#but it turns out my stored iron is super low which no one has caught before so. thanks psychiatrist ! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

monstersandmaw · 4 years ago

Text

Sleep paralysis demon/nightmare x reader (nsfw)

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

This was begun on a Twitch writing stream, with lots of input from the chat, and while I did say I would post it straight to Tumblr, I ended up adding another 3k words to it, and a tiny bit of plot, so I figured I'd put it up on Patreon first. Since Patreon supporters voted so highly for a ‘nightmare’ on the 'next monsters' poll (thank you!), I thought it should go up there first too.

Our reader has been experiencing anxiety and insomnia lately, and this draws something to us... There's a bit at the start that's got creepy vibes to it, but the creature means us no harm. Because of the sleep paralysis element, I'm going to say watch out for non-con vibes, but nothing really happens without our consent first time round. Just putting it here in case that's a major issue for anyone.

Ft. dapper mothman landlord Reggie, and gnoll best friend too.

“You’re living where now?” Francis practically barked into his whisky as you sat together after work. The gnoll’s enormous, dish-like ears flicked forwards, dark and fuzzy and full of concern. “Seriously, you do know how shitty that part of town is, right?”

“It’s not that bad,” you growled, taking a sip of your own drink and leaning back into the soft leather back of the chair. You stifled a yawn and blinked, the exhaustion of a week’s worth of broken sleep catching up to you in one brutal rush.

Francis flicked an ear and levelled you with a flat look, dark eyes serious for once. “You’re kidding…?”

“Ok, fine, it’s not amazing, but it’s really not the worst bit of town. Anyway, it’s all I can afford right now until I find a new job.” That seemed to shut him up on the subject, at least for now. He couldn't argue with your dwindling bank balance after all.

“When’s your first interview?” he asked, raising the whisky to his lips and sipping it with surprising elegance for someone with such big hands and such a powerful jaw.

Taking a deep breath, you forced the nerves down and muttered, “Monday. I’m not prepared, but at least it’s something.” You tried not to think about the inbox full of rejection letters which, in a mere two sentences and with surgical succinctness, told you that they were not hiring, nor looking to hire, nor to take on any new staff just at the moment. Thank you for your interest.

It wasn’t interest; it was sheer bloody desperation.

“You’re not going to be at all prepared if you get mugged to death on your way home tonight,” Francis grumbled.

“It’ll be fine.”

He looked at you again and took another final drink of his whisky, long tongue lapping out the remaining dregs before he set it down with a clonk on the circle-stained table. “Please text me when you get there?”

With a solemn promise to do just that, you stood and he followed you outside into the cool evening. A scuffle of dry leaves drew your attention to your right, and the fleeting shadow of a cat projected huge along a brick wall made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Francis’ concern had got you jumping at the smallest things, and as you separated from him with a warm hug and the reiterated promise that you’d be fine, you gritted your teeth and told yourself in no uncertain terms not to flinch at the slightest sound.

To be honest, the neighbourhood honestly wasn’t that bad. There had been a few break-ins, and the police had conducted a drug raid a few streets over last month, but other than that, it was mostly just… tired. Perhaps it would be the subject of the city council’s next ‘rejuvenation’ scheme, and some commerce and life could finally be injected back into this wallowing, languishing, crumbling part of town. Still, the mothman who had let you rent one of the apartments in his old, converted town house had been very pleasant when you’d met to discuss rent, and that had gone a long way towards heartening you. Without his offer, you might not have had anywhere at all.

You tried to keep that fact in mind as you passed by the closed grocery store, the lights inside low, the neon sign flickering and drawing moths to it like supplicants to a shrine. For a moment, you caught the rapid drumbeat of footsteps behind you and tensed. In under a minute, they disappeared down a side street, and you let out a shaky breath. “Get a grip,” you breathed, reaching into one pocket for your keys all the same.

After fifteen minutes of striding at a quicker pace than was cardiovascularly comfortable, the old, slightly shabby, turn-of-the-last-century building loomed out of the gathering night. At the pedestal-base of the antique, cast-iron street lamp, a narrow pool of golden light shimmered and flickered intermittently, illuminating cracks in the pavement that seemed larger and more treacherous than they had in full daylight. Your imagination conjured black, coiling shadows creeping up from those dark cracks in the earth like smoke on a stage set, and as you paused a moment beneath it to sort your keys out, a breath of wind stippled goosebumps across the nape of your neck.

Glancing once over your shoulder, half expecting to discover someone standing silently at your back, you found nothing at all out of place, swallowed, and scuttled up the uneven garden path to the main door of the converted apartments.

No sooner had you put the key in the lock than the door rattled and swung open from the other side. Reeling away in surprise, you stumbled half a pace backwards and gasped as your eyes registered nothing but blackness inside the hallway beyond. From within the swath of darkness, two points of crimson glowed, then tilted slightly to the side, and you would have shrieked, had the entity inside not murmured your name at that exact instant in his deep baritone.

“Reginald!” you practically whimpered in relief, body going slack as you encouraged your heart rate back to normal with steadying breaths, and then huffed an embarrassed laugh. “You scared me… sorry. I’m just super jumpy this evening.”

“No, no,” the mothman purred, stepping delicately out onto the path and holding the door open for you with his lower right arm. His black fur rippled and shimmered in the soft night breezes and he buzzed his wings once. The fur around his nose was beginning to turn silver, and on his hands and around his antennae too. “I apologise. I felt you coming and I should have announced myself. How are you settling in?”

“Fine,” you croaked, equilibrium mostly recovered. The cool night wafted across your clammy skin and calmed your racing heart while you stood there making polite conversation with him until you yawned conspicuously.

“Thank you for indulging an old moth, but I shan’t keep you up any longer. You look as though you could use some sleep,” he said, inclining his head in an old-fashioned bow, antennae dipping too and making you think of a gentleman dipping his hat at you. As you headed inside, fumbling on the wall for the light switch, you heard the distant buzz of his wings, and closed the door with a soft click as Reginald took off into the night.

The decor of the main areas of the building left a bit to be desired, with the odd peeling corner and scuff on the antique dado rail, but it was clean, which had set it well apart in the list of other apartments you'd scouted in the last month or so, and as you traipsed up the stairs to your first floor flat, the boards creaked raucously beneath your feet. No one was sneaking in or out of here without making a huge racket, and that thought provided a little comfort.

The interview on Monday loomed in your mind, ticking your resting heart rate up higher than normal, but after you went through the motions before bed with a strange sense of detachment, you let the weariness building behind the anxiety creep over your limbs and draw your eyelids down. Reginald hadn’t been wrong when he’d remarked on your appearance; it had been a while since you’d slept really well. So, it was with a familiar sense of dread that you let your mind slide away into unconsciousness, praying that the nightmares that had plagued your sleeping mind would stay away that night.

With a jolt, your eyes flew open to find the room dark, the street lamp outside extinguished, and a familiar sense of crushing dread weighing on your chest. Lying there, motionless, you breathed slowly, trying to figure out what had woken you so suddenly. Nothing stirred, and as you strained your ears, you caught no whisper of autumn leaves in the reaching branches of the walnut tree outside.

No sooner had you closed your eyes again, hoping to slide back into dreamless sleep, something touched your hair with a spider-light touch and you tried to scream and flail. Finding yourself utterly unable to move, you could only lie there as adrenaline flooded your whole body, your throat went dry, your tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth, and the sensation returned, stronger now.

Pinprick sharp claws - like a cat’s but much, much larger - raked through your hair, softly stroking your scalp, and you felt a silent scream tear itself from your chest. Something was there in the dark with you and you couldn’t move a muscle.

A shadow in the blackness of the room, a darker blur than the rest of the inky room, shifted along your bed from behind you in a coiling tendril, unfurling across the sheets and over your body like the root of a plant or the limb of an octopus, and your blood began to hammer in your ears. All you could do was lie there and gasp for breath.

Claws, long and glistening and dripping with darkness, scraped almost gently down your temple and as the entity moved into your limited field of vision, you felt another soundless yell rip itself from you. An involuntary trembling began in your limbs as a dark, black, skull-like face loomed over you, a wide maw stretching open to reveal rows of needle-sharp teeth.

You were going to die. If this was a nightmare, you’d probably be found a few days later, dead of a heart attack, and if it were real… gods above - the thought of being mugged was abruptly shunted to the bottom of your list of things to fear in this neighbourhood. The last thing you’d said to Francis was ‘I’ll be fine.’

The creature opened its mouth wider and wider as if trying to draw out your soul from your body, teeth glistening, breath completely silent, leaning in close to your face. It looked veiled, somehow, as if a wet, gauzy material had been draped over a skeletal form, which then stuck to the emaciated body beneath. With a jolt, you realised it looked like a shrouded corpse, wrapped in black fabric. The ragged shreds of material that floated eerily, slowly, as if the creature were underwater and the wisps were nothing more than kelp, and the tips constantly dissolved into fine smoke that curled lazily around the figure.

Was this Death itself?

Please… you begged silently. Please… I don’t want to die.

To your surprise, the creature tilted its terrifying head to one side in a motion that reminded you of a cat; as though it was curious.

Oh please don’t be something that toys with your prey first…

Fractionally, the entity drew back a fraction, though its four-inch long, sickle-claws remained at the side of your face. As you stared at it, wide eyed and sweating with fear, you got the fleeting impression of an emaciated torso and two equally skeletal arms beneath the floating veil.

In a moment of oddly detached clarity, you wondered if it could understand you.

It nodded.

The fuck?

That grin stretched wider. It had teeth like an angler fish, and the moment you thought that, all you could imagine was it lunging for you out of the darkness like a sprung trap, teeth sinking in, blood pouring, ending in nothing but pain and fear…

The creature nudged its clawed hand against your lips, and for a horrible moment you thought it was going to slice open the skin of your mouth, but instead, like anaesthetic wearing off, your lips began to tingle. You could move them again. Swallowing, you rasped, “Can… you understand me?”

Again, the entity nodded and retreated a little further from the bed. Like an aura of shifting mist around it, the darkness of the room rippled and moved, and you realised it really was floating beside your bed, one hand tethered to the headboard, the other near your shoulder.

“Can you speak?”

The creature paused, going still, and the air in the room thrummed with a sudden tension. Your lungs squeezed and your ribs creaked under the pressure of it.

Eventually the strain on the atmosphere snapped, and a rasping, polyphonous voice from somewhere to your right hissed, “Yes.”

Stunned, you could only lie there as it remained beside you, suspended and shifting like waterweed in a lazy current.

“What do you want?” you managed to croak. You still couldn’t move anything else but your eyes and your mouth. “Are you going to hurt me?”

Again, the air seemed to vibrate, and a chill ran through you.

“Is that you?” you asked. “Are you doing that?”

This time it took longer for the creature to make a sound, but it nodded slowly first. Its claws returned to your body and you gasped as the muscles unlocked and you found you were able to move again. Scrabbling to sit up, you blinked, and the creature twitched, lurching backwards away from you like a skittish horse.

“You can’t be… You’re afraid of me?” you blurted, almost laughing. It didn’t seem like it wanted to hurt you or scare you any more, but the surreal vision beside your bed was enough to keep your heart pounding. “Are you Death?”

Its wide maw stretched open again, revealing its mouthful of deadly teeth, and you balked, fear leaping into your throat again as you clutched the sheets around you like a child. Those claws could slice a sheet - or a body - to ribbons, and yet you clung to them.

It reached out slowly for your ankle, latching its long fingers around the joint, and you choked out a whimpering yell. Knowing you were alone in the house, with Reginald out on his nightly business and the only other apartment in the building still unoccupied, your fear crescendoed to a peak and your words failed you.

With what appeared to be a gargantuan effort, the entity paused, then inhaled, and then chorused, “Not. Death. You… fear… me…”

No shit, you thought. “What do you want?”

“Fear… is… all I… know… Without it… I am… nothing.”

Was that sadness that tinged its many voices? Was there more than just one entity within those constantly-twisting shadows?

“Just… me,” the creature murmured, half-turning away and releasing its solid grip around your leg.

The emotion in those two words made something crack inside you. “You’re lonely…” you breathed, and the creature began to tremble, glitching like a badly aligned SCART connection.

In that instant, your fear drained out of you to be replaced by a wave of compassion, and the tension left your muscles. Whatever this was, it was alone as well.

The creature’s form continued to flicker, and as you blinked in confusion, the misty veil covering them seemed to boil off, leaving nothing but the emaciated, charred-looking skeletal figure beneath, strangely vulnerable for just a heartbeat before it seemed to evaporate away altogether.

The stillness in the room left your mind reeling as you sat there. Had you dreamed the whole thing?

Scrambling, your fingers found the light switch beside the bed, and you squinted and scowled as harsh, yellow light flooded the room at the click of a button. Nothing was out of place beyond, and no hint of creeping shadows drew your eye.

“Are you still there?” you whispered, but after waiting for what felt like hours, you got no answer.

If you returned to sleep at all that night, it would be a miracle, but still you tried. Lying in the dark a good while later, and curled on your side with your eyes screwed shut, you couldn’t help straining your hearing for the slightest hiss of claws on fabric, but nothing came, and eventually, you must have drifted off into an exhausted sleep. Remarkably, no nightmares plagued you that night, and when you woke the next morning, you felt oddly peaceful and well rested for a change.

You stretched and yawned, and only remembered about the strange experience from the night before when the soft weave of the cotton sheet snagged across your ankle and a sharp prickle made you frown.

Upon investigation, you discovered a long, thin scratch in your skin, as if a cat had nicked you with its claws in passing.

You froze.

It had not been a dream after all.

For the next two nights, nothing unusual happened, unless you counted the fact that you actually slept well for the first time in weeks. You found it almost physically impossible to make it past midnight, whereas before you’d frequently seen midnight tick by and vanish into the past as you lay there with prickling eyes and an exhausted, restless body, anxiety tingling along your nerves, counting the minutes as time ticked closer to dawn.

Astonishingly, as you faced the interviewer on Monday morning, you felt alert and almost chipper.

The naga smiled and held out a hand to you as she wrapped the interview up. “Thank you so much for your time,” she said. “You’ll hear back from us tomorrow, most likely, but let me say now that I was extremely impressed.”

Your brows rose and she laughed kindly at your evident surprise. “Thank you,” you croaked, and left politely before you ruined anything.

That night, you lay back alone on your bed after celebrating with Francis again, spread-eagled and stared at the ceiling. The old-fashioned plaster moulding made it look like you were underwater, especially if the huge tree outside swayed in the wind and cast shifting, kaleidoscope patterns on it. A cold draft prickled over you and you shivered. “Is that you?” you asked almost hopefully, wondering if the nightmare creature was back.

Nothing.

With a huge sigh, you looked around without moving, nervous in case you spooked it. “Listen, if you’re the one that’s given me such amazing sleep lately, then… well… thank you. I think I might have got the job…”

A movement in the darkest corner of the room caught your attention, but when your gaze landed on it, all was as it should be.

“Seriously, if you’re there, please… let me know.”

Again, you experienced that strange pulling sensation, like some kind of energy was being drawn from the room, and as you sat up, your bedside lamp flickered. In front of the darker form of your dressing gown on the back of the door, something had begun manifesting into a tall, slender figure. Shrouded as before in shadow, the creature glided forwards, every bit like a nightmare, and your heart thudded.

“Afraid…” came a chanting, polyphonic voice, “And yet not…? How?”

“Have you seen yourself lately?” you hissed. “You’re kind of intimidating. What are you?”

“Nightmare…” it hissed.

You blinked. “You’re a literal nightmare?”

Its claws glinted in the half-light of your small bedside lamp as it just hung there, swaying softly like a corpse on a gallows. “Yes.”

“What are you doing here? Does Reginald know you live here?”

It turned away and you saw a ribcage jutting out like a mummy’s fragile body, though every inch of them was a soft, matte black, pock marked like volcanic stone.

It shook its head. “I found you…” it croaked in its struggling, faltering voice. “Your fear… drew me… to you.”

“You vanished when I stopped being afraid,” you said and again, the creature nodded.

“I was using your fear to… manifest. Without it… I could not stay.”

“But you’re not using my fear now, are you?” you were excited, your heart was pattering out a wild rhythm, but you weren’t afraid.

It shook its head.

“How?”

Turning towards you, it brought up one lethally clawed hand and let a tendril of wisping black smoke play through its dead-looking hand. The fingers were longer than a human’s, and tipped in those sickle claws. “You sleep… better now,” it said, as if that explained everything.

Sitting there on the bed, you frowned. “Yeah, the nightmares have gone and — wait, are you… are you feeding on other nightmares?”

Slowly, the creature nodded. “I fought one that night, for you…” it rumbled. “I won. Now… they fear me.”

“And me? Do I have to fear you?”

The nightmare shook its shrouded head, the fabric wafting slowly as it billowed around the skeletal body beneath.

“So why are you here? Why me?”

“May I… come closer?” it asked.

“So long as you’re not going to hurt me,” you said in a reedy, weak voice. “A bit closer is fine…”

Hovering, the nightmare seemed uncertain, but then made up its mind and loomed a fraction nearer. This close, the glow from your lamp gilded the empty sockets of its skull and showed the stretching maw, and while you might not have been terrified any longer, it certainly made you wary.

“Will not hurt you…” the creature snarled. “I swear it.”

“Ok, fine, but you can’t blame me for being a bit… you know… I’ve never met anything like you before, and you are technically in my apartment…”

“Should I leave?”

Probably, but you found you didn’t want that just yet. “No, not yet. Can you answer some more of my questions?”

It shrugged. “I will try. Remaining here is tiring though. I don’t have much time left.”

“Where do you go?”

“There are many realms beside yours… Nightmares exist… in the cracks between, belonging nowhere, lingering only a while…”

“Sounds lonely,” you muttered.

“It is. That is why I stayed. You… You spoke to me, even when you were afraid. I have never had that before.”

The mist moved like snakes between its fingers and you watched, half mesmerised. “Your claws… are they why I couldn’t move?”

It nodded. “Sleep paralysis causes… much fear. I’m sorry I had to… frighten you to show myself.”

You snorted and pulled your legs close to sit cross legged on the bed, staring at the hovering nightmare in your room. It was so surreal, you wondered if you’d hit your head on the way home. “You tried to reassure me at the same time as scaring me shitless didn’t you?”

It flashed its claws again and swung a close to you. “Soft,” it purred, now mere inches from your face.

This close up, you found yourself frightened again. The horror of its empty black eyes, its gaping maw full of black, pointed teeth, the coiling shadows around it, its skeletal hands with tipped with onyx scythes… and yet, they smelled like the very best of winter nights; slightly smoky with a coldness that, as you inhaled, stung the back of your throat.

“Afraid, and yet not,” it repeated.

“Can I touch you?”

The nightmare clearly had not been expecting that, but nodded. Trembling, you brought your fingertip to its cheek. The skin was cool and hard like leather, but a fine mist floated around them, and you realised that the shroud wasn’t cloth at all, but intangible and made simply of smoke and shadow. The creature shuddered and you pressed your whole palm to their face as they leaned into your touch.

A moment later, they began to flicker and let out a broken moan. “I cannot stay.”

“Come back?” you whispered.

The mouth that held the promise of death, with all those teeth, suddenly smiled and they nodded. After that, they vanished.

Another week went by, but as you faced the fears of starting a new job, and the nearer that your starting date drew, the better you slept.

“It’s you again, isn’t it?” you asked the empty, black room on the night before you started work. “Come on, come out. You’ve been trying to manifest all week. I can feel it.”

Rippling out of the darkness, the nightmare swayed towards your bed and hung in the space beside it, drifting.

“Thank you,” you smiled and stood up. The nightmare didn’t move as you walked towards it, and this time when you reached for it, the creature did anticipate it, wafting closer, apparently keen for the contact. “I actually missed you, you know?” you said as the creature’s whole body quivered.

It brought its hand up to your face in a mirror of your gesture and brushed the curved back of its claws against your cheek. It tingled but you were still able to talk.

“You can touch me,” you whispered, drawing it back towards your bed by taking its skeletal fingers in yours.

Having its permission, the nightmare raked those claws through your hair with a tenderness that left you breathless. “Let me take the fear from you…” it murmured.

Examining your feelings, you discovered a small knot of anxiety about tomorrow, and smiled. “Leave me a little bit, ok? Trust me, a bit of nerves helps.”

Nodding, it leaned close and inhaled.

Standing there beside the bed, your body ignited with what could only be described as a deep and yearning lust, and you gasped, knees going weak. The nightmare caught you as you swayed, head spinning, and laid you easily down on the bed, despite the fact that it hardly looked strong enough to withstand a slight draft.

“What…?” you gasped, core burning.

The creature looked at a loss as it hung in the space beside your bed.

“I’m assuming this has never happened to you before?” you snorted, feeling a little recovered. “How lonely do I have to be to get turned on by a literal nightmare?”

A chuffing laugh made you look back at them.

“You find that funny too?” you asked and they nodded. “Well, if I’m honest… now that I know you’re not going to hurt me, I think you’re kind of beautiful.”

A soft, broken, crooning sound escaped them and they floated nearer, hovering over your bed and extending a hand to stroke talon-tips down your cheek again. “You are beautiful,” it murmured in all its numerous, whispering voices.

“Touch me,” you breathed.

“It will paralyse you,” they snarled, leaning backwards. “I can only… control it for so long.”

“But you won’t hurt me, and it’ll wear off, right?”

They nodded.

“Then touch me… please… I… I want your touch,” and you did. In a way you’d never felt with anyone else, human or otherwise, you needed them.

Rearing closer to you, the creature hung in the air above you like a cloud. It raked its claws down your body, but instead of shearing your clothes open, they simply evaporated, reappearing on the floor nearby in a tangled, crumpled heap.

“Neat trick,” you muttered before gasping as their hands landed on your bare torso, spreading their fingers wide and inhaling again. “Magic?”

“In dreams, anything is possible. We are not bound by your laws.”

“Of course not, but you’re —” you cut off sharply as they opened their mouth and a long, black tongue slithered free and coiled around your hardening nipple. You lurched and your back arched before falling back onto the bed. A tingling spread rapidly all down your right side as their hands gripped you more strongly now.

Working steadily first down one side and then the other, the nightmare scraped its teeth over you in a hundred scratching lines that made you want to yelp and buck, but their paralysis had begun to sweep over you. Every almost-bite it chased with its soothing, teasing, paralysing tongue and fingertips until you could do nothing but tremble and twitch beneath its touch.

A voice hissed, “I will know if you want me to stop,” and you let the last of your fears slide away, giving into the intense pleasure that their mouth offered on your body.

Finally, breath heaving, you felt your release crashing towards you. Never before had you been utterly immobile like this. You wanted to thrash and buck, to squirm and writhe - the pleasure was so intense and visceral that you needed to scream, but the nightmare held you in its grasp and wrung your release from you with relentless focus. Before you could recover fully, it demanded a second orgasm hot on the heels of the first and you thought you might shear apart with the force of it.

Gasping for breath, you begged silently to be allowed to move again, and as it sat back, that long, clever tongue lapping up the last of your release, it touched you once again and your body went slack.

“Oh my god,” you panted. “I’ve never come like that…”

“Your… energy,” they whispered, touching their fingers and thumb together as if their skin was tingling too. Something cool and dark slid over your leg and you looked down to find black liquid dripping from their robes, all over your legs from where they were hovering above you.

You had to laugh. “Don’t tell me you’re switching careers to an incubus now?”

The nightmare looked at you. “It’s just you,” they said. “I want only you.”

“If you’re going to make me come like that, I think we could come to an arrangement…”

The creature grinned, showing all its deadly teeth, and you lay back and stared at the ceiling for a long time, drained and tired but deeply satisfied. You didn’t even notice yourself sliding into a blissful sleep.

When you woke with your alarm the next morning, there was no trace of the creature, but on the back of the door as you were preparing to leave, you found the words ‘good luck’ scraped into the surface of the wood.

“You’d better come back and fix that tonight,” you grumbled with a smile on your face as you spotted it. Even as you stared at it, the wood melted back into the shape it had always been before, and in its place, a simple, line-drawn heart appeared.

You snorted. “See you later,” you said as you grabbed your coat and headed out. “And… well… thank you.”

___

I really hope you folks enjoyed this one! Don’t forget to let me know if you did enjoy it by leaving a like and/or reblogging it!

For all early releases, character art and bios, upcoming story info, and much, much more, join me over on Patreon!

You’ll have access to stories before anyone else, and you’ll get instant access Patreon-only content as well, including polls and an exclusive monthly story for those on the Pixies and Goblins tier!

Currently I’m also running a CYOA for all tiers, with episodes releasing every Friday.

#exophilia #monster lover #shadow monster #sleep paralysis demon #demon x reader #room monster x reader #room monster #non binary monster #gender neutral reader

1K notes · View notes

elldell1204 · 4 years ago

Text

I Always Have Your Back - Jay Halstead x Reader

Anonymous: Drabble challenge Nr. 17 - “Good thing I didn’t ask for your opinion”? With Jay Halstead Thank you! 😊

Thank you so much for the request! 🥰 I do have to confess that this is one of the most recent requests, but I got so inspired by the prompt that I felt I just needed to write it. Don’t fret! I do have ideas for the others, it’s just finding inspiration, but they will be coming soon. I hope you enjoy this one, I’m super proud of it! ❤️

(slightly inspired by this Linstead fic on Ao3, feel free to check it out!)

Warning: Mention of drugs, implied attempted rape (not graphic), mention of sex trafficking. Don’t read if this will upset you! 💕

wc - 7,464

You’ve always hated when the criminals fall through your fingers. Just when you think you’ve got ‘em, all ready to be wrapped up with a bow and sent off to Statesville, something crops up and (wrongfully) gets them off the hook by the skin of their teeth and they walk, but not without a smug grin over the shoulder at you first.

That’s why for the past month, whilst you’ve been trying to find incriminating evidence on a suspect in a missing persons case, every little thing just pisses you off. It’s like the case is all you think about, night and day. You even dream about it in your sleep, though it’s more like a nightmare. Trying to solve this case has been like torture for every member of the Intelligence unit, making everyone more irritable than usual, resulting in arguments and eyes that shoot daggers being a daily occurrence. Something which didn’t exactly help your already rocky relationship with your partner, Jay Halstead.

It wasn’t like you didn’t get along. In fact, at work, it was the complete opposite. He was the best partner you’ve ever had, seeing as you both worked liked clockwork as a duo and even got praise from Voight after a case one day saying you were the best partnership he’s ever had in his unit. You hated to admit it (and even then you never did out loud, only in the quiet of your own heart), but you’d actually fallen for your partner, something you vowed never to let happen in your lifetime as a Chicago police officer. You wanted a successful career, not be the ‘slut’ who throws herself at every male cop she works with. You’d seen many a colleague go down the road of dating a partner, and nearly every time it ended badly, but even worse for the female half of the relationship.

But every day, the little things he did or said just made you want to throw caution to the wind, push him up against the wall and kiss him breathless. And sometimes you thought you saw the same glimmer of lust in his eye as you felt.

Only, he acted like he hated you. Well, not exactly. He was nice to you, cracking jokes with you and being friendly, but whenever the conversation steered anywhere close to flirtatious, he often caught himself and put up a wall. A cold, icy wall; the complete opposite of anything you would associate with Jay Halstead. You loved the cheeky, boyish side of him, but the iron clad exterior really broke your heart, mainly because to you it meant that your love was unrequited and the partner you cared for so much was having trouble opening up to you, shutting down before your very eyes like he would when a case hit a long-forgotten nerve. Though your spirits were dampened every time it happened, you understood, especially after Kim told you the story about Erin and Jay’s downwards spiral after she left. You wished you knew him before Erin, because according to Kim, he never used to be as angry at the world. Before, he knew he could do some good, put in his bet and that helping one person would mean something. You knew he still did, but that need for justice wasn’t quite satiated anymore. It was as if, over time, the job had dampened Jay, and he needed help seeing the sunshine again.

At least that’s what Voight had told you, not in as many words, when you’d been with the unit for a few months. According to him, you were the person that coaxed the raincloud away from over Jay’s head, bit by bit, so that he could start to enjoy the sun again. Jay didn’t notice at first, but when he did, that’s when he started reverting back to the colder version of himself when things got too close to the dangerous waters of flirtation.

Lately, neither of you had gotten within ten feet of what could be considered flirting, let alone friendly jokes and conversation, and it was all thanks to this case. The unit was tasked with finding out what happened to seven young women, all addicts, who let their addiction take over to the point where they couldn’t afford their next meal when they suddenly go missing. Like, off-the-face-of-the-earth, vanished-into-a-cloud-of-smoke, left-no-trace missing. You made huge progress within the first week, finding out that all the girls were supplied by one common dealer: Elena Perez. A forty-two-year old, divorced woman who owned her own restaurant in a pretty nice area in the south side. You found she was a ‘business in the front, party in the back’ kind of dealer, so to speak. Only, you had no way of getting to her without raising her suspicions. For weeks you did surveillance, watching two different girls approach her restaurant and walking away with a bag of white power in their hands, each on different nights to the other, until one time when they entered but didn’t leave.

Which meant you were back at square one.

Every other attempt to gain more info was met with a dead end, so walking into the precinct this morning, you didn’t feel too hopeful. You were one of the last to arrive (not that you were late, you were actually half an hour early), trudging up the stairs to the bullpen with two to-go cups of coffee in hand from your local coffeehouse around the block from your apartment. One was for you, seeing as your energy levels were pretty low, and one was for Jay, half because you wanted to cheer him up and half as a peace offering after the argument you both had last night when you were both frustrated, getting absolutely nowhere in the case after combing over all your notes from the past month or so. Let’s just say you were glad you were the only two left in the bullpen, and the door to the break room was closed to avoid any prying ears.

Yours and Jay’s desks faced each other and were the closest to Voight’s office, with Jay’s back being to it. You made it to yours without passing out from exhaustion and placed Jay’s cup in front of him with a small, sorry smile on your face. Jay eyed the coffee before looking up and mirroring your expression, and that was all that was needed to repair the very minor crack in your bond (one that seemed to be needing repair too often during this case) before getting on with your day.

It was only ten or so minutes later when Voight stormed out of his office and over to the board at the top of the stairs with a tempestuous expression, his bad mood only amplified in his body language. His exit prompted the rest of Intelligence to jump up. Well, jump was an understatement, given that you were all the definition of defeated. Jay came and propped himself on the edge of your desk, whilst you spun your chair to face your boss.

“Tell me you have a lead, any lead. I don’t care if it’s less than a shoeprint, we need something to go on.”

He glanced round at each and every one of you, showing a steely glare before moving onto the next person. No one had anything. You’d had an idea for a while now, but you knew it was immensely dangerous, and therefore you decided you would only bring it up as a last resort. Now seemed like the right time.

“I know this won’t be favourable,” You began, and you could feel all eye direct their attention to you without even breaking eye contact with Voight. “But I could go in undercover?”

“No.” Jay all but shouted. You immediately diverted your eyes to your partner, an anger bubbling deep in your chest. “Absolutely not. It’s a huge risk. We don’t even know what she does to the girls! In my opinion, that’s way too dangerous and downright stupid.”

He had his jaw set tight as he spoke, making you wonder how the words didn’t come out more strained than they already did. His arms were folded tightly over his chest, his fingers gripping his biceps so hard his knuckles had turned as white as paper. In hindsight, you realise that he had your safety at heart, and he meant well with his words, however, at the time, all you could see was red, mostly thanks to sleep deprivation.

“Well, it’s a good thing I didn’t ask for your opinion.” You seethed, and your partner looked at you like you’d just shot him in the heart. You turned to face your boss before continuing. “Sarge, you know about my work from Vice. I know what I’m doing, and I’m one of the damn best undercovers in the entire department. And what else do we have to go on? This is our only hope at finding those girls.”

Before Jay could refute, Voight agreed and told everyone to begin prepping, dishing out tasks to everyone in the unit. You were whisked away by Hailey and Vanessa to put together your cover story before you could even look at Jay, let alone discuss what the hell you had just gotten yourself into.

***

Twenty-four hours later and you’re now Riley Hensley. It was your cover from the last bust you did in Vice, which was luckily still intact, so you managed to slot right back into it, even getting your old job at the corner store back within minutes of talking to the owner. You were sat sipping one of the worst coffees ever to touch your tastebuds whilst reading over your pseudo-life. You’d arrived at your undercover apartment last night with just a scruffy duffel bag to your name, and it was then that you’d realised it was the smallest apartment you had ever set foot in, and you’d lived alone in New York straight out of college with a student’s salary. Once you got there, you set it up a little more to your taste, putting a few personal touches to make it seemed more lived in.

The rest of the team had left you to do your thing back in the district before you went under (which consisted of a lot of psyching yourself up and getting yourself in the mindset of your new character), getting busy with setting out surveillance plans and shift changes and places to put bugs. You managed to have very small and brief conversation with the team before you left last night at 7pm to spend your first night in the apartment. Most were quick goodbyes and ‘stay safe’s, but Jay’s was different. You felt a little bad about your earlier encounter, but now wasn’t the time. For all you know, that could have been the last time you ever spoke to him, so you didn’t want to waste it on possibly unnecessary apologies. He seemed repressed, like there was something he wanted to say but just couldn’t find the words or the strength to do so, but the encounter ended up being more friendly than you had interacted with each other in weeks.

He handed you a little zip up bag, telling you it was full of Narcan in case you were accidentally dosed. You had taken it, your fingertips brushing against his for less than a second, but enough for you to feel comforted. You thanked him, and he gave you a small fleeting smile before his eyes went back to his feet. “I don’t doubt that you know what you’re doing, but please, be safe.” He had said. You had to hold back tears. You didn’t want to cry in front of him, but you felt guilty for snapping at him earlier and you didn’t know how to apologise (damn your sleep-deprived brain). You also felt the urge to just tell him everything; your feelings, your favourite moments with him, how much you were going to miss seeing him every day. And although you desperately wanted to throw your arms around him and hug him so tight you might stop his lungs from working, you just nodded, and he walked away, leaving you to go back to reading your files, or at least try to.

Now, after surprisingly one of the best sleeps you’d had in the last month, you were nearly ready for your first meet with Perez this evening. You were dressed in a tattered hoodie you usually only wore to bed, some leggings that had begun to thin out from wear and a pair of canvas pumps that had a hole in the front. Your usually pristinely-kept hair was looking more like a rat’s nest than an actually rat’s nest, and you were planning on going for a run or doing some sort of workout before you went to the meet to work up a sweat and make it more believable that you were an addict in withdrawal. Also, the bags and dark circles under your eyes from the recent sleepless nights actually worked in your favour.

You were so engrossed in reading the file and going over your plan that the knock at your door startled you more than it should have. You stood from your chair at the kitchen table, pushing it back under before stepping carefully over to the front door. You peered through the spyhole, being surprised to see your partner stood outside. You assumed he had brought you something you had forgotten, but you had to let him in quick before anyone saw and suspected anything, so you opened the door and roughly pulled him in by his arm.

“Nice to see you too.” He joked as you stuck your head out of the door and looked around for anyone, but being satisfied that there was no one there, you came back in and locked it before turning around. You could tell he was surprised to see you looking so…not you. He lifted an eyebrow as he looked you up and down, and if it wasn’t for how worn down you looked and how self-conscious you were of your appearance right now, the action would have sent a heat straight to your core. “On second thoughts, maybe not.”

“Well, I am trying to sell the ‘utterly broke drug addict’ act, so you shouldn’t have expected a ball gown.” You shot back, teasingly.

“I wasn’t, it’s just so different to how good you look normally.” He said, walking over to your couch, unaware of what he just let slip out. It made your mind race ridiculously fast, just like your heart, but you realised he probably didn’t mean it in the way you hoped he did.

“As much as I am enjoying your company, what are you doing here?” You went and leant up against the wall facing him.

“I’m here to let you know it’s not too late to pull out of this.” He looked straight into your eyes as he said it, so deeply you were worried he might have seen how nervous you were under your brave facade.

“Well, I’m not going to.”

“Y/N, it’s too dangerous. We don’t know what Perez does to the girls. She could kill you.”

“I know how to handle myself, Jay.” You squinted your eyes at him, as if you thought he was speaking utter nonsense. Really, you just didn’t want to think about the possibility of him being right.

“But you won’t have back-up in there with you.”

“I’m not a damsel in distress, Halstead! You don’t need to be my knight in shining armour. I know what I’m doing, and most of the unit will be outside at all times in case I need you, anyways.”

“Don’t do this, Y/N. We can find another way in-”

“Don’t you see? I have to do this! There is no other way. I owe it to the girls and their families to find them and stop any more from getting hurt. If I don’t, I won’t be able to live with myself. So let me decide what I can and can’t do, Jay, please.”

You didn’t realise you were both shouting now, not until you noticed how out of breath you both were and that Jay was now very close to you after standing up to have the shouting match. You could smell him, that mix of eucalyptus and cedarwood you love, so close that if you were to reach out a hand, you could grab the back of his neck and pull his lips to yours. You even think you might have seen his eyes fleeting down to your own lips for a second. Only you didn’t act on your desires. Instead, you walked over to the kitchen, wrapping your arms around yourself in some sort of hug, keeping your back to him.

“I appreciate your concern,” You practically whispered, so quiet you were unsure if he could even hear you. “But I’ll be fine. Plus, you have my back. You always have my back.”

You turned slowly to see that he hadn’t moved an inch, only his eyes had followed you to where you were, excruciatingly far from where you were mere seconds earlier.

“And I always will.” He muttered in reply. He began to walk towards the door with soft steps, passing you on his way, unlatching it when he got there, but before he could open it, he turned back to you once more. “Stay safe, Y/N. I need my partner.”

And with that, he was gone, leaving you to slump down into the couch with your head spinning, in the same place he was sat before, desperate to savour the faint scent he left behind to calm your nerves.

***

The first thing you noticed when you turned onto the street was the van. It had “A. Johnson & Sons Plumbing” printed onto the side of it, the vinyl sticker peeling slightly at the edges with age. It was one of three the 21st precinct owned, each one a different company on the outside, but practically the same layout on the inside. You knew they were watching the visual and listening to the audio that the tiny camera and microphone picked up in your necklace, whilst the unmarked car that housed another two members of your unit would only be listening to the audio.

You checked your work phone before you left the apartment with just your undercover burner, being met with a message from Hailey telling you how Jay had pushed for the first shift in the van, which made you smile. You kept that close to your heart as you walked down the cold dark street, getting closer to the restaurant with each step.

“Everything okay?” You said a few feet from the restaurant after checking nobody was around you.

“All good. Do your thing, Y/N.” Hailey’s reassuring voice came through the small earpiece you had in.

You pulled open the door to the front of the restaurant, immediately aware of how out of place you looked in your scruffy clothes compared to the smartly dressed patrons dotted around at their tables. You caught one of the waitresses’ eye, who, after scrunching her nose up at you, made her way over.

“Table for one?” She asked you, her voice a little strained as she looked you up and down with a slight hint of disgust. You really were a sight; sweaty from your run, shaking and scruffy in an attempt to sell your act.

“I’m here to see Ms Perez?” You asked, your eyes frantic, unable to focus on anything. At least that’s what you wanted her to think.

“Um, I’ll go see if she’s busy. Wait here.” The waitress said before disappearing through the doors at the back of the restaurant.

You had earned some interest from some diners now, being the topic of a few hushed discussions and wary glances. You knew that it’d be caught on the camera you wore, and you could only imagine Jay’s massive eye roll at how sheltered and rude they were acting, which calmed you slightly and made you smile on the inside. You saw the waitress returning, looking uneasy at the news you were about to receive from her. You expected what she was going to say before she even opened her mouth.

“Ms Perez gives her apologies, but she’s very busy right now. She said to ask you to leave.”

You began to plead with her, quietly but not too quiet that you wouldn’t appear erratic and in need of a fix, but she didn’t budge, and so you left with a huff, your hand shaking as you reached for the door handle.

You’d expected this to happen, seeing as the same had occurred to a girl you saw when you were doing surveillance. You followed what she did that night a few weeks ago. You looked behind you to check if the waitress watched you leave, which she hadn’t, so you turned to the right and made your way to the back of the restaurant to where the deliveries went. It was even darker down there, with no streetlights to illuminate your way, only the mild moonlight. You made it to the back, seeing nobody to stop you, and so you entered through the door that you assumed led to the corridor where her office was. You were right, as the second door on the left had a plaque on the door that read “Ms Elena Perez, Owner and Manageress”, and so you knocked.

“Enter!” You heard from inside, the call muffled by the door. So you did, timidly opening the door and stepping in. She hadn’t looked up from her computer yet, so she hadn’t seen you, but you definitely saw her. She definitely wasn’t your average drug dealer, that’s for sure; dressed to the nines in her figure-hugging dress, a scarlet red that reminded you of fresh blood complemented her caramel features perfectly. The same shade was painted onto her lips and her nails, like a wolf who had just feasted. If you weren’t so confident in your skills, you would have instantly been intimidated, and so that’s the front you put on. You hugged yourself with one arm, trying to make yourself as small as possible, whilst the other was busy scratching some imaginary itch on your arm. You immediately dropped your focus from her before she got suspicious, your eyes fleeting around the room at where you could place a bug, but to her, you would just be acting like a normal addict going through withdrawal.

She probably expected you to speak first, thinking you were one of her staff, but when you stayed quiet, she raised her eyes. At first, they were imitating the kindness a good boss might show to her workers, but when she saw it was a drug addict, the one she had told to get lost, her eyes became icy with manipulation. It was like she was a lion and her prey was about to walk directly where she wanted it.

“I thought I told you to leave.” She questioned, standing as she tilted her head at you. With her heels, she was definitely taller than you, something she must have took pleasure in.

“Please, Ms Perez, I was told…I, um, I need…” You began, mumbling and stumbling over your words.

Game time.

“A fix? Anyone within fifty feet of you would be able to tell that. But why would I be able to help you with that?”

“Um, Rachel said you could help me? I was clean until I lost my job a few months ago, but then I slipped back into old habits and I’m really struggling with money right now, I thought you might be more understanding than other…you know…and let me pay you over time and in other ways than money.”

“I don’t usually.”

“Please.” You beg, meeting her eyes properly for the first time. You see her consider it, because her eyes seem to go to a dark place, and you know that you were right in going with this approach. It followed the pattern of the other girls, so it was your best bet after all.

“What’s your name?”

“Riley. Riley Hensley.”

“Okay, Riley. I hope I can take you for your word.” Perez concedes, walking over to a safe she has in the corner of the room, typing in a code to open it and then pulling out a little dime bag of a white powder. “Heroin?”

You nod, beginning to act excited. Before you can say anything, though, she reached out her empty hand, palm up.

“Give me what you have on you today, and I’ll see what you owe.”

You stuck a hand into the pocket of your hoodie, grabbing the crumpled-up bills you had brought with you. Two tens. You put them in her palm, and after inspecting them, she handed you over the bag, which you took eagerly.

“This is enough for today.” She held up the bills before walking back to sit down. “If you come back to see me, don’t go to the front again.”

“Yes, yes, of course, thank you.” You nodded before leaving quickly. Perez thought she had laid the bait, and you had snatched it right up, when really it was you who had her right where you wanted her.

***

It went on like this for a week or so; you bringing the right amount for what she gave you. But it soon became a deal of you bringing whatever cash you could scrounge with anything valuable you had to offer. For a while, the bags got bigger and bigger, fuelling your faux addiction, until the value of the items you brought decreased and you had no cash to your name.

You had gone a couple of days without seeing her, pretending that you didn’t have anything to give, and so when you turned up tonight with a measly pair of tarnished silver earrings that ‘belonged to your mother before she died’, she didn’t seem pleased.

“You realise these aren’t even worth ten bucks, right?” She laughed in your face to degrade you. You began to fumble with your fingers.

“They’re real silver-“

“I don’t give a shit. I’m not giving you anything.” She shrugged and sat back down at her desk.

You looked at her, dumbfounded and desperate. “Please, Ms Perez. I need it.”

She didn’t even acknowledge you.

“Ms Perez, please, I’ll bring you something better tomorrow, I promise.”

She seems to perk up at your words, looking up at you with what can only be described as an evil smile.

“I don’t take promises as payment, little girl.”

You sighed audibly. “You know I keep my promises, Ms Perez. I always have before.”

“If I give you something now, you promise me that you will come back here tomorrow with something worth it?”

You nod eagerly.

“Okay then.”

She stands, getting you the same size bag that she gave you the first time a few weeks ago. As you take it from her, she grips your forearm hard, making you yelp in pain.

“You better keep your promise, girly, or you’ll have to pay me back another way.”

You whimper your consent to her, and, satisfied, she releases your arm. You left quickly, rubbing at your arm. It was definitely going to bruise. Once in the fresh air, you took a deep breath, going over the encounter in your head. ‘Pay me back another way.’ You felt a smile tug at your lips. You were getting somewhere.

Walking away from the restaurant, you saw the familiar van parked at the end of the road, so you said, “Pull round the corner. I’ll meet you there.”

You saw someone get out of the back and walk round to the driver’s side before the van drove off. You carried on the same way, and when you got to the van, you opened the back doors and got in, finding Adam and Jay sat waiting for you.

It was the first time since he came to your undercover apartment that you had seen Jay, but he looked a lot rougher than he had that day. His hair was messier, his eyes more tired and he looked overwhelmingly worried. But you didn’t have the time to ask him how he was doing. You knew you were close to finding the much-needed answers, you just had to keep going.

“Wow, you look rough.” Adam teased, and you rolled your eyes at him.

“Ha ha, funny. Did you hear all that?” You asked.

“Yeah, we did.” Adam replied, serious this time.

“Another way to pay her…” Jay repeated what he heard, and you saw a sliver of hope flash across his face.

You nodded, the same smile you had earlier returning. “Yeah, I really think we’re getting somewhere.”

“Just…be careful, Y/N.” Jay met your eyes, and you could read a million more things he wanted to say to you right now, but you both didn’t have the time.

“I will. I better be going, then.” You said, slipping out of the van and walking back to your apartment, a little more bounce in your step than you had before.

***

Another week went by, and each time you met with Perez, you brought next to nothing, but she always said very little at all in protest. You knew it wasn’t enough to pay for what she was giving you, but she was being extremely lenient. Of course, you did this on purpose, wanting to see what the alternative form of payment would be, but you were beginning to give up hope after seven days. That was until you turned up tonight, at your usual time, and Perez wasn’t alone. The man in her office wasn’t one you ever saw before, and you knew that the team in the van would be running him through facial rec to put a name to the face.

“Who is this?” You said to Perez, glancing between them both. He was tall, rather muscular, good-looking, the same caramel skin and dark hair that Perez had, but they didn’t share similar features, so they definitely weren’t related. You might have been attracted to him if you didn’t know what he was probably involved in, or if your heart didn’t love someone else.

“This is Nicolas.” Perez replied, the same evil smile she wore so well was resting on her face.

“And why is Nicolas here?” You decided to go with the sassy approach.

“You owe me.” She stated simply. “Nicolas works for me, in a different branch, so to speak.”

You furrow your brows. What the hell is she on about? “And?”

“You are going to work off your debt.”

Your eyes go wide. “I can’t, I already have a job.”

“At the convenience store. I know. But it isn’t paying you nearly enough to pay your debt. Plus, we’d provide you with whatever you need.”

“Really?”

“Of course.” It was Nicolas that spoke this time. His voice was smooth, comforting even, but it still put you on edge. “You can start tonight. You’d earn a lot of money with your body.”

“Um, I don’t know…” You mumble, starting to back towards the door. Nicolas began to walk slowly towards you. You’d expected some sort of sex trafficking, but didn’t think this was how you’d be integrated into it.

“Y/N, don’t go anywhere. We don’t have GPS on you, it’s not safe for you to go mobile.” You heard Jay through your earpiece.

“I need to go quit my job at the store. I don’t want to leave on bad terms. I promise I’ll come back tomorrow, and then I’ll start working for you.” You tried to compromise, but both of them had a hungry look in their eyes.

You knew they weren’t going to budge. You had to escape. So you turned to run, pushing down hard on the door handle when you felt Nicolas grab your arm. You tried to thrash around to get him off, but when that didn’t work, you threw your head back, hearing what you assumed was his nose crunch with the force, which worked.

You swung open the door, ready to sprint, when this time you were pulled back by your necklace, which snapped off, and two arms wrapped around you from behind, stopping you from going. You began to scream, knowing the team would be starting to move in, but you had to hold your own for maybe thirty seconds. Only, you didn’t have that, as you felt the sharp jab of a needle in your thigh, and suddenly you felt an overwhelming urge to sleep, your eyes feeling heavy and every muscle growing weak. The last thing you saw was darkness as some sort of bag was pulled over your head.

***

You felt groggy when you began to stir, the feeling starting to flood back into your limbs, but still you couldn’t move. You looked around with fear-filled eyes, realising you were alone in a dingy basement. It wasn’t big enough to be that of a warehouse, more like a normal house. You listened hard for any sounds, but all you could hear was the occasional car driving past, nothing distinctive.

You tried to move, getting jolted back as you rolled over. You looked to the wall, finding a chain than lead to some sort of cuff on your wrist, and you knew then that you were stuck there until someone came to find you. You felt a chilled draught rush over your skin, and when you looked down you saw you were only in your underwear, sprawled out on a filthy mattress.

Immediately you felt violated, and you had yet to feel any pain associated with what you thought they would have already done to you. Still, you were angry. Upset. Furious. Disappointed in yourself for being in that position, the one where you couldn’t escape. But, even in hindsight, you couldn’t think of anything you could have done differently to save yourself from this situation, besides wearing a GPS tracker, which none of expected to need.

Your only hope was the team had caught the licence plate before you were driven off to wherever you were. For now, all you could do was wait. And with waiting came thinking, something you barely had enough energy to do right now, but as soon as your mind flooded with the thoughts of your friends and family, you were more than happy to use whatever power you had left on them.

First, your mind went to your family, the last holiday you spent together, all the time you spent without thinking once about work. Next, you thought of your unit, how they were like your second family, the fun you had each day with them, even when you were dealing with the worst mankind had to offer. The laughs from the after-work drinks at Molly’s in celebration as jokes were shared around the table. And then, you thought of Jay.

Why the hell hadn’t you told him before you left? You knew this was one of the most dangerous operations you had ever been on, and yet you were too cowardly to let him know your feelings. You didn’t want to think like that right now, though, so your mind just went to him. His jokes that made you laugh so hard you could barely breathe, his little chuckle that was like a music to your ears you yearned to hear every day, the way he was able to comfort you like no one else after a rough case, making you content and at peace with the world once more, a feat that wasn’t easy to achieve when the darkness hit you hard.

It was then that your little reverie was interrupted by the bolt on the door being slid across, the heavy metal clanging sound reverberating around the room, or was it in your head? You were still a little fuzzy, after all. The footsteps sounded menacing as whoever it was made their way towards you. You were trying to focus on their face, but it was proving to be more difficult than it should have been.

“You’re awake.” The voice was familiar, not overly so but you had definitely heard it before. You saw the hand coming towards your face in a blur before you felt it, but that did nothing to quell the sting when it collided with your cheek. You managed to supress the cry of pain, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. That’s when he gripped your jaw roughly, his fingers and thumb digging into opposite cheeks to give you that ridiculous pout to humiliate you. “Ah, I expected you to be stubborn. No need to worry, we’ll wear you down and fuck you so hard that by the end of the week, you’ll be begging for mercy through tears. Call it your initiation.”

You took a sharp intake of breath at the words, and he chuckled darkly. Your eyes finally focused, seeing the same caramel skin and dark chocolate hair you mistrusted earlier.

Nicolas.

“The ketamine still wearing off?” He laughed, throwing your face down with ease. That’s when you heard him start to unbuckle his belt. “That should make the next part easier then…”

It was like the adrenaline began to surge in waves through your veins at those words, and you began to thrash around, smacking away his hands and screaming bloody murder until your throat felt raw, but you didn’t stop. He grabbed each ankle in his hands, tight as vices, and still you lashed out, kicking your legs, trying to connect with his body anywhere you could. There was absolutely no way you would go down without a fight.

He'd managed to pin your legs down with his knees when his fingertips found the fabric of your panties, your arms still flailing with purpose in his direction, and before he could pull them down, the metal door swung open, crashing into the brick wall with a crack.

Nicolas got distracted, turning his once hungry eyes away from you to see the cause of the noise, which allowed you to dislodge a leg from underneath him, wrapping one and then the other tightly around his neck before squeezing them so hard you were surprised you didn’t break it.

You were still crying, still so flooded with adrenaline and the overwhelming need to survive that you jumped at the warm hand placed on your arm, beginning to lash out at it once again, when the hand turned into an arm, and then two, wrapped tightly but not overly so around your torso, prompting you to let go of the man you had now knocked out cold. You felt a hard chest meet your back, calming you and somehow you knew it was safe to let go, to just cry, to let it all out.

“Ssh, Y/N, I got you, I got you.” The voice was warm, inviting, comforting, one you loved so much, one you trusted with your life.

“Jay.” You whimpered in between cries, and his arms loosened slightly at your realisation. You turned ever so slightly so you could tuck your head into his neck, the tears still flowing. He rocked you gently in an effort to comfort you, but he knew you needed to get this out of your system.

You were still crying when you felt the blanket wrap around you, when you were practically carried out by Jay and into the back of a car, still sat in his lap with your head nuzzled into his neck, craving that familiar eucalyptus and cedarwood smell that would calm you. You had relaxed by the time the car pulled to a stop, and you were helped into the pristine building and onto a gurney, a hospital gown placed onto the bed for you to put on whilst everyone cleared out of the room with a few lingering looks your way before the curtain was pulled across.

You did just that, giving yourself a moment to reflect before opening the curtain. You were safe. You were unharmed, mostly. You were shaken up, but it wasn’t anything you couldn’t work through. You were okay.

“I’m ready.” You said as you pulled back the curtain. You were met with a warm smile from Natalie before you got situated on the bed.

***

About an hour later, after you had endured countless tests and a visit from Dr Charles, your team was given the go ahead to come in to see you. They walked in with caution, but at your bright smile, they seemed to relax.

“Did you find the other girls?” You got out before they could even ask you how you were, which earned a chuckle.

“There’s our Y/N,” Adam laughed. “Always straight down to business.”

You merely smiled and shrugged before looking around at each member, expecting an answer.

“Yeah, we found all of them upstairs in various rooms. Looked like the start of a sex trafficking ring, so we did good to catch it early, but it was all thanks to you, Y/N.” Hailey was the one to provide you with it.

“Don’t be silly, we all worked hard, and we did it together, although I do expect a couple of days off, boss. I’m exhausted.” You laughed along with the rest of the room.

“I’ll see what I can do.” Voight smiled at you genuinely.

You saw everyone’s eyes fleet towards Jay, who was yet to say anything, when Vanessa coughed lightly. “Well, we’ll give you some space to rest up. See you soon, Y/N.”

You thanked everyone for coming, exchanging goodbyes as they all walked out one by one, except for Jay.

He had his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans, his eyes looking anywhere but yours until everyone had left. When he finally looked up, seeing you smiling at him, he relaxed, taking a few steps towards you so he could sit on the edge of the bed.

“Hi.” He said a little sheepishly.

“Hi.” You replied. You felt a small blush creeping up your neck.

“How are you?” He asked, lightly checking you over for any visible injuries.

“I’m better. They didn’t…do anything. Like that.”

“Good. Otherwise they wouldn’t be leaving the cage for a couple of days.”

“Yeah…” You smiled weakly. There was a little bit of tension in the air. You weren’t used to being so close and open with him, but it felt…nice. “How’d you find me?”

“We saw the plate on the van as it sped off but couldn’t get back to the car in time to tail it. We put a BOLO out and started canvassing, but it was a couple hours later when we found it in the driveway of some house, so we thought we were too late. Luckily, we weren’t.”

You nodded along slowly before the silence resumed, but not for long. “Thank you.” You whispered meekly.

“Hm?” He furrowed his brows as you locked eyes.

“You know, for getting to me before…”

“Y/N, I told you I always have your back, and I meant it.” He said, and you saw something in his eyes you had never seen before.

“I know.” You hummed, and you felt an overwhelming urge to tell him. To tell him how you felt, that you had loved him for months and were too scared to say anything. “Listen, Jay, I need to tell you something.”

“I do too, Y/N, and I know, I’m the same, but not now. It wouldn’t be right.”

You didn’t feel deterred or ashamed. You completely understood him and wholeheartedly agreed. Although you weren’t sure if you were going to say the same thing, you just nodded, but you craved that comfort you knew he gave you, whilst also wanting to reassure yourself.

So you reached out your hand for his, and he met yours, interlacing your fingers together, his thumb running gently over the back of your hand. He lifted it to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to your skin, letting his lips linger there longer than would be considered just friendly, before lowering them back down to the bed. He leaned forward, not to kiss you, put to place your foreheads together, an action that seemed more intimate than a kiss right now. He lifted his eyes to yours once more, and looking into them, that’s when you knew for sure.

You loved Jay Halstead, and Jay Halstead loved you.

#jay halstead #jay halstead imagines #jay halstead imagine #jay halstead fanfiction #jay halstead x reader #jay halstead angst #Chicago PD #One Chicago #chicago pd imagine

390 notes · View notes

drethanramslay · 4 years ago

Text

Rock Bottom

Pairing: Mona X MC (Alexis Jennings)

Masterlist

Word count: 1.8 K (I really tried🤧)

Warnings: None, there is swearing, also there is a crossover 👀

Author's note: I'm taking part in @rodappreciationweek and this is my entry for day 3 (mona)

The hosts of RoDaw @client-327 @brightpinkpeppercorn and @choicesarehard are donating $5 usd to the Lebanese red cross, up to $500 for every piece of Mona content today! Please consider making/posting something for Mona today if you haven't already❤️

I'm also taking part in @wackydrabbles so you will find the prompt in bold

Forgive me if I make any mistakes

"Prisoners move back to your respective cells." The loudspeaker blared, cutting sharply through the air, giving Mona a cold splash of reality.

Until that godforsaken announcement, Mona had been sitting on the steps, her eyes closed as she enjoyed the cool breeze threading through her hair. The sun rays poured over her and she enjoyed the warmth emanating from them. She could smell the ocean and with her eyes closed, she could almost imagine standing on the shores of Santa Monica, the sound of the waves washing over her.

But there is only so much imagination one can use to forget that she was in jail.

To her darn luck, she had been transferred to Trask Island, a maximum security prison off the coast of Florida. It was one of those dreary prison where you were completely cut off from the world.

No call, no letters, no communication.

Whatever fucked up environment they created here, that was her world and Mona hated every second of it.

It was also called the 'rock' because one, it was on a island and two, it would drown all your hopes and wishes of a future, just like how a rock sinks in water.

No one has ever escaped Trask Island and no one ever will. The words of the warden echoed through her head making her scoff.

It's cute that he thinks I will be sticking around in this shit hole.

Mona was super determined to get the fuck out of here even though there were moments when she was completely and utterly lost.

She hated the orange tracksuits she had to wear. She hated the way these spiteful men dictated her life and tried to break her spirit. She hated being stuck in a tiny cell.

She longed to feel the adrenaline rush in her veins when she raced.

She longed to feel her hands gripping her steering wheel, as she drove at speeds defying gravity.

But most of all she longed for Alexis... The girl she left behind.

Mona found it ironic. After her ex ratted her to the police she swore that she would never let anyone have that power over her. That she would never wear her heart on her sleeve again. She built this impenetrable fortress around herself so that no one could enter and know the real her.

But Alexis managed to do that by just smiling at her.

The way their hands fit perfectly into each other's... The way that all her worries would go away when Alex was in her arms... The way that they both pushed each other, looked out for each other and challenged each other...

Mona had never witnessed such a feeling of companionship and she couldn't help but fall for her.

I love you Mona... Those words haunted her but at the same time motivated her to keep going through the motions of the day.

Her fantasies were abruptly interrupted by the guard kicking her combat boots. "Up and going, or do you want a month in solitary?"

And the thing she hated the most about this prison are the guards. I mean it was normal to hate them but this was some next level shit. She absolutely abhorred them to such a extent that she wanted to strangle them with her bare hands.

The number of times she was thrown into solitary was not even funny. And all of them were for the dumbest of the dumbest reasons.

Hell she was thrown in the hole for a fight she wasn't even part of.

All men are the same... Power hungry and drunk on greed. That's why girls are better.

So not wanting to risk living in the darkness for a month, she bit her tongue and got up before joining the other cellmates.

"What a dick." Eris Huang, an expert demolition muttered under her breath, so low that only Mona could hear it, causing her to snort.

In the six months she was here, she was low-key glad that she met Eris. They two met when Mona was moved into Eris' cell. Both were strong willed, hard headed and sarcastic woman so it wasn't really surprising that they became fast friends.

"Tell me about it. One of these days he is gonna piss me off so bad that I will end up castrating him with a blunt knife."

"Oof. I will hold him down and break his legs." Eris offered causing Mona to smirk. I like this girl.

"Anyways, I have a shift at the library so meet you later." Eris spoke.

"Get me another notebook if possible."

"What are you writing? A love letter?" Eris teased which made Mona roll her eyes but she wasn't very far off from the truth.

"A lady never tells." Mona answered causing Eris to chuckle as she took a left to go to the basement.

Mona reached her cell and she felt the the cell gate close behind her with a loud clang, which resonated in her ribcage.

Sure, hanging out in the yard and working in the workshop was a welcome distraction but staying in her small cell for more than 17 hours would make a girl lonely.

So, in all these hours of loneliness, sadness and hopelessness Mona found some sort of solace in writing about her dreams, list of things she was going to do once she was out, her aspirations... But most importantly, how much she missed Alex and how she wished to be by her side.

So settling into the corner of her bunk, she opened the notebook with tattered pages so that she could write.

Dear Alex, I know I told you to not let me imprison you but that's not applicable to me because you are always on my mind. It's hard to forget you. I miss you so much....

Do you know what day it is today? It's the fifth... Or I assume so because there is no calendar here. We aren't told what date, month, year it is. It's just days which sinks into the lonely nights and the cycle continues.

It's been six months since I last saw you... And I guess it just hit me hard.

It's just cruel how little time we had together.

I still remember that night. How happy we were in that cute little prom of yours. I still remember how heartbroken you were when I betrayed you.

But you didn't let it break you.

I still remember the way you took down those bastards. I still remember how fucking proud I felt on that moment. I still remember how I took a bullet for you and the shock that coloured your face.

And I know the thoughts which ran at your head in that moment. "Someone actually cares enough for me to take a bullet for me."

I'm here to tell you that yes, I took a bullet for you and I would do it a thousand times over just to prove that I love you and I care about you. I'm here to tell you that you are worth it and you deserve all the love in the world.

I wish I could hold you in my arms and tell you all of this but... Life loves fucking with me and you got caught as collateral.

It's just... Hard some days. Sure I have made friends with some other criminals and tried to make this fuckery my new normal but I'm only human. I'm few moments away from sinking to rock bottom, as shocking as that may sound.

You always perceived me as an aloof, careless and a strong badass but that changed when I met you.

Sure I was always strong but you make me stronger. You and me... We both are like two knives sharpening each other. Pushing each other to reach new heights of awesomeness.

But, I also want to worry for you. I want to appreciate you. I want to wake up next to you and I want to love you.

I often wish how we would have met if I had not gone down the wrong path. Would we have met at some pub? Or in some Ivy League college? Or some frat party?

People often say that you shouldn't waste time thinking about the things that could have been but when you are in a prison with nothing but time, that's all you seem to do.

So yeah, you are the only thing preventing me from going insane.

I think that's enough emotional bullshit for today and I'm low-key relieved that you aren't reading these letters, of me talking like a sap.

But one thing is for sure- I love you.

Yours, Mona.

She heard the electric buzzer and the door of her cell opened. Eris walked in with an impassive face with a guard standing at the entrance. He shut the cell gate and walked away.

Mona's eyes narrowed as she sat up straight. Wait a minute-

She waited for the guard to be far away before she spoke up. "You have a plan."

Eris turned the light off of the cell and plopped on to the bed opposite Mona's.

"Smartie. Always knew I did a good job of recruiting you."

"But how? Do you remember the last time you failed and ended up in the hole for a month and a half?!"

"Yes I do remember but this is foolproof. We have outside help."

"... I'm listening."

"Do you speak thief?" She asked which made Mona scoff in disbelief.

"Obviously. I have stolen cars and kidnapped people. Obviously I'm no amateur."

Eris proceeded to explain how her friends Rye and some other chick had come up with a plan. She listened with complete attention and only stopped her to ask valid questions.

"So... Are you in?"

Mona tried weighing the pros and cons. It's sounded a tad bit unrealistic and far fetched. There were a couple of loose ends which made her hesitate.

Eris noticed that and grasped her hand. "See Mona, no escape plan is perfect. This is a rough draft and we will work out the kinks. But remember, the three crucial things an escape plan needs is- Luck, faith and determination. We don't know about what lady luck has in store but, we sure can have faith and determination."

"I know that you hate it here and I know the punishment of escaping is harsh but what's wrong in trying? We are already suffering as it is, what's a little more? And I see that fire in your eyes, M."

"The fire to break free and the fire to go back to your girl."

Mona looked up and the momentary joy of getting to see Alexis soon. Adrenaline courses through her veins, causing her heart to beat faster.

Eris leaned forward, her voice intense. "So tell me- Would you like to blow this joint or rot in here for the next five years wishing you could have atleast tried?"

Mona's eyes met hers and a smirk formed in her face. Reaching forward she shook Eris's hands, sealing the deal. "What the hell. This is without doubt the stupidest plan you've ever had. Of course I'm in."

Don't worry Alexis, I'm coming home.

Hope you liked it 😊

Mona x MC Taglist : @kamilahsayeet2063 @kaitlynliaofanxx @vampiregirlsblog @made-me-deep-blue

Permanent Tag list: @trappedinfandoms @oofchoices @agent-breakdance @rookie-ramsey @dailydoseofchoices @colossalpainintheass @siaramsey @raleigheffingcarrera @kaavyaethanramsey @theeccentricbibliophile @ac27dj @ramseysno1rookie @justanotherrookie @openheart12 @jamespotterthefirst @checkurwindow @chasingrobbie @junggoku @bellcat2010 @choicesstan1 @mvalentine @crazynutella @hatescapsicum @dr-ramseys-rookie @lilypills @vampireblissblog @decadentwinnerjudgedream @choicesficwriterscreations @nooruleman @anonymously-cool @sanvivrma

Wacky Drabblers: @ao719 @axwalker @bbrandy2002 @bebepac @bitchloveskcbaseball @blackcatkita @bobasheebaby @burnsoslow @dcbbw @debramcg1106 @doriansapprentice @emceesynonymroll @everythingchoices @flutistbyday2020 @jessiembruno @katedrakeohd @kingliam-rys @liamrysandme @sophie-and-shizuku @loveellamae @lucy-268 @mrschoicesobsessed @no-one-u-know @pedudley @queenrileyrose @ravenpuff02 @romanticatheart-posts @sirbeepsalot @speedyoperarascalparty @starrystarrytrouble @storyofmychoices @texaskitten30 @txemrn @utterlyinevitable @walkerswhiskeygirl

#anushka writes #mona x mc #mona #rod mona #mona rod #ride or die #ride or die: a bad boy romance #rodappreaciationweek #rodaw #rod appreciation week #eris huang #eris thm #the heist: monaco #choices stories we play #playchoices #choices #choices stories you play #pixelberry

75 notes · View notes

milstrim · 4 years ago

Text

By the Light of Your Love

Day 27: Power Outage

"You really didn't have to come over, Mr. Stark."

"Are you trying to get rid of me, kid? 'Cause it's not working," Mr. Stark replied snarkily, ripping open another box that was haphazardly filled with stuff. She peeked up behind the last of the boxes she was carrying inside to spy a bunch of her old dolls and action figures. Oh no. Smiling viciously, Mr. Stark pulled out a beat up and very obviously loved Iron Man action figure Ben had gotten her.

Penny blushed, trying to ignore him as she walked away, placing the tipping boxes on the old table she'd lugged upstairs earlier with Mr. Stark's help (just to make it look less suspicious). Mr. Stark was, as usual, relentless, coming up behind her and poking her cheek with the action figure.

"Come on, kiddo. Iron Man needs your help!" he said in an overly cartoonish voice.

She stuck her tongue out at him, moving to snatch the action figure back, but she let him clutch the action figure to his chest instead of taking it. Mercy was a more redeeming trait of hers. Sarcasm, however, was not, "Ha ha ha. Really funny, you should fund an Iron Man TV show, you might be able to land a part."

Mr. Stark switched to a girlishly high voice, "I might try out for the role of Spider-Woman."

"I do not--"

Penny's grinned protest was drowned out by another roll of thunder, and she felt a shiver run down her spine as a burst of rain and hail plundered against the window. The two turned to look at the window, and she grimaced a little, hoping the new apartment's windows would hold up.

It was supposed to be to be the worst storm of the year, the talk of the town (well, city) for nearly two weeks that had caused canned goods to sell out in stores and school to end early yesterday. So of course it had landed on moving day. May had tried to reschedule until after the storm passed, but their old landlord had said very plainly that they had to leave the property at their scheduled time. It made moving slightly more dangerous than usual, but Penny had planned on making a day of it, especially when Mr. Stark had volunteered to drive their boxes over while May finished up her shift.

She and her mentor had barely managed to get all of the boxes in the building before the storm had begun thundering down, which, as advised, meant they shouldn't go back outside. Technically, she guessed Mr. Stark could call the Iron Man suit and leave whenever, but she still felt kinda bad for trapping him here, where there wasn't even food in the fridge yet. And the air conditioning hadn't been turned on for them. It was a good thing she was wearing her Midtown Sweatshirt over a long sleeved shirt over a tank top. It meant she was a little warmer.

As if reading her thoughts, Mr. Stark rubbed his hands together, breathing into them in exaggeration and walking away, "D'you know where the A/C is? It looks like we're going to be here for a while and I'd rather--"

And then the power went out.

Penny made a noise of surprise, blinking as she tried to adjust to the light, and rushing toward the window. Where moments before she'd seen bright yellow and oranges from her new neighbors, there was now nothing but complete darkness. Was there a moon tonight? Definitely no stars. Still, Penny somehow managed to make out the room as though the sun had only just set. Huh, her powers surprised her a little more each day.

"Penny? Are you alright?" Mr. Stark called, and she remembered that he probably couldn't see her at all.

"I'm right here, Mr. Stark!" she called back, beginning to make her way over to a nearby box, "I was just checking the window. I think all of Queens doesn't have power right now, sir."

"Shush it with the 'sirs,'" he ordered, and she listened as he began walking blindly through the dark, barely holding back a laugh as he stubbed his toe, swearing loudly, "Where's your phone? Where's my phone?"

"Aww, that's lame, Mr. Stark. Phone flashlights would ruin the mood."

"Mood. What mood? My mood is I'm cold."

A crack! echoed through the air as Penny broke a green glowstick, shaking it around wildly until it glowed in her hand. She tossed it to her mentor, who caught it sloppily in the dark as she turned to grab another one, "The spooky mood, Mr. Stark."

"It's not Halloween."

"It should be."

"It was literally just Halloween."

"And I already ate all my candy," Penny argued, and she watched Mr. Stark roll his eyes as she broke two more glowsticks, handing another one for him, "Here. For your weak eyes."

"Shut up. You'll be old one day, too."

"And I'll still have better eyesight than you in your twenties."

"Whatever, weirdo," he teased, "When's May getting back?"

"Uhh, I kinda forgot honestly. Do you think she'll be able to get here through the storm?"

"Hold up, let's call her. Now do you mind passing me my phone?"

Penny rolled her eyes, jumping across the room to snatch it from the couch and passing it back to him. Her mentor immediately dialed May, but it went to voicemail. He tried a couple more times before shrugging.

"No luck," he concluded, and she hummed. Suddenly his voice changed, going theatrically serious, "Alright, now it's time to get down. Do we have the bare essentials to survive this dangerous night."

"No."

"You're supposed to play along."

"Between us we have a box of cookies, two Gatorades, and a lot of useless shit. Also, only one of us can survive the cold."

"You're such a downer."

"No, you," she countered, and he rolled his eyes playfully.

"Just go find those blankets. I'll grab the food, and we're keeping you warm. My signal's completely trashed right now, so we're gonna have to rough it out until this storm passes."

"But that could be foreverrrrr!"

"Well, you better go find those blankets then."

She shot him a dirty look, but did as told, searching through boxes until she found the one with all of their blankets in it. She heard Mr. Stark fumbling around for the food and drinks, eventually making his way to the couch pressed up against the wall.

Penny bounced over with the box of blankets, dumping them out on the unsuspecting man, who spluttered in surprise and annoyance as blanket after blanket flopped onto his head before unraveling over him. He glared up at her as he tore the blankets off of his face, scrunching up his nose and sticking out his tongue.

"Brat. I guess I all the blankets are mine now."

She gasped dramatically, flopping down on top of him, "You're just going to let me die, Mr. Stark? We're already low on rations and I don't even get a--"

"Okay, okay! Take your damn blanket. Here, you get the scratchy one."

"No! Ewww! I don't like this one."

He sighed dramatically, "Well, I guess you can share this super nice one with me, but only if you promise to be nice."

"Fine," she said, sitting up and resting her head on his shoulder instead. She took the glowsticks and placed them in their laps, throwing a large blanket over them so that they were trapped with the multicolored lights, "So, what're we gonna do?"

"Uhhhhh--"

"Ooo how about Rock, Paper, Scissors."

"Sure, kid."

They played two hundred twenty-three rounds of Rock, Paper, Scissors, and despite Penny's quick reflexes, Mr. Stark won a lot of them. Stupid damn ass strategist. Mr. Stark told her stories, some spooky ghost stories at her request, others about the Avengers or MIT. Sometimes his voice would get really quiet in the middle of a story, his eyes going a little haunted before he jostled himself back to the present and carried on with as much gusto as ever. That was usually when she'd squeeze his hand, or steal some more of the blanket from him, which they still shared despite the fact that there were other ones.

And who was really to say she fell asleep with her head against his knee that night? It would be pretty hard to tell with the thrumming of rain, the blankets that were mounted in a thick layer on top of her, and the only light being provided from a few dim glowsticks.

#Iron Man #spiderman #irondad #irondad fanfiction #female peter parker #whumptober2020 #fluff

13 notes · View notes

trashmenofmarvel · 5 years ago

Text

Devil’s Backbone - Chapter 22

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x S.H.I.E.L.D. agent!Reader

Summary: With your team dead and your mission failed, you’ve been taken by the assassin to an unknown location and are at the mercy of your cruel tormentors. (This fic is explicit, 18+ only, dubcon in earlier chapters)

Chapter Warnings: Violence, blood, references to past sexual abuse, general Hydra creepiness

Word Count: 2.7k

AO3

(gif by @dailymarvel)

Step three: Once the highest threat is identified, eliminate it.

You rounded the corner and pulled the trigger over and over, giving Rumlow zero opportunity to return fire. You charged forward and quickly took cover behind a desk to your right; wood and glass dividers shattered above your head from bullet impacts.

On your knees, you shot around the corner of the desk in his direction, pulling back when you saw movement from his side. Even with the fresh pistol, you soon ran out of ammunition, but so did he. Once silence filled the room, Rumlow shouted.

“You’re out!”

“So are you!” you yelled back.

He chuckled. “That’s my girl.”

You saw red. The hurt, the betrayal, all of it flowed into your spine, and all you could imagine was Rumlow’s body at your feet.

“No! You don’t get to say that! You betrayed S.H.I.E.L.D.!”

“We are S.H.I.E.L.D.,” he responded in an amused tone.

“Then you betrayed our team! You betrayed me.”

Your voice shook from the force of your anger, and that was fine. What you hated was how easily the hurt bled into your words. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing how deep his betrayal had wounded you. Because it hurt fucking bad.

“This isn’t what I wanted.” There was a pause in which you thought you heard Rumlow sigh. “You were supposed to be with us by now.”

Your vision blurred and you blinked away the tears, refusing to shed them on his account.

“Did you do it?” You wanted him to say no, even now. “Did you order the hit on the convoy?”

His voice drifted over to you from across the room, and for a moment, he was your commander again. You could almost see him in your mind’s eye, pacing in front of the team with his hands clasped behind his back as he gave a mission briefing.

“Kartal was working for us. Or he was, until he got cold feet, or a conscience, or whatever the fuck. Pierce couldn’t have him going to the feds, though, could he? And I needed to weed out the weaker members of the team who I knew wouldn’t make the cut. More importantly, I made sure you were kept alive. I had you spared, Williams, because I knew you’d come around. With some persuasion.”

Your stomach roiled and your throat burned.

“I will never be a part of HYDRA,” you spit out.

“Kid,” he laughed, “haven’t you been paying attention? You’ve been HYDRA all along. You just didn’t know it.”

You couldn’t listen to one more word or you would scream. You pushed off from the desk you had been sitting against and stepped out into full view.

Maybe he heard you, or maybe he just knew you that well, because Rumlow did the same. He pulled the combat knife from his belt, twirling it between his fingers, his voice almost sympathetic. “It’s not too late, you know. Pierce wasn’t lying when he said he was impressed.”

Another twirl of his fingers, his smile just as razor sharp.

“Of course, he doesn’t know how sentimental you get. You’re a scrappy little shit, like a mongrel that just won’t die no matter how often it’s kicked and starved. First I thought it was really fuckin’ sad, but then I saw the one thing no one else did. Your potential.”

You tried not to react—failed—and your frown turned into a grimace. Rumlow’s smile widened to a grin.

“But in order to get there, you had to have the softness beaten outta ya. So I toughened you up, cut off all the baby fat. You gonna resent me for that, kid? After all I’ve done for you, you’re gonna turn this around and pretend I didn’t make you the best damn agent since Romanoff?”

His grin faded and dark clouds gathered over his eyes.

“You fuckin’ owe me everything, girl.”

Something within you broke, and you launched yourself at him before you could rethink your strategy. Your ferocity caught him by surprise; he nearly dropped the knife when you kicked at his arm. Rumlow held tight to his weapon and moved backwards, dodging out of range of your attacks.

You knew what he was doing, drawing you out and trying to exhaust you. The only way to counteract that was to close the distance, but then there was the knife to consider.

You picked up a filled three-inch binder from a desk, charged at him, and used the book to shield and deflect the slash of his knife.

It was no vibranium shield, but it worked; you got close enough to kick him hard in the gut. Rumlow rolled backward and stopped at a crouch, slowly standing up as he wiped the blood from his torn lip. His expression wasn’t so controlled now—there was real anger there.

“Pierce had such high hopes for you. You were gonna be our golden goose. HYDRA’s greatest project in history, until the asset went fucking nuclear and killed everyone on the goddamn medical team.”

The asset. The phrase stuck in your throat, tarry and sick and foul.

“What did you do to him?” you asked hoarsely.

Rumlow raised his knife again, readying himself for another round. You didn’t think he was going to answer, until he did.

“Same thing we were gonna do to you,” he said with a smirk. “Pump you full of super soldier serum—a special Soviet blend—and break your mind into itty-bitty pieces.” His smirk faded into a frown. “But then he fucked it all to hell, and we still don’t know why.”

He lunged.

You had been so shocked by his words you didn’t react in time. You managed to deflect his knife once before he slung his arm around your neck and pivoted you around, slamming you against his chest.

You wheezed, barely able to breathe as he held the knife in front of your face.

“How’d you do it, huh? How’d you get inside his head?” His warm breath hit your ear and you tried to twist away, but he held you in an unbreakable vice. “The asset was compliant one day, batshit crazy the next. Pierce was gonna wipe him that night, you know. Said you were a goddamn nuisance, a distraction. Some fuckin’ bullshit that was, weapons don’t get distracted. They have a purpose. They get used. And boy, did we use that fucker until he couldn’t be used anymore.”

Icicles trickled down your spine. Your mind couldn’t grasp the meaning of his words, wouldn’t grasp it.

“He killed the doctors, the technicians, almost everyone in the prison. I expected they’d find your body in a ditch somewhere, battered and broken, but there you were at the safe house, alive and whole. So, how’d you do it? How’d you take control?”

Rumlow’s warm breath hit the side of your face and you turned away, wincing. You struggled again but he had you trapped, helpless to do anything but listen to the horrible things he was saying.

“The guys on duty did say he visited your cell a few times. Is that why he’s outside right now, tryin’ to help Cap? You femme fatale’d him into obedience?”

You said nothing, baring your teeth and trying to pull his arm off your neck. It was pointless, given that the limb was almost pure, corded muscle.

Rumlow gave a bark of sharp laughter so sudden it startled you.

“Or… no. No, you didn’t do anything to him at all. It’s what he did to you.” Another laugh, delighted in a way that made your stomach twist. You said nothing, more focused on clawing at his arm then entertaining his nasty accusations. He ignored your struggles, you wondered if he could even feel the bite of your blunted nails.

“Shit, I didn’t know he had it in him,” he continued on, grating. “Christ. If you had any idea what Pierce had in store for you two, you’d realize how fuckin’ ironic that is. He got his dick wet and they didn’t even have to order him to do it. I mean… shit. That’s all sorts of perverted—“

You slammed your elbow back into his ribs and felt a satisfying crack. He howled in pain but somehow still held on as he stumbled backward, his grip even tighter now around your neck.

You wanted to cover your ears or scream or do something. Anything to make him stop.

And still he kept fucking talking.

“Yeah, got under your skin, didn’t I?” he growled through his staggered, labored breaths. “Not that it matters. The asset ain’t gonna remember you once we get our hands on him again. I can’t tell you how many times his brain has been scrambled. It’s a goddamn miracle he’s not a drooling vegetable at this point.”

You would have screamed at him if you had the air for it, but Rumlow had shifted his grip and the edges of your vision were starting to recede. The world was going quiet, distant… but not enough for you to miss the sensation of Rumlow gently stroking your hair.

“You don’t gotta worry about that, kid. I won’t let any of ‘em touch you,” he murmured into your ear. “When you belong to HYDRA, I’ll take good care of you.”

He fisted your hair tight enough to make the burns on your scalp light up with electric pain. You gasped as he slightly shook his fist, tears blurring your vision.

“And then,” he murmured, low and sinuous in your ear, “you’ll finally learn some fuckin’ gratitude.”

The thing that took hold of your body wasn’t you. It couldn’t be, because no single person could contain that much hatred.

You grabbed his wrist and jabbed it downward. The knife sliced through your side and cut straight through your jacket and down into Rumlow’s thigh.

Rumlow’s earlier scream was tame compared to the wild noise he made now, and he released you on reflex. He also made the mistake of letting go of the knife, and you yanked it free of his leg and whirled around, slashing at his shoulder. He stumbled backwards, red flowing over his corded muscles and smooth skin like a river through a dune sea.

You coughed and gasped for breath. Your face felt like a mask, unfamiliar and tight, and you couldn’t imagine what was across its surface.

He grinned at you, a red-tinged smile from his busted lip.

You could do it, right now. End it. He was off-balance, wounded, and no matter how disciplined he was the pain would slow him down.

Adjusting the knife if your grip, stalked forward, chest heaving as your muscles bunched for the attack—

A shadow blotted out the sunlight cast through the windows. It was moving fast, alarmingly so, and you skidded to a stop when you saw what it was.

A Helicarrier hurtling out of the sky at a steep angle, directly toward you.

Without a second look at Rumlow, you dropped the knife, spun and stumbled on the smooth tiled floor, and bolted. You didn’t turn to see if he had spotted the impeding airship.

You stabbed a finger into your ear comm and shouted, “Wilson! Please tell me you’re nearby!”

“Where the hell have you been?!” he shouted back, sounding very put-out. “We’ve been looking all over for you! Tell me where—“

The impact of the Helicarrier slamming into the Triskelion was enough to make you stumble and skid across the tilting floor, and it was more than enough to give Wilson his answer.

“Shit! You still there, Agent?”

“Not for long!” you yelled as you somehow managed to avoid a collapsing pile of building falling from the ceiling. “Forty-first floor! Northwest corner!”

There was no time to wait for confirmation. You hurled yourself at the window and curled into a ball just before impact. The glass shattered around you, the sound drowned out by the massive airship cleaving into the side of the building.

Your stomach twisted as you free-fell through the air, the ground rushing up at an alarming rate—

Wilson appeared just below you, rolling onto his back and grabbing you as you slammed into his chest. He managed to wrap his arms around you as he flew out from under the shower of collapsing tile and glass.

“Jesus Christ!” he yelled over the comm despite the fact he was also right in your ear. “Are all your S.H.I.E.L.D. agents this crazy?!”

“What happened to the Helicarriers?” you shouted, ignoring his first statement. You tried to twist your head around to look, but you couldn’t see anything but the river below. Panic rose in your throat. “Where’s Bucky?!”

Wilson banked and you gripped him tighter, feeling like a small lizard clinging to a very large bird. From your new vantage point, you saw there was only one Helicarrier still airborne, and it had been the one that had just sliced through a portion of the Triskelion and was now heading directly over the Potomac River.

“We’re still onboard,” Rogers answered, sounding out of breath.

“What? Why!” you cried out. “You’re heading for the river!”

“There was… falling debris,” he said, voice strained. “Bucky’s trapped. I’m digging him out.”

“Why are you doing this!” Bucky yelled over the comm. “Leave, Rogers!”

“Not gonna happen, Buck,” Rogers responded, his voice oddly soft. “Not without you.”

“We have to get to them!” you shouted to Wilson.

He must have agreed because he yelled, “Hold on, man!” He held onto you tight as he tilted through the air, the wind hitting your face and making your eyes water as he picked up speed. “We’re coming!”

“No, Sam, you gotta stay back. It’s too dangerous. This thing is falling apart around us.” The same resignation that had been in Bucky’s voice earlier was now in Roger’s.

“Don’t ask me to do that,” Wilson responded quickly. He sounded as anxious as you felt. He was approaching at a parallel angle to avoid the smoke and falling debris, and you could see the underside glass dome of the bridge and the damage inside.

“Move closer!” you yelled.

“I can’t!” he yelled back. “Too much shit in the air!”

“I don’t care!” You shouted hard enough to crack your voice, struggling in his arms now, trying to twist around so you could see the carrier better. “Move us in!”

“Woman! Knock it off or you’re gonna get us both killed!”

Despite his protests he angled his wings and banked toward the drifting carrier.

“Rogers!” you yelled into your earpiece. “We’re almost there!”

You were fifty feet away, close enough to see details inside the dome. It was a warzone, strewn with heavy crossbeams and collapsed walkways as the air filled with smoke and tongues of flame.

“There’s no time!” Rogers yelled, suddenly urgent. “You have to—“

An explosion ripped through the back of the ship. It was so hot and expansive that the shockwave hit you and Wilson like a solid object, causing him to tumble back through the air. He gripped you tightly around the waist and all you could do was hold onto his arms as the world spun sickeningly around you.

By the time he was steady again, the Helicarrier had split in two.

All the air left your lungs. The horrific sight above you blotted out the sky with fire and falling debris.

Wilson descended and landed on the riverbank nearby. You wanted to scream at him to take you back up, that it wasn’t too late. Instead, you watched the Helicarrier fall in broken pieces into the river. Your legs gave out and you collapsed onto your knees.

“Steve?”

Wilson’s voice was shaking. Desperate and pleading.

“Steve… are you there? Come on, man… Answer me.”

You touched a trembling finger to your comm to make sure it was on.

“Bucky?” Your voice was even more broken than Wilson’s. “Bucky, say something. Please? Bucky?”

You were both met with the finality of silence. The only sound that floated to you on the wind was the quiet rumble of the remnants of the Helicarrier falling into the Potomac.

Next Chapter

#devil's backbone #bucky barnes x reader #the winter soldier x reader #bucky barnes #brock rumlow #the winter soldier #bucky barnes fanfiction #reader fanfiction #the winter soldier fanfiction #hydra trash party #htp #sam wilson #steve rogers #captain america the winter soldier #shield #hydra #my writing #my fanfiction

110 notes · View notes

ultrakeystotheheartblog · 6 years ago

Text

Not So Alone (Part 2) (Teen Titans x Reader)

Part 2 of 2

Request: Requested by multiple people.

“Uhm, your teen titans imagine was?? so great?? I would totally love a sequel omg (only if u want obv)”

“Omg please I just read the fic and want a sequel too so badddd you don’t have to if you don’t want to but I’d be super hype to see it and read and scream because the first parts great” - @laneygthememequeen

A/N: I’m back! I’m not dead! And I am definitely going to write an update some time soon to explain everything that’s happened, but for right now I’m just gonna go ahead and say thank you again for all the positive comments and support that the first part received. I wasn’t expecting so many people to enjoy it, so I was over the moon at the response. With that said, I hope you all enjoy this part too ♥♥♥

(PS: This was the imagine that got the most votes, so the final part for my Jason Todd fic will be coming next! And, uh, It’s already turning out like a novel guys, prepare yourselves).

Warning: Swearing. Little bit of angst, but mostly a whole lot of fluff.

*********************************************************************************

You can’t help but feel that something is not quite right today.

Things are quiet.

Too quiet.

There’s no bouncing music or flashing video games, no arguing, no laughing, no daily echoes of training or disastrous calamities unfolding in the kitchen. No doting, friendly teammates to regale you with their presence (as what’s been the norm for the past few weeks while you’ve begrudgingly, slowly, began to heal from your injuries). No, the Tower is practically, for lack of a better or less ironic term, dead. And has been for most of the day—a husk of boredom and loneliness and one too many pieces of cold, leftover pizza.

Not to mention that looming cloud that’s followed over your head, a suspicious kind of quiet that’s been pressing in all around you like a swarm of invisible hands, seeping into the very foundation of the room. It’s been keeping you teetering on the edge of a pinpoint for literal hours—your fight or flight response practically grinding its teeth in preparation for an inevitable...something. And all the while you sink further into the entertainment room’s monstrous, curved couch and try to focus on ‘relaxing’.

Ha.

You’d be more relaxed if you knew where everyone disappeared to.

But alas, you do not—no matter how much the urge to snoop is (and you so want to snoop), because that’s not what friends do. At least, you think it’s not. You have to admit, it’s been a long time since you’ve considered anyone a friend, but you’re trying. Trying to let go of the past. Trying to be vulnerable. To be good. To be open. And you very much find yourself liking all the ensuing, chaotic changes in your life recently. But you’re rusty and unsure, and always, always, waiting for some other shoe to drop.

You don’t want it to.

You really don’t want it to.

But sometimes you wonder if it would give you some sort of relief from all the waiting—if that metaphorical shoe just got it over with already and put its ugly, metaphorical foot down. So you could breathe without all this pinchy, backwards kind of guilt you’ve been storing up inside for years, waiting to finally punch out into the world like a nest of angry wasps. Like you should feel bad for wanting to be a part of something....something more.

You’ve always hated just waiting for something to happen. But here you are now; alone, completely over-thinking the meaning of life, and left to stew in a concoction of sulky feelings that leaves you nauseous in a way you’ve worked so hard to forget.

So.

With your sore legs propped up onto the coffee table for comfort, you just continue to glare at the blank TV screen and watch your faded reflection in the shine of the glass, biting bitterly into the last of the pizza crust from the plate balanced in your lap.

ZuZu (as declared by Star the morning you’d first woken up—words tripping in a rush of excitement and a stream of breathless chatter about some sort of inspiration from an earth movie—while she gently sits the little creature into your lap with a ceremonious flourish of her arms) flops onto their belly to find a more comfortable position beside you.

Their front legs tuck underneath their bulk, long, spiked tail curling around their body in looping circles, before they come to rest their head on your hip, staring intensely at the leftover crust between your fingers.

They’re about the size of a small dog, heavy and wide, with the hybrid body structure of some sort of lizard and a...well, a bear. Their face is coated in silky auburn fur, snout ridged and twitchy, large heavy-lidded, expressive pink eyes set deep in their sockets. The majority of their torso and back legs are scaled and shiny, while three stripes of that autumn colored fur zigzag down their back, their front legs thick and capped with massive fuzzy paws and hooked dark claws. But the most distinctive features are the large, pleated creases of skin which usually lay folded back against their head and neck.

A frill, like you remember seeing once, adorning a lizard from some travelling petting zoo. It’s supported by long spines of cartilage connected to each side of their jaw bone, and when spread to encircle the entirety of their head, is lined in pink and filled with bright orange scales.

Beast Boy called it a ‘deimatic display’ that first day, a behavior or reaction of patterns and colors used like a defensive bluff—akin to beady eyes on the back of a moth’s wings or selective changes in the body pattern of a cuttlefish—manipulated to startle, display a warning, or distract predators. But it seems ZuZu is able to use it a bit differently—a slight alien twist to the reaction, which allows them to communicate solely through a language formed by varying flashes and multitudes of color.

You’ve all been scrambling to figure out the meanings behind each display lately, trading yes or no questions with the creature at any given point throughout the day, before documenting any noticeable details in the Tower’s staggering, inexhaustible database.

Red, you’ve found quickly, suggests that they’re annoyed, or angry, or generally, exceedingly, unhappy about something. Yellow, on the other hand, simply implies content in the most peaceful sense. And pink? That’s become their version of taunting—something smug and annoyingly self-assured, which seems to be their more….colourful version of resting bitch face.

You grunt at the heavy weight of ZuZu’s head as it presses more firmly against bruised muscles and skin, hidden away beneath the cozy, cotton sweatpants you’d wrestled from the bottom of your closet. It doesn’t keep you from slipping deeper though, into the clouded memories shrouding that first dreamlike morning after finally waking.

Robin—grinning, more relaxed then you’d ever seen him, and already lying back in his spot beside you on the bed—had leaned over when Star finally took a moment to find her breath, voice dipping low as he casually filled in the most obvious, glaring blanks in her story. He explained how they’d come upon ZuZu while rushing you back to the tower for medical attention—left behind by their master, defensive and shaking, and hidden away beneath the burning hot rubble from unlucky buildings crushed during the Jump City attack.

You can vaguely recall those creatures and their part in the invasion, as you hold the curious, unwavering stare of your new housemate. You pinpoint a fuzzy recollection of hundreds of similar alien hybrids, large percents of them being used as cannon fodder against the city’s responding defense—some sort of attack dogs or bloodhounds originally breed for what seemed to be an unparalleled sense of incoming danger. And a lethal aptitude for sniffing out and marking targets, even in the most extreme of circumstances. All to make the invading attack’s that much more…. precise.

Equally as shaken and heartbroken, both Starfire and Beast Boy insisted on giving little ZuZu a home, one without the need for cold masters and needless sacrifices.

Robin admitted that it took some convincing to get him to agree, but that he caved to them rather quickly, like the truly soft-hearted dork you know he is on the inside. The one, you’ve been noticing, that is no longer carefully tempered behind masks both metaphorical and literal (like those you’d learned to cultivate for yourself, to ensure your own survival among the flocks of good and evil in this world)—all veils of enigmatic charm and cool leadership, strategy and logic.

(While for just as long, you had mused, you refined your wall of sarcasm and teasing, and strained, plastic smiles. Even as fate saw it fit to laugh and thrust you into the role of cosmic punching bag in both a figurative and literal sense).

Because Robin is never really one to deny a safe haven to someone, especially an orphan, in need.

And it’s not too hard to understand why.

It’s one quality you’ve only caught glimpses of, before the attempted invasion and one too many near-death experiences changed everything.

Your once positive opinion on lizards.

Your practical, humanly limitations regarding the ability to eat your weight in cold, cheese pizza.

Your mostly cynical take on all the possible wonders of this life.

Your team and their conduct—their outreach of friendship, their measure of trust and willing openness towards you.

Your place among them. Your.... the need for the permanence of those masks.

All while you’ve been learning to come to terms with this warm, slowly blossoming….strange feeling of finally belonging.

ZuZu shifts to find a different angle, and then they’re sliding their head further into your lap, situating themselves just underneath your hovering hand. Your sullen gaze darts down to examine them again in the cresting evening sunlight, their lithe body bathed in an orange light that softens the harsh lines and edges of bluish-green scales, until they’re all but glittering like some magnificent, stain-glass fish below rippling water.

Shit, they’re so wonderfully unique, maybe too much so, for a world that tears down all that’s different in the name of fear (and this you know all too well). They’re intelligent and hardheaded, and kind of an absolute dick if you’re being honest. But you can’t help but feel close to the little creature, and hope, however possibly (awfully) misguided, that it’s at least somewhat mutual. After all, for all their rough edges and guarded, worldly acceptance, they were learning to fit in here—just like you.

The flash of a long, forked tongue startles you from your thoughts, and you catch sight of it in your peripheral, snapping out towards the piece of half-eaten crust in your hand before you can even process where it’s suddenly emerged from. You jerk away clumsily on reflex, letting the crust plummet back to the plate in your lap as you lean to the side, trying to avoid the persistent little alien. You hoist the plate up and out of their reach at a safer distance—though not without a twinge of pain that bursts like fireworks in your shoulders.

You glare down at them in admonishment.

Well then.

Earlier sentiment revoked, actually.

ZuZu narrows their intensely bright eyes right back at you, their frill rising from their neck like the hackles of an angry dog. The trim pleats of skin folded there flutter in anticipation before finally sweeping open with the rippling, fluid grace of a hand-held folding fan. The pretty scales lining the exposed frill change colour almost instantly when they hit the open air, flaring a deep red when you stick your tongue out at ZuZu in an act of childish defiance.

Yeah, someone’s no longer a happy camper now, are they? Well, join the club, pal.

You can’t always get what you want. Because no matter what you do, life just likes to screw you in the—

It takes a total of three, distracted seconds.

The offending tongue snaps out at an impossible length to hit the surface of the plate. It’s like some cartoon frog catching a fly that’s far enough out of reach to be considered natural, the appendage wrapping around one end of the half-bitten crust, before proudly reeling it back down into a waiting mouth. Their jaw snaps shut again with an audible click of teeth, and they swallow their prize whole and much too slowly, flashing you a fanged smile that gives you the creeps.

Or you do, you find yourself bitterly amending in the wake of defeat, especially when you’re a terrifying space gremlin with freakish mouth biology. Why are you even awake again today?

You sag into the couch cushions with an unexpected wave of soul-weary tiredness, a full body and mind exhaustion creeping upon the fringes of your being, though you’d been fighting it off rather successfully for most of the month.

You lower the empty plate to sit on the surface of the coffee table—while grumbling under your breath about the reigning injustice of such snack-stealing gremlins in your midst—and lean even more precariously forward. Much farther than you normally would consider doing without others around, but you persist in you reach, getting a good grip on the propped up crutch you’ve left leaning against the table.

You struggle to your feet then, deciding to leave the main living room to find something more productive to do (rather than wallowing and getting your food pilfered from beneath your slowly healing, broken nose). ZuZu watches you silently from their cozy napping spot, gaze tracking you as you begin to hobble around the couch on your way from the room. You toss a half-hearted, parting wave to Starfire’s first adopted friend—a chunky, gooey, mutant moth larvae dubbed little Silkie, snoring away beneath an open side table near the couch.

It’s good going, until something unexpected flutters down from the ceiling with the grace of falling snow—just as you’re about to cross the threshold into the hallway. Your gaze follows the swirling path of the shiny, red and black length of foil as it lands near your feet. A candy wrapper.

Huh.

Strange.

You pause in your journey and peer down at it for a moment, bewildered enough to take a full step back before finally looking up to retrace its fallen path.

And okay, so in hind sight, you kind of wish you hadn’t left the couch.

A single, suspiciously green, bat drops like a stone from the ceiling once it’s seen, swooping down over your head with a panicked flutter of leathery wings. You shout and unashamedly curse like a drunken sailor, ducking in surprise to further avoid the little needle talons that brush across the top of your head. Beast Boy turns human once he clears your form and hits the floor, once again completely, frustratingly, naked when he hops up to his feet.

He tries to quickly console you, only to jump back in order to dodge the fear-driven swing of your crutch.

“Hey! It’s just me!!” He exclaims, hands held out towards you. You sling your cast over your eyes and wonder just how bad it would be if you bleached them clean of the searing, full-frontal image that lingers just behind them.

“WEAR PANTS.” You demand in alarm.

“They’re not comfortable!” He complains. Eyes still tightly shut, you shake your head and gesture wildly at him, throwing out your plaster covered arm to wave it around in loose, frantic circles. “PANTS!” You insist in a higher voice. “Fine!”

He mutters something else, low and displeased under his breath, and then goes to dig out a familiar non-descript bag you’re used to finding at random—usually full of extra clothes and stashed around the tower, or other frequent hangout places around the city—hidden away within the grassy, potted plant next to you both. You choose to ignore the obvious sass he’s exuding in protest, cracking open an eye just a bit to make sure he’s following through.

He smoothly tugs his purple and black uniform free from the depths of the shiny leaves, wrangling on the bottom half with a pout as quickly as he can, and before you know it, he’s already shrugging the fabric up over his narrow shoulders.

(Though to your satisfaction he’s careful of the stitches still lining his spine). You sigh in relief, “Just—oh my god, what were even you doing up there in the first place?!”

Beast Boy works his mouth in silence as though he can’t find the right words to explain at the moment, bottom canines glinting as he squints up through the fluorescent lights and tosses the empty bag to rest beside the plant. He seems to be thinking hard about his answer (you hope), his gaze dropping to you after a few seconds of awkward, disbelieving silence. He shrugs, apparently deciding it’s appropriate to simply respond with a pair of finger-guns and a strained grin. “....hanging around?”

…..

You think you’re starting to miss those dragon-tailed, sumo alien’s from space-hell.

Your shoulders slump as the pent up energy from your frustration and sudden scare seeps from your body all at once. You groan, lifting your crutch up to point at him, the tip barely brushing against his chest. “You’re dead to me.” You proclaim lightly. Beast Boy rolls his eyes, and after securing the clasp on the back of his suit with a small chuckle, reaches out to gently lower the makeshift weapon. “Oh, come on—”

You don’t wait for him to finish, moving to hobble around him and retreat to your room. You shouldn’t have gotten up today. Nope. Call it a bad feeling. Something is going on around here and you are getting the hell out while you can. He slides into your path immediately, cutting of your escape with a smooth glide across the hardwood flooring. You narrow your eyes, shuffling to move around him again. He meets you like before, lunging closer still with each attempt to counteract your movements. You huff and stare him down, feeling like a Spanish bull in the ring, ready to charge the moment you see an opening. “BB, move.” You warn lowly.

He throws out his arms to either side of him, blocking your way when you take a threatening step forward. “Can’t do that.” He chirps, puffing out his chest to seem more confident in his current position, while beginning to look as though he’s starting to regret his life’s choices, what with the way you’re gaze is cutting into his very soul. (Positively icy. You’d practiced that, rest in peace).

But he doesn’t move.

You frown and glare at him suspiciously, forcing your heavy limbs to cooperate with you for a moment. You take a step to the right, and as expected Beast Boy mirrors your movement, but your body isn’t as fast as you remember it. And he knows it. You careen to the left to try and complete your fake-out, but Beast Boy anticipates the slow sway of your body, following the uneven momentum like a puppet on strings to block your way yet again.

He reaches out to steady you when you wobble, legs shaking with the sudden quick strain on your knees, and you wince at the flair of pain. Crappy broken body. You shake him off angrily, more upset at yourself then at him, and strike your crutch against the floor with a wave of strength (propelled simply by the heated frustration you feel festering in your chest like icky, wriggling worms). “Beast Bo—Gar, I’m serious.” You hiss in annoyance, ignoring the ricocheting twinge of pain that shoots up into your shoulder at the action.

“Believe it or not, so am I!” He defends, hands flying to his hips.

“Debatable.” You snap back.

“Rude.”

“Twenty bucks on (Y/N).” A new, deeper voice declares with obvious amusement. You spin to face the living room again, Beast Boy peeking around you to get a better view. Cyborg and Starfire are standing before you, having appeared out of thin air and quiet as can be, the latter of the duo looking as though she could just burst with excitement. More than usual. Cyborg’s gaze cuts to you when he notices the way you’re staring at her in confusion, putting a hand on her shoulder and squeezing gently to sooth the absurd tremble of her body.

Okay. Double suspicious.

They’re dressed in casual clothes; Starfire in high-waisted, purple shorts and a stylish pink sweater that hangs off her shoulders, her wild red hair tied back into a ponytail and her feet bare, smile wide. Cyborg is donned in sweatpants and an old blue and yellow football jersey you think might have seen better days once, newly buffered limbs gleaming under the lights. Beast Boy pursues his lips and squints up at his friend when he catches sight of the teasing smirk Cyborg trains on him.

“Thanks, dude.” He responds as sarcastically as he can. Starfire spins to face Cyborg with glee, hands clasped in front of her.

“Friend Victor, I too wish to attribute money to the outcome of this argument.” She reveals enthusiastically, leaving you to trade an exhausted look with Beast Boy at the spiraling situation. Cyborg’s grin grows larger, and he winks at you both before giving Starfire his undivided attention.

“Okay.” He relents, staring down at her curiously. “Bettin’ on (Y/N) then?”

Starfire pauses, nose crinkling as she considers the question. “Can I not take part of the betting for both?”

“No, Star, it doesn’t really—” Cyborg begins, sighing with reluctance when she only continues to look up at him expectantly. “You know what? Sure.” He amends with a shrug, rubbing at the back of his head. Starfire claps her hands excitedly and laughs, her feet lifting from the floor in her in a rush of elation.

“Glorious!” She exclaims. You almost miss it when Cyborg turns away from her, but you’re able to barely catch the sly way she throws a wink at you too, the quick gesture leaving you reeling in amusement.

Oh shit, what a hero.

You can definitely appreciate a good swindle win you see one. And that was great.

You slump against your crutch and chuckle tiredly, massaging your forehead with the tips of the fingers peeking stiffly from your cast, before raising your arm up to draw their attention.

“Alright, seriously, what’s going on with you guys today? Where’ve you all been? Some secret club within our secret club?” You question fervently, on a new mission as you hobble closer towards them. “I have to admit, I’m kind of offended if that’s the case.”

“Oh, you know, out.” Cyborg says much too casually and unhelpfully for your liking, shoving his hands into the pockets of his sweats. Simultaneously, Starfire responds much too quickly.

“In my room!” She declares loudly, unable to stop herself from flinching at the sharp, wide-eyed look Cyborg cuts her. She mouths an apology at him and flashes you a sheepish smile, tapping the tips of her index fingers together.

Oh, something is definitely going on. Not on my watch, secret keepers of the crypt.

You squint at them, “Sure. I’ll believe that. But why do I suddenly have a five-foot-furry shadow? One who doesn’t seem to know the concept of the word shame?”

Beast Boy gasps as though he’s never been so insulted in his young life (okay, so you may have possibly taken it a little too far that time. But in your defense, there’s a lot of stressful things going on right now, and the bat thing may have thrown you a little too far over the edge), scurrying around you to passionately wave a random, uh, peace sign in front of your face.

Wait, what?

“Five-foot-two.” He stresses firmly, wiggling both fingers for emphasis. You lean your weight on the single crutch keeping you gloriously upright, reaching out to tug his hand down with a groan.

“So not the point, batboy.”

“Hey! Bats are cool!”

“Ha! You know what else is cool?” You question sarcastically, nestling your casted arm against your chest as you lean forward to regard him with an arched eyebrow. “Not scaring the living shit of a person who’s already legally died twice from heart failure.”

Beast Boy concedes to your logic with a grimace, no doubt fighting off a burst of vivid memory on the subject.

“Point taken.” He agrees.

Cyborg pads over to you with a muffled laugh, giving your upper back a hearty, friendly slap that propels you forward a few steps. “Aw, B.B.’s just doing his job. Lighten up, (Y/N/N).”

You stumble with a strangled sound and work to regain your balance yourself through burning muscles, gripping the handle and uprights of the crutch as tightly as you can. You always forget how strong he is. And sometimes, though not often, so does he. Cyborg winces, flexing his fingers while he graces you with an apologetic smile. You raise an eyebrow at him; eyes locked intently on his face, as though you could simply reach into his mind and know all with a simple blink, and subtly tilt your head towards Beast Boy.

"And that means I can't leave one single room?"

"It was more to keep you busy." Cyborg admits with a grin that makes you all too nervous.

Okay, red flag. Were you sweating? You might be sweating. They weren’t the…vengeful type, right? It’s not really your fault you tend to stress eat. Though….

"What are you all planning?" You ask again, unconsciously scanning the corners of room behind them for your two missing team members. Why do you feel like you’re about to be ambushed? Starfire hops forward like she’s stepping on air, looping her arm through yours and shaking it gently as she leans into you. Then she begins to drag you forward the smallest bit.

"Something wonderful!” She responds in that giddy way of hers, green eyes simmering with something impassioned and restless when they focus on your dumbfounded expression—fire brimming from her touch and her very being. She leans in closer and continues in a secretive whisper, which you think was meant to be soothing at some point between her thought process and strange execution. “But you must come to the roof to see it, my friend."

The….roof?

What’s so special about the fucking—

Oh.

….

Sonuvabitch.

To be completely honest, you knew it would somehow end like this. Betrayed by a moment of weakness and reduced to seething shame and broken trust, only to be real-life ghosted and then unceremoniously Mufasa-ed by your own team. A dramatic, imminent doom of Disney proportions. Ugh, what an embarrassing way to go. You really shouldn’t have gotten out of bed this morning like some normal, model citizen with an inane urge to contribute to society. What an idiot.

Still….maybe you’re just being a little over-dramatic here. Heroes usually have non-murdery morals, don’t they? Which is a big step up from your last group of…yeah….they weren’t even close to friends. Still, you can never be too careful these days. Right? Right.

You pull back from Starfire, trying to sound teasing as you respond, while barreling through your baseless internal panic and sprinkle of sugar-riddled guilt. How do you always get yourself into these messes?

"Is this the part where you throw me from the top? For finishing off the leftover cake without telling anyone?"

Beast Boy’s jaw drops.

"That was you?!"

Of course it was.

You laugh nervously and much too awkwardly to be convincing while you scramble to backtrack, "What?! Of course not!"

It was so good.

Starfire looks kind of horrified at your earlier insinuation about the roof, and she pulls away from you completely, eyes wide and unbelieving. She gasps, "We would never!"

Cyborg’s eyebrow shoots up as he studies your reaction. He frowns, lifting a hand to rub at his chin with an exaggerated sweep of his arm—as though he’s taking a moment to think more deeply about the matter—his metal fingers clunk-ing in the blanketing silence when they meet the thick, metal plate covering it. He sounds playful when he speaks up, and you know he’s not taking the news as hard as Gar currently is.

"Well, now you've given me a lot to think about." He says slowly, amusement thick in his voice and vibrantly pulsing beneath his already crumbling, disappointed façade.

You wonder when it was exactly—when you’d unconsciously began to find his eagerly outspoken and protective spirit, his overly intense and personal pride (in all manners of technological tinkering and projects), and awful, awful acting, somewhat endearing. Maybe it was around the same time you’d grown rather fond of Beast Boy’s organic simplicity with life or perfectly-timed wit, his endearing, steadfast spirit and dorky, down-to-earth charm (though you would deny any accusation that says otherwise, pretending to find his endless stream of puns nothing but annoying).

Or Starfire’s unfathomable warmth and, mostly smothering, overzealous passion in all things, no matter how small—a burning, extraterrestrial sun with a warrior’s soul and an open heart. Or Raven’s sarcastic calm and quiet disposition, a hopeful kind of darkness—as encompassing as it mystifying—which brings peace in ways one wouldn’t expect or think they needed.

Or Robin. Noble and kind, brooding, insufferably stubborn, Robin—with an annoying competitive streak that rivals even you. Your outwardly, fearless friend and leader, a little birdie who keeps you from slipping back into your cold, old ways while still wanting to be a part of something better. To be a Titan. Time and time again. And—

Ah, fuck. You’ve gotten so sappy lately.

Near death experiences are the worst.

You roll your eyes at Cyborg, regardless of that grating, growing itch of sentimentality crawling up from your chest and into your throat like a rock, all the while fighting down the upwards twitch your lips.

"Oh, shut up.” You mutter, ducking your head so he won’t see as you move to hobble past the group back into the centre of the living room. “Even though I'm at my weakest right now, it doesn't mean I won't fight you."

Cyborg drops his arm and laughs, "I don't doubt it."

Beast Boy ducks around him; sparing no time as he shrinks down to the form of a chattering, green squirrel. Without breaking stride, he dashes towards your slowing figure, leaping forward to scale the rungs of your crutch.

You jump at the sudden weight and list sideways, the vibration of his hurried ascent and the clattering of his nails against metal throwing you out of your concentrated state. You lean back too fast in surprise, catching the back of the couch with the underside of your cast to keep yourself somewhat upright, and wait with a raised brow as he moves to pull himself up onto the crutch pad at the top.

"Besides, you proved you’re anything but weak when you kicked Death’s ass! Multiple times.” He chirps proudly, settling back onto his little hind legs to stare up at you, bushy tail twitching and dark eyes round and glinting when they catch the light. “You're a survivor. Always have been.”

You grin, feeling satisfied that he finally seems to be more…relaxed about your injuries now (as opposed to the annoying, but much appreciated, panicked mother-henning you’d experienced throughout the first few weeks back on your feet). You have a sneaking suspicion Cyborg had a hand in this recent development—bless his beautiful, understanding soul—and you make a mental note to treat him to a pizza night soon. Or just hug him really, really tight in relief.

You heft your cast from the couch to hold out two fingers towards Beast Boy.

"And always will be." You agree. He reaches out with a shrill, happy squeak, tapping a front paw against them in a painfully adorable semblance of a high-five. Starfire joins you by the couch and lays her hand against your upper back, right between your shoulder blades, the swelling heat of it soothing the ache and strain of your poor muscles. Her gentle touch slides up, mindful of the bruises still splattered like patchwork across your skin, until you feel her lightly squeeze your shoulder.

"Very much like the warriors of old from my planet." She tells you softly, a smile pulling at her lips when your eyes dart up to look at her. It’s then you realize that all three of them are now looking at you rather expectantly, attention solely trained on your face as the room falls into an eager kind of silence. One that is quick to twist your abdomen into fluttering, nervous knots.

Right, you think with a start, there was something about the roof—something they wanted me to see. You hesitate (is it getting hot in here, or is that just you self-combusting?), gaze jumping to each of your friends in turn. They continue to stare you down with purpose, waiting for your consent to be dazzled and thoroughly surprised, before you catch the barest hint of movement in your peripheral vision. You glance down at the back of the couch, wanting to scream your frustration to the sky, when you take in the wide, furry face peering back up at you.

Oh, not you too, ZuZu. You traitor.

She locks those intelligent eyes on you. He glowing pink gaze is intent and reprimanding, and god, you’re actually—silently, awkwardly—getting told off by an adorable lizard-themed care bear, who hails from the far reaches of infinity and beyond the known galaxy. What has your life come too? And the worst part is you don’t think you’re strong enough to—oh, goddamit. Peer pressure is a bitch.

"Alright.” You relent with a groan, throwing ZuZu a pointed, disgruntled look (which she simply counters with a glowing pink frill and mischievous wink, a move that has you breathing deeply to avoid just chucking your crutch across the room in defiance of it all). You turn to gesture at the others, “Fine. Let's get this show on the road then."

Beast Boy leaps down from the top of the crutch before you’ve even finished talking, his tiny shape shifting into the much larger form of a tiger once he touches down (more gracefully than you’d expected him to). He gives a little throaty growl in excitement, circling in place to get his bearings. And then with a sudden focus that makes you laugh, he’s bounding in a rush to slink between Cyborg and Starfire—his gaze already intensely trained down the hallway that leads towards the elevator.

"Sweet! Now you’re talking!" He exclaims with a swish of his tail, pausing only for a moment to throw a look back at Cyborg, the familiar imitation of a fanged grin even more terrifying with larger, sharper teeth on display. "Dibs on the donuts!"

Uh, donuts??

Cyborg groans and scrubs a hand over his face, stepping forward with his other hand outstretched, as if he could keep his excited friend from moving with just sheer force of will. "No! You don't get to just—Gar!"

Starfire tilts her head and watches until Beast Boy disappears around the curve of the hallway, "You have to admire his will power up until this moment." She points out, reaching out to brush a soothing touch to Cyborg’s shoulder.

He gives her a solemn nod in agreement. "...true." "Hi, yeah, still confused." You slowly iterate, when it’s clear they’re going to say nothing more on the manner, and looking hilariously haunted, just stare out into the middle distance like some kind of dramatic dork-asses. You can’t help it though—you want answers. You’ve been officially intrigued (donuts are always a good sign and nothing will convince you otherwise) and that cat-damning curiosity in you can never be quieted for long, so help you.

“Are we still going to the roof?”

Cyborg is the first to shake himself to attention, and he swings around to look at you with a knowing grin that tells you’re probably about to regret opening your mouth again. Probably. You guess?

…..

Okay, so you might be already exhausted enough now, with all this moving about and floundering, moral turmoil, to deal with any mysterious roof meetings and their possible consequences—and there’s no truly hiding it, or just burying it away for future you to worry about come morning (damn, why is past you always such a dick?).

Which leaves you decidedly awash in a ‘My mind is an emotional dumpster fire and all I want is to hibernate for forty years’ kind of way, unable to completely distinguish the nuances of your feelings on anything happening within a 10 foot radius.

Especially since you’d….broken that quiet morning after the attack, finally reconciling with a screeching realization you’d been pushing back for years—even with all that damaged purpose, all that strength and determination and precious time you’d flooded into looking after yourself and only you, instead of worrying about others and how they might screw with you this time, you’d left yourself open anyway. Unwillingly, accidently, raw—like an exposed nerve adrift in the cosmos and crying out for relief.

Someone in power must have had mercy on you at last though, because you have friends. Good friends who are good people. And you love them in your own rough-around-the-edges way (is that the right word here? Love? You hope that’s the right word—it feels like the right word); but there’s no chance you’re ever going to tell any of them that. It’s become too embarrassing to even think about in your own mind, let alone out loud where they could actually...hear you.

But you’re not going to let all your personal baggage stop you now. Not while there’s the promise of donuts anyway.

Yeah, your priorities might need a little sorting out.

"Come on." Cyborg says, already treading backwards in the direction Beast Boy had gone. Starfire zips past you with ease, cutting around the corner like a fish would dart through deep water.

Her laugh echoes through the hall as she vanishes from sight, "Oh, this is going to be such a joyous occasion!"

Cyborg takes his time to snicker at the nervous grimace on your face. But you valiantly choose to be the bigger person here (no matter how much you want to knock your head against the nearest wall and see if your middle finger still works within the stiffness of a cast), simply rolling your eyes as you hobble to catch up to him around the bend in the hallway. He slows his pace without a word until you’re following closely at his side.

“So why aren’t we taking the elevator?” You inquire, watching as the thick metal doors slide past in your peripheral. It’s then you spot the other two loitering around by the door to the stairs.

The plot thickens.

Cyborg struggles to squash his playful grin, “Occupied.”

“By...”

“A second surprise. Now come on.” He diverts smoothly, waving his hand over the sensor for the door once Beast Boy and Starfire step away to make room for you both. It slides open from left to right with a mechanical hiss, and you peer in to the brightly lit stairwell with a raised brow. The glaring, white fluorescent lights are already giving you a headache.

“How do you expect me to get up the stairs?”

“Easy.”

“Oh, really? Easy? What are you even—”

The world shifts like a seesaw in your vision and you can barely comprehend the next few seconds: the way Cyborg stoops low enough to knock out the backs of your knees, the simultaneous rush of weightlessness—a fluttering, dizzying drop in your stomach that stalls the very breath in your chest—or even the jumbled burst of restrained laughter and disapproving click of a tongue which dissipates almost as soon as it starts.

And you tip backwards into his arms with flailing limbs and a startled yelp as you’re gently scooped up, hanging shocked and boneless until he swings you up to cling onto his back like some sort of panicked koala. Cyborg laughs more boisterously as you lose your crutch in the commotion, grip loosening in your surprise until it slips entirely from your hold and vanishes from reach, the telltale clattering of metal against ground echoing from somewhere off to the side.

“—goddammit, Vic!” You gasp when the world stands still again, sucking in air for your breathless lungs. “A little warning!”

He simply cups the back of your knees and holds your legs tightly over the ridged, triangular slab of metal casing his hips, slowly straightening to his full, giant height again. It gives you a moment to throw your arms around his neck for safety and squeeze with all your reprimanding might. Cyborg turns to look at you with a teasing smirk you’re all too familiar with, before stepping further into the doorway.

“Comfortable there, Grumpy?”

“You’re the worst.” You announce without any real bite, leaning back to scan the floor for your missing crutch. It doesn’t take you long to realize that Starfire has already rescued it, hugging the dented metal pole to her chest with a look of determination. She catches your relieved gaze over Cyborg’s shoulder and nods as if reassuring you that she’s got everything handled now, gently patting the cushioned padding at the top of the crutch.

And then her eyes eagerly snap to Cyborg.

You can’t see his face from your vantage point, but you think he’s relaying permission with the way he tilts his head towards the stairs. Both Starfire and Beast Boy rocket forward in any case, barely sidestepping around you in their race up the first flight of stairs. Cyborg follows them without hesitation, and you can hardly wait another moment once your little group hurriedly passes the third floor, before the mystery of the roof becomes too intriguing to avoid any longer.

“So...are Rob and Raven in on this too?” You carefully begin, speaking to no one in particular but hoping someone might answer you anyway. “Cause they've been more mysterious than usual.”

"Grumpy and observant. You know…you'd make a pretty awesome detective too—give Dick some healthy competition around here." Cyborg returns in an innocent manner, which you know for a fact is bullshit. So you lamely thump a fist against the point between the heavy, metal plating circling his neck before it tapers down into his chest, and grumble your displeasure.

"Annnd you're dodging my questions, big guy. Again."

Cyborg says nothing this time and simply uses the firm hold he has under your knees to toss you up a few inches, jostling you free from your comfortable koala cling as though he`s trying to readjust your position. Only you know that’s not what he intended at all—evidenced by the irritating way he starts to laugh while you groan at him and shimmy urgently at his back, trying to right yourself from the haphazard tilt you’d landed in.

"Ugh! I miss being able to walk up a flight of stairs like a normal person!" You whine, bonking your forehead against the smooth, climate-controlled casing covering the back of his head, the vibrations of his full-body laughter rattling straight through you.

Beast Boy goes still ahead of the group, front paw hovering above the next step up. That unsettling tiger grin as he turns to regard you is the only warning you get before the inevitable.

"Eh, I wouldn’t trust these stairs though,” Beast Boy drawls with terrifying purpose, “They always seem like they're…up to something."

Starfire pipes up from her place hovering beside you and Cyborg in perfect comedic timing, her eyes narrowed in contemplation.

"Well yes, up to the roof—oh...that was..."

Yeah, Kori. Damn.

He waits in the ensuing, hollow silence of the stairwell for a reaction, gaze expectantly darting from person to person until you don’t know whether to laugh or just get mad.

....both?

Alright, okay, here’s the thing.

Though you may have...secretly....begun to appreciate Garfield’s endless arsenal of jokes and puns as much as that next person (you’ve got a reputation to uphold after all), that....was not so good.

You’d face palm if you had complete confidence in your upper body strength as of late, but you definitely do not—especially after that embarrassingly sad attempt to escape to your room earlier (feat. the interference of your awkwardly unexpected, five foot-two bodyguard). And you’d very much like to keep securely clinging for your life atop mount ‘Victory’ Stone instead, rather than somehow (ridiculously) finding some way to slip from his back and fall to a more permanent death down the tower’s two-hundred stairway to hell.

So, you’ll just lock away this existential breakdown for another day and move on. Be the bigger person here, again.

....

Or.

"I think I'm starting to miss the coma." You deadpan with unabashed pettiness (because you’d actually had to listen to that with your own two ears), refusing to give him even the slightest satisfaction of a job well done.

Step up your game, Gar.

You can pinpoint the exact moment Cyborg winces with regret for his friend—his chin dipping down, the glowing blue machinery encasing half his skull whirring with a soft, discomforting humming like he’s finally reduced to just screaming on the inside.

"Oof,” He eventually adds through a long exhale. “I've heard better stuff from you, man."

Beast Boy sniffs in displeasure at your less than positive reactions, "Yo, give me a break; I'm still getting over the pizza thing."

You heft your body up straight to stare him dead in the eyes and lift your unbroken arm, wiggling your fingers over Cyborg’s head in a teasing way. "Let it haunt you for the rest of your daaaays~"

You don’t think you’ve ever had the pleasure of seeing a hulking, green, murder cat roll its eyes so hard before. But there it is—in all its uncanny, cartoon-like glory. Beast Boy shakes his heavy head and resumes slinking up the stairs, leaving the rest of you to catch up while he throws another line over his shoulder, in a way you know is meant to be a playful declaration of war.

"Which reminds me...” He purrs slyly, “….what did the ghost say when it arrived at the party?"

Starfire taps at her chin in thought, "Ummm hello?”

Beast Boy’s enthusiasm swells with her genuine attempt, and he turns to coax his best friend into answering as well.

"Not quite. Come on, Cy, this is all you dude."

"Can I get a—"

"Victor don't you dare!"

Cyborg merely hums at your desperate interjection, "Uh-oh full name. That's never a good sign."

"Oh!” Starfire’s expression lights up in a way you’re entirely used to by now, and she leaves your side on the flutter of a giddy laugh, hovering quick up the next few steps. She smiles down at Beast Boy once she reaches him, titling her head as he looks up at her with an animated flick of his tail.

“I believe I know this one. May I?" She quietly gushes, twirling to lounge back gracefully in the air beside him. His head bobs once, long and slow, still flashing that sharp grin.

"Dazzle me, Star."

"Can I get the Boo-ya!!?"

"HA! Yeah, that’s wassup!"

You thunk your head against Cyborg’s shoulder this time, wincing at the brief pulse of pain from pounding metal against skull. "Oh my god, are we there yet?"

"As a matter of fact..." Cyborg mysteriously trails off, hopping up the last step to the top landing of the stairway. You peek up in interest and immediately want a better look when you see that the access to the roof is propped open the slightest bit, squishing your cheek against Cyborg’s as you lean forwards with the anticipation of it all. It’s easy to spot the flickering movement from just beyond the door—shadows moving fast from one end to the other. Is someone already there?

You suck in an anxious breath when Cyborg lowers himself to one knee and releases his hold on you, carefully helping you dismount from your cling, and Starfire is all too eager to return your crutch, pushing it into your arms and waving you forwards. Your friends let you nudge open the door then without another word, following you out as you bravely take your first few steps and—

…..

You think you might’ve blacked out for a moment in shock.

Beast Boy circles your legs as you silently take in the state of the roof, rubbing against them with a gentle brush of his body before he exclaims, "Surprise! Did we getcha??"

You blink a few times to get your bewildered mind working again. Because out of any possible scenario you could have—and did—invent within your imagination….it was nothing like…well, this.

The smell of hot food wafting through the summer-like air reaches you first, and you’re drawn to admire what is definitely Starfire's touch in your unexpected surprise.

There are two tables set up across the roof directly ahead, side by side and pushed flush against the lip of rectangular ledge boxing in the space. Each wooden surface is filled with cutlery, food and drinks in jade colored bowls and glasses, and adorned with fun, rainbow coloured table cloths—the cheap, plastic kind you’d find from a dollar store—and regal centre pieces among the clutter. These consist of wreaths with beaded jewel strings and alien metal shapes, forms that remind you of branded symbols you’d once glimpsed from the hilts of her homeworld weapons.

There’s a fancy new boom box sitting on the ledge, just to the left of the food tables. It’s silvery and shiny in the late evening light, akin to the small heap of patterned presents sitting below it, or the bouquets of metallic balloons weighed down by sandbags in each corner of the roof.

Cyborg’s own creative touch is more quiet, but still obvious in your racing mind, reflected in the large blue and white fairy lights the size of your fist, strings of them hooked beneath the ledge and spaced along the entire perimeter of the roof. They remind you of mini lava lamps—slowly swinging, each casing filled with swirling, pulsing energy, casting loops of light and shadow which dance across the sleek stone of the rooftop ground.

Your gaze finds four, dark green bean bag chairs next, moved from the game room to sit in a circle further down the left side of the roof. A neat, tent-like canopy, reminiscent of Raven’s more gothic looking style, is set up over them and affixed with steel piping, made of sheer dark sheets in purple, blue, and black—a cozy, magical lounging spot that makes you long for the calmness and dark that only sleep can bring.

You slowly turn to your right, noting that access to the elevator on the other side of the roof is surprisingly clear for once, the usual pile of rickety telescope gear stored away to make room for dancing. And through an odd urge to cast a look behind you, you easily catch sight of the cute, homemade banner dangling above the door you’ve just stepped through, green and bubblegum pink letters scrawled across a white strip of poster board: Party Like It’s Your Birthday!!

You recognize Beast Boy’s handwriting the moment your eyes trace the first few letters.

It takes you a moment, still staring out at the culmination of your surprise, to realize that it all clashes terribly, although you don't find yourself caring in the slightest. It’s beautiful and endearing and makes sense to you in every way that matters—and you wouldn't have it look any other way.

Huh…look at that.

You're actually getting a hang of this sappy feelings thing. "Uh, wh—I…what's all this for?" You finally manage to sputter out, once your friends go back to watching you with those barely contained grins and expectant gazes. Even Raven, already in the midst of final preparations, standing by that glorious canopy as she methodically smoothes out wrinkles in the overlapping fabric—both manually and magically—is smiling shyly at you over her shoulder. Her dark, purple-colored eyes are carefully mapping out every hitch in your expression.

Like the others, she’s dressed more casually than you’re used to seeing around the tower; ripped dark-washed skinny jeans with a cropped tee to match and clunky, black combat boots, a leather choker that looks uncomfortably tight around her neck. But the most unexpected difference has to be when you realize what she’s missing. Her signature, purple-blue cloak has been swapped for a hooded, bomber jacket—black with gold zippers and detailing, and one size too big. It’s so strange a sight that it’s actually….kind of weirding you out a little.

Starfire grasps the wrist of your cast and gently tugs you forward, guiding you further into the organized mayhem that was once the tower’s roof. "The happiest day of birth to you my friend!"

Oh. Oh.

Now this is awkward.

"It's my…birthday?" You ask dumbly. Beast boy’s tiny head, that of an adorably, fluffed up squirrel monkey this time, pops up from the depths of a bowl sitting on the first food table—like some knock-off whack-o-mole game (and wait a goddamn minute, when the hell did he even get there?). His little hands grip the lip of the bowl as he chatters through crunching pretzels.

"Duh! At least yeah, I think so…uh, right?"

You clasp a hand to your forehead when you remember the date and groan, "No, no, you’re right, I think it is. Crap, I feel like I lost an entire year."

Starfire’s whole body slumps at your reaction, floating down until her feet touch ground.

"You are unhappy." She concludes sadly.

Aw, cripes, why are you like this?

"NO! No, Kori, I'm happy!” You hurriedly reassure her, “I just....I haven't really celebrated it in a long time. I never had anyone to..."

They hear your unspoken implication clear enough and offer you sad, little smiles—varying degrees of empathy seeping through into their expressions. Empathy. And not pity. Not judgment. Just compassion from people who understand it all.

An alien princess far from home who embraces difference and is learning to choose a life for herself, a half-cybernetic football star who had to learn when to let go and walk a new path in life, a troubled half-demon not wanting to be defined by the past or her heritage, a metahuman menagerie of animals fighting the pull of loneliness while still finding strength in his friends, and an orphan circus boy turned vigilante—given not only a second chance to make a difference for others, but unwavering hope as well.

Your own Breakfast Club of heroes.

"Well now ‘ya have us." Beast Boy says with serious resolve you haven’t often seen when it comes to your loyal jokester, the others agreeing simultaneously as he bounds closer in small leaps from across the table. There’s a painful clenching in your chest at their sentiments, and although it feels like you’re on the verge of a heart attack, it’s a good kind of hurt that brings relief to your entire being.

Because thinking it is one thing, but hearing it out loud dregs more emotion to the surface than you ever thought you had—makes it all the more real. You swallow thickly and try to keep composed through another monumental shift in your perceptions.

"I know." You return softly. Starfire takes your hand and holds it firmly in hers, mindful of the strength in her grip.

"And you are indeed truly....happy?"

Well, that’s a heavy question.

You never truly belonged anywhere, in the past. Too unnatural for everyday civilians, too angry for heroes, too kind for villains. You never understood why no one could just let you be....something in the middle.

But now, you think you’re finally learning that happy is something you can be, even while half-existing in that kind of grey area. So you squeeze her hand in reassurance and take a page from Beast Boy’s book—you attempt to lighten the mood.

"I will be once we get this party started." You tease, pulling away to turn on the boom box and click through stations in search of something party worthy. With that, the others move to disperse; Starfire and the boys already picking through the food tables with interest, while Raven briefly ducks beneath one to retrieve an opaque, plastic storage tote.

It’s blue and more than decently sized in her arms, but she carries it easily and without a word to the bean bag canopy, sitting (legs crossed and back perfectly straight) to methodically sift through its contents.

Starfire waves you towards the food tables once you settle on a popular radio station known for their mix of genres and artists—a little something for everyone hopefully.

"Come then, you must partake in some of this delicious food. I tried earth recipes." She proudly tells you, scooping up some sort of rice dish to wave under your nose as though hoping to entice you further. It smells pleasant, of grilled vegetables and egg, but all your attention has latched onto a single word that equally intrigues as it concerns you.

“Tried.” You echo, leaning to balance on your crutch and free up your unbroken arm. You press a single finger against the rim of the dish in her hands, lowering it down and away from your face. Starfire looks a little sheepish as she curls an arm around the ceramic, rounded dish and fits it into the crook of her elbow to rest, lifting her own newly freed arm to sweep a lock of hair behind her ear. A nervous tick.

She hugs the dish even closer, “There were…the incidents.”

“Nothing you couldn’t handle.” Raven adds from afar. Starfire leans around you to beam at her welcome encouragement; seeming as though she’s already seconds away from just fly-tackling her into a vice-like hug—a very Starfire act of affection.

Which you should probably redirect now, if you want to keep that beautiful canopy standing.

"Everything smells great, Star. Thank you. In fact..." You select a spoon from the first table and a tiny serving plate, before gesturing in silent question to the dish still in her arms. She’s ecstatic at your offer, extending it to you at once with bright, shining eyes. You carefully ladle out a few spoonfuls of the rice mixture, and with a playful cheers and raise of your spoon, you taste your first dish of the evening.

"Oh shit, that's good." You groan in surprise.

"Oh wonderful, I knew you would enjoy it!"

Beast Boy whoops eagerly from the centre of the second table, crouching among a spread of simple desserts. "Wicked! I call the donuts next!"

Cyborg anticipates his movement before you can, firmly squashing a hand against Beast Boy’s monkey head to keep him from leaping towards an open tray. Beast Boy whines openly at the injustice.

"Dude, come on, be cool!"

Ah, now that makes sense.

Starfire sighs and returns the tasty rice dish to its rightful place, hesitating only to shoot you an apologetic look as she steps towards the commotion. But you just smile in understanding, gesturing for her to go on and deal with the boys before they decimate all of her hard work.

And now it’s probably a good idea to clear the blast zone.

You make a rather slow beeline for the front entrance of the canopy, lowering your body down to sit in the place Raven silently offers you by shifting pointedly to the side—content to be off your feet for a moment. Raven picks up on your underlying curiosity though, the second you glance at the box still under her scrutiny, her gaze cutting up to regard you with the slightest touch of amusement.

You observe the way she tips her head, a pulse of darkened magic lighting up around the mysterious container, and it slides in a short burst to rest in front of you.

Well, well, what do we have here?

You peer down into the depths and react too late to stifle your gasp.

It’s filled with boxes of classic party games and entertainment, stacked upon each other in neat little towers along the inside: video game cartridges and two portable games devices, a deck of cards, Connect Four, Cluedo, and yep….that's definitely Twister, oh my fuck (you may be a little over excited for this. Which is strange for you...considering you can't even remember the last time you've ever so passionately, deeply, viscerally, wanted to roll out a stupid, colorful tarp and contort your body into unhealthy positions), a wooden board and an accompanying game-piece tin for Checkers, Pictionary, Monopoly, Jenga, Uno, the Game of Life (aaaannd too real with this one actually, might be avoiding that), Guess Who?, Snakes and Ladders, as well as games you hadn't seen since your earlier days of childhood—Rock 'em Sock 'em Robots and Hungry Hungry Hippos (meaning your small child self is living right now).

Only one person knew about this, knew about your stupid birthday-candle wishes from the short, hopeful part of your childhood that's since been eradicated by harsh realities; the longing desperation to make any kind of worthwhile connection, to know love or be wanted outside of a means to a quick pay-day.

To swing with others at a crowded park, to play games and join clubs, or have a sleepover with greasy food and late night truths—to be free (and you blame this emotional vomit entirely on exhausted, blabbermouth you, spilling your guts in a tired stupor while sharing stove-top hot chocolate in the kitchen at 3 a.m. Feeling vulnerable when he'd quietly shared his own frustrations with the role of leader and recent disconnect with his father, letting you lament in return about never getting the chance to just…be a normal kid. Something he understood. Something he remembered).

Oh, Dick Grayson.

You are the best of us.

You shake your head clear of any vivid memories, reaching in to unearth the Twister box and hold it up to admire its magnificence in the rapidly fading light. "So.” You start in what you hope is a casual enough tone, exchanging the box for another to seem busy. “You put all of this together, huh?"

She shrugs, "We figured you could use some...fun. After everything that's happened."

You grin and fish out an exceptionally old classic next, pointing the vibrant box of colourful, caricature hippos at her. "I didn't think this was your kind of fun, Rae."

"It's not.” Raven admits bluntly, floating the game from your hands despite your protest and back into the storage container with a challenging raise of her brow. “But I can enjoy the value in it. And in spending time with my friends."

(You don’t do enough of that. Why don’t you do enough of that?)

"Pfft are you going soft on us?" You say, weakly avoiding eye contact while wrestling away the any more intrusive thoughts and stabs of related guilt.

You watch her fight the beginnings of a smirk, "I could ask you the same question."

"Oh man, that's disgusting even for you B.B!" Cyborg grouses suddenly in the distance, and you’ve never felt so relieved for a distraction in your young life. Your friend is standing in front of the farthest food table when you look over, his hands on his hips and a frown of disapproval trained on something among the mass of dishes and delicious smelling cuisine.

You find out why when you follow his line of sight, your body and gaze lifting a tad to seek out what’s happened—and you can’t say you’re all too surprised with this inevitable development.

Beast Boy is laying, dramatically draped, across the tray of donuts he’d been denied earlier, monkey toes wriggling to dispel powdered sugar from between them.

"Let me live my life, man." He jokes between fistfuls of sweet pastry. Cyborg makes a grab for him in retaliation and he jerks back out of reach as if fully expecting this outcome, throwing himself to the side in a graceful dodge.

"Halt! Oh please do watch out for the—"

In his flurry of movement—kicking out his legs for momentum and rolling head over feet to a neat stop a few feet further down the table—Beast Boy accidently whacks the side of another bowl near the edge, the dish teetering dangerously on the precipice of destruction.

But Starfire is always quick on her feet. She lunges for the bowl and makes the catch before it can fall victim to the laws of gravity (those you’re already painfully aware of), cradling it safely in her arms and sighing in relief as she cordially lifts it in your direction.

"Do not fear! I have saved the mac of the cheese!"

"Though it has its moments." Raven deadpans, flipping up her hood with a shake of her head.

"Speaking of moments…is this a good time for a dramatic entrance?"

Starfire whirls around unearthly fast at the familiar voice, the echo spiking through the low, near constant beat and rhythm drifting from the speakers of the boom box—none of you having heard a door open or close, or even a single footfall drop onto the roof.

"Robin! You have made it!"

Alright.

You know he’s practically a ninja (because it’s what he’s been dutifully trained to do), but you still think this deserves a hearty what the hell anyway.

How long has he even been standing there?

Though before you can reflect too deeply on the matter, you find yourself bearing witness to Robin’s handling of the fly-tackle hug. To his credit, he takes the sudden, colliding weight like a champ; a short laugh ripped from him at the initial breath-stealing thump, and he stumbles back to restore his balance without falling on his ass.

You can tell that he’s definitely a pro at this by now.

He gives her a generous, friendly squeeze before they part, turning his attention back to the rest of his team. It’s then you fully take in how he’s dressed; slim-fitting jeans, a dark blue tee, a solid, gray flannel shirt over top—unbuttoned and left hanging open, long sleeves rolled up at to his elbows—and red converse.

His knee is still in a brace, a black watch with a stiff Kevlar strap fastened around his left wrist, its face square and rimmed with silver. And from your place you can even study the state of his dark hair—soft and without gel, but noticeably mussed like he’s been running his fingers through it all day.

"There's our fearless leader!” You warmly call out, letting Raven ease you helpfully to your feet so that you can welcome your newly arrived team member. You lightly bump your cast against his shoulder once you reach him, and then again just to be annoying when he nudges your arm away the first time (but not without a fond roll of his eyes).

With less distance your gaze finds thin, pink marks left like badges on his skin, the stitches having already healed and dissolved from under his chin and across his collarbone, his blue eyes a little hazy in their focus.

All in all, he looks tired up this close, in small ways you might overlook in passing—his grin beginning to wilt just at the upper corners of his lips, dropping eyelids and subtle bruising under his eyes, and the barest smudges of oil left neglected on his person; freckle-like specks across his jaw, staining the toes of his converse and the collar of his t-shirt (that particular one looking especially dark and ingrained into the fabric, like he’d hastily blotted at the spot in a rush and then gave up half-way through)—though you wouldn’t guess it from his posture.

He’s all squared shoulders, a confident lift of his head and a soft, delighted glint in his eyes despite the heaviness you’d noticed before. He’s proud even in the face of exhaustion, so you elect not to bring any attention to it.

“I was beginning to think Batman whisked you off back home for some clown-punching and father-son bonding." You continue impishly, mimicking his mentor’s cowl by placing an index finger on either side of your head. You bounce them up and down in a tease.

"No, that was last month.” Robin reminds you dryly, pressing his lips together to keep from smiling. He jabs a thumb over his shoulder at the open elevator door he’d obviously emerged from. “I was actually just finishing up some final touches on an old friend of yours."

Huh. O…kay?

"Ominous." Cyborg offers before you can voice your own confusion, settling back against a food table with a deviously knowing smile.

Best Boy huffs with palpable disappointment instead, climbing swiftly onto the ledge behind his friend. He scuttles around a portion of the roof to sit beside the thumping boom box, while still taking time to throw out his own affirmation on the matter, before shifting back into his human form and swinging his dangling legs to the beat of the current song.

"Yeah, way creepy, dude."

Robin frowns, “I was being mysterious!”

Cyborg seems to be enjoying this immensely for some reason, leaning forward and crossing his arms over his chest.

“Well, don’t.”

“Damn. Don’t hold anything back.”

“Do not worry, Robin.” Starfire remarks with a pat to his shoulder, “I still find you the mysterious.”

You try to stifle your sputtering laughter as Robin sighs in defeat, reaching up to touch her hand in wordless thanks. He motions for you to stay where you are then, swiping his finger across the face of his watch. It lights up blue like a touch screen, and something large and humming (a machine?) darts from the inside of the elevator.

The futuristic motorcycle that slides to a near-silent stop in front of you is like something right out of Tron. There’s a high leather seat and bullet-proof windshield among sleek, rounded black metal and glowing, magnetic green lights. They detail the length of the body like racing stripes, circling around the headlights and up into the shape of a triangle above them, as well as lining the inside rims of its large, treaded wheels (two in front and one in the back). The padded, silver handles poke through the front casing like devil horns.

It’s a familiar, wrenching image—one you could only dream of seeing again after the brutal attack on Jump City.

"Lucy!” You burst out instantly, and much to the Robin’s immense enjoyment, hopping forward in your excitement to reach your beloved cycle. You trace your fingers over the glowing triangle, pressing your palm to the leather seat with stinging, blurry eyes. It feels warm. Alive. “Oh my crap, you resurrected my bike!"

Cyborg gently pats the cycle with pride, "Rob and I spent weeks trying to fix her up. Finally got all the parts working again."

"You—this is—holy shit."

"Glad you like it."

Robin throws an arm around your shoulders and pulls you into his side, pretending not notice your muffled sniffling like a super-star best friend. "Happy birthday, (Y/N)." He mutters, loosening the fancy watch so he can clasp it around your unbroken wrist in a nimble flourish.

Cyborg pumps his fist in the air when you choke out a disbelieving laugh, victoriously striding to the centre of the roof to proclaim:

"Well, what are we standing around here for? Let's get this thing started!"

“Oh yes, let us start the celebration my friends!”

“Eh, sure.”

"Party people!" Beast Boy cries out in agreement, finally leaping down from the ledge.

"Alright, Alright. You don't have to tell me twice." Robin chuckles, gesturing for the others to go ahead with the festivities. He stays to hover around you though, and is suspiciously quiet at first, simply stepping around you and your newly built cycle to pluck a can of soda from a food table. He idly brushes away condensation with a broad swipe of his thumb, waiting for the others to further disband around you both.

When the coast is clear, evident by the way he glances from side to side, he turns towards you with his head down, popping the tab on the can and taking a heavy gulp. You raise a brow and wait, more than aware of his tendency by now to try and constantly torture you with the value of patience. He purses his lips in thought, before he finally meets your gaze with a playful twist to his usual smirk.

“So, hey.” He begins somewhat offhandedly, drumming his fingers across the surface of the table, “We should take a team picture at some point. All of us. Like a…memory of tonight’s occasion—if you want.”

You shouldn’t make it this easy for him—because he’ll never stop teasing you about how quickly you caved—but you find that you truly do like the idea. He just doesn’t need to know how much at the moment. So you settle on feigning tired reluctance, hoping (fooslishly) that he doesn’t see right through you.

“It wouldn’t hurt, I guess.”

“You guess?”

….

It’s really annoying when he does that.

You pout at the light amusement in his tone and follow his earlier path to the table, seizing a donut in a moment of pure impulse from the tray Beast Boy had previously vacated. You feel satisfied when you notice that it’s one of the unfortunate monkey feet ones, and then thrust it into Robin’s free hand.

He must have been around long enough to see the offense for himself, because his nose crinkles in distaste when he registers what you’ve given him, letting the tainted pastry dangle from two fingers.

Sweet revenge.

You dole out smirk of your own.

“Eat your donut, dick.”

*****************************************************************

It’s well into the evening, sunset colours already fading calmly from the sky, when Robin parks himself next to you on the ledge of the roof, smoothly swinging his legs over and dropping to sit with a long sigh of relief. Huh…it seems like someone definitely had a longer day today than they let on.

And honestly? Mood.

You tap him with the rounded bottom of the crutch lying across your lap, throwing him a cursory glance and a smile in greeting. But he doesn’t respond the way you expect him to, no. Instead, you’re surprised to see that rare, relaxed grin of his already peeking through all of the obvious exhaustion.

"What are you smiling about, Grayson? You're creeping me out." You muse gently, brow arching at the amusement that grows all the more in the curl of his smile. It’s like he’s proudly uncovered some great secret in the time it took you to voice your thoughts, and is now going to make you work for a satisfying answer. Which, you have to admit, isn’t a very unusual outcome when it comes to your friend and his bat-crazy mentor.

Heh.

Gar would love that one.

"Oh, you know…nothing too important.” Robin counters with a non-committal shrug of his shoulder.

Uhhh, yeah, that’s not comforting in the slightest, you decide.

You narrow your eyes at him and poke at his upper arm accusingly, “You’re never really this terrible of a liar usually.”

“Well, usually isn’t now.”

You pause to let his utter nonsense sink in.

“Are all detectives this uselessly cryptic or is this just a you thing?”

“I think it’s a family thing actually.”

“That I believe.” You laugh, gripping tight to the edge of the concrete ledge with one hand as you lean forward to admire the twinkling darkness of the water far below—a beautiful, convoluted gloom in the beginnings of silver moonlight. You catch his lingering stare in your peripheral when you shift, an odd amount of softness there you’re not exactly used to seeing directed your way.

“What?” You ask again in exasperation (and maybe a tad more overly sharp than you wanted). He only winks when you turn to get a better read on him, and looking much too smug and unconcerned, tips his head back to study the distant, firefly-like pinpricks of light just now glittering through the encroaching dark above you.

There’s a blissful beat of silence between the continuously wafting smells (of heavy spices and cheese and the lingering sweetness of fancy chocolate) and the nearby ambient sounds of your friends locked in an intense game of Jenga (their laughter and conversation—Raven is definitely on a roll by the sounds of it—the clinking of cutlery and plates, and the low, near-constant pop music blanketed beneath it all), and then—

“Welcome home.” He says quietly.

You stare at him a moment longer; hesitant, flustered, warm—like some kind of utter punch-drunk goober—until your gaze slips mercifully back to the sky, drawn in by the trembling might of the stars far out of reach.

And you let the moment sit within the unexpected, peaceful calm his voice brings, unbroken without a sarcastic quip or cynical remark, just this once. A moment to find value in.

Because this is your family, or….what you’d always imagined one to be.

So, even though you’d never truly been privy to a lot of happiness before this—this tiny, momentous moment right where you need to be; sitting on the roof ledge of your home—you find your own sense of peace in thinking that here and now, if there ever was a happy place in this life for you—

This is it.

478 notes · View notes

solastnightidreamt · 5 years ago

Text

I felt like I was in some kind of cheesy soap opera where different storylines are happening all at once and it clips through all of them. Just so I’m not jumping all over the place I’ll keep the stories grouped together, but just know that they were all intertwined and happening at the same time.

So.... I’m in a kind of old school hotel and there are chandeliers hanging and gold accents on the walls as I walk over to the bottom of a big ass staircase. The stairs are covered in dark green carpet and the walls are wooden as they lead all the way up into the narrow and tall building. I’m walking on them when I run into a naked guy who’s staying at the hotel. He isn’t like a perv or anything- it was kinda like he just got poofed into the staircase and then was nearly unconscious, so I grab his arms and am trying to help him. He isn’t responding so I drag him up and down the stairs looking for his room to take him back. As I’m getting close to his room a little girl comes to investigate and I tell her to stay away because that kind of scene is just all kinds of bad. Her mom comes around the corner and is very sweet and casual and tells me ‘she’s just curious and won’t be any trouble’. So the kid just kinda hangs back while I find the guy’s room and push him into it and onto the bed. When I come out of the room she’s just standing there and gives me a thumbs up.

I end up at this press conference/party/movie promo thing and across the venue I see Jason Momoa and Henry Cavill. Quentin Tarantino is also with them but for some reason he isn’t in Quentin’s body, he is physically manifested as Gerard Butler but I know that it isn’t actually Gerard, it’s Tarantino.

I’m kinda watching them all moving around each other doing interviews and chatting and I kinda of make out that Tarantino (in Gerard Butler’s body) and Jason Momoa are together. Like, romantically. Which makes no sense because they’re both married but still. They’re very subtle but also blatant, making out and grabbing each other when people aren’t paying attention.

I’m sitting at a table with a computer in front of me and they’re goin about their business. Tarantino/Gerard comes and sits across from me. He tells me to put my hand flat on the table and I do. is sitting across from me. He tells me to make it flatter and I kinda laugh because that’s as flat as it goes. He kinda grins and then, as a show for me, he pretends to get angry. He tells and makes a big scene and I get all giddy because I love seeing them mad but I never get the chance because they’re legit super chill.

People rush over to make sure everything is fine and he gets up and winks at me as he walks away with people on his ass. I’m just sitting there all swoony and turned on and my sis comes over to ask if I’m ok. I tell her I’m great and then Henry Cavill comes over and starts flirting with me. He’s holding my hand, pressing up against me and whispering to me and shit and then he tells me that I should join them.

I ask, ‘Join who?’ and he nods over at Jason and Gerard. They’re now almost fully naked and making out and grabbing each other dick’s and shit. Henry kisses me and hands me a camera and I end up doing a shoot of the two of them while Henry encourages me. I wink and tell Henry that he should go join them so he strips off his shirt and goes over there. He’s behind them, leaning over the two of them and the three of them are kissing as I take pictures. They’re all egging me on, telling me that I need to come join them after I have my fun with the camera.

At this point the paparazzi has caught on and people are watching and just as they go to take off their underwear and go at it the fucking memory card runs out. I yell and giggle that the card is full and they all kinda grin with each other like ‘oh, well. show’s over’ and people disperse.

I’m sad that I didn’t get to actually see them together or join in. Henry comes over and kisses me and they promise I’lll get my chance. He escorts me to a small bus/RV thing and I get chartered away.

The RV is driving through the foothills around my hometown and the sights are awesome. Gerard/Tarantino and Henry are no longer there but my twin is with me and Jason is in the front driving. I fall asleep in the bed in the back and after a while my sister wakes me up and asks what’s going on. I tell her that Jason is just driving us around but that he’s uncomfortable in his clothes so he’s gonna change. We look up to the front and he takes off his shirt and changes it into a tank top. He winks back at me and I tell her that he’s gonna change again and then without us actually being able to see past his shoulders he takes off his pants and undies to put new ones on and when he does the horn honks because his dick is so big that it hits it. We all laugh and I kinda swoon and he keeps on driving before stopping on the side of the road at a church.

I’m on my phone scrolling through the news and come across a headline - Dax Sheppard sells black nipples to local church - and I’m totally flabbergasted by it. When the bus comes to a stop I look out the window and we’re in front of said church in the article. I’m shocked and go in to investigate. It’s a TINY little thing and there’s only a keyboard and like 4 chairs and a small desk. It looks more like an office than it does the inside of a church, but on the one wall made of a glass window there’s this cast iron design thing that is fabricated against the glass. It’s meant to be decorative/like a screen and it’s small black swirls with little beads at the end and that’s what they claim look like nipples. It kinda does if you squint, but it’s actually really pretty and well designed and I get super pissed off. The whole article is just a bunch of assholes looking for a reason to talk shit and spread rumors about celebs.

I’m pissed off and I leave the church but when I get outside the bus is gone. Instead there’s a big truck, like a Ram 2500 with a big ass pool connected to it on a trailer. There are some white ladies in their mid 40s that had gone to see the church. They’re all sitting around the edge of the pool with their feet in the water, commenting on it and judging, talking shit about Dax and how he should be ashamed of himself and that the church should sue him.

I’m still stuck here and they’re about to leave so I hop on the trailer with them and just stay quiet as they keep talking all kinds of shit. The conversation shifts and they’re talking about lactose intolerance and I pipe up and mention a brand of soy milk I like. They don’t know what it is so we pull up to a Costco and I try to find it in there. They don’t sell that brand so then I tell them that they can probably just get it at their local store and I write it down for them.

They thank me and drop me off at my aunt’s home. My mom and grandma are there and they let my childhood dog out into the backyard to pee. My sister, Joanna, and her husband show up and we’re all just hanging out on the back patio. From there we can see into the desert around the yard and there’s a coyote pup that’s lost and wandering around. My sis goes out and lets it into the yard, brings food and water for it. We warn her against it but she does it anyway and over the next few days she keeps feeding it.

My twin, Cassy, comes over a couple days later and talks about the dangers and liability of coyotes from a legal standpoint. She tells Joanna that if it attacks someone that she’ll be liable because she took it in and even though it’s domesticated now, it’s still a ‘dangerous breed. Cassy goes on explaining the ‘percentage of guilt’ you have in the attack based on the number of bite wounds multiplied by the about of blood vessels on the human in the area where the coyote bit them. She uses our grandma as an example, saying that if the coyote attacks Ama then Joanna will be fully guilty and responsible for her death, legally and insurance wise. We’re all a little uncomfortable talking about Ama dying (because in waking life she is dead) and then Cassy and I are in the front of an apartment complex.

We’re talking about people we went to school with and some guys pop up, but he’s of little importance. As the conversation continues we end up at a party and a different guy we went to school with, JP, shows up. He’s talking to me and Cassy and one of our friends and he’s being very sexual and flirting heavily with all of us. They’re a little weirded out but I’m kind of into it because I had a big crush on him way back when. He keeps talking to me and suggests we hang out, implying that we fuck. Cassy tells me I should be wary of him because he's a swinger or some shit and is always looking for some kind of polyamorous situation to be in.

I tell her that that doesn’t bother me and I’m actually into that. I tell her about the thing I had with Jason, Gerard/Tarantino, and Henry. She says that if I’m into it then go for it, but be careful.

I text JP saying hi and he instantly starts apologizing for how he acted, saying he was stupid and boozed up. I tell him it’s ok and that I actually want to talk to him about it in person. He suggests a date at a restaurant but I’m busy the date he suggests, so I ask about meeting at his house later that night, keeping it low key and casual. He agrees but I can tell that he’s scared. He thinks I’m gonna report him for sexual harassment or something when really I’m planning on getting romantically/sexually involved with him.

He agrees to the date at his place and then I’m at home in my closet looking for clothes. I am nervous and actively thinking ‘you might lose your vcard, what do you wanna wear in case you’re no longer a virgin after tonight’ and then I wake up.

#real time #jan 8 #2020 #so last night I dreamt

1 note · View note

lethesomething · 5 years ago

Text

Campaign resources: Torotuga, the pirate den

After three days of sailing, land finally came into view. A large island, with a small fortified city on one end, cut off from the rest of the island by steep mountains and dense jungles. To my dismay, however, the captain curved away from that crest of civilization, turning the ship in a large arc towards the back of the island, where nothing but dense forests and swamp greeted us.

“Hoist the flag” the captain shouted, and one of the crew came out with a piece of black cloth, which he unfurled to show a white painted, rather crude depiction of a turtle. With that, a hush fell over the deck and the ship veered into a large mangrove forest, a maze of brakkish water, low fog and bleached trees. I swear I saw movement in those trees. Little flickers of light, be they lanterns or will o’ wisps, and the occasional glint of steel. It was clear to everyone traveling with me, that we were being watched. (from ‘The Sea-Faring Adventures of Milton Hornswaddle’)

Torotuga is your prototypical Pirate’s Den. It lies on the swampy half of Rhea Island, in the middle of a heavily contested region in the ocean. The island itself ‘belongs’ to the sea-faring and conquering nation of Pardoba, and it holds an outpost in the form of the military fort town of Santa Gasso. However, most of it is densely forested and if not unexplored, then at the least uncontrollable, blocked off as it is from the fort by a sheer mountain range and dense jungles. It is here, deep in a mangrove maze called the Forest of Skeleton Fingers, that you can find the bustling city of Torotuga.

The ship continued on through these treacherous waters, narrowly avoiding collisions with trees and rocks, until we finally reached what I had feared all along, a dead end. It was then that the captain came out and marched up to the bow. “Oy! Open the facking gate, ya crusty cumstain!” To my wonderment, I heard a voice coming from the nearby trees. “State your name and business, cuntwaddle” “Marston ya old pissdog, you know damn well who I am.” There was a moment of silence, and I held my breath at such signs of incivility, praying for the gods to save me from the arrows that were sure to befall us, when the ship’s captain sighed. “I am Captain Orsric Graverobber Bones, of the Drunken Elephant. Me and my crew kindly request entry,” he said, in a tone that suggested ennui to a point i would not be able to muster. “Good enough for ya, ya vomit covered sea slug?” And with a creaking sound, a wall that had appeared to only be dead trees blocking our path, was lifted, revealing a hitherto unseen waterway further into the forest. (from ‘The Sea-Faring Adventures of Milton Hornswaddle’)

A Safe Harbor

The town of Torotuga holds about 500 semi-permanent residents, a number that can be boosted up to 2.000 by visitors.

The populace holds a few notorious criminals that have settled down far away from the law, as well as travelers and actual colonists that have stuck around. About a third of the permanent residency, however, consists of escaped slaves, either native to neighboring islands or brought here from far-off places to work on the plantations and farms of Pardoba and a few other nations.

Trade

It is clear almost immediately to any somewhat intelligent adventurer, that the economy of Torotuga is mostly illicid, and largely circular. This is a trade hub and stock-up place for privateers and pirates, though adventuring parties, specialized traders and even certain military groups (of the underground variety) also frequent the place.

The largest trade here is ‘entertainment’. The economy of Torotuga consists for about 60 percent out of brothels and bars. Coming off a boat in the bustling harbor part of the town means weaving your way through runners and trade deals, to be met by a veritable row of… very friendly people. Men and women beckon you, wearing bright clothes, some quite revealing, and made up with red lips and dark eyes.

Another large trade here are pawn shops or, if they try to be fancy, ‘antiques stores’. On the outskirts of the town you’ll find fishermen and a few farming communities, eking out a living on the edges of the jungle.

Architecture and craft

Torotuga gets most of its supplies from passing ships, and it shows. Most of its buildings are made out of scavenged wood and smelted or otherwise repurposed parts. Newer buildings use a mixture of ancient techniques, such as woven vines, and parts made out of metal or imported bricks.

Everything about this town has a distinct improvisational feel. The furniture and decorations are either made out of barrels, stolen off of ships or built new, with themes that remind you of the cultures native to the islands here. The whole town is a mishmash of styles, techniques and bits and bobs. True master craftsmen, however, are few in number.

There are a few carpenters, mostly specialized in boats. Apart from that you can find some relatively skilled weavers, leather workers and woodworkers, as well as smiths. Any mastercraft weaponry or armor found here is probably found or plundered, though.

It is, however, important to know that you can find Anything here, if you search hard enough. The people of Torotuga are good at finding ways, certainly if there’s coin in it. If you let them know you need a seamstress, for instance, they will absolutely find someone, even if it is the cook’s old nan, to do your thing for a pretty price.

Safety

Torotuga runs on ‘pirate’s honor’, which is to say, controlled anarchy. The place does not have a single point of authority, but instead had several factions who look out for their own. Some of the most feared of these are the Whores Patrol, a group of vigilantes that see to it that the prostitutes of the island can do their jobs safely. The artisans also have a neighbourhood watch of sorts, which is Extremely Protective of its members and most shops and bars will employ a very ostentatious group of guards.

Since there is no justice system, those caught committing a crime against someone in Torotuga will need to appeal to one of the factions or lose their hand and/or life.

Food

Torotuga has a mixture of different cuisines from the islands, mixed with the kind of stuff the pirates would know from home, in so far as this can be found. The different inns and bars serve mostly beer, but will whip you up some soup or bread and cheese, or grilled meat, when asked. Notable delicacies can be found in The Temple Bar, which serves a special stew, made of rice, wheat, sharp spices and seafood. There’s a bunch of not particularly identifiable stuff in there, but it’s very tasty. From food stalls, you can buy a simple type of taco, made of flatbread folded around a mixture of meat or poulty, mixed with random vegetables and spices. Most of the best and cheapest food can be procured from the smaller sellers, such as The Baked Potato and Kulita’s.

Notable shops

The largest pawn shop in town is The Hoard, run by a steel dragonborn, Dimitri Helfdal and his mate, a sapphire dragonborn named Irin. This shop stands in the very center of town and has carved stone walls, seemingly built out of the ruins of some ancient structure that stood here before. It is a fairly large building, with a stone and wood front and a large shop sign bearing a carved wooden dragon head, apparently an old masthead. Inside is a quite literal hoard. Dimitri and Irin tend to get the pick of any treasure troves that come to Torotuga, so you can find the best and most expensive stuff here.

Sulejman Sirk runs the apothecary, the Glass Shoal. It’s meticulously clean and organized, seemingly made out of the hull of a downed ship that was outfitted with a brick and windowed front and plated with iron shales. The centerpiece in this store is a large chandelier, a mobile of glasswork fish surrounding a steel brazier that lights up the place. He has your basic health potions and a Very Expensive set of water breathing things (like, super overpriced, guys). Also stocks an impressive amount of poisons.

Davy Jones Locker is a thrift shop of sorts. The proprietor, Antanen ‘David’ Jonesin, is a halfling that collects the mundane and the useful. The interior of this classic brickwork building is made with a number of treasure chests that have been stacked and arranged along the floor and on tables and sideboards. These things are not what typical pirates care for, but he does good business because they do tend to be things sailors Need. His store has stuff like barrels of rope, caltrops, a few smoke bombs found on drowned assassins. He has oil skin bags to keep books and letters safe from the water, sealing wax, forgery and climbing kits, a few block and tackles, fire stones, that sort of thing. Nothing magical, nothing glamorous, but exactly the kind of thing you need to survive.

The Silt Reader is a very small book shop that specializes in literature and poetry. Mostly second hand, a lot of them waterlogged. This store is owned by a half-elven woman, Runa Pavalur, who keeps it very organized, with tomes neatly stacked on shelves and arranged by category. Each book has been outfitted with a bookmark made of thin rope, with a little card attached to it that gives a short summary of what the book is about. Most of the books in The Silt Reader are travel diaries and novels, a fair amount of those of a ‘popular’ variety. This is why, apart from categories like Studies, Travel, Political etc, the shop has shelves named things like the Rose section (hetero romance), the Heather section (mlm romance), the Calla section (wlw romance) and the Orchid section (straight up porn).

For maps, it is best to go is the Crow’s Nest Cartographer. This is a very small house that has one entire wall made up of shelves holding a large amount of rolled maps. It is owned by two gnomish brothers: Illilniss and Omulnis. They will also pay for coordinates of places that have been discovered, or were hitherto unknown.

Lavar’s Smelter: Lavar is a fire genasi, who isn’t too crafty, but is very good at, well, smelting. He’s the one that melts down all the anchors and random steel and iron that is hauled here, something that should not be possible with a smithy as small as his. Is smithy doubles as a blacksmith for basic tools. When asked, he can shoe a horse and provide stables overnight.

Shell and Shield: The only somewhat skilled smith in town. The Shell and Shield is owned by a tortle named Perrahar, whose main trade is tools. She sells non-magic weapons and some simple armor as well but mostly she’s very interested in learning new things. Bring her some new metal that she’s never seen before and she’ll happily craft new things out of it.

Other establishments

There is a church, The Temple Bar, dedicated to Dionysus, the god of wine. It’s not clear if this is a sanctioned church or not. Mostly it appears to be one of the largest bars in Torotuga. Its purveyor is a dwarf and beer connoisseur named Mazzoum Hornmail. The interior is decorated with fake grape vines and filled with assorted furniture. This one is fairly fancy, with a little orchestra playing, and a dance floor. The rooms upstairs can be rented by the hour. The bigger ones are outfitted as meeting rooms, serving the purpose of neutral ground for pirates to strike deals or talk strategy. The smaller ones tend to just have a bed and a washing tub.

Despite the name, The Baked Potato does not sell potatoes. It does sell yams and sweet potatoes, stuffed with a variety of fillings and baked in an oven.

Kulita’s sells a lot of fried things, including fried fish and fried chicken, combined with dumplings, corn bread and pickled vegetables or stewed beans

The local bath house is called the White Whale. It rents out large, round tubs in private rooms to interested parties. These are pretty nice and use, important, ground water, so any visitor can finally get all that salt out. Rooms are outfitted with scented oils and soaps and come with one complimentary towel. The rooms are priced fairly reasonably, but the rate goes up quite a bit if you opt for one of the companions or masseuses that are offered.

The Sickly Shrew: A Very Seedy bar and one of the cheaper establishments to acquire a room for the night. Also a great place to find, like, a specialist to kill someone for you.

The Foghorn Inn: The most boring and basic of inns that Torotuga has to offer, if you’re into that kinda thing.

Assorted locations

Thaba’s Hut

Take the road out of town, past the farm fields that have been planted here, and into the swamp. Follow the set of foot bridges and walkways, till you reach an island, a clearing in the dense foliage. Standing here is an ancient looking hut, built on stilts. It has a thatched roof and a porch, with stairs leading up. The railing of the porch and the stairs looks solid from afar, but upon closer inspection, they are laden with offerings of a sort. Little dolls hang from string tied to the wood, shells, glass vials, trinkets and shiny objects, all tied to the outside of this house. In front of the hut, a small crackling fire burns in a fire pit, tended to by a tall, broad-shouldered man. This is Thaba’s hut, and if you are in need of special magical services, this is where you go.

You pay Thaba for entry, and for the privilege to see the wisewoman inside. Should you enter, you’ll find that the entire place is overstuffed with jars and more dolls and trinkets. A bunch of objects, too, are suspended from the ceiling, much like they were wrapped around the railings. Some tools hanging from twine off a crossbeam, glass and brass pitchers, something that you very much hope is a wig. There’s dried herbs, ham, but also bones, something that looks like a dead snake. There’s… a lot. The hut is where Iyabo, sitting in the middle of the floor in a magic circle, performs magical services. Most likely this will be along the lines of identifying items, removing or placing curses etc. Nahin’s fighting pit

Walking around town, you may hear a number of shouts and just general noise, originating to a dirt square just on the outskirts. Here, you’ll find a small mound of dirt that serves as a brawling ring. Two figures are squaring off here. One is an apparent halfling in monk clothes, fairly lean build, the other, on this day, is a goliath, a large, looming tank of a man, in somewhat soiled sailor’s clothing. They’ve drawn quite the crowd. On one end you see what seems to be the rest of the goliath’s crew, a number of sailors jeering and egging him on. On the side of the smaller figure are also supporters of a kind, albeit a bit more demure. You see a number of humanoids, all in fairly ratty clothing, most of them dark skinned and weathered looking. They’ll occasionally clap but they’re mostly looking. Bets are being made by the crowd, with bookies walking around trying to get any visitors to have a little go. But as soon as the fight starts, a heavy groan goes through the crowd and it becomes apparent just how skewed this match-up is. Within the first second, the goliath has already been kicked in the face. The smaller figure jumps up onto his chest, kicks him in the chin and backflips off, down to the ground. The goliath swings and the smaller figure leans back easily to avoid it, jumping up over a second swing, before turning in mid air and swiping at the shoulder, following that up with two swift kicks. This goes on for a little while, before the goliath says ‘You little shit’, and he pulls out a crossbow. The crowd starts booing. You hear the people behind the smaller figure yell ‘unarmed only!’ but the fighter themselves holds up their hand. “Learn’, they say, and sinks into a defensive stance. The goliath shoots once, twice, point blank, and you watch as the smaller fighter plucks both out of the air before they reach. As the goliath starts reloading, angry now, the other fighter moves. They jump up onto the crossbow and run up their opponent’s arm, before leaning down and kicking the goliath in the sternum. The giant goes rigid, for a moment, their eyes at this point confused and fearful, as the other fighter jumps down, dashes around and swipes at a spot right behind the knee. The goliath. Topples. The crowd erupts in shouts and you can see a well dressed man, apparently the goliath’s captain, walk up to the smaller figure and hand them a pouch. “Sorry about that,” he says. “Temper, that one. But you won fair and square.” The smaller figure bows and returns to their friends, as the crew, with some trouble, pull up the goliath and the crowd slowly disperses.

Kobinahin, or Nahin for short, is a higher level monk that fights for coin and has a little outdoor dojo going. Nahin is always itching to learn new tricks and will gladly match or teach adventurers.

Characters

Merchants and assorted service people

Thaba: A tall, broad-shouldered dark-skinned man, clean shaven and wearing modest but well-kept clothes. He has milky white eyes and a deep voice. He serves as a guardian or manager of sorts to Iyabo. He can usually be found sitting in front of the fire pit by his house.

Iyabo: This wise woman is a multiclass druid – bard with some wizard thrown in there. She is a tiny woman, potentially gnomish in nature, but it’s hard to tell. Her hair is quite a bit longer than her body, a mass of tiny braids, embellished with rope, ribbons, glass beads and brass rings that obscures her shape almost completely. From what you can tell, the hair may have been dark in color once, but it’s been painted with clay. Individual strands are red, ochre, green or a chalky white, the whole thing giving the impression of a gloomy, if colorful, bead curtain. The hair makes it almost impossible to see her face, but when her arms emerge from the curtain, her skin appears to be greyish blue, mostly because that, too, is rubbed with some kind of dust. Her hands are studded with different rings, her wrists covered in bracers and rows of bangles. Iyabo jingles when she walks, and you can discern the rustle of fabric, as well as the sound of many, many necklaces or chains clinking together. She doesn’t so much talk as whisper harshly , also with vague southern accent.

Dimitri Helfdal: A man of smallish stature, stocky and broad, with medium gray skin. Mid forties and fairly jovial, incredibly curious about new treasures and things. He wears a monocle and light linen, embroidered pants, with a sleeveless shirt. Dark grey scales line his shoulders, hands and head, glinting with a brushed steel look that makes him seem , in a weird way, armored. He does not have a tail.

Irin: A dragonborn woman of dark olive skin, fairly tall and with a long tail that whips back and forth between the folds of her long skirt. She wears a beautiful silk tunic, with cropped pants lines in copper thread and a long skirt consisting of four almost see-through loose panels. On her head, and down her back and tail are long crystalline dark blue spikes and the scales that adorn her skin are strangely see through, giving the impression of dark blue gems. It also seems like she has filed some of them to resemble jewelry, the ones around her throat and down her chest looking like a very elaborate necklace.

Sulejman Sirk: A black man in his late thirties, with corn rows tied into his hair, and a cropped full beard. He tends to smile widely and has a prominent gold tooth. He has several gold earrings in one ear and wears a dark grey v-neck kaftan of sorts, with embroidery on the shoulders.

Runa Pavalur: A red haired half-elven woman, fairly young looking, very pale with freckles. Basic hippie attitude, she wears what appear to be several crocheted tablecloths stitched together, and her hair falls down her back in two long braids. Speaks in a gentle, slow tone and has very obviously read every single book in the store.

Illilniss and Omulnis: Gnome brothers, both with heavy mustaches, kindof tanned skin and an almost inky blue hair. They finish each others sentences and then get grumpy about it.

Antanen ‘David’ Jonesin: An elderly halfling with salt-and-peper hair that poofs up around his head like a cotton ball. Wears tiny round glasses and looks rather clerical, but very businessy attitude. His voice is clear and fast, like an american radio dj.

Mazzoum Hornmail: A very serious dwarven man who looks jovial and fat and jolly. He gets quite stern when people don’t treat him with the right amount of respect. It is said Mazzoum has spent years sailing the oceans, and kinda just settled down here because he got tired of the floor moving.

Kobinahin: A dark skinned halfling monk of indeterminate gender. Dark, golden ochre skin, long black hair usually tied in a ponytail. Fairly elegant features. They wear a dark grey jumpsuit with cropped pants and sleeves tied with cloth strips. It is cinched in at the waist with a large strip of cloth. Kobinahin fights for coin and essentially teaches the prostitutes and the escaped slaves self-defense. It’s not clear why they left home to travel the world and fight. (the reason is this DM needed to introduce the Monk class). Speaks in serious, shortish sentences. Very no-nonsense.

Lavar: A fire genasi with tanned skin and flame red hair who serves as a smith. A practical sort who, despite his fiery nature, doesn’t really get upset easily. Always looking for find new ways to make coin.

Perrahar: A seemingly young tortle, though her shield is quite damaged with little black spots. Very curious in nature but extremely chill in attitude. Speaks Very Slowly and pretty damn deadpan. Very little gets to her.

Back-up NPC’s

Loughlin Nic Cadhla: An older woman, lots of scars, with frizzy brown curls in almost an afro, and pale freckles skin. Hard of hearing, from standing next to cannons most of her life. Retired pirate.

Tran Phu Nguyen: A forty-something man who is immaculately dressed and must have been utterly gorgeous when younger, still quite handsome. Ex-prostitute.

Hamisi: A slender, dark skinned man, bald with a short beard. He’s missing an eye and has some horrific scarring, mostly on his wrists that you can see. Missing two fingers on his left hand. Wearing a loose shirt and simple cropped pants, no shoes.

#oh look another one #i like world building ok #don't judge me #campaign resources #dnd #dungeons and dragons #dm stuff

5 notes · View notes

creativejoon · 6 years ago

Text

Comfortable Uncertainty (M)

P1 | P2 | P3 | P4 | P5 |P6

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

A/N: CEO!Yoongi, #NoEmotionalAttachmentsButHeCatchesFeelingsAnyway!Yoongi

I have delayed this so much and this is the shortest part in history of short parts, I’m super sorry! But here is part 4; at last!

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

I’d like to think of myself, that I was never an unorganized person. My schedule was always set, my clothes always folded and my dishes always washed. Even as a child, I was not a rebellious rule breaker. My homework would always be done, my vegetables ate and I’d be home at least 30 minutes before my curfew. That’s the way I was taught, so I grew up to believe that this was the way I needed to be. But despite all the love my parents had given me, and the rewarding results my articulate nature gave me, I could never help the emptiness I felt at the end of every day. There was no amount of promotions at work or clean dishes that would make me feel satisfied with myself; my life. There was something missing and for the longest time, I failed to discover what exactly it was.

Meeting yoongi changed that. Though partially true, it was not the fact that he filled a gap that longed for romantic affection. It was the recklessness and unpredictability he could make me feel. He and I were similar; he was an organized individual who liked things to go as planned. If he made an appointment at 3:00, he’d be there by 2:45. He liked his shirts ironed and his lawn mowed. We both found comfort in escaping our everyday lives. A break from predictability, living day in day out knowing that tomorrow’s going to go like any other day. Yoongi offered me escape. And I missed that.

A few weeks ago we had a little..disagreement? I was on edge because a friend of mine, Rita, wasn’t feeling too well, so I ended up snapping at yoongi. I’d felt so horrible. Once I’d gotten home my chest just wouldn’t stop feeling so..tight. At night, I tried to keep my cries as low as possible though there was no one in the house to hear.

I have tried to move on with my life, I mean I lived before I met yoongi so I’m going to live now that there is a possibility that he won’t be in it anymore..right?

I let out a big sigh as I pushed my trolley towards the vegetable isles. I decided it was time for my weekly shopping, considering I couldn’t be living off of takeaway for the rest of my life and actually needed to cook. A nice onion soup might do for tonight perhaps?

I reached for the onions but before I got a hold of them, someone snatched them up and grabbed them away from me.

“What in the-” My breath hitched in my throated. Him?!

“Hi.” Why was he smirking? His hand was in his pocket as he gave me the cheekiest smirk whilst he tossed the onion in the air and caught it again, playing around with it as if it were a ball. Why was he so happy? My tummy was turning.

“Hey yoongi..” I forced my lips into a straight line as I avoided his stare. My eyes scanned my surroundings; the vegetables, groceries in people’s trolleys and the price tags showing overpriced nuts. Everything suddenly seemed so much more interesting than actually meeting his gaze. Did you know that you could get a 50% off voucher if you purchased 2 almond milk boxes? Me neither!

He let out a sight.

“You won’t even look at me..” well, are you surprised ? This is more than awkward.

He’d set the onion into my trolley as he tried to read my facial expression. My ability to avoid gazes had always been excellent, my acting skills, however? Anything but.

“I’m not avoiding you I’m just-”

“I never said you were avoiding me..”

Oops. Well, that slipped out the wrong way. I totally have been avoiding him.

“I know I just..sorry.” My hands gripped the trolley tightly as I closed my eyes for a moment. This was so..inconvenient. All I wanted to do was buy my groceries, make some soup and call it a day. I was actually starting to be alright without yoongi. Repressing my feelings ultimately gave me the illusion that they had disappeared. Which resulted in me finding some sort of peace. But yoongi running into me, in the middle of the grocery store was a threat to that. If I let him into my life again, there would be a 90% chance he would disrupt my sense of order, which I newly came to like. My routine was my comfort zone, and I just could not let him step into it.

“Please we need to sit down and talk things out..have a cup of tea with me?”

Yoongi’s face showed hope whilst simultaneously showing a hint of..regret? If I was not mistaken, there was an underlying look in his eye. One which said ‘hey, I know it’s been a little fucked up between us two and this talk has been long overdue. I’m sorry.’ But as I said, that look was in his eye, and never once dared to articulate itself through his lips.

My head was spinning. I decided it was time to move on from him, and I’d assumed that talking out things would eventually result in me falling back into him. He was not a bad person,if not he was one of the most amazing people I’ve had the honour to meet. Sometimes amazing people meet each other and regardless of how much they want things to work out, they just don’t. But despite that, there was no denying in the fact that in order for me to find inner peace, i needed this talk with yoongi. My heart was aching and more than anything, it longed for certainty. What to do? Was I to end things with him?Was it over yet with him? Or more importantly, had it even properly started yet with Yoongi?

„I do suppose one cup wouldn’t hurt.” It felt right in the moment, and nothing could stop the undying feeling inside me which pushed me towards Yoongi. I needed the closure whilst simultaneously thinking that distance was the answer.

It was in that moment in which Yoongi’s happiness showed through his smile, and it was undeniable for me to say my heart wasn’t overtaken by a certain warmth. He had an unexplainable effect on me.

“You can come over if you want...I brought you some nice teas from the tea shoo you adored so much, and never got the chance to give them to you.” For some strange reason, my heart felt like it was being twisted after hearing that statement. He did notice my love for teas, and more importantly he in fact bothered to get me a present which he’d knew I would appreciate dearly. I took a deep breath, one that I’d not realised I’ve been holding. “Sure. Let me finish my shopping and I’ll message you.”

“I look forward to it.”

—————————————————

I hadn’t been to Yoongi’s home often. He’d invite me to short trips into towns and cities nearby, or one night trips to his estates overseas, but his home was something which my eyes had seen once only, and briefly at that. I’d invited him over often, we’d hang at mine and it would be comfortable, fun.

So now that Yoongi invited me to come over, my hands got a little too sweaty when I formed fists to knock onto the door to his penthouse, at the very top of an apartment building, in the middle of the city. I swallowed hard before letting out a sight. This was it. The talk that I have somewhat been waiting for. The talk in which I would tell him how I feel, or end it all at once. But most importantly, the talk that was so long overdue.

As ridiculous as this may sound, I was unsure of what to wear that evening. Before anything else, I did always dress for myself. I’d look into the mirror and embrace the fact that my appearance needed to please me and me only, and I was a gorgeous woman. But when there’s that certain someone in one’s life, there’s no denying in the fact that you’d hope that they too, would look at you and think you’re beautiful. That evening I wanted to look fierce. I wanted to look sexy. I wanted to be desired by Yoongi. And most importantly,I concluded that I felt very much aware of the fact that he would desire me regardless of what I wore.

“Are you ok?” It was not until Yoongi was stood in the door frame with a confused and somewhat worried look, that I noticed I’d zoned out.

“Oh sorry! I,uhm,..hi.”

“Hi..” there was a silence which lasted for a little while, a silence in which I stared and him and he stared at me. A silence in which either of us tried figuring out what that evening would bring. A silence which eventually, was broken by myself.

“Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

“I most certainly am. Would you honour my home with your presence?” Yoongi stepped aside as he held the door open, his face being decorated with a soft smile. His eyes held excitement.

I hesitated as I looked into his home, before slowly stepping in.

To my surprise, his home was was covered in multiple paintings. Paintings that I myself had no intellectual knowledge of, but for sure knew that they were beautiful.

“..You like them?” I heard the door click as Yoongi shut it and turned around to face me. I was stood in front of him, my black dress hugging my body tightly as i met his gaze. The only light source was the window wall that covered the front of his flat, the city light illuminating the living room we were stood in softly. The atmosphere held a certain tension, one which made it impossible for me to stop staring at Yoongi from head to toe, one which made my breathing uneven. This was it.

51 notes · View notes

asteverogersfan · 7 years ago

Text

Steve Wins (Y/N) Back PART 2!

HELLLOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Omg I’m soooooo freaking sorry that it’s taken me this long to write the second part to “Steve wins (Y/N) Back”!!!!!!!!!!!! I’m literal trash and I’ll take all the hate you guys probably have for me. But I think it’s been a long enough time that everyone’s forgotten about me and doesn’t care :(

(omg my macbook was at an extremely low battery amount and I had such a hard time untangling my charger and getting it plugged in... Ugh, could you imagine)

Anyway! Here it finally is! I really do not have any good excuses, or any cool exaggerated stories my (obviously inconsistent) writer self could come up with as to why it’s taken me this long to post it… I pretty much completely forgot about it after the few times I actually took to sit down and write this. It’s weird that it’s finally written. It’s not just a vague concept I have in my head. That’s the cool part of putting in hard work into something you’re passionate about….

Says the person who legit just took, what like two years to write a second part?

I like to think of this as a novel series in which this is the second instalment to…. ahem

Anyway, TRY to enjoy. I know there’s no way I can make up for how long this one has taken me. I should really call this “ASTEVEROGERSFAN Wins Readers Back” because that’s what I’ll need to do probably :( haha

Really, the only abbreviations you’ll need to decode in here are (Y/N) = Your Name

and (Y/L/N) = Your Last Name

READ THE FIRST PART BEFORE YOU READ THIS ONE!!! or don’t if you want some confusion in your life I guess…? k

—————————————————————————————————-

“Tony, what’s even going on?”

You complained while you were still carrying your briefcase and work files that Tony didn’t even bother helping you with in the first place.

“Don’t you worry, you’ll just want to see this as soon as possible, follow me!”

You struggled to keep up with Tony when he immediately jetted off in his Iron Man suit down the corridor and disappeared into a distant turn off.

“Yup, this is just some GREAT following going on.” You mumbled sarcastically.

You lost track of how many doors down the hallway it took for Tony disappear into one. You contemplated turning around and just giving him a call after you’ve settled into your dorm. You’d have a much easier time keeping up with Tony once you’ve packed everything away and washed up. It was a nuisance to haul your bag of S.H.I.E.L.D. reports and files down the hallway when the long days never ceased to exist in your life as of late.

You passed intersection after intersection of hallways to no avail. But as soon as you were about to turn around and give up looking for wherever Tony went, the in-the-flesh original man of the hour jumped out in regular attire.

“I thought you’d never catch me!” He exclaimed in your face.

You felt your heart jump out of your chest in your frightened state.

“Seriously, Tony! I’m surprised I haven’t ripped your eyeballs out yet!” You say, embarrassed that you fell for one of his unintentional jump scares yet again.

“I would just assign Banner and JARVIS to help me invent some mechanical super-sight vibranium eyeballs for me, anyway.” Tony replied, almost too casually.

“Yeah, and maybe THEN you’d be able to see how annoyed I’m getting at all of the heart palpitations you’ve caused me thus far!”

“Well, you won’t be saying that after l’ve shown you the surprise of the century.” Tony happily stated while stretching his arm out, gesturing you to walk ahead into the elevator he led you to.

“After you.” Tony said politely.

You just gave him a nod, not wanting to spit out anymore retorts in your current annoyance. You decided it best to just keep quiet and civil since you had no idea what Tony had in store for you. Or where such inspiration had come from for him to even do something of this supposed greatness for you. But Tony said it was good, and you trusted his judgement.

“Okay but seriously, you might even be tempted to actually let a smile creep up on that scowl you’ve got going on there.” Tony said with a lot more confidence than you thought was necessary.

“I wouldn’t hold your breath there, tin man.”

Okay, you tried to hold in the insults, but it’s TONY you’re dealing with so you had to let one out.

“OUCH! Right in the Arc Reactor!” Tony dramatically exclaimed while he placed a hand over the power core in his chest. You loudly scoffed in replacement for the giggles you were trying to hold in. You could try to be angry at Tony all you wanted, but he had a tendency to say the most ridiculous of things.

The elevator came to a halt as the two of you reached your destination a few floors up.

“After you, Mrs. Ray of Sunshine and Rainbows.” Tony jokingly said at your hostile attitude.

You would’ve uttered a retort because of your supposed anger at Tony, but decided to stay silent in compliance with holding in your laughter. You couldn’t let Tony know you found his insults funny.

————

Tony had taken (Y/N) away with him in order for Steve to hide a spa reservation package in the extra Stark Tower dorm she’d been staying in. He flew into a hidden closet to change out of his Iron Man suit and into regular attire. He used this bought time to over-ride some of (Y/N)’s S.H.I.E.L.D. business duties after he ran his plan over with Fury, who was willing to co-operate in operation “scatter all of (Y/N)’s tasks around to the other agents so they can complete them instead of (Y/N) so (Y/N) can have a break from work and have time to herself”. Since everyone at the tower knew the extent of the Steve and (Y/N) breakup, they were all willing to pitch in their help. As soon as Tony reached Fury’s office, he paged Steve the clear so he could get out of (Y/N)’s dorm room without getting caught.

————-

“Okie dokie, agent… Smoky…?” Tony trailed off, visibly not confident in his rhyming skills.

“Smoky?” You asked. “That’s the best you could do?”

Tony gladly changed the subject, “I’ll show you the best I could do! Here’s your schedule for the week.” he said as he slapped the tablet that showed the calendar week in your hand.

You initially thought this was just Tony being a smart-ass and re-iterating his rank above you. You expected a full schedule with an overwhelming amount of Avengers tasks and assignments.

“There’s nothing on it…” You suspiciously observed.

Tony waited for your reaction and a sudden realization came over you.

“What did I do?! Am I fired!?” You asked, worried.

“No, of course not, agent Smoky! You’re taking the week off! Well, I’m MAKING you take the week off.” You just continued staring at the empty schedule, not saying a word. This caused Tony to explain further. “You said you couldn’t function with all of those petty human emotions while having to deal with all of this S.H.I.E.L.D. crap. Now you don’t have to! Well, this week you won’t.”

You couldn’t even speak. You just stood there not even beginning to successfully process this unexpected event.

“Is that… Okay?” Now Tony was the one who was worried.

You suddenly ran up to Tony in excitement and hugged him as tight as you could.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’!” He painfully grunted, audibly struggling to speak under your death grip.

“Tony you don’t even know how much of a genius you are!” You said all too gratefully.

“Trust me kiddo, I do. Every day.” He said whilst admiring his face in a hand-held mirror. You didn’t even know where he randomly GOT the mirror from. But you didn’t care because your relief at this great news was the only thing you could focus on.

After thanking Tony before he took off to deal with his own Iron Man business, you decided to call it a day. You made your way down to your new dorm to officially begin your week off. Settling in without a care in the world, knowing that you had no other business to take care of or attend to was the best feeling to ever exist in your life in a while. You had begun your break by hauling out some snacks to accompany your upcoming afternoon Netflix session. In which you had fallen asleep to after the first 3 hours. Upon checking the clock that read 4:27am, you realized that you had finally awaken to a well-rested state of being that you hadn’t experienced in what felt like ages. You thought it an odd time to be awake, but since you didn’t have anywhere urgent to be anytime soon, you figured you’d just lay there. Thinking…

To yourself.

The inevitable soon took place and every memory of Steve came flooding back in. And with them, the conflicts you both faced when it came to his attempts at trying to prevent your participation in S.H.I.E.L.D.’s dangerous missions. You felt your chest become heavy as the reality of your situation sunk in. Steve was gone from your life. At your own doing, nonetheless. He had been gone for over a week solid, and you suddenly became fully aware of your loneliness. The love you once thought would never leave your life was now absent. You were no longer able to feel his presence, to hold his hands, to kiss his lips, or to cuddle up to him whenever you so desired. All you could think about was Steve. Everything about him. But the anger and betrayal you felt from him going behind your back and getting Fury to over-ride your placement on the last mission was also pushing it’s way up to the surface. This was a pain you had never felt before. You were angry at Steve, yet you knew deep down that you still loved every fibre of his being. You figured that was the worst way to have it. Being hurt was the worst way to feel love. And being in love was the worst way to feel pain. This time, you didn’t have anything to occupy your mind and to distract you from the situation at hand. All you had was yourself and your thoughts. You did not complain once about the overload of work S.H.I.E.L.D. had assigned to you since the breakup because you were always busy. You always had something to do. The last thing you wanted was to be free of distractions from the pain you tried so hard to escape from. Now you weren’t so sure if you even wanted a break anymore. But you couldn’t hide forever. Now the real hardships began.

After what felt like the entire morning that had passed before your eyes, you checked the time to read 7:12 am. That was when you had cried your last tear for the time being. You were getting a little hungry and decided you should at least balance out the torture of heartbreak you let yourself feel by recharging with some fuel. You dragged yourself out of the living room area’s couch and began walking towards the kitchen behind it. That’s when you noticed an elegant gift basket on the granite countertop. A confused smile crept itself up on your face as you took hold of the card reading “(Y/N)”, which prompted you to open it up.

“Hey there, agent (Y/L/N)!

I hope this isn’t too much to ask of you after the long week you’ve experienced, but I would like to invite you to the prestigious Cornelia Spa at The Surrey this Friday morning! Among other amenities, I have booked a full day of opulent services to indulge in with yours truly. By the way, I won’t take ‘no’ for answer. However, I will take a ‘Tony Stark will make your life a living hell if you don’t get off your agent butt and attend this well-deserved treat from the both of us!’ I am expecting to hear from you soon. And I expect to hear a big, fat, YES.

P.S. Please just let yourself enjoy some girl time and treat yourself to this to-die-for facility. We’re all very worried about you and love you dearly!

Love, Pepper.”

She even ended it off with an elegant heart drawn beside her name. How sweet.

Even though there was nothing in you that wanted to leave your dorm room, you made a mental note of getting back to Pepper and accepting her invitation at a more acceptable time of day. You figured you needed some girl time just like she’d said, even though it was much to your own dismay.

——————

Four lonely days had passed and all of the post-breakup emotions and more had been a stinging rage of molten lava flowing through your body since. Now it was time for you to relax and undergo some soothing physical and mental therapy. You were dressed and ready to meet Pepper to take off to the luxurious facility by 8:00am sharp. Commuting to the destination, checking in, and getting set up for the services had taken almost an hour anyway.

“You’re going to do fine, (Y/N).” Pepper told you with a soft smile as the both of you were about the enter the building. This was her subtle attempt at comforting the nervous aura you’d been emitting all morning. You didn’t really want to reciprocate her eye contact and let her know she had successfully recognized your current mood that you’d tried so hard to hide.

After the first 15 minutes of the Cornelia Signature Massage, you’d already melted away into a puddle of relaxed bliss. You thought you could’ve stayed in this session for the rest of your week off but knew that Pepper wanted to treat you to almost everything else that the spa offered when the massage finished. This included The Purist: A Dual Detoxification Treatment, an Iridescent Pearl Manicure With Stem Cell Stimulator, and a Champagne Shimmer Pedicure With Stem Cell Stimulator. You were certain that Pepper enjoyed you accepting her and Tony’s eager help more than she enjoyed the spa herself. At the end of the day, it dawned on you that you’d never be able to pay them back in a way that was even 1/10th of that spa day’s greatness. Although, Pepper assured you that your acceptance of their offer was more than enough to even out the tally.

That was the best way you could’ve ended your week off and began your weekend. You thanked yourself for accepting Pepper’s invitation and getting some much needed rest and alone time on top of that. Of course you thanked Pepper and Tony a hundred times more for their unbeatable courtesy in selflessly treating you so prestigiously. You were back to your regular S.H.I.E.L.D. operations schedule that was nothing short of hectic on the following Monday. Within the first two days, you were already hungrily shoving your tasks and assignments into your hypothetical mouth of adrenaline. You realized that you actually missed the fast-paced hustle and bustle of the Stark Tower and the rest of the agents/Avengers. #BackToReality.

Come Wednesday morning, you’d woken up bright and early to gain a proper start to your day. You expected the usual meet up with other agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. to combine your efforts in tracking a lead that could potentially be a threat some of Stark’s resources. You’d been assigned to check out suspicious activity at the abandoned Essex/Delancey station by the Williamsburg Bridge. You were to be discreet and sneaky. You were to blend in with the rest of the civilians.

The identity of the six suspects that lingered around the abandoned underground station was still a mystery. However, their every move had been closely monitored for over three weeks. Illegal trading was taking place and some agents had entertained the suggestion of one of those men being a friend of Stark’s. You were assigned to get up close and personal, that is, without being detected, to the supposed Stark “ally”. You had never seen any of the men wearing anything other than a lot of black clothing to cover their identity. It came as a surprise to you that this guy in particular had a bright red leather jacket that stuck out like a sore thumb. He had his face and head covered in a large, black hood. At least it was easier for you to keep an eye on him.

At first, he was exchanging words, money, and hidden substances with the other suspects. That made it easy to confirm his status in this entire operation. Then he began maneuvering away from the crowd and you noticed he might be on his way out of the abandoned station. That’s when you spontaneously decided to direct your focus exclusively to the red-jacket guy. This was a slightly easy mission, considering there weren’t any other public passerbyes that you could blend in with. You managed to keep yourself unseen and unheard in the echoey underground.

Your main goal was to follow your current suspect, to see where he was going, and what his next move was.

Your target quickly headed up onto Delancey street while you kept a short distance behind him. You followed him out onto the sidewalk to find him putting on a black, tinted helmet and getting onto a motorcycle. As he was speeding away, you noticed 3 other motorbikes parked 10 meters behind his.

“Well…” You thought. “I do like a good chase.”

As you ran up to the parked bikes, you relayed in your head how Steve had taught you to hotwire one. Luckily you got it going in 3 tries.

This entire ordeal happened in a matter of twenty-seven seconds, and you were soon turning right on the corner down Essex street and you began following your suspect. You were right behind him all the way down to where Essex turned into Rutgers Street at the the corner of Essex and Canal Street. A thought randomly popped in your head of why he’s not urgently jetting out of your sight and grasp, but you dismissed it as him not wanting to cause a scene. Surprisingly, some of your past suspects and culprits have avoided drawing other attention to themselves when they knew you were on the hunt for them. It could only be because they’d rather have individual private agents on their tail as opposed to a huge swarm of feds and swats.

As the-guy-in-the-red-jacket was approaching Madison Street, he made a left turn onto it, without a signal, no less. He made another left onto St James Pl which came as a shock to you because you could’ve sworn he would’ve kept going down Madison to make it onto the Brooklyn Bridge and then make his escape into downtown Brooklyn. You thought you’d have to follow him for a long time to find out where he’s sourced. At this point, the two of you were approaching Robert F Wagner Sr Pl and he you were positive he would’ve made a left turn to go up the road and somehow get onto the Bridge to confuse you. Yet again, he made a right turn onto it and that had confused you even more. He was slowly approaching South St and turned his right blinkers that signalled his approach into a random parking space. Which, yet again, made it clear that this guy was full of surprises and you weren’t sure if you were following the right lead anymore.

Reluctantly, you followed him into the parking space. As you turned into it, you couldn’t see where his motorbike had gone but you had seen all the other parked vehicles. You stopped yourself dead in your tracks in utter confusion, not caring if you weren’t being discreet at all. Out of no where, his motorbike sped towards you and before you could react and get out of the way, he abruptly stopped about 6 feet in front of you. You couldn’t see through his helmet, but knew he was staring directly into your unshielded eyes. The first thing you analyzed was his body language in search of any threats. But he just stood there on his bike, unarmed. Finally he shut off the engine and propped it in park. You were about to draw your handgun that was hidden inside your coat, until he held up both of his hands in protest to show you he meant no harm.

You didn’t know where this was headed or what to expect. You had never had a lead literally lead you to a destination so peacefully. Maybe he wanted to talk business? Maybe he wanted to discuss a few bribes to get you to keep your mouth shut? You wouldn’t have known until he began to take off his helmet and his hood and you immediately noticed the shiny blonde hair that had remained perfectly styled.

You heart skipped a beat and your mouth dropped wide open.

You froze for a good 5 seconds or so.

“Steve…”

He just stood there, but neither of you were able to produce any words or advance in any actions.

“Tony helped set this up.” He finally said.

“Set what up…?” You still didn’t know how to react or behave in this situation.

“Baby, I’m so sorry. I just—“ You noticed Steve was trying to hold back tears and you could feel the lump in your chest increasing. “I didn’t know any way to talk to you.”

You still didn’t say anything.

“Please just hear me out—“

“Oh, so now you’re finally allowing me to be included in a mission? Is this the only way? You as the fake ‘suspect’? Are we just playing a little childish game of ‘Cops and Robbers’? Is that all this is to you?!” You angrily spat out at him.

“Baby, that’s not the point. I’ve missed you soooo much and I’ll do anything for you to take me back. Just trust me on this!” He desperately pleaded. He started taking a few steps toward you and that’s when you drove your motorcycle— well it wasn’t your motorcycle per se, but… You hit the gas and moved it a few inches over to show him that you weren’t afraid to speed off and get away if he over-stepped his boundaries.

“I’m sorry (Y/N)! Please don’t leave.” Steve pleaded again. The hurt in his eyes and on his face tugged at your heart. “Can we at least talk about everything first?”

He desperately searched your face for any sign of forgiveness or compliance.

“…Here?” You asked him, not pleased at all with your surroundings or the circumstances.

“No. Not here.” Steve said. “I have a place I want to take you to. I thought bringing you here would be a nice little preview.” He gestured at the Brooklyn Bridge.

You nodded and began to get into position on the motorcycle you had… uh, borrowed.

“Didn’t your parents tell you that stealing is wrong?” Steve said with a sarcastic grin.

You scoffed a little.

“Well, that certainly isn’t your Harley Softail, now is it?” You chimed back at him.

He laughed.

“I’ve missed that quick-witted sassiness.” Steve said with a warm smile that you willingly returned. “This is a new one that Tony got for me… He knew you’d recognize mine.”

“That Tony thinks of everything.” You said silently to yourself.

“Where would we be without him?” Steve had said, knowing that that was both a true and sarcastic statement at the same time. “I think if I owe you anything, the least of it is a ride to the place I’m taking you.”

“Nah…” You said dramatically. “I think I’ll just call an Uber.”

The both of you laughed and you hopped onto the back of his new motorcycle. As you had wrapped your arms around him, you felt him place his hand on yours for a moment before he started his bike.

Steve had set you two on your way to the North Cove Marina.

—————————————————————————————————-

OMG I HATE TO DO THIS TO EVERYONE, BUT THERE WILL BE A THIRD PART THAT ACTUALLY HAS THE BEAUTIFUL SAPPY ISHHHH!!!

Another reason why it took me so long is that I had to research a few things… Which I realize isn’t a good enough excuse, because it doesn’t take two years to research spa stuff and boat stuff… but that definitely did take up some time whilst writing this.

Please don’t hate me and don’t worry, once this one settles down a bit on my blog (or if I get inspired anytime sooner than that) I’ll get to writing PART 3, that I definitely have the concept to in my head ;)

Anyway, thank you for reading this one and the first part. It means a lot to me, especially with the overwhelming and unexpected response I got from Part 1. It makes me sooooo happy that you guys enjoyed it so much and Part 2 was highly requested :)

ENJOY YOUR LIVES AND DON’T HATE ME (again)

PART 3 WITH FOR SURE BE POSTED. IF MY TUMBLR PAGE WAS STONE, I’D WRITE THAT ON IT AND IT WILL BE SET IN STONE. BUT IT’S STILL SET IN STONE SO YOU’LL JUST HAVE TO ACCEPT THIS MEDIOCRE PROMISE FROM ME PLSSSS

63 notes · View notes

todaysbiggesthits · 4 years ago

Text

The Exam

Best Music Moment of 2020

Bin: Re-discovering 1990s alt-rock and listening to some previously unknown and/or forgotten jams culminating with discovering that Cherub Rock is an all-time track

Chap: Dancing to Frank Sinatra with my kids on NYE

Bronco: Started jamming with John on Rocksmith. He pointed out that there was a multiplayer mode, so I ordered another cable and, lo and behold, we were both able to play. He's starting to learn the bass while I continue to tinker with the guitar. Pretty awesome to jam out to some Alice in Chains or some Mastodon with my 10-year-old son. Only two more years and he should be able to tour with Korn!

Code: - climbed up to the roof for 4th of july and brought the big set outside to jam at an ear splitting volume. Arden and i danced until we got almost too drunk to descend the ladder. that was major fun. - broke quarantine (and my smoking cessation plan) in late april to ride my bike to the lake and listen to townes van zandt while thinking of bobcat the wheelie king. - listening to shadowplay while closing out each opponent in a summerlong match play tournament. - watching the sun rise through the fog on an october morning while crossing the mississippi river with elliott smith's XO

JD: July: Sitting by the window watching a rainstorm with the Barwick album on the day it came out. October: A big spin of The Big Ship. November: Blasting “House of Jealous Lovers” when they called the election and turning it into a 2.5 hour club mix. November: jj having a violently negative reaction to a song by that Muzz band that came on shuffle and saying it sounded like Jason Mraz.

BC: Haphazard attempt at The Music Game over Zoom in April with last partiers standing - JD, Maddy, and I "Live Drugs" first listen

Larse: Probably streaming through YouTube Music's Top Indie 2020 on my Chromecast TV and seeing all of the music videos for the songs on a lazy weekday afternoon whilst I wasn't working over the holidays

Best Shows Seent in 2020

Code: pqc - 10th anniversary show (streamed) silver jews - final show (01/31/2009) a handful of live phish performances while facetiming with jonas, bc and geoff not a single in-person show attended

Nasty:"Dinner and a Movie" series - Phish Youtube with BC, Code, and Dillon via facetime

JD: 1. Peel Dream Magazine at whatever they call Hi-Fi now on the day before lockdown 2. Real Estate busking on the sidewalk in front of closed record store locations in Manhattan 3. Parkay Boys’ 10th anniversary stream on my couch

Laser: Cirque du Soleil Michael Jackson One in Vegas in January…that was the only show even remotely related to music I saw all year

Bronco: Only seent one, and it was Cold War Kids with my wife. Had a really good time. It was nice to share some quality music time together, away from the kids for a night... basically the only time of this butthole of a year.

Chap: Ted Lasso

BC: Yeeeahhh right

Confession of 2020

JD: I think I engaged with Aerosmith music videos more than any new albums.

BC: Listening to new music often feels like a chore

Rotty: I played over 75 rounds of golf this year…another ample opportunity to listen to new music and I found myself just listening to Classic Pop/Rock Hits!

Codem: - i didn't even listen to taylor swift's album. - i listened to bob marley - live! for the first time in 20 years while driving my dad's car and i sobbed and sang.

Nasty: I'm a phish fan now?

Bronco: I'm still reading the book I mentioned in last year's Resolution for 2019 Status...such a slow fucking reader and this book is 1000 pages. Kindle app says I'm 63% of the way through. Jesus.

Biggest Disappointment of 2020

Nasty: Still Kanye...

NACK: Sufjan Stevens

Code: - no shows with my sweet one - no stones while waiting for the canons - i think i grew out of diet cig - i didn't put my heart into finding cool album art this year.

Larson: JD's wedding being cancelled (editor’s note: sure hope you mean postponed)

JD: Don’t know if it was my advanced age, the lack of concerts, commuting, and hearing music in bars and restaurants, or the platform economy murdering my attention span and turning them all into yet more ephemeral ‘content,’ but the new albums really didn’t take this year.

Bronco: Kvelertak was okay, they changed lead singers and the new album was fine, but after their last offering that landed quite high on my list, this one was kind of a let down. Also, 2020.

BC: 2020

Most Overrated of 2020

Chap: Fiona

BC: I fully expect Fiona Apple to flood this answer. But the correct answer is Waxahachee.

JD: It’s hard to say given the way ‘institutional’ narratives feel mostly guided by risk minimization, but I always keep this seat warm for Run the Jewels.

Bronco: Any and all death metal. It's all so samey. I have a hard time trying to get in to any of it, so I don't bother...and then it bothers me when it ends up on end of year lists like it's some revelation of sound. It's literally all the same.

Code: podcasts

Bin: The human brain

Laser: my golf game!

Make it Stop 2020

Nasty: WOP (editor’s note: WAP?)

Larse: Having to talk about Politics

Code: "better off alone" - purity ring

JD: The impossibly grating contempo pop that’s always on the radio at the bodega down the street.

Chap: Covid? Trump? Celeb deaths? SNL? Murder Hornets? Talkin' tv models via email? Not enough exposure to pop culture to really get annoyed by anything.

BC: The raging pandemic. Seriously.

Biggest TBH Regret of 2020

Laser: giving this the old college try and having just a shit list!

Chap: Only seeing one show in my 2.5 years in NYC

JD: Skipping Nap Eyes opening for Destroyer in February because I’d so obviously be able to catch Nap Eyes headlining a better venue later on.

Codem: i wanted that teenage halloween album to sound better because i loved the album artwork

Bin: Not buying Lilly stock

Bronco: No regrets to be had, couldn't do anything in this godforsaken year.

Detective Murtaugh of 2020

BC: My back giving out upon bending over to change a light bulb

Chap: Trying to give Taylor Swift the ol' college try.

Larson: This damn pandemic!

Bronco: I'm too old for being stuck in my house all day, every day, listening to the rest of my family non-stop. I need this shit to end. I can't listen to my kids anymore... not all day. It's crushing me.

Code: now that i own a car again, my favorite pastime has become zoning out to a good album on a long drive and seeing if i can reach an arbitrary mpg number for my trip.

JD: I remember browsing the racks at Media Play and getting mad at every magazine that ranked Love and Theft ahead of Is This It? in 2001 and 19 years later I came thisclose to doing it m’self.

Bin: Arizona, Pennsylvania, and Nevada taking their sweet ass time counting ballots

Resolution for 2020 Status

Larse: None How It Went: More than likely it was related to being better at this and this year was probably the worst of all time…

Code: i'm making it easier this year. catch ovlov, washer, EMA and colleen green live this year. bonus points: see dom's much anticipated return to the stage. How It Went: ain’t caught but a one!

Bronco: Build a vinyl collection. I know I dumped on Brendon for suggesting he press copies of Carpet Affair, but my kid's getting way into music and listening to it on his own (via Alexa in my bedroom which is super fucking annoying), so we're getting him his own record player and I think it's going to be a cool activity to go record store diving for whatever classics we can scrounge up. How It Went: Started the vinyl collection. Went record store diving with John at the beginning of the year. He picked up Ride the Lightening. And I've got an original pressing of Back in Black on its way, didn't make it in time for Christmas. I decided on purchasing that album, then a day or two later John said, "I think I know what I want my next record to be...Back in Black". Sad it didn't make it in time, but psyched I was able to predict it.

Chap: Eh I'm cool How It Went: Ironically, reading back it contradicts what it says

Bren: See Phish in 2020 How It Went: Phish tickets purchased and ready

Bin: Send an email about music on the TBH! thread. How It Went: Ha! Set the bar low! Finally. Send an email about music? Check.... "can you believe Trump plays Fortunate Son unironically at campaign events???"

JD: Get to more shows. Take more aimless strolls spinning tunes. How It Went: Turns out I did a lot of sitting around inside this year.

Resolution for 2021

Bronc: Get vaccinated.

BC: Get vaxxed up and return to normalcy

JD: - Massively reduce my ‘news’ consumption to free up more time to spin tunes and smell the roses. - Get vaxed and get partying.

Code: see a live music concert

Nasty: I'm going to be ambitious. See a show with JD. Coward move to shy away from this in 2020.

Nicky: To start earlier. It takes me longer to get into new stuff. I didn't even like my top 4 until at least late December, but now I feel like they could compete with most years.

Laser: Be better at this! If anything, the pandemic should have allowed me to listen to more music whilst at home working, but it seemed to have the opposite effect…

Most Anticipated of 2021

BC: TWOD

Bronco: Mastodon, and live shows... not sure I even care which ones.

JD: Dry Cleaning, Park Hye Jin, Viagra Boys

Larse: No clue…

Chap: It's way too early!

Bin: Freedom of movement

Code: it seems like there should be a buncha new cool musical ideas to come out of this time indoors. something like this era's disco? a big celebratory sound that makes us all smile and move. in other words, the next dom album.

0 notes

magic5ball · 4 years ago

Text

Nature Trail to Hell Arc III: The Blood Curse of Tako Shak (7)

Chapter 7: Tako Shak Part III: The Shak is Whack

It was a Sunday when it happened. At least, I think it was a Sunday. Tako Shak, at least the back part, seemed to exist in its’ own little time bubble apart from the rest of the universe. Even Father Time has to wait in line for his extra churro sauce, it seemed. Say what you will about the Shak, it is a jerk to everyone and everything equally and indiscriminately. But really, we all know you’d come back for that five takos for $5 deal. Everyone does.

ANYWAY as my soul was being grinded away by monotiny I started dreaming my fairy Godmother would come, turn a Tako into a carriage, and take me away from the stupid place forever. ‘Course, with the Blood Curse and all, I couldn’t step ten feet out of the restaurant without getting the sensation of ten thousand cattle prods burning into my skin. So steel wool in hand, I scrubbed that stupid floor until I could see my reflection it, took customer orders so fast I gave out change for guys who wouldn’t be arriving until next week, washed the dishes so spotless I could have sold them as diamonds, and several other things that by all means should have killed me from exhaustion. But I could not die, because I was still bound to the stupid Blood Curse. All the while, I found myself singing the old camp songs, having finally found something that made them look darn near like heaven by comparison. Also took my mind off my Mom, who would probably be none too pleased her firstborn ran off to join the fryboy life. Better than being a gangster, I guess, but still, I wished SOMETHING would happen. And you know what they say about being careful what you wish for…

I was mopping the back, on account of a fry spill while Howard handled the front. Knowing he liked to slack off, I peeked through the door splitting the front of the store from the back, just in time to see an all too familiar face cross those automatic sliding doors.

“Bienvenido from Tako Shak, Senor!” Howard greeted with a voice so deadpan it practically lurched out of his mouth. “What can I get for you today, Mr…”

“Silverstein. My name is Shel. Shel Motherf*cking Silverstein.”

Then Howard did the worst thing of all: He breached company protocol and started chatting with the customer! With fifty people behind him in line!

“Oh! Famous guy! So, Mr. Silverstein, what brings you to our humble little tako town?”

From behind the door, I saw the bald man glower, eyes dark as coals in his face.

“Demotion, that’s what! There’s this dumb kid I sent to the Underworld, but NOW, he’s escaped.”

“So what’s the big dealio? Guys escape Hell all the time.”

“Because that’s my job as a seraph: leading souls to the afterlife. But now that I BOTCHED that, the Angelic Council has decided it’s my responsibility to track him down since I sent him there!”

Despite it being over a hundred degrees in the back, a slight shiver ran down my spine.

“And until I do, I’ve been demoted from Seraph to Magical Girl! MAGICAL GIRL!” He turned his head skyward “Do you forks not know who I am?! I’m Shel Motherf*cking’ Silverstein, and I will reclaim my rightful place as a seraph!”

As if my day couldn’t get any worse, Howard just had to drop this line:

“So who is this fugitive, anyway? I’m all ears.”

“Some punk kid named Wuterdon or Watson or something. ‘Bout this high.” He held his palm flat beside his body, he around exactly what my height.

My mind began racing with a single thought: Please don’t tell please don’t tell please don’t tell…

“As a matter of fact, I think I do know a kid like that.”

F**k you, Howard.

For a moment I considering throwing myself in the deep fryer. Might be less painful than being dragged back to the Underworld.

“-But that costs 50 cents extra. Would you still like to add that information to your order, sir?”

Silverstein wasted no time slamming two shiny silver quarters on the counter.

“Okay. He has black hair.”

The great poet stared, realizing just what a bad purchase he made.

“What?! But I thought-“

“Listen Mr. If you want to get good info, you have to pay for good info.”

Silverstein slid a $500 dollar Canadian Nickel down the counter.

Howard lifted a hand to his chin, grinning all smug-like. “I dunno… If you want the real good stuff…”

It was then I caught on the Howard’s game. There was a rumor among us Tako boys that if you managed to make an order of over $10,000 and became employee of the month, you would get you freedom. And dour as Howard was, it looked as if he was holding onto a glimmer of that hope after all. At the moment though, as a shouting bargaining broke out between Howard and the customer, I didn’t know if whether to call him a low lying snitch or my savior. Either way, I snuck back to do dishes, so full of despair I’d started singing camp sham songs. Forking Camp Sham songs!

At least, until someone nabbed my shoulder.

“Hey, nice singing. Did you attend Camp Sham, by any chance?” Whoever was holding me, they had a smug, cheeky tone that could only be the Manager’s.

Steadily, I looked behind me, expecting to face my doom. What I saw instead was a familiar face. Sure, he was now wearing a blonde wig and three piece suit with a tag labeled ‘Manager’, but his face was unmistakable.

“Freddie the Ferret?!” I said.

“Watterson?” He answered back.

“HOLY CRAP!” We cried together, followed by “How’ve you been?!”

We struck up conversation real quick after that, me having to take the occasional break to make sure the dishes in the sink got cleaned. (We might have been old acquaintances, but he was my boss, after all.) Basically, I told him everything I’ve written until now between him giving me bits of survival advice (“Don’t just throw knifes in the sink, kid, you’ll scratch your hand and it will hurt, really, really bad. Most painful thing in America.”) By the time I’d finished, Howard was still trying to squeeze more money out of Silverstein.

As for old Freds, it turned out he really DID flee to the butterfly farm and didn’t, y’know, die. And while he was there…

“I struck this oil deposit. A big one. We’re talking YUGE! I had the whole place paved over and employed all the butterflies. Made the most profitable oil rig in the state. We made so much money and created so many jobs. It was great, you should have seen it. Truly, amazing.”

He sold the rig for a tidy trillion dollar profit and from there, it was just a hop, skip, and jump to becoming the district manager of Tako Shak. Of course, being manager wasn’t all perks. For some reason, he now had a weird obsession with firing people and wearing crappy blonde wigs.

“So, have you been to camp recently?” I asked.

“Yeah. Hilda turned it into a Siberian Gulag.”

Around me, time seemed to freeze as I processed what Freddie had just said.

“What?”

“Hilda turned the camp into a SIBERIAN GULAG. I don’t know what’s so hard to understand. I said it smartly, like a smart ferret. Which I am. Smartest Ferret in America.”

“She WHAT?!”

Once I’d taken a good half hour to cool my jets, Freddie explained in more detail.

“Alright kid, this is gonna sound crazy, but you know all that stuff Hilds said about freeing the camp? That was what the people in my business call a fact: something that’s only half true. See, she wanted to free the camp… but only so she could take it over and rule it with an iron fist! Really powerful, dignified stuff. That involved her Dad or something. Very interesting. . .You should ask her yourself sometime.”

“Show me.” I demanded. Something had stabbed me in the heart, but not the killer death sort. No, this stab had sent a life, a burning passion inta me I hadn’t felt since getting to the final boss in Super Luigi Bros. II.

The ferret shrugged. “Watt, I’m contractually obligated to only tell you half-truths at most, but if you insist….”

He pulled out his wallet. Opening it, a ladder of pictures tumbled out, depicting such scenes of inhuman horror that it had not been for my rigorous training at Tako Shak, most likely would have driven me mad. Also made me throw up a bit in my mouth.

Freddie looked at the photos “Well shoot! Those aren’t photos of csmp! Those are of my Aunt Carol’s 4th of July party! Word to the wise kid: never put more than four ferrets in the same place or things go downhill real fast. Terrible, not good, very bad things happen then.” He fished out more photos from the wallet (which I was starting to suspect he didn’t actually keep money in). “Here’s the Camp photos.”

Even though the photos showed scenes of gaunt, hollow eyed kids laboring away at some sort of quarry while soot covered their backs, even though these kids were shown so beaten down they no longer had tears to cry over their sawdust-loaf breakfasts, I’d been so broken down by the things I saw at the Shak the most emotion I could muster was a single, passive

“Huh.”

Because as far as I was concerned, camp really wasn’t much worse than when I left. But beneath the dark, grey canyons of despair, beneath the cabins, completely gutted to create firewood to burn those who misbehaved, there was a picture of me, or to be more specific, my sleeping body, stuck in a case like Snow White waiting for her prince. Despite there being a guardrail, Freddie was leading his shoulder on the case, mugging the camera so hard I wouldn’t have been surprised if it gave him all its money.

“But wha-? How?! I’m right here!” I cried, too shocked to form proper sentences.

Freddie waggled a finger at me. “Correction: That’s your body. Right now, you’re not really in Pennsylvania. At least, not totally. See, this right here is limbo, where all the ghosts and elves and stuff live. The fact you can see me in my true form is proof of that you are at least as dead as my rap career. Which, by the way, was a great rap career. Really fantastic!”

“And why am I in Limbo?”

“Because you died, you moron!”

I thought back to that time I ate the millipede in the woods. Yeah, that made sense. Sorta.

“So, what exactly is Hilda doing with my body?” For some reason, I did not like having someone else having control over my body like that.

“Oh, you’re just the founder of Communism.”

Communism. That word echoed around my head like a stone falling into a well.

Communism.

See, it might not seem it, but my Mom had raised me well. And the most important thing she ever taught me was

“Sweetie, no matter what you do, I will always love you. Unless you turn out to be a commie, then we are no longer related.” It was a lesson that stuck with me to this day. And with that, the latent passion within me erupted into a furious desire to get my body back.

“I need to get fired.”

The ferret looked at me all funny like for a second before realizing what I was saying.

“Look kid, if you’re thinking of escaping, its’ NEVER going to happen. You’re a valuable employee. And by that I mean I’ve seen seagull poop worth more than you, but that just means we can pay you whatever we want! It’s a great, wonderful, absolutely terrific deal that works out for everyone!”

“You can do that?”

“Of course, you moron! The Blood Curse exempts you from every child labor law in this universe and the next five dimensions!” He pulled my contract from his furry little pocket, pointing to a sentence written in text so small you’d need a military-grade microscope to see it.

At the counter, I could hear, Howard get Silverstein up to $9,500, and I wasn’t exactly eager to find out what that old poet was going to do once he got his hands on me. Still, there was one last, desperate gambit I could make, one that, if I was lucky, would save my skin. I breathed in slow, like the school guidance counselor taught me. If there was ever a time where I could sink or swim, this was it.

“But Freddie. You have to fire me! For YOUR sake!”

The ferret’s ears perked up at this. Looked serious. “Explain.”

I pointed to the front. “See that guy in front of all those angry customers? That’s Shel Silverstein-“

“Well, of course it’s Shel Silverstein! I can see that with my two, good, very good eyes. Absolutely incredible. What they are seeing. Right now.”

“Not the point! The point is, I’ve escaped from Hell, he’s looking for me, and if I’m found out, he’ll put you in deep, deep, trouble!”

Freddie smiled (more like a ‘u’ shaped slit in his face, really). “But why don’t I just hand you in, then? I could get famous for turning in a criminal. The publicity would be good. Very good.”

His smug grin made me nervous, yet my mind was now racing at a million miles per hour. It was to late to stop now. “And the publicity would be good HOW?! Think about it, dinkleburg! If he finds me, it’ll be proof Tako Shak was keeping a refugee. And if THAT happens, you’ll be fired by you bosses for making a scandal!”

The U on Freddie’s face flipped right upside down. “Y-you’re bluffing! They can’t fire me! I’m a very, very, valuable manager!”

The tables were turning. Now it was my turn to grin. “Face it, Fred! Everyone here is a cog in the Great Tako Masheen! There’s probably a billion ferrets who were possessed by demons out there who could do your job just as good, if not better!”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“Oh yes I would! And if I get caught, I’ll even tell the news you were employing ACTUAL MEXICANS!”

The little fuzzball finally kneeled in defeat. “I’ll never be able to go home to my mansion if that happens! Okay! You win! JUST! LEAVE!”

“But I can’t! I still have the Blood Curse keeping me here.”

Trembling, Freddie took the contract and ripped it into a million pieces. I don’t know what my blood experienced in that paper, but whatever it was made it jump right back through my finger into my vein.

Freddie pointed his index finger at me, all dramatic-like.

“Watterson Tostig, YOU. ARE. FIRRREEEDDDDDDD!!!!!!!!” right as Howard had gotten old Shel up to a $9,999 dollars.

With one powerful kick (ferrets can kick pretty darn hard!) he punted me like Charlie Brown would have punted that football, right through the ceiling on that fastfood hellhole and into the wild blue skies of the PA countryside. I shot up like a rocket, at least half a million mosquitoes smearing themselves against my face before I reached the peak of my flight. For a few tranquil seconds I floated in the air so high I saw the peak of Mount Davis, the highest mountain in the state. As far as I could see in every direction, there was nothing but forests, while a red-tailed hawk soared below. It was the most peaceful thing I’d ever experienced.

At least until I realized that cheapskate Freddie had forgotten to give me my last check! The dirty rotten cheapskate!

And, you know, freefalling from thousands of feet in the air. That tends to put a damper on your day.

Part III: The Blood Curse of Tako Shak: End

#My writing #Nature Trail To Hell #fast food #ferret

1 note · View note

nezzfiction · 7 years ago

Text

ENMY Chapter 45 - Top of the Wanted List

Chapter Synopsis: After pissing off three of the four Kingdoms, Team ENMY is officially declared enemies of the state, and practically, the entire world.

Team RWBY is disbanded, and Yang must find herself new allies. For her, that might very well be yesterday’s enemies. Joining up with the likes of Emerald, Mercury, and Neo, the four will comprise Team Enemy.

Links to read the series: Ao3 or FF.net

Or hit the jump below

Top of the Wanted List

What is born between Hammer and Anvil.

“You’re early,” said one of the weapon dealers.

“By the looks of it, I came right on time,” replied the buyer. “So how about we get down to business, shall we?”

In the back alley of one of Vale’s shadier neighborhoods, two groups of gangsters met for an arms deal. With the seller brought four of his affiliates, while the buyer brought one other. Each of dealers seemed especially paranoid and eager to finish the deal as quickly as possible.

“Money.”

On a large crate, the buyer set down a briefcase and showed it was full of lien. In response, the dealer checked it, flipped through the bills, and even took the time to smell it. When he was satisfied, the man presented a brown bag.

“A brown baggy? Really? I’m not buying drugs or some kid’s lunch, am I?”

“It’s less conspicuous!”

“It is?”

“I’m more surprised with you! Bringing a briefcase full of cash, to this part of town, with only one guy? If it wasn’t a two-bit thug that robbed you, I’m surprised they didn’t.”

“Who’s they?”

“You know who. Those wack jobs at Junior’s place.”

“Oh, Team ENMY or whatever. Uppity kids trying to make a name for themselves.”

“Yeah. Them.”

“Don’t tell me they’re the ones that got you all strung out.”

“Geez, you really are from out of town. Haven’t you heard? They’ve been smashing and grabbing every big weapon’s deal this side of Vale lately.”

“I dunno. From what I’ve heard, they don’t sound so tough. Bet me and my partner could take ‘em.”

“Whatever, pal. Enjoy your merchandise. Unlike you, I don’t plan on pressing my luck.”

“Wait a minute.”

“What? You want to put another order? Cause I ain’t got the stock no more. That was my last bit of serious hardware. Check again in a few months.”

“Sure, but not about that. Why’d you risk doing this in broad daylight?” the buyer glanced up, shielding his eyes from the sun. “Not afraid of the cops or some average schmo catchin’ the show?”

“No. Not compared them. They don’t work as much in the day, so the rumor goes.”

“Funny how a group of brats got you and half this city’s criminals spooked, ain’t it?”

“Naw, man,” the dealer answered, refusing to fall for the taunt. “It ain’t funny at all.”

He motioned to his crew. “Let’s move.”

The two groups went their separate ways, down their own respective alleys.

…

“Wha—?!”

The dealers paused as they came face to face with the exact same buyers as before.

“How the hell did you guys get over here?”

“What do you mean?” asked the buyer. “We’re right on time for our deal. You got the merchandise?”

“…….. Shit.”

The dealer opened the briefcase he had accepted earlier with a panic.

Only pieces of newspaper popped out, and was carried into the breeze.

* * * * *

Along the streets of Downtown Vale, Emerald made a quick purchase at a clothing store, and dropped the brown bag into a shopping bag.

“Now, that’s inconspicuous.”

Town is bled dry.

“I know, Neo. I caught what the guy said too. No weapons. Guess Vale’s armies emptied the black market too.” Emerald snatched two apples from a fruit cart they passed by. She bit into one, and tossed the other to Neo. “Not that it matters, since I doubt we’ll be able to crash any weapon deals after today.”

Too famous.

“Yeah. Even the dumbest thugs are getting wise to us. I mean, gun deals in the day? Some people have no consideration for timing.”

Neo nodded her head disapprovingly.

Right then, a slip of paper flew close by. Neo caught a glimpse, and swiftly used the point of her umbrella to pin it.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me…” Emerald muttered over the small girl’s shoulder.

“The outlaw in my blood is telling me it’s time to blow this stand.”

* * * * *

In the past few weeks, Junior’s club had gone through major renovations. Not only did they buy up and incorporate the buildings around them, security had also been significantly upgraded.

The place had more cameras, more guards. And those guards carried weapons of an impressive grade. Not to mention on the dancefloor, an actual Paladin mech was DJing the music.

It could be said the owner’s recent success was due to a certain number of individuals living above his club. Among them, a genius engineer by the name of,

“Masa,” Yang called.

The girl sat at a table with a soldering iron in her hand. She was in the middle of putting the last touches on the weapon in front of her. On another table, Masa and Mercury were doing the same.

“Yes, Miss Yang?” Masa replied, as she went over.

“I’m having some trouble finishing this up.”

“I do not understand. Recently, you no longer required my assistance for such easy work, this one evaluates, averse to the idea of having to hold your hand through upgrading measures again.”

“Hey! We are helping you, you know.”

“I am aware.”

“And you know why I’m having trouble.”

“Please state your problem in a concise manner.”

Yang went silent for a moment. A slight nervous twitch in her bottom lip. As if she were still contemplating to bringing the issue up.

“You knew my mom, the one who raised me when I was little. You knew Summer Rose… What was she like?”

…

“…………. Why would you ask such an uncomfortably heavy question of this one?”

*Sigh!*

“You know what? Forget it. This was stupid,” Yang breathed with frustration and turned back to the soldering iron.

…

Masa pulled up a chair to sit with her.

“You wish to hear about your mother?”

“Yeah…” Yang flashed an uneasy smile. “I don’t remember much from when I was young. And I didn’t understand a lot of things, because I wasn’t old enough.”

She paused, frowning at the weapon before her. The soldering iron placed to the side.

“I only remember the best things. I didn’t notice her flaws, what she was going through, the problems she had. She was just ‘super mom’ to me. Now, I know there was more to her. But after she disappeared, me and Ruby only grew up on the bits and pieces dad told us.”

“Hmmm… interesting, this one ponders. Raven has not spoken anything regarding Summer?”

“I tried asking once—like how they met— but all she said was they had the ‘worst meeting ever’, and didn’t want to talk after.”

“I see… Summer was indeed a truly exceptional individual. This one can understand the excruciating emptiness she could leave in any person’s heart.”

“Heh…yeah…”

Yang’s fingers traced the blade on the desk till they almost cut. It was a familiar-looking red scythe that was near its completion. The only thing left, was to take a few choice parts of an older weapon, and incorporate it.

The older weapon that sat nearby was a silver chakram. Its hoop was the diameter length of a person’s leg, giving it an unwieldy impression. Its circular blade was forged with elegantly curved edges that mimicked thorns and vines. Among the countless weapons Yang had ever seen, this one was the most beautiful—which made it all the stranger knowing who its previous owner was.

One chakram of a pair, which the Huntress Summer Rose once wielded.

Eclipsing Rose.

…

Masa held Yang’s hand without a word, and guided it along the weapon’s surface.

She could only guess how her mother used to fight with something like this. The scars and mended portions gave voice to hard fought battles. Moments weighed between life and death, defeat and the willingness to refuse surrender. A deep impression in the grip screamed volumes of a warrior’s repeated effort to steel her resolve in the face of overwhelming adversity.

Masa once said she could learn more about a person through their weapon, than talking to them. Yang was beginning to understand that.

As she held her mother’s weapon, she wondered what the Huntress had gone through to leave such impressions. How much she did not know about the woman who fought the darkness more valiantly than any who came before her. Yang could sense it in its ringed steel.

A white cloaked figure that stood tall against the evil that threatened to consume everything. Unwavering, uncompromising, defiant—a flicker of shimmering light in the world’s darkest hour. There was no trace of fear in the end. A gentleness that was ever-present. A kindness. An honesty. A guardian.

Yang set Eclipsing Rose down with a forlorn smile.

She could not be any more different from Summer. She had compromised. She knew there were shades of dark to her soul she never hesitated to admit. It was a stinging contrast, but this too, Yang accepted in its whole.

Masa stepped away from the table with a knowing look, and Yang went to refitting the blades of Eclipsing Rose to Crescent Rose.

…

After a few hours passed.

“Okay, Penny. Run diagnostics.”

[Running….]

The laptop next to Yang, booted up a few graphs and values. At the same time, the crimson weapon surged with a glow. Right before it cut through the table and part of the floor. A few rose petals left in its wake.

“Whoops.”

[Diagnostics complete. Weapon: Functional.]

“Thanks, Penny.”

[…]

“…Penny?”

[Friendly Subject Identified: Yang Xiao Long. Match for Ally Database.]

Yang hung her head low. Her hand, smoothing the edges of the computer screen.

“Still trying to pull off the ‘she’s a real girl!’ routine?” Emerald suddenly came in, and spoke over her shoulder. Neo following from behind.

“She’s in there. I swear, she’s in there.”

“Face it, kid. She’s a computer. All zeroes and ones.”

“She could generate an Aura, Em. That has to count for something.”

“A phenomena this one has yet to decipher,” Masa joined from across the room. “It is said the manifestation of Aura is evidence of a soul. But then, one must ask what is a soul, and if it alone constitutes a living—"

“Hey, Maz. I got you the thing you wanted,” Emerald interrupted, while tossing the brown bag at her.

“Satisfactory.”

The weapon tech took out the handgun inside, and swiftly smashed it to pieces with a hammer. From the wreckage, she used tweezers to salvage a tiny microchip, before sweeping everything else into the trash.

“…….What, this one asks, curious of all the faces you are making.”

“I did all that, so you could smash a gun, for a tiny little microchip inside?”

“It is the only important component.”

“Of course, it is.”

“You will be compensated, as per usual agreement.”

“Guess, I can’t argue with that.”

Following the events of Masa’s rescue, Team ENMY had been helping the weapon engineer complete a long queue of job contracts that had built since going into hiding. The reason being, the weapons tech refused to do much else until prior obligations had been seen to. Her reason citing she had a reputation to uphold.

As such, to help meet the number of work orders, Team ENMY was frequently hired to acquire rare weapon components. Their methods usually took the form of crashing an arms deal, and stealing the merchandise. But as evidence of the afternoon’s incident proved, their enterprise was least likely to continue.

“Hope that was the last extra, special, tiny part you needed, cause there won’t be anymore,” Emerald told Masa.

“Something happen without us?” Mercury questioned.

“No. The grift went off without a hitch. To be honest, I’m gonna miss the fun of just stealing. You know, without all the muscle, and explosions, and the testosterone you and Yang always bring to the table.”

“Glad you’re enjoying yourself while Yang and me are being enslaved by Maz.”

“Yeah, it’s the best. Conning people is the best. Just makes me feel so alive.”

“Clepto,” Yang snickered from the side.

“Hey, everybody’s born with some sort of gimmick. If there’s a patron star for thieves, I was definitely born under it. Too bad the streets are dry now.” Her mischievous smile faded into a more serious expression. “BUT more importantly,” she pulled out the paper they picked up a while ago, along with some others she found. “Looks like everyone finally settled on a bounty for us…”

Multiple chairs screeched across the floor as the rest came for a look.

There, they saw photos of all of them. Separate wanted posters issued by each different Kingdom: Vale, Atlas, and Mistral. A monetary sum of lien printed at the bottom of each of their pictures, captured dead or alive. A list of crimes held accounted for. And a small description included a few of their skills and traits.

“That’s… retiring money—for any one of us,” Yang awed. “Are bounties even allowed to be set that high?”

“I thought it would’ve been lower, but they must’ve upped it after we took Masa. Apparently, our engineer is treated the same as a national asset,” Emerald suggested.

“Hmph, ‘Considered among the top enemies of the state,’” Mercury read and chuckled. “Is it bad to say I’m proud of us? Cause I am. Top of the Wanted List has a nice ring to it. Buuuut I don’t know about Yang’s bounty being the highest. Is that cause she’s our leader on paper?”

“That’s why I put her there. The less bullets meant for me and meant for her, the better.”

“Hey!” Yang complained.

“Anywho, fellow enemies of the state. It’s time we made ourselves scarce, real soon. All our go-bags were restocked recently, right?”

Neo nodded.

“So, we’re good to go on the dime.”

They smelled something burn behind them, and turned. Masa installed the microchip into a weapon she was working on, and breathed a satisfied sigh.

“This weapon completes the last of my commissions. As promised, this one will begin dealings with your group, this one announces with fatigued motivation.”

“Finally!” Emerald groaned.

“What work does your group wish to commission?”

“Yang needs a new arm and I need to upgrade my Semblance.”

“Ah, yes. The foolish one’s arm. An adequate replacement will be constructed until a true weapon can be forged. As for your unorthodox request, improving your Semblance may prove impossible with my skillset, this one points out the obvious flaw of asking a weapons technician for advice, normally sourced to a Huntress or Professor.”

“So you might not be able to help,” Emerald turned and glared at her teammates. “Well, that was my main reason for saving your butt…”

“Nonetheless, your requests have been accepted. A bill will be sent as soon as this one calculates proper compensation.”

“Why do I feel like this is gonna cost us?”

“Because it will, this one confirms your suspicions.”

“”We helped you complete your work orders!”” Yang and Mercury shouted.

“…… A small discount shall be subtracted.”

Team ENMY only continued to stare.

“…… Very well. The fee will be waived.”

They breathed a collective sigh.

As Masa watched them, only one thing crossed her mind,

Not to mention it stands in this one’s best interests to stay on your little group’s favorable side.

A price is always collected in due time.

* * * * *

Perched on the rooftop of a building six blocks away from Junior’s Club—and outside of the gang’s territory—a large man spoke into his scroll.

The one in question was adorn with a set of heavily mechanized leg armor. In contrast, the top half of his body was “bare”, save for the thin plates of metal embedded into his very flesh. His muscles bulged with years upon years of training, which led him to be able to move with all his augmentations. His arms were stained with burn scars. His face was ugly and distorted, which he usually hid behind the iron mask of a bearded man.

“Yes, yes, I understand,” he moaned into the scroll. “I know not to underestimate them. I read the report. Have I ever failed you before, brother? Have I? Hm?”

…

“Yes, I’ll send you a selfie with the corpses once I’m done—if they’re still recognizable, that is. Vulcan, out!”

The man ended his call and turned to the small army of gangsters and mercenaries behind him.

“Sorry ‘bout that, boys. Where were we?”

One of the mobsters with sunglasses stepped forward.

“You were about to go over the plan.”

“Right! The plan. Real fuckin’ simple, this one. I go, then you go. Eh? S’good, right?”

“…That it?”

“That’s it. I go after the team. You fodder, keep the other fodder busy downstairs. Won’t be hard. The second you start movin’ past this block, the whole gang’s gonna be on you.”

“We aren’t fighting the team? You said we’d get a share of the bounty.”

“Right. Look, you lot got your asses handed to you just weeks ago! Has anything changed since then? Anything? Don’t be shy! Raise your hand if ya got somethin’ to say. No? Right. So I’m thinkin’, if ya fight them again, you’re all just gonna lose again. Am I wrong, or am I wrong?”

No one responded.

“No? I got it right? Sure? I kinda just shat on all you, but okay. Moving on, I fight them alone. Don’t worry about me, I’m a pro. Real true and blood assassin, I am.”

The gangsters looked him up and down, mainly at his giant figure and rippling muscle fiber.

“You… don’t look like an assassin.”

“Ey! I kill, who I need to kill. Bein’ all sneaky is just a misconception of me profession. Anyway! You lot, will still get your share of the reward. Truthfully speakin’, I’m not in it for the green. It’s a family thing, don’t ask. So! All’s you are getting paid just to scrap it with Junior’s thugs. Easy ‘nuff, aye? The team, you leave, with me. Synch?”

“Uh… what?”

“Oh, for the luv a—When I say synch, you say synch. You see this? I’m tryin’ a learn you some bit a’ professionalism, you read me?”

“Yes?”

“Synch?”

“Synch.”

“And the rest of you lot?”

“”Synch””

“Alrigh’, then.” Vulcan turned, hoisted three packs over his shoulders and a larger than life hammer. “Bloody, fuckin’ amateurs…” he whispered low.

“WAIT!” the same gangster shouted.

“What, now? Can’t you see I’m tryin’ to get into me zone?”

“What’s the signal?”

“The what now?”

“The signal—to attack.”

“…… Have you lot not been payin’ attention. I said, synch. You said, synch. That’s the fuckin’ signal. It’s go time, chum. This was simple, and now you’re goin’ ahead, muckin’ it up. I’m fallin’ off me rhythm. I mean, hey. Okay, is my fault, ya? Shouldn’t’ve expected so much. You want a signal? I’ll go ahead and give you one.” Vulcan pulled the man to the ledge. “See, right there?”

He pointed at Junior’s club.

“As soon as I get over there, you lot, fuckin’ get over there. Got it?”

“Yeah,” the nervous gangster nodded. “I mean, synch.”

“No, that’s not—! Urrgh! You lot are drivin’ me mad as bat shit. Here we go,” Vulcan backed up.

“Wait, how are you getting over there?”

Not listening anymore, the gigantic assassin walked to the other end of the roof. Once there, he turned, and started an all-out blitz to the other side. Running past the confused gangster, the heavy-set man leapt off the building.

The rest of them could only stare blankly.

* * * * *

[Enemy Detected. Approaching immediate vicinity.]

“Penny, report enemy location,” Masa replied.

[Incoming in 5… 4…]

“Maz?” Yang asked.

“A problem with the code? None of the other security measures have been triggered, this one—”

At that moment, the whole loft was knocked sideways from the impact. The ceiling collapsed, the east wall was decimated. And from a burning hammer; lava, fire, and explosives seared the bodies of Team ENMY and Masa.

NOTE

Double-chapter release.

#rwby #yang xiao long #emerald sustrai #mercury black #neopolitan #ENMY #rwby au #rwby fanfiction

1 note · View note