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the-nysh · 2 years ago

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Time for some in-depth trigunbookclub notes! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ First story arc 'episode': vol1 ch00-04~

A bit of a late start but I'm planning to reread the series again with the overhaul translation, hoping to catch what I might've missed the first time around vs Dark Horse's. Paying attention with more informed, detailed thoughts and impressions from the perspective of already knowing what happens later in the story. Special thanks to cerealandchoccymilk's translation notes comparing to their japanese copy for additional clarity!

Flipping through these pages again, and gosh I'm already surprised at how much information's densely packed in here! (I...may have miscalculated how long these commentaries might take...) I've already made some notes for the opening ch00: 'High Noon at July' prologue, and I'm not sure how far I can sustain this same level of detail (maybe I'll surprise myself), but for now I'll try to focus on what else I can observe and talk about from the manga's first official story 'arc' - which lasts for the first 3ish chapters, corresponding to the 98anime's episode 5: 'Hard Puncher.' Stampede actually begins with this same story arc in eps1-2! :O In short, about the town suffering in decline from their malfunctioning Plant problems, desperately in need of money that Everyone (citizens, hunters, and outlaws alike) chases after Vash for the huge bounty on his head, until the Nebraska family shows up to escalate more trouble.

Yup, that's where the manga's story begins, as ch4 already speeds right on through to the Sand Steamer arc! (After a 2 week timeskip) Which the 98anime adapts later in ep7, and Stampede ep6! :O So the pace of the early manga is considerably much denser and faster, with plenty of details to note in between.

After the prologue sets the tone--ominously post-disaster with human survival and hope, ch1 opens with the iconic shot of Vash's Wanted poster. Many people have already noticed the...unusually vague and contradictory bits of information on him. So much is 'unknown' (note: Dark Horse lists an unknown birthplace while overhaul lists an unclear appearance) and yet...he's suspected to be the 'murderer' of someone with a fancy alias, as a 'young' (est age24) horrible killer who's also a pacifist?? 🤔 (How does that contradiction work out?) Who's believed 'capable' of mass destruction...and yet, there's nothing really conclusive he's indicted with here. Most of it feels like unconfirmed rumors and hearsay, so what's the actual truth? Who is he really? There's the additional tonal whiplash of seeing his ~smiley smiley~ easygoing (and old western themed) mugshot in contrast to the prologue's (sci-fi) bleak & desolate shot of a city that looks eerily destroyed by a post-nuclear bomb, released or shot from a clear direction leveled at ground zero. Something disastrously huge happened here to account for that ridiculous sum of $$60 billion on his head, with way more missing info than the suspicions he's listed for. Something doesn't add up here, so that's what the rest of the story's about--for us to find out~

First impressions of actual manga Vash (just from this introductory arc alone)....and he's a cute & silly little guy! :'D Whose attention is sharp and alert (he's definitely no idiot) to his surroundings sensing danger, with quick reaction times and even quicker resourceful fingers. A little odd and creature-y; how does he move that way and get himself into so many ridiculously contorted pretzel upskirt positions?! (Ahem: Nightow gives him all the 'fanservice' shots so the women don't have to; I respect that~ Hey, and why do the 4 buttons on his coat's collar keep mysteriously unbuttoning away in the breeze like that too, c'mon!!) Very animated and openly emotive with range, from the uwuest sad puppy eyes ever seen (accentuated with pretty corner lashes~) to flipping into irritation as someone who's not above using petty sass to make his points either. Oh he cries, both blubbering to himself about his own misfortunes and empathetic to others' pain, and oh he gets angry with dialed up severity too. And yet...he's a nice guy (who's gentle and considerate with women!!! 📣 with none of that 98 weirdness shown here at least, and easily makes friends with kids; all these are good signs) with an aloof air of mysterious distance, like he's a tired, traveling loner. Who seems like he'd just happily prefer to keep to himself out of trouble, simply trying to enjoy his meals in peace...until people rudely inconvenience him or interrupt his day with violent guns blazing!! D: Oh my god what an upsetting life (everyone's so mean to him~) give this poor guy a break with some actual Rest and peace please!

More in-depth thoughts from chapter 01: 'The 60 Billion Double Dollar Man' Immediately the setting is a very lawless, harsh place to live. With daily injuries and murder cases galore, where violence is so commonplace that even kids yearn for their own guns someday (wow D:) People might be cold and inconsiderate to others, cause everyone has it Hard here--everyday is a struggle, but the biggest telling observation -to me- is that no one is evil. :O Everyone presented this arc simply does what they must to survive, that resorting to violence (without malice) simply becomes a necessitated choice or way of life for many. :') That, in itself, clues me in that humanity is not evil, despite how it may appear. (I'll continue this more.)

I say this because the group of bandits who violently open fire on Vash in the diner, aren't there to hurt anybody else--they're only after his bounty (nothing personal), and in fact they assure the waitress they'll even repair the damages with that money later. Vash Notices(tm)~ Creatively resolving the situation thru non-lethal distraction, attrition, and his de-escalation + marskman skills using a child's toy. (So you see kid~ real guns aren't needed to win and save the day~) And I'm glad the overhaul translation made it clear the group volunteered giving up all their clothes & weapons to pay for the diner's damages as they concede defeat (that was...nice? of them), rather than simply walking away in humbled shame. Cause in the Dark Horse tl and old anime I didn't quite understand why they all suddenly stripped like that (to Vash's uncomfortable surprise: he didn't make them or expect they'd do that gesture either.)

We get some of our first classic Vash lines! yay~ Dark Horse kinda awkwardly botches his purple-prosey way to express his ongoing quest for 'Love & Peace,' so overhaul sounds more natural and faithful to the 98anime here: "[I'm a] hunter of peace, who continues to chase the elusive mayfly of love." (as opposed to a 'peaceful hunter' for the 'dragonfly' of love...which doesn't make much sense, since dragonflies are the hunters Dark Horse pls) Because striving for peace in this violent land is hard, and love itself (not necessarily 'romantic,' since familial and platonic kinds exist too) is as rare, short-lived, and precious to find here as a mayfly's tragically short lifespan...:') Man...

The whole thrifty 'price of one bullet for [insert any amount of food]' joke, cause whether pizza, pancakes (he ate those in the 98anime here), or donuts, his point still stands that choosing more food to live is more important/valuable than buying more bullets for killing & violence~

Violence which! He reasons that since no one likes to receive pain, he's decided to avoid any casualties. Apparently Dark Horse has the more accurate tl here, as it's about 'receiving' it: "pain isn't something anyone likes, right?" over rhetorically asking whether anyone can forgive 'doing harm' (overhaul). Because just SAYIN, as someone like him who personally KNOWS pain and what it's like to receive it etched all over his body, of course he'd feel awful and project empathize when others get hurt too. Never wishing they'd come to suffer the same as him. As long as he can help it, never again--whether that's to the pacifist level of preventing, stopping, relieving, or taking their pain upon himself in their place. But perhaps only lightly alluded to though or maybe I'm reading too much into his awkward sweating closed-off expression, since even he can't fully explain it yet; all the pain and scars of his past and the reasons why he refuses to kill aren't fully revealed yet~

...Oh my god, and we see our first official Plant bulb - which is so utterly bizarre to see it standing so bare and 'alone' surrounded by what amounts to only a roadside gas station & diner in the middle of nowhere. We know a single Plant can sustain a whole town..so why...it's almost like it was only recently 'dropped' (off the 'ship') or discovered as still active that civilization hasn't had enough time to properly settle around it...hmm.

But it marks the resting stop and first official appearance of Meryl & Milly! YES!! The girls show up in ~chapter one~ and are here to STAY, as important characters from beginning to end! 🎉 Meryl arrives with all the aura and swag of one whose larger than life ~presence~ belies her small frame. She's here for a reason, determined on a mission with a job to do, and has no time of day (she seems used to it as one who's experienced much of this before) for men who won't take her seriously or who make vulgar jokes at her (their) expense--thank you Milly's giant stungun for the karmic slap in their stead; don't dismiss, disrespect, ignore, or overlook these ladies, now!

I love that the moment Meryl's told the whereabouts of Vash, along with the wise advice to stay away from the current danger in that city--BAM she's already heading out the door (ditching Milly and their meal order?!) Reminds me how in the 98anime she ditched Milly in hot pursuit jumping off a tower wearing a parachute--like HELLO? Meryl pls! But here THEY'RE OFF~ on their way while Vash is...ulp, welp he's in trouble. :'D

Chapter 02: 'Looney Tunes' More worldbuilding's revealed to flesh out what we first glimpsed in the prologue: it's been over a 100yrs since humans crash-landed onto this desert planet and built up cities around the fallen ships, closely dependent on the viable technology brought within them. The first (!!) time the name 'Vash the Stampede' made history was once one of those major cities--lost July, was wiped off the map. Links are connecting, especially if he was deemed the prime suspect responsible for its sudden, unexplained destruction. The prologue said this disaster happened in year 0104, which matches being over a hundred years since humanity's 'arrival,' but just how long ago has it been since that incident? For Vash's name to build that notoriety for his bounty? For him to remain dangerously at large, yet uncaught, like a mysterious urban legend humanoid 'bomb.' The narration implies it's been a while for his story to be 'passed though the ages,' but we shall see.

But no time to ponder about that, because immediate tonal whiplash! Current Vash is in trouble and distress, running around dodging bullets, grenades, and the silliest cartoony hijinks imaginable for his life. Since after those first few guys in ch1, now the entire town knows who he is to be after his bounty too! aaaa~

Meryl & Milly are already here! (urgently, in hot pursuit to do....?) Meryl's pissed at how carelessly the town's handing all the chaos, as if they're all childish fools unknowingly playing with a nuclear warhead set to blow. (So interestingly, that's her first presumption about Vash; she's likely done her homework on July's historical disaster report.) Scaring Milly so much about the imminent danger (this town could be the next to explode!) that Milly stops, deciding she doesn't want to go anymore. :O Ah!! This interestingly reveals Meryl's likely the braver, more headstrong leader of the two, who seems to know what she's doing. Which is...wait, what does she plan to do here, exactly?? AAAAA!!! Bringing a megaphone into a warzone--alright, silly silly silly. She's SO silly, but so brave. And reckless. :P (Go Meryl~) Actually I like that she sees everyone here as humans first, who--she thinks, can still listen to reason even riled up in a mob. But even with her most ridiculously polite and ~formal~ way of speaking, you guessed it: the crowd pays her 'request' no attention. :'D (aaa! she's ignored; much woe and irony~) But whatever she has to say is so important that Meryl's determined and desperate to have her voice heard!

While wondering what on earth these two insurance ladies can still possibly hope to achieve here, now that the situation's chaotically escalated to the point the town chairman's called in the Nebraska family to pit against Vash...I'd say, in contrast to the town's many unsuccessful, over-the-top bombastic methods to catch him so far, I find it...very interesting that the ones who actually silently corner Vash (at gunpoint) are a room full of women. :O Interesting, very interesting~ (It seems the women in this story are the ones who can effectively get shit done~ So Meryl & Milly? Let's have faith to see what else they got~) As armed mothers, sisters and wives, prepared to do whatever it takes to get the money needed to save their kids and town from dying. So remember what I said about how none of the humans shown here are evil? Cause these women, and this whole town really, are just trying to survive (while resorting to violence); everyone has their own reasons to be after that bounty, with no personal malice towards Vash himself. :')

Vash of course, sympathizes with their terrible plight. And holy shit they said they lost 50 Plants?! (that's a shitton! D:) How is he holding himself together so well--ah, he is forcibly holding back his tears. :') BUT he's doubly conflicted, because he asserts he cannot afford to stop (as in, getting captured or killed) before he sees 'Him' again. (We know who that is, as there's only one stabby guy that could be.) The 98anime dub happened to mistranslate this line as 'the guy you're after' (who, the waitress!? she doesn't even know who [redacted] is!) so I imagine the subjects/objects were vague enough in japanese for that mistake to happen. Still, there's nothing else to really imply what Vash intends to do when he sees 'him.' Is it for revenge or something else he plans to do? It's unclear, aside from how clearly Vash gets angry and serious when it comes to 'him' (bonus: yes as suspected, Vash uses 'ore' as his personal pronoun like in the 98anime when it comes to topics about 'him' I'm glad to see those jp scans to confirm) That it must be something so personal/sensitive/grave enough that he realllllllly doesn't want to resort to shooting a room full of women when he's cornered (don't force him!!! pls he's already begging them not to make him do this), so that he can escape and continue his quest without dying early here. Whew... Fortunately no one has to make that difficult decision yet, because (unfortunately) the Nebraska's rocket fist breaks that building tension...and literally the entire room first.

Uhoh? But surprise!!! Vash is unharmed, gently holding the same waitress who'd just aimed a gun at him before, and somehow he managed to write a sassy "kiss my ass!!" returning message on Nebraska's fist--MULTITASK ahoy! (Also where did Vash grab that marker??? hah who knows~) But Milly's so worried at this point--and smothering Meryl from seeing anything, that 'bomb-kun' (Vash) has been provoked enough to explode! lmao :P (but will he?)

Chapter 03: 'Hard Puncher' Once again I need to appreciatively state just how gentlemanly and careful Vash is with these injured women; he fishes them out of the rubble and carries them all out to safety, one by one. Even Nebraska patiently waits, chilling there smoking a cig, for Vash to finish! They may be a notorious, haughty, and highly destructive family of outlaws, but see even the Nebraskas here aren't evil. :O Even when Vash moves away from the women to make space (and this is different from how the 98anime did it) Nebraska still faithfully aims at him, not them. But Vash needlessly dives forward to bodily shield the women from the exploding debris anyway! :O (In the 98 anime Vash was far away but Nebraska aimed at the women to force a lesson on him to make a choice, here interestingly not so; the women aren't helplessly made targets like that.)

Nebraska finds Vash's behavior odd, cause this is a duel - a quick draw match between a gunman and a cyborg's flying rocket punch (Nebraska himself is only after the bounty too for his own reasons; nothing personal.) So with Vash's own survival on the line, why would he continue to risk harming himself to protect others? Nebraska finds his actions wanting to save everyone hypocritical, and the Dark Horse tl seems to make more sense (closer to the 98anime's lines), when his reasoning's about 'his turn' to either be eliminated or become, either directly or indirectly, the killer (aka kill or be killed, even the choice with the whole trolley problem) when the time comes faced against an opponent who gives him nothing but trouble someday. So if Vash has survived this long unscathed (just think about him emerging from the July rubble...) then someone else must've already died in his place before (or so Nebraska thinks, he doesn't know Vash tries to find other creative ways to win without casualties, and gloats that today is that turn for Vash to die~)

But then...suppose Vash has killed somebody in his past before (remember the prelude about July 👀), wouldn't his choice to change and practice no-killing now be an active improvement over that - as a measure of growth or atonement? And not the same 'hypocrisy' Nebraska means? It'd become that way if say, Vash broke his current philosophy once it becomes impossible/unsustainable to uphold, and he had to kill again someday (as a choice, orr...forcibly no choice as even the women who cornered him this ch almost forced him a tough decision he didn't want to make) despite everything---ahhh, so then what does Vash plan to do when he sees 'Him' again? If Vash chooses to kill him then...whoopdeedo, Nebraska's hypocrisy point will be made. But anyway...

It's the first time we see Vash don his glasses when it's time to ~Get Serious~ for shooting a quick draw match (vs a rocket punch--note again, how Nebraska only aims for Vash, not the women, unlike the 98anime.) And here, Vash is still faster than his opponent!! Unloading multiple bullets that force the fist to veer off-course and miss him~ While aiming to break the cyborg socket of that arm for good measure so it can't be punched again. Interestingly a male citizen says Meryl's lines from the 98anime expressing awe understanding now why this skilled man is called 'Vash the Stampede.' But manga Meryl has none of that identity crisis confusion; she already knows who this Vash is and is determined to get right down to business!

Which is....? Calling for everyone to stop the fight!!! oh but it's already over~ I'm marking this moment down as the first time Meryl & Milly make eye contact with Vash--them awkwardly yelling from the rooftop of a building with the same diplomatic intent in their methods as Vash, by wanting to resolve things peacefully!!!!

BECAUSE!! Oh, you thought the girls were only here to be a slapstick comedy duo? SURPRISE!!! THEY WERE HERE TO SAVE VASH ALL ALONG!!! ;A; That important 'thing' that Meryl was so desperately trying to announce to everyone this whole time--but could never get her voice heard, was that Vash's bounty has been officially rendered null! Void, invalid, zero! Everyone had only been fighting, trying to shoot him dead, and destroying their own damn city for nothing! AHHHHH!! (I totally understand your anger/frustration here, Meryl--an authentic and capable short woman's struggle to be listened to and taken seriously! UGH! ;o;)

[But that's curious--why so suddenly NOW, or er, yesterday, did the government decide to call off his bounty? This is so sudden, and it's only in the first story arc too! Pretty sure his bounty remains active for much longer in the 98anime before his status changes later. So what was the most recent occasion or reason?? Especially if it'd been years since lost July happened to build his bounty, why is he only declared a natural/localized disaster--like that of an earthquake or typhoon, now? 🤔🤔🤔 As someone who can't be compared on the same level as other human criminals--wait, then hold up: how does the government, or the insurance company really, intend to 'control' or contain him then? By sending out two women?? To deal with the most dangerous non-human category risk alive?! Who sent them out here expecting them to make contact and negotiate or die trying right in the line of fire! Ahem.]

For what it's worth, Vash looks the happiest he's ever been seen so far, rejoicing that ~HE'S FREE~ from that marked life of running from everyone who comes after his head. :'D No more bounty to worry about means peace for real, right? Well not so fast!!! The girls are still here with a job to do. Bernadelli's 'typhoon' insurance premiums payouts are probably pretty damn huge to cover for all his damages all the time so...to prevent needless, costly risks and disasters from happening, they're here to ensure Vash doesn't get himself into any more trouble...by keeping him under their close watch: 24hr vigilant surveillance! 8'D (so he's not freeee~)

Considering how Meryl compared his risk factor to that of a nuclear warhead before, she's pretty damn bold and fearless!!! To waltz right up in his face, poking a finger in his chest, and offering him a gorilla grip of a handshake to officiate their first 'meeting' doing business with him! (Damn, girl!) Dark Horse's tl appears to be more accurate when she describes him having a 'chronic troublemaking disease' too. :P Hah~ She keeps her face tightly composed and 'professional,' but if she's this 'comfortable' to be in his 'dangerous' presence then...looks like she at least regards him--Vash the person, as human too. :'))

But instead of two insurance agents containing him for the benefit of their company and/or the government, it's more like Vash has gained two women bodyguards who're here to fend off any provoking or untoward attempts on his person. 😌 Anyone who doesn't like that and still wants to pick a fight with him (whoa mr Nebraska's not done yet!) can pack it up and go home!!! He's officially off limits! Back off, show's over! hahaha~ Cause the girls are armed (non-lethally! now doesn't that nicely align with his values) to defend themselves. He's quite a bit shook~ ;D

Chapter 04: 'Bang Bang!' starts transitioning into the Sand Steamer arc, but there's some aftermath details to note.

There's been at least a 2 week timeskip (Meryl says they've been here for over half a month) and the town's financial situation has been resolved thanks to the bounty on the captured Nebraskas covering for their needed money instead. (Ironically in Vash's place.) Vash's wanted posters are also starting to get torn down, since his bounty no longer applies. Meryl clocks Vash as an unbelievably nice/soft hearted person for offering the town all his credit and bounty money earned from taking down the Nebraskas himself. (Technically the girls subdued mr Nebraska at the end, but how sweet and generous of him~)

Still, since it has been a quiet 2 weeks without incident (what's happened in between now and then is anyone's best guess or anime filler territory~ but he HAS been a 'good boy' staying out of trouble if nothing's bad happened, right?) that Vash rightly has to wonder....just how long do the insurance girls intend to stick around him?? No time limit, or until their term ends, huh? D: Oh...well that's going to be a problem. (Knowing his lifestyle and quest to find 'Him' again...yeah, Vash can't settle in one place for too long, or risk those getting too close to him lest they get swept up in the danger...) Welp, since the Steamer's arrived, that's the perfect opportunity to begin his leave.

Hah! Meryl's so high-strung and on edge that Vash has suddenly ditched them, she rescinds her previous 'nice person' comment, thinking he's only playing 'nice' and innocent now to trick them and slip away. I...think she's jumped to some conclusions (cause while he is clever and skilled, his kindness isn't fake or trickery) just like Milly thinks he's transformed into a cat. :P

So relax, the Steamer doesn't even leave til tomorrow, he's only ~discreetly~ gone to reserve his spot, he's stayed here the whole time since they first met without randomly leaving them, and it's not like him (or at least, his manga self that is) to leave town full of his new friends made these past 2 weeks without saying goodbye yet, right?!

Cause he's already befriended Tonis! (Stampede reference! Rosa's name was also listed among the fallen women he rescued from the rubble.) And I'm pretty sure this kid is the same one who had that toy gun! He's totally a Vash fan now~

Also to note: it's the first time we see his travel duffel bag and cloak, and one of the Steamer's caravan guys keeps heckling Vash to hire him for their security. So much for him trying to keep a low profile. :P What's funny is that the insurance girls--with jobs, seem to have ran out of money these past two weeks while away from their office branches, yet Vash's 'finances' appear to be fine, even without the reward money he gave away.

I reckon that if the town has offered Vash free food in exchange for the generous blessing he's offered them, then I'm sure they've likely compensated him enough with means to pay for his passage on the Steamer, too. I mean hell, they've thrown him a whole lively going-away party tonight! While even going the extra mile to call in some expensive looking 'working' girls for his pleasure! :P

Now everyone and their mom has commented on him feigning drunken sleep as his way to 'politely' avoid it and turn them down. Apparently the original japanese line has him wondering whether it's a 'waste' (the 98anime has him wondering whether he regrets it a little) as depending on your interpretation, he could mean his choice (celibacy) is a bit of a waste when the chance is offered so freely, where he knows it's better that he shouldn't do/risk it despite how much he's possibly starved himself longing/craving for closeness, OR that he feels it's a bit of a waste for the town to have invited those nice girls all the way over here for the one thing he just can't give so easily (acespec lens). EITHER WAY, there's at least 3 narrative reasons why he'd choose to avoid getting too close/intimate with people like 'that' (for now): 1) his dangerous lifestyle--it's not safe to risk others he cares about; his distance protects both sides from further harm, 2) his scars--can't risk revealing those or their reaction to what he 'is', and 3) lifespan--uhoh spoilery, but still hurty for the gap between him and them. So he chooses lonely, sad boi hours in the dark... :'))

But what about the light? Check out what Meryl does during the party: sitting there watching him the whole time wondering about his ~mysterious~ ways. Even after another guy casually sits next to her wondering what she's doing. :P Her attention's still fondly on Vash. (MERYL I SEE YOUUUUUU!!!!) Especially after thinking he's a nice person, to thinking he'd ditched her, to seeing how he is now--having such a lively, open, rambunctious time welcomed among the town's celebrations. That the other guy supplies it's a wonder too--that Vash is getting along so friendly now with the same people who previously shot at him wanting him dead. :'D How accepting, how forgiving, how things change~

Final Vash notes on the Steamer: he still just wants peaceful alone time and Rest, despite how much others--like the caravan guy again, keep pestering him. :P He washes his hands after using the restroom! (Good etiquette!) And...his first pair of glasses barely lasted two chapters before they broke. :P Welp! He's off to befriend another lost 'stowaway' troublemaking kid...as the girls work their fare on board, blissfully unaware; just what can possibly go wrong~

#trigun #commentary #trigunbookclub #long text post #meta #omg longpost is LONG like almost 5000 words long #SO MANY THINGS TO SAY but if i don't limit myself later i'll have a hard time keeping up with the schedule

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womanofwords · 10 months ago

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The Poisoned Prodigy (Chapter 5)

I woke up to James shoving a phone in my face first thing. "Your friend's on the news," he sang, in the stupid way he always did.

"What?" I asked, rubbing the blurriness out of my eyes. "Did he die? Oh, god, this should not be the way that I find that he's dead!"

"He's not dead, they got the guy who poisoned him!" James laughed. "Look at his freaky little mugshot, man! He looks like an insect with those massive bug eyes!" He scrolled down to a picture of a mugshot of the boy from the awards ceremony.

The blond hair I'd recognised from earlier now looked stuck to his head. One side of his face was already bruised, a wine-red colour compared to the Greek yoghurt hue the rest of his face was. That had to be from Sally tackling him to the floor.

I took the phone from James and started reading it aloud. "Ernest DuBois carried out the murder attempt on Patton Reynolds by spiking a water bottle with a toxic substance and placing it in a convenient place for the announcer to get to if Patton were to need something for his throat. Upon searching the school for the source of the poison, a supply was found in the accused killer's school locker. In the meantime, Ernest DuBois proclaims his innocence and has the support of his family."

"Good thing you don't go to one of those fancy schools," James laughed. "Those rich kids are . . ." He twirled his index finger next to his temple and sniggered as he left the room. Rich kids might be crazy, but was Ernest DuBois really a rich kid? Maybe he was a scholarship kid with a fancy name.

A quick Google search confirmed that Ernest DuBois actually was rich. From several generations of oil money, no less. Apparently, it all started when his great-grandfather, Sylvestre DuBois, who had bought land previously assumed to be worthless and endeavoured to build a house on it. Somehow, this culminated in him tripping over his own feet and falling on a soft path of earth that erupted into an oil geyser. Ridiculous, but true.

That didn't mean the rest of the family was resting on their ancestors' morals. Multiple family members had gone on to be doctors, lawyers, business owners, and other impressive job titles. And then there was Ernest, the family criminal. Mommy and Daddy must be so proud.

I texted Sally a link to the news article. Not the best way to start a conversation with your best friend's possible crush who was now helping you solve his poisoning, but I had to start somewhere. Underneath the link, I had a question.

What was Ernest like with Patton in school?

She answered back in ten minutes.

When Patton arrived, Ernest immediately hated him. He kept snarking about how Patton was nothing special and got himself a pity scholarship because of the false leg. Clearly projecting.

Did Ernest do anything to Patton?

Verbal bullying, stealing his stuff, putting thumbtacks onto his chair. One time, he was caught sabotaging Patton's goggles by Dr Jacobs, the headmaster, and his own parents.

That was weird. People's parents don't typically wander around their school, unless they're helicopter parents.

Why were his parents in the school?

Ernest's parents were rich and paid for new science equipment. The headmaster was bringing the school's investors on a guided tour around the school to show them what their money paid for and they all got a front row seat to their precious baby stabbing another student's safety goggles with scissors. It was a big scandal.

So Ernest had been bullying Patton at school. He'd clearly told his aunt and uncle, but he'd never told me. He did mention that Ernest didn't like to be upstaged, so maybe that was important somehow.

Was Ernest anywhere near as smart as Patton?

No. He was an awful student and didn't understand a lot of the stuff in class, despite being in the advanced classes. Mommy's money indeed.

That was an interesting thought. Ernest wasn't as smart as Patton, and hated him for it. That could be proof that he just wasn't smart enough to poison Patton the way he was. But we'd need to find someone who would be able to tell us exactly how Ernest could have poisoned the water Patton drank.

Is there anybody that could tell us more information?

Dr Jacobs. He's the head of science and wrote literal books about poison. He's a safe bet.

:-)

The next time I walked into Sandalwood Institute, I didn't feel as lost. Sally was with me this time. "I've already got us an appointment with him. When I say everyone loved Patton, I mean everyone loved Patton," Sally said.

"How much are we talking?" I asked. Sally pointed to a shrine with flowers laid at the bottom. Patton's picture was affixed to the wall, a soft smile gracing his face. It had to be a school photo. "Whoa."

"See what I mean?" Sally looked at it with a mixture of shock and sadness, which changed to a small, smug, smile. "Ernest DuBois wishes he had this kind of love and loyalty."

We went up some stairs to the science block and I knocked on a door that read Dr Jacobs. "Come in," he said.

Dr Jacobs' office smelled like books, mainly because it was full of them. I saw some were written by him, Dr Oliver Jacobs. "Miss Kinley, Mr Song. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"We're trying to figure out what Patton was given," Sally said. "On the night of the awards ceremony."

Dr Jacobs looked at Sally and I with sadness. "Oh, Miss Kinley. You're not trying to use Patton's hospitalisation to play at being a detective, are you? Because there are much better ways of working through grief."

"First of all, Patton Reynolds is not dead yet," I pointed out. "People keep forgetting that fact. Second of all, we're trying to figure out if . . . maybe Ernest gave him something that looked worse than it actually was."

His features softened, and the teacher adjusted his glasses before he spoke. "Apologies."

"How did he do it, though? The poisoning, of course. I know Patton was poisoned with the water, but what poison?" I asked.

"Cyanide," Dr Jacobs said, straightening up. "Found in plants such as apples, peaches, and cherries, specifically the seeds and pits. Suffocates the body from the inside out by interfering with the normal course of oxygen in the body."

Sally and I took a step back. "How do you know this stuff?" I asked.

"I used to be a head toxicologist before I decided to slow down and give back to the community," Dr Jacobs explained. He shook his head slowly. "Never thought my previous line of work would overlap with this nasty business."

"Where would Ernest even get cyanide?" Sally asked. I wish I'd been the one to ask questions like that. "That must have taken a lot of effort. How many peaches or cherries or whatever would he have needed for such a task?"

"We have some cyanide in powdered form in the science cupboard. I keep it under lock and key, but Ernest must have gotten it somehow. Oh, it's all my fault." The teacher put his head in his hands and moaned like a dying animal. "I should have had tighter security measures so Ernest would never have been able to break in."

"Don't blame yourself, sir," I said, feeling awkward.

"No, no, I should have expected something like this." He began to cry, fat wet tears leaking from the gaps in his fingers. "Ernest was always so cruel to poor Patton. If I had just cracked down on it more at the time and had been more of a disciplinarian than a mediator, maybe Patton would be going to school as normal and we'd all be going on with our lives."

"Thank you for all your help, sir," Sally said, dragging me out.

"That was awkward," I said, once we were definitely far away enough that Dr Jacobs couldn't hear us.

"Awkward, but useful. It explains how the poisoner was able to get a hold of toxic substances so easily."

"And I guess Ernest was in the science labs a lot if he got nominated for an award in scientific advancements," I said, a sleepy memory of that night pushing and shoving its way to the front of my brain.

"Hmm." Sally looked up at the ceiling, then at me. "Vincent, where did the news report say the poison was found?"

"In Ernest's locker. Why; is that useful?"

"Absolutely. He never normally used his locker. He just walked around with all his books in his bag at once. People used to call him The Turtle because of how much slouching he did underneath all that weight."

"So it could have been planted there by someone who hates Ernest and Patton!" I gasped. "Or maybe just Ernest. Patton doesn't seem to have any enemies other than Ernest anyway. But who in this school could have hated Ernest?"

Sally laughed. "Why don't we make a list of people who like him? It's a shorter list."

"How short?"

"We could use a sticky note. That was ripped in half."

"Oh."

:-)

"Vincent, what's wrong? You haven't eaten your bulgogi," Umma said.

"I've been thinking about Patton," I said. "He could die in the hospital because of some evil person."

Umma got quiet. "Of course. You should still eat, though."

"Who's Patton? Appa asked.

"Long hair boy with fake leg," Umma told him.

"Ah."

Dinner was quiet until I went upstairs to the room that James and I shared. In reality, James' stuff crept into what was supposed to be my space like fungus on bread. The only sign of it being my room was the bright green skateboarding helmet that I kept hanging off the headboard on my bed.

The one Patton got me for my birthday.

If you want to read the other chapters, see Masterlist.

#creative writing #my writing #writing inspiration #writers on tumblr #writers #writing #writeblr #writerscommunity #the poisoned prodigy #murder mystery

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derpylittlenico · 2 years ago

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no, but i m a g i n e it...

peter and chris, just. flirting by comparing most impressive kills, or most memorable mugshot.

For Chris, I can see something like...maybe a drunk in public charge right before he turns 21, so he also gets booked for underaged drinking. And he's gdamn blackout drunk, so when they try to get him into a lineup, he keeps on giving the camera the Blue Steel, tossing his hair, and then dramatically turning to pout for the side profile pic. By the end, the officer in charge is just. So done.

For Peter... I'd joke that it was for something bloody, but let's be real. Unless he's non compos mentis, he's not sloppy enough to get caught. But, like, he'd totally be the type to sell cigarettes out of his trunk, or get caught committing an act of public nudity. No, yeah. So, he's nude, and he keeps trying to moon the camera, not just because it's his "best angle," but because he's insISTENT it's his most distinguishing feature, ok.

For flavor, we'll just say Stiles is somewhere in the background, barely resisting popping popcorn bc he's living for whatever the hell he's witnessing go down rn. Derek dipped the moment this hotness started, bc there is no subtext when you can sniff out horny.

#fic inspo #teen wolf headcanons #peter hale #chris argent #vaguely shippy #stiles and derek are there too bc why not

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gracegrove · 2 years ago

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Not super fandom related but kinda adjacent because of points that are constantly used or coopted by the wider fandom and antis.

So about six months ago I decided to do some googling and see what ever had happened to my elementary school bully. I wasn't surprised that I was able to find a mugshot along with his Facebook and that he'd only moved a couple towns away. But it did sadden me because of how little had changed for him compared to me.

I came across this boy beginning in the 4th grade, we had probably been in the same grade maybe even before that but we had no interactions until my best friend started picking on him. This was not something that I realized was going on, as the two of them were in the same classroom and I was in a different class. She and I would then hangout at lunch and after school.

In 4th grade all I knew about him was that he was just another boy in my grade and that he always looked angry. That was it. But then when he and I were in the same class beginning in 5th grade everything changed.

This boy would push me to the asphalt during recess, trip me, shove me, or try to push my head against the wall in the hallways. When we were in the classroom he would make sexually explicit and degrading comments about my body. He'd leave graphic drawings on my desk. He'd verbally harass me, call me stupid, or a bitch.

We sat next to each other because classroom seating was alphabetical. When my mother confronted the teacher about the difficulties this boy was causing me... She placed one student in between us.

One day he made a point of telling me that if he caught me hanging around the school grounds after school that day, that he was going to beat me up. I had been avoiding him the whole day, I hadn't even been in his way. And he said that to me. I was scared for my life. I got very lucky that my neighbor was there to pick up her son and I begged her to give my brother and I a ride home.

During this same period of time I was attending a grief group every few weeks, because my dad had just died that January. And one day when my mom was pulling into the parking lot, there he was. My bully was on the front porch. That night I was trying to stay close to the adults that ran the kids group. But I still wanted to keep to my usual routines. I really liked going into the padded room they had full of pillows and yoga balls for kids that wanted to let off steam. My bully followed me in there. He cornered me. He beat me so hard with a pillow that it ripped, he pinned me to the ground and tried to smother me. The adults weren't paying attention. And they didn't pull him off because I couldn't even get enough air to scream or cry.

When they finally realized he was being far too rough and did separate us. I was in tears and shaking.

I found out later that night that the reason he and his family were attending the grief group was because his mother had died the year before. His father essentially kicked her out. It sounded like there was a lot of interpersonal violence. But when his mom left she had nowhere to go and she ended up dying of exposure on the streets in a different state.

We switched groups immediately after that. But I still had to deal with him in class until he finally moved at the end of the school year.

I also learned that his father didn't really seem to give a damn. He was already dating again. And the women he was dating mostly tended to be blondes.

I was a blonde. I don't think my bully had the capacity to compartmentalize or process his grief or his anger. Granted we were 10 but still... So I became the trigger and the outlet.

As a kid I don't know if I even can say I was angry towards him because I was just so thoroughly scared by him. I remember he lived in the same direction as a friend's house, and I would purposely take a longer obscure route to avoid passing his house just in case. There were times I was certain that he would hurt me if I didn't find a way to escape or at least hang around an adult.... He's one of the reasons that catalyzed my eventual transfer into a private Catholic school. My brother was also being bullied.

Now as an adult I can see better how the things that happened in his life fed into how he treated me. And it just makes me sad. It doesn't make me angry. It doesn't make me want to take back my pound of flesh. It just makes me wish that he had gotten help and support. Because his life is not a happy one.

#tw personal #tw fandom discourse

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alphaman99 · 1 year ago

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"Who else can say that tyranny came when they were removed, and tyranny fears them still. Who else can match that glowering image of angered defiance, or is so intimately and personally entwined with whether the nation itself should rise from the ashes or sink into an everlasting shadow? The question of Trump’s freedom is also the question of America’s freedom.

The mugs can’t beat the mugshot."

Outstanding observations of the debate by Daniel Jupp.

Better a Mugshot Than a Mug

Trump compared to the also rans

JUPPLANDIA

AUG 25, 2023

Sometimes in life or politics there is a symmetry to things, even the most depressing things. So it was with the contrast of the last two days, which saw the Fox hosted Republican Nomination debate followed by the leading candidate’s appearance a day later at the Fulton County jail for a mugshot and harassment session courtesy of America’s now fully Banana Republic legal system.

The others gurned and grimaced for the cameras of a Fox network studio, sweating under the pitiless lights picking out, with glaring intensity, their utter insignificance. Trump glowered sternly in a small processing room where his greatest humiliation transfigured itself, instantly, into the truest mark of his greatness.

The first event was supposed to be the opportunity for one of the candidates to stand out from the rest. In ordinary times, perhaps it would have been. In an ordinary system, in a functioning democracy or a Republic which is not rotten to the core, this would indeed have been an important moment. Election debate, both among free citizens discussing their preferences between each other and in the contest of wits and charisma that is a staged debate between candidates, is integral to a functioning political system based on persuasion rather than coercion.

But these are not ordinary times, and this is not an age of persuasion any more. It’s not an age of democracy. It’s not an age of free and fair elections. It’s not an age in which any such debate has any relevance. We are living in an age where dissident opinion is silenced, no matter how expert. We are living at a time when supposedly democratic nations consider the coercion of the public, the imprisonment of peaceful protesters, the holding without trial of dissidents, and the erasure of the rights of a serving or former President, completely normal.

This is the age of coercion, as surely as it has been, and always will be, when the law is the tool of the corrupt and the highest offices of the land are subject to lawless seizure.

From the start the other candidates for the Republican nomination could not win, because in the context of everything else happening the contest is a farce. Trump was, is, and will so long as he is alive remain, the chosen candidate of the American people, of the majority of the American people, and overwhelmingly the majority of American Republican voters. Polling again and again confirms this. None of the other candidates are anywhere near him. They are so far behind him that no gap like this can be recalled by even the wonkiest and nerdiest of electoral statisticians.

But more than that they could not win because their very participation in the farce is a signal of their irrelevance. They are putting themselves forward in a broken system against a cheated man, and ordinary Republican voters know it. That makes them as complicit in the theft of 2020 as any other mainstream figure, as blind to the truth as any mainstream journalist, and as pointless a person to pin your hopes on as any other known liar. To take part in this farce with this quisling news organization is to show that you will not accept the fundamental truths that define modern America.

It is to say that you will pretend that 2020 was honest, you will pretend that the system of checks and balances is working, you will pretend that Trump did wrong rather than was monstrously wronged by others.

Everyone in love with America or with the truth, everyone who respects democracy instead of the disgusting lie of ‘Our Democracy’ (it’s the our, the ownership of it, not the democracy of it, that matters to those using this phrase) will know that the real candidate, the real President, the REAL DEAL, was not under the Fox spotlights, but elsewhere.

He was being interviewed by Tucker Carlson and then, after a short gap, he was posing for a mugshot. The truth is a criminal in Biden’s America.

The only people morally and intellectually equipped to lead the United States out of tyranny and squalor, out of it’s lowest point since the assassination of Kennedy and perhaps since the Civil War, are those the current system has labelled as unfit for office. A mugshot in this round of political persecutions and gross prosecutorial misconduct is the strongest possible marker of legitimacy and authenticity.

What says honest, more than an illegal regime trying to imprison you for opposing them?

Against this fundamental context, there is nothing that candidates opposing Trump for the Republican nomination can do. They can go all in on the lies and the disgusting inversions of what is known and factual, like Fat Christie, Pious Pence, or Little Nikki. That generally only earns boos. They can be an egregiously obvious nothing, a weak little bookkeeper type like Ada Someone, trying to out-Christie the Fat One with quivering denunciation of Trump. But what can they actually offer that isn’t the same old Swamp, the same old Republican submission wrapped in a flag?

Nothing.

All of them pretended that the emptiest, vainest, least human and least decent of them all, Mike Pence, did the right thing. None of them had the honesty or the decency to call out Pence as the Coward Judas he is. While Pence stood there with his chest out, puffed up with Satanic levels of self regard, doing his mock military, strong jawed Warrior Priest Act, a thing utterly cloying in it’s vanity and sanctimony, they all bowed to it. They all pretended he had Done the Right Thing. When that was a gross betrayal which uttered in an insane regime. When Pence DID have the constitutional authority do as Trump asked (as Trump points out, why change the law to prevent something that was already illegal, unless it wasn’t illegal before the change?).

And on pretty much everything else the offer of the candidates other than Trump is, we won’t tell the truth, and we will continue the exact same bullshit that the Democrats do. We will do the same with Ukraine. We will tell you that the FBI are honest. We will tell you that the media are honest. We will complain about spending levels but keep going with the wars and neocon military adventures that constitute the lion’s share of America’s wasted trillions. We will be the ‘God Bless America’ branch of the Let’s Fuck America policy. We will pretend our elections are honest. We will pretend that normal democracies aim to imprison the leading Presidential candidate for telling the truth. We won’t even talk about the censorship, the death of free speech, the rise of thought control, the out of control DOJ and FBI, beyond the now cliched and useless phrase ‘weaponization’.

Little Nikki called Trump the most hated man in America. Hated by whom, Little Nikki? By Democrats. By the people YOU are supposed to be opposing, not AGREEING with. What use is Little Nikki? She’s going to defend the average Republican who thinks and speaks like Trump does, or who is actually less politically correct than him on abortion or gun laws? No. She’s more interested in Ukraine’s freedom than American liberty. She’s Pence in a Dress.

You will have noticed I haven’t even mention Ron yet. That’s because Ron hardly featured, even in this pathetic field of nobodies, also rans, betrayers, traitors and Mattel Toy Robot Republicans. Ron I can almost feel sorry for at this point. Ron is terrified and desperate. You could see the fear in his eyes. It’s exactly the same punch-drunk terror that Jeb Bush had. Ron knows he has to Sound Tough, like Jeb did, but there’s noting there. nothing left in the tank. Ron is a fighter who is scared and beaten and if anyone in his corner even liked him, they would throw in the towel now and stop the punishment. Ron sold himself to the donors and Anti Trumpers. Everyone knows it. He knows it. Everything he got right in Florida has been destroyed, along with his credibility, by that disastrous choice and the trainwreck of his nomination campaign.

At his very, very best even, the Ron of 2020, there was nothing in the locker to compete with that Trump mugshot. Would Ron go to prison for us? What do you think?

Vivek of course is the only one of the lot who has read the wind and seen the smoke signals. He’s the scout who slipped away before Custer rode up. The rest are practically scalping themselves, but this Indian is smarter than that. Vivek knows what the base are hungry for, what the base are pissed off at, what the ordinary American who isn’t a Democrat shitbag is feeling. He’s the only one who knows support for the Ukraine proxy war is poison with the base. He’s the only one who realizes that bashing Trump makes you look weak and owned rather than strong and principled. He’s the one who actually seems to have ears as well as a mouth. But still….it’s all within the safety lines.

Trump is great….but he won’t say 2020 was stolen. Stop the persecution of Trump….but he will pardon the Bidens. Vivek has some great lines without ever crossing the red lines that are set by the lying mainstream. He’s slick, but it’s pretty obvious. Christie may be an abject fool as flaccid in thought as he is in flesh, but he might have got one thing right. And that’s comparing Vivek with Obama. There are a lot of similarities there. The big smile, the superficial charm, the guy who comes from nowhere with a mysterious past, the relaxation (Vivek is still a little mechanical in his movements. He’s calm like Obama, but not as fluid. At the risk of racial stereotyping, Obama has rhythm). As Obama did for Democrats, Vivek does for Republicans. He says the right things, with a little bit of jazz. Whether he feels any of them himself is another matter.

Saying is one thing, doing is something else. And Trump has DONE. The people know. They know the gas prices. They know the manufacturing jobs. They know energy independence. They know there were no new wars. They know Russia was held in check, China took a few trade hits, North Korea were negotiating, border crossings were down. As much as anyone pretends otherwise, the record was real and solid despite constant sabotage. And that sabotage itself elevates and ennobles Trump. It puts him in the angelic choirs, with the martyrs and the heroes. Who has that? Who else has that?

Who else can say that tyranny came when they were removed, and tyranny fears them still. Who else can match that glowering image of angered defiance, or is so intimately and personally entwined with whether the nation itself should rise from the ashes or sink into an everlasting shadow? The question of Trump’s freedom is also the question of America’s freedom.

The mugs can’t beat the mugshot.

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carmen-arclight · 2 months ago

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Doomed to the narrative

A smile x Aot fic where I put erwin through it.

Day 3

Erwin stared at the screen of his phone, looking at his assistant’s message with an irked expression as he sat there in his office. Having opted to work from home today, since his wife was in his apartment, sleeping in their marital bed like she used to. He had prayed for a day like this again. To be together in their home and united but he never considered it would be because of this.

He had imagined her getting better, wanting to work on their marriage, achieving success in her career beside him once again.

Not like this.

Never like this.

His phone beeped once more as his assistant sent him a screenshot of a tweet of Levi snapping at a fan’s shitpost about him. With a slight groan, he placed his phone down and leaned back in his chair. Tossing his arm over his face and closing his blue eyes, a tight frown on his lips. A muscle in his eyebrow twitched and he felt his muscles tense beneath the loose beige t-shirt he wore.

Mind and body were sore from these last two days. He had hoped, there wouldn’t be a need for him to leave the house. To leave her, but it seemed the universe was testing him.

He lowered his arm from his face and glanced at his phone, picking it up with one hand and hitting text to speech.

“I don’t care how you do it, handle it. Hange.”

He said coldly before he sent the message and hung up. His blue eyes flickered to the unanswered emails on his computer screen before he reached over and grabbed the mouse. Pushing it to open the folder he had been working on all night. Slowly scrolling through the documents and pictures he’s compiled.

Blue eyes stared at the pictures of over 10 victims, all smiling, all horrendously butchered. He had memorized each face to memory. How could he not?

The way their mouths would always tick up towards their ears. Teeth exposed, lips tucked back to reveal their pink gums. It was such a distinctive smile and the only two things he could compare it to was the joker and the Cheshire cat. It deeply unsettled the blonde, how all of them died with a smile.

A few notes he’s made was all these victims committed suicide after seeing another person commit suicide, minus one who had witnessed a murder, oddly enough. Each one died, less than a week after the last victim. It seemed all their deaths were gruesome, and many reported seeing visions of terror and unspeakable horror.

To say he was concerned was an understatement. A man of logic, he couldn’t explain what he was researching away. Having hoped to see someone give an explanation or anything that hinted at something sound and logical but all he got was raving lunatics online in seedy forums speaking about demons, aliens, or eldritch gods.

It wasn’t reassuring.

He scrolled through his notes and went back to each article he clipped from online. Scouring for anything he might have missed. Fluffy blonde eyebrows knitted together as he ran a hand over his lower face. Honed in on the words before him. Reading and reading everything he could till his head thrummed from pressure and annoyance. Researching for hours on end.

So much so, he was beginning to relent that maybe it wasn’t something natural.

His eyes flickered to the one murder victim. Staring at the one anomaly out of the rest. Bouncing his knee as he stared at the image. The article said it was an elderly man who lived in a quiet cul de sac. He lived alone and had limited engagement to the public, save for his maid and caretaker, the man was shut-in. One night, his caretaker took the man’s oxygen tank and bashed his head in, in front of the maid.

Three days later, the maid killed herself.

Erwin frowned and arched an eyebrow finding it odd. The only victim who didn’t start with a suicide was her but she committed suicide. He stared at the mugshot of the caretaker.

“Erwin!”

He got up quickly and rushed out of his office, heading straight to the bedroom. The door flung open to see his wife sprawled on the floor, crying and screaming. Her clothes half off, blankets and pillows tossed off of their bed, the bed side table’s lamp knocked onto the floor.

He bent down before her and grabbed her hands. Holding her hands in one hand and touching her face.

“Baby, baby. I’m here, it’s ok. Honey, relax. You’re safe.”

He reassured her as he pulled her to sit up and cradled her against him. Feeling her smaller body shaking in his hold. Sobbing with snot running down her nose. Her lips pulled back as she buried her face in his chest.

“Erwin, I’m scared.”

She whispered after a moment of him holding her. The carpet beneath them was soft and plush as he maneuvered to sit more comfortably, securing her tightly in his arms.

“I know honey.”

“No! No you don’t know. You don’t know Erwin!”

She cried again as she pulled away and glared at him. Her eyes were wide and frantic as she shook her head and curled up on herself. Looking so small and vulnerable as she broke down in front of him.

“YOU dont KNOW! You can’t know, Erwin i feel like i’m losing my mind. I feel like, I’m going crazy!”

Erwin grabbed her hands, pulling her back towards his chest and kissing her hair.

“You’re right baby, I don’t know, but I know it’s hurting you and I don’t want you to suffer alone.”

His voice was low-pitched as he held her. Hands clenching into the soft cashmere of her pajama shirt.

“Trust me, we’ll get through this. I promise. I promise you won’t have to go through this alone.”

He said as he angled her chin up to look at him. Staring intensely in her frightened eyes.

His wife swallowed. Her breathing slowed as she leaned forward and laid her head on his shoulder. Finding solace in the stronghold and familiar feeling of his arms.

“I won’t let you go through this alone.”

He reiterated. His hands caressed her back, bouncing his knee as he subconsciously rocked her. Kissing her hair as he did. Seeing the love of his life so broken had shattered him. He wanted nothing more than to shoulder the pain for her.

The only thing on his mind was making sure she was alright. The record label be damned, his career be damned. If she wasn’t ok, he wasn’t either. She was his everything and he’d do everything he could to protect and keep her happy.

Breathing in deeply, he looked down at her and kissed her cheek, the salty taste of her tears on his lips.

“Erwin?”

“Hmm?”

She swallowed and tilted her head up towards him, looking at him with a sad look in her beautiful eyes.

“I, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything.”

He held her gaze, her voice was small. Insecurity and fear laced between each word she spoke. The tone gnawed at his heart and he shook his head. Blonde hair tussling out of place.

“You were sick, it’s nothing to apologize for.”

“I traumatized you.”

“You were-”

“Sick? No, I was just stupid. Erwin, I'm sorry. I don’t understand why you love me.”

His heart stopped and tangled one hand in her hair as he held her closer to his neck. Lowering his head and breathing her in.

“Don’t say that. Any of it, we’ll focus on now. No use in looking back.”

“But-”

“No, I almost lost you before. I’m not letting that happen again. I love you.”

He breathed out, looking at the floor behind her. His blue eyes were straining to hold back the tears that threatened to fall. His deep voice, steady and stoic in a vain attempt to not reveal the turmoil that brewed in his heart. No, she needed him to be strong right now.

“I need you here with me.”

He whispered closing his eyes.

His wife whimpered and nuzzled into him. Crying softly into him before she passed out from exhaustion. He didn’t know how long he sat on that floor holding her before she fell asleep. However, when he ultimately got up, his legs were tingly, and stumbled a bit. Holding her like a princess and mindful to not drop her. Carefully, he carried her over to their bed and laid her down. Gathering the pillows and blankets off the floor, he settled her in before he crawled into bed beside her.

Looking at her as she slept. Her lips were parted, breathing in slow breaths and snuggling into the pillows.

He closed his eyes, letting his mind wander to everything that had happened this last year and these last few days. Their marriage was always on his mind. Wishing he had seen the signs that he was losing her to her substance abuse, wishing he had taken better steps in making sure she stayed sober, and most importantly, he wished he never institutionalized her. Damning their marriage due to the trauma she endured in the mental health facility.

Something soft touched his cheek, breaking him from his thoughts of self-hatred. Opening his blue eyes, he stared at his wife. Seeing her eyes open and her fingers on his cheek. She was closer than she was a moment ago and her eyes were flickering to his lips with a small shy smile on hers.

He blinked slowly but didn’t fight her as she leaned close and kissed him. Her lips tasted sweet like the vanilla cupcake chapstick he used to buy her. The soft velvet touch of her lips lingered on his lips as her hands slid down from his cheek and down his chest. Trailing small shapes into his t-shirt before tugging on the fabric. Earning a grunt from him as he obliged and slid it off. Rolling onto his back, his hands found her hips in a tight hold.

Her soft lips never left his, moans pouring into his mouth as she ground down her hips on his lap. Whimpering his name between teeth and tongue while her hands caressed his chest. Delicate fingers outlined the way his muscles felt beneath his perfect beige skin.

“Honey, baby, wait. No, baby.”

Erwin muttered between kisses as he shifted and grabbed her hands. Pushing her gently back as he looked at her. His mind was no longer shocked and hazed over with desire.

“I don’t think you’re in any state-”

“Erwin, please? I need this, I need you.”

She whispered before she kissed his neck and licked up to his chin. Biting down softly on his bottom lip.

A surprised grunt left him and he released her hands. The firm and confident tone in her voice made him weak and he laid back. Pulling her closer as he rolled over and pressed down onto her, His entire weight trapping her as he kissed her madly. Fingers combing up her waist and bunching up her sweater. Angling her up to toss it off before he quickly removed her shorts and his own.

It was bliss. It was like all the other nights they shared together, the love they had for one another was still there. Despite it all.

It was still there and with every kiss, he found himself drawn closer to her like a moth to a flame. She was and always would be the only thing that mattered to him. It just felt right, holding her beneath him in his arms. Pressed down on the mattress that they first made love on after marrying a few years ago.

Sitting back, he placed his left hand on her bare hip. His blue eyes admiring her spread apart, exposed before him in the most vulnerable state a lover could be. He traced her thigh before dragging his hand lazily down towards the inside of her hips. His wedding ring shimmering in the soft amber light of their room. Her birthstone was centerstage on his ring finger as he caressed her sex. Watching in a loving, almost reverent gaze as the jewel was covered in her essence.

The soft mewls and whines that left her lips made him gaze up at her. Her eyes trained on him, back arching with each touch. Sending her soft breasts to bounce in a slow rhythm of their own. A small smile on her trembling lips.

He leaned back towards her, not leaving his touch on her bud, but laying his weight down further onto her. Lining himself against her and pressing his forehead against hers.

“I love you.”

He whispered, his blue eyes closed tightly. Blonde lashes straining against tears as he slowly pressed his hips down onto hers. Feeling her part around him as he eased past her entrance. Her soft walls enveloped him in a tender tight, warm embrace.

“I love you.”

He repeated, opening his eyes and staring into hers, Seeing her eyes closed as she moaned out his name. Slender hands finding their way to his shoulders and dangling over him. Pulling him closer as he bottomed out.

A deep throaty moan left his lips before he laid his forehead against hers, Breathing in deeply, all his muscles strained as tears slid down his cheek. Willing himself to not give in to the urge to simply come from the first second inside of her.

“Fuck.”

He hissed as he closed his eyes and placed one hand on her cheek, the other still caressed her clit, before he slowly began to pull out. Bringing himself halfway before thrusting back into her. His breathing was deep and steady as he focused on her, listening to the soft music she made and the way her fingers held onto him. How her lips danced with his and her legs trembled, finding their way wrapped around his lower back. The place they’ve always been when the couple found themselves lost in one another.

He groaned and pressed his forehead harder against her, feeling her whimper as he increased his speed. Her walls fluttered around him like a heartbeat. Holding him in with each thrust, engulfing him in a warm and tight embrace till he felt her hands grab his shoulders and a pleasured scream erupted from her lips.

He guided her through it, his lips reassuringly kissing her own and whispering sweet nothings. His voice was hoarse, his blue eyes gentle, and watery, peering down into her gaze as her body relaxed around him. Her whimpers devolved into soft and weak prayers of his name. Music to his ears.

He moaned as he kissed her in a tender loving way. Stilling deep inside of her as he reached his own peak immediately after, his head falling onto her shoulder and his lips planting small shaky kisses on her trembling skin.

Gathering himself together, he pushed up on his elbows and looked at her. Noticing that she was looking away, her eyes watery.

“Honey?”

“Yes, love?”

He asked, panting as he swallowed and followed her gaze to the door to the closet. He shifted and gently turned her face towards him. Caressing her cheek.

“Is she over there, honey? The woman?”

He asked her softly as she tiredly looked at him and nodded. An exhausted look on her beautiful face.

“What is she doing?”

“She’s smiling. She’s just standing there, smiling.”

Her voice croaked as she laid her head back onto his palm. Her cheeks were hot and red from their exertion.

Erwin glanced over to the closet, his blonde hair fell before his blue eyes. Staring intensely at the door before he frowned and leaned down.

“She’s a damn pervert is what she is, come on. Let’s clean up.”

He muttered as he got off of his wife and helped her up. Her body was limp in his arms, resting against him like a lifeline. Casting one final glare towards the closet, he picked her up like a princess. Determined to help her through this.

Day 4

The next day was rough on her, as she sat inside Erwin’s car. The leather was cold against her thighs, and she found it hard to focus as she stared at the clouds. The medication Mrs. Marsha gave her was making her spacey.

Her head was swimming and she couldn’t concentrate on anything but the clouds.

Fluffy white clouds, lining the New York sky. It was a beautiful day, the sun was out and she was high outta her mind.

She used to love these days,

Now, not so much.

With a sigh, she glanced back at the building that Erwin had taken her to. It was a nice apartment complex in the middle of Tribeca.

Erwin had told her, he was dropping by to speak to an old friend of his. So she sat in his car, unreleased demos playing softy. For a second, she found her lips moving along with the lyrics. Focused.

“How did you get these?”

She whispered as she looked a the disk player and expelled the cd. Noting it had his writing on it in sharpie.

“My Songbird.”

She said the words written on the cd. A sharp pain in her chest. Placing the cd back, she looked over to the door. Her heart was heavy, letting her mind wander to the first time he called her that.

The light filtered into the hotel room slowly. Stirring her from her sleep. With a little yawn, she shifted and her hands slid up the strong arm wrapped around her. A small smile etched itself on her lips before she nuzzled into his hold. Feeling his warm naked body pressing into her from behind. His chest rising and falling with each breath.

It felt like bliss lying there in his arms, away from the world. Safe with the man she loved.

Opening her eyes again, she rolled over and studied his face. His short blonde hair a mess, pink lips parted and shaking with each breath. She smiled and leaned up. Kissing him awake.

With a small chuckle, he pulled her closer and rolled over. Humming her name and smiling at her.

“Good morning, my little songbird.”

His voice was deep, hoarse, and husky from sleep. Blue eyes half lidded and lovingly studying her expression. Watching as those beautiful eyes of hers widened, cheeks beneath blossoming in a faint pink color.

“Baby?”

She jumped and looked up from the CD, and out the window towards Erwin. Her eyes widened and she nodded, placing the disk down and turning towards him fully.

“Yeah?”

She asked as she watched him open the driver door and get in. His blue eyes flickered over her for a moment before he leaned over and touched her cheek. His fingertips were hot to the touch and she winced. Pulling away from him and looking at her lap at her hand that held the demo cd.

“We’re gonna take a little vacation, ok? Get away from the city, and get you some clean air. Alright?”

He said after he collected himself from her pulling away so abruptly. His face was solemn, and his voice was tense.

“Take you away from all of this, maybe somewhere nice and quiet so you can smile too.”

His voice gurgled, as if the sound was coming from underwater. Sputtering out each word into her ear like a man choking on his blood.

With a confused look, she snapped her eyes at him and tilted her head. Her heart dropped only to see his neutral expression looking at her. Yet, a hint of worry was present in his blue eyes.

“What?”

She asked, startled, and feeling her fingers grip the cd tight. Waiting for something to happen, on edge as the hair on her body stood on end. Skin trembling beneath her clothes.

“We’re heading to my father’s.”

He explained to her, looking out at the road as he backed out of the parking spot and began to drive. Her eyes remained on him, glued to him like a startled doe.

“That’s not what- ok.”

She said softly, shaking her head clear. Trembling fingers gripped the cd some more and she wearlily glanced down.

Everything feels so small nowadays. Hazed over, from the trauma to the medication. It felt like she was slicing through a thick gelatinous form, pushing through it with all she could, only for clumps of something wet and heavy to smear on her, dragging her down. Weighing her body and soul down to the point where she felt as if she couldn’t move. Making a mess of every waking moment she endured.

Laying her head down against the window, she gazed up at the clouds before she slowly closed her eyes and listened to him speak.

His deep, baritone voice continued to speak on and on about the advantages of the countryside; and as his words wrapped around her brain each word was an echo onto each other, low and reverberating through her with no sense of purpose or direction. Slowly his timbre spread throughout her brain like a parasitic worm, wriggling its way inside of her. Tearing past skin, bone, muscle, sinew and flesh as if it had any right to be there.

“Darling?”

She glanced over, blinking long tired lashes slowly as his face came into view from the haze her mind created. Sky blue eyes suspended in weathered beige skin. Wrinkles and marks peppered his skin where a thick pair of glasses rested, perched delicately on his aquiline nose. A slender smile embedded in soft tufts of greying blonde hair was soon made out, lips quivering as if straining to speak as time rushed forward and crashed onto her.

She coughed and furrowed her eyebrows.

“Are you alright?”

“Hmm?”

She asked as she sat upright and looked around before she gazed back at him. Her heartbeat echoing in her eyes like a loud symphony.

“She’s fine, just a bit tired.”

“Ah, poor thing. Come, bring her inside, I have tea brewing on the stove. How was the drive?”

She watched as his familiar features doubled and something strong gripped her arms. With a deep breath, she glanced back. Cheeks warming as she found herself staring into a soft blank nothingness. The white fabric smelt of something strong, safe and she found herself closing her eyes and leaning into it. Trembling fingers sliding against the soft cotton and holding on as if she was scared to let go. Body weightless, yet moving forward before she felt the strong hold on her lessen and let go.

She grabbed it. Her knuckles white as her eyes flickered up in panic.

“It’s ok, baby. I’m right here.”

Erwin spoke as he brushed her hair outta her eyes. Gently crouching down before her and lacing his fingers through hers. Easing her hold off of him while he did so.

“Don’t go.”

She paused and watched as he lowered his now free hands to her feet and slipped her sneakers off. Before he picked up her legs and laid them back on the soft plush couch. Grabbing a colorful throw blanket nearby and resting it over her.

“I’m not going far, and I promise I’ll be back.”

He reassured her. His voice lulling her to relax as she watched him pull away and walk off. Her worried eyes trailing after him for a moment before she laid her head back onto the couch’s armrest.

Once settled, Erwin walked after his father, glancing back at his wife, ex wife, his blue eyes worried as they locked with hers. Breathing out slowly through his nose, he turned and stepped into the kitchen, out of sight. Pausing in the doorway and placing one hand on the wall. Steadying his heart before he slung the black bag in his hands forward.

“Dad, remember how you told me when I was little, I can come to you with anything.”

Erwin began as he walked into the kitchen and looked at him. His blue eyes watching as his father poured three cups of tea out before Erwin stopped him from pouring the third. His hand resting firmly on the elderly man’s wrist.

��Yes, I remember.”

His father replied, looking at his son’s large hand around his wrist before he quirked an eyebrow up and placed the teapot down and sighed softly.

“I should have known-”

“I’m sorry, I lied to you dad. However, I need you to keep an open mind.”

“You told me, she was pregnant and wanted to stop the divorce. Erwin, why-”

“I know, lying about something as important as that wasnt-”

“You know how much I liked her and wanted grandchil-”

“Dad! Please, just humor me.”

Erwin held his wrist and led him to the kitchen table. Pulling out a chair for his elder father before sitting down himself and tossing the bag onto the table. Breathing in sharply through lined teeth before he exhaled and continued in a hushed voice.

“Something happened a few days ago and I think, well.”

He shifted and opened the bag and began to hand his father some vanilla folders. Watching as his father’s eyebrows furrowed and he pushed back his dark glasses.

“Look. Dad. I really need your input on this because the further I look into, the crazier I feel.”

His voice lowered and he carded his fingers through his thick blonde hair. Watching as his father looked up at him from his glasses and back down.

“Erwin, what is all this? Where did you get these pictures?”

He asked before he fell silent and placed a few of the pictures down and took his glasses off. Rubbing his eyes.

“Jesus christ.”

He muttered and looked at his son through his fingers, sliding his hand down his face and combing his beard.

“A few days ago, she witnessed a very gruesome suicide.”

Erwin said as he reached over and picked up the article and picture that he was speaking of, handing it over to his father and looking at him with a sharp look.

“Before this happened, this woman had also witnessed a suicide, and so on and so on. Dad, all of these people witnessed a suicide minus one, who witnessed a murder. They all were rambling about a smiling entity.”

He hesitated and looked down at the many gruesome pictures before him. His jaw clenched and his eyebrows knitted together in frustration,

“They were all claiming to family, friends, and authorities that the person they saw die had haunted them. That they were being followed, hurt, and harassed by the deceased.”

His voice lowered and his hands clenched into fists.

“They all presented with symptoms of hysteria and delusions. Just as, just as-”

“Your wife?”

His father’s words made him fall silent, unable to say it as he watched his father put his glasses back on. Carefully picking up the notes Erwin had written and reviewing them with a pensive look.

“She’s been seeing this woman, Alicia Gympie, over and over again. Smiling, just as the others had. She’s also experiencing delusions and hysteria and I’ve noticed she’s starting to lose touch with reality.”

He admitted. His eyes unable to look away from his father looking over his research.

“Erwin, I know, the divorce, had weighed heavily on you but-”

“You don’t believe me.”

“I didn’t say that, let me finish.”

His father scolded as he leaned back and crossed his arms in his seat. His hand reached up and ran through his scruffy greying blonde hair.

“We need to be sure, first, that this isn’t just a series of coincidences.”

He began as he looked up at the ceiling in thought.

“She was an addict to, what was it, cocaine and alcohol? The brain damage alone could explain her psychological breaks.”

“I thought of that, but she has been clean for months, Nile vouched for her.”

“Nile? How is he, I have-”

“Dad, focus.”

“Right, so if she is clean as you say, then, still she could be experiencing adverse effects from her heavy drug usage.”

Erwin scoffed at his father’s dismissive words, his eyebrows furrowed some more.

“No, I spoke to Mrs. Marsha as well as her care team, she’s never experienced these kinds of things before and her medical records say so as well.”

His father pursed his lips and looked at his son.

“Well, if she’s seeing, who is it? Alicia Gympie.”

He muttered as he leaned over to Erwin’s notes and read the name. Pausing as he saw the still of the security camera that caught the suicide. Studying the horrified look on his daughter in laws face. His shoulders dropped and his gaze softened.

“Seeing Ms. Gympie definitely left some lasting effects. However, the others in this list of yours have experienced the same thing,”

“Hardly coincidental father.”

Erwin said sternly as he watched his father glance at him.

“No.”

A heavy silence fell between them both. Uncomfortable and dense. The weight of the situation suddenly felt as if too much to bear for either men.

“All of them committed suice less then a week of witnessing the previous death.”

His father read his handwriting out and sighed.

“How long ago wa-”

“Four days. This is her fourth day.”

Their eyes locked with one another. A silent understanding.

“This event, this curse, Erwin i don't know what help I can be.”

He told his only son with a sigh. His thick eyebrows furrowed together in worry.

“Just watch her. I. I can't trust her to be alone and, i don't know who will believe me about this.”

Erwin spoke in a low voice. His head lowered, hands shakingly running through his blonde hair. His blue eyes flickered over the folder on the table. The pictures of dead bodies scattered before him. Bloody, mangled, some beyond recognition.

“Please, dad. I need you.”

He spoke softly looking up at him. His blue eyes shimmering.

“I can't lose her.”

His voice cracked.

“I, I love her.”

He spoke before his father reached over and touched his arm. His wrinkled blue eyes were soft and gentle.

“I'll do whatever I can to help. Now run me through some of your theories.”

He spoke with a nod as he leaned back and looked away from Erwin. His gaze swept the images and notes. Eyeing the one about a murder.

“This is the odd one out.”

He murmured and looked at his son. Watching as Erwin composed himself.

“Yeah, I think, this thing passes on like a parasite from truama. I, believe this man, he lived because he had a witness to pass the, whatever the fuck it is, to.”

Erwin explained in a soft voice. Uncertainty in his words.

“It sounds outlandish, but it's the only thing I can think of.”

He continued, sitting upright and looking back over his shoulder into the living room. Thinking of the woman he left to lay on the couch. His heart dropped in worry.

“Jesus Erwin. You're not suggesting what I think you are?”

His father’s voice broke the silence. His deep voice tense and low. His hand coming up to grab Erwin's.

“Dad, I don't want to say anymore then need be. I don't want to implicate you. Just, trust me.”

Erwin spoke sternly. His mind set on what had to be done. Watching as horror flooded his father's expression.

“Erw-”

“Just watch her. Make sure she doesn't do anything. I'll be back soon father, please.”

The older Smith stared at his son. His gaze flickered across his only child's face. Seeing the determination in his deep blue eyes. So much like his own.

His pride and joy.

“She's safe with me.”

Hours passed when Erwin left the house. Mr. Smith stayed silent as he handed his daughter in law a warm bowl of tomato soup. Her hands shook a bit as she held it on her lap. Wrapped in a soft grey blanket. Her eyes looked distant, glossed over as she stared at the bowl.

“Where did Erwin go?”

She asked again for the fifth time. Mr. Smith breathed out slowly and sat beside her. Not too close to startle her. He made to hug but stopped himself.

“He’s meeting with clients, he will be back soon. I promise love.”

He reached over and hesitated. Watching as she shifted the bowl of soup on her lap. Her knuckles white.

“Ok.”

He watched her for a moment before he sighed and looked to the side. Feeling small. His stomach knotted at his inability to help her.

As he sat beside her, she let her mind wander. Staring at hole into her tomato soup. The red slowly fading out of the white porcelain bowl. Replaced by a dark red wine in a small crystal glass.

She blinked slowly as she swirled the glass by its stem. Watching the way the burgundy wine slipped against the glass. Swirling and swirling until it sat still in the crystal.

With a sigh, she looked at her pill bottle beside her. Picking it up with chipped acrylic nails. Shaking out some of the red and white pills into her palm. Two. She popped past her bright red lips. Placing the crystal glass against her lips and swallowing the bitter liquid down with her pills.

Coughing when she finished and looked around her apartment. Her head lowering onto the back of the couch. She subconsciously clenched her jaw.

Thinking.

It was quiet. Her mind silent. The world was so fucking silent.

Breathing she placed the glass down and laid back. Staring up at the ceiling.

Her hand tapped the silver bangles, eyes flickering to the coffee table. Eyeing the small vial and bag. Her jaw tensed again.

She bounced her leg. Chewing her lips and sniffing a bit.

“Fuck it.”

She got up and grabbed the long silver tube. Dumping the white powder onto the glass table and gently lining it up with her sharp chipped nails. Licking the residue before she bent down.

Tilting her head back as she gasped. Wiping her nose and closing her eyes. Shaking her head.

The rush, came quickly and she bent down for another hit. Sniffling as she got up and walked over to her kitchen.

Leg bouncing as she glanced around. Alone.

Her fingers rubbing the goosebumps on her arms as she stared at the wine bottle on the counter.

Her mind going back to the fact her latest song was on the top charts. A smile tugged on her lips. She was celebrating. Alone again. Erwin was always so busy nowadays. He always was. Did it matter?

She scoffed and her smile fell as she picked up the bottle and just drank straight.

It didn't matter. He wasn't home a lot. But he still loved her.

That's what he told her.

Her eyes flickered to the bottle of bitter wine. Watching as the liquid swirled in her shaky hands.

“When Erwin was sick I'd make him this soup that my mother used to make me.”

She looked up at the man speaking to her. His wrinkled eyes were staring into the fire place across the couch. A gentle look in his eyes as the fire danced in his blue eyes.

She blinked and followed his gaze staring into the flames. Watching quietly as the wood burnt. Crackling and darkening. The bright lights exploding from the remnants. It hurt and she looked away.

“She's coming too.”

He hand raised and she pushed a long tube away. It's bright white light blaring down onto her face. Her head spinning as she felt the world shake beneath her. The sounds of a siren echoing in her ears.

“Stop. Get off.”

She slurred as she pushed again. Knocking the flashlight out of the paramedics hands. Wincing at the lid bang of it falling.

“Honey stop. Let them help you.”

A familiar stern voice scolded her.

“Erwin?”

She turned her head towards his force and stared at him. His blue eyes worried.

“Erwin?”

She repeated softly before he spoke softly.

“Oh honey. He'll be home soon. Don't you worry.”

Her head was fuzzy as she looked at his father. Blinking away the confusion as she placed the soup down before her. Silently looking around the room.

“I, I think, I think i need to lay down.”

Her voice cracked before she looked at him.

Mr. Smith stood up and helped her to stand. Watching as his daughter in law clung to him. Her eyes looked up at him. Distant.

“Alright, let's go get you comfy? Ok?”

He tried to reassure her. Leading her to the hallway.

“Where are you taking me?”

She whispered watching as the hallway lift up as he hit the light switch. Her eyes flickered to her arm, where his hands hair her gruffly.

“Erwin?”

She asked as she looked back. Her eyes staring at her husband as he spoke to the doctor. His blue eyes dark.

“Erwin where are they taking me?!”

She slurred as she tried to pull free from the man holding her. Struggling as she stared at her husband. Watching as a few other nurses ran over to her.

“You're going to an inpatient facility-”

He began before his wife interjected.

“I'm not fucking crazy! I'm not going!”

“You're sick.”

“It was an accident. I didn't mean to od.”

She sobbed as the nurses manhandled her against the wall. A gasp of pain left her lips. Tears stung her eyes as she stared at Erwin's dark blue eyes.

His expression devoid of all love. Tense and upset.

“An accident that almost killed you.”

“I didn't- Erwin! Erwin, please. I'm sorry. Erwin!”

She screamed as she struggled against the nurses. One pushing her sleeves up and holding a syringe. Her eyes widened and she struggled more. Heart hammering in her chest.

“Erwin! Help me! Please!”

She cried out as the needle pierced her skin. A strangled sob of pain erupted from her throat.

“This is me helping you.”

His voice spoke. Composed. Cold.

Her head spun to see the floor.

“Relax! Calm down it's ok. Erwin will be home any minute now.”

His father spoke as she stared at his cream colored carpeting. Her hands covered in the knocked over tomato soup. She glanced over to him and froze.

Her blood ran cold as she screamed and backed up. Heart pounding as she cowered. Sobbing and shaking her head.

“What do you want from me? Get the fuck away!?”

She sobbed.

Erwin's father stared at her shock and crouched down before her. His hands on his thighs.

“Honey, I don't want anything but for you to be ok. Can you calm down for me?”

He asked her, his old heart pounding in worry for her. Watching as she stared at him with wide doe like eyes.

“Stop! Fucking smiling at me!”

Her words made him freeze. His blue eyes widened before he stood up and grabbed his phone. He leaned over to shake her out of it as he began to call Erwin.

But she screamed and shoved him back. His body teetered on his feet and he was knocked back onto the couch. Watching as his daughter in law stumbled backwards and collapsed into the floor before the fireplace.

Her hands flying up as she screamed and began to choke. Gagging on something unseen.

He swallowed and struggled to stand. His old knees and joints fighting him. Pain erupting across his body.

“Honey! Please! Calm down!”

He shouted as he got to his feet. Watching as she swallowed and laid her head towards the fire. Her hands falling to her side.

He froze as he clutched his phone. Blue eyes watching in horror as she turned her head slowly to face him. The flames of the fireplace highlighting her beauty.

A smile on her soft lips as she sat up. Her hand sliding to the side of the fireplace. Fingers encircling the poker.

Mr. Smith froze his chest heaving as he watched her pull out the poker from the side and raise it. Her eyes locked on him as she raised it up and slammed it down into her stomach.

A loud squelching noise echoed in his ears as she sank the metal rod into her stomach and put. Before she slammed it back down. Sliding the sharp end across her stomach. Her intestines and organs falling out and onto his cream carpets.

The splatter of her blood and organs painting him.

He watched as she crumpled to the floor. Her eyes wide and empty as she smiled at him.

Hand dropping the poker with a loud clang.

#smile 2 #reader insert #x reader #dead dove do not eat #substance abuse #suicide #murder #erwin smith x reader #Doomed to the narrative

1 note · View note

sunsburns · 3 months ago

Text

not you too (ii).

pairing: jason todd x ex vigilante!reader

summary: after spending days trying to crack a case that's starting to haunt gotham, you've reached nowhere but a dead end. now, all of a sudden jason todd wants to talk and nothing could've prepared you for what he's asking from you and in hours your life just flips.

or: you never would've thought that taking this case would've caused so much fucking trouble.

word count: 7.1k+

warnings: mentions of violence, gore, death, major character death, blood, angst, reader is super stubborn, jason is lowkey an asshole, damian being damian, you don't need to read part one to get this lol

The next few days passed in a haze as you threw yourself back into your routine, trying to shake off Jason’s visit. Yet, no matter how hard you tried, his voice still echoed in your mind, his figure leaving a dark red stain in your memories and on your carpet, reminding you of all the things you couldn’t forget. You told yourself you had to focus; you couldn’t afford any distractions, not when Gordon especially with the case Gordon had dropped on your desk that morning.

The file was thicker than usual, the weight of it unsettling. Gordon hadn’t said a word when he handed it to you, just a slight nod as he left the precinct floor.

Usually, a note scrawled in his familiar handwriting was tucked inside. "Would be a shame if this got in the wrong hands," it would read, a crude smiley face scrawled beneath the words.

You knew Gordon's system—files left just so in his office, waiting for the quiet turn of dusk so the Bat could collect them under the cover of night. But he was slipping these directly to you now, his trust implicit.

But there was no silly note this time.

And what made you pause was the material itself: crime scene photos, and not the kind you'd pass off to Batman with a nod and a handshake. No, these were disturbing, brutal enough that even in Gotham, they warranted concern.

No usual suspect, no familiar mugshot of some abuser that needed to get beat up by the Bat or his birds; instead, it held haunting images of bodies, each more graphic than the last.

You scanned through the pages, your stomach churning. Each victim had been carefully posed, twisted grotesquely, as though some sadistic artist had orchestrated each shot. Their eyes were gone, darkness where they once were, tears of blood coating their cheeks, mouths twisted in gasps or grimaces. The blood was still dark in the photos, pooling and splattered, smeared in a way that almost looked intentional.

The victim profiles had a disturbing similarity—they were known to have ties to the criminal underworld, men and women whose names you faintly recognized from past reports and even your past when you used to run rooftops at night alongside under another alias. But they’d never gone down like this.

This wasn’t an accident, nor the signature style of the usual Gotham criminals. This was personal, with an intensity that cut deep, a method to every violent stroke. As you turned the page, each new image seemed more deranged than the last, the brutality escalating in what felt like a sick crescendo.

This killer wanted attention.

Almost a week had passed since you first opened that file, and despite your best efforts, sleep had been elusive, as though every image from the case clung to the back of your eyelids. Each night, you’d lie awake in the dark, replaying the grainy, haunting crime scene photos in your mind, the details sharper each time you thought of them. The taste of coffee on your tongue had grown stale, and bitter, as you poured yourself another cup just to make it through.

It was Friday again, and the precinct was as chaotic as ever. Phones rang, the background chatter of detectives comparing notes, typing reports, and bantering.

It was Gotham’s white noise, but for you, it barely broke through the pressure building in your head. You sat at your desk, bent over a stack of notes from the latest case briefing, trying to pretend the room’s sounds didn’t grate on you. This killer had changed the routine, breaking through the monotony of cases that always felt solvable, if not predictable.

You wonder when Gordon will give you the green light to hand the papers over to Batman.

Just another Friday. That’s what you told yourself as you tapped your pen on the desk, skimming through yet another detail on the case. But your mind kept circling back to that first folder, Gordon’s barely there glance as he dropped it on your desk without explanation.

Across from you, your partner tossed you a knowing look. He was holding another file, new and thick like they always seemed to be lately. He gave you a little shrug, pushing the folder toward you with a smirk. “Looks like you’re the lucky winner today. Courtesy of Gordon. You’ve got yourself a special addition.”

You sighed, muttering, "Fuck off," but took the file anyway.

Flipping it open, you braced yourself for what you might find, already steeling yourself against the shock. Just as you suspected, another crime scene, another gruesome display, and yet another criminal with a dark past—a past that made them seem almost deserving of what had happened to them. This killer was doing his work publicly now, practically begging for the precinct’s attention. As you flipped through, the images seemed to scream at you, vivid, twisted displays of violence so calculated it felt sickeningly theatrical.

You’d seen it in person last night, called out to the scene when you and your partner happened to be nearby on patrol. It was a bakery in Old Gotham, the call coming in after midnight when the owner discovered the body dumped in the alley out back. The scent of old pastries mixed with the acrid bite of death, and you remembered the bile rising in your throat as you stepped closer, squinting under the harsh glow of police lights. Your instincts had told you to look away, but you forced yourself to examine the details. If you looked away, you’d miss something crucial: the jaggedness of the cuts, the wild angles of the wounds. They weren’t clean, but deliberate, like an artist who’d chosen chaos as his medium.

"Feels kinda like déjà vu, no?" Your partner’s voice cut through your thoughts, bringing you back to the bustling chaos of the precinct.

“Hm?” You glanced at him, distracted

He perked up as you met his gaze, leaning forward with a grim look. "The bodies—don’t they remind you of something?"

You stared, waiting. You felt sluggish, as if the endless coffees you’d downed had backfired, leaving you hollow and wired. Sleep had been a fleeting luxury.

Detective Andy leaned in, his voice barely a whisper. "Red Hood."

A chill shot down your spine. “What?”

He pointed to a photo, tapping it thoughtfully. "The patterns. Big murder scenes, violent displays. Doesn’t it remind you of when Red Hood first came on the scene?"

You fumbled for a response, your mind stumbling. You hadn’t been in the GCPD during Red Hood’s first appearance; you hadn’t even joined the academy yet. It wasn’t so long ago, just a few years back, but it still felt like ages.

You do remember those days, though.

You’d been younger, wilder, and always running right along the edge of Gotham’s underworld. Back then, you’d worked for Selina Kyle, a phantom in leather with a knack for pretty gems and diamonds. Under her tutelage, you’d learned to break into penthouses, crack safes in under five minutes, and disappear without a trace. All the things Gordon had to turn a blind eye to when he personally hired you.

You remember one night, a supposed to be an easy job, just a simple heist in the wealthier parts of Gotham. Selina had given you explicit instructions: break in, grab the diamonds and get out before anyone was the wiser. But Gotham had a way of twisting “easy” jobs into something darker, something that left marks on you that never truly faded.

It had been just after midnight, the air was crisp and heavy with the city’s usual grit. You were supposed to head down Boulevard, make a left by the old brick post office, and hit the target—an art collector with more money than sense. But a wrong turn later, you found yourself in a different kind of darkness, somewhere off the beaten path, where street lamps flickered and silence took on.

You’d felt it before you’d seen him—a presence, sharp and cold, lingering like a predator waiting to pounce. At first, you thought it was just nerves after you realized you had just broken into the wrong apartment. All you could think was: shit.

You’d handled your share of tense moments, after all; but this was something else. The hairs on the back of your neck prickled, a warning you hadn’t felt in years. You were no stranger to danger, but this was a different kind of threat, something that felt personal.

Then you saw him.

At first, it was just the faint gleam of red in the darkness, like a shard of blood against the shadows. But as he stepped into the faint light, you saw him more clearly—a figure clad in leather, the infamous helmet covering his face, standing over a man slumped on his knees, visibly trembling. In the Red Hood’s hand was something you couldn’t immediately make out, but as he turned slightly, the dim light cast a glint off it, and you realized with a shock that he was holding a head—a severed head.

You froze.

The man was pleading, begging for his life in a low, trembling voice. But the Red Hood only tilted his head, silent. There was no rage in his stance, only a dark calm that made the scene feel disturbingly deliberate.

You could see his fingers flex around the hilt of a blade, the kind used to skin prey, and he held it with a confidence that said he’d done this before—and would do it again without a second thought.

You didn’t want to look, but you couldn’t tear your gaze away. The man’s pleas grew louder, more desperate, words spilling out in garbled, terrified sentences, but Red Hood was unmoved. Then, in one swift, final motion, he silenced him.

You weren’t sure what made you react then, but a sharp gasp escaped your lips before you could stop it. Red Hood’s head snapped up, his gaze locking onto yours.

Your heart thundered as you ducked out the window, into the shadows, pressing yourself against the rough brick, willing yourself to become invisible. You knew better than to run; Selina had taught you that too. Quick movements drew attention, made you a target. And you weren’t exactly eager to test your skills against this fucking guy.

As you held your breath, you could hear his footsteps drawing closer, a slow, haunting rhythm that echoed down the narrow street.

For a second, it felt like he would find you. You could practically feel his gaze searching the darkness, his eyes tracking every inch of the alleyway. The fear was unlike anything you’d felt before.

And then he stopped. The footsteps paused, and there was a long silence. When he turned away and his steps faded back into the apartment, you felt your shoulders relax. It wasn’t relief, not fully. You’d seen something you weren’t supposed to, and you had a feeling Red Hood had let you walk away for a reason.

A part of you, distant but insistent, wondered if Jason could be behind these new killings. The thought twisted uncomfortably in your mind before you dismissed it. Jason was… different now. He had to be. He was reckless, sure, but this? Even if he wasn't currently on good terms with Bruce, he’d never return to those ways.

Right?

“Didn’t think of that,” you lied, the words tasting hollow as you struggled to find a convincing way to deflect Andy’s suspicion.

The last thing you needed was for anyone to start seriously considering Red Hood as a suspect. Wanted posters of that stupid red helmet already lined the precinct’s walls

Andy laughed a half-hearted chuckle. “Guess old habits die hard, huh?”

You could barely crack a smile, but you tried your best.

A voice behind you interrupted the uneasy silence. “Detective?” You turned to see a uniformed officer standing stiffly at the edge of your desk. “You have a visitor at the front desk.”

You blinked, momentarily thrown off. No one was supposed to come by today—maybe your mother had stopped by on one of her random check-ins. The officer’s expression, however, was tense, and you felt a subtle shift in the atmosphere. The precinct wasn’t exactly an open-door policy; even visitors to officers needed a reason. A visitor, especially unexpected, was rarely a good sign.

You nodded, swallowing the bitter taste in your mouth. Setting the file aside, you rose, your heart pounding faintly as you walked through the maze of desks and toward the elevator, half-convinced that this "visitor" was your mother showing up with her usual worried expression and a container of food because you’d forgotten to call her recently.

But the moment the elevator doors opened, your heart faltered.

Jason. Standing right there in the precinct lobby, dressed casually in a worn leather jacket, one hand tucked into his pocket, the other resting casually on the front counter as he flashed an ID—one that was definitely fake.

Of course, it wasn't real, because Jason Todd has been dead for who knows how many years.

You used to think that Jason wasn't stupid enough to walk into a police department swinging around a fake ID with a stupid name like Trevor Duncan.

It was that same old card he used to keep back when the two of you were together. He’d only ever had to use it a handful of times, mostly when he got pulled over for speeding on his bike, but he always had it ready, a smooth grin on his face, acting as if he had nothing to hide. But now? Now it looked out of place, almost surreal. Jason Todd standing here as if he were just anyone off the street.

As he looked up, his eyes met yours, a flicker of something unreadable passing over his face before he offered a familiar, almost casual, “Hey.”

You took a sharp breath, trying to steady yourself. Words failed you, stuck somewhere between disbelief and frustration. Jason never showed up here. Not as the Red Hood, and certainly not as himself. Not after the way he left things a week ago.

Some fucking nerve he has.

You never wanted to strangle someone so badly.

Glancing over your shoulder, you moved closer to him, lowering your voice. “Jason,” you hissed, barely able to hide the shock. “What the hell are you doing here? You’re—”

“Wanted, yeah, I know,” he just shrugged, an almost defiant glint in his eyes, the same one that used to drive you mad. He lets you grip his arm and pull him toward a quiet corner of the lobby, away from prying eyes. “Technically, that’s Red Hood who’s wanted, not Jason—”

“Don’t. What the fuck is wrong with you?” you cut him off, voice barely a whisper but heated nonetheless.

His face hardened slightly, his voice dropping. “I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t important.”

Right, of course. Important. And yet, it was unnerving how familiar he looked like this, standing just close enough that the faint scent of leather and gunpowder hit you, reminders of nights spent together in places you weren’t supposed to be.

Your gaze flicked around the room, anxiety prickling your spine. “What do you want, Jason? If Gordon sees you…”

“I think I’m being set up,” he said abruptly.

You blinked, momentarily thrown off. “What?”

“The murders,” he continued, voice steady but jaw clenched. “They’re not—it’s not me.”

“I know that.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You know—?”

“How do you know about—”

Jason scoffed, crossing his arms as his gaze bore into you. “C’mon. Don’t act like it’s some big secret behind closed doors. This shit is happening in my alley. Of course, I fucking know. And sooner or later, a lot more people are gonna know.” He paused, “And besides… Grayson might’ve filled me in on a few things I missed.”

Of course. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. Dick had called you a few nights ago, asking for an extra set of eyes on a case he’d brought back from Blüdhaven. You’d tried to brush it off as usual, but there’d been something familiar about the weapon in the photos he’d sent, the way the scars on the victims matched the fresh crime scenes here in Gotham. You’d let it slip—against your better judgment—that those wounds looked eerily familiar.

You sighed, trying to push down the wave of frustration. Jason knowing more than you was one thing, but Dick going behind your back to clue him in? That threw you off.

“Right,” you muttered, rubbing your forehead. “Okay. So what is this? You just came here to make a statement? Give an alibi?”

“No.”

Your eyebrows raised. “Then what?”

He glanced down the hallway behind you, tense, as if he half-expected someone to overhear. Before you could turn to look, he grabbed your arm and pulled you aside, his expression unreadable.

“Listen—”

“I’m listening,” you replied, shrugging out of his grasp.

His voice dropped to a murmur, and you had to lean in to catch it. “I think you’re in danger.”

You scoffed, pulling back. “What are you talking about?”

“Haven’t you noticed? The people turning up dead—this isn’t random.”

“I know that—”

“No, you don’t. Have you actually looked into their criminal records?”

“Yeah.” You spat it out, feeling a surge of defensiveness. Jason’s words were cold as if he was accusing you. This asshole, came in here, acting like he knows your job better than you do, acting like you haven’t pored over every detail, every link, every goddamn scrap of evidence that’s crossed your desk. “I looked into all of it. They’ve got some minor offences. A few of them were tied to Randolf, but they’re hardly worth anyone’s attention. I thought you took down Randolf Industries months ago.”

“I did.” His jaw tightened, and you know him well enough to recognize the anger in his clenched teeth. “But that doesn’t mean they’re done with us.”

You almost hate how much sense he makes.

“What does this have to do with me?”

Jason’s gaze shifted, softening just a fraction, and that subtle pity—pity for you—lit a fire in your chest. He’s looking at you like he’s sorry like he cares, like he still feels something. And for a split second, you wished he’d go back to hating you. “You worked under Randolf.” he said, reminding you of what you’d rather forget. “You were at their last event. A gala… an auction, remember?”

“Jason, I’ve worked dozens of events like that. Please stop wasting my time.”

He shook his head, frustration seeping into his voice. “Think, okay? It was an auction. You had a mission there. Probably to take some fucking diamonds or something. The night ended with a shootout in the south hall.”

The memory saw a slap in the face. You saw flashes of that night—the glittering, polished faces of Gotham’s elite, the diamonds, the weight of them, heavy in your hands. You remembered the gunfire, the chaos that tore through the hall. The blood. But to you, it had been just another job gone slightly wrong, another task to be done and forgotten. Sure, it may have been the end of Randolf but you never really liked the guy anyway.

Jason was still watching you, his expression dark. “Every person who’s turned up dead was there that night. And they all had ties to Randolf. And I know you used to do some of his dirty work with Silena. Whoever’s behind this isn’t stopping until they’ve crossed off everyone on their list… including Silena. Including you.”

Fuck.

You swallowed hard, clenching your fists. You kept your expression neutral, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing your fear. Jason Todd, standing in your precinct, coming into your life after months of silence—after shutting you out, after telling you to keep your nose out of his work—telling you now that you should listen to him, that you should be worried, that you were doing your job wrong. Who does he think he is?

It wasn’t that you didn’t trust his judgment, but you were sick of hearing it. He used to shame you for what you do for work, hated that you had turned against him.

“I’ll look into it, I guess. But I don’t need you to tell me how to do my job.” Your voice shook, but you pressed on, words spilling out before you could hold them back. “You always hated what I do—if it was stealing or fighting crime or getting my badge. Now, what, you’re here to play saviour? To swoop in like none of that matters anymore?”

Your eyes met his, and there was a look there that almost made you falter. It’s that mix of distress and conviction, a look that carries the weight of all the things he never says. You recognize it immediately because it’s the look he used to give you—before everything turned sour. But now, it feels almost mocking. Desperate and pleading, like he’s here to convince you of something, to beg you to understand.

He doesn’t say anything though.

It just fueled the anger that’s simmering in your chest. The thought that he could come here, to your work, and act as though he’s still allowed to care as if he’s entitled to it—that he can swoop in and remind you of things you don’t want to feel.

But he must care, right?

If he didn’t care, he wouldn’t be here, right? If he didn’t care, he wouldn’t be this close, standing right in front of you, risking everything to warn you about a threat he thinks exists. He could’ve just called, could’ve left a message when you purposely didn’t answer.

He could’ve sent a text and kept himself safe, kept himself out of your life. Holy shit, you knew him well enough to know he’s capable of watching from the shadows, lurking without getting involved. But he was standing there, in a police precinct of all the fucking places, surrounded by detectives who would do anything to bring the Red Hood to justice if they realized he was right in front of them.

He’s here, looking at you like he’d do anything to pull you out of this.

The thought wrapped itself around you, both comforting and infuriating. God, you wanted to kill this guy.

“I… I don’t know what you’re asking of me right now, Jason.”

He searched your face, frustration flickering across his expression like he was fighting the urge to shake you, to make you see something you just couldn’t. His mouth opened and closed as though he was running through every possible way to explain himself, to say whatever he came here to say, but the words... the words kind of just... died there. They died in his throat, stuck.

And now he looked… scattered, disarmed, like he hadn’t thought you’d put up this much of a fight.

“I…” he started, his voice dropping almost to a grumbled whisper. “I want you… you need to get out of town.”

You stared at him.

And you stared and stared and just kept staring.

And you probably stood there for a minute or two before biting back a bitter laugh.

Out of town?

He couldn’t be serious.

Your patience, already thin, was practically shredded at this point. You’d spent years building your career here—your life here, and he wanted you to drop everything because he said so? Because he had suddenly come back with some vague, half-assed—a fucking hunch—warning? Because he had a suspicion—with no real proof—that you could—possibly—might be in danger because of an old shady job you barely remember?

The words barely registered at first, almost as if they were so absurd that your brain refused to even process them. You blinked, your mind catching on his audacity—his audacity—to just show up out of nowhere and think he could tell you what to do. This man had left you, shut you out, made his choice to push you away, and now he thought he could waltz back in and tell you to pack up and leave the life you’d clawed your way into?

“What?”

“Go to Metropolis,” he urged, more insistent now as if saying the name of a different city was going to convince you. “Anywhere. Just… get out of Gotham until I’ve figured this all out.”

His words hit you wrong, each one stacking up like bricks in a wall between you. “Until you’ve figured it out?” you repeated, eyes narrowing, glaring.

“Yeah,” he muttered, the confidence slipping. He was realizing now, seeing just how badly this was going. “Just… just lay low until then.”

“Lay low?” you spat out, barely containing a scoff. “Jason, I can’t just drop everything and leave. I’m not some pawn you can just move around. Do you get that? This is my job. My case. My fucking case. I’ve earned every inch of ground I stand on here.”

He tried to say something else, tried to push back, but you didn’t give him the chance.

“You think I don’t know the risks?” you continued, stubbornly digging your heels in. “I knew the risks when I took it. I know what I’m fucking doing.” You paused, the words heavy and unyielding. “Do you have any idea how it would look if I just disappeared because things got tough?”

The frustration in his expression deepened, but there was something else there now, something almost pleading. He looked at you like he wanted to say more like he needed to make you see something he was too damn stubborn to say outright. You could tell he didn’t want to fight you on this, that he was wishing you’d just listen, but that only made you stand your ground harder, and dig your heels in deeper.

He was the same Jason he’d always been: relentless, unyielding, pushing at you even when he knew you wouldn’t budge. And you? You were no different—just as stubborn, just as unwilling to give an inch. It was one of the reasons things had fallen apart between you. Two forces constantly colliding, too similar in their defiance yet too different in their methods. Like opposite sides of a magnet, doomed to repel each other despite every effort to hold on.

“I don’t care how it looks,” he muttered, his voice rough and low, but there was a crack in his resolve. “You’re not getting it. This isn’t about the case—this is about you.”

“Me?” The word escaped before you could stop it, sharper than you intended. You squared your shoulders, leaning into the bite of your tone. “If this is about me, then you should know better than to think I’d just leave. I don’t care what you think. If Randolf’s involved or not, this is my case, Jason. My responsibility. And I’m going to solve it, no matter the risks—because that’s my job. And I’m really fucking good at it.”

“Good at it?” His laugh was low and bitter like he couldn’t believe you were still fighting him on this. “You’re not listening. You’re going to die, and you’re standing here talking about responsibility like that’s going to protect you.”

You squared your jaw, rolling your eyes and scoffing.

“You sound just like him.” The words left Jason's mouth before he could stop them, his voice raw with anger and something deeper, something almost… horrified. “You sound just like Bruce.”

The words landed heavier than you expected, and you felt them settle uncomfortably in your chest. He meant it. Jason wasn’t just being dramatic; he wasn’t here to stir up trouble or drag you into another one of his wild theories. He was scared. Scared for you in a way that made your stomach twist uncomfortably because he still cared—too much.

You could hear your own heartbeat in the silence, the weight of what he’d just said hanging between you like a physical thing.

Bruce Wayne. Batman.

You? Similar to him?

The was new.

You opened your mouth to respond, but a voice called your name from down the hallway. Jason turned, his body instinctively tensing like he was preparing for a fight, his broad shoulders blocking your view until you leaned to the side.

It was Andy, jogging toward you with a grin that faltered the second he saw Jason. His eyes narrowed, flicking between you and the man standing far too close, his hands gripping your arms like they belonged there. You don’t remember when he held you.

“Uh… bad time?” Andy asked.

Jason let go of you immediately, stepping back but not far enough. His glare hardened as he sized up Andy like he was trying to determine whether he was a threat—or maybe just because he didn’t like the way Andy had interrupted.

“Yes,” Jason muttered flatly, not bothering to hide his irritation.

“No,” you said firmly, “He was just leaving. Weren’t you, Trevor?”

Jason’s head snapped toward you, his jaw tightening at the fake name. “Right,” he bit out, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he turned on his heel. His broad shoulders stiffened as he stalked off.

Andy watched him go, raising an eyebrow as he turned back to you. “Trevor?” he asked, the question loaded with curiosity.

“Don’t ask,” you said quickly. But your hands trembled slightly as you stuffed them into your pockets, Jason’s words echoing in your mind: You’re going to die.

You cleared your throat, your voice much steadier than you felt. “What’s up, Andy?”

He smiled a warm, familiar thing that barely reached his eyes. “I thought we could pick up a call. Something small, just to ease your mind. I’ve noticed how tense you’ve been, so I figured something like a missing bike or a dog would help take your mind off things.”

You hesitated, the idea of a mundane, easy case almost too good to pass up. You’d been running on fumes for days, your mind still tangled in threads of murder, mystery, and now, whatever the hell Jason was trying to get across.

“Yeah, okay,” you agreed, a little too quickly, though a quiet relief followed your words. The idea of a short break, even a small distraction, felt like just the kind of thing you needed. Still, your instincts told you to keep pushing, to go back upstairs and keep raking through the case files, questioning witnesses, tweaking the map with the locations of the bodies. You couldn’t shake the sense that you were missing something—something crucial.

But Andy’s eyes were a little too glazed over like he’d stared at one too many corpses, and maybe he needed this as much as you did. You could tell by the way his shoulders sagged that he was running on empty.

Maybe a clearer mind would help, you thought.

You reached out and grabbed the thinner file from his hand, glancing over it briefly. “Okay, let’s go,” you said, a bit of your usual confidence slipping back into your voice, even as the anxiety from the case lingered.

Andy’s grin was wide, a flash of his usual spirit. He waved the keys in front of your face like a kid with a new toy. “Fuck yeah!” His excitement was enough to snap you out of your darker thoughts, at least for a moment.

You just hoped Gordon wouldn’t kill you for this detour.

---

The drive to the supposed “missing dog” case felt like it dragged on forever.

Andy hummed along to whatever random song played on the radio, but your thoughts kept drifting back to the case you had been working on. Your mind buzzed with the same unanswered questions that had been hanging over you all day.

What was Jason’s real point? And more pressing, what was really going on with the bodies? Randolf, the name haunted you. Have you been missing something this whole time?

The moment Andy stopped the car, your stomach dropped. The “case” turned out to be a dead end, no missing dog, no clues, just another pointless distraction. You both spent hours going over the same circle of leads that led nowhere, retracing your steps, looking at things from different angles, but it was all for nothing.

Andy finally threw his hands up in frustration. “Nothing,” he muttered, clearly over it. “This is a waste of time.”

You swallowed hard, trying to push the growing feeling of dread away. You were already getting that itchy, restless feeling again—the same one that told you you’d just wasted precious hours when you could have been moving forward on the real case. “I know,” you said quietly, nodding absently. “But maybe we missed something. I think I should—”

“No,” Andy cut you off, his voice blunt, but it wasn’t unkind. “It’s time to call it.”

You wanted to argue, to push on, but his tone made it clear that it wasn’t worth it anymore.

---

Andy had left you at your apartment, and by the time you reached the door, exhaustion was pulling you down like a weight. You fumbled with your keys, your thoughts disjointed, still tangled in the mess of the case that had led nowhere, hours wasted, your mind too worn to keep up.

The door clicked shut behind you, and you dropped your bag by your feet. The thought that had been haunting you all day echoed once again, a sharp, intrusive whisper. You’re going to die.

You’re going to die.

The words gnawed at you relentlessly, a constant hum that never stopped, lingering just beneath your conscious thoughts.

You sighed, trying to shake it off, but the dull ache in your chest remained. You slid off your shoes and left your jacket crumpled on the floor, not caring for the mess. Your apartment was quiet—too quiet. The stillness in the air felt wrong somehow, like something was out of place.

You reached for your phone in your pocket, the buzz startling you slightly. It wasn’t Gordon—who you expected to hear from—but a message from Silena.

Your fingers froze over the screen as you read: Are you in Gotham? We should get lunch or something.

The message didn’t make sense. You hadn’t heard from Silena in a few days, and the last time you checked, she was halfway across the country, doing who knows what. The timing of it unnerved you.

You shook your head, trying to push away the instinct to feel like something was wrong, and a small smile tugged at the corner of your lips despite yourself. Silena was one of the few people you trusted, but the oddity of the message made you pause.

Yeah, I’m around. Let me know when you’re free.

You tossed your phone onto the counter and stepped into the living room. The space was dim, lit only by the soft spill of moonlight from the windows. The glow from the streetlights outside filtered in, casting long, strange shadows across the floor, and stretching the furniture in odd directions.

The silence was muggy. It felt like something was waiting for you, something just outside your perception, making the hairs on the back of your neck rise.

You’re going to die.

You stepped deeper into the room, your senses sharpening as you instinctively reached under a chair where your gun was always kept. Your fingers brushed the cool metal, and your grip tightened. It wasn’t like you to jump to conclusions, but something about this moment made you feel like you needed the reassurance.

You paused, listening carefully, your breath steady. The shadows in the room shifted slightly—flickering, moving. The moonlight played tricks on your eyes, making the figures dance just beyond your sight. You narrowed your eyes, peering through the dark.

You’re going to die. You’re going to die.

The movement was subtle, but you saw it again. There were figures standing just beyond the edge of the light, still as statues. You couldn’t be sure, but something told you that they weren’t supposed to be there. You raised the gun instinctively, aiming it in the direction of the shadows, your finger lightly on the trigger.

You’re going to die. You’re going to die. You’re going to die.

And then, as if on cue, they moved.

You’re going to die. You’re going to die. You’re going to die. You’re going to die. You’re going to die.

Two figures stepped forward, emerging from the darkness.

You’re going to die. You’re going to die. You’re going to die. You’re going to die. You’re going to die. You’re going to die. You’re going to—

Your heart skipped a beat, and you froze, staring into the dim light as the figures came into sharper focus. It wasn’t an intruder, wasn’t some random threat.

It was Robin, eyes cold and calculating as always, his posture rigid as he crossed his arms. Beside him, standing just out of the reach of the light, was Red Robin, his body language tight with tension. His mask didn’t hide the unease that flickered in his eyes, the way his jaw clenched slightly.

It wasn’t the first time the birds had slipped into your apartment unannounced—Jason had certainly made himself at home recently—but there was something different about this. Something formal, purposeful. The silence was heavy, the air thick with the weight of unspoken things. It wasn’t a casual visit, not even close.

They didn’t come to grab a snack from your fridge or hang around on your couch, not this time.

For the first time all day, the familiar tension in your chest felt like a vice, suffocating you. You lowered your gun slowly, the metal was cold and heavy in your hands.

Robin gave you a quick nod, his eyes darting to the weapon. He made a small, annoyed sound under his breath—TT—but said nothing as you deactivated the safety and set it back down where it belonged. The tension in the air didn’t fade, though. It only deepened.

“Our apologies if we startled you,” Robin said, his voice tight, almost mechanical, like he had rehearsed the words a hundred times before they came out. His tone lacked its usual sharpness, and something about that made you frown.

But the formality of it all—the serious way they stood, barely moving, as though waiting for something—made your gut twist.

“No worries...” you muttered.

You reached for the lamp on the side table, flipping it on. The room flooded with warm, yellow light, and you blinked against the sudden brightness. Robin’s face was still shadowed by the low light, but you could see his face better now, the sharp edges of his gaze unwavering. Red Robin stepped into the light fully, his jaw clenched, the skin on his lower lip raw from constant biting.

“Damian, Tim,” you greeted them, but the words felt hollow.

Damian didn’t say anything, his arms still crossed, his posture unwavering. He only tilted his head slightly, observing you.

Tim stepped forward, his footsteps muffled by the carpet. The air seemed to thicken with every passing second as he came closer, his expression unreadable beneath his mask. When he spoke, his voice was softer than Damian’s, but there was a finality to it.

“We need to talk,” he said, his tone low, heavy with meaning. “Maybe you should sit down.”

You stood frozen where you were. “What’s wrong?”

Tim hesitated, his gaze flickering briefly to Damian before he let out a slow breath. “We know about your past with Selina Kyle, we know what she meant to you,” he started, the words heavy, “and we thought you should be one of the first to know… She was found dead in her apartment less than an hour ago.”

Your world seemed to halt.

The words didn’t land right. They didn’t make sense. Selina Kyle? She was—she had been so alive in your messages, in your mind. You had just texted her, just now—how could she have been dead? How could this be real?

Your breath caught in your throat, and the room tilted for a second. “That’s… impossible,” you whispered, more to yourself than anyone else. How could she be—?

Tim’s expression softened slightly, but his eyes stayed serious. “That’s what we thought too.”

His words felt distant, almost muffled like they were coming from the other end of a tunnel. You couldn’t process what he was saying. None of it made sense. Selina—dead? You had just texted her. She’d sent a message barely five minutes ago, her words still fresh on your screen, vivid proof of life. Your phone felt like it weighed a thousand pounds now, sitting on the counter where you had tossed it, mocking you with its silence.

Tim shifted uncomfortably, dragging your attention back to him. “The cops should be arriving at the scene about now. But, uh, B wants to see you. He was the one who…” Tim hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “He was the one who found her. He said—”

You stopped listening. The words faded into a hollow hum, and your mind spiralled. Selina was supposed to be untouchable. Smart, agile, always one step ahead of the chaos in Gotham. And now, she was just… gone? And you were just... supposed to live with that? The thought slammed into you like a train, impossible to reconcile with the image of her that lived in your memory: vibrant, sharp-tongued, alive.

Jason’s warning echoed in your head, louder now. You’re going to die.

Your stomach churned. Jason wasn’t exactly known for his optimism, but there was a pattern here, a thread you couldn’t ignore. The timing, the dread you’d been carrying all day—it all felt too calculated, too deliberate. As though the universe—or someone—was playing a sick game, tightening a noose you hadn’t even realized was there.

Your legs felt weak, and you sank into the armchair beside you, the cushions swallowing you whole. You stared at the floor, the edges of your vision blurring as you tried to process the words. Nothing added up. How could she be gone when she’d just messaged you? Had you imagined it? No, you couldn’t have. You’d replied.

Your hand twitched toward your phone, desperate for confirmation, but the thought of seeing her name on the screen—knowing it could never light up again—made your throat close up.

Tim’s voice broke through the haze, but you only caught the last thing he said. “You’re gonna have to come with us.”

It didn’t sound like a suggestion.

And Jason. Jason had warned you. You’d brushed it off as paranoia, his usual tendency to jump to the worst conclusions, but now… Now you couldn’t shake the feeling that he knew something you didn’t. Something he hadn’t said.

You pushed yourself upright, your legs shaky beneath you. “I need to see it,” you said, your voice stronger now despite the storm raging inside you. “I need to see her apartment.”

Tim and Damian exchanged a look, and Damian had a wicked smirk on his face. He turned toward the open window, his cape swishing as he moved. “Try to keep up.”

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pennzance · 1 year ago

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Ghostbusters: Port Huron (Episode 16)

Episode 16: Scars and Sacrifices

September 18th, 1998

Research report by Bryan

His name was Amadeus Filch.

At least, as far as I can tell. At Eloise, he was Dr. Herbert Lyman. In Port Huron, he was Freddy Ashton. He had a dozen identities across even more counties and maybe even countries, but by birth, I believe his name was Amadeus Filch.

His biography, as I have been able to reconstruct it, is a tale of confidence games, crazed schemes and illicit gains through most of Canada, starting somewhere near Toronto back in the late 1930s. The authorities chased him all over the frozen north, and a Mounty named Robert Norris pursued him into the wilderness. Records are scant, but I have discovered an account from Norris’s superior. He reported finding Norris’s body, frozen to the core and forever locked in a look of terror.

Filch shows up next as an administrative doctor at Eloise, and I’ll admit I make the connection mostly off photographic evidence. Filch’s final mugshot before his disappearance showcased a rather nasty gash on his left temple, a result of a minor amount of police brutality. It was stitched up, but by the time Dr. Herbert Lyman received his photo identification for access to Eloise, it had resolved into a distinctive scar. That, plus the shape of the nose, chin and eyes all line up eerily well.

As Dr. Lyman, he kept his nose clean through 1960 as he rose in the hierarchy of the administrative staff at Eloise. The short term grifter and crook had changed tactics and was playing the long game now. And he apparently no longer had an eye for money but was after something a lot grimmer. Whatever happened to him in the frozen north changed his outlook on the world from a panoply of suckers to con to a blight of fools to be scoured from the Earth.

Dr. Lyman was all over the Ledger. I’ve been comparing the entries by handwriting with a few notes written by Lyman/Filch’s own hand, and almost every nurse listed in the Ledger was put there by him. Every doctor in the Ledger was put there by him. Whatever he was up to, the patients of Elosie weren’t enough to accomplish it, and he started in on the staff. I’d place good money that some of the names on the Ledger met their end in the Chamber, only to be buried under a number in a field. What purpose did their ends serve?

More relevantly, why does Filch turn up again here in Port Huron under the name of Freddy Ashton? Again, identification is not the most concrete, but the only photo of Ashton that I’ve been able to dig up was a group photo from the office he worked: Port Huron Health and Safety. It’s the only full color picture of the guy I’ve seen, so I can’t confirm the hair color even if he was greying by this point, but the scar, the chin and eyes all match up. The nose looks like it suffered a break in between though, probably a souvenir from his time around Eloise’s more violent patients (or more resistant victims).

If Lyman was a hard one to track, Ashton is effectively a ghost. The signature on the few forms signed by him I’ve found match the handwriting of Lyman, reinforcing my thesis that this one Canadian con man is a running theme in our problems so far. The forms in question do as well, since he conducted inspections on a few locations we’ve become intimately familiar with, like the Ice Museum, the Edison Inn, and a safety inspection of the old railroad tunnel before it was closed.

Ashton, Lyman, Filch. Tracing this man’s history back shows a life led carefree until… something happened that instilled in him a dark drive and a hunger for something. Something I can’t define yet. As always, research is never done. But now I know what I’m looking for.

I’m going to add the team’s reports to my list of reading material. It’s possible my co-workers have seen or noticed something I’ve missed without understanding its significance. I’ll also have to make sure everyone knows to keep an eye out going forward. Even the interns.

ADDITIONAL: On the subject of interns, Mr. Kaye hired a pair of part timers, one named Jason and the other named Kelly. Jason is an intelligent person, somewhat skeptical like Eric but also open minded. Kelly is a vapid young girl with a higher interest in boys than in work. She’ll be trouble if we don’t keep an eye out. Eric is taking them out on their first job next week, and I look forward to getting a good laugh out of the resulting report. – Bryan.

#pennzance writes #ghostbusters #ghostbusters port huron

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insanescriptist · 2 months ago

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Flip the Focus

Another refill to go -he went with a strawberry tea boba this time- and they make it to Jason's farmboy style truck, the motorcycle he prefers chained down and under a tarp. This way blends in better than people think in Vegas' side streets. Vegas as a glorious tourist trap was far less glitter and lights once off the "main stage," of it all.

Sad thing about the little pick-up truck was the lack of elbow room; he and Dan were going to be squished in it -how Jason had parked earlier meant Dan didn't have to walk around- more than Jason had expected. Still a decent truck, as it had proven on the way up here. The AC worked pretty well as did the radio. No doubt by now that the local radio was commenting on the Justice League disturbance as emergency news. Color commentary on shit that was way later than what Jason could hear on his ear piece. Which at the moment was basically Nightwing updating Oracle about the LEOS, asking for a preliminary identification -of which Oracle had two, more incoming, facial recognition software required a photo id database to compare to and not everyone had government issued photo id or a mugshot- and the ghost leading Raven, Flash and now Batman outside of city limits. A few more of the Justice League was likely to show, even if Jason doubted they'd be good against a ghost. Raven's usual magic was apparently doing jack-of-shit, so they were going to have to adapt. Even the Zatanna downgrade -some Zachary- was being kind of useless by not chasing the ghost. Something about checking to make sure Zatanna's ward was properly calibrated -which yes it was- and further researching what might have gone through to set off Zatanna's ward. Or if it had just knocked on the barriers between dimensions that hard. So he was going to meet up with Dickface and look at the magic shit there.

Dan had been given Jason's Oracle-infected tablet, allegedly as the navigator. Jason had pulled up the navigation program and shoved the tablet in Dan's direction, as Dan protested. Jason hauled himself into his own truck, drink in hand.

"How attached are you to this thing?" Dan asked. "Fair chance it's going to short out in my hands in less than an hour, unless this is built like a Nokia phone."

"Not super attached." Jason wasn't. He'd just have to redownload a couple apps -his own make- to make it more personalized. Bat-tech yes, but civilian style, sourced from Tim's budget of bogus. Not on the very cutting edge, but certainly beat whatever was out on the civilian market. And so accordingly also somewhat buggy. And not just the Bat-bugs. "You can chat with my friend if you want."

"Not particularly."

"Barbie can be pretty funny."

"Didn't know Barbie went from material girl to the digital world," and there Jason lost it because that was fucking funny.

Excellent meme usage from a ghost! Barbara was certainly not going to expect Dan was anything but a meta now. Absolutely pissed that Jason used 'Barbie' to refer to her, but it was a nickname that was clearly a nickname; no one named their kid 'Barbie' if they had any sense. Even her full name was hilariously old fashioned.

Pulling out the little tray from the dash and setting his half-drank boba tea, closed the truck door behind him and started up his truck. Glorious AC. "Absolutely going to have to find some way to work that into conversations."

Jason could honestly imagine Barbara sending him threatening emojis now. Something like: Q(`⌒´Q)

"Your curiously clear chat with your friend has sent some sort of boxing emoji."

"Wiping your chat logs is a good habit!" Actually it's a suspicious habit. "Keeps snooping siblings out."

"No it doesn't. Then they just hack it and restore it."

"Little siblings. Ugh."

Dan in asshole older brother fashion and as part of navigator rights flips through the radio channels. Thankfully settling on back on the radio station Jason had previously set it to.

The drive is mostly silent, aside from the noise of the radio -appreciably quiet enough that Jason can hear through his ear piece, which means Dan absolutely could too- and the noise of the road, which drops more and more as they get further to the edge of Vegas.

"Hey, pull up those directions again? Don't wanna miss it." Because this was reasonably far enough out that the average person couldn't remember how to get there, or that's the story Jason was going with. Get far enough out and it was all neighborhoods and apartment buildings, the occasional chain store and church. Just suburbs and shit.

Dan harrumphed, probably rolled his eyes but Jason was paying attention to the road and the minivan in front of him; moderately impaired driver hopefully. Or just a drunk soccer mom, he didn't have the angle to tell.

"Straight for another mile, turn left at the church past the school."

Honestly this was getting close to the suburbs out near the airport. Which yeah, that's how the Birds of Prey primarily got around in. So that made sense. Made him wonder how Barbie was going to get Black Canary and Arsenal there? Well there was a Speedster here so a zeta or two kept off of the Watchtower logs and a minute or so would be more than enough time to get them here, once they zeta'd out. So a good twenty or thirty minutes for them to get settled in. Enough to air out of the place, make it look lived in and arm up.

Jason does have that sort of reputation and an unknown meta will put everyone up another notch. He'd hack into other channels for more info but his tablet has been invaded by Oracle and honestly he's kinda surprised she hadn't cut out his eavesdropping ear piece. She likely thought better of it; as a back-seat driver of a team lead, she's gotta have a different and looser leadership style than Batman on the ground. Speaking of, that's him over the line, asking the guy Zatanna for more information that he's not reporting over the line. Batman's going to have to go on a Flash express himself. Last Jason knew, there wasn't a Batmobile or equivalent in Vegas. Batman tries primarily to focus in WE dominated territory; easier to hide all the Batman expenses with company assets so close. He might have had someone load the Batplane and be flying it over by now.

It has been a while. And Jason's mere existence in theory shouldn't have distracted Batman from a possible Trigon level threat. The fact he was only just now getting to the ritual site said he very much was.

Jason had at one point early in his days as Robin, ink still fresh on the paperwork declaring him a Wayne, asked Dick why Bruce had never adopted him. Dick didn't know, had said something about the laws being different. That maybe Jason was his favorite. Played off the hurt by saying Jason was his favorite little brother.

Oh, Jason was the favorite alright. Batman's favorite ghost. Favorite wound. Favorite agony and favorite guilt. Favorite little boy to project all his likes, dislikes and assumptions on.

A favorite target.

Flip the Table

Casually eavesdropping on what should be highly secure frequencies, Jason sipped his beer in a sleezy saloon style sports bar somewhere on the Vegas strip, nominally watching college(?) football; he's a hockey fan because baseball's boring as shit to watch and he's never got the appeal about American football. Football to the rest of the world was at least worth watching for the drama. Something had the Justice League in a tizzy and Zatanna -the one who normally covered Vegas when it came to the costumed crazies- was off world; Jason didn't have the details exactly but it sounded like Zatanna was dealing with some magical planar stuff and was not expected back for at least six more days. Assuming all went well.

So like any reasonable person who's going away for a time, she turned on her home security, had the alerts wired over to a friend -in this case Justice League Dark- gave a list of what was needed to be done and when -the pick up my mail and mow my lawn equivalants- went on her trip, trusting that the JLD were watching over her city and it wouldn't be on fire when she got back.

Such glorious hope.

And thus something happened so when Jason pulled into Vegas proper to investigate a desperate -read last hope- lead on a missing person's case, Jason happened to spy one of the lesser members of the JLD losing their shit in the sky. And so in a moment of civic duty, Jason started spying on them.

Magic was not something anyone trained by the Bat really ever got comfortable about, but chances were magic bullshit was going to intervene in his case. Justice League shit spilled over everything, all the time. Ghost cultists tripping Zatanna's necromancy alarms or whatever they were, was not Jason's business. Not unless the presumed cultists -those that had survived- had the person he was looking for.

No, he was looking at a missing person's case and his lead was 1. cold and 2. a longshot and 3. in a city full of tourists and catering staff, where "seen anything unusual lately" could be "there was this trio of tourists arguing how sex with your best friend doesn't count as cheating," or "someone having a meltdown over the delayed shipping of organic blueberries to the hotel," or "Sarah Maria got murdered a couple weeks ago on the job, but I haven't seen any notice about her funeral stuff on her social media, why yes, I do know she's dead, oh, she's dead and I'm an idiot for expecting someone dead to post on their socials their funeral deets."

Point was, he could look and ask all he wanted, beat feet for days, but the chances of this lead panning out were basically so minuscule that Jason could treat this more as a hobby case while on vacation. He still did his due diligence, asked the staff a few questions, called the guests on the same floor during the time period of their stay about how they found their stay, ran into the dead end of shitty business practices -they recorded over their own records every two weeks- and so unless Jason got the ability to do magic and do a "point me!" spell, the case would turn cold. It sucked when it happened but sometimes the evidence wasn't there. Or wasn't noticed or was destroyed before it could be collected. Sometimes people just didn't remember shit until three weeks later, which with some follow up digging gave him the lead to the hotel. Which got him nothing after that.

As Jason Todd didn't gain an innate ability to do magic that he was aware of that actually counted as magic bullshit magic instead of a couple cantrips, all he could do was get a beer and some food in a Vegas style Texas saloon bar. Which not his first choice, but it was full enough no one really paid attention to anyone. Technically a sport's bar but also very much was not. It was also busy enough that Jason ended up getting asked if someone could set with him at his table -which real Jason said hell no to, but cover Jason did agree to-

Oh. Meta. Jason realized quickly. Oh no, he's hot.

His hair is on fire!

How did the server miss that? Most metas don't casually out themselves like that! Too many people willing to target them for whatever power.

That hair was flaming, tied back in a low tail; Jason blinked and the hair flickered color, looked like normal hair -black- and then back to white fire, then black fire, some tv static abomination of color, white hair and then black hair. Another blink and it appeared to be black flames for hair and yeah, Jason closed his eyes. Pointedly ignored the hair thing. If the meta asked, Jason was judging him for the stupid little goatee.

The rest of the meta was built along the same lines as Jason himself, tall, broad and built. Packed with muscle, which was something to make note of; metas usually were more durable and could hit harder, so Jason casually made note to not get hit if a fight broke out.

Which it might, or probably would.

That's just how Jason's luck ran. To shit.

Said meta also ordered food and a beer, didn't even get asked for ID -unfair bias- and judging by the sound, turned in the seat to look at the American football screen that Jason had been ignoring. His hair had at least settled to black flames instead of the glitchy hair.

Of course as this was Vegas, people gambled on outcomes of games too. Which is how Jason learned the meta was rich enough to blow a couple grand -not expensive in the world of supers- but more than what the average person would be comfortable betting.

There were better ways to piss away money than gambling on sports. Like on over priced burgers and onion rings with an order of mozzerella sticks. The burger was good, admittedly Jason's had better and then some party of guys was yelling at the ref on a screen. And yup, that's some altercation with another table but the barman broke it up with a couple of words.

His tablemate muttered something about the ref having made the right call if one of the players wanted to continue a career professionally and Jason used that as social leverage to get a name -Dan, no last name given- and a bit more in-depth explanation on what stakes were going on; he's a hockey guy, not a football guy.

Some time later, Dan had caught him up on the football drama -nothing compared to the hockey drama- and conversation had drifted significantly from sports, lightly touched on family -Dan had siblings he shared little about other than they existed, which fair, they could also be metas and at risk- much like Jason did -he had siblings that existed, no further details- and parents weren't mentioned. Instead a lot of engineering talk, a slide into ethics -Dan's opinion on killing super villains was very much that some people needed Ended- and some small talk about how Dan's high school English teacher cursed in classical book titles.

Soon the easy joy of potential friendship ended when his phone rang; that was the Batman ringtone and Jason felt no guilt hanging up on him. And again. And again.

Then Dick rang and nope. He was not dealing with their shit. Dick would just sweeten up whatever shit B wanted to shovel.

And then Oracle's ringtone rang. Oh, now that was serious. Justice League shit spilling into his life again. No fucking doubt about it.

"Uh-huh, so what's up? Because I gotta say, I am a couple drinks in and the whole bar is waiting for one of the football teams to fumble or foul up their next play so they can throw down."

"Jay-" She started because much like Bruce, she would rather go straight into the mission, and Jason absolutely had wrong-footed her. Because instead of making excuses to leave, Jason had absolutely stayed. So now she had to rephrase things on the fly because who knows who might be listening in. "Hey, it's on the news that the Justice League is showing up in Vegas; something about investigating something magical showing up."

"Uh-huh, that's not a surprise. There was some magic ninny flying in a panic earlier. I decided it wasn't my business."

"I hadn't heard that," -bullshit, she just hadn't double-checked that herself yet- "but what I did hear that some cult might have succeeded in bringing something over."

"Uh-huh. Well, no one's praying to Cthulu yet, there's been no troublemaking beyond the usual human malice and nothing's on fire."

"We were just concer-" And Jason hung up on Oracle.

He'd pay for that later, but petty was satisfying now.

"Sounded important."

"Was bullshit."

"So an entity summoned by a cult that tripped a bunch of magicians into a tizzy-"

Yeah, those sharp ears were not for show. Enhanced hearing check. "That's a bunch of incompetents panicking." Time for his good guess to hit or miss. "You're not going to decide to destroy Vegas, are you?"

"Done it before, doing it again seems pointlessly petty." Statements Jason wasn't going to prod further right now.

"And what if Wisconson University loses?"

"Might flip the table." Dan shrugged.

"More beer?" Jason asked.

"Sure."

#Izzy does fic #Flip It #dc x dp #Jason Todd #Dan Phantom

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7-wonders · 3 years ago

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The 11th Street Kids Go Undercover (Adrian Chase/Vigilante)

Summary: On a mission to stop the formula for creating metahumans from falling into the hands of Lexcorp, you and Adrian are paired up. A fake date with the guy that you have a crush on is surely just another day at the office.

Word Count: 4.2k

A/N: I don't know how this fic is gonna do bc I'm posting it kind of late, but I'm really excited for it because I felt inspired for the first time in a while with Adrian. I've missed writing for you, Vigilante. Like, comment, and reblog if you enjoyed this!

The team listens intently as Harcourt goes over the mission brief one last time before rolling out…well, most of the team. Peacemaker is very loudly playing a game on his phone while Adrian watches over his shoulder. Harcourt slowly trails off, searing the two with a death glare, and the rest of you watch with bated breath to see if they’ll notice. When it becomes clear that they won’t, Harcourt sighs.

“I’m sorry, am I interrupting something?” Harcourt asks sarcastically.

Chris finally looks up at this before shaking his head and going back to the game on his phone. “No, you’re fine. Thanks, though.”

“Dumbass,” Harcourt snaps, “get off of your phone and pay attention to the brief. Are you seriously playing fucking Angry Birds? What is this, 2012?”

“Angry Birds is a classic and I won’t tolerate this slander from you.”

Harcourt folds her arms over her chest. “You can go ahead and brief the team then, Smith, since I’m doing such a terrible job at keeping everybody interested.”

“I will, thank you.” He slides the brief over, looking at it for the first time tonight. “Alright, our target tonight is Jacob Han, whose mugshot you’ll see in Image A. Looks like a chode, if you ask me.”

“We didn’t ask you,” Adebayo says, “but yeah. Dude looks like a chode.”

“Thank you!” Chris sports a proud smile as he continues. “He originally worked for the American Government as a part of Project M, helping to develop a serum to create metahumans for war. Han went rogue a couple of years ago, took the formulas he had been working on for the serum and ran off. He’s recently popped up again with claims that he’s created a successful serum and he’s willing to sell the product…for a hefty fee.

“Tonight, Han is supposed to be at the Kryptonite Bar & Nightclub in Metropolis to perform a dead drop with a representative of Lexcorp. There are three potential representatives that could show up tonight. You have their names and pictures in your brief as well. If Lex Luthor and his minions are able to create metahumans whenever they want, that will spell disaster for the world. That’s where we come in.”

Almost nobody expected the group that would become the 11th Street Kids to be a functional team, least of all those that were a part of the team. After your defeat of the butterflies before the Justice League could even show up, as well as Waller being exposed on national television, ARGUS kept your team around for special ops and, the team suspects, to be able to monitor what you’re doing.

Not that any of you minded being able to come together and work with each other time and time again. Such a close brush with death tends to bring people together. And so the 11th Street Kids were now an official task force. Leota Adebayo, Adrian Chase aka Vigilante, John Economos, Emilia Harcourt, Christopher Smith aka Peacemaker, and you. What had started as a mission that you had been forced onto months ago due to being the lowest on the ladder in terms of seniority has quickly become your favorite team to work with. No other group compares to the 11th Street Kids, and you’re including the stint where you were an unofficial member of the Bat Family.

Peacemaker looks at Harcourt after he’s finished the brief. “Okay, you can give everybody their roles for tonight.”

“Gee, thanks.” Harcourt rolls her eyes, but continues. “Economos, you’ll be in the van hacked into the cameras and Han’s phone. Adebayo, you’ll be with Economos monitoring transmissions and providing backup if needed.

“Now, we don’t know where the dead drop is supposed to happen, so we’ll be split up to make sure we can adequately sabotage this meeting. I’ll cover the bar by working as a bartender. Smith, you’ll have the front of house by acting as a bouncer. Chase and Y/l/n, you’ll both be ‘patrons’ on the dance floor. Any questions?”

The team remains silent. On the scale of missions you’ve completed together, this is pretty standard. Still, you can’t shake the nerves that you have, because tonight you’re going on a fake date.

A fake date with Adrian.

A fake date with Adrian, who you have a crush on.

Harcourt and Adebayo have told you multiple times that he has just as much of a crush on you as you do on him, but you doubt that. After all, you’ve heard him say time and time again that he doesn’t have emotions like a normal person. You may have broken him down enough to see his friendly side, but does he even have the capacity to like you in a romantic way? If this weren’t a serious mission, you’d assume that you were placed together so that you’d be forced to admit your feelings to each other.

You know the actual reason why Harcourt assigned both of you together, of course. The blueprints of the building show a large dance floor/bar area for patrons, too big for one person to cover. Since you and Adrian look the least like undercover black ops agents (Adebayo and Economos too, but Adebayo is terrible at lying and Economos is needed for tech stuff), it makes sense to pair you up with him. This simultaneously makes you want to throw up and jump for joy.

Adrian must notice the way that you nervously drum your fingers against your leg while loading the handgun you’ll keep concealed on you, because he bumps his shoulder against yours and smiles at you. “Hell yeah, dynamic duo back at it again!”

You’ve been paired with Adrian for a few missions, both of you working extremely well together. He calms your nerves, you calm his…everything. That’s probably yet another reason why Harcourt gave you these roles. You balance each other out in the best of ways. It will be difficult for him to calm your nerves tonight, however, when he’s the one causing your nerves.

“Undercover dynamic duo,” you note, since this is a rare mission where no uniforms are used. Instead, you’re all dressed like civilians.

You both get out of the van a couple of blocks away from the bar after enough time has passed since Harcourt and Peacemaker left, and you have to admit that Adrian cleans up really well, though that could be because Harcourt had given you all wardrobe changes for tonight’s aliases. Scratch that. You don’t ‘have’ to admit anything. He does clean up well, but you like the way that Adrian looks no matter what. Tonight, however, he’s been forced to switch out his usual quarter-zip sweaters and nerdy graphic t-shirts for a button down, short-sleeved shirt that frames his muscles deliciously. You assume it’s to make it look like you’re actually a couple on a date, but you’ll still thank Harcourt for the eye candy anyways.

His muscles are so distracting, in fact, that you nearly jump when you feel his hand brush against yours. You look up at him only to see him looking as surprised as you. “What ya doing, there?”

“Well, we’re supposed to be on a date, right? People on dates, like, hold hands and shit.”

“Oh.” He’s right, of course. Still, you hadn’t expected him to be so…forward. You had thought that you were going to have to be the one to make this act convincing, not the other way around. “Um, yeah. Let’s hold hands, I guess.”

Shyly this time, Adrian slides his hand into yours, interlocking your fingers with his. You both smile at each other before looking away, though you can see the way that the back of Adrian’s neck is heating up.

The line to get into the bar is thankfully short, and you’re in in a matter of minutes. You both nod to Chris, who’s standing inside next to the door doing his ‘job’ as a bouncer. If you didn’t know who he was, you’d think that he was very experienced at this job. Your eyes immediately sweep the room, checking for any sign of your targets. They’re not here, which you had been expecting. It won’t be an on-the-dot affair, from what Economos has gleaned from Jacob Han’s communications. There’s a certain time slot he gave Lexcorp’s representatives, of 11:15 to midnight. It’s your job to wait around until they show up.

The comm in your ear crackles to life, and you can assume from the way that Adrian stills that his does, too. “Alright guys,” Economos says, “it is currently 11:10 and we are fast approaching dead drop time. We only have forty five minutes to secure the formula and stop Han from making the deal with Lexcorp. Adebayo and I have successfully hacked into his phones, yes, plural, and will be monitoring to see when he arrives.”

“Hey, do you wanna go get a drink?” you ask Adrian after Economos has signed off.

“Uh, sure. Yeah, a drink sounds good.” You lead him to the bar, your hand still clasped in his, and try to act like you don’t know the blonde woman with a killer resting bitch face that comes up to serve you.

“What can I get for you guys?” From the way that Harcourt handles herself in this position, you have to assume she did some sort of bartending back in college.

You turn around to look at the man behind you. “What do you want, Adrian?”

“Oh, I’ll just have a beer.”

“Two Bud Lights, please,” you order. Harcourt quickly grabs the beers and takes the caps off. “Is it worth it to dance here? Some bars say they have dancing, but it ends up not being much.”

“I’d wait a few minutes and enjoy your drinks at a table before dancing. The music doesn’t get good here until about 11:30.”

“Great, thanks.” You slide a ten across the bar for the drinks before glancing at Adrian. “Wanna go grab a table then?”

He nods and takes the lead this time, moving through the crowd of people with ease until he comes across a table that’s empty. You both gratefully fall into the empty seats, and you take a large drink of your beer before setting it down. “You were asking Harcourt when we should move positions, right?” Adrian whispers across the table to you, the subtlety of that conversation going over his head like usual.

“Yeah, just wanted to make sure that we were in the right spot.”

It’s easy to fall into the routine of work, and you both silently begin to watch for any sign of Jacob Han or the Lexcorp reps (red headed woman, man with star tattoos on his knuckles, or Lex Luthor himself, you remind yourself of the characteristics you’re meant to be watching for) entering the bar. After you confirm that none of your targets have arrived, you look back at Adrian only to find that he’s already looking at you.

You laugh nervously at the attention. “What?”

“Y’know, if this was a real date, I’d tell you how nice you look tonight.”

Your breath catches in your throat, and you’re thankful that you hadn’t taken a sip of your beer because you could guarantee it would be spit out on the table right now. Deflecting with humor, you say, “But it’s only a fake date, so that means I don’t look nice?”

Adrian’s cheeks go red. “That’s not what I–I didn’t mean it like that! I just meant that being on a real date would give me the chance to say that you look nice. You always look nice, but tonight you look–I’m just gonna shut up now.”

“So do you think I look nice or not?” you say with a laugh, teasing him now. Sometimes, Adrian needs a push in order to actually verbalize his feelings.

“Yes. You look beautiful tonight. There’s nobody else I’d want to be on a fake date with.”

“Thanks, you look really handsome too, fake date or not.”

“Seriously?” Adebayo’s voice comes through on your comm, and you and Adrian both jump at the sound of it. “You know we can hear you, right?”

“Y-yeah,” you stutter, “we’re just making sure we’re convincing to anybody that might be watching.”

“Mhm.” She doesn’t sound convinced at all, but thankfully she moves on. “Listen, Han just received a text that the drop is set to happen in twenty minutes, at around 11:40.”

“Do we know who’s receiving the drop?” Adrian asks, trying to make it look like he’s talking to you and not a voice in his ear.

“No, but it sounds like Han will be arriving first. Make sure to stay alert.”

“Will do. Keep us posted on if anything changes.” If there’s one thing that Adrian loves, it’s the thrill of the chase. His eyes gleam as he drums his hands against the table with a grin. “Almost go time!”

“You know that you can’t,” you drag your thumb across your neck to mime a killing motion, “right?”

Adrian rolls his eyes. “Duh, of course I know that! I can enjoy doing my job without doing the best part of my job.”

“Just wanted to make sure.” You hold your hands up to show that you didn’t mean anything by asking the question. Though you hope that he knows you’re just teasing, you want to show him as clearly as you can that he has nothing to worry about. “What are we supposed to do while we wait?”

Adrian thinks for a moment, and you can almost see the lightbulb that figuratively goes off over his head when he comes up with something. “Question, and you have to answer this seriously: would you rather fight one horse-sized duck or one hundred duck-sized horses?”

Arguing the pros and cons of which battle royale you would prefer to get into gets so heated and so in-depth that you very nearly miss Economos in your ear.

(“Okay, but a duck can’t exactly kill you,” you argue, “so I highly doubt that they become a killer duck when they’re bigger. Plus, being trampled by a hundred mini horses sounds like a fight I’d surely lose.”

Adrian shakes his head, raising a finger in the air to let you know that he was about to make a very important point. “A giant beak, though? Their creepy knife teeth would kill you easily, especially when they’re huge!”

“I’m pretty sure it’s geese that have the knife teeth, not ducks.”

His eyes narrow, not sure if you’re tricking him. “I’m gonna Google this.”)

“Eyes open everyone, Han should be entering the club in the next couple of minutes.”

You glance down at your phone screen to see that it’s almost exactly 11:40. Looking around the bar, you find the eyes of Peacemaker and Harcourt, who both nod in confirmation that they’re ready to proceed with the mission. Downing the last of your beer for another few drops of confidence, you and Adrian stand up.

“Shall we move this ‘date’ to the dance floor?” Adrian asks, shimmying his shoulders. You grab his hand once more and allow him to lead you to an empty spot on the dance floor.

It’s far more difficult to look like you’re having fun and dancing on a totally real date when you’re focused on constantly scanning the room for your target. Surprisingly, Adrian’s the one who looks more in character than you do. He’s smiling as he moves to the music, and it’s all you can do to not gasp when he grabs your hips and pulls you in close.

“Loosen up,” Adrian whispers into your ear when he leans in to make it look like he’s kissing your neck. “You’re gonna blow our cover the second we see Han if you look like you’re looking for someone. He’s expecting an agency to try and stop him.”

You nod. “You’re right. I’m not good at multitasking.”

“Well you’re in luck, because I’m very good at multitasking. Just let me take the lead, yeah?”

“Yeah.” You move your arms to his shoulders and try to ignore the butterflies in your stomach that begin to appear when you realize how close you are to Adrian. “You know, fake date or not, this has been fun.”

“Really?” He grins in disbelief. “I’m a fun date?”

You go to respond, but stop when you see a shorter man with cropped hair slink in through a side entrance. “Han’s here,” you mutter. Adrian goes to look in your direction, but your grip on his shoulders tightens. “Don’t look!”

“Sorry!” he apologizes.

You move your hand up like you’re itching your ear, instead turning on your comm. “I have eyes on Han, he entered through a door in the back left side of the building. He’s sticking close to the walls right now, and it looks like he’s trying to find his intended meet-up.”

“I see him now, too,” Harcourt says.

“Me three,” Peacemaker chimes in.

“Whoever has the chance to stop this drop, do it. We don’t have time to come up with a sophisticated plan,” Adebayo directs.

“Fuck,” Adrian hisses to you, “he’s going into the bathrooms!”

You and Adrian are the closest to the bathrooms, and you’re the only ones who will be able to leave their positions without drawing attention. But how do you get both of you into a bathroom without looking like you’re going to subdue a target? Suddenly, it hits you. “Do you trust me?”

“Of course,” Adrian responds.

Though he tells you that he trusts you, he’s still surprised when you pull him towards the bathrooms and lock your lips with his. You lean up against the wall next to the bathroom and pull his body weight on top of yours.

“What—”

“Just follow my lead,” you say against his lips, “I’m gonna get us in there.”

“Fine by me.”

It’s fine by you, too. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t had many a daydream about what it would be like to kiss Adrian, and you’re happy to report that it’s so much better than anything you could have imagined. His lips are a little chapped, not that you mind when they’re so warm and pressed over yours. The urge to run a hand through his curls is too strong to resist, and you’re glad that you don’t since Adrian moans when you do. His hips grind against yours, making you gasp.

It’s all that you can do to remember that this impromptu makeout session has a point. Moving you both down the wall, you land against the door Han had gone into before fumbling with the doorknob. Unlocked, thankfully, because he’s still waiting for his Lexcorp contact. The door falls open behind you, and Adrian holds you tighter as you stumble backwards into the bathroom. You had only meant to make it look like you were too wrapped up in each other to notice your surroundings, but it turns out you’re actually too wrapped up in each other to notice your surroundings when someone awkwardly clears their throat.

Adrian pulls his lips away from yours only so that he can glare in the direction of the man who interrupts you. “Um, we’re a little busy here, dude.”

Jacob Han stands in front of both of you, looking more than a little amused as he wipes his hands on a paper towel. “You two lovebirds are the ones who barged in on me, not the other way around.”

You hide behind Adrian in mock embarrassment and silently lock the door behind you as Adrian says, “Sorry, we…”

“Hey, you don’t have to explain anything to me. I’ve been in your position a few times, buddy.” Han looks at his phone. “I am gonna have to assert dibs on this bathroom, though. I’m waiting on someone.”

“Yeah, that’s totally fine. No worries.”

The bathroom is small, just two stalls and a little sink. Small enough that Adrian barely has to take a step before socking Han across the face. He barely has time to straighten up again after the hit before Adrian’s got an arm around his neck to cut off his air flow. You can only watch and keep an ear against the door to make sure that nobody tries to enter in the thirty seconds it takes for Han to lose consciousness. When he finally does, Adrian lowers him to the floor.

“Yuck,” you complain as you go to your knees on the dirty floor to begin searching Han’s pockets.

Wallet, keys, wrappers, gum: you’re finding everything but the metahuman formula. You run your hands up and down his sides when you finally feel a lump inside of his jacket. Pulling it off of his body, a zippered pocket stands out on the inside. When you unzip it, you find not just one, but two flash drives. You grin when you grab them, holding them up to show Adrian.

“Nice! Now we just gotta get rid of,” he lightly kicks Han’s leg, “this guy.”

A small window catches your attention. “We could always just toss him out?”

Adrian presses his comm. “We’ve got what we need, and we’re going to remove the target through the window.”

“Get him out quickly and I’ll hide him a little better. Reconvene at the van in ten minutes,” Adebayo says.

You grab one arm and Adrian grabs the other, both of you working together to haul Han over to the window. Though you’re both not weak by any means, ‘dead weight’ has a literal meaning.

“On three we toss him out, okay?” Adrian asks. When you give him a thumbs up, too out of breath to say anything, he nods. “One, two, three!”

Han’s body crashes harshly against the bags of trash that sit against the wall outside, and you cringe at the sound. He’s definitely gonna be sore when he wakes up tomorrow. After you both straighten up and make it look like you didn’t just get rid of a (still living) body, you unlock the door and nonchalantly make your way out. There’s a few stragglers in this hallway, and they all smirk at you when you exit, obviously having a different idea of what you just did in that bathroom.

Ducking out of the same door that Han entered through, you take a deep breath of the cool night air. The van is still parked a couple blocks away, which means you’ll have to walk to the rendezvous point. After the excitement of tonight, you don’t mind a nice walk to calm down. Adrian grabs your hand before you do, and you look at him in surprise.

“The mission’s over now,” you remind him, “we don’t have to be on a fake date anymore.”

“Maybe I want to be on a date with you for a little bit longer.” Adrian continues to stare straight ahead, but his face sports a blush deeper than any you’ve seen on him tonight.

You’re in disbelief over this, but in the best way. You had thought that the kissing would have crossed a line, and you were more than prepared to apologize profusely over this. “Really?”

“I thought it was obvious that I enjoyed that kiss, and this mission, way more than any other mission.”

“Even the mission where you finally got to kill someone with a chainsaw?”

Adrian grins at the memory of taking out a remaining faction of butterflies on a rural farm and having no weapons to destroy them but the chainsaw hanging on the wall. Still, he nods. “Even more than that.”

“But…you always say you don’t have emotions like a normal person. You–you like me?”

He struggles to find the words for a minute, but you’re content to wait for him to figure it out. “I’ve kinda figured out that it’s not that I don’t have emotions, it’s that I don’t understand my emotions. I have them, but I don’t really know how they work. Liking you is really the only emotion that comes easily to me.”

“I like you too, Adrian.”

He grins in disbelief. “Oh man, Peacemaker and Adebayo were right!”

“Maybe we could try out a real date soon? Say, Friday night? I still haven’t had the chance to check out that arcade you always talk about.”

Adrian’s eyes shine under the street lights, and he grips your hand a little tighter. “That’d be–that’d be fun! I’ll even let you win at skee-ball, if you want.”

“You’ll ‘let me’ win? Adrian, I don’t need you to let me win; I’m a master at skee-ball.”

Your comm turns on once again. “Vigilante and Y/l/n, where are you guys? You were supposed to rendezvous two minutes ago,” Harcourt says.

You look at Adrian, who hasn’t been able to stop smiling, with a grimace. “Sorry Harcourt, we’re on our way now.”

“Hurry it up!” Peacemaker complains. “We gotta hear how your make out with Vig got you guys the formula.”Adrian’s embarrassed face must match yours, but you can’t help the giggles that escape both of you. Hand in hand with Adrian, you continue on to the van. When you appear at the end of the street and those waiting around the van see, whispers of “goddammit” and “I knew it!” are heard as money exchanges hands before either of you can know about the bet that’s been on for a month.

#i really don't know what you guys will think of this #but i like it #adrian chase #adrian chase x reader #adrian chase imagine #vigilante #vigilante imagine #vigilante x reader #peacemaker vigilante #peacemaker #peacemaker hbo

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wormstacheangel · 4 years ago

Text

15x20 should have just started with Dean getting arrested. He was hunting alone, shouldn't be but he thought it was an easy case to take plus he needed a break from his extended vacation. Turns out it wasn't an easy one and now they're taking his mugshot.

Next we get Sam bailing him out if jail, he's lecturing him the whole run to the car where Eileen is already waiting for them. Dean kisses her cheek hello from the back seat then she floors it. They have to go back and pick up Dean's car in the motel.

Sam is lecturing Dean about being reckless. About how he keeps saying he's retired but Sam has to keep dropping his plans to bail Dean out of his "last hunt".

"Dean, I can't keep worrying about you!"

"Then don't! Nobody forced you to pick up the call. I could have called someone else."

"Like who?"

"I could have sent Eileen a little text."

Sam and Dean argue then they go back to living their seperate lives. MONTAGE of them living their lives apart. Sam is steady and organized and he is the Boss of the hunters. People keep asking him things and they look up to him. And Dean's scenes are bar fights and blood splatter, his or whoever he is fighting. No sex scenes but instead is him alone in bed while it compares to Sam waking up next to Eileen. There is a scene where Sam is teaching a kid to aim his gun better and then it shows Dean shooting a monster between the eye.

Then it finally slows down when Dean and Sam are sitting around Jody's table. They are asking when Dean is finally gonna settle down with someone. Dean laughs, Donna elbows Jody who asked, and the tension is high.

"Don't think that's in the books for me but I think Sam here has some news to share with you guys."

Then it goes to Dean fighting again, torturing for information. We never know for what.

Eileen then comes on screen in the bunker with Sam. She is getting bigger, Sam kisses her stomach. They are building a family, a life, a home.

Compares to Dean who looks like things are never changing for him. He is destined to die as a bloody hunter.

Show Sam and Dean arguing in a familiar place.

"Dude, why did you tell me this was urgent?" Sam is looking around and Dean shoves a book at him. "What the hell? Are you-are you doing a spell?"

"Yeah! I needed a witch and lucky for me I knew one!" Dean takes out his bloody coat. "Now just say the spell and I'll do the rest."

"But Dean-"

"Just do it!" Dean screams at him. Sam looks wide eyed but Dean takes a deep breath as he whispers. "Please, Sammy. Just...please do it."

Sam dosen't ask again. He trust his brother so he starts reciting the spell.

The wind picks up around them and he doesn't get distracted as he chants the spell. He smells smoke but he doesn't look up from the book, this being a complicated spell he didn't want to mess up.

Then in a flash of thunder, a bolt of lightning hits between them. Knocking them back and Sam calls for Dean in a panic. Then the world was silent for a second.

Dean was holding someone in his arms.

"Cas?" Sam crawled forward and then stopped as he noticed his brother's shoulders shaking. He was crying, Cas was the one doing the comforting.

Then Jack appears besides them. He looked shaken up but over good.

"Did we do it? Did it work?" Jack says and Cas gives him a thumbs up before motioning for Jack to come forward and join the hug. He does, running before sliding to hug Cas from behind.

Then the show ends with a family dinner with Jody again.

"So Dean, when are you gonna settle down?"

Dean takes Cas's hand before he says, "We are looking for places close by actually."

The end.

#this was one big ramble so sorry if it didn't make sense. but i was doing someting else and then this happened in my head #i just think it would have been cool #spn #destiel #team dumbass #my writing #i will edit later but you can still have it #wormstachewrites #15x20 fix it

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taehyungsgrowl · 4 years ago

Note

uhhhh duncan in prison angst 👀👀

hey 👋🏽

i’m sorry this took me so long to answer! but i did make a lil moodboard to go w it :•)

also i've written quite a bit of angst lately so this will be a little angsty, but also smutty.

long distance(?) old school version of sexting, really

hope y'all enjoy!

(yes, i did just discover the indention feature!)

warnings: angst if you squint, h*rny love letters, prisoners cat calling y/n, aaaand smut

word count: 3.5 k (i really don't know how this was supposed to be less than 1,000)

i don't love how this came out but the idea kept floating around in my head so i wanted to share!

Y/N didn't think what started as a harmless little experiment would show her just how powerful words could be.

She scrolled through row after row of photos on the 'write a prisoner' website on a boring evening just for something to do. And now each time she got a letter in the mail from him, her stomach would flutter.

Her finger stopped mid scroll as she came across the photo of the scruffy faced man with cheekbones carved by the gods and eyes clearer than the skies.

Duncan Shepherd.

Her eyes scanned his profile, learning that he was being held in a minimum security prison out of D.C for numerous white collar crimes, including bribery and extortion. He listed his interests as fine arts and finer wines. He'd be out for parole soon but was looking for a way to pass his time in prison.

Out of the hundreds of prisoners Y/N had scrolled past, none of them held her interest like Duncan.

It started off innocently enough. She grabbed a piece of paper from her drawer and her favorite pen and wrote him a simple introduction letter. Even if Duncan didn't seem like a dangerous or violent criminal, she felt a sense of adrenaline in writing him.

Duncan,

I hope this letter finds you well. I like to imagine you get a lot of mail sent to you. I read on your profile that you're a fan of the arts, I'd love to know more about you and what kind of art you enjoy. Truth is, I don't even know why I'm doing this, but figured prison must be lonely so I hope this helps pass the time.

I included a print of one of my favorite pieces of art to hopefully liven up your cell.

All the best,

Y/N

Y/N knew it wasn't much to start off with, but she had no clue what to send to a strange she knew next to nothing about. She printed off a print of one of Monet's Water Lillies and sealed it in an envelope with her first letter.

She let herself forget she sent the letter, not making any expectations. For all she knew, Duncan Shepherd wouldn't even reply to her. It would be hard to imagine that other people browsing the site would ignore Duncan's profile. His beauty, even in a mugshot was beyond compare.

But before long, she'd gotten a beat up envelope in her mailbox from none other than Duncan Shepherd. Excitement buzzed around her as she took a seat in her bed and tore it open.

Y/N,

Thank you for the lovely picture. I've got it hanging above my bed as a reminder of things I loved about my freedom. My mother has an original piece hanging in my childhood home. I remember staring at it for hours, enthralled by the beauty of it.

I could hardly believe my eyes when I saw the print in your envelope.

You know what they say about great minds.

Sometimes I wonder if my family would have let me pursue the arts if I'd be where I am today.

But I am eagerly counting the days until I am able to stroll through a museum in Paris again.

I am dying to know more about you. Tell me what makes up Y/N.

At the bottom of the sheet, was a rough sketch of a garden Duncan had drawn out for her.

The letters continued like that for a few weeks, slowly learning little bits and pieces of each other through writing.

She'd learned a lot about him very quickly. He told her about how troubles with his app and his powerful family led to him going to prison. And he also told her about all of the things he loved to do. Much to her surprise, she had more in common with him than she thought she would have,

Y/N,

We've been writing to each other for some time now and I must admit, curiosity is killing me. Not to mention, I do believe it's unfair that you've known what I look like from the start.

Tell me, did my photograph have anything to do with your interest in me?

I'd love to see you Y/N.

Y/N re-read the letter over and over trying to justify the butterflies in her stomach at the idea of Duncan thinking about her. Wondering what she looks like.

Duncan kept every letter Y/N had sent him using them as a way to fuel his daydreams of the woman behind the letters.

Y/N dug through her things in search of an old polaroid camera she had. - she thought Duncan would appreciate the use of instant film. Even if she felt a little silly doing so, she did her hair and makeup and searched her closet for the perfect outfit. In some way, this would be like Duncan's first impression of her. Little did she know, she'd already made a huge first impression with him.

She settled for a deep burgundy silk tank with a cowl neckline. She tossed her favorite leather jacket over it and put on her favorite dainty gold necklaces, letting them rest above her cleavage.

She made a little set up by the window in her room, where the light came in just right for a photo, and propped the camera up on a pile of books before setting it on an automatic timer to have it snap the photo of her.

She stared at the photo, smiling - happy with the results.

Y/N sat at her desk, writing him another letter and including her photo along with it.

Duncan opened his new letter from Y/N letting the photo fall from the envelope. He picked it up and stared in awe. He couldn't even focus on reading the words on the page as he stared at her picture.

In his mind, he expected her to be beautiful but was blown away by her photo.

He kept it safe, tucked under his pillow. He would take it out every night to look at it until he fell asleep dreaming of her.

Duncan saw her face... eyes clenched shut... pouty lips formed into a perfect "O" as her thighs surrounded his face.

He saw his hands traveling up her legs... kissing up her bare stomach... kissing her lips.

Everything felt so real.

Duncan woke up in a hot sweat from his over realistic dream. He could almost imagine her taste on his tongue.

The moon shone into his room giving him a sliver of silver light and he pulled her photo out, tracing his finger over her face.

He turned on the little lamp at his desk and sat down to write her back.

I can't tell you the time, but I believe it's past midnight and I can't sleep without dreaming of you.

Forgive me if I'm being forward, but I can't get you off my mind.

What I would give to be with you now...

Y/N, I want to feel your skin on mine. I imagine what it must feel like to have your lips pressed against my own.

I can't stop myself from thinking of all the ways I want to make you mine.

D.S.

I want to make you mine.

Y/N kept going back to those words.

If it weren't for the prison bars keeping Duncan away...

Her daydreams of spending the afternoons sipping coffee and strolling through colorful cities with Duncan began to change after the last letter. Knowing that he wanted her sent shivers down her spine.

I can't stop thinking about you either... Especially your last letter.

I want to know all the ways you'd make me yours.

I'd be lying if I said I hadn't thought about it as well. I'm counting the days with you until you're able to get out and do just that...

Y/N colored her lips with her favorite lipstick and kissed the bottom of the page, leaving the perfect kiss mark on it.

She had unlocked something with Duncan with the last letter. Ever since he and Y/N started to exchange letters back and forth, he hadn't even bothered to open mail from other admirers. He only had eyes for Y/N.

Y/N.

Wish you could hear how your name falls off my lips as I chant it over and over when I bring myself relief - picturing your lips around my cock.

God.

It's hard to think clearly when you're on my mind.

You want to know of all the ways I'd make you mine? My hand would fall off by the time it took to write out each and every way I'd do that, sweetheart.

For starters, I'd love to skin my teeth into your skin. Leaving sweet love bites along your neck. Would you like that?

I wouldn't want you to worry about a thing.

You'd let me take care of you, right baby?

Maybe I'd tie up your wrists to make sure you keep still while I work on making you cum.

I hope you know I plan on keeping these promises the moment I get out.

Y/N touched herself as she read Duncan's letter again. His words making her pool between her legs. She dipped her hand into her panties and imagined everything Duncan described that he'd do to her.

Y/N wanted to do something special for Duncan.

She changed into a lacy lingerie set and grabbed her old camera again. Her heartbeat was beating fast with excitement. She held one hand up with her finger on the shutter and pointed it towards her bottoms. As she dipped her free hand into the waistband of her panties, she took the teasing shot of her hand inside her underwear.

Her cheeks felt hot as she took a look at the photo.

She took a few more. A few more teasing pictures - like the one she took wearing her leather jacket barely covering her - along with more R- rated photos.

She grabbed her small stack of photos and tied them with a piece of ribbon in order from least to most risque and added them to the letter she sent off to him.

Do you know what you do to me?

My letters make you touch yourself? What I would give to be able to see it in more than just your pictures. To be able to hear you for myself.

You don't know how much I loved your photos. You make my cock throb, thinking of just how much I want to fuck you.

I need to see you. Hear you.

How would you feel about coming to see me?

I can arrange with my assistants (the ones not in prison) to arrange a flight for you...

Please let me know what you think.

Love, D.S.

Love D.S.

"Shepherd. You got a call," the guard buzzed Duncan out of his cell and took him to the phone booth where the phone was waiting for him.

He wasn't expecting a call from his lawyer until later this week so he wasn't sure who would be calling him. Not like he and his family were on great terms at the moment.

Y/N tapped her foot anxiously on the other end of the call, trying to fight the nerves off.

"Hello?"

His voice was lower than she expected.

"Hi," she spoke barely above a whisper. "It's Y/N," she continued.

"Y/N? Y/N? Oh my god." Duncan smiled in a way he hadn't since he stepped foot into prison. "Your voice!" he laughed, "I'm hearing your voice! Wait, how? I - why? How?" he was at loss for words at the surprise.

"I hope it's okay. I called the office where I send my letters to and asked to call you," she bit her lip. "I like your voice."

Duncan chuckled, shaking his head. "Wow. It's so good to hear yours."

They knew they didn't have much time but they were both so wrapped up in the fact that they were hearing each other for the first time.

"I, uh, also wanted to talk to you about your... proposal from your last letter... about visiting you I mean." she paced back and forth in her room. "I'd like that. A lot."

His cheeks would be hurting from how hard he was smiling.

"You've got it, baby. We'll make it happen, I promise."

There was a brief pause, "Don't know how I'm gonna control myself when I have you in front of me, princess."

"Two minutes, Shepherd," the guard called over making Duncan roll his eyes.

"I have to go soon. But include your info in the next letter and I'll have my lawyers work something out with you, okay?"

"Okay," she smiled. "And Dunc, it's so good to hear your voice too,"

"You'll call me again?" he asked, desperation almost bleeding into his tone.

"Yes. I promise."

"Good." he grinned. "I'll talk to you soon. Bye, baby."

Over the next few weeks, Y/N and Duncan continued to have phone calls more often, but their letters never stopped. He got in touch with his attorney and passed along Y/N's information for him to follow up and help arrange a trip for her.

Before she knew it, she was being flown out in a first class seat to D.C.

They had her stay in a luxury suite the night before she got to finally meet Duncan.

The morning of, Y/N had piles of clothes tossed around the room as she searched for what to wear.

She'd known Duncan and his taste pretty well from his letters and phone calls to know what he liked. Y/N put on a baby pink silk mini slip dress that tiptoed the line between streetwear and lingerie, and strappy heels.

"Damn, baby. Haven't seen you around here..."

"Are you here for me?"

Along with countless other cat calls flooded her ears as the guard led her to Duncan's cell.

Duncan heard the commotion down the hall and he knew Y/N would be there any second. He frowned, wanting to take her away. None of those creeps deserved to even look at her, and here they were harassing her. It was his fault for bringing her there. He tried to tune them out, wanting to be okay when he saw Y/N.

Y/N was standing behind the guard as they came to Duncan's cell.

"Follow me, Shepherd. You both have an hour," the guard let Duncan out and he could finally lock eyes with Y/N.

She froze, finally seeing. His photo on the website did him no justice. The piercing stare of his eyes couldn't be recaptured on camera. His pink, full lips were even prettier in person.

"Hi," Duncan broke the silence between them. He was handcuffed immediately so he couldn't touch her the way he wished he could have right away.

But they were taken to the parloir where they would finally have some sense of privacy. Duncan's lawyers had worked out for this conjugal visit. They might have slipped the guards a few extra bills to ensure Duncan and Y/N had extra privacy for a moment. But Duncan had been a model prisoner (in one of the comfiest prisons in the country), so the guards had no reason to say no.

"One hour." he reminded Dunc, as he removed his handcuffs and left the room, leaving Y/N and Duncan alone.

"You're here," he closed the gap between them and embraced her. She smelled even better than he imagined.

"Duncan," she smiled with tears in her eyes, "I can't believe it's really you," she giggled.

"It's me," he pulled back, holding her hands as he admired her. "God, you're gorgeous."

Y/N couldn't help herself. She threw her arms around Duncan and kissed him.

Duncan stumbled back a little before steadying them. He cupped her face and deepened the kiss. He could feel her pulse quickening under his hand.

"God, can't believe you're here," he mumbled against her lips.

It'd be so long since he'd be this intimate with anyone - let alone someone he liked so much. He tried to push back the thoughts of the ticking clock counting their time and the cold industrial feel of the room they were in.

"I'm here... I'm yours," she tangled her fingers in his hair before kissing him again.

Duncan led her to the table, setting her on top of it. He towered above her, his hands on her thighs, slowly inching up her dress. She was everything he imagined and more.

"Open your legs for me," he instructed, parting them open.

He lowered himself until he was face to face with her dripping cunt. Her panties, if they could even be called that - they were a piece of barely-there cloth - were soaked. Duncan pressed her lips to the wet spot on her underwear and kissed it slowly, letting his tongue poke out through his lips and coat them with his saliva as well.

"Taste so sweet," he murmured, pulling her panties aside and putting his tongue on her wet pussy.

He lapped her wetness with his tongue, letting it massage her clit. Sucking and kissing her - watching how every move he made caused a different reaction from her.

Y/N tried to keep quiet, biting down on her lip to stifle her moans.

Duncan peeked up at her, holding in her sounds. He remembered the way the other prisoners hollered at her.

"I wanna hear you, baby. Please," he begged. He kissed along her thighs, "Want everyone in this god damn prison to know you're mine."

Y/N let the sounds she was holding in fall freely.

"Duncan. Duncan..." she called his name over and over getting closer to the sweet relief his tongue promised.

"Cum for me, sweetheart."

Duncan felt her heels digging into his shoulder blades as she trembled, finishing on his lips.

"Good girl," he praised, kissing along her thighs.

Duncan stood up as Y/N watched him with her hands pressed on the table, leaning back slightly to watch him.

"What?" Duncan chuckled, slowly undoing his jumpsuit.

"Just can't stop looking at you! You're real!" she laughed.

"Sure am," he grabbed his shaft, closing the gap between them. "I don't know when we'll be able to see each other.. like this again," he leaned down to kiss her. "Wanna make sure I make you feel good,"

He rubbed the end of his cock against her pussy. "Are you ready?"

"Waited so long," she whined, nodding her head.

Duncan pushed inside her, slowly. Savoring the way he stretched her open.

"Fuck," he groaned. "You're so tight," he panted, feeling her clench around his length.

He focused on the way he snapped his hips into hers, keeping a steady pace trying not to finish before she did.

But it had been so long. It had been a long time coming for this moment.

His head was in the crook of her neck, panting heavily. "Fuck, baby." he sunk his teeth into her soft skin. "Gonna cum," before he could finish his statement, he shot his load into her.

He stayed inside her as he rode out his orgasm.

Flushed Duncan faced her; embarrassed for finishing before he wanted to. "I'm sor-" she stopped him by pulling him in for a hard, deep kiss.

She pushed his hair out of his face, bumping her nose with his, "Nothing to be sorry for."

She had Duncan lay on the floor, using his jumpsuit to hold his head up, and then straddled his waist.

Her silky mini dress was bunched around her hips. Duncan found himself getting hard again as she climbed on top of him.

"Thought about doing this for so long," she kissed him. "Can't tell you how often I touched myself reading your letters... thinking about riding you," she sighed, positioning herself over his cock and sinking down.

She rode his cock, bouncing up and down his length. Her nails dug into his chest as she used it for support. The curve of his cock hitting her core made her eyes roll back with each roll of her hips.

Hot sweaty bodies had the coldness of the room forgotten.

Y/N grabbed Duncan's hands, intertwining their fingers, "Gonna.." she started, her legs shaking as her movement got sloppier.

"Me too," he grunted.

She felt Duncan fill her to the brim for the second time.

After a few moments of stillness, Y/N finally stood up, helping Duncan up with her. Her legs were shaky and Duncan helped her sit down.

She reached into her purse for a rag she brought. Duncan took it from her hand and got on his knees again. He cleaned their cum off her thighs, stopping only to give her small little kisses on her legs.

He heard Y/N sniffle and looked up, concern painted across his face. "Are you okay? Did I hurt you?" Is she regretting it? He thought.

"No! Of course not," she sniffled again, "I just wish... you could come with me. Leave this place with me."

"Oh, baby," he stood up and kissed her forehead. "Soon. I promise," he tilted her chin up to kiss her.

And Y/N knew he meant what he said. Soon they'd be able to be together all the time, but it still broke her heart to leave and have to see him stay behind the metal bars.

tags:

@desertsunflower00 @celestialrequiem @dhampiravidi @ritualmichael @blakescoven @dark-mei-rose @xavierplympton @langdonswhoreprobably @feralthoughtdump @wroteclassicaly @melodylangdon @bloodcoatedeclipse @kitty4860

bonus: screenshot from a very good point drunk!anon made vkfsjk

#duncan shepherd #duncan shepherd smut #duncan shepherd angst #duncan shepherd x reader #cody fern #house of cards #hoc #i didnt know who would like to be tagged or not so lmk if i need to make changes to the tl #thank you!!!#submission

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leelaihardly · 3 years ago

Text

CH3. THAT STUPID F*CKING UGLY SWEATER

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2]

Some stars were on when they were on and off when they were off.

Rhett was no stranger to the biz. He had it on good confidence that the guy who played the Bible Man was no angel and the singing Psalmbook had shelled out a lot of cash to get certain mugshots out of the public eye.

Link Neal wasn't like that. His only vice was a tall glass of chocolate milk stirred with peanut butter in a spoon. He was never 'off.' He was never 'on.' He was just...himself, even when he said something odd he just owned it.

He talked to everyone with the same honesty. He stooped down to talk to kids eye-to-eye, something Rhett may or may not have said himself was 'for losers', laughing over buds with his beers. But if you had looked him in the eye then you'd have caught his lie. Nobody would have. Nobody looked at him, really looked at him the way Mister Neal did. Made him feel like a frog, his heart splayed open on a dissection table, wrists pinned and eyes glassy. He squirmed.

Currently Rhett was at the bodega a block from his apartment. There was no work today and he was out of dog treats so he figured he could spoil his princess a little since he had a steady gig now.

He was just wondering about whether he should spoil himself too and get some jumbo Drown-aroos for nostalgia sake, when a croaky voice behind him asked,

"Excuse me dear, could you reach those for me?"

Fully having accepted that his role in life was to double as an EZ Grabber he started turning around, but almost dropped his treats when he heard the unmistakable good-natured chuckle of his mentor

"No problemo, Madam."

he turned to see him handing a box of tissues from a top shelf to an old lady in bifocals.

"You need any help carrying all that?"

"Oh, no it's no trouble at all." she said,

and started in Rhett's direction with her little cart piled high, while Link went the other way.

Rhett ducked into the aisle he'd already gone through on impulse, watching his boss through the slats between two shelves. It felt wrong to spy but it felt wrong-er for him to even be here, outside of the studio. Aviators pushed up in his silvery streak and a brown leather jacket. A cotton shirt. No sweater.

This was like seeing God at the gas pump.

Suddenly Link turned so they were facing each other, separated by a wall of aisle. Rhett's hiding spot would have felt compromised if he didn't know the man to be easily absorbed into a task to the point of tuning out his surroundings.

Currently he was pouring over the cereals in front of him, eyebrows quizzical as he compared a box of Avocado Toast Crunch and Pagan Oats. Just then a tap on his left arm made him startle audibly and he turned around.

"Dearie, was that man who helped me- I'm sorry but my eyes aren't what they used to be- but was that the fellow from the TV program? Mister Neal? I wonder if I could trouble him for an autograph..."

she began fishing in her purse for a pen and craning her neck as if looking for some sign of him

"Oh my grandson is such a big fan!"

Rhett cringed, subconsciously glancing back to where he knew Link was, He had no experience with being a recognizable figure but he did know that Link looked awfully peaceful and was clearly not in TV-mode.

"Who? I'm not sure I-"

"Over there! I thought, no it couldn't be, his hair's too grey - but then I saw you watching him through the wall all star-struck and I knew I had it right the first time!"

Rhett paled. She was being so dang loud. He waved his hands in front of him defensively, trying to tamp down her excitement and looking over his shoulder to see if Link had caught that.

"No, Ma'am. No it's not- I thought that too but it's not him. It's not. Sorry."

"Oh," she said, stopping her pen hunt "ah well, thank you, sonny."

the woman appeared crestfallen, and was returning to her cart when a beaming Link Neal swooped over from behind a display.

"Are my ears burning or did I hear somebody's little grand is a big fan?"

Rhett stood on the sidelines, watched the man nod and 'oh?' and 'ah' as the woman went on and on, gesturing at a length of wallet photos of her various grandkids, nieces and nephews.

Then he watched Link produce a Mythical Valley postcard from seemingly out of nowhere, sign it with a flourish and exchange well wishes while scrawling a thoughtful comment to the paper. After he sent her on her way and waved at her as she turned down the aisle to the cashier he turned to face Rhett, who silently wished he could melt onto the floor and be mopped up, wrung out and sloshed down a gutter grate.

"Hey, Rhett." Link said, arms akimbo and leaning back against his cart. "You shop here too?"

"Hey," Rhett said. "uh, yeah, it's right near my apartment." Rhett froze momentarily as the thought of Link Neal seeing his apartment flashed through his mind but he shook it off.

"Oh?" Link said, "Well I just come here cause the Whole Foods never has the Crunch kind of my favorite cereal. But I don't see any here."

He scanned the aisle again, "Man, I hope they didn't recall that stuff. I know it has more sugar than both these combined. Maybe it's just the universe's way of saying I need to finally make the switch to somethin' more 'grown up'?" he said, adding scare quotes for effect.

Rhett couldn't believe it. Here he was in the wake of the most awkward experience he'd had since high school and Link was over here prattling on about his damn cereal like nothing had happened.

Rhett knew if that had been him back there, he'd have either shuffled out of there right quick so as to avoid the dreaded fan-interaction-before-9am or agreed to just sign but be falling asleep on himself the whole time as the old lady went on, listing her seemingly endless progeny.

What made this shaken-up seltzer can of a man so bubbly, so sincere so early in the morning? And did he shave his legs? Rhett's gaze had travelled down to where the cuffed chinos met the flat-top shoes, revealing an amount of ankle that felt indecent on a guy he'd only ever seen wearing layers.

His skin looked tanned, smooth. Naked.

He ripped his gaze away and something else caught his eye,

"Oh, here's one." he pointed at the very top shelf where a lone Raisin Crunch box was perched. Link's eyes lit up.

"Nice!"

He leaned on his toes over-eagerly, his hands grasped the box but the smile wiped from his face the instant he realized he was falling forward.

Rhett tumbled over himself and got between Link and the aisle in an instant, his brain caught up to him when he realized he had his arms around Link Neal, whose own wrists were crossed around his neck, hanging on for a second before planting each of his feet on the tiled floor.

He felt more than heard a breathy relieved laugh beside his ear.

Warm.

He shivered, unconsciously leaning back which kept Link clinging onto him a little longer than necessary. Rhett's heart thumped against the cereal box that was jammed between their chests.

"C-close call. Ha. Sumthin about that Crunch just makes me dAngerous. I guess."

He was joking around but when he pulled back his eyes were all sparkly and he looked kind of loopy. Rhett couldn't talk. He had never seen this Neal.

Link was so flustered he almost stumbled again with the box. Rhett caught it as it slipped from the shaky hand, gaze still unbroken as he took him in. Heat crept up his neck when he realized their arms were still...well, around each other. One of Link's now braced against his chest and one of his gripping Link at the waist, bunching in the cotton under his jacket, So close to skin Rhett would only have to inch-

"Ahem."

Some guy to their left cleared his throat and they sprung apart, letting him through so he could grab some items from the shelf they'd been occupying. Rhett silently hoped that jerkoff choked on his Cursed Charms. Link fidgeted, putting his shades on and Rhett felt the cold air swoop in between them.

"So, guess I'll leave you to finish up your shopping." Link said, straightening up,

"It is your weekend, I'm sure you got better things to do'n catch your clumsy boss all day."

Rhett couldn't think of a single thing better than that, actually, but he suddenly remembered he had come here to get food for Barbara so he played along and pretended to be very interested in a display of no-tears shampoo. Then he counted to thirty and took another guilty look over at Link, whistling to himself at the self-checkout.

Sunday found Rhett in the shadier part of the park, taking Barbara for a walk, which meant Barbara was taking him for a walk. He liked that no-one seemed to be around, cause it meant his stream of one-sided Barbara-babble went uninterrupted away from judgey eyes and judgier ears.

He was just getting to the part of his walk where he inevitably watched Barbara pee on a bush then called her out for being the stinkiest girl in the world when he heard then saw someone strolling down the path in his direction. He knew that walk. He knew that whistle.

Fuck.

Link Neal was walking down the path with something under his arm. Seemingly he hadn't caught sight of Rhett yet. Rhett was rooted to his spot and suddenly incredibly aware he was wearing his dog dad uniform, an old Bojangles Tee that said 'It's Bo-Time!' (that he may or may not have used to wash his truck with before he sold it) with the holes to prove it, wranglers, socks for warmth and sandals for comfort.

"Hey!" he heard a cheery shout.

Too late.

"Hey, Rhett!"

Rhett waved sheepishly at his boss and fidgeted with his belt loops as Link skipped the rest of the way over.

"Dang man, two days in a row?" Link said half breathless,

"That's crazy!"

"Yeah," Rhett said, taking his boss' appearance in.

Link was again dressed in what Rhett now recognized as his more low-key Incognito-Mode. Cotton shirt, dark teal flannel jacket, cuffed jeans and impossibly white sneakers.

"I..." No sweater in sight. Just naked V-neck and a flash of chest hair.

"I guess so." he finished, not quite remembering what he was responding to.

"That your dog?"

Link asked, gesturing at Barbara who was currently leaning against a tree, yapping at something up in the branches.

"Nah," Rhett shoved his hands in his pockets for effect,

"I'm a dog napper." he quipped, "Just really bad at it."

Link laughed. It was a giggly laugh that tapered off then geared back up until he was wheezing.

The joke was objectively not that funny but Link seemed to enjoy laughing at himself laughing.

He came down from it with a breathy sigh and looked at Rhett through watery crescent eyes. The whole thing had been so stupidly cute to watch that Rhett had done nothing but stare and soak up whatever it was radiating off the guy. Link nudged him playfully with his knuckles and Rhett felt the tension in his shoulders slacken instantly. He unconsciously took his hands out of his pockets but felt like he had nowhere appropriate to put them. He settled on pointing at a tiny dark brown dog that was trailing behind Link.

"That yours?"

Oh yeah, that's Jade. She's still enjoying her walk but this one," Link pointed his chin at the peanut butter-colored pup in his arms, "he got a little spooked sho I had to pick him up~" Link's voice was getting increasingly sappy as he went on, smooshing his face against the pair of perked up ears.

"Cuz he gets sho shcared of the bigger dogs, dun't he."

Rhett was ordinarily put off by people being mushy with their pets but this display was oddly not-entirely-obnoxious. The guy was manhandling his dog like it was a posable figurine but talking about it like a proud Papa.

The dog - Jasper - looked helpless but not unhappy held there, seemingly soothed by all the smooshing and baby-talk. For one fleeting moment Rhett considered what it'd be like being so small and so contented curled up in Link's-

"Wow, Rhett..."

"Huh?" Rhett's gaze snapped up to meet misty looking eyes.

"I said wow, lookathat, your hair's really growing out. I barely recognized you walkin' this way." Link said. "Like some kinda...wild man." Rhett waited for him to elaborate but he didn't. Was there a compliment in there? He hadn't felt this awkward since he got asked out on April Fool's day back in middle school by a well-meaning crush with crappy timing.

"I was gonna go feed the ducks, if you and Barbara'd like to join me." Link suggested, switching Jasper to a one-armed hold and fishing a brown paper bag out of his jacket.

"Oh, yeah sure." said Rhett, "Wait, that's not bread, is it?" he quirked an eyebrow,

"Yeah..." Link said, raising his.

"Cause bread is actually really, really bad for them. It messes up their digestive systems." Rhett said, stopping himself before going off on a rant about this fact he'd only had to explain to people 15 times since moving here.

"Dangit." Link swore, or almost swore.

"Well...I mean, how long have you been feeding ducks bread?" Rhett asked.

"Like," Link looked like he was counting in his head, "Eight years?"

Link looked up at Rhett who winced before he could stop himself.

Links eyes widened behind his frames.

"Hey, hey- it's not that bad- just- switch to peas, you can-"

"Shit!" Link blurted suddenly,

"Wh-uhh?" Rhett slurred, taken aback. Did he just-

"Oh. Shit."

Link had stepped in it. He waggled his foot around wildly trying to flick off the stuff.

"Hey, hey don't get it on me. Hang on."

Rhett caught his leg mid-motion to slow him down. He kneeled down to get a cautious closer look.

"Relax." he finally spoke, "It's not dog crap."

"It's not?" he heard Link's voice above him, wobbly like he was going to throw up.

"Nah. It's a dead dove."

He felt a hand grip his hair from above, felt Link go limp as he let go of his leg. He looked up at him and met Link's stunned face with his own trying to stay serious and ultimately breaking out in a stupid smile,

"Jus kiddin'" he said, "S' just a mushroom."

After a second of dawning comprehension Link grinned at him and yoinked his hair playfully before leaning over, resting Jasper down and confirming it was in fact just a big ole squishy mushroom and not something gag-worthy at all.

"You jerk."

he said, but his voice smiled, then his whole face did.

There it was.

That was the good stuff and Rhett didn't care he felt a little bit like a junkie if it meant more of this- whatever this was filling him up inside.

Link pelted him with a breadcrumb which he caught between his fingers, which spurred Link on to send more his way until he was emptying the bag of floaty crumbs over his head and Rhett was throwing some back, then just catching them in his mouth til he was nearly falling backwards. The both of them were laughing so hard they nearly didn't notice Barbara yapping at a frightened Jasper.

"Barbara! Manners!" Rhett scolded, sauntering over and corralling her. Jasper ducked out of his way and yelped when he came over, tail tucked between his legs and he was reminded, once more, of his intimidating stature.

"Yeah, he gets a lil shcared of men." Link said, scooping him back up, "Actually, he didn't like men at all until he met me." Link said, semi-smugly resting his chin on Jasper's forehead and burying a kiss into the fur there. Rhett twisted the leash in his hands.

Jasper had it good.

And Rhett had it bad, he just wasn't sure what 'it' was. Yet.

A camera flash went off and Link visibly startled, noticing a couple of artsy looking kids (probably students come to the park to take photos). He regained his composure and glanced at his watch.

"I should probably get going, don't wanna be here after dark, you know." he looked around for Jade, who was behind him.

"Uh, yeah." Rhett nodded. "Me and Barbara were gonna head out anyways. So..."

Rhett rubbed the back of his head which was still tingling where Link had yanked it. He knew himself to be tender-headed but that particular tug, though by no means pain-free had been curiously... memorable.

"See you at work!" he blurted out, Link already paces away from and waving over his shoulder with his free hand, stooping down and calling Jade who followed him slowly as he left the park. Rhett heard him shout something in reply that sounded like

"Nice running into ya! Again!"

Rhett spent the greater part of the last day of his weekend at the library, then when they closed he went back to flipping through his script back at his apartment. That night, he tossed and turned. The moon was entirely too bright and his brain was buzzing with ideas too loud to let him sleep.

After a streak of seven straight nights hitting the pillow hard and waking up harder, and knowing tomorrow he would be back at work and need his energy, Rhett's frustration culminated in pulling an all-nighter, scribbling in his snotebook while a VHS he'd taped over with some classic MV episodes hummed in the background.

It was 3am when he finally put his pencil down and opened his Dream Dictionary. He flicked through it hoping to find something useful, like techniques for remembering dreams once you'd woken up, and stumbled across a word that lit his brain up for a fraction of a second.

'Bacon.'

Wait, was the dream about bacon? Or was he just hungry?

His stomach growled in reply but he shook it off for now. He was hungrier for answers now. Okay, 'Bacon' he read aloud. 'See 'Meat'' he flipped even faster to the 'M's and found it.

'Meat. Meat is a universal symbol of passion. This food is a staple which symbolizes sustenance at a fundamental level. Dreams featuring meat indicate a desire that needs to be fed. This can be an idea, a project or more physical craving, depending on the state of the meat and the dreamer's reaction to it.'

"Huh." he said, laying the book back down on the table and leaning back into his chair, his back sore from hunching over so long.

"Well that was useless."

Another image came to him, unbidden and he started flipping pages again.

"Soap...soap...s- here it is."

'Soap. To imagine yourself washing yourself with soap indicates a need to 'purify' certain aspects of yourself. The dreamer may feel a sense of guil-'

Rhett snapped the book shut, annoyed.

Nothing in here was helpful, it all just made him more confused. After a few more minutes of aimless flipping, reading and scribbling he decided to call it a night. He binged on bacon, chugged some milk and managed to catch a wink before sunrise.

Back at work on Monday Link was sparking with energy and it was contagious. He was still Mister Neal here at the studio but Rhett's run-ins with him were like getting glimpses of skin through that stupid sweater. And it did something for Rhett to know even the Mythical best Neighbor ever wouldn't get to see him the way Rhett got to.

He absent-mindedly doodled the two of them in a corner of his script during a noisy table read, and regretted it instantly when a slender hand snatched it from under him, Link was right next to him, his expression tickled at the crude rendering of his likeness.

"How come you drew yourself with a dog collar on?"

Oh, of course now everyone gets quiet.

That caused Josh and Nicole at the other end of the table to look up from their discussion, eyebrows held high. Smirks playing at the corners of their mouths. Link had a way of saying things in the most incriminating way possible.

"Look atchu, looking up with me with those puppy dog eyes" Link was having fun playing keep away with the script. It didn't help their proximity was forcing Rhett to look up at his boss, hands unwilling to grab but eyes begging for the paper back. Was he blushing?

"That's not --me!" Rhett said, his voice crackling a bit and giving him away. He had basically drawn himself but with more hair, fur. "-that's Damiel, from the episode where he tried to fit in n be a regular dog-"

"The one where I brought back 'just yourself be if quare are you'? We got a lot of letters after that one..." that train of thought seemed to distract him as he reminisced so Rhett gathered up the script as soon as Link put it down, unconsciously clutching it to his chest.

After the meeting Link leaned over and whispered in his ear.

"Don't throw it away."

and then

"Sorry for being a jerk about it."

he said, something in his voice both assured him he was sorry but at the same time would absolutely do it again for kicks.

And he was so. dang. close. to Rhett's face.

He blushed under his beard.

"It's not a bad drawing." he added.

"Just picking up a paintbrush- uh- pencil- that's what makes you an artist."

he was doing an impression of a certain fanbrush-wielding show host he always talked about with a fonder expression than Rhett was comfortable with. Rhett didn't get it but whatever.

Link nudged him with his elbow,

"My sweater's nicer'n that though."

Rhett wanted to bite back that it wasn't- it was even uglier than he could possibly draw it. That he constantly had the urge to rip it off the guy. Get a look at the white cotton shirt he wore underneath, hell, even seeing his bare chest would be better.

It sometimes frustrated him the way the stupid old man sweater moved over Link's frame, not so baggy that someone paying attention wouldn't notice the lean, flexible...possibly sensitive body beneath it.

Okay, Rhett would level with you here, he found it frustrating in more than one way and he paid more attention than he was ready to admit.

But no matter how many times he found his thoughts drifting to itchy soft sweaters and softer touches and that voice saying soft words that could somehow instantly make him--

Hard.

Okay.

This was getting hard. Mister Neal- Link, as he liked to be called, but which still felt... inappropriate, somehow, was still Rhett's boss.

A foolish man could mistake Link for being soft for his goofyness, but the man was not afraid of putting you in line when you'd run afoul of one of his many rules.

Rhett learned this the hard way when he'd tried cramming all the little figures - the tiny wooden characters that populated the scale model of Mythical Valley- into their foam lined carrying case when they were clearing the studio for the long weekend.

"What are y- dagumit- those aren't toys, Rhett!" he marched over to where Rhett stood mid-shove.

"They represent the colourful assortment of good people in this f-" a stumble, "-ictional town. Heck, most of em have been here longer'n you!"

An ordinary person could blink and miss that almost-eff-up but Rhett couldn't bring himself to blink when Link was madder than he'd ever seen. He shrunk.

"Oh- I'm sorry- I was just- I mean-" Rhett's mouth had stopped working as his brain short circuited. The shorter man was standing hands on hips and frowning down at him in a way that made him feel like a delinquent schoolboy.

"Uhm. Alright. How should I...do it?" he heard himself say in the smallest voice.

"Well," Link tapped the case with the tip of his shoe meaningfully, "What you're gonna do is take each of 'em out from that pile-up and put them into their designated slot,"

He picked one up to demonstrate, scrutinized it and placed it into its spot.

"Caaarefully."

"Uh...okay. Sorry Li-"

"I'm not the one you should be saying sorry to, Rhett." now was one of those times 'Link' felt inappropriate. He snapped, rolling his eyes. "You're 'sorry'."

"'Pologize to little Big Deborah there! Kiss her hat and put her back where she belongs."

Well now.

That's-

But whatever word that was, Rhett's mind couldn't say. Things had gone fuzzy again.

Blinking back his bewilderment Rhett felt himself simply nod and comply. He picked her up gently, kissed her hat, and put her in the case.

"I'm sorry, big Deborah." Rhett couldn't help his gaze from wandering up to see Link's face. He needed to know that he wasn't mad at him anymore. Their eyes met. Link stared at him, then suddenly he blinked twice, and the bluster was gone.

"I'm so sorry, Mailperson Jen." he repeated his ministrations, the thread of eye contact between them unbroken. The room was all quiet except for the tiny kiss noise where his lips touched the figure, the clink as he slid them into place. His mentor's breathing.

"Like this, Mister Neal?" he felt himself ask, still soft, moving to pick up the next figure, a smiling figurine of the sweater-clad man himself. He handled this one different, he couldn't help it. He brought it up to his mouth and slowly-

He looked up at the bigger Link, whose words seemed to have gotten caught below his collar. He sucked in a breath and Rhett's gaze traced a bead of sweat that slid down a clean-shaven throat, disappeared beneath a starched white shirt. They had already shut off the AC in the studio and Rhett knew Link had to be hot under that sweater.

"Alright, that's enough. You don't gotta apologize to all of em." Link said, waving dismissively. He hoisted himself to standing.

"Just put them back and remember to switch off the lights in the storage locker." he adjusted his sweater and shuffled off, leaving Rhett alone, kneeling in the studio. Rhett blinked twice. He stared after him, gaze catching on the little bit of lower back that flashed as his boss tucked his shirt back in. He snapped out of his stupor when the forehead of the little Mister Neal met his lips.

He didn't mean to do that.

Fuck.

Stevie was in her office, head between her hands. She'd just gotten off the phone with a real piece of shit (industry term) and now someone was knocking on her office door.

Aaaand here came the headache.

Right on fucking cue.

She swigged some Liquid Death for courage.

"Who is it?"

"It's me, Chase." came Chase's voice.

She beckoned for him to come in then remembered he didn't have X-ray vision and spoke up, "Come in."

"Uh, just got something for the lost-and-found." he said, apologetically shuffling in, aware from the state of her desk that he'd come in at a spectacularly bad time.

"It was just over by the cubbies but it doesn't have a name on it so..." he trailed off, pulling a tiny paperback out from behind him and showing it to her, flitting through the pages to show the lack of label.

"Wait- hang on, there's writing in here. Lemme see." She held out her hand and took it, nodding to Chase to indicate he could go.

"Thanks Chase. Sorry. Just- you know -we're having one of those days." she said, gesturing vaguely at the mess of envelopes and they exchanged knowing looks.

She thumbed through the dream dictionary, stopping at a page with writing scrawled on it.

Notes and doodles in a style that looked instantly familiar, near the top was circled 'Meat.'

"Oh boy. Here we go." she said, grabbing a fax and turning on the shredder.

#rhink #rhink fanfiction #my fanfic #sub!rhett #tiny rhett gang #sweater fic

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