angrily but tripping over the low coffee table in the dark. Your slowed reflexes weren’t enough to catch you and crashed to the floor, “Shit…” You groaned, rolling over and trying to push yourself up to a sitting position. Your hair hung messily over your face when you looked down at where your hand met the floor. 

Javier jumped up and clumsily made his way to your side, “Shit, Y/N, you alright?” He knelt down and placed a hand on your arm, offering his other one to help you stand. Sparks flew where his skin met yours but you convinced yourself that you were just feeling because of the alcohol. 

You waved him off drunkenly and swiped your hair clumsily out of your face. Instead of sitting up, you leaned back and looked up at him, tears welling up in your eyes for who the hell knows why. Were you angry or offended or desperate or just a drunk mess? You couldn’t tell anymore but you weren’t used to losing your emotions like this and Javier wasn’t used to seeing it either. He halted, uncomfortable at the way your eyes shone in the candlelight with your tears. 

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have even suggested that you’d be in love with a sicario. I really don’t think you’d do anything like that.” Javier apologized, a rare occurrence for the man but, gosh, would he say anything if it meant that your tears would dry. Drunk or not, he couldn’t stand knowing that made you cry. 

You sniffled, wiping a crocodile tear from your cheek, “Why the hell do we even sit here and make ourselves sad, Javi? Y’know? I mean I sit here every night and pine over a guy who I’ve convinced myself won’t love me. Isn’t that stupid? I convinced myself! How the hell would I even know? So instead of womaning up and actually finding out the truth, I just resign to the thought that there’s no way he could love me. Isn’t that pathetic? I should just learn to be like you. Confident. Women don’t say no to you because… well how could they?” 

Javier shook his head and looked down, “No,” He admitted quietly, “It’s not pathetic. It’s different when you’re talking about love versus lust. I pay for twenty minutes with a poor girl who has to do it to survive. If anything, that’s what’s pathetic. Honestly, I’m scared shitless when it comes to love.” 

He thought about your words and how much sense they actually made. The reason he hadn’t told you about his feelings for you were partly because he thought you’d never feel the same way. He was convinced that his reputation as a womanizer asshole, that he had rightly earned prior to you moving to Bogota, had turned you off entirely. Besides, wouldn’t he just mess it up? He thought he loved Lorraine but look how that turned out. The logical reason he told himself was the relationships amongst partners would be frowned upon but he knew that was a lie. Since when did Javier Pena follow the rules? The only thing holding him back really truly was himself. So why did it feel so impossible to come clean? 

Javier shook the thought from his head. You were drunk and rambling. Even if he were to man up and confess his love for you, this was not the time to do it. He’d be surprised if you remembered anything in the morning. Besides, you were on about some man you loved and he could only imagine who it was. He’d seen your gaze linger a little longer on Carillo than was usual for a colleague. Perhaps that was who it was, the mystery man that you couldn’t have. He was married, after all. It would be a logical road block. 

Part of Javier wanted to probe your brain and know the truth. He couldn’t tell if it was something that would make himself feel better or worse. It would put him out of his misery. Maybe if he heard it straight from your mouth that you didn’t love him, he could finally get over you. It would take a while, certainly many drunken nights and a few visits to Freckles, but he could do it. But if he did know, he also knew himself well enough to know he’d harbor some silent resentment for whoever the man was for taking the girl he loved. 

He shook his head at his thoughts when he saw the way you swayed a little, as if rocking on a boat despite being on solid ground, your eyes drifting shut while you struggled to stay sitting upright. You weren’t in your right state of mind and to ask you such a personal question would be a total breach of trust and respect. He’d be furious if he found out anybody else had done the same to you. 

“C’mon, let’s get you in bed.” Javier swallowed hard before shifting to help pull you up by your arm. 

Your body flopped loosely to your feet and you whined, “Noooo! We were just talking! Besides, you’re just gonna leave me in the dark and go back home.” You pouted, head lulling against his as the full blown weight of the alcohol hit you. Any composure you’d managed to maintain, which admittedly was very little, melted away into Javier’s chest as he hoisted you up and carried you bridal style to your bedroom. 

He glanced down at your made up bed and laid down your body as gently as he could, though you did roll on your own accord more clumsily than he had hoped. Javier flinched when your hands shot up to grab his shoulders, “Javi! Don’t leave me! It’s dark and scary still.” 

He sighed, his hands settling on his hips once he managed to pry your hands off his shoulders, “Just let me grab you some water and you’ll be fine.” 

“What if I wake up in the middle of the night and it’s still completely dark!” 

“I have a feeling you won’t be waking up for a while, hermosa.” He chuckled at the way your face was already half smashed into the pillow, your hair was laying over your cheek, and your eyes were closed shut, surely already halfway asleep. 

You reached up blindly for whatever you could grab, your fingers sliding down his forearm before they managed to hook onto a few of his fingers, “Please, Javi. I gave you popsicles and alcohol! The least you could do is stay the night and keep me company.” 

  Javier reached down and pulled the blanket that was folded at the end of your bed over your body. “I’ll be right back.” With that he left your room, feeling his way to the kitchen to get you a glass of ice water before returning to find you curled up in the blanket with your eyes closed. A small smile grew on his face, astounded by how you could still be so beautiful even when you looked like such a mess. A few strands of hair had fallen over your face and Javier reached down to gently brush them away from your mouth and behind your ear. 

You shifted a little, “You can sleep here.” Your hand stretched out to feel the other half of your queen sized bed. 

Finally, Javier decided to give in. “No, I’ll just make up a bed on the couch.” 

“There’s plenty o’ bed to share!” You giggled, thinking what you said was way funnier than it really was. 

Javier shook his head, “You're drunk, Y/N. I don’t want you waking up in the morning to see me in your bed and you go getting the wrong idea.” 

“You have no idea how many times I’ve wanted to wake up to see you in my bed.” You snuggled further into the pillow, your words barely above a murmur. 

“What?” Javier’s whole body seized up and he couldn’t look anywhere but you. He shook the thought away. There was no way you meant that. It was the gin and nothing more. He couldn’t get his hopes up, “Nevermind. You just close your eyes. I’ll be on the couch if you need anything.” 

You shook your head, “This is why I’m in love with you, Javi. Always the perfect gentleman, even when you’re an asshole sometimes.” 

Javier’s breath caught in his throat. He couldn’t deny your words this time. This was different. There was a difference between this is why I love you and this is why I’m in love with you. “In love? With me?” He told himself he wouldn’t pry earlier but the question came out before he could stop it. 

“Oh yeah... I’ve had a big ol’ crush on you for a long time. I don’t know what the hell love is but I think I might have it for you.” The wall that kept back your deepest thoughts came crashing down and your sentiments came flooding out like a semi-coherent tidal wave of admittal. “This is why I didn’t want to say anything because I know you don’t like me like that. You got all these beautiful women at your beck and call and I’m just boring old me who’s scared of the dark, spends more time working than living, and couldn’t dream of looking as beautiful as those ladies do.” 

Javier struggled to figure out what to say that wouldn’t be crossing the line, “There’s nothing boring about you, hermosa, and you are so much more beautiful than any other woman out there.” 

“But you don’t love me.” You insisted, cutting him off. 

He chewed the inside of his cheek. This had to be the worst time to be talking about this. If he said he did now, you probably wouldn’t remember it in the morning. Maybe you’d even write off your feelings as just drunken blubbering and he’d have to play along as if nothing had been meant. If he didn’t say it now, would it lock it in your mind that he couldn’t love you? “That’s not true.” He mumbled the words quietly but sincerely. He looked down at your form that was halfway asleep by now and pat your shoulder comfortingly, “Go to sleep. We can finish talking about this when you’re sober.” 

By the time the words left his mouth, you were already snoring. With a heavy breath, he looked away from you and walked back into the living room. He kicked his shoes off by the table and laid down on the couch, getting comfortable beneath the blanket that you’d left there earlier. Your conversations ran through his head about a mile and minute and he couldn’t slow them down. You actually loved him- nay, were in love with him. His feelings weren’t one sided. He tossed and turned for a while, battling with himself on how to address this (or even if he wanted to). He wasn’t so drunk that he had no control over what he said but he was just drunk enough to fuel a confidence that made him devise a plan to admit his feelings for you in the morning, even if sober him would most likely back out. 

**

When morning rolled around, neither of you were in the mood for admitting feelings. It took several cups of stove brewed coffee before either you were even able to form any more than a groan. The sunlight killed your eyes, even through the grey clouds. Your head pounded and you felt nauseous for the first half of the day. Javier was just slow and a little grumpier than usual. The two of you ate some tortillas that you’d thrown on the stovetop for breakfast in relative silence. 

The power was still out, the constant drizzle outside making it too dangerous for the power lines to be worked on. Thankfully, the sun cast enough light for you to not be freaking out anymore. Around eleven in the morning, you were finally feeling a little better and you looked up at Javier, who still had yet to leave your apartment. “Thanks for staying last night. Sorry for getting wasted.” You laughed a little at your expense. 

He sipped his coffee and rubbed his eyes, “Of course. You’re a mess when you drink, you know that?” 

You buried your face in your hands, feeling your matted hair. Gosh, you needed a shower. “Yeah, I’ve been told that before. That’s why I don’t get that drunk very often.” You sipped your own coffee, reveling in the scent that a few hours ago made you feel sick to your stomach but now smelled like the best thing on this planet. “You can take a shower if you’d like.” 

Javier gestured towards the front door, “I’ll just take one when I get back to my place.” 

“Oh right, you live here,” You groaned and chuckled at your stupidity, “Sorry, my brain is still moving kinda slow.” 

He smiled down at his coffee, fingers playing with the handle of the orange mug. “I, uh, I wanted to ask you about something, actually.” He began, his confidence from the prior night failing him. Javier could be suave as hell when he was trying to pick someone up at a bar but with you, all he could get was radio static in his brain. 

Your face twisted nervously, “Oh gosh, did I say something totally stupid last night?” You were already mentally facepalming. There were about a million things that ran through your mind daily, even sober, that you would be humiliated if drunk you had let slip. Things that ranged from a stupid dream you’d had about strapping bombs to pigeons and flying them into Escobar’s fincas to your unrequited harbored love for Javier ran through your head and you desperately hoped you had dumbly mentioned the former of the two topics. You could handle being teased about pigeon bombs. You didn’t want to lose Javier forever because you had your crush on him slip. 

One of Javier’s hands moved to his thigh and ran up and down the rough fabric of his jeans. “No, it wasn’t stupid at all, actually.” His pause made you nervous, expecting only the worst. “You said that you were in love with me.” 

Oh gosh. This was it. The moment you feared most. 

“I did?” You asked like a deer caught in headlights. You could feel your face visibly pale as you stared at Javier with wide eyes. His eyes flicked from yours down to his coffee and you panicked, “I’m sorry. I didn’t-” 

“I love you too.” He interrupted quickly and bluntly, knowing that if he waited any longer either you’d say it wasn’t true or he’d back out and either way it resulted in him never getting the words out. This was his shot at happiness and he was going to take it. 

Your mouth moved with failed words before finally sputtering out, “I’m sorry, what?” 

“I love you, Y/N. And I’m sorry if you didn’t mean it and I just ruined everything but you said last night that we sit around and make ourselves miserable by convincing ourselves that it could never happen and I just- I just figured I’d try to find a way out of the misery.” Javier wasn’t one for grand gestures or sappy heartfelt speeches but the confidence he’d had last night had returned to him for only a second to give you the closest he’d ever gotten to either. 

His words seemed to snap you right out of your foggy hangover haze and you couldn’t seem to take your eyes off him and the way his brown eyes seemed to bore into yours with a depth that made you almost scared to look away. “I-I love you too, Javi.” 

His eyes lightened up and his mustaches quirked upwards with his lips in a cautious smile, “Really?” 

You nodded, your voice breathy when you whispered out, “Yeah. I just- I never thought you could love me.” 

“Hermosa, I don’t know how anyone couldn’t.” 

[ladylynse]

Chapter 6 [FFN | AO3] of Forewarning

All Dipper knew was that there was something buried in some special thermos behind the shack; all Danny knew was that he had no idea how he'd gotten here.

Based off this artwork by @hashtag-art. Happy birthday, @bibliophilea!

(beginning | previous)

-|-

Once safely back at the Mystery Shack, Wendy turned off the golf cart and grabbed her supplies from the rack in the back. It had been a bumpy ride, but she’d only needed to sacrifice one bag of marshmallows to the forest. That wasn’t bad, considering how many creatures she was fairly sure lived there.

And, fine, maybe it made her a little paranoid to think that some of the bumps she’d hit had been deliberate, a growth of tree roots just so or deep holes suspiciously covered with leaf litter, but it wasn’t like she voiced her thoughts to anyone else.

Besides, whatever lived in the forest seemed happy with the occasional sacrifice of candy. At the very least, she’d never been stopped by something yet, and she took a lot of shortcuts through here by herself. That wasn’t exactly recommended, even for those who knew the territory well. When her family went out for apocalypse training, they were supposed to pair off. They didn’t always, but they did more often than not.

It’s easier to survive if there’s someone you trust around to watch your back, but you have to know how to fight if there isn’t.

Whatever had stopped by the Mystery Shack wasn’t bringing the apocalypse with it—she was pretty sure about that—but she didn’t want this to turn into that. Taking the twins to see the haunted grocery store? Sure. She still hadn’t been sure they’d actually see ghosts despite the stories—no one had been until it had happened—but that was different. That was contained. That was very much not in the Mystery Shack. Where the kids slept. With only the oblivious skeptic Stan around to fight the things that went bump in the night.

Now, if those things were corporeal, she wouldn’t be concerned. The man knew how to punch, and he’d punch before asking questions. But whatever had turned up this time clearly had the option to not be corporeal. Like a ghost.

She remembered the footprints appearing in the scattered baking soda a split second before the boy who’d visited earlier appeared. The same boy who had flashed a careless grin and flipped through postcards and keychains and magnets in the gift shop before taking a tour with Mabel.

Whatever he was, he wasn’t a ghost, but he was entirely too much like a ghost for comfort.

There was no sign of Stan yet—not a surprise; she hadn’t heard his car—but chances were good he wasn’t far behind her.

She saw Soos walking in from the lane and raised her hand in a wave. He spotted her and held a finger to his lips before pointing, and something cold and heavy settled in her gut as she spotted three figures by the woodshed: Mabel, Dipper, and the not-a-ghost boy who’d called himself Danny.

She cursed under her breath as she hurried to meet Soos. “That’s him,” she hissed. “We need to get him away from the twins.”

“Did you find anything in town that we can use?”

“I bought a couple more boxes of salt.” Silver was expensive—too expensive for her, anyway—and she wasn’t exactly guaranteed to find holy water even if she tried breaking into a church, mostly because she didn’t know where she’d look for it. She could’ve bought a cast iron frying pan, but she might as well grab one from the kitchen. The ideas of what they might be able to do had quickly fallen apart when she’d realized what was actually feasible. “It’s better than nothing.”

“What about garlic?”

“For a ghost?”

“You said he wasn’t a ghost.”

“Close enough to a ghost. And, anyway, there should be some in the kitchen. We can always chop up a couple of cloves and see if it does anything.” If it didn’t, and they didn’t waste it, they could always throw it into hamburger meat or make garlic bread. “How long has he been here? The kid?”

“Just a couple of minutes,” Soos allowed, “but this isn’t the first time the kids have met him.”

Wendy closed her eyes. “I know, I just…. I’d hoped they wouldn’t realize he wasn’t normal.” More to the point, she’d hoped that he wouldn’t come back. What the hell did he want, anyway? Sure, he’d said something about fixing whatever was wrong, but their ideas about what needed fixing weren’t likely the same.

“They might not. He was pretending to be normal when he talked to me.”

“He talked to you?”

“Just to ask after Dipper and Mabel.”

Wendy frowned. Soos didn’t sound too optimistic that Mabel and Dipper wouldn’t realize there was something weird about the kid, and frankly, she thought he was right. Mabel might be more forgiving, but Dipper…. “We’ll play it cool. Keep doing whatever you were doing. Try to keep an eye on them without being too obvious about it. I’ll prepare the fire pit.”

“The wood, campfire forks, hot dogs, marshmallows—?”

His gaze had wandered pointedly down to the box of salt pressing against the white plastic bag she carried, its blue label clearly visible. “Yeah. I won’t ring it thickly enough that it’s noticeable, especially since it’ll have to be in the gravel where nothing’s growing anyway, but if he’s going to pretend to be normal, then we’ll see how long he can keep that up.”

“And if he’s not affected by the salt?”

“We cross that bridge when we come to it.”

“And if we’re wrong and he is normal after all?”

Wendy snorted. “If he’s normal, he’s only normal for here.” She saw Soos shift uncomfortably and added, “If Stan comes back before I’m finished, give him the pitch about taking measures to ghost-proof the Mystery Shack and advertising doing that because it’s haunted. He’ll know how to get more of what we need, even if he doesn’t think it’ll do anything.”

“What if he’s not bad? The kid, I mean. Not everything is bad. Not everyone is bad.”

The kid had claimed he wasn’t a threat. He’d said he was stuck, that he just wanted to go home, that he had to fix something, not break it. What if it hadn’t been a lie? She didn’t see how his sneaking around could mean his intentions were honourable, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t missing something.

On the other hand, if he were simply determined to show a friendly face to the twins to get them to lower their guard, only to strike once he’d fooled them—

Wendy wasn’t sure if she wanted to take that risk. Having a healthy amount of suspicion now and apologizing later sounded much better to her than being overly trusting and being burned—especially if she wouldn’t be the only one caught in that fire. She and Soos had lived their entire lives here. Mabel and Dipper had not. They might not yet appreciate the degree to which not everything was as it appeared.

“You don’t need to be ready to attack,” Wendy finally said. “You just need to be ready to defend.” Soos nodded, maybe thinking her words were for both of them, but they weren’t. She had no intentions of simply being ready to defend. She wasn’t about to attack unprovoked, but if this kid did anything that set off alarm bells for her, she’d act on her gut. She trusted her gut more than her head. It was reliable in these sorts of situations.

The trouble was, her gut should have made a call on this already. Instead, she was still conflicted, and more time to mull it over on her trip into town hadn’t helped. Part of her still wanted to take the kid’s words at face value, but the little she’d seen of what he could do backed up the part of her that insisted he was far too dangerous to blindly trust. Soos wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, but there was so much that could seem innocuous at first….

The knowledge that Soos was right and they had no idea if salt would actually help defend them didn’t make this any easier—especially when Danny was clearly interested in Mabel and Dipper. Soos had mentioned Dipper having a book, and she remembered seeing glimpses of it before. If that’s what the kid was interested in, how was she supposed to help Dipper and Mabel protect it while still protecting them?

Salt first. Purifying fire and questions later, if the kid decided to stick around for it. As long as he wasn’t hurting her friends, she was willing to give him a shovel and see how deep he dug.

XXXXXXX

Danny didn’t see the journal around, but Dipper apparently didn’t need it to draw his magic circle thing in the dirt. To be fair, Danny didn’t know if it was the same one as before, but he also didn’t want to find out. Which meant taking the initiative and trying to explain before they decided to pull more magic stuff on him.

“Please don’t do whatever you’re planning on doing,” he said, keeping his voice low in the hope that the guy he’d been talking to earlier wouldn’t hear it. “I just want to talk, I swear.”

“Are you ready to explain now?”

That was Dipper, with a bite in his voice that reminded Danny a bit of Valerie. Dipper might not sound even half as malicious as Valerie could when she was spitting curses at Phantom, but he was appropriately wary. “Yeah. But you have to promise you won’t try any magic stuff.”

“No. You’re not defenseless, and I’m not swearing away my ability to protect anyone.”

Oh. Right. He might think that particular promise carried more weight than a regular promise. He seemed to think giving his word would make it impossible to break. Danny didn’t know of any ghosts with that power, and frankly he didn’t want to meet one who had it. “You don’t have to. I just…. I promise I’m not here to hurt you or anyone else. I only want to talk. And not, y’know, risk being exorcised if you don’t believe me.”

Mabel looked from Danny to her brother and raised an eyebrow. He scowled at her but said, “Fine. If you don’t do anything except tell us the truth right now, I won’t try to exorcise you.”

Not ideal, but it wasn’t like Danny was planning on lying through his teeth to them, anyway—or that he couldn’t still attempt a lie if he felt he needed to. He had a feeling it wouldn’t work, though. He hadn’t had a whole lot of luck earlier. Maybe seeing through that thing was a kind of survival instinct around here, just like Secret Lab Guy had said.

Come to that, though— How had he had an entire conversation with someone, spilled half his life story to that someone, and not actually gotten their name?

Whatever. He’d ask later if he didn’t figure it out before then. It just proved the point, though. These people were good. Sharper than he was used to, unless almost everyone in Amity Park had already figured out his secret and was just being nice and waiting for him to make some kind of grand announcement.

Yeah, right. If Amity Park’s continued obliviousness wasn’t natural, then Vlad had done something. Not something Danny would thank him for, exactly, but something he wouldn’t fault him for, either.

“Thanks. Can I sit?” There weren’t chairs. There weren’t even logs. Dipper would be able to tell that he was staring at the circle drawn in the dirt, though, and know the question for what it was.

Mabel reached out one foot and drew a line through it with the toe of her shoe. “Yup!” she said, dropping down in place. “Pull up some grass.”

Dipper glared at her as Danny sat down on a patch that was more gravel than grass, but the other boy didn’t say anything; he just settled down and looked like he’d be ready to grab the axe beside him at a moment’s notice. Danny didn’t really want to find out if he knew how to use it. Then again, going by the assorted sizes of split logs nearby, he wasn’t overly skilled; even if it wasn’t a normal axe that Danny could avoid with intangibility, there was a good chance that Dipper was clumsy enough with it that he’d be easy enough to avoid.

“I’m sorry about not being entirely straight with you earlier when I said I would be.” Danny didn’t know where to begin, but an apology seemed smart when he still wanted their help.

“Which time, Phantom?”

Well, at least there wasn’t any lingering doubt. Danny sucked in a breath and let it out slowly to give himself a bit of time to think. Mabel looked ready to listen, but Dipper…. He still wasn’t sure about Dipper. “This isn’t exactly something I tend to tell strangers,” Danny said slowly, “but you’re right. I’m Phantom. I’m the one you let out of the thermos.”

Dipper was still practicing his glare, but Mabel asked, “So what are you? You’re not a ghost. We’ve seen ghosts.”

“I’m still a ghost,” Danny said, since as far as he knew, that was true. “Just…part ghost. Part human.” He rubbed the back of his neck and offered them a smile. “Remember when I joked about being the poster boy for interdimensional safety?”

“You expect us to believe you were in some sort of accident,” Dipper said flatly.

They didn’t need to know all the details, but— “Yeah. Lab accident. It didn’t kill me, or at least I don’t think it did, but I did get ghost powers, so that’s cool. Not something I’d recommend to anyone, but cool.”

Okay, Dipper definitely didn’t believe that, but Mabel nodded as if Danny had said something normal and not what probably sounded insane. “Why were you in the thermos?”

“Clockwork, I think. He’s the one who gave me the message to warn you in the first place, remember? Also the one who likes to pretend he doesn’t interfere but interferes like this. I thought it was Vlad, until I…until I realized how long it had been. And, no, before you ask, I don’t know who wrote that journal. I wasn’t lying about that. The only important bit I lied about was ‘Danny Fenton’ being a friend.”

“Why fess up now?” Dipper’s question was a challenge, sure, but Danny could hear the genuine curiosity behind it. Chance were, he wasn’t a great liar, either.

“Because I might need your help to get home. Especially if that help involves you trusting me enough to let me help you and you not trying to kill me first.”

“What were you looking for earlier?” Danny blinked, trying to figure out what that meant, and Dipper must have read that confusion on his face because he elaborated, “Mabel heard you. We know you were back before you showed yourself now.”

Right. She had been in the gift shop area, hadn’t she? “I was trying to find some clue about what else I’m supposed to do here.”

“And?”

That meant did you find it? Danny might’ve promised them the truth, but he’d also promised the other guy that he wouldn’t blow that secret, either. More or less. Hopefully that wasn’t what he was supposed to do here? “There’s something weird about this place,” he said instead. “It’s got this…feeling. I don’t know how to describe it.” It was something unnerving, like the feeling the Fright Knight could give you, but with more…. More I’m-watching-you vibes. Vlad times a hundred. If he didn’t need to stick around to get home, he’d be gone by now. Whatever Clockwork was trying to warn these guys away from, it felt like a danger on par with Pariah Dark.

Not that he’d be able to explain that to them.

Mabel reached over to poke Dipper in the arm. “Show him the journal.”

That would make things a lot easier for him. “I could tell you what it has wrong about ghosts. Or at least about me,” he offered. He wanted to do that regardless, but if he could give them more reason to show him, well….

“It seems to be right about you,” Dipper said, “unless you want to pretend that you’ve never been affected by anything we’ve done.”

Danny blew out a breath. “Look. Being part ghost doesn’t mean I’m exempt from everything that works on ghosts. It also means that I need to be careful around hunters, including you guys. But I’m not here to fight you or steal something or whatever your book says about me. I’m the good guy, I swear.”

“The good guy. Who needs his own little dedicated section in the journal.”

“Dedicated section?” That sounded worrisome. How much info did these guys have on him? Some of it had to be accurate, but if it was just full of things he’d done as a ghost with no context, like the stealing—

“More like a paragraph,” Mabel interrupted, “and it’s not even in the same language as the rest of it.”

Wait.

“Not the same language? What language is it?”

“See for yourself,” Mabel said. She elbowed Dipper when he didn’t immediately produce the journal and offer it up and then hissed a few things in his ear for good measure, which finally seemed to convince him. He pulled the journal out from beneath the vest he’d been wearing earlier, flipped through to the right page, and turned it around to show Danny.

Danny leaned closer, but he didn’t recognize the language, either. If it was something ghosts spoke, he’d never seen it written down, but aside from Wulf, most of the ghosts he’d met spoke English. He didn’t know how many other languages they spoke, though. He’d never asked. If this was some common language he had yet to learn….

“It might be the way it’s coded,” Dipper admitted, “instead of actually being in a different language. Some passages in the journal are coded, but they’re all the same code, except for this. I haven’t had any luck cracking it.”

Danny frowned, reading the page over before Dipper could take it away. He couldn’t see anything about a thermos or anything else that would have led them to him in the first place, but there was a bit of gibberish above that section written in green ink that might be the first code—

Wait. Green ink? Everything else in here was black or blue or some kind of brown that Danny really hoped wasn’t blood. “What else is written in this colour?” he asked, pointing to the passage.

“That’s it.”

“In the entire book?” That didn’t make sense. “But…why?”

“When I find the author of the journals,” Dipper said bluntly, “that won’t be one of the first questions I ask.”

“It won’t even be one of the first hundred,” Mabel added. “Dipper’s never understood the importance of colour.”

To be fair, it wasn’t typically high on Danny’s list of priorities, either, but this colour thing was definitely strange. How many other weird things were in that book if this didn’t make the list?

“Does it mean something to you?” Mabel asked.

Danny hesitated. The fact that it happened to be the same colour as his eyes—or his ectoplasm—in ghost mode could be a coincidence, but things tended to be a lot less coincidental when Clockwork was involved. Danny wasn’t really ready to bet that whoever had written this journal had simply run out of every other colour of pen that day. “Maybe,” he admitted, “but only in that it might point toward me.” Or another ghost like him. Hopefully not Danielle.

“So do you know who wrote it?” she prompted.

He shook his head. “I don’t know the handwriting. That’s not saying much, though. There are a lot of people—and ghosts—I know whose handwriting I’d never recognize.” He wasn’t even sure he’d recognize the Ghost Writer’s handwriting. “What does the other part say about me?”

“That something was stuck in a thermos behind the shack,” Mabel answered immediately, ignoring her brother’s glare. “Which it was.”

“It’s a Fenton Thermos, something specifically designed to contain ghosts. My parents build them.” If he wasn’t trying to keep his secret anymore, there was no harm in admitting that. “They’re paranormal scientists and inventors.”

“Like the author of the journal is,” Mabel said, shooting Dipper a pointed look. “That must be why the bit about the thermos is in there.”

“Not— I mean, I’m not thirty years old. Seriously. Do I look that old to you? I just turned fifteen last week.” Well. Last week for him. Not for whenever this was, five years in his future. “Me being in the thermos is Clockwork’s fault.” Probably. Except Clockwork wouldn’t have needed to catch him in a thermos to force him back here; he could’ve simply asked and called in a favour if Danny had complained, which he would’ve. More likely, Clockwork had merely taken advantage of someone else capturing him in a thermos, and that list of possibilities was long—and included more than one ally, even when the capturing was intentional.

“I don’t know all the details, okay? I just…. I haven’t met a ghost besides Clockwork that messes with time.” His evil future self didn’t count, not when Clockwork’s power had still been the vehicle for everything he’d done.

…Danny really hoped this had nothing to do with him. Now that he thought about it, he didn’t appreciate the thermos parallels.

Of course, now that he thought about it, the fact that he’d been stuck in a thermos had to be deliberate. Sure, it was a way to skirt the notice of the Observants, but Clockwork had messed with the timeline before without doing anything sneaky like that. If the thermos was important…. Coupled with the fact that there was a portal being built beneath a place called the Mystery Shack….

“That’s why I’m here.”

“You care to share with the class?” Dipper asked.

“The thermos, the portal—”

“What portal?”

Oops. “The, y’know, whatever, it doesn’t matter, the point is, you said the author of the journals was a paranormal scientist? Maybe an inventor, too?”

“No, no, don’t change the subject. What portal?”

“Like a portal to another dimension?” Mabel queried. “Is that why you talked about interdimensional safety earlier?”

Oh, crud. They weren’t going to let his slip about the portal go. So much for that secret. “Just…never mind that right now. Paranormal scientist. Inventor. Like my parents. He probably didn’t know them, it would’ve been too early on for them to have made a name for themselves, they might not even have been together yet, but…. Okay. This is gonna sound crazy—”

“Crazier than everything else you’ve said?” Dipper asked dryly.

“—but just go with me on this. Please. I know what happened when my parents messed stuff up, and—”

“And you’re warning us so we’re prepared and more careful,” Mabel finished. “So I don’t get impatient and Dipper doesn’t get complacent.”

Danny frowned. “What?”

“Your warning,” she repeated. “You’re not trying to get us to stop what we’re doing. It’s a terrible warning for that. That kind of thing just makes you wanna do it more, whatever it is. So you’re actually warning us to be more careful than you think we would be otherwise.”

Danny opened his mouth to tell her that warning someone not to do something obviously meant they shouldn’t do it, and then he remembered all the times his parents had warned him not to touch stuff in the lab.

Right.

Maybe she wasn’t wrong.

Just because that was what a warning meant, didn’t mean it would always have the desired effect.

Moreover, Clockwork would know exactly what to have Danny say to get the desired effect.

He’d thought he’d come to help with the portal, but he still didn’t know the blueprints of his parents’ portal as well as Tucker did. If this were just about helping them build or fix the portal in the basement without bad consequences, Tucker was a better choice than he was, and Clockwork could most definitely have arranged that.

But Danny had joked about being the poster boy for interdimensional safety, and he could still disassemble and reassemble most of his parents’ weapons in order to tweak them, even if he wasn’t as good at it as Tucker, and he’d be an idiot to keep ignoring the fact that Clockwork had made sure he had a thermos here.

The thermos wasn’t for him. It had never been for him. It had contained him, sure, but Clockwork must’ve made sure he was stuck in one so that he’d think of this. So that he’d think of what they’d done with his evil future self. And so he’d have it when he needed it.

There was a portal in a secret lab in the basement of the Mystery Shack, and the thermos written about in Dipper’s journal was for whatever was coming out of it.

(see more fics | next)

[keelywolfe]

FIC: A Pressing Engagement ch2 (Not baon AU)

Summary: Brotherly bonding, by way of felonies. 

Tags:  Spicyhoney, Fluff and Angst, Dating, Developing Relationship, Humor

Chapter 1

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Read it here!

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“Brother,” Blue sighed as he pulled his car up to curb two houses down from the Fell brother’s home. “I’ve known you for a long time.”

Stretch gave him a sideways look. “we’re brothers, i was literally there when you were born.”

Blue ignored that. “And I know we’ve discussed that shortcutting around is rude, but in this situation, I feel as though you could simply pop into Edge’s garage, look for the ring, and we can be back home in time for the new Napstaton special.”

“oh, that’d be too easy for my life,” Stretch grumbled as he pulled a dark knit ski mask over his skull, drawing it down over his face for maximum espionage. The last thing he needed was his white-ass noggin out there bobbing around like a second moon. “i can’t shortcut in. red rigged up some kinda anti-teleportation field around their house, ever since sans stashed all that nitrogen-frozen shaving cream in red’s room.” He tried to flash Blue a grin before he remembered the damn mask. “can’t blame him even if it was funny as hell. i doubt his room has been that clean before or since.”

“Yes, I remember that. Edge wasn’t as amused.”

“that’s ‘cause his sense of humor is atrophied from disuse, we’re working on it. so if shortcuts are out, we gotta be discreet. which is why you should’ve changed when i asked!" Stretch said accusingly. He glared at Blue's bright pink She-Ra t-shirt, showcasing Catra and Adora in a loving embrace. The sentiment was appreciated, the color, not so much, his bro was gonna stand out like an adorably affectionate beacon.

“My apologies for not owning any cat burglar gear, I missed out on auditioning for the remake of Ocean’s 11. Really, brother, we’re breaking into one garage, not a casino vault.” Blue sighed again and turned off the car. “I really don’t think this is a good idea.”

“none of this was a good idea, but here i am.” Should’ve known it was a mistake the second he walked into the jewelry store, could’ve wasted a lot less time if he’d probed Edge for marriage opinions before he opened his wallet. But there wasn’t time (heh) for him to work out his own version of ‘Back to the Future’, so they were gonna have to stick with heist movie.

Stretch got out of the car and skulked closer, inspecting their surroundings, Blue following reluctantly behind. The sidewalks were empty, everyone else was sensibly inside watching their preferred nighttime entertainment since it was dark except for the bright streetlamps positioned evenly down the length of the block.

Stretch paused outside the ring of light by the Fell home, summoning a small, sharpened bone. At his elbow, Blue asked worriedly, “What are you doing?”

“i’m gonna break the streetlamp so no one can see us.”

Blue grabbed his hand, hissing, “You are not! I did not sign on for destruction of property! Unscrew the bulb and we can tighten it again when we leave!”

Okay, to be fair that was a much better idea, even if it took a lot more concentration and a quick mental ‘righty tighty, lefty loosey’. With a little effort, Stretch managed to coax the oversized bulb loose and the light went abruptly dark. Perfect.

The two of them crept closer to the house and if Blue was humming the ‘mission impossible’ theme song under his breath, Stretch couldn’t exactly gripe at him. He’d had it blaring nonstop in the back of his head since they’d left the apartments. They paused by the well-trimmed shrubs that ran alongside the garage while Stretch considered the plan.

Opening the main garage door was out. Even if Stretch could clip the house alarm, there was no way one of the Fell brothers wouldn’t hear that grinding its way open. Reconnaissance was supposed to happen before the damned heist, every movie Stretch ever saw taught him that, but they were working in a time crunch and wasn’t it a shame that the only room in the Fell house that he knew with any real detail was Edge’s bedroom. Also the shower, but neither of those options were real useful right now.

He looked around, squinting through the dimness, hell, they should’ve done this before he killed the streetlight. To his relief, he could see the outline of window in the shadows, up high on garage wall. He gestured to it, whispering to Blue, “give me up boost up.”

Blue gulped visibly and reached out, the faintest glow rising in his fingers. There was a soft ting as his magic enveloped Stretch’s soul, lifting him off his feet and towards the window. Or more like sending him on an increasingly wobbly flight through the air, limbs dangling as he slowly rose. Stretch bit back a squawk as the grip on his soul twisted him nearly sideways, then hastily overcompensated in the other direction to almost send him careening into the building.

“careful!” Stretch whispered furiously, biting back a curse as he shoved away from the wall. “seriously, what have you been learning with all that training you do!”

“I’m terribly sorry, Alphys never covered breaking and entering!” Blue hissed. Sweat was visibly standing out on his skull, glimmering in the moonlight. Another minute of unstable and slightly painful antigravity later and Stretch was hovering outside the window.

His black hoodie was a better choice for more than the color. Its pockets zipped securely shut, holding his tiny collection of burglary tools safe and sound. If Stretch’d been wearing this one earlier, none of this would be happening and wasn’t hindsight a nosy bitch. He dug out his tools, flicking on a penlight to inspect what the paranoid goblin had going for home security. There was an alarm, to be expected, but it looked like a simple wire job. All Stretch needed was five minutes and a pair of wire snips and he’d be inside.

“Oh!” his brother’s voice suddenly carried through the quiet, too loud and verging on a panicked cheer, “Good evening, Mrs. Gerson!”

Stretch’s head whipped around to see an elderly turtle Monster gradually walking up to Blue, cane in hand and waving with dreamy slowness. He couldn’t hear what she said to Blue, but his brother’s voice came loud and clear, “Yes, working on my stretching exercises! I do them for a few minutes every day. Trying to hurry up with it today, it’s later than I thought!”

Not exactly what he’d call discreet, yeah, but Stretch sure as hell got the message.

Frantically, Stretch got to work on the wires, clipping and twisting them into a messy sort of bypass. There was no time to be tidy, not while he was dangling here like a bargain basement Spider-man as Blue tried to keep Mrs. Doubtfire distracted over there. A muffled grunt escaped as Stretch suddenly listed to one side, hanging horizontally in the air. Another twist sent him face-first into the wall and Stretch tried to brace himself against the siding, biting off a yelp as he was dragged noisily upward.

“Whoops,” Blue called in a loud, nervous chuckle, hopefully covering the rattle of bones whacking into the side of a damn wall, “I think I still need to hold that stretch for another couple of minutes.” From this angle, Stretch had no idea what Mrs. Gerson was making of the washboard sound of him lurching up and down the siding like mysterious jug band traveling through the night, “Goodness, not sure how much longer I manage!”

Whatever calisthenics Blue was doing finally bent him in a direction that was close enough to the window for him to reach. Stretch grabbed on, hauling himself upright and holding on frantically with one hand as he clipped the last wire. He shoved up the windowpane, wincing as it screeched ominously the way windows only did in the middle of the damn night when someone was trying to sneak through it. He didn’t wait for Blue to try breaking out in song to cover it up, diving through the narrow panel and nearly tumbled straight to the concrete floor as his brother’s magic released, barely managing to catch himself and drop clumsily to his feet.

Okay, that went well.

Damn good thing he was breaking into Edge’s garage; the entire thing was pin-neat, no suspicious stack of paint cans to knock over or a pile of trash bags to fall into. Only tools on the wall, a clean workbench, and the pristine shape of his car precisely in its place, gleaming metallic cherry-red beneath the narrow beam of the penlight.

Now all Stretch had to do was get into it. A slim jim tool was out, for several reasons. One, despite watching several youtube videos on his way over, Stretch was not confident he could do it, two, it might damage Edge’s car and that was right out.

There was also the small matter that Stretch didn’t have a slim jim, so that left trying to hack into Edge’s Onstar account to wirelessly unlock it.

That he could probably manage and he spent a long, sweaty ten minutes on his phone, wrangling through firewalls and password detectors, searching and fruitlessly guessing, getting more frantic by the second as he silently cursed paranoid fucking Fells and it was only when despair was setting in that it occurred to him to try the door.

It opened easily under his tentative touch and the amount and variety of swearing that went through his mind right then would have sent Blue sprinting to the nearest grocery store for their entire stock of soap.

Okay, no more time for distractions, the finish line was in sight. Stretch crawled inside, penlight flashing as he searched frantically through the interior.

Not that there was much to see, Edge kept his car painfully clean. Even the mats were glossy black, not a speck of dust on the control panel, no stray fries or pennies caught in-between the seats. His panic was hitting all new highs when the light caught on dark velvet wedged in between the passenger seat and the door.

It must’ve fallen when he got out and Stretch picked it up, his knees watery-weak with relief as he opened it to look at the rings which, stupid, what was he afraid he got the wrong velvet box?

Time to get out of here, rescue Blue from Granny Mcgee and get the fuck out for the celebratory fist bump, and he barely had time to even think it when the overhead light came on at the same moment a much harsher blue magic than his brother’s took hold of his soul and slammed him painfully into the garage door. It knocked the breath out of him and Stretch hung there, wheezing, the box clutched tightly in his fingers as the last voice he wanted to hear echoed coldly through the garage.

“Stop struggling.”

Fearfully, Stretch lifted his head to see Edge strolling in through the doorway and it was honestly impressive how imposing he could be in a pair of silk pajamas and slippers.

“I’m afraid you’ve chosen the wrong car to steal, thief, I’m rather fond of it, I—” Edge stopped, his eye sockets narrowing and Stretch cringed as he reached out and roughly tore the ski mask off. His sockets widened in disbelief. “Stretch?”

“um. hey.” Stretch waved feebly with his empty hand.

“What the hell are you doing,” Edge sputtered out, cold anger melting into clear upset, “I could have hurt you!”

Yeah and sweat was running down his tailbone just thinking about it. Good thing it was Edge and not Red who found him, the gremlin might’ve dusted first and felt a micron of guilt later.

Stretch waggled his feet in the empty air. “um. gonna let me down?”

Edge’s gaze narrowed. “I’ll consider it. What are you doing here and if I hear the words shaving cream, I’ll—"

“no! no, nothing like that,” Stretch blurted in automatic denial and regretted it immediately. Shit, mistake, probably should’ve let Edge believe it was a prank of some sort, let him get mad and yell. He would’ve gotten over it eventually and they could’ve gotten back to their non-dates and twice weekly sexytimes with the occasional overnight thrown in for extra flavor. Except, Stretch didn’t like it when Edge was mad at him and not just mad, he would’ve been disappointed, even hurt, because any prank that involved his car was taking it up to a level of cruel. Edge’s car was his baby and Stretch wouldn’t do that to him, never never ever.

Didn’t matter, he’d sort of lost his chance to go with prank when he denied it was one, so there was nothing left but some version of the truth. Stretch took a deep breath and went with the basics, “i left something in your car, is all. didn’t want to bug you to get it, not after begging off on you. stupid, i know.”

“Very stupid,” Edge agreed, “considering that we have motion sensors in the garage.”

Of course he fucking did. “yeah, um, sorry.” Now that a portion of the truth was out there, time for a distraction. Hanging on the wall like a modern art installation probably wasn’t giving off the sexiest vibes, but Stretch gave it a shot, calling up what he hoped passed for an enticing smile, running his tongue lightly across his teeth, “’m feeling a lot better now, though, could head upstairs if you want, make up for a little lost time…?”

Edge raised a silencing hand and Stretch reluctantly obeyed, ah, fuck, he was too late, Edge was thinking about it, shit, and proved it by saying, slowly, “Let me see if I understand. You left something in my car and decided you needed to break into my home, bypass the alarm, pick the locks, and skulk through my garage to get it instead of simply asking me?" Edge crossed his arms over his chest and the intensity of his glare went up a notch, "No."

"no?" Stretch parroted, confused.

"No, that goes beyond the bounds of suspending my disbelief, so you're lying." Edge’s sockets narrowed and Stretch flinched from the true anger he could see there, "I do not like liars or thieves, so show me what you took."

His grip tightened around the velvet box. “but i don’t—”

“Show me,” Edge barked out.

Humiliating tears started welling, fuck, this wasn’t the time for it, all his earlier disappointment rising back up chokingly painful in his soul as Stretch whispered brokenly, "please don't make me."

Edge’s grip on his soul wavered, sending him sliding down an inch as that anger faded into bewilderment, "What…you broke into my garage, why are you—just show me!"

Miserably, Stretch held out the velvet box, let Edge snatch it away. From his continued confusion, he still didn't get it, not until he popped it open. The bands gleamed garishly in the overhead lights, carbon tungsten because the salesman assured him that it was extremely durable, with a twined color strip woven through the black metal of orange and red. Their colors joined together the way Stretch had hoped, stupidly, that their lives would.

Dawning realization as Edge looked from the rings to Stretch and back, again, and once more for good measure.

"Oh," Edge said blankly.

"yeah,” Stretch said, tiredly. “can you put me down now?"

Hastily, he did. "Stretch--" Edge began, all awkward gentleness now, the ring box still open in his hand like a mockery of Stretch’s hopeful daydreams and wasn’t that just typical of his life?

And Stretch just couldn’t. He couldn’t listen to the pity he could already see in Edge’s eye lights, he couldn’t, not right now with what felt like his entire soul choking in his throat. Red’s little shortcut blocker worked for going in, but not out and now that Edge didn’t have him pinned, Stretch was fucking gone. Stumbling out onto the sidewalk outside and almost went to his knees right where Blue was still chatting awkwardly with Mrs. Gerson.

“we need to go,” Stretch blurted. “right now!” And when Blue didn’t move fast enough, Stretch grabbed him around the waist and yanked him off his feet. Let someone else get dragged around for a change tonight, Stretch was sick of it, felt bruised inside and out as he dashed over to the car.

“Oof, bro-oth-er!” Blue yelped as he was all but bowled into the driver’s seat while Stretch scrambled over to the passenger side “What on earth is going on?!”

“go!” Stretch pleaded, “just go, i’ll explain at home.”

Blue probably would’ve put up more of a fight, sure as hell would with any other brotherly manhandling, but he caught sight of tears starting to boil down Stretch’s cheek bones and instead fumbled for his keys. “All right, we’re going.”

The engine started and he began to pull away…right into a massive cage of bones grinding up around the car from the ground, chunks of asphalt falling from the jagged tips. Directly in front of them was Edge, both hands flung out and his roused magic surrounding him in a fiery aura. His crimson eye lights blazed as he forcibly held them back in a glorious depiction of viciously controlled power even while he was still in those damn silk pajamas and slippers.

Really, it was damned impressive. He was fucking gorgeous and Stretch hated himself for noticing, for even thinking it.

“Turn off the car,” Edge said, loudly, and Blue did, sitting mutely as Edge let his magic fade. He walked over the passenger side and opened the door, leaning in as he said evenly, “I think we need to talk, don’t you?”

Stretch buried his face into his hands and wondered if he could get away with a ‘fuck, no.’

He dared to look out and from the expression on Edge’s face, fleeing was only gonna lead to a wild hunt through the city and Blue already said he didn’t want any property damage.

Might as well get it over with. Stretch nodded and impatiently wiped his face on his sleeves as he got out of the car. He couldn’t even be insulted when Edge firmly grabbed his elbow and held on, leading him towards the house despite the way Stretch’s sneakers dragged through the crumbled remains of the road.

Mrs. Gerson smiled and nodded as they walked past, waving as she croaked out, “Have a good night, boys!”

“Thank you, Mrs. Gerson,” they said in unison, Edge crisply polite and Stretch a dismal mutter.

Edge unlocked the front door, pushing Stretch through it and he didn’t look up, not at Red who was on sofa, sitting up from his slouch with a genuinely startled, “what the fuck…?” and not at Edge, who ignored his brother to guide him up the stairs to his bedroom.

He closed the door and firmly set Stretch in the desk chair while Edge sat across from him on the bed.

“All right,” Edge said. He held out the ring box, blessedly closed, hiding the contents that Stretch was pretty sure he never wanted to see again; he’d rather toss them in the trash than try to return them at this point, “Now. Start from the beginning.”

tbc

Read Chapter 3

[failgirl-hobbes]

Yandere!Melone x Reader

Melone develops an unhealthy obsession with you without even knowing you. To stasisfy his obsession he kidnaps you. This is the first chapter of Obsessed with You and can also be found on ao3.

[CW: noncon/dubcon, stalking, non-consensual somnophilia, kidnapping]

It is a scientific fact that people can tell when they are being watched. You are no exception. You could tell something has been off. Sometimes your door was left unlocked, sometimes it was the occasional missing panties or bra. Maybe how the tape over your camera always seemed to fall off. You shook off the paranoid feeling and got on the already overcrowded bus to head home. You hoped this ride would be uneventful. You went to grab onto a pole to support you and brushed against a stranger's hand. You didn't bother apologizing because after living in a big city overrun by crime you’ve learned to keep your head down. But not everyone knew urban etiquette. The same stranger's hand brushed against yours, so you moved it away. It happened again, you move your hand again. If this person really wanted this pole why wouldn’t they just say? Due to the constant touching, you gave up the pole so whoever it was would leave you alone. To pass the time you opened up your phone and scroll through your social media. You didn't pay enough attention though because suddenly you heard: “This is the last stop. A second bus will be here shortly. Please exit the bus.” You looked around and found only a handful of other people were still left on. While you rush to put your phone back into your pocket you drop it. After hurriedly picking it up you noticed it was more cracked than usual. Cracked to the point where the screen was almost completely destroyed and wouldn’t turn on. Shit. Panic had begun to set in as the situation fully hit you. it was getting dark, you were lost, you had no phone, and you were completely and utterly alone. First, you thought maybe you could use a payphone! But this is 2020 there are no payphones. Then you thought maybe you could catch a taxi. But there are no taxis, haven't you heard of Uber? As a last-ditch effort you hoped maybe you could borrow someone's phone, but who lets a stranger use their phone. After weighing your options you decided asking the bus driver for help would be the safest least kidnappable outcome. Once you decided survival was more important than temporary embarrassment and began to reenter the bus it sped off. This uneventful bus ride became a nightmare and no matter how hard you tried you couldn’t wake up. At this point, you decided to accept your fate and wait at the bus stop across the street hoping a new bus would arrive soon. Except it didn’t. So waited some more. Nothing happened. It was just you and the sun until it was just you and the moon. As you waited a stranger approached you and sat down. Of course, this wasn’t weird, strangers sat next to each other all the time while waiting for the bus. The only issue was 1) the stranger was a little bit too close and 2) there was an uncomfortably familiar feeling about him. He sighed in a weirdly cartoonish manner and stared at you for a bit too long before asking “Do you know the time”. His voice was concerningly cold causing you to instinctively shiver in response. “Uh…” you paused not sure if you wanted to confess your phone didn't work, “Actually my phone isn’t working so I don’t know either”. You decided you had no real reason to lie. That was a mistake. He gave a fake-sounding laugh, “that’s got to suck.” “Yeah it does, I kinda missed my stop so now I’m a little bit fucked,” you didn’t know why you were so honest. Probably just stress and fatigue. “Buses are unpredictable, maybe I could give you a ride?” leaned back into the bench while propping an arm on the back of it. He gave a small smile that did not match the look in his eyes. “I don't know, you know don't get into cars with strangers they always say.” You tried to lift the mood with a bit of humor. It didn’t really work, it just made things more awkward. But the issue wasn't the awkward tension, more so that you really really wanted to say yes. A ride sounded amazing, the comfort of a real car compared to a public bench was tempting. And the likelihood of you getting kidnapped was pretty low, I mean what are the statistics on that? Surely you wouldn't be whatever small percentage it was. You paused to think about your response which only exasperated the already tense silence. “Yeah, maybe that works.” “Really?” he rushed out. Though you didn’t know him, the intensity of his response seemed out of character. You ignored it. “I mean, only if it’s okay with you” he added trying to regain his composure. Whether it be the fatigue or stress of waiting you ignored the pit in your stomach. That was not the right decision. Immediately after his response he stood up and outstretched his hand hoping you would grab it. You didn't respond to his hand but stood up to follow him ignoring his offer. He frowned furrowing his brow before quickly hiding it and continuing on. If you hadn't have been paying attention you would never have noticed the change in expression, even you weren't sure if you had seen it.’ Continuing to ignore the knot in your chest and sinking feeling in your stomach you followed him. He led you to a nearby fast-food parking lot. It was completely save for a single red motorcycle. You weren't completely sure if you were okay with riding the motorcycle given you assumed there was no helmet for you. As you got closer to the bike parked near a flickering light you realized that in fact there was a helmet for you. Lucky coincidence. Even more surprisingly, or concerningly, it seemed like one helmet was your exact size. “Remember, safety first! You're lucky I have a second helmet,” he remarked as he offered you the extra. As you began to put it on he gave a small warmer smile, “it seems to be a perfect fit, that's great.” the smile seemed innocent until you realized it seemed to be one more of pride and satisfaction. Almost as if he had purposefully picked it out and was happy he got the right size. You continued to suppress the alarms that rang in your head. He put his helmet on and hopped on the bike waiting for you to do the same. “Hold tight, I wouldn’t want you to get hurt.” You didn’t realize until it was too late that he never asked for where to drop you off. Maybe you should have listened to your instincts. What a shame. After you got on and nuzzled into him to make sure you wouldn't fall off he reached back and pulled you even closer. “Remember, what I said. Don't let go.” his previously chipper tone faltered back into his colder more formal tone as before. Once you stopped adjusting yourself and he felt you were adequately close he began to speed off. In the wrong direction. You didn't notice, you were too focused on the thrill of riding a bike and of practically cuddling a stranger. After a few minutes of riding it hit you: he never asked for directions, he was heading the wrong way, and you couldn't tell him to stop. You thought maybe it would be a good idea to hit him to get his attention, but you also didn't want to die in a motorcycle crash with a strange man. So you tried to accept your fate hoping that once he stopped you could explain to him why it was wrong to randomly pick up women and take them to unspecified locations. The ride took approximately 10 minutes. Coincidentally that is the same amount of time for chloroform to kick in and it did. One second you were panicked about your kidnapping and the next you half-conscious being carried by in someone's arms. That was the last thing you remembered until you were completely blanked. When you woke up you were tied to a stranger's bed, a very attractive stranger’s bed but a stranger nonetheless. Your head hurt, your body hurt, your entire existence hurt. But that wasn't the only concern. Something else hurt. Something you really didn't want to hurt. “Good! You're awake, I was kind of concerned you wouldn’t wake up,” he gave a light laugh “thank god I was able to properly calculate the amount of chloroform to body weight ratio.” You were very wrong thinking that you would be safe. You were very wrong for trusting a strange man. You were very very very wrong. Maybe don't talk to strangers was good advice after all. But this was too late, hands were places where they shouldn't be, bruises were where they shouldn't be, you were where you shouldn't be. “Now, where were we?” he hummed, the previous cold professional tone had completely disappeared in favor of a lighter bittersweet one. At the implication of 1) being molested in your sleep and 2) returning to that molestation you began to struggle against the ropes that kept you spread out before the disgusting monster. But no matter how hard you struggled it wasn't working. “Come on, you were so compliant earlier. Just calm down, you'll enjoy it soon enough” you flinched at the sudden soft stroke on your cheek. The softness of his touch didn't match the violation. “You really are my dream come true, you see I’ve had my eye on you for a while” he hummed while slowly moving his hand from your cheek to your neck to your breasts. You wanted to gag but you held it back. Slowly he began to fondle your nipples pinching and pulling on them roughly. “You have very good nipples for breastfeeding if you haven't noticed,” disgusting “we should put them to use”. Even more disgusting. He continued to grope your chest with one hand as the other moved further down caressing your waist leading down to your hip. “You don’t realize how much I’m holding back, just caressing you won't do for much longer. I need you, I need you Y/N. I need to be in you, I need you wrapped around me. Soon enough I’ll break you, I’ll put that pussy to good use.” You gagged again, harder. “Why are you gagging? I don’t even have my cock in your tight throat. Don't worry you'll have a reason to gag soon enough.” You wanted to scream. You wanted to thrash around. You wanted to fight. But all you could do was silently let tears fall down your eyes while periodically hiccuping. Why did you let yourself fall into this mess? He began to lower his hand even more down to your pussy. Oh god. Please no. God couldn't hear your begging today because this man didn't care. He began to stroke you softly waiting to see what you liked and what you didn't, ignoring the fact you didn't like any of it. “Hmm? Why aren't you enjoying this as much as I am? I've wanted this for so long” he began to rub harder, it started aching. “I've wanted you for so so so long. Why didn’t you recognize me earlier? I've been following you for months, I have your hair, your photos, your panties, your used forks, I have everything. Now all I need is you.” He kept rubbing, and rubbing, and rubbing. The knot in your stomach that was once fear and paranoia became that of terrifying pleasure. It kept building and building and building until it released. You came. You came on your kidnapper's fingers as he violated you. “Good girl” he hummed, retracting his fingers only to suck them. Once satisfied with your juices he pulled them out with a wet pop. “sleep well, I’ll be back tomorrow. And if you keep being a good girl maybe you'll get something to eat.” He then leaned down to kiss you on your forehead and give a few more strokes on your cheek. He whispered his love into your ear ignoring your whines and tears. After proclaiming his love he kissed you one last time before leaving you to cry yourself to sleep. Nothing but your tears comforted you as you waited for tomorrow. He was obsessed with you and you had no choice but to accept it.

[obi-wan-kanbonemi]

Ruin My Career

Obi Wan Kenobi x Reader Spy/Modern AU

I’m not really proud of this one, but oh well, there’s always room for improvement and there’s always gonna be off days

sorry for typoes

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

“Keep your eyes on the rode Kenobi....,” You spoke out as you clutched the bottom of your long, black gown that glittered ever so slightly from the passing cars on the opposite side of the rode. Rolling it up on your upper thigh, you began to strap down a harness, hands expertly grabbing your gun and loading the magazine in it and placing it on safety before harnessing it, dress being pushed back down.

“Looking at your legs is the last thing on my mind...” Obi Wan spoke out with a little wink as he reached down to grab his own gun, it disappearing within the jacket of the smart suit that was tailored perfectly for his body, but upon that thought you only blushed and looked away from the body of Obi Wan Kenobi.

You would have to complain to your agency once this shit show was over and done with. The Mandalore Agency was who your worked for, filled with the most toughest women spies internationally. It would forever be your home, your family. Obi Wan on the other hand resided with the Coruscant Agency and that agency seemed like an entirely different world than your own.

“Don’t try to fall in love with me, it being against your code and all. I don’t want to be the naughty one that ruins your whole career....,” You whipped back with a playful pout, earning a roll of the eyes from the man beside you who finally began to slow down before the gigantic mansion where already party goers were slinking through the front door. “Alright, the information is on the fifth floor, down the hall and to the right, try not to set off the alarm at the door, once in break into the computer and download anything thats on there, we can look through it later. I’ll guide you through any hiccups through our earpieces, Anakin should also be on the same frequency too and has the whole layout of the building memorized as well,” You explained quickly as the valet stepped forward opening your door and helping you out, Obi Wan tossing the keys to him before offering his arm to you.

“Yes, I know, and then electronically send it to Anakin back at base” Obi Wan whispered into your ear as he led you up the grand staircase, his hushed voice sending a shiver down your spine. You wished you could have done this all on your own, but with your agency and his having to always manage to work closely together, you were always stuck working with the handsome man beside you. Once inside with the many lights and the chandeliers washing their light upon you, he couldn’t help but let his eyes give a quick scan of you before looking ahead “And might I add that you are absolutely stunning?” He said with a slight smirk on his face, gaining a scoff from you.

“Guys, can you two stop flirting and save that for later? I got a movie to catch or my ass is grass,” Came in the voice of Anakin through the earpieces, earning suppressed laughter from you and Obi Wan.

“I’m going to to the bar for a drink...,” You spoke to Obi Wan, already sashaying your way to perch yourself at the bar, Obi Wan taking that as his cue to sneak through the party goers and to the empty staircase, already making the dreadful ascension up.

“Can I buy you another drink, beautiful?” Came out a voice beside you. You letting out a few curses in your head, you slowly turned toward the older gentleman that had to choose to bother you out of all the women lounging about in the grand ballroom.

“Uh, be careful, that's the guy we really don’t want to catch on to what's fucking going on...” Anakin spoke through the earpiece nervously, Obi Wan panting slightly as he still hurried up the stairs. “He’s the guy our agencies are getting fed up with,” Anakin explained quickly.

“Oh, so it's fine when a sleazeball calls you beautiful and not me?” Obi Wan sighs in relief as he finally stood before the correct door, his hands already gloved and whipping out tools to begin dissembling the security system on the door. Though the man couldn’t help but look from side to side and behind him in a paranoid manor as he tried to silently bust into the room, a thin layer of sweat already appearing upon his brow.

“Obi Wan, that is not what we should be worrying about, now be careful not to trigger that alarm. Don’t drink any of that stuff he got you,” Anakin ordered, but all you could do was listen to their bickering and commotion as you thanked the man for the drink as he handed it to you, you slowly bringing it up to your lips and faking a sip as Anakin instructed, lipstick staining the rim of the glass.

“Alright, I’m in...” Obi Wan announced quitely as he slowly stepped into the empty room before making his way up to the computer, gloved hands wiping the sweat upon his brow. Sitting in the chair that sat before it, his fingers were already quick at working at the keyboard, bypassing the system and already beginning to download and transfer the information and send it to Anakin. “Just a few more files and we are out of here” Obi Wan spoke out, whipping a few nervous looks over his shoulder and past the doorway and to the empty hallway. “Got it” he said with a sigh of reief, already silently moving out and onto the hallway to make his way back down the stairs.

“Hey you! Stop right there!” shouted voices at Obi Wan, which in return his gun was whipped out, leaving the three individuals dead before him. “Um, guys, we got to go...” Obi Wan yelled into the earpiece as he was already racing down the stairs, heavy footsteps and gun fire following closely behind him.

“I’m sorry, but I got to go, maybe I’ll catch you around...” You spoke out as you lifted yourself slowly from your seat, offering a flirty smile to the individual, but instantly ducked for cover once the other whipped out a gun. “Shit, Obi Wan! Hurry up!” you shouted, the party goers screaming as many bullets were pelted in your direction.

Obi wan on the other hand finally reached the room that you were located in, finally spotting you and sliding to where you were positioned at, already peeking over the bar that the two of you hid behind, shooting the foes that were after you. “Well hello there!” He said with a grin upon his face as he settled back down next to you to avoid the rapid fire of bullets that were now being shot at you.

“Guys, I’m programming the car on a route behind you, just jump through those big windows in the back” Anakin instructed, frantic clicking being heard as he spoke, possibly from him frantically typing away at his computers.

“You ready?” you asked, fear and nervousness evident on your face.

“Darling, I’m always ready!” Obi Wan said as he grabbed ahold of your hand, sprinting with you to the huge glass windows that Anakin instructed you to exit through, bullet shattering the glass and the both of you jumping out and falling to the grass below, trusted car rumbling with its engine on. Hurriedly the two of your hopped in, car automatically speeding off as the two of you caught your breath, looking at each other before cheering and hollering, arms falling around each other and soon finding each other in a heated kiss, hands clutching onto each other and roaming through each other’s hair.

“Guys...can you two not? I’m young and impressionable....” Anakin spoke up, face now appearing on the screen at the car’s radio, you and Obi Wan laughing as the two of you pulled away, pulling out your earpieces and turning them off. The poor boy, stationed up in his room covered in many movie and band posters and possibly sitting there in his pajamas having to help and sit through those two spy’s make out session. You would have to remember how a teenager was even allowed to work for Obi Wan’s agency, but right now you were too intoxicated by the handsome man at your side and the way his lips were just passionatelyon yours earlier.

“Anakin, go get your teenage ass on that date you had” You spoke with a laugh, cutting off his next sentence as you switched him off.

“Now come here and ruin my career, my sweet,” Hummed Obi Wan, earning a smirk from you as he now had control of the car, you smirking as you now pressed your lips to his neck. It wasn’t long until that very car pulled over onto the side of the back road it was on, the occupants preoccupied.

[streetsofsecretswegone]

@tcpimpabutterfly​   said  :    ✩—Nick & Janie

Under the cut because long!

Disagreements:

Who is more likely to raise their voice? Janie when she is entirely sick and FED UP of Nick’s trifling ways.

Who threatens to leave but never actually does? I know in my heart that Janie has no problem turning her back on Nick when she feels enough is enough and Nick, who believes he will get over her and look back on her as a fond memory -- has a hard time getting over her. So, yeah, Nick can’t find himself leaving if he says he’s done with all the “crazy shit.”

Who actually keeps their word and leaves? Janie!!

Who trashes the house? An argument can lead to Janie trying to get physical with Nick, him restraining her, her fighting back - things fall and get broken along the way. Chowder is barking and also ready to whoop Nick’s ass.

Do either of them get physical? ^^ Nick would NEVER hit Janie unless he thought she was going to try to kill him forreal. Then he has to knock her out. 

How often do they argue/disagree? Nowadays? Their relationship is fucked up so they argue more often than not. Like, “Nick get off my property.” “Nick don’t post my picture on Instagram.” It’s been a long time since they’ve been civil with each other. 

Who is the first to apologize? Nick!!!!! He’s out here like Usher releasing his woe in confessions, or Jay Z apologizing in 4:44. 

Sex:

Who is on top? Varies, but usually Janie. 

Who is on the bottom? Varrieesss.

Who has the strangest desires? Janie be on that freak shit.

Any kinks? So, Janie’s into safe knife play and rope play. Nick was cool with rope play, handcuffs, but then Janie whipped out the knife and he was like 😲

Who’s dominant in bed? You know powerplay is probably a big thing with these two.

Is head ever in the equation? I honestly feel like Janie isn’t into giving head, like regardless of if she loves her partner or not. I can just envision her pissed at Nick over something petty and she’s like, “my tooth hurts.”/“I’m trying to sleep, leave me alone.”

If so, who is better at performing it? Nick. He felt like giving Janie good head could put him on her good side.

Ever had sex in public? Yes, it leads to some AU babies.

Who moans the most? Janie.

Who leaves the most marks? Janie.

Who screams the loudest? I mean Nicky’s the one getting sliced.

Who is the more experienced of the two? I feel like the two have them have gained a lot of experience from being each others firsts in a lot of ways. They explored kinks together and what not.

Do they ‘fuck’ or ‘make love’? Fuck.

Rough or soft? Rough as hell.

How long do they usually last? It ends when Janie’s sadistic ass says it ends. 💅🏾

Is protection used? Sometimes. Typically. If they were to fuck now, I can imagine Janie telling Nick that she doesn’t know where he’s been so he needs a condom.

Does it ever get boring? Nope!

Where is the strangest place they’d have sex? Strange by JANIE’S standards would be when she slept with Nick at the house he and Jerrold were sharing at the time. Jerrold was gone, of course, but Janie was still trying her hardest to conceal her sneer. 

Family:

Do your muses plan on having children/or have children? In a better AU, Janie’s twins were the result of a PRISON VISIT. Nick always wanted to have a family with her, though. If so, how many children do your muses want/have? In main, Janie and Nick have Simone who tells Janie that she’s NOT her mother. In a better AU, Janie and Nick have Leticia and Levi. Nick has brought up the potential of them having a third kid but, I don’t know. Janie has strong reservations with Nick’s record of legal troubles. Who is the favorite parent? Both Nick and Janie are loved well by their kids. Though, granted, Simone loves her dad more on default. Who is the authoritative parent? Both - but in different ways. Who is more likely to allow the children to have a day off school? Nick!  Who lets the children indulge in sweets and junk food when the other isn’t around? Also Nick.

Who turns up to extra curricular activities to support their children? I can imagine it can be difficult for Janie due to work purposes, and Nick has missed out on a few things due to his prison stint when the twins were 7 years old. There are fill-ins though, like Louis will pop up. Jerrold too because he views these kids as his niece and nephew!! There’s also Sal and Delores of course.

Who goes to parent teacher interviews? Janie has had to go to some alone when Nick was i n c a r c e r a t e d. 😔

Who changes the diapers? Both, because Cassandra specifically told Nick: “how the fuck do you not know how to change a diaper?”

Who gets up in the middle of the night to feed the baby? Both, but mostly Nick since Janie is getting ready for work by 4 AM.

Who spends the most time with the children? Nick...because he would have tea parties with Leticia or take her on her annual Friday shopping spree at Toys R Us. Plus, he’s bound to go see the latest superhero movie with Levi, if not play video games with him. He gets really engaged in doing whatever the kids wanna do, and he will be offended if he’s disrupted by it.  I mean really, Sal can say: “the warehouse is on fire!” and Nick replies, “I’m paintin’ baby girl’s finger nails!!” Who packs their lunch boxes? Janie. Who gives their children ‘the talk’? I feel like Janie would jump on it, because she has to tell Leticia to cut their hands off if things are no longer consensual.  Who cleans up after the kids? Janie...has spent some time doing that. Nick isn’t as prompt as he should be. Who worries the most? Nick gets paranoid sometimes. He tends to be paranoid with a lot of things. Who are the children more likely to learn their first swear word from? From............someone in the family. (Cassandra/Cassandra’s kids)

Affection:

Who likes to cuddle? That’s pretty much Nicky.

Who is the little spoon? 😌 Janie because she lowkey likes to feel safe.

Who gets naughty in the most inappropriate of places? Nick tends to initiate this shit lmao

Who struggles to keep their hands to themself? Nick.

How long can they cuddle until one becomes uncomfortable? You mean how long can they cuddle until someone has to go to work or someone calls or he tries to initiate sex.

Who gives the most kisses? Nick.

What is their favorite non-sexual activity? Going out to eat Italian Food.

Where is their favorite place to cuddle? The bed!

Who is more likely to playfully grope the other? Nick, though I feel like this question is dangerous.

How often do they get time to themselves? You know in main she ain’t trying to be around him!! But even aside from that I feel like they find the right space and time to be together.

Sleeping:

Who snores? Nicky!

If both do, who snores the loudest? ^^

Do they share a bed or sleep separately? This is verse dependent. Cause they are not at a living together stage yet in main.

If they sleep together, do they cozy up together or lay far apart? Dependent. Who talks in their sleep? Neither.

What do they wear to bed? Night clothes. Pajamas. What else? 😤 Are either of your muses insomniacs? Nick can be sleep deprived sometimes, but not a insomniac. 

Can sleeping pills be found by the bedside? I’mma say nah. Do they wrap their limbs around each other or just lay side by side? Varies! Who wakes up with bed hair? Nick’s been bald for some time now and, I’m certain Janie wears a bonnet. Who wakes up first? Janie at 4 AM! Who prepares breakfast in bed for the other? Nick would. 😍😭 What is their favorite sleeping position? Nick likes to lay on his back with Janie slightly on his chest.  Who hogs the sheets? Janie. Do they set an alarm each night? Yes, Janie has a alarm set for work. Can a television be found in their bedroom? Yes.  Who has nightmares? Both. Who has ridiculous dreams? Nick. Who sprawls out and takes up most of the bed? Nick is guilty of this. Who makes the bed? Janie - because even though she leaves first, Nick isn’t the best at getting the sheets together. What time is bed time? Janie has a more set bedtime than Nick does. Because the night, for Nick, can mean he has some serious work to do. Any routines/rituals before bed? Janie does what she has to do, while Nick kind of just flops in bed.

Who’s the grumpiest when they wake up? BOTH.

Work:

Who is the busiest? I feel like they’re both quite busy. Janie at the news station while Nick is (at certain point in times) a nightclub manager. These are equally demanding occupations. Who rakes in the highest income? I’d say Nicky. Especially since he got that $cozzari money. Are any of your muses unemployed? Nope. Who takes the most sick days? Nick. Who is more likely to turn up late to work? Nick. Who sucks up to their boss? Nick is his own boss soooooooooooooooooo probably Janie. What are their jobs? Janie is a reporter who also moonlights as a serial killer, Nick is a nightclub manager who is also a high-ranking gangster. Together they’re quite the pair! Who stresses the most? Nick, he’s always obsessing with thinking three steps ahead of everyone else. Do your muses enjoy or despise their careers/occupations? Yes. Are your muses financially stable? Yup!

Home:

Who does the washing? Both. Especially when it comes to getting blood out of their outfits as soon as possible-

Who takes out the trash? Nick.

Who does the ironing? Both, Nick a little more.

Who does the cooking? Nick REALLY likes to go out to eat.

Who is more likely to burn the house down just trying? Nick, especially if he gets distracted by the kids, sports, or an invasive Jerrold.

Who is messier? Nick.

Who leaves the toilet roll empty? Nick.

Who leaves their dirty clothes on the floor? ...Nick.

Who forgets to flush the toilet? Neither, Nick has been scolded by his mother -and sisters- for forgetting to put the toilet seat down all his life.

Who is the prankster around the house? Those darn twins!!

Who loses the car keys when it comes time to go somewhere? Neither, they’re very prompt when they have to get out or get the fuck out.

Who mows the lawn? Nick - or Levi.

Who answers the telephone? Both, but Nick is more inclined to.

Who does the vacuuming? Both, but catch Nick doing it when he’s trashed the house too much while Janie is away and its important that he speed cleans.

Who does the groceries? Janie.

Who takes the longest to shower? Janie.

Who spends the most time in the bathroom? Janie x3!

Miscellaneous:

Is money a problem? Not one bit.

How many cars do they own? Janie has hers, Nick has his - so two.

Do they own their home or do they rent? Own.

Do they live near the coast or deep in the countryside? Neither.

Do they live in the city or in the country? New York City Baby 😜

Do they enjoy their surroundings? Nick can’t imagine being nowhere else, personally. Yet even with that said, I can imagine that Janie hates half of the population. She’ll find some reason to hate. Some way.

What’s their song? Nick’s so in love with Janie that it isn’t uncommon for him to hear a song on the radio and think about her. I mean, this is a man who made her so many mixtapes in high school. At the moment, Nick lays in bed and thinks of Common’s song “Faithful.” He’s also stared out the window while Jaheim’s, “Find My Way Back” plays. 😔 The main song that made him realize he was in love with her was, “All I Do Is Think Of You” by The Jackson 5 and it still rings true to this day smh

What do they do when they’re away from each other? Work and kill. Kill and work. Janie also bonds with Chowder while Nick bonds with Louis and Jerrold, who are not nearly as wonderful as Chowder!

Where did they first meet? HIGH SCHOOL, English Class!

How did they first meet? They had some boring classroom introductions on day one but Nick didn’t pay her much of any attention. Afterwards, He heard the name Janie said by the teacher, but he thought that the teacher was mispronouncing the name of another girl, Janet. Later, when Janie rose in the class to read something he would realize that she was, in fact, not Janet. Later on they would have their first actual conversation when Nick asked to copy her homework. He had to work a little charm on her too. 😏 because she was like :| “No.”

Who spends the most money when out shopping? Janie. Nick isn’t much of a materialistic man. This was a guy who wore bootleg Bart Simpson shirts when he was a kid.

Who’s more likely to flash their assets? Janie.

Who finds it amusing when the other trips over? Janie because she’s evil inside.

Any mental issues? To the roof.  Who’s terrified of bugs? Janie!! Who kills the spiders around the house? Nick has to! Their favorite place? Spaghetti Warehouse because that’s where they had their first date back in the day. Also, there’s specific areas in Florida they love. Who pays the bills? When they’re living separately they pay their own shit. When they live together, Nick has no issue making sure Janie never spends any of her hard earned money. Do they have any fears for their future? Janie may fear going to jail for her murders when she has her kids rgbmvfg Nick doesn’t fear a damn thing. He has a tattoo that says NEVER SCARED because he’s been through so much.  Who’s more likely to surprise the other with a fancy dinner? Nick all the way! Who uses up all of the hot water? Janie. Who’s the tallest? Nick at 6′0. He’s even taller than his dad! Who’s more likely to just randomly hop into the shower with the other? Nick, but he second thinks that a lot. Who wanders around in their underwear? Nick. Who sings the loudest when singing along to the radio? jkhnk Nick, especially when those oldies come on. What do they tease each other about? I don’t think Janie necessarily teases, I think she complains about certain things like Nick’s music tastes, his grumpiness with the youth, all that. Who is more likely to cringe at the other’s fashion sense at times? I think Janie would get so tired of seeing him in that same damn leather jacket. Do they have mutual friends? Chowder is their mutual friend. :) No one else. Who crushed first? I feel like Janie had a crush on Nick that she effortlessly brushed off because he would always do something dumb to ruin it. Like flirt with some other girl in their class and that reminded her men ain’t shit. Any alcohol or substance related problems? No. Who is more likely to stumble home, drunk, at 3am? Nick. Catch him drunk calling her like, “i’m just sayin’ you could do better........” or, “I NEED TO APOLOGIZE”

Who swears the most? Nick doesn’t swear as furiously as Cassandra, but I feel that he does more than Janie all the same.

[mrs-denton]

Sappy Paul Denton x OC Fanfic [Part 2]

The Start of the Collapse

After Paul’s departure, Bebe’s eyes struggled to shut. She laid in bed and kept glancing over at her phone occasionally, half-expecting something from Paul to come up. When she realized worrying was futile, she put the phone down and laid it down on its charging pad. She was worried, but she tried equilibrating those thoughts with reasonable positive ones because she was pregnant. She had to avoid as much stress as possible.

Staying up to write, as she did on sleepless nights like these, she scribbled her thoughts into her diary until she crashed. In the morning when she awoke, the unwelcome feeling of first trimester morning sickness sharply seized her from her slumber. She went to the bathroom to alleviate herself from the nausea.

Treating patients at the hospital she worked at, including those with the Grey Death, was dreary. Their spirits were broken and some of them got desperate. She wished she could divulge the truth behind the virus, or at least what she knew, but it would likely get her fired. She made sure to wear the most protective gear—respirator, face shield, gloves, a gown, and foot covers. Her health was going to have to become her top priority if she wanted a healthy baby.

Hours ebbed and flowed with moments of hectic excitement during rushes of patients and emergencies, but inched like slugs when things were slow and she caught herself worrying about Paul. She wondered what time it was in Hong Kong—surely, at least half a day ahead—and if he was alive. She thought about JC as well and didn’t want any harm to come to the Dentons, namely because JC was a cool person, but especially because she knew Paul would be devastated if his younger brother should fall. She scrubbed the pressing thoughts away from the walls of her mind—months of meditation had helped—and she continued to show up at work.

She checked her work emails to see if by some crazy chance, Paul had been daring enough to send her a message there. But of course not—he would never do something to endanger them, especially with the Aquinas net. After what felt like a 12-hour shift, Bebe returned home with takeout and quickly checked her computer. There, an email from Paul—or rather, his alias—was sent hours ago while she was still at work.

“Hey babe. I made it safely to Hong Kong, thank god. Good news—everything’s taken care of. My brother and I are gonna be fine. The bad news is that I’ll have to be living here for a few months as I recuperate, as I predicted. I was in pretty bad shape when I arrived, which is why it’s going to take longer for me to recover. Tong wants to keep me under supervision for a while. But I’m already feeling better.

Things are pretty tight in HK. I’m a wanted man here as well. I don’t think making a move right now is wise, but I can’t wait to see you again. I’ll keep you updated whenever I can. Try to take it easy and don’t worry about a thing—I’ll take care of it. I love you, and I’m always thinking about you. - P”

Bebe typed a reply.

“My darling, I’m glad you’re alright. I was worried about you, but I also knew you’d make it through this. Give the doctor my sincerest gratitude—he saved the man I love. I’m also happy J is fine. I completely understand if you need to stay there—in situations like this, a doctor’s supervision is necessary even after the treatment.

Let me know how things go. I want to be with you but things have to be just right. I love you, P. I hope you get better soon. I already miss you. Hugs and kisses. Yours,

- B”

Within the following day, Bebe received another email.

“Bebe—so much is happening right now. I don’t have much time, and neither does the world. Just bear with me. I’m going to be fine, I think, but my brother keeps unearthing more of this conspiracy. I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I know something will, and if it does, it’s going to be big. I can’t explain everything over the net, but I promise I will when I see you. I don’t know how much time there is and I know this sounds crazy but you’ll just have to trust me. Withdraw your savings now. There’s a high chance the net might crash and everything will be lost. Savings, records, and all sorts of info. Make sure you have plenty of food and supplies as well.

No matter what happens, I will find you! And that’s a promise. Just stay where you are. I love you so much more than you could ever imagine. - P”

Something inside Bebe told her Paul wasn’t lying. Everything Paul told her before and everything they had researched and pieced together made sense. She knew there could only be so much more to this story than most people knew and few had theorized about. After typing her obedient reply, Bebe set off for the bank and asked to withdraw the entirety of her account. Her salary provided her with decent savings she had accumulated over a few years.

But she wondered if the funny look the bank teller gave her was indicative of ignited suspicion. She knew it was. She smiled as the bank teller discussed the request with the manager, who gave her a poorly-disguised look of surprise. Who else but a shady person would just want to remove all their chits from the bank? Only somebody that knew something that most people didn’t know would act this way . . . She would just have to lie and say it was for a potential family emergency. Or that she’s just paranoid and that there are rumors the banks will fail soon. Hearsay type of stuff. But no, the latter would be too suspicious. Just go with the family emergency, she thought. 

Signing some papers that would let the federal revenue office know the reason for her massive withdrawal, she questioned just what the hell she was doing. She stopped for a while and glanced up at the bank teller, who was too busy counting chits to notice her. Bebe questioned herself for a bit--she was blindly obeying Paul’s orders, which wasn’t really a problem in and of itself, but how could she really know what was going on? Paul wouldn’t lie to her though. She knew that man for three years and he never lied. She just had to trust him. Worst case scenario, she’d be tracked down. But if nothing were to happen, she could just say she got worried sick for an ailing family member and took the money out to help with treatments.

“Forty-six-thousand, two-hundred and fifty-nine chits, ma’am,” the bank teller said, fat stacks of the electric green notes neatly sitting on the counter.

“Thank you so much,” she said, handing them the signed papers. “Here you go.”

She opened up her purse and filled it with the money, trying to act naturally. The teller and his manager looked at her strangely, as well as the clients behind her. She felt herself tense up.

“Thank you so much,” she said again. “Have a nice day.” She had a habit of being overly-polite sometimes.

And with that, she carried her loaded purse all the way to her car and drove home, the tunes blaring and the pedal to the metal. Suddenly, the music stopped. Could this be it?

She checked her phone and noticed there was no signal anywhere. The music stream was buffering continuously until it lost connectivity for good. Moving to the network settings, she confirmed there really was no net anymore. She couldn’t believe it at first, and then, she did.

Parking her car, she rushed inside the lobby of her apartment building. There were people standing outside with their cellphones in the air, trying to obtain signal, their faces scrunched in bewilderment. Glancing at the far end of two blocks over where one of the P-Mobile buildings was, people swarmed into the store to complain about their phone services.

“Miss, have you heard? The net’s gone black—disappeared,” the alarmed security guard at the reception said. “Everyone’s internet just shut off. Even the phones, TV, everything. We don’t know what’s going on.”

“Oh my god,” she said. “I’ll have to check mine out. Thank you.”

She went upstairs and rapidly scanned her nanokey to her door, eager to get inside. What would she do now?

She checked her computer. The internet was gone. No new emails from Paul, just the cached one from before. As she sat in her apartment, she heard her neighbors arguing loudly in desperation. Turning on the TV, she checked every channel, finding nothing but static—ultimately confirming everything Paul told her. Glancing outside her window and down at the congested streets, violence intensified.

After a few days to a week of the world descending into darkness, reports of the global net crashing and burning appeared on every newspaper. A national emergency was declared, and speculating specialists wondered who was responsible, pointing fingers at foreign governments and even “traitors” within the United States. The zealously religious stood outside every corner, wailing that it was the beginning of the Apocalypse, and the conspiracy theorists held meetings in their garages, claiming it was aliens. But soon enough, the Dentons were named. Bebe paid close attention.

“It is suspected that terrorist JC Denton and his brother, Paul Denton, are behind this massive communications collapse worldwide. We are slowly but surely receiving letters that confirm the internet shutdowns in every nation. Agencies are investigating the matter as best as they can.”

Her heart pounded in her chest. She just hoped the bank tellers didn’t put two and two together and decided to send somebody after her. After all, there was nothing suspicious about a woman withdrawing all her savings a few minutes before the world collapsed. But she sighed in relief when she knew that they wouldn’t have been able to pull up her personal information without the internet.

She thought about her family. Her dad had left them before she was even born, and her mother died of the Grey Death before Ambrosia was released. Her cousins were all living their lives as married people with children, and her only living aunt was old now. What would they think, though? What would they think if she were to run off with a “criminal”, a “terrorist”, a wanted man? Crises were meant to be times where family stuck together more, but with Bebe leaving . . . would they label her as selfish? Crazy? Bad? She only hoped that one day they would understand that Paul was not the person the media and the government was portraying him to be.

They didn’t even know she was pregnant. Engaged? Yes. They knew Paul and they liked him. But the media was a powerful weapon, especially now that the people’s only source of outside knowledge was funneled via the last remaining newspapers. They could twist and besmirch the Dentons as they wished, and people would buy it. Not everybody, though, as there were people who had been following the Juggernaut Collective—until it disbanded—and a few other rebel news disguised as tabloids and conspiracies. But alas, the perceptions of Bebe’s friends and family could definitely be warped against Paul. She had to be careful.

But most importantly, she had to figure out what the next steps in her life would be. If only she could talk to Paul. She wondered if she should keep going to work—part of her would think it better to disappear from society at once and wait until Paul came back, but the other part of her couldn’t just leave all those poor patients behind. She knew there were other doctors and nurses who would do a fine job—but could she really just disappear now? Did she still have to keep up her façade of normalcy? As if she weren’t the woman of the second-most-wanted man in the world right now?

She got up and started packing, hoping that at least sorting this out would bring her more clarity. What were her favorite clothes? What could she stand to leave behind? What would be useful? She took her favorite shoes as well as personal keepsakes and important documents, neatly enclosed in file folders and manilla envelopes, and put them in a suitcase. Most of the money was also stored there. Then, glancing at her desk, she took note of her journal.

How could she leave this behind? She had to take it. Unless, of course, she wanted to be that mysterious woman who left her revealing memoirs in a secret diary. She considered the thought briefly and then took the journal, the pages automatically splitting upon a section with a dried red rose that had been stamped between the weight of the pages. It was the first flower Paul ever gave her. She instantly smiled as she felt the crispy, dark garnet petals on her fingertips, her mind going back to when the petals were bright as fresh blood and smooth like velvet.

[fireblaze5555]

A small fic prompted by a post here on Tumblr, full post is on my page with link to Ao3.

Frank taking care of Karen when she falls apart.

Break

It was late when Karen finally closed her laptop and stepped in the shower. She had been buried in her work all day, barely stopping to eat or drink anything besides coffee and that was only because Frank was just as stubborn as she was, not allowing her to proceed without food. He had laid down hours ago, the past few days had been especially rough on him, the men he had been tracking not going down without a fight.

Karen had fussed over the, overall, minimal injuries he received and gave him general hell for not taking better precautions. She had meticulously cleaned his wounds, made sure he ate and refused to let him start anything else for at least another day or so. That had been the day before, this morning he was in good shape and it only took her about fifteen minutes to check his wounds and re-bandage those that needed it. All things he could have done but she smacked his hands away and efficiently took over. 

Once Karen had finished taking care of Frank though, her hands were idle again and that was not acceptable, especially not today. So, she launched into any and every case she could to keep her mind busy, only coming up for air when Frank relentlessly pulled her back to the surface.

However, now the work was done and her eyes kept crossing every time she tried to read another word. Karen hoped her exhaustion would allow her to fall asleep quickly and dreamlessly, at least for a few hours. Then she could tell Frank she slept and she may be spared the sidelong glances he had been giving her all day today. 

The warm water was doing nothing for her knotted muscles so Karen reached for the faucet to increase the temperature, turning the old metal handle quickly. The old handle protested the quick movement, letting out a high squeak and tortured grinding sound that filled her hearing until there was no other sound.

Karen was suddenly back, 12 years ago to the day, strapped upside down to the twisted hunk of metal that had once been the family car, Kevin motionless and bleeding beside her. The acrid smell of smoke and the stale taste of alcohol filled her remaining senses and Karen only just barely got a hand over her mouth before the choked sob escaped her. She wanted to scream, to punch at the tiles of her shower until the oppressive weight in her chest eased up a bit, to have one _fucking _year that she could get through this day without falling apart at the seams. Then again, she was alive to feel this, Kevin wasn’t, so maybe it was fitting that she got to relive this hell year after year. 

She was choking and only vaguely aware that she was now curled over her knees on the shower floor, the water scalding hot against the back of her neck and shoulders. She thought she should turn the temperature down but couldn’t bring herself to move so she absorbed the pain, it was what she deserved anyway.

Frank came awake with a small start, his hand reaching out instinctively to the spot next to him that was cold and empty. He wasn’t surprised that Karen hadn’t come to bed yet, it wasn’t unusual for her to work until ungodly hours so he isn’t sure what it was that woke him up. The sound of the shower trickled into his awareness and he wondered if that was the culprit but then, so quiet he nearly missed it, a whimpering sob filtered through the air.

He was on his feet and to the bathroom door in record time, hesitating for only a second before he pushed it open. The steam that filled the small bathroom was so thick Frank felt like he had walked into a solid wall of humidity, it nearly stole his breath.

“Karen?” His voice was rough from sleep and concern creeped into his tone. Had he misheard something? She hadn’t seemed like herself the past couple of days but he had also been distracted so maybe he was just being paranoid.

However, a choked noise came from behind the curtain and before Frank had a chance to think about it he had ripped it back and his heart fell at what he saw. Karen was curled over herself, forehead pressed to her knees, shaking with the effort to hold in her sobs. Even more alarming was the deep red of her skin everywhere the water touched. Frank dropped down to a knee and reached out on instinct to put a soothing hand on Karen’s back.

“Fuckin’ Christ. ” The water was scorching and he jerked his hand out of the spray. A second later he was turning the handles to cut off the water and the hot water tap let out a scraping protest. Karen gave a pained whimper and covered her ears, a full sob finally escaping her as she curled impossibly more into herself.

“Hey, hey ‘s alright.” Frank climbed into the tub in just his boxer briefs, his legs bracketing Karen as he carefully leaned into her. She was curled so tightly into herself he couldn’t get his hands around her torso so rubbed his hands soothingly up and down her legs, from ankle to knee. “I’ve got you, Karen. C’mon sweetheart, breathe.”

She shuddered in a breath but it came out as another sob. Karen really wanted to pull herself together, she really hated falling apart in front of people but hated doing it in front of Frank more than any other. The man had been through so much, suffered more than any one person should and he shouldn’t have to shoulder her baggage as well. However, every time she tried to control her breathing and reassure him that she was fine, her chest constricted again and her demons ripped her thoughts to shreds.

Frank knew what devastation and grief looked like, he had experienced it enough in his life, so he knew that Karen, his beautiful, strong and resilient Karen, was in the throes of a panic attack. He just didn’t know what had set it off. Gently, he pulled her fingers from her hair where she had knotted them, speaking quiet encouragements and soothing words as he did. Next he wrapped a careful arm around her shoulders and sat back with her until they were both leaned against the back of the tub, Karen between his legs with her face pressed into the side of his neck, Frank with one arm wrapped around her torso while the other pushed the wet hair out of her face.

“Shh, I got you, I got you.” He kept repeating softly as she hiccoughed and shook with the full force of her grief. Frank was beside himself with worry, it was tearing him apart to see her so upset but all he could do was hold her while she rode it out. The hand that had been combing through her hair now rubbed soothingly at her arm while he waited, the contact soothing him as much as it was her.

Eventually Karen’s breathing started to even out and her shaking subsided to small tremors. Frank craned his neck up to locate the oversized towel he knew would be on the rack and stretched his arm out to pull it down and drape it over her, the shivers weren’t from the cold but it would help her feel less exposed and would hopefully prevent her from getting chilled.

Karen felt like someone had used her as a piñata, strung up and beaten until there was nothing left. She felt Frank settle the towel over her and wanted to smile but she couldn’t muster up the energy. His heartbeat was strong in her ear where her head rested against his neck and relaxed her like the hot water couldn’t. They lay like that for a while, neither breaking the silence, and she didn’t think she could love the man more when his hand settled to massage gently at the back of her neck. 

After several minutes, Frank turned his head to where his lips pressed gently to her forehead and carefully asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Karen leaned into the caress but dreaded answering. It was a complicated answer, part of her wanted to get it all out there to see if it would ease the ever present tightness in her chest but the other part wasn’t ready for him to see the ugliness of her soul.

“I’m fine.” She managed to croak out after a moment, closing her eyes on her own cowardice.

She felt more than heard him hum disbelievingly, it rumbled deeply through his chest in a way that was so Frank it made her ache. He wouldn’t press her anymore but she felt like he deserved some sort of answer since she was pretty sure he was at least partially clothed and wet in the tub with her.

Karen opened her mouth to give an explanation but her throat seemed to close up, stealing her words. It took a few more minutes before she cleared her throat and tried again, “It’s the anniversary of Kevin’s death today. It’s been twelve years since I killed my brother.” She hadn’t meant to say that much, her exhaustion allowing the words to tumble out unbidden. Oh well, at least now Frank knew what kind of person she actually was and could decide for himself if she was worth being with, if he could be around someone who killed their own family.

Frank felt Karen tense after she finished speaking. It had been hard for her to say and it was almost as if she expected a physical blow from him. Tightening his hold imperceptibly he placed another small kiss to her forehead.

“Tell me about him?”

Karen’s eyes popped open and she felt tears starting to form in her eyes again. She had expected a demand for explanation, disbelief and disgust, not a gentle request in that calm baritone he reserved only for her.

She fought to get her emotions back under control, only a few tears escaping to slide down her cheek before they cascaded over Frank’s bare chest. When she felt like she could talk without sobbing, she answered with only the slightest tremor in her voice, “He was kind, gentle and terrible at sports. He constantly pestered me about every little annoying thing he could. He still cut the crust off of his sandwich even though he was nearly a senior in high school.” She chuckled a little when Frank huffed a little laugh across her face. Her small laugh turned into a sniffle before she continued, “He always pushed me to be better. Wouldn’t accept my excuses. Kevin never judged me, even when I hit rock bottom, doing and dealing drugs with the lowlife I called a boyfriend.”

Frank stilled for only a second before he continued to rub her arm, nodding slightly in encouragement for her to continue. He felt so solid behind her it kept Karen from feeling like she was in a total freefall like every other time she thought about that night.

“He found the camper we had been staying in and set it on fire, drugs and all. When we got back my boyfriend,” she spit the word out like it was venom on her tongue, “proceeded to beat him with a tire iron. I couldn’t get him to stop so I pulled the gun out of the glove compartment and shot him in the shoulder.” Her breath hitched before she took in another shaky one, “I threw Kevin in the car and drove away but I was still drunk and high. We didn’t get very far before I rolled the car. He didn’t make it.”

She was starting to shake in his arms again and Frank ached with the weight of her grief. He knew Karen had a rocky past but never pushed her on it. He never realized just how much she had been through. He brought his attention back when she started talking again, her voice small and quivering.

“He had come to tell me that he signed me back up for the college I dropped out of to help at the diner. He was there to help me get my life back on track and I killed him. I murdered the only person left in my family that had any faith left in me” The quivering turned into a full, racking sob that had Frank pulling her tighter to his chest. 

“You were a kid Karen. You were put in a hard situation and you did the best you could.” She started shaking her head in between small whimpers but Frank put his hand on her cheek and made her look up at him. Her eyes were the palest blue he had ever seen them, almost as though her tears had washed away all the color and she looked so desolate and lost that it made his own eyes burn. He held her gaze, wiping absently at the tears that streamed over her temple with his thumb, “You made a mistake. That doesn’t make you a murderer, Karen. What happened to your brother is terrible and I’m so sorry that it happened but _you are not a murderer. _You are the best person I know and God knows where I would be without you at this point.”

Karen had quieted as he talked, her tears were silently leaving tracks on her face but those were slowing as well. He still saw doubt in her face, he knew better than anyone, that kind of guilt doesn’t go away so easily but it seemed that he had at least said the right thing this time around. He hoped he could be as much the rock for her as she was for him. 

Leaning in, Frank gave her a sweet lingering kiss before resting his forehead against hers, a gesture that has given them both comfort over their time together. When he drew back, her eyes were clearer and she even managed to give him a watery smile.

She sniffled loudly and pushed off of him slightly, just enough to regard his position. Her voice was still thick with emotion but he could hear the hint of amusement lacing her tone, “How’s your back liking that position?”

He gave her a lopsided grin, “I’ll tell you later once it has caught up with me.” Frank watched her carefully for a moment, “Ready to get some rest?”

She nodded slowly and moved to sit up, Frank assisting her and then pushing off the back of the tub himself. He stood first, ignoring the ache in his knees and took Karen’s hands to help pull her to her feet, wrapping the towel tightly around her shoulders once they were both steady on their feet.

Karen watched Frank as he fussed over her, pulling her hair out from under the towel, smoothing it out of her face, rubbing her arms over the towel to keep her warm, all the while his deep brown eyes furrowed in concern, taking in every detail to ensure he was making her as comfortable as he could. Slowly, she felt part of her tattered soul repairing itself. It was amazing how someone as broken as Frank Castle could make her feel so whole. Someone who had lost so much, giving her everything he had left. Karen stepped further into his space, banding her arms around his waist and gave him a slow kiss that she hoped conveyed everything she didn’t have the strength to say at the moment.

He seemed to understand though, he usually did, and brought his own hands up to card through her hair, holding her so tenderly she could have cried if she had any tears left. Finally, he stepped out of the tub and held her hand while she did the same. Before she could protest, Frank scooped her up and carried her the short distance to the bedroom. Normally she would have fussed at him and told him she could walk on her own but she was so drained all she could do was be grateful and press her forehead into his neck.

Frank tucked her in on his side where the blankets were already pulled back before quickly shucking out of his wet underwear and throwing on a dry pair. He left the room, returning a minute later with a glass of water that he put on the nightstand closest to her and then climbed in behind her, tucking her against him with incredible care, laying little kisses on what skin presented itself to him in the process. 

Karen had been there for Frank in some of the hardest moments of his life, she had been an ear when he needed someone to listen, a childhood anecdote or sarcastic comment when he needed a laugh, and harsh words of truth when he needed a push in the right direction. He hoped he could be all of those things for her. Be the rock that she needed when her foundations were crumbling, just as she had been for him. When he heard a quiet ‘I love you, Frank’ before her exhaustion took her over, he felt his heart swell and thought maybe he had done something right for once.

“I love you too, Karen.”

By the next evening Frank had replaced the old squeaky faucet with a brand new one that didn’t make a sound when turned, the old one in the dumpster outside of her apartment, never to be seen again. 

[rainey-staerie-daize]

So far, this’s been a weird bad week.

On Sunday, I awoke to cinnamon rolls, strawberries, and bagels, which is unusual in our household. We usually have cereal, but I was fine with this change. I love cinnamon rolls. I thought this was gonna be the only oddity of that day, but I was wrong.

Skye said she was gonna stay home during the littles’ visit, so I got hopeful that I could have a heart-to-heart with Mom about the previous week in the car, but she ended up coming with because I was and she didn’t want to be home alone. And then, Kare was with us too, because she didn’t want to go, so we had her with us for two hours. But, oh! Not two hours, but one, because without Kare, Xan only wanted to spend one hour with their dad.

So, instead of maybe stopping at the store or something, and counting off all the reasons I’ve been upset with my mother, we took a drive for an hour with my sisters. For the first time ever, I turned the other way in the car, hoping Mom got the hint that something was up. After a while of silence, she asked Kare how she was doing, as she usually does when it’s been silent for a while, and then asked me the same thing a minute later. I gave a noncommittal hum, not wanting to talk in that moment with almost everyone in the car.

Before picking up Xan, she went through the Starbucks drive-through to get us each something, so I turned the right way to be able to drink my matcha pineapple drink, but I was still not very happy. Refreshers and fraps can’t fix the hole in my heart where love should go.

After getting Xan, we went to Ross for a new outfit or two each because it’s getting hot out here and Mom has stimulus money right now. I usually love shopping, but considering that I was already upset, Mom previously promised an individual “date” day with each of us for this, I didn’t have my glasses or phone that day, and I like to take my time, I wasn’t having a good time. I found cute items that were too small for me, and couldn’t take pics because I didn’t bring my phone, and I was the last one of the family to be perusing the racks. I HATE to be the one everyone’s waiting on.

And then to top it all off, Mom complained in the car that she “spent way too much money.” I already have a nagging guilt in my subconscious soul whenever I’ve been done shopping the last few times, even when spending my own money. I really didn’t need to hear that I’m actually being a burden on someone, either time-wise or financially.

Holy shit, I need to take a minute.

Anyway, we came home, and everyone went straight to trying everything on. Which makes me anxious, because we just got these clothes, and Mom usually wipes things down or washes them before we use them. Wondered for a few if I was being paranoid, before concluding that I’m not and Mom’s just slipping at this game.

Then Mom started talking about chores we need to get done, and that the garage is getting cleaned out today. Now, she’s said this a lot, so I never know when she’s actually gonna get serious, but apparently, she actually meant it.

I like to clean by myself, preferably when everyone’s asleep or gone, because I know damn well I take to long, and I don’t want the ridicule. Big problem with that is the fact that the anxiety from the possible judgement keeps me from actually starting, so I end up never starting and it never gets done. And Mom was is sick of my shit. Many of the boxes and bags of laundry in the garage are mine.

So, as I was sitting in the kitchen trying to enjoy the ice cream Mom said we could all have, I was trying not to panic when Skye was going through the garage for stuff to bring in and go through. Mom mentioned that she was gonna “force inspiration to clean” onto me, and I told her that’s not how that works.”

Luckily, she found a couple bags of toys to go through first, and I sat and watched, trying to relax so I’d stop feeling sick to my stomach. I’m trying not to feel sick as I type this all, but I gotta let my feelings out somewhere.

Eventually, she brought in a bag of my stuff. I looked at a couple items, and determined it was a bag I’d already gone through a few months ago. It was only in the garage again because I hadn’t washed and put it away yet. So far, so good. Another bag, and I was able to throw some things away without any second guessing. Eventually, I didn’t feel so sick anymore, and was in productive mode.

At some point, Skye asked if she should bring in something that wasn’t clothes, and I explained quietly that I’ve had enough mentally. “Please don’t make me switch tasks right now.” I’m so glad, that at age 20, I know I’m autistic, read up on it a ton, and now have the tools I need to communicate what’s going on in my head.

Skye understood, and brought in more clothes. I’m also so glad to have her as a sister. Mom would’ve seen it as making excuses, which is why I tried not to be loud enough for her to hear. I was in a zone, doing what she wanted (and I needed) for once, and I didn’t need her to break it by yelling.

I set aside the things that weren’t mine to go through, and I got it done. Since I still had quite a lot, I decided to go through everything more selectively at another time, on my own time. We’ll see how that goes.

Had dinner, and I didn’t feel like eating as much as I usually do, and said this to Mom. Told her about how the day went nothing like how I’d planned, and she seemed to finally recognise some depression in me, and offered to have that talk I wanted that night or the next day. After dinner, I chilled for a while with the Gravity Falls tag (pretty sure y’all’ve noticed) in the bathroom, because it’s the one private room of the house and I wanted to be alone, and when I came out, everyone was sleeping and Mom was cleaning. She was spraying everything with Febreze, and then vacuumed after a few, and told me to check my slippers to see if they’re dirty before walking on the carpets. I find this a bit absurd, seeing as how Mom is the one who gets the floors dirty with her shoes (FR, she’s the only one of us that leaves visible shoe prints inside), and I wear slippers specifically so I don’t have to keep washing my feet all the damn time. But not wanting an argument, I complied, and took off my slippers to sit at the desk with the laptop.

The plan was to finally catch up on my school work, but after Mom got on me about the dog being neglected, I simply didn’t have the spoons, and looked up pics of Ford’s futuristic gun. Eventually started reading Gravity Falls: Lost Legends on the purple game phone. Not very productive, I know, but I knew I didn’t have actual class the next day, and I’m normally very responsible with the dog. I’ve only been neglecting her as a bit of a social experiment to see if anybody would notice that the one person who cares for her hasn’t been. Don’t worry, I gave her food and water after a while, but I left the red blanket covered in Kare’s piss over the crate, because if Mom thinks she knows best and wants to put a dirty-ass blanket over the crate, who am I to remove it?

Fucking bitch.

Anyway, after she went to sleep, the living room felt like the Twilight Zone. It had the vibe of being freshly steam-cleaned, despite not being cleaned at all, I felt like I couldn’t lay down anywhere because dirty laundry had touched my leg earlier and I didn’t feel like showering yet, and everyone was asleep but me. Two or three lights were on but I shut them off to help calm my mind a bit. Worked a bit, and I continued reading until the next morning. I heard Mom’s alarm for Xan’s school day start going off, and not wanting to interact with her, I laid down to sleep, letting fate decide if she gets up on time or not. Skye says she didn’t, and Xan ended up not going to school. Oh well. Not my problem.

Oy, she would think I’m such a selfish bitch if she read that, but I honestly don’t care. I half hope she stumbles across this blog just so she finally knows what I’m thinking all the damn time. Stars know that we never did have that talk. In fact, when I made a comment before she went to sleep on Sunday that I’m aweful at this whole “being a human thing,” she accused me of just trying to get sympathy, and “stop the whole ‘woe is me’ bullshit.”

Oy, so I’m amazing, I guess? What do you want me to say? Nothing?? I mean, I guess that’s correct. I would finally stop bugging her with my too-loud voice. I try to moderate my volume, I really do, but sometimes I forget, or I’m being louder than I think I am.

Yesterday, I slept a lot of the day, woke up to take an exam, and came out of my room to find all but one piece of the pineapple Mom got gone. Not only did everyone save me only a single cube, it was so sweet and good, and I’m not sure I did so well on my exam. Mom said the littles’ scarfed it all down in minutes, and that it wasn’t even that good because the enzymes burned their tongues, but I don’t feel bad for them. They wouldn’t have gotten burned so bad if they had saved some for Skye and I. She was still sleeping at the time. I also spotted the only pineapple juice in Kare’s Starbucks cup from the day before, but when I took a sip (because she often wastes food, she won’t miss it), I discovered it was watered down. Ugh.

That night, last night, as I stayed up late reading fan-made Gravity Falls comics, I tried to stay as silent as possible. My laughter is often loud, and I was finally having a good time. I didn’t need Mom waking up to scold me with the whole “I work graveyard, and I just got vaccinated! Why can’t I ever sleep?!”

I think I did a pretty great job of staying quiet for once, but at some point, she called my name, which startled me a bit. I went to her room to see what was up, but after I called back and got no response, I determined that she just called my name in her sleep. Whew.

And now, I’m sitting at the kitchen table, typing away, still being silent. I’ll have a good time with Skye when Mom’s not around. Mom doesn’t deserve to hear my laughter anymore if she doesn’t want it so bad. She was watching late-night comedy when I was typing the first part of this post, but at some point, she got up, and I quickly-but-casually switched tabs to the music I was listening to to read the comments until she left from behind me again. I do want to talk about all of this with her eventually, but I really don’t tonight, and she sometimes reads over my shoulder if it’s easy for her to do so.

I hope she’s getting ready for work right now, and she won’t be able to get an Early Out. I’d love for the anxiety of her randomly crashing my vibes to be gone. Maybe (but probably not) I’ll clean, maybe I’ll read some more in the dark. Don’t know yet.

[edxwin-elric]

Darkest Roads - Ch. 3

Chapter 3: Sinners and Saints

Rating: T

Pairing: Edwin/Edward Elric x Winry Rockbell

Disclaimer: I don’t own Fullmetal Alchemist.

Total Work Count: 15k

Chapter Word Count: 6k

Title: Darkest Roads

Chapter Title: Sinners and Saints

Description: Edwin Street Race AU - Ed takes Winry for a drive in his car and things take a new turn in their relationship.

@fmabigbangs​

ffn || ao3 || tag

previous chapter

Edward

When I arrive back at the butcher shop, I notice a mysterious looking car parked in front as I’m carefully moving the bike into the alley. But I can’t worry about that. Weird cars or not, I know Izumi will be out here in two seconds to look for any damage I might’ve done.

Except she isn’t…

I wait for a minute before I frown and head inside, grabbing the notebook and carrier off the back along with the helmet. I drop my stuff by the door and move toward the front, stopping in the small hallway when I hear voices.

“Well, if you see anything or hear anything suspicious, please give us a call.”

I crane my neck a little and see a blonde lady in a blue suit handing Sig a business card.

“Also, are you sure Edward Elric won’t be here today? I have on record that he’s an employee here, and I have a few questions I’d like to ask him.”

Cold runs down my back, and I feel my jaw clench. I know that voice. It’s that bastard detective, Mustang. The one who approached me a few weeks ago about making me a C.I. and having me flip on members of the Devil’s Nest (plus anyone else I see committing crimes on the Lane). I told him to fuck off, so I can only imagine what he wants to talk about now.

“I already told you he’s out on a delivery run. I’m not sure when he’ll be back,” Izumi answers with a firm but pleasant tone.

“Well, I’m going to leave my card, too, if you’ll pass it along to him.”

“I’ll see that he gets it.”

And I’ll see that it gets immediately lost in the bio waste (aka the pig blood).

I continue waiting out of sight until the two detectives are safely outside and in their car.

“You can come out, Ed,” Izumi calls almost immediately, and I step into the main room, behind the counter.

“What did they want?”

“They were just checking around with local businesses to see if we’d seen or heard anything about the Saints of Ishval,” Sig chimes in grimly. “Apparently, their leader, Scar, has been causing trouble.”

“And who can blame them,” Izumi huffs as she begins violently chopping meat on the butcher block. “Local government has been passing mandates left and right that specifically target Ishvalan neighborhoods. It’s ridiculous.”

“They have a right to be upset about that,” Sig agrees calmly, “but it’s no reason to become violent with random citizens or even unprovoked law enforcement. Violence never solves anything.”

“I disagree,” Izumi snaps back bringing the cleaver down again. “Self-defense and survival often call for a bit of violence.”

Sig shakes his head and rubs his hand over her shoulder. “You know what I meant.”

“Oh, also,” she calls to me, in a not-subtle way of changing the subject, “the dark haired one asked about you.”

“I heard,” I grimace. “He approached me once before about…something. I bet it was that again. I’m still not interested though.”

“Well, I told him I’d give you this.”

She pulls off her gloves and grabs a business card out of her apron pocket. I take it and shove it in my back pocket, already timing the distance to the trash can to throw it out.

“If you finished those deliveries, you can do some inventory. It’s a pretty slow day,” she changes the subject. “That, or you can help me prep the fresh meat for display.” She nods to the bloody packages on ice behind her.

“I don’t mind doing inventory.”

It’s only for another half hour anyway, and I enjoy the silence back there.

“Only do the beef for now. I don’t want you in the freezer for too long, and that should be enough to get you started. Sig?”

“The stock count is on my desk. You can grab it before you go in. Come out front for a break after fifteen minutes, and I’ll see where you are then.”

“Yes, sir.” I nod and head to the office.

But my mind is still stuck on the Saints of Ishval. I mean, why would the cops think a the leader of a biker gang run out of the Southeast corner of the city would be harassing shop owners in a South-central neighborhood? Unless they’re moving on Devil’s Nest territory. I wonder how my new friend(?) in the Xingese District would feel about that. I mean, the Central underground has its variety of players, but usually they keep to their designated sections of town. The last time a border war—so to speak—broke out was when an Ishvalan child was killed by a cop from Central and all hell broke loose. The Ishvalan community has never really recovered, and the crime rate has only gone up.

“Ed!” Sig’s deep voice makes me jump. “You’d better be working in there! We don’t pay you to sit in a fridge and stare at meat!”

“Right. Yes, sir!” I yell back before reaching for the first shelf of beef and checking it against the list in my hand.

I shouldn’t be worrying about the Saints of Ishval right now. As much as the workings of the Central City underworld concern me, I wish they didn’t, and one day, I hope they don’t. If I want that to happen, I need to focus on my job. Checking the expiration dates on meat may not pay much, but it’s honest money, which is what I need if I’m going to afford groceries later.

Before I meet Winry at City Park.

Shit. I still have to go get her part from Donovan. I’ll have to do that after work but before groceries. I don’t want to be too close to the Lane when the sun sets or Greed will try to pull me into racing.

Swearing under my breath, I reach for another lump of meat and try to ignore the cold setting into the skin surrounding my automail anchors. Fuck, it’s going to be a long half hour.

Winry

I glance at my phone for the time and shift my weight, before shoving the device in my pocket. A chilly breeze makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up on end, and I rub my arms, looking around again for Edward. He was supposed to be here ten minutes ago, but so far, I haven’t seen him, and he hasn’t texted to say he was late or to reschedule or anything.

I walk around the waterless fountain and start to sit down on a bench when a car alarm goes off a few blocks away. My head whips toward the sound, and my heart freezes in my chest. The shock lasts about a second before I take a deep breath and scold myself for being so jumpy.

I’m paranoid, and I know it. The likelihood of anything happening in this park is really slim, but I can’t stop my mind from spinning wild scenarios now that I’m here. Alone. In the dark. Waiting for a boy I barely know to trade me a sort of illicit auto part in a sketchy exchange. With Paninya’s warning ringing in my ears, it’s impossible for me not to be skittish.

“Oh good. I found you.”

A short scream slips out of my mouth as I leap from my seat on the bench and whirl around.

“Hey, hey, it’s just me!” Ed hisses, holding his leather clad hands out. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I thought you heard me walk up.”

“Holy crap,” I whisper,  gasping as I shut my eyes with relief.

“I’m so sorry,” he goes on. “Fuck, I’m sorry for surprising you and for being late, actually.”

“I wasn’t sure you were coming,” I announce a little more coldly than I mean to as I straighten.

“I had to go by and get the part right before I came here. I was waiting on Donovan to finish his final check to make sure it was in perfect condition.”

“You have it?” I perk up at once. “Can I see it?”

He reaches up with one hand and rubs the back of his neck, wincing.

“What?” I frown.

“I’m not really supposed to give it to you until I have the money.”

“Well, I’m not sure I want to give you the money until I’ve looked at the part,” I counter, crossing my arms. “Why should I be the one who has to just believe you and Donovan didn’t rip me off?”

“Yeah…” He glances to the side. “ I guess that’s fair. Here.”

He nods to the bench, and I sit back down as he skirts the edge and takes the spot beside me. Taking the envelope of cash out of my coat, I set it in the space between us. He looks at it for a second, and I hold my breath, waiting for him to count it. I’m surprised when he doesn’t. Instead he pulls the part out of his jacket and holds it out to me.

“I watched him look over it with a high beam light and a magnifying glass,” he says quietly. “If you find something wrong with it, you can keep my thirty thousand cens.”

I raise an eyebrow and proceed to scan the part for any damage. When I can’t find any, I take a second envelope out of my coat and hold it out to Ed.

“What the fuck?” he mutters. “If this is the cash, what’s in that one? Were you bluffing?”

“No.” I shake my head. “This one is yours. The thirty thousand you just mentioned that I owe you.”

“What?” he blinks. “Really?”

“I told you I could pay you back,” I remind him. “What? You didn’t think I was serious.”

“Well, no, I mean, yes,” he sputters. “I just thought it would take you longer or–”

“I’m good with my money,” I explain over the end of his flailing sentence. “And I’m better with automail. I just don’t usually keep too much on hand. I only had what I had the other night because my friend suggested that much, but, obviously, she underestimated the price.”

“Yeah,” he mutters. “If I hadn’t been there to cover for you, things could’ve gone pretty bad.”

“Thanks again for that,” I whisper. “Anyway…” I stand and adjust the scarf at my neck. “It’s late, and if we’re done, I should probably be getting home.”

I glance over my shoulder toward the street, and hold back a sigh. I don’t know why I’m disappointed. This was only ever a business deal anyway.

“Wait.”

My head snaps back around, and I freeze as he stands and reaches for my hand.

“Don’t…don’t go yet.”

I look from our joined hands up to his face, my eyes wide with surprise.

“Why not?” I venture carefully. “There’s no reason I should stay…”

“What? Oh, fuck. I mean, yeah, you should probably leave…”

I notice his cheeks look pink in the dim light of the lamp posts, but I don’t say anything, even though he’s cute when he’s making a fool of himself.

“Do you…want me to stay?”

“What?” He flinches and looks up at me, dropping my hand. “I…uh, yeah, but–”

Before he can answer a loud roar of some kind of engine shatters the night. I look around, but can’t see anything even though the noise is getting closer.

“What is that?” I can’t keep the panic out of my voice, especially not after I see the look on Ed’s face.

“Motorcycle,” he mutters. “You need to go.”

“What? You just said–”

“Forget what I said,” he bites out as he grabs my hand and starts pulling me toward the entrance to the park. “Go home. Now. Don’t stop and don’t turn back.”

“I don’t understand,” I murmur. “Who is it? What do they want?”

“Nothing good.” He grimaces, and I feel cold slip into the folds of my coat.

“Okay.” I nod. “I’ll, um, text you when I get home.”

“Yeah. Sure.”

I tuck the rare auto part into my coat pocket and start down the block. I make it across the street and halfway up the next block when the roar of the engine overwhelms me. I turn toward it, and suddenly it’s coming right at me. Terror blasts through my veins and I duck my head, covering my ears as if that will somehow help.

It stops in front me me, the headlight blinding as the engines all cuts off. I blink as the headlight goes dark, leaving me shrouded in the light of the streetlamp and staring at a large dark blur dismounting the bike. I squint and make out a patch on the front of a leather cut.

The Saints of Ishval.

“Miss,” a rough voice comes from the dark figure and I take a step back.

“Who are you?”

A tall, muscular man steps out of the shadows, his face twisted with a frown and marred by an X shaped scar.

“I’ll ask the questions,” he rumbles. “What are you doing out so late all by yourself?”

“I…I…”

The auto part in my pocket suddenly feels heavier than before. Should I tell him the truth? Would it matter to him? Ed didn’t say why I should avoid them?

“I was taking a walk,” I stammer. “In the park.”

“This late? In winter?” His frown deepens, if that’s possible. “Alone?”

“Y-yes. I…” I lick my lips and feel my hands start trembling, and not from the cold.

“You what?”

He takes a step closer, and I take two backward, my back hitting the brick wall of a storefront.

“I, um… I’m–”

“She’s with me.”

Edward

The mountain sized man turns to look at me, and I curse myself for being this stupid. But I couldn’t just walk off and hope she made it home, so…I was following her. I would say it’s a good think I was since she’s been cornered by the leader of City’s most notorious biker gang, but I actually don’t know if I can get her out of this.

“And you are?”

“I’m Edward Elric,” I announce, as I move quickly toward Winry. “And that girl you’re scaring the fuck out of is my girlfriend.”

I see her eyes widen at the word, and I jerk my head at her, trying to get her to play along.

“Elric…” The giant turns to face me completely. “Don’t I know that name?”

“I…”

“Oh, yes, one of Greed’s racers,” he finishes before I can say anything. “That means you’re with the Devil’s Nest.”

I open my mouth to deny it when suddenly my arm is being twisted behind my back, and I’m pinned to the ground, my cheek scraping the concrete. Something in my automail snaps, and I squeeze my eyes shut as pain radiates up into my shoulder.

“Let him go!” Winry squeals. “We weren’t doing anything!”

I peek over my shoulder to see Scar glance at her and squint. “Then why were you here? If you’re his girlfriend like he says…”

“I—” I hiss as his knee digs into my back. “I snuck her out!” I lie, saying whatever words pop into my head. “She has a curfew, and I’m not really the type her dad wants to see her out with, so I brought her to the park so we could be alone.”

Winry, as brilliant as I thought, catches on fast.

“I have to get home,” she jumps in at once. “If my dad finds out I’m missing, he’ll call every cop in the city.”

“So, you were doing something then.” Scar snarls.

“Just making out!” I supply instantly, trying not to notice the instant blush that stains her cheeks. “But her dad checks on her at midnight, so–”

“Please, I can’t be gone when he–”

“Okay, fine,” Scar sighs, releasing me. “You can go.”

The knee in my spine moves off, and I scramble to my feet, watching Winry out of the corner of my eye as I stare at Scar.

“Thank you,” Winry murmurs as she inches toward me.

I take a step closer to her when Scar grabs my shoulder and leans down.

“But if I ever catch you or any of the Devil’s Nesters out again at night, all bets are off, Elric.”

“You won’t,” I guarantee him, even though I have no idea if that’s true.

Winry comes up beside me and attaches herself to my arm just as he backs away. I try not to wince at the sharp pain that shoots through my elbow, determined to stay still until he’s gone. We stand there, silently, as he starts his engine and rolls out.

“Thank you,” Winry exhales as soon as we’re alone again. “I…I–”

“Don’t mention it.”

I reach up to touch my hair and groan when my arm locks up.

“Your automail!” she gasps. “It’s damaged. You’re in pain.”

“No shit,” I hiss. “That guy was ridiculously strong.” And way too damn forceful.

“I can fix it,” she says as if I never spoke. “Come home with me. I have what I need there.”

“I’m sorry, what?” I blink.

“Your arm needs a repair,” she says urgently. “My granny should be asleep, so as long as we’re quiet, I can sneak you in and fix you up, and then sneak you back out without her knowing.”

Fuck, she just invited to sneak me into her bedroom—well, wherever she does her automail stuff. Tonight is out of control.

“I…”

“I won’t take ‘no’ for an answer,” she cuts in. “You got hurt helping me, so it’s the least I can do.”

“Fine.” I give in, not that it was too much of a struggle. “Lead the way.”

Winry

“This is where you live?”

I glance at him in the light from the lamp by the door and bite my lip.

“My family is sort of a big deal in automail,” I murmur. “My granny was one of the first engineers.”

Usually, I don’t think our house is anything grand. It’s a relatively modest two story with a small yard for my dog…but I guess it is in one of the nicer neighborhoods downtown.

“Right.” He nods slowly.

“Anyway, follow me, and be quiet.”

I lead him around the side of the house to the trellis. I could probably go in the front door, but there’s always the chance Granny is up late, and I don’t want to have to take him past her bedroom just in case.

“Can you climb with that wrist?”

“Yeah.”

I watch him curl his fingers into a fist and grimace, but he doesn’t change his answer.

“My bedroom is the window on the right.”

“Your bedroom. Cool. Okay,” he mumbles a string of words, and I suddenly realize what this scenario sort of resembles, a flame of heat instantly racing up the side of my neck.

“It’s locked,” I whisper, “so wait here until I get up there to open it.”

He nods, and I go around through the front door. In the case Granny is up, I want her to think I’m just coming home like a good girl and not about to sneak a boy into my room.

A flash of guilt squeezes my heart, and I do my best to ignore it.

I crack the window as soon as I get to it and wave for Ed to come up. I see him start to climb, watching for a few seconds to make sure he really can manage with his injured automail, before I go to my workbench and store the new part I have in my coat.

“I never thought I’d be the guy sneaking in a girl’s bedroom,” he mutters as his feet hit the floor with a loud thud.

“Shh!” I hiss at him, glancing wildly over my shoulder. “If my Granny finds you in here this late, I literally have no idea how she’ll react.”

But I imagine it won’t be good.

“Sorry.”

“Now,” I whisper, slipping off my coat and scarf, “give me your arm.”

He holds it out as I grab my headlamp and slide it on. After a quick glance, I grab some pliers and try to undo the fresh dent, but it won’t budge.

“I need to replace this plate,” I tell him without looking up. “I actually have one that should fit. Give me two seconds.”

Turning my back on him, I shift some other projects around and grab the part I need along with a screwdriver. It takes a minute to detach the damaged plate, but once it’s off I take a look at the inside just to make sure everything looks good.

“How often do you get your automail checked?” I ask softly, shining a penlight on some smaller gears.

“Uh…only when I absolutely have to, honestly.”

“I figured you’d say that.” I shake my head. “You have some rust, but it isn’t terrible. Let me oil it really quick.”

“You’re a real gearhead, aren’t you?” he asks my back as I’m digging through my oils and serums.

“What?”

“You’re so…zoned in on my automail. It’s like how I am when I’m driving.”

“Oh.” I blink. “I hadn’t really thought about it, but I guess so.”

I quickly administer the oil and grab the new plate, which I have to make a few adjustments to for the right fit.

“So…what did you mean about your driving?” I ask him as I punch a fresh hole in the metal, muffling it as much as I can.

“You probably heard Scar say I’m one of Greed’s racers,” he says softly, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. “It’s not really what I want to do, but…driving is all I’m really good at. Well, that and selling meat.”

“I assume a serious driver has a car?”

“Yeah, my baby. She was having engine trouble, so a friend of mine let me put her up in his garage. She’s on blocks because she also needs fresh tires. This 30k should help me fund the last few parts I need to fix her and get her going again.”

“What kind of car is she?”

“How did you know she’s a she?” He stares at me, and I shrug.

“You’re a guy? I don’t know. It just seemed logical. Did you name her?”

“Nina,” he says softly. “And she’s a red Dodge Challenger.”

“Hold still.” He winces as I set the plate and screw it into place. “How’s it feel?”

I watch him move his arm this way and that, throw some fake punches, and swing it over his head before he looks at me.

“Fucking amazing,” he mutters with undeniable awe. “I think this is the best it’s ever been.”

“If you want me to look at your leg sometime, say the word.”

He gives me a sideways glance, and I feel my face flush.

“I just meant–”

“I know.”

“Anyway, Nina,” I change the subject back to something safe. “I’d like to see her.”

“After I get her fixed up, I can pick you up and show her off. I’d love that.”

“Sounds good to me.” I agree instantly, trying to ignore Paninya’s voice in my head screaming this is a bad idea.

“I’ll text you.”

I start to say something about how he never texted before, but stop myself. It doesn’t matter now anyway, if it ever did.

“Cool.” I nod instead. “Now it’s time to sneak you out of here before my Granny hears us."

“Right.” He walks back over to the window and slides it up before looking over at me. “Have a goodnight, princess.”

“Shut up and go home, Ed,” I laugh at him.

He slides his leg out, and I watch as he disappears. After a few seconds, though, I rush over to look down at him.

“What?” he mouths up at me, and I shake my head.

“Nothing. Just…have a goodnight, too, Edward.”

He grins and drops the rest of the way to the ground, going immediately into a somersault, and then dashing off into the night.

Edward

“Fuck. Okay. It’s fine. You’re fine, and you can do this,” I mutter to myself as I slow to a measly five miles an hour and turn onto the street in front of Winry’s house.

Something like a thousand tiny tiny fingertips run down my spine, and my stomach lurches.

“Shit. Maybe I can’t do this.”

I called her a week ago—called, not texted—when I finally had everything done to get Nina back on the road.  I still want to customize her paint job, but Cherry Red looks good on her for the moment. Now, I’m at Winry’s house, waiting to pick her up for what I’m like 90% sure is a date, and I’m not totally sure how that happened.

My phone pings, and I grab it from the cupholder.

Automail Princess: is that you?

I text her back a quick “yeah,” and watch as the front door to the house swings open and she comes running out.

In a dress.

Fuck, I was right. Her legs are amazing.

I groan and throw my head back, banging it against the seat, stopping quickly when she opens the passenger door.

“So where are you and Nina taking me?” She bounces a little in her seat, and I bite my lip to hide my smile.

She’s too adorable.

Which is why this won’t work out.

I shake off the stupid voice in my head and shift gears as she buckles her seatbelt.

“Well, I figured I could drive around the city, and then through the backroads outside of town if you wanted. I can get up to some decent speeds on those since they’re not as heavily policed.”

“Sounds good. Did you have any sort of destination in mind?”

I cough, and reach up to beat my chest with my fist.

“Um…I don’t know, why?”

“Well…” she starts and trails off immediately.

“What?”

“There’s this place,” she says before taking a breath. “I’ve never been there, but I have this friend, and she said… Nevermind, I shouldn’t mention it. It’s dumb, and probably too out of the way–”

“Give me a hint,” I interrupt, secretly loving how flustered she is.

“It’s at the top of this hill. It’s supposed to be the highest point in Amestris, or at least Central City, and–”

I slam on the brakes without meaning to and she squeals before her seatbelt catches her, cutting her off.

“Shit. Fuck. Sorry,” I ramble, speeding up immediately, and forcing my eyes to focus on the road and the windshield and not looking at her.

“You know the place then?” she asks quietly.

“Uh…yeah,” I admit, a muscle in my jaw twitching.

She’s talking about Sniper’s Lookout. It’s an abandoned parking lot outside an old condemned bell tower. I think it used to be part of a church, but the rumor is the best sniper in Central used to use the tower for target practice by shooting birds out of the sky.

But more importantly, Sniper’s Lookout is most notorious for being the premier place for teenagers to go parking.

“Do you, uh, wanna go there?” I glance at her before quickly shifting my eyes back to the road.

“I think so,” she answers after a beat, her voice suddenly softer.

I’m afraid to ask if she means what I think she means, but I’m also afraid not to. I debate with myself in silence as I turn onto the road that leads out of town, directly into the setting sun.

“Ed, are you okay?”

Shit. I’ve been quiet too long.

“Yeah.” I nod. “Just thinking.”

“I freaked you out, didn’t I?” she blurts at once. “If you don’t want to drive all the way up there, we don’t have to. I just thought–”

“No, you didn’t,” I lie to calm her down. “I just have a lot on my mind.”

“Oh…okay.”

“Winry,” I ask suddenly, looking over at her. “Do you know what people—couples, I mean—do at Sniper’s Lookout?”

She blinks, and I watch her cheeks turn a perfect shade of pink.

“Well, I have an idea,” she mumbles. “But, I really just wanted a place we could talk.”

Oh.

“Well, I guess that makes sense.” I nod.

I’m an idiot. Of course she doesn’t want to fool around. We’ve only seen each other twice before now, and never as anything romantic…

She reaches forward and turns on the radio, and we drive in comfortable silence until, the sun completely sets, and I make the turn onto the lane that zigzags back and forth to the top of the tallest hill in the city.

“So…” I turn to her as I cut the engine, the sudden silence deafening. “What did you want to talk about?”

“I really like you,” says suddenly. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said it like that, but… Well, my friend, Paninya, she’s the one I mentioned before, I’m replacing her knee joints.”

I blink at her and nod slowly.

“…okay?”

“Her adoptive dad is her automail mechanic, and she still hasn’t told him I’m doing the replacement, which is stressing me out. Oh, and that’s also why I needed the part you hooked me up with.”

“Go on.”

“The real problem though, is… Well, I’m weaponizing her legs.”

“I’m sorry, what?” I blink at her.

“Before the law went through about combat automail, she had these self-defense items, and if you knew her, you’d totally understand why she needs them, but her dad complied with the new rules and removed them because she isn’t twenty-one yet.”

“And you’re going to reinstall them?”

“Yes, and…I can’t tell anyone because, well, it’s illegal.”

“But you’re telling me,” I point out quietly.

“I really needed to tell someone, and I…thought you’d understand, and I’m really hoping you’re trustworthy.”

“I do, and…I am,” I assure her. “It’s a pretty big deal though, isn’t it? Doing that kind of automail work?”

“It’s not simple, for sure,” she admits, leaning forward to slide off her jacket. “But I can manage.”

My eyes get caught on the flashes of skin on her bare shoulders. Middle of winter and she’s wearing a pink top with off-the-shoulder sleeves. I’m not sure why, but that seems to be 100% on brand for her.

“I’m trying to get away from racing,” I confess, though I’m not sure why. Something about her makes me want to bare my soul. “I want to get away from Sinners’ Lane entirely, actually. My brother is about to finish high school, and I really want him to go off to college. One of us should.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I had to take care of him.” I sigh. “Our dad bailed when we were little, and our mom died a few years later… It’s been just us for most of our lives.”

“That’s… I’m sorry.”

“It is what it is.” I shrug.

“How did you lose your arm and leg, if I can ask that?”

“Car accident of course.”

“Racing?”

“Actually, no.” I grin. “I ran out in front of a car to save Al and got hit. It wasn’t long after out mom died. By then, we were in foster care, but our foster parents were actually pretty cool. I… They gave me a job at their butcher shop when I aged out, and when I got my own place I took Al with me, but they’re basically family.”

“That’s good.”

I mean, I guess could’ve left Al with them while I went to school, but that didn’t feel right.

“I guess we’re both figuring shit out.” I run my fingers through my bangs.

“Maybe we could…figure it out together?”

I look over at her and raise an eyebrow.

“I don’t really know what I’m doing,” she murmurs, “but I know I like being with you…”

“I like being with you, too,” I whisper.

Her body angles toward mine, and I stop breathing. She blinks slowly, and I get hung up on how her lashes make her eyes look bluer than normal, which is saying something. A guy could drown in those dark pools…

“Kiss me, Ed.”

I’m not sure if she really said it, or if I imagined it, but the next thing I know, I’m moving my head toward her, and she’s watching my lips as I lower them to hers.

(art by @ayanthos​)

She tastes like a daydream.

My automail fingers slide into the hair by her neck, and my other hand grips the steering wheel as she turns slightly, giving me an opening to deepen the kiss. She gasps against my mouth, and I grin.

She pulls back, and I watch as she takes a short breath and reaches up to touch her lips.

“You okay, princess?”

She nods, but her eyes are shining. Fuck. Is she gonna cry?

“I thought you wanted me to,” I whisper quickly. “I–”

Before I can finish, her finger comes up to my lips, shutting me up.

“It was perfect,” she murmurs. “I… No one has ever kissed me before.”

“What?” I stare at her. “Not ever? Really?”

“Yeah.”

She leans back in and kisses my cheek before pulling away and letting out a short sigh.

“I think I should be getting home soon,” she whispers.

“Right.”

My cheek is burning from where her lips touched it, but I ignore that and focus on starting my car and driving her back to the city. When I pull up in front of her house, I realize I don’t want her to go.

“Can I call you again?”

“I’d like that,” she nods. “And, actually, I sort of need another one of those parts you got me before. I’m doing both of Pan’s knees, so…”

“I can talk to Donovan.”

“Great.” She beams as she reaches for her door handle.

“Wait.” I reach out and grab her hand, pulling her back to me.

“What?”

“Don’t…kiss anyone else, okay?”

Her eyes widen and then soften as she bites her lip.

“I won’t if you won’t.”

“Deal.”

She slides out, and I watch as she walks up the steps before turning to wave at me.

“Nina,” I announce as I pull away. “I think you just got me a girlfriend.”

Winry

“Was that the hot guy?”

Paninya is waiting inside as soon as I step in the door.

“His name is still Edward,” I remind her.

“So, it is him?”

“It is who?” Granny steps out of the kitchen.

“My…boyfriend,” I say definitively.

“What!” Pan screeches. “Winry, you can’t be–”

“Is his surname Elric?” Granny interrupts her, and I freeze.

“Um, yeah, actually.”

“I knew his parents.” She nods. “Good people.”

I almost ask about his MIA dad, but don’t get the chance since Paninya grabs my arm and drags me up the stairs.

“Winry, I told you not to go after a boy from the Lane.”

“I didn’t, it just happened,” I tell her honestly. “And…don’t try to talk me out of it.”

She opens her mouth like she’s going to say something and then closes it again instead.

This happens three times.

“Okay, fine,” she finally says in a huff. “But I wouldn’t be a good friend if I didn’t say one thing.”

“What?”

“Don’t fall for him. You can date him all you want. If you want to make out with him in an alley or sneak him into your bedroom, go for it. Fuck him in his car or on the second-hand couch in his shitty apartment. I don’t care, but don’t fall in love with him.”

“Pan–”

“If you fall in love with him, and he breaks your heart…”

Her face says more than any number of words ever could.

“Okay,” I whisper, hoping to easer her mind.

“Promise me.”

“I…” She leans toward me, and I shut my eyes. “I promise.”

“I’m spending the night by the way,” she announces.

“You’re always welcome,” I remind her softly.

She disappears into the bathroom, and I let out a sigh of relief.

Or regret.

I promised her I wouldn’t fall for Edward, but…

I think it’s too late for that.

[suneatersupportsquad]

open for requests!!!

hey y’all! trying to get back into the groove of things so i decided to just pull a bunch of dialogue prompts that i liked and put them out there so hopefully some of you could request some stuff?? just a reminder, i write for stranger things, bowers gang, marvel, hazbin hotel, helluva boss, trap house, etc. so yeah! go nuts with that! also credits will be at the bottom. enjoy, loves!

“listen, i really don’t like you, but you have kittens so i’m going to be over a lot”

“would you stop coming in through the windows; it scares the hell out of me every time!”

“listen, we have very thin walls and i heard you crying in the shower. are you okay?”

“i was very good friends with the guy that lived here before you and, basically, i was over here a lot and... well, old habits die hard. can i stay?”

“if you set the alarm off in the middle of the night ONE MORE TIME I SWEAR I WI- wait why are you even cooking at 3am?”

“you burst through the door because you thought you smelled smoke but it was just incense. listen, you’re paying for that, buddy”

“you locked yourself out, too?”

“hey, i locked myself out. can i use your phone?”

“you bake when you’re stressed and sometimes you give me cookies, but recently you’re giving me whole baskets each day. now i’m not complaining, but are you okay?”

“i don’t mean to sound paranoid, but i’m pretty sure you’re a serial killer”

“i’ve been thinking about you all day”

“i didn’t know you were so sensitive”

“i like the way your hand fits in mine”

“it’s nice that your voice was the first thing i heard today”

“you can call me whenever you want... even if you don’t have a reason to”

“you look really cute in that sweater”

“half the time i get too embarrassed to say anything”

“no, like... it’s just, i can’t believe you’re actually wearing my clothes”

“you’re a big piece of inspiration for this, honestly”

“god, you always make me blush so damn much”

“would it be too cliche if we matched clothes a little?”

“first second i saw you and i couldn’t get over how handsome you were”

“i wanted to say ‘i love you’ for the first time without stuttering, but that failed”

“could you hold my hand?”

“you can’t leave without letting me hug you first”

“i really love holding you, darling”

“that pet name was so gushy, but it was also so cute”

“your lips are really warm”

“i can’t get over how a few months ago i wanted to learn your name and now you’re having breakfast with me in my sweater”

“wow, i didn’t think you could make me smile this big”

“you look so comfy, and cuddle-able”

“quit smiling at me; i can’t stop messing up my sentences when you look at me like that”

“you’re hiding under the blanket because you’re blushing?”

“you make me so happy”

“don’t give me that puppy dog face. how am i supposed to say no to that?”

“i look forward to holding you close in bed soon”

“let’s share my coat, since you’re so cold”

“i can’t believe i got the first date, let alone a year”

“you make me feel so damn gushy”

“would you mind if i kissed you?”

“are you sugar personified or something?”

“i know i’ve kissed you like ten times, but just like another ten, please”

“you’re the perfect height for me to rest my chin on your head”

“i would’ve had breakfast ready but you were sleeping on my arm, and i didn’t want to wake you”

“is it cold outside, or are you just blushing?”

“i don’t want to raise a duck”

“i would rather live on pluto”

“i’m not taking off my shirt”

“i’m probably allergic to alcohol”

“i just wanted to go to a strip club”

“i sold your car”

“i told you not to eat the rice yet”

“it’s a sacrificial offering, i think”

“how can you not like bunnies?”

“i’m only gay on sunday”

“i wasn’t trying to insult the tree”

“yellow means go, right?”

“that, my friend, would be a dick”

“i don’t want God’s job”

“i am the law here”

“no, not you too”

“can’t miss what i never knew”

“honestly, i’m afraid of you”

“how was i supposed to know there was a bomb?!”

“i’m not the first you’ve done this with, am i?”

“i’ll feel much better if you let me walk you home”

“apparently all our friends have a bet going that we end up together”

“i fucking love you” “hand up and tell me again when you’re sober”

“i really want to kiss you right now” “do it then”

“are you flirting with me?” “you finally noticed?”

“i don’t know how to exist in a world without you”

“if you don’t hug me right now i think i might fall apart”

“i swear, if you say another word, i’ll leave”

“would you just shut up and listen to me for two goddamn seconds?!”

“if i asked you to stay, would you?”

“i don’t know who you are anymore”

“of course i still love you. but i hate myself for it.”

“we’re not just friends and you fucking know it”

“i can’t have this argument with you again” “but-” “no. i’m done”

“did you just slap my ass?” “actually, i firmly grasped it”

“you couldn’t handle me even if i came with instructions”

“shut up with all that soulmate bullshit”

“sorry, is that supposed to impress me?”

“so it’s a date?” “nope, not a date”

“alright daddy long legs, next joke please”

“i missed being with you like this”

“i’ve been excited to see you all day”

“you’re my perfect match”

“hold my hand tight. i’ll protect you”

“that’s starting to get annoying”

“hey, hey, calm down. they can’t hurt you anymore”

“you can’t just sit there all day”

“i’m too sober for this”

“i need a place to stay”

“well, that’s tragic”

“you’re seriously like a man-child”

“you can’t banish me; this is my bed too!”

“you’re getting crumbs all over my bed”

“good thing i didn’t ask for your opinion”

“what’s the matter, sweetie?”

“you’re satan”

“did you just hiss at me?”

“it’s six o’clock in the morning; you’re not having vodka”

“the diamond in your engagement ring is fake”

“no. regrets”

“i haven’t slept in ages”

“i locked the keys in the car”

“why can’t you just appreciate my sense of humor?”

“sorry isn’t going to help when i kick your ass!”

“stop being so cute”

“i didn’t think you could get any less romantic...”

"safety first. what are you, five?”

“do you think i’m scared of a woman?”

“they’re not your kids, back the fuck off”

“you’re a nerd”

“here, take my blanket”

“i could punch you right now”

“i don’t want you to stop”

“how could i ever forget about you?”

“you’re bleeding all over my carpet”

“just smile; i really need to see you smile right now”

“i’m not wearing a dress/i’m not wearing a tie”

“it’s a texas thing”

“i hope i’m never stuck with you on a deserted island”

“hold still”

“show me what’s behind your back”

“fine, don’t say anything and make me worry”

“you’re not interested, are you?”

“tell me you need me”

“oh honey, i’d never be jealous of you”

“i’m telling you. i’m haunted”

“i had a bad dream again”

“you’re not going to starve yourself on Thanksgiving”

“how could you forget your son’s birthday?”

“how could you ask me that?”

“don’t you trust me?”

“i won’t let anyone hurt you, you’re safe with me”

“you look amazing tonight”

“shouldn’t you be with them?”

“i’ve got you”

“i can’t sleep. can i stay here?”

“here, let me help you”

“what’s cookin’ good lookin’?”

“that was unexpected”

“i care about you”

“you could have warned me”

“you make me feel safe”

“thank you, for everything”

“all i wanted was for you to be happy”

“i can’t do this on my own”

“i wasn’t lying when i said that i loved you”

“you’ve always felt like home”

“nothing is wrong with you”

“i wouldn’t change a thing about you”

“who cares what they think?”

“tell me what’s wrong”

“you’ve always got me”

“i’ve waited for this moment for a long time”

“is this okay?”

“you look like you could use a hug”

“do you have a ride home?”

“i am home”

“what happened back there?”

“after everything we’ve been through, you still don’t think that i love you?”

“you’ve been drinking tonight, haven’t you?”

“i don’t care what anyone else thinks”

“i’ve always been honest with you”

“it’s cold; you should take my jacket”

“just breathe, okay?”

“when i’m with you, i’m happy”

“don’t be scared; i’m right here”

“you’re so adorable”

“you’re more than that”

“come cuddle”

“can’t you stay a little longer?”

“i fell in love with you, not them”

“you’re the only one i wanna wake up next to”

“nobody in the world has hands this soft”

“wash your hands, then hug me”

“can we share the blanket?”

“you’re adorable when you’re mad”

“i want to spend all my time with you”

“you mean more than anything”

“you’re cute even when you make that face”

“keep it”

“time for a pillow fight”

“is that my shirt?”

“i don’t wanna go without you”

“move over”

“when i’m with you, nothing else matters”

“stop making me laugh!”

“take my jacket”

“that looks hard. let’s switch”

“i can’t be mad at you”

“i love you, but you need to shut up”

“thanks for marrying me”

“i have never loved you as much as i do right now”

“i wouldn’t wanna fight you. you’re pretty feisty”

“they’re coming. kiss me!”

“i’m flattered you’re jealous”

“i want a baby”

“would you warm me up?”

“that was the worst joke i’ve ever heard”

“all i want is you”

“if i kiss you right now, i won’t be able to stop”

credits :: @david-weepster @jiminniethemarshmallow @smollmikey @hellsdemonictrinity @prompt-dealer @moanlightlust @alloveroliver @prompt-bank @wonder7pickle 

[vstheworld]

STORY TIME

so my least favorite part of being small and female-presenting is going anywhere alone. I’m not an idiot, but my constant crippling anxiety makes me act like one in threatening situations, and my “please do not fuck with me” appearance makes me look like exactly the kind of mark that won’t fuck with cops even if you scare them, which is....accurate, actually. Never had a good experience with cops, never had the motivation to seek the help of one as a result.

So I’m limping back to my car from the immediate care, after being told that not being able to stand on my injured foot means I should just “sit down at work” and no amount of trying to explain my job requirements would convince them to not clear me for work. And because I’m limping, a dude who appeared to be a janitor immediately starts rolling his cart after me, asking what was wrong with my foot. I explained it was a work injury, and he asked if they gave me painkillers. I laughed, because it’s 2019 and I didn’t even bother asking before the nurses told me they don’t do painkiller prescriptions.

Because I’m hobbled and alone, he manages to catch up with me before I can get into my car. Starts asking pretty innocuous questions about the car, tells me his girl was thinking about an electric, how many miles, how much did I pay, etc. It’s important to note that he didn’t bother waiting for answers before he moved on to the next question. this is a common tactic to throw people off for the appaearance of politeness and it set all my fuckin alarms off. Still, I’m alone with a stranger and just answering desperately hoping he’ll leave me alone.

Which he doesn’t, of course. Next tactic, he asks for a rolling paper. I tell him I don’t carry them on me, which is true. He asks if I have some at home. I tell him probably, but I live an hour away (which is not) so that doesn’t do him any good, and they probably sell them at the corner store, the whole time trying to get into my car surreptitiously as possible. He laughs, tells me his girl just got back from Amsterdam, and asks if I have a napkin in my car. Introduces himself as joe and I tell him I’m Natalia, which is also not my real name. I’m an idiot, sure, but I’m not stupid.

I do have a napkin, turns out, and I give it to him, again hoping he’ll leave me alone. He proceeds to pull a chunk of hash right out of his pocket, wrap it in the napkin and hand it back to me, tells me it’s a gift from Amsterdam. I tell him no, for real, he doesn’t have to do that, and try to hand it back. He won’t take it, keeps insisting it’s a gift, it’s a gift, take it. He’s getting forceful about it so I just kind of awkwardly accept and get into my car. Again, I try to hand it back as I’m buckling in and he just goes no, no, just buy me a beer. Which is weird phrasing, again, because we are in the middle of a parking lot, again intended to throw me off. I laugh, because I think he’s joking and try to shut the door. He stops it with his hand, leans in, and says, no longer friendly “I said you can buy me a beer or something.”

I go “uh, what, like right now? I can go get you a beer from Kroger’s...?”

No, I don’t have to do that. Do I have a couple bucks on me? I pull out the crumpled five from my wallet and tell him it’s all I have. Which it is.

Fine, he says. He wants some cigarettes. I tell him I don’t have those on me either, I’m not a habitual smoker. Again, I try to give the hash back, and again he won’t take it. Suddenly he’s jovial and laughing again. It’s a gift, a gift, and he’ll leave me alone if I go buy him some Newports.

That’s a small price to pay to exit this experience, so I agree. We get to the counter at Kroger’s and suddenly it’s “hey, they do cash back here.”

And this is where I had it. This is where I finally snapped out of my dumb people-pleasing what-if-he’s-a-cop autopilot and just went, “Alright man, I’m giving you twenty and we’re done, okay? No Newports, no more anything. Twenty and we’re done.” That, plus the five I had given him, is more than fair price for whatever shit hash I’m sure it was, and I was more pissed than paranoid by this point. He agreed, I gave him twenty bucks, and then went home to have a panic attack in peace.

I just want to be left alone forever Jesus fuck I hate my freeze mode

[claimedcrossbows]

The Big Setup (Bellarke Fanfic)

So I also posted this on my Fanfiction account under MsPlotTwister, so if you want to read it there you can do that as well. https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13591315/1/The-Big-Setup

Anyway here’s the first Chapter, Tell me what you think and if I should continue. 

Description:  Clarke Griffin just wants to do her job as New York's Matchmaker but working side by side with her infuriating Ex Husband Bellamy Proves to be a difficult task. "Oh my God." Clarke gasps looking at the news. "What?" Bellamy asks looking at the news of a escaped convict. "Don't panic..But I think I just set my client up with a criminal!" She yells. "What?"

--

The sound of an alarm wakes her and she already knows this is going to be a very long day. But she was excited none the less. She might not have much in life at the moment, but her job was something she always looked forward too.

With that enthusiasm and a cup of coffee she gladly approached the day by looking through her phone at the schedule she had layed out for today.

She looked at the email of one of her current clients and some of the pictures they had sent and she knew she had her hands full with this one

She quickly got dressed and headed out to her office where she was more than excited to finally meet her client.

Clarke Griffin was a strange woman in many ways.

Her enthusiasm seemed to stay on a 10, her mind was constantly coming up with new ideas, and to top it off she was a very paranoid woman with many trust issues.

At least that’s what people mostly said about her who knew her.

But then again..How could she trust them?

Her out look on life was to remain positive, until of course something goes awry, then its time to panic.

And panic she did.

She was stuck in traffic in the busiest streets of New York and her appointment was in less than 5 minutes!

“Isn’t there anything you can do!?” She shrieked at her taxi driver who was struggling to keep from rolling his eyes. But he had told this woman for what must’ve been the 10th time since she got in  the car that there’s nothing he can do about the traffic conditions. Apparently their had been some really bad accident and the police had blocked off the streets. Pretty much delaying everyone who had somewhere to be.

“Uhg!” Clarke sighed looking at her phone at the time.

She released a sigh and quickly fished around in her purse for some cash, “Here this should cover it, i’m walking the rest of the way.” She said tossing him the money and quickly dashing out the taxi before the driver could even say anything.

Clarke quickly ran the rest of the way to her place of work and was regretting her decision of wearing heels because her feet were crying for an ice pack.

Clarke struggled to catch her breath as she entered the building which was actually nothing more than a condo that her Aunt had bought  in order to launch her match making business.

Yep you heard that right.

Clarke Griffin is a professional matchmaker, people email their company and give them their background information including medical records, criminal history, finance history and just about everything else you could imagine. They contact local family members and friends and get a good idea about you and then see if there’s anyone in their data base they could potentially set you up with. But if you think that is extreme they also specialize in makeovers as well, which happens to be right up Clarke’s alley, every since she was a kid she dreamed of being a fashion designer for celebrities. She wanted to see them walking down the red carpet in her fashion ideas, so she went to school as a Designer but of course getting into the industry of fashion in a place such as New York City was incredibly difficult. New York had as many fashion designers as they did Lawyers and Doctors.

So that’s when she went to her Aunt Diyoza when she heard that she was thinking about making a Match Making Company from her very own condo.

She’s been working their every since.

The only drawback is, there wasn’t many employees so Clarke was basically running things by herself.

Okay scratch that.

There wasn’t any employees, and Clarke was definitely running things by herself.

The only other person currently working there (who’s name she refused to mention) was currently on a leave of absence (busy partying all night and day)  and he never shows up.

That was until today.

“Clarke there you are.” The all to familiar voice said from the couch as he paused his video game to look at her dishelved appearance.

“Bellamy what the hell are you doing here?” She groaned, her mood worsening.

“Diyoza called me in, said we got a lot of new customers and she needs me back, I mean I can’t blame her, I am the best employee she’s got here.” He Smirked.

“Look I don’t have time for this, I have a client coming in a few minutes and-”

“Oh you mean Izzy?” He said, “Yeah she already came, I set her up with Murphy, she seems like his type.” He shrugged unpausing his game.

“You what!?” Clarke yelled.

He paused his game, knowing that she wasn’t going to let this go and turned to her giving her a shrug. “What you should be happy, I gave you the day off.” He said not knowing why she didn’t look grateful.

“Izzy is a vegetarian, Murphy isn’t!” Clarke said angrily.

“Okay, well maybe this is a good opportunity for Murphy to stop ordering KFC for dinner every night.” He shrugged not seeing the issue.

“Izzy is a sweet pollite girl, and Murohy…Well he’s Murphy!” Clarke huffeed.

Bellamy sighed running his hands through his long dark curly hair something she had loved doing once, but now the very sight of him made her nauseated.

“Uhg you make me sick.” Clarke frowned feeling the nausea build up.

“Oh yeah, here.” He said pulling something out of his jacket pocket and giving it to her.

Clarke looked at it and was surprised and irritated to see that it was a bottle of tums.

“You always say you feel ill around me, so I thought that might help.” He said smirking a mischievous look spreading through his face.

“My stomach isn’t the problem, its you.” Clarke huffed setting the tums on the table.

“Look I thought this would make you happy, I mean now you have the night off, you can relax, hang out with friends, maybe go on a date.” He said throwing that last bit in to see how she reacted.

“You know good and well i’m not dating anyone right now.” Clarke rolled her eyes at his attempt to pry into her love life.

“Really? With such a wonderful attitude I can’t imagine why.” He said sarcastically.

“You don’t get to pry into my love life, if you don’t remember, you divorced me.” Clarke spat.

“There it is, the constant reminder every time I see you, that I divorced you, Yes I divorced you Clarke, because you are a total hyperactive nut case.” He said bluntly.

“And your a playboy bachelor who wouldn’t know priorities if it bit you in the ass.” She spewed.

“Isn’t it ironic, the Match Maker can’t find a man of her own.” Bellamy rebutted.

Clarke shook her head tired of arguing with him, she walked to her office and made sure to slam the door shut to emphasize that she wasn’t happy.

She walked over to her laptop and immediately began sifting through customers who were in desperate need to find their special someone. She looked at a few of their backgrounds and started thinking of potential matches off the top of her head.

She was about to email one of her clients and tell them she might have a match for him when suddenly her door opened and a very uneasy Bellamy came in.

“What do you want Bellamy?” Clarke sighed not in the mood for any more of his help.

“There’s someone out there your gonna wanna see.” He said.

“Who?” Clarke asked standing up.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” He said.

To say she was now beyond curious was a understatement, so she got up and followed him to the living room where she was met with someone she didn’t think she would ever see come through her doors.

Roan Atwood.

Famous Male Model and Actor Roan Atwood who had been missing for 5 years was standing before the both of them looking a complete and total disaster, his hair was greasy and disheveled, his clothes were dirty and in shreds  and she could smell the whisky from across the room. She looked at Bellamy in complete shock and his expression nearly mirrored hers and it was in that moment she knew this was going to be the biggest set up they ever did.

[incoherentbabblings]

First Date (5/9)

Tim has one more test to pass before Bruce will allow him out as Robin. Like Dick and Jason before him, he has to avoid being caught by Batman for one night. He has already failed once, and is determined to succeed this time. Determination which might not count for much when Stephanie Brown is on the run from the mob. Her mother kidnapped as a way to threaten her father, Stephanie manages to escape and run into Tim. Unable to leave Stephanie alone when she is in need, Tim decides to try and multi-task. All he has to do is rescue Stephanie’s mother, take down the mob, avoid Batman, and get Stephanie to agree to a proper date all in one night. Absolute anarchy ensues. Ao3 link here!

The sounds of Gotham continued to penetrate the thick car frame, but sat in the dark, tucked away from anyone and anything, Tim and Stephanie felt very much alone.

“I think I have like…White Knight Stockholm Syndrome or something…” Stephanie muttered. She hadn’t moved away though and was resting a hand on Tim’s. Tim, for his part, still had his eyes closed, and looked like he was on cloud nine with no sign of coming back down soon.

“…Not the…official title… but I hope not anyway.”

He nuzzled her nose, and she laughed, bright and sweet. Shuffling over, she moved to the driver’s side of the car. Tim’s breathing stuttered as she adjusted herself, resting on her shins straddling Tim’s thighs. He leaned up and caught her in another kiss. The mint gum she had chewed thankfully masked the smell of vomit, and her hair was cleaned of it too.

Tim fumbled with his hands, turning up the heat in the car to help dry her tangled hair. His hands then crept up, holding her neck, whilst hers rested patiently on his chest, occasionally tightening when he did something she liked.

Making out in a gangster’s stolen car with a boy she’d met only three and a half hours ago. Hoo boy, she was having an interesting night. Stephanie stifled a chuckle, but still broke away to catch her breath.

He looked up at her and cradled her face again with both hands. Stroking her cheeks, he tried to soothe her blotchy skin and red eyes. She sniffed and smiled sadly at his affection. Feeling safe, she closed her eyes.

Tim felt her grow limp in his grip, head tilting and resting heavily on one hand. Tim eyed the dashboard clock. Nearly midnight.

“Tired?”

“…A bit. Can we rest? Just for a while?” She leant down, resting her face in the crook of Tim’s neck. She shuffled around once more so she was sat in his lap, a comforting solid weight against his chest. Tim held her close, and was tempted for a moment to doze off in the warm car with her.

Tim breathed in deep and glanced out the darkened window. They were tucked away neat out of sight…

“No. I’m sorry Steph. We’ve got to keep moving.”

She looked disappointed, but accepted it all the same. Tim tried to mollify her.

“We should be okay to drive in this to Bristol now. You can close your eyes.”

Her eyes shot open, and she peered at Tim suspiciously. She slowly removed her head from his hold, and his arms collapsed to rest on his thighs.

“Bristol? No, we need to go to the Narrows and grab my mom.”

“I can’t fight through that many people.”

She shifted backwards, back resting against the wheel of the car. “Oh, but Batman can?” She said, tone snide and derisive.

“Batman has armour and tech and bombs and…batarangs. I have two feet two hands and head. I’m not that good.”

“We did fine with those guys.”

“You nearly got shot. He hurt your head.” He raised his hands to check for a bad lump, but she twitched away from his grip.

“I can’t sit and do nothing and hope that Batman finds mom in time. I can’t keep running.”

Tim looked so miserable for a moment, like he knew the sweet moment was over. “You’re going to have to. I don’t like it either. But I know my limits. I can’t save your mom like this. Neither can you.”

It was a harsh put down, and Stephanie threw herself of him and back onto her seat. Seeing what she was about to do, Tim locked the car doors.

She whirled around, face red with anger.

“Let me out.”

“No.”

“Tim, I swear to God –”

His temper finally flared. “I get it! You don’t think I get how useless you feel right now? When my mom died and my dad was in that coma, I couldn’t do shit!”

“My mom’s not dead!”

“No, but she will be if you roll up unprepared to a warehouse in the Narrows against twenty guys with guns. The only thing keeping you both alive is the fact that you are separated. You turn up and your dad turns up she will die! I can’t let that happen Stephanie!”

He’d had enough of her tantrums and contradictions and had put his foot down. She screeched and kicked the dashboard hard. Tim flinched away and Stephanie’s breath caught. Her anger drained, and self-loathing took its place. She knew that flinch. She’d seen it nearly every time her parents argued, and her mom had been hurt. She’d done that flinch herself many times.

“…I’m sorry. That was childish.”

Tim gripped the steering wheel, not quite able to look at her. “You’re under a lot of stress.” He said, tone very subdued. Shame continued to make Stephanie feel sick.

“That’s just an excuse. One my dad uses all the time… Fuck.” She stared hard out the window, then looked in her lap. Her hands were shaking. Tim, after a pause, reached across and held them tight. She whined softly to herself and he rubbed her fingers.

“My dad… he is a bit rubbish too sometimes. Not in the same way as yours but he… he’s not very good. I think. At being a dad.”

She looked across at him, lashes damp, but her emotions were settling down once more. “Does he hurt you?” She asked sadly.

“Ignore. Mostly.” He spoke very matter of factly, a sad reality he had long accepted. “I love him, I do, but sometimes I… I resent him. He remarried so quick after mom died, and I knew their marriage was on the rocks anyway but… you’d think he’d... and then he has a temper. Never at me directly… though that time with my tv was a bit…” He was mumbling to himself, unable to verbalise what it was like.

Stephanie understood the unspoken though.

“You deserve better.”

She said it with such conviction that Tim turned and smiled at her.

“Ditto?”

She smiled back. “Let’s go to Bristol. The sooner I’m there the sooner we can get this sorted.”

“Deal.” He looked at her shyly. “Can I kiss you again?”

Laughing sharply at his roundabout way of checking that he was forgiven, she went willingly.

When they broke apart, she buckled on her seatbelt.

“I’m gonna try and nap okay?”

“I’ll wake you if anything happens. Promise.”

“You are definitely one for promises Mr. Drake.”

“I try.”

The car switched on with a gentle thrum, and slowly Tim set off.

Tim tried to concentrate for the drive through the island, heading for Kane Bridge. They just needed to get across the bridge. From there they could dump the car and walk by foot. Feeling awfully paranoid, he obsessively checked his mirrors and glanced sideways and even upwards through the windows, just in case they were being followed.

The roads were largely quiet though, so for a painfully long twenty minutes Tim drove through the city, deliberately going slower and quieter routes when possible.

Stephanie very quickly dozed off, head hanging limp against her chest. She looked very pouty asleep. He left her alone, only the sound of the car heaters and engine filling the silence. Her hair had nearly dried, but it needed a good brush through.

The stunt at the corner store had been such a stupid mistake. He had wanted to impress her, but he hadn’t thought it through at all. He could hear Dick in the back of his head tutting. Getting distracted by a pretty girl. A pretty girl who liked him back no less.

Hormones…

Stephanie then let out an almighty snort and twitched violently. Tim glanced at her sideways, then returned to watching the roads.

She was very weird, if he were honest with himself. A very sad life, but somehow still filled with a lot of love and humour.

That temper though… It was obvious she hated being lied to, hated being kept out of the loop. And Tim was lying to her. He could have called Batman hours ago, could have ended this by now. But he hadn’t. Instead, because of his crush on her and his desire to win Bruce’s challenge, he had dragged her around town, when she could have been safe with Batman. He was putting Crystal Brown’s life at risk, and maybe even slowing down Bruce.

He was being selfish.

The little tracker in his coat sat heavily next to his heart.

Before he could fall into a further self-loathing, he noticed a car one block back.

It was following him.

“Crap.” He reached across and woke up Stephanie, shaking her arm. She reached up and grasped his hand instinctively.

“Wha…”

“We’re being followed. Gonna speed up a bit.” He said it casually, like they needed to make up time on the school run.

She turned around, looking out the back window.

“Oh God.”

“Don’t worry. I can lose them."

“Can you?”

“Well… I can try.”

He put his foot down then, speeding up to ninety, and Stephanie squeaked, squeezing herself onto the back of the seat. She raised one hand to the handle above the car door, the other resting quite firmly on the arm rest.

“Oh boy.” She muttered.

“It’s fine.”

It was not fine. The following car had sped up also, and was doing a frustratingly good job at keeping pace. Tim huffed in annoyance, and took a sharp turn left, the back of the car swinging out and knocking into a lamppost. The car violently jiggled, Stephanie unable to contain her cries of alarm.

“It’s fine.” Tim said again, and they regained control.  Stephanie quickly figured out the route he was taking, a long circle that would lead them straight to the bridge.

The car behind them was still gaining.

“Tim...”

Gunfire started then, aiming at the tires of the car. Tim made a little ‘oop’ noise and few around the final corner. The bridge was in sight.

“This is... fine.”

“Tim.”

“Yup?”

“There’s more guys and cars on the bridge.”

“Yup.”

Tone still light, he continued his very fast slightly uncontrolled driving, managing to avoid very loud gun shots. Stephanie gulped and looked at the inside of the roof, closing her eyes and doing breathing exercises.

“Please don’t tell me you are planning on ramming – Oh my god!”

A hard slam came down on the car and caused Stephanie to yelp. Someone had landed on the roof.

Tim realised it was Batman from the fact that the gun shots were now being directed upwards, most likely at Bruce’s head.

Of course, Batman would look into a high-speed car chase with lots of shooting and swerving and destroying public property. Of course, of course, of course…

Tim was screwed. He was so screwed.

“This is less fine.”

“Who -”

“Batman.”

He swerved on the bridge, turning the car horizontal, blocking off several lanes. Cars that were trying to get on the bridge from the other side were blocked from getting on, and sure enough once Tim had driven onto the Kane bridge more cars appeared, refusing to let others on. The civilian cars that had been ahead of Tim whirled to a stop, and the men at the end of the bridge shouted for them to get out and off. Stephanie watched as people fled from the road and onto solid land.

She and Tim however, were trapped.

“Batman? Wait, what?” Stephanie asked. She reached across to open the door and poke her head outside, trying to see if it was indeed Batman on the roof.

A black gloved hand reached down and very purposefully shut the door.

“Oh. Okay.” She sat back against the chair. “Tim...”

She turned around to see that Tim had completely collapsed his seat, and was lying flat, perpendicular from the steering wheel. For the first time he looked completely beside himself in panic. Stephanie pursed her lips.

“Tim.”

“Shhst.”

She let her mouth fall open, gobsmacked. ���Don’t shh me.”

She looked through the window. Men from both ends of the bridge were closing in on the car, and she suddenly understood Tim’s desire to be out of sight of the windows. Even if they were tinted, she didn’t doubt enough gunfire could get through the glass.

The figure on the top of the car shifted, its weight sitting low.

“Should I get down?”

“Probably.”

She didn’t though, she wanted to see what was going to happen. She watched as, with increasing slowness and caution, about ten men on either side approached the car.

“What are we going to do?”

“Stay put until he takes them all out.”

“You sure it’s Batman?” She asked, leering through Tim’s window. She shifted and crossed her legs on the seat.

Tim muttered something to himself that she didn’t catch, his eyes screwed shut. All she got was a distinct whiny tone, like a five-year-old having their toy taken away.

A sharp object was thrown at one of the men, causing him to fall with a dramatic glurk. It was shaped like a bat and answered Stephanie's question for her.

“Oh!” She gasped.

Then chaos erupted. Gunfire began in earnest, to which Tim reached across and snapped Stephanie’s seat down. She flew back with exaggerated flailing and squeaking, her legs kicking up onto the roof before her ankles collapsed on the dashboard. Her bag swung up and smacked her in the face, to which Tim ignored her deadpan cry of ow and reached past her to grab his own backpack.

Stephanie struggled for a moment with the disorientation of having her head lower than her torso. Tim incessantly tapped her legs to bring them down level with the rest of her, to which she quickly let them drop. He then reached across and grabbed her hand tight. His hands were sweaty. Stephanie realised he was genuinely frightened.

Shouts, screams and sounds of punches and gun shots ricocheted through the vehicle. Occasionally it rocked the body of the car, to which Tim’s hands tightened on hers. She didn’t understand why he was so worried. To her, it sounded like Batman was winning.

“I messed up.” He whispered.

“I mean... you did your best.” She said, trying to console him.

“No... no I didn’t.”

“Tim, it’s okay. He’s winning.”

He looked positively wracked with guilt in a way she just couldn’t understand.  Tim peeked upwards, seeing that Bruce had moved further down the bridge on Stephanie’s side, and was currently fighting off three guys at once.

Maybe there was still...

A crowbar carried by a screaming woman smashed through Tim’s window, and the adolescent pair squealed like they were in a horror film. Tim gathered his wits quicker than Steph, and shoved the door open, hitting the woman in the chest and nose. She cried out and stumbled backwards.

“Follow me.” Tim ordered.

The pair got out of the car, seeing that all the folk aside from Mrs. Crowbar were passed out on their side of the bridge. Batman seemed to be methodically working his way through them all. The navy suited woman rose up from her pained crouch, and went to smack Tim across the face with the metal rod, but Tim kicked her hard and she flew back, grip loosening. Stephanie wrenched it from her, and with an almost righteous fury, whacked her across the face.

She fell to the floor, and Stephanie heaved deeply. Glancing at the crowbar in her hand, she dropped it like a dead weight.

“That was a bit much.” She breathed. The woman groaned on the floor, no doubt with a broken jaw.

Tim ran over the edge of the bridge, jumping over to the pedestrian paths, and looked down at the black water rushing past below.

The bridge was very high above the water, and under normal circumstances you couldn’t survive the jump. Tim rummaged through his backpack, trying to find something that could disrupt the water’s surface before they landed, or something that could slow down their descent.

Stephanie stumbled over, slowly climbing over fences and barriers. The numbing of her leg was starting to fade, and she could feel her stitches tugging at the skin. She watched as Tim pulled something out of his backpack and put it back on. He leant over the railings and watched the river, like he was waiting for the right moment to jump.

“Life’s not that bad kiddo.”

Tim snorted, “Hah.” He looked back at Batman, who was nearly done wrecking the mob. Tim wasn’t out of the game until Bruce physically caught him. At least that was what he was telling himself. He began to climb over the fence.

“Tim!”

“Trust me.” He said as he clung to the railings. He gestured with his head for her to do so as well. She paused, confused by what he was trying to do when the man they were waiting on had shown up. She couldn’t get much safer than with Batman, right?

Then a gunshot sounded, and Stephanie gasped, body thrust forward with the force of the bullet passing through her body. She looked down, vertigo and disorientation making her unable to catch her breath and stay stable on her feet. Just below her waist but just above her left hip, blood began to pour out of a wound. The bullet had passed right through her and embedded itself on the railings that prevented walkers from toppling over.

She didn’t cry out, but lost her balance, leaning over the fence. She couldn’t breathe correctly, and hacked out a broken cry of pain.

Tim yelled and immediately reached across the metal, grabbing her and applying pressure to the wound on her back. Her bright red blood ran over his fingers. The exit wound would be large.

Stephanie began to wriggle, as if she were trying to separate her body from the pain, and she was so out of it she could neither steady her breathing nor control her muscles, and she began to flip over the edge of the bridge.

Batman, for all his skills, only managed to turn around in time to see, a third of a way down from him, the car Tim and Stephanie had stolen splayed halfway across the road, and a woman with a bloody face laying just up from the front of the car on the other side from Batman. Her jaw looked dislocated, and blood and teeth lay scattered across the ground. She had a gun in her hand. Looking to the pair, he could only watch as Stephanie tumbled off the bridge, and Tim, recklessly, thoughtlessly, threw himself off after her.

Resisting the urge to shout, he grappled the shooter in the shoulder, and dragged her across the floor, her face getting ran across the concrete and tarmac. He grabbed the woman’s throat and knocked her out as quickly as he could. Police sirens were not far from the bridge, and Bruce ran over to the edge, looking down.

“If they hit the water at this height it’s like being in a car crash at 90mph with no seatbelt.”

Oracle quoted the fact at him worriedly, even the electronic distortion was unable to hide her distress. And yet, when Bruce looked down, he could see their two heads in the water, bobbing sideways towards the shore. Tim had slowed and broken their fall, somehow. But Stephanie was likely grievously wounded and needed to get to the Bristol safehouse as quickly as possible.

“Oracle, drive the batmobile to where the get on land. Then ensure they get to the Bristol safehouse.”

“You’re going to let Tim drive it there?”

“You do it.”

“Gotcha boss.”

He just grunted and turned back to the one man who was still conscious, hiding behind the line of cars blocking the entrance to Bristol. Dragging him upwards, Batman pinned him up again the hood of his car.

“Where in the Narrows is Crystal Brown?”

The man was holding his broken shoulder and crying. All Ibanescu’s men were – frankly – pathetic.

"She’s at one of the warehouses along Yew and Oak… I’m sorry, we weren’t meant to… the girl was supposed to…my boss will… now that Stephanie is…”

He didn’t want to hear any more of the wretched man’s excuses, so threw him down on the floor. The first police car had arrived, and Bruce sighed, knowing he would have to leave Tim and Stephanie be. He couldn’t be in two places at once, and the threat looming over Crystal Brown had grown exponentially.

“They’ll be okay. I can see them on CCTV. Tim’s got a handle on it with Stephanie and the car. Go save her mom.”

Ignoring the policeman when he approached, Bruce shot a grapple up onto the suspension cables, and shot away, heading for the central island and the Narrows.

Stephanie and Tim would be watched over by Barbara from now on, and Bruce just hoped Stephanie could survive two bullet wounds, let alone the potential hypothermia and infections that could come from falling into Gotham’s rivers.

Tim had made a series of serious mistakes, and no matter how much Dick and Barbara may have hoped otherwise, Bruce could not let them pass by unchecked this night.