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hotchsreader · 8 months ago

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You’re my Last Call

Word Count: 3.7k

Summary: You and Hotch had broken up over a month ago. Once he broke up with you, he disappeared, absolutely no contact with you anymore. You didn’t know why, there were no signs he was unhappy until he just broke off everything. Up until a freak accident happens, you thought you had lost the love of your life. What if that was never the case, and he just thought you’d be better off without his sadness?

trigger warning: car accident

read on ao3 here

Now there's blood on the windshield

And there's credit cards on the floor

And I'm crawling out the window of my passenger side door

Your picture's on the dashboard and that's the only thing I saw

You were always first to catch me when I fall

Yeah, I'm sorry you were my last call

- Lyrics from the song 3/13 by Wyatt Flores

Hotch was trying to remind himself of the good days when things felt less heavy and he could have a clear head. These days? Everything felt so heavy that he didn’t know if it was possible not to be stressed out. He had broken up with you weeks ago. Maybe it has been a month already, he was unsure at this point. He knew that his presence was a downer to everyone around him, and you had been too much of a light in the world to let him dull you. He loved you so much, but he knew that letting you go would be the best option for you to succeed.

Everything felt like it was going so slowly. He had left the office about an hour ago and was headed toward the victim's house to do one last walk-through to see if there was anything that the local police had missed. He knew exactly where he was going as he and the team had been there before, so he did not even tell anyone he was going there or put the location in his GPS. He had been paying attention, he wasn't too tired, he had slept pretty well the night before, and nothing but you were on his mind. He looked down at his dashboard, to see the photo of you he kept there. Even though he left, he kept you with him. He always wanted to keep you with him, other than Jack, you were his biggest source of happiness. He had looked down for a split second, but apparently, that was enough time for a far to cross into Hotch’s lane and slammed him into the wall lining the highway.

After the car crashed, Hotch couldn’t remember anything until he felt himself on the concrete ground and saw random faces flashing back and forth over the top of him.

“Sir. Is there anyone we can call for you?” They asked hoping to get an answer from the man lying in front of them. They knew there was a strong chance there was a concussion.

Hotch could hardly muster up many words, all he said was your name. Your name and said check the phone.

You were at work. Everyone else had started going home, and the law office was closed for the day. There wasn’t any noise as you sat typing your last report on your laptop, it seemed peaceful almost. That was until, your phone started ringing incredibly loud, piercing through the silence.

“Maam. This is Officer Finch. I have a man here by the name of Aaron Hotchner, he was in a car accident. He gave us you to call.”

“Where is he? He is a Federal Agent.”

Before the officer even finished giving you the details of where Aaron was, you had already grabbed all of your things and ran out of the office. By the time you hung up with him, you were only ten minutes away.

Nothing would stop you from getting to him. Nothing that happened between the two of you would make you not rush to his side. He was, and would always be, your person.

When you got there, the first thing you noticed were the lights and the sirens. It brought back so many memories from when Hotch was hurt by Foyet. your heart was pounding in your chest and you just needed to find him to see that he was okay. an officer waved you over, and you saw him lying on the ground. There was a cut across his forehead, and his eyes were grimacing like he was in pain. It was killing you, even though you hadn’t even fully gotten up to him to see him in that kind of condition. He looked almost pitiful. you weren’t sure if you wanted to talk to him because of how badly he had hurt you so you stood and talked to the paramedics who said that it was most likely that he had a concussion, but that he was going to be fine he was very lucky. The person had crossed his lane of traffic and when they did, it caused his car to swerve headfirst into the highway wall.

You heard a soft voice call your name. It was very quiet, almost like it was reserved. They didn’t want to be calling your name. They didn’t want you to know that they needed you at this moment. you didn’t know what to do because doing this was wrong to be an emergency contact on a person who had tried so hard to remove you from their life. One day everything was okay, holding hands laughing together, knowing each other’s favorite orders at the coffee shop, to not even a phone call explaining why everything ended with a snap of a finger.

“Yeah, Aaron I’m here,” you said softly in his ear, as you finally walked over to him, kneeling next to him and running your hands through his hair. That was always a small comfort for him when he really needed somebody he loved you running your fingers through his hair.

“ I am so sorry but you were the only person I wanted to be here, I know I am probably the last person you want to hear from right now.” His voice was still very soft, almost like it hurt to speak and he wanted to tell him to stop talking to focus on getting to the hospital, but you also wanted to hear what he had to say. Selfish as it was, you wanted to know why. Why did he end everything? Why did he act like he didn’t exist after two years of a beautiful relationship, why did he call you now he had his whole team that would break down walls to get to him if they knew something was wrong? Why did he call you a person who genuinely couldn’t do anything but be there for him?

“We will talk when you’re able to form a coherent sentence, Aaron, I'm here now and I’m definitely not leaving until I know you’re okay.” You rubbed his face with your hand, and he pressed his face into your palm.

you sat there as they loaded him into the ambulance and asked if you were allowed to ride along. They said yes, considering it was not life-threatening. You could drop your car at a gas station and they would come by and pick you up to take you with him. you did not want to be where you couldn’t see him, but you trusted the paramedics to take care of him for the five minutes he would be out of your line of sight. once you got into your car, you texted the team. You still had all of their phone numbers in case of emergency to let them know what was going on and your phone started ringing off the hook.

“What is going on?” JJ was on the other side of the phone. her voice made you calm down a little bit. The two of you had become very close friends during your relationship with Aaron and even after he had broken up with you JJ always kept in contact.

“They said that a car came into his lane and knocked him into the highway wall. He was conscious and able to talk, and I went with him to the hospital. I have to drop my car off at a gas station so it wouldn’t be stuck on the side of the highway.” You responded, your voice becoming wobbly during your explanation.

She gulped pretty heavily, you knew this was hard for her to hear. as well. “Do you want me to come up? I’m more than willing to come and just be a helping hand for you. I could be the communication between the team to let them know how he’s doing so you don’t have to constantly be on your phone and keep everyone updated. I can do it for you.” She knew how hard this was for you, and that small gesture would be such a relief, and would take so much off your plate that you didn’t even know how to deal with it.

“JJ you mean the world to me. Could you also contact Jessica and let her know what’s going on? I really don’t wanna have to call her even though I love her. This is just so much and I need to check on him and be with him.”

“Absolutely. I’ll see you soon. I love you.” She said you could feel how genuine she was in the last few words. Meeting Aaron was one of the best things that ever happened to you, but meeting her was a close second. You reciprocated and hung up the phone, got to the gas station, got into the ambulance, and off to the hospital you went. You held on to Hotch’s hand the entire time.

The next three hours consisted of people running in and out of the hospital room, checking on Hotch, readjusting him, checking his vitals, and it felt like almost complete chaos. The minute JJ got there you could almost cry out of relief. You needed someone else there, to make this seem like less of a fever-induced dream. To bring you back to reality, almost like a shared experience instead of being alone in a hospital room with the love of your life being poked and prodded by hospital staff.

“Hi sweetie,” JJ says as she walks into the room, tears in her eyes as she looks over at Hotch. You know the two of them are close, he always has talked highly of her.

“Hi.” This was the first time you have heard your own voice in hours and it sounded almost foreign to you. It sounded defeated and hurt.

“Why are you here JJ?” This caused you to jump. Hotch had not spoken the entire three hours until JJ walked into the room. Did he just not want to speak to you? If this was the case, why did he ask everyone to call you? You turned your head over to him, a look of hurt running over your face. He noticed immediately and turned his head away from you to look at JJ.

“You know what, I’m going to go call the team, I’ll be back in a minute. You better prepare yourself for Garcia to run in here with balloons in snacks in a few hours Hotch.” She tried to make the atmosphere less tense before she left, but the hurt and anger in you could physically feel it.

You stood up, walked over to Hotch, and put your hand under his chin, and made him look at you. He stared at you for a minute, tears gathering in his eyes as he did and he tried to open his mouth to speak but you didn’t let him get that far.

“Absolutely not, you do not get to speak right now Aaron Hotchner. You do not get to be the first one to speak after what you have put me through in the last few hours. I get to speak first.”

He nodded at you, tears slipping from his eyes.

“You LEFT me with no explanation. You are the love of my life. I would lay down everything I am and will be to make sure you and Jack are safe and happy. I did nothing wrong to deserve to be deserted. I did nothing, Aaron. I love you so much, I will love you until the day I die. Why would you have them call me? Why would you do what you did?” At this point, you were sobbing, and the last few words that came out of your mouth were gargled.

Hotch raised his hand and wiped the tears from your cheek, you wanted to turn away but your brain and arm betrayed you and you raised your hand up to hold his while it was on your face.

“Honey, it had nothing to do with you. You are the most beautiful, loving, caring person in this world.”

“But then why? What was wrong? What happened to us?”

“It was me. I was bringing you down. I was making everything worse. I didn't want to ruin your life with my hurt.” The last few words were barely a whisper.

You looked up, for the first time since this conversation started, and looked at the man in front of you. He was crying, tears falling down the side of his face onto the pillow. He was gripping your hard really hard, the ring on your fingers digging into your skin. He looked pitiful. He was heartbroken, not just because of what currently happened but because of everything going on in his head. You had wished he would’ve told you this a lot sooner. So much hurt could have been prevented if he had just been honest with you. But you knew this man, you knew he would hide things so deeply inside himself if it meant no one else had to get hurt. You knew he would hide things if it meant you would be protected from the harsh realities.

“Aaron. You are and will always be my world. If something is bothering you, I would like to talk about it. I would like to be able to be there for you if you would let me be. Please, just talk to me. Let me be there for you.” You put your hand on his cheek and he leaned into your palm. His face was flush from the accident and from the tears. He felt, defeated.

“I don’t want anyone to have to deal with me. Especially not someone who has so much to offer this world. I am just a mess of a man. You were the last person I wanted to call because I do not want you to have to clean up after me.”

“If loving you means I have to be there for everything, every sad day, every hard day, every difficult day, I will be.” You said, running your hands through his hair, his favorite.

“I don’t want you to have to do that.”

“Too late, I am already too committed.”

“You know, I was looking at my photo of you on my dashboard before it happened.” He turned his head closer to you.

“You have a photo of me in your work car?” You truly didn’t know this.

“Have the moment we started dating. It's a photo of you smiling at work when I came to visit for the first time. You were so excited to show me around to everyone. Your boyfriend is a Unit Chief in the FBI. You were so smiley the entire time, I wanted to remember that happiness on hard days. So in my work car, it sits, it's comforting.”

“Well, we can take more photos.” You sat on the edge of the bed, he sat up and you leaned into him. You were not going anywhere.

“I love you, you know that. I’m sorry for leaving, I just thought I was hurting you more than I was helping. I thought if you knew how bad I was feeling you would feel responsible or that I would hurt you.”

“I love you more than you know.”

After the talk, and JJ called the team to let them know the extent of everything going on, you decided to walk with her to get some coffee. Penelope had shown up five minutes after JJ ended the call with tons of goodies for Hotch, and you let her and Derek sit in there with him while you took a break. Hopefully, he would be okay, Derek could handle Penelope and Hotch needed a friend.

The two of you walked along side each other in silence until you got to the elevator. Once you got to the elevator JJ finally spoke up.

“Want to tell me what happened?” She looked at you sideways as she finished the question.

“Actually, yeah. What he said made me a bit worried and I need some more insight into what’s been going on.”

“I’m all ears.”

“He broke up with me because he’s having a hard time mentally. Has he been weird or more restricted at work at all?” You asked the question as you got into the elevator.

“A bit. I thought maybe it was due to the breakup but honestly it’s been going on a few months. I try not to pry because while he is my boss and my friend, i don’t want him to think i don’t trust him.”

“I understand that completely. I knew something was up, but I didn’t think he’d leave me just because he didn’t want to talk about it. I think we’re on the same page now, but i’m not letting this go. I love him too much.”

“He loves you too, trust me. Your photo is in his car, on his phone, in his office. You and Jack are his world. I honestly think he’s just scared.” As you got out of the elevator together she turned and hugged you. knowing you haven’t had one since this all happened. You loved your best friend, and she always knew what you needed.

Hotch was in the hospital for a day. They wanted to keep him overnight just for observation, but it turned out everything was okay. He had a concussion and a few cuts on his head but he was going to be fine. you were by his bedside the entire time you slept there you only left to go to the bathroom or if somebody else came and made you go get a cup of coffee. Usually it was JJ or Derek that convinced you to get up, despite Hotch telling you countless times it was okay to go home. You truly just were so happy to have him back you didn’t want to leave him again.

You both had walked to your car so you could drive him home. Jessica was keeping Jack for one more night that way Hotch could settle down at home and make sure that he was okay and you were going to stay with him tonight, because there was no way you were going to let him be alone.

“You know we have to talk about everything, right?” you said the minute you both got into the car.

“Yeah honey, I know.” He reached over and grabbed your hand and squeezed it hard.

“Why did you do this? I know you’re hurting. I would do anything to make you happy and feel loved and appreciated, that’s my goal when i’m with you. I’d do anything for you.”

“That’s the point, I just don’t want you to have to take care of me. I want to be there for you.” He started looking out of the window, like that was going to make his hurt get up and fly away.

“ Now you know a relationship is 50/50, and sometimes on bad days it’s 20/80. We give what we can, my love, and if you’re having a bad day I am more than willing to pick up the slack.” It was your turn to squeeze his hand, to bring him back to reality and remember that you were here, and that you were not going anywhere.

“I am embarrassed.” You looked over at him to see him, start to cry, genuine tears falling from his eyes, the look of defeat and hurt and embarrassment falling over his face. it was the saddest you had ever seen someone look and it absolutely shattered your heart to see him like that.

“Absolutely not,” You pulled over and stopped the car, “you have NO reason to be embarrassed about having a hard time Aaron Hotchner. You have been through more in the past few years than I could ever imagine. I don’t think I would be up walking around if I had gone through what you had been through. I would not be as good of a man as good of a dad as good of a person if I had been through what you had to go through. you give it your all every single day, whether it be as a father or as the leader of a team that saves peoples lives and every single day. you deserve somebody that not only wants to be with you at your best but somebody that will be there for you at your worst and I will be there for you. Always.” You took his face in your hands and turned him to look at you. He was still crying so you wiped his tears with your thumbs, and looked him in the eyes. You leaned in and gave him a big kiss. A kiss to cement everything you just said. So he knew, you were completely serious.

“Okay. I am sorry for what I've done, but for you, I am willing to try. I am willing to accept my downfalls, and lean on you when I need you. And you will never be my last call again, you will always be my first.”

“I better be.”

That got a smile out of him, and a small chuckle. You kissed him again and started the car back up, put it in drive, and took you both home.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotch x you #aaron hotch fic #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner criminal minds #fem!reader #bau team #criminal minds #hurt/comfort #aaron hotchner hurt/comfort #fanfic #hotch #hotch x reader #hotch x you #aaron hotchner female reader #derek morgan #jennifer jareau

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brucewaynehater101 · 6 months ago

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They are so big and so cute! And if Huggin and Munnin are well above the average size of ravens they could be nearly the size of Tim's torso. Certainly bigger than his head. Plus they are so, so smart. Some of the smartest birds in the world. Imagine Tim getting in kidnapped as a civilian and Huggin simply grabs the key for him while Munnin acts as a look out. Tim escapes without ever being seen.

Tim also has special "bird doors" in his Nest so the whole place is filled with his many birds. Sure not all of them live there because he set up dozens of safe places around the city that are basically just Reall Big Pigeon Roosts with bird feeders in them that all types of birds are allowed in. Also the bird doors are much to small for any human to fit through, much like dog and cat doors are, and they do have actual sliding metal doors on them that are opened and unlocked by proximity of the little cameras he put on some of his birds. Roughly 4 owls, 8 pigeons, 3 Bluejays, 2 hawks, 17 crows, 9 grackles, and 20 ravens have access to his Nest. Are those a lot of keys just flying around the city? Yes. But no one knows the birds are his, Tim is constantly trying to make smaller and smaller cameras for them so that they will never be spotted, and who the fuck is gunna point to a random bird and go "that bitch has the key to Red Robin's house." And be believed by anyone who would help them catch a fucking pigeon that's just minding their own buisness?business??

The only beings who notice the cameras are other birds and the strange sparkly spot on his birds chest? It only gives his birds more Rizz. There was a study about how Zebra Finches actually preferred to mate with those who had on red tracking tags over other colors so what if this is similar? This would also mean that every spring Tim has an exponentially larger amount of birds.

Also the funniest way for the family to find out. It's one of the very rare sunny days in summer where it's Actually Hot in Gothem so the family decides it's the perfect day to use the pool in the back yard of Wayne Manor. Everyone is having an amazing time and eventually Tim gets tired so he sits down on one of the reclining pool chairs for a rest and snack, which is his chocolate free trail mix. He has a large bowl of it and ends up falling asleep with it in his lap. Just as the siblings are giggling and deciding what prank to play, a crow lands next to Tim and sqwacks a few times. Tim mumbles in his sleep but doesn't move so the bird hops up onto Tim's chair and starts to eat out of his bowl. Since it doesn't get shooed away, soon others are joining it. The family watches in amazement as Tim gets *covered* in birds that are casually eating from his bowl. There's even a pair of hawks that are perched above his head. When the bowl is empty, one of the crows bites Tim on the nose, startling him awake and he glares at the feathery fiend and very gently taps it on the beak as he scolds, "Monroe, I told you to stop biting my nose. Wait- you guys ate all my trail mix!" He has forgotten that his siblings are there because it's usually the birds or siblings, never both.

Oh, and when they eventually ask why he hid the birds, Tim simply says, "last time anyone found out, Janet called an exterminator."

I love this so much. Him building little nests all over the city for them is adorable and great. It would be cool if he started that before his Robin years as he was out and about in Gotham. He just built small little safe places for the birds, and it rapidly expanded as Tim got more experience, more resources, and more birds to look after.

Your logic with the keys is fantastic! When the batfam finds out, I bet birds pop by Tim's place while whatever family member is just chilling. Like maybe they are watching a movie and said bat gets distracted by the coming and goings of various birds (the birds probably also mess a bit with Tim or his space as fond pestering before leaving again). Maybe a few are just staring at the family member without blinking or taking a nap.

I wonder if Damian would start to make excuses to go over to Tim's Nest as much as possible. He states he needs to "ensure Timothy is maintaining adequate nesting conditions for the various species of birds" or that he will "test the Nest's security" by dropping by unannounced and breaking in.

Perhaps some of the birds watch over his various family members for Tim? Especially Duke because nobody else works the day shift with him, and birds are more common during the day (and thus less suspicious).

#dc comics #tim drake #dc universe #thank you for the ask!!!!#dc au #damian wayne

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theresattrpgforthat · 1 year ago

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Do you have any recommendations for games in the western genre? Or western fantasy/sci-fi? Absolutely can’t get enough of the combination of cowboys and six shooters, steampunk, and magic fantasy. I’m considering writing my own setting for DnD5E that combines these elements.

Theme: Fantastic Westerns

Friend, I think I've collected a real tight bunch of winners here, so I'm confident you'll find something that really scratches that itch you've got!

Wicked West, by Finch Edmund.

Wicked West is a PbtA game by Finch Edmund (they/them) about paranormal cowboys. It combines classic monsters with the backdrop of the old west and is meant to be played with at least two players with one player taking the role of Game Master. Wicked West is made to tell stories similar to the westerns of the 1940s-1960s about small towns and the struggles of life with a horror twist.

If you like combining monsters with your westerns, this is the game for you. It looks like you combine a couple of different options to make your character playbook, which is something I’m personally pretty jazzed about when it comes to creating characters. One interesting thing about Wicked West is the relationship your cowboy has with their horse: a vampire might feed off of their steed, while a witch can cast spells on their horse to run faster. If you don't mind a bit of a horror flavor to your Western, this might be the game for you.

Wizards of the Wild West, by ckellyrpg.

Wizards of the Wild West is an action-oriented TTRPG that combines fantasy magic with classic Wild West themes. It is powered by the LUMEN system, and takes heavy inspiration from looter-shooter games such as Destiny.

LUMEN is still a game that I’m excited to try out, so seeing it tagged onto a western game about wizards made me take a second look. This is a game for a raucous good time; you’ll be pulling off sweet character combos, with easy-to-understand breakdowns of each character class. Right now the game is still in development, but it’s still considered playable, so if you get it now it might have more content for you down the road!

We Deal in Lead, by Odin’s Beard.

You look to those closest to you, fellow gunslingers of the Order of the King. The arduous trek across the bleached desert is over and now you stand before a slip door. Though tested, the fellowship of your Order stands true.

You grasp the worn sandalwood grip of your artefact gun and twist open the door. You gasp as the sharp sea air hits your lungs. Gulls caw and the foam sprays your face like a baptism. You step through to another reality.

After all, there are other worlds than these.

We Deal In Lead comes highly recommended to me by folks who like the OSR scene. It’s based off of Cairn, a well-beloved fantasy system, and if you got the TTRPGs for Trans Rights in Florida bundle, you already have a copy!

The setting is meant to be somewhat post-apocalyptic, but the barriers between your world and others are thin, causing threats (and allies) from other dimension to have a chance to enter your world. The game focuses on combat, exploration and survival, and it’s almost completely compatible with anything released for Cairn.

If you like what you see so far with this game, you might also want to check out Omega City, a weird west city setting, still in ashcan form.

Vampire Cowboys, by Maddy Searle.

You are a gang of outlaws in the Wild West. You have a lot to contend with: enemy gangs, law enforcement, wild animals, and… did I mention? You’re also vampires. You must figure out how to survive in this harsh land, where “justice” is often swift and violent. Will you blend in with the crowd, and hide your vampiric side in an attempt to live as a gun-toting cowboy? Or will you give in to your monstrous urges and use your supernatural powers, making yourself known as a vampire? It’s entirely up to you.

This game premise is simple and easy to describe: you are vampires who are also cowboys. You live in a world where everything wants you dead, and you’re constantly fighting the parts of you that make you monstrous. The mechanics are very familiar if you’ve every come across a Lasers & Feelings game: a couple pages to read and you’re off to the races, ready to play.

Reboot Hill, by Groovy Dad Games.

REBOOT HILL is a sci-fi Western TTRPG set in the "Future West" of the far flung Hill-Ceballos System. When a war back on Earth results in a cyber-attack that frees all of the bots in the Hill-Ceballos, things go bad for the humans right quick. In the aftermath, bots have got to rely on their shooting irons and their processors to make their way in this new, post-human frontier.

REBOOT HILL is a card-driven tabletop role-playing game in which players portray "Aces"--bots with advanced AI that find themselves on the right or wrong side of the law.

Finally, a space western! Here’s a card-based game with a plethora of character options, including mechanical upgrades, as well as weapons and vehicles. You’re mainly going to be bounty hunters, chasing after varmints and villains so that you can scrape together a living. If you want a game whose game mechanics make you feel liked you’re sitting at a poker table, you should check out Reboot Hill.

Clink, by Technical Grimoire.

Clink is a tabletop RPG about drifters, the creeds that bring them together, and the history that drives them apart. This game uses coins to tell a story inspired by spaghetti westerns, ronin tales, and shows like Firefly or Supernatural.

Characters begin as rough sketches of the shifty sort you’d see in an old Western or Noir film. They all start as blank slates, their histories unknown. Tell stories about their past and create your character as you play.

I’m a big fan of Technical Grimoire, especially their expertly-designed Troika setting, Bones Deep. Clink isn’t Troika - it uses coins as a storytelling mechanic - but it’s very setting-flexible, as seen in the variety of the starting scenarios provided.

The game is also non-linear: throughout play your characters will experience flashbacks, which will help flesh out who they are as you play, and tell us something about who they used to be. You’ll start the game with two coins, which you can spend to gain a flashback, but you can also flip them to try and succeed at various tasks. As you play, you’ll also gain coins using a mechanic called a Trigger - bad habits that get them into trouble.

If you want a fresh set of rules to play around with in a flexible setting that stays true to the woes of outlaws and other Western tropes, I heavily recommend Clink.

Boondock Cartomancy, by Hookline & Sinker.

The consequences of westward expansion rear their head. Desolate, inhospitable, and unpredictable - the Outbacks are a ravaged desert, a wild tundra, an ancient tomb. Host to a plethora of unknown variables and formed from the corpses of failure, it’s a hotbed for the lawless, the corrupt, and the lost. Conditions for growing a corporate empire couldn’t be more ideal.

BOONDOCK CARTOMANCY is a tabletop roleplaying game about personal growth in a cruel and inhospitable wasteland, backlit with Western cowboys wielding powerful and unpredictable magic. It’s a game about reflecting upon the world and systems of exploitation we live in, and using ancient spells to blow up a caravan of criminals in a climactic shootout. It’s a game about interfacing with the human condition, and feeling cool as shit while doing it.

This game looks so cool! You are brokers, going on dangerous jobs in a hostile frontier, giving your characters objectives to complete while also exploring the way colonialism forces so many folks to act as simply cogs in a larger, uncaring machine. The game also gives you a fantasy to explore, by granting your characters card-based magic skills, and replacing their hit points with a luck meter. The game itself also has a really clever layout, presenting itself like an old-fashioned newspaper, with pieces of advertisements sprinkled throughout to give you bits of lore about the world. All in all, definitely worth checking out.

Former Rec Posts to Check Out

Rootin’, Tootin’ and Shootin.

Space Westerns.

#tabletop games #indie ttrpgs #dnd #game recommendations #asks #western games

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lowkeyrobin · 4 months ago

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MONTY FINCH ; dating headcanons

summary ; dating hcs w monty

warnings ; none

word count ; 575

masterlist

he's kind of quiet so a lot of times you do most the talking

he rambles when he's stressed/nervous/anxious or when he's rambling about an interest/something he likes

and trust, he rambles a lot because he loves you bro

he's very respectful with boundaries and will NEVER cross them

he's got a whole list in his mind that he constantly checks on before he even moves around you

he's very gentle but he's not infantilizing if you have any mental / physical disabilities

like he's not gonna treat you like a baby, but he will be careful and respectful and help as much as he can

having a panic attack? he's right at your side trying to help. need your medicine site changed? he's at your service with hand sanitizer and everything you need

you were actually kind of oblivious to his advances

you thought he was just being nice by giving you a reading / teaching you about astrology

he'd always somehow find you just at the right time so you could escape your little dead boy detectives + crystal & niko

gonna be honest, you need a break sometimes. it's hard

but you loved going on little late night adventures with him and trying new food and rollerskating with him

but you did catch on to his feelings after he had to literally spell it out for you

you reference inside jokes ALL THE TIME and charles/edwin/crystal/niko never understand

then you remember "oh I have to explain this" when they give you a confused look

you love looking at funny tiktoks together

and cringe ones that deserve a restraining order

you're basically commentary youtubers atp

you make him bracelets as well, whether they be kandi or string or whatever

he wears them all the time

he's given you a couple jackets as well... let's hope esther never finds out (because they're hers. she was not buying him a whole wardrobe after turning him human)

he loves sharing music with you

and he's always begging for aux in the car / to make you listen to a song / etc etc

i see him being a hozier / david kushner / ethel cain / old friends fan

but he relates to a large handful of sleep token songs as well (I have to mention them at any moment I'm sorry)

he usually listens per artist on his playlists but there are some stray songs that are just there that scream him / he loves

like the reason by hoobastank, airhead by honey revenge, and hell by the home team

I'm describing my monty playlist atp... (link on my masterlist (go to playlists then monty finch))

he's a pretty empathetic person

like if he sees you in any sort of non-happy state, he's gonna ask if you're okay and be there for you

he giggles and laughs a lot

you're very funny, you make him laugh a lot

it's cute 😔🫶

he also picked up drawing

so he's always drawing you when you aren't looking / just in his free time

the diego to his frida

he lovesss compliments

giving and receiving

so there's a lot of those between you two

he's genuinely so sweet

he remembers all your interests and things you like and stuff

so if there's a new season of a show you like coming out or a new album from an artist you like, he's gonna be informing you

#lowkeyrobin #gn reader #gender neutral reader #they/them reader #monty finch x reader #monty the crow x reader #joshua colley x reader #dead boy detectives x reader #dead boy detectives #monty finch oneshot #dating headcanons

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mylifesjustacarousel · 3 months ago

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the crow

pairing: monty finch x fem!reader

summary: you just moved to port townsend, and you are under the impression that the supernatural is a load of shit… until you befriend a certain crow.

CW: swearing, mentions of blood

WC: 1.8k

part 2 | not proofread!

Port Townsend was a strange city. It was usually cloudy and dreary, especially during the colder months. You had moved there during the spring of that year, wanting a fresh start for yourself. The city seemed pretty boring and lackluster until you started to hear the stories of all of the weird events that had taken place prior to you moving there; The Devlin murders, little girls suddenly disappearing, a local butcher shop mysteriously blowing up…

But, it was hard to believe any of it. It was just the way that you were raised. Your parents didn’t believe in ghosts or any sort of superstitions, they believed in “logic” and “common sense.” Plus, it was hard to believe any of that stuff without seeing it with your own two eyes. It was just run-of-the-mill gossip to you.

You didn’t have very many friends, as you had just moved to Port Townsend. You had more acquaintances than friends, really. But, you enjoyed the solitude sometimes. It felt very freeing to just be alone. You often found yourself in the forest, walking along the trails and watching the animals. It was a strange place to find comfort in, but there was something so calming about being in nature.

You were sat on a mossy log, doodling in one of your notebooks that you had brought, when a bird flew down next to you, perching itself on the other end of the log. You glanced over, admiring the crow that was now next to you. “Hey, little birdie.” you cooed, talking softly as to not startle the bird. The bird squawked, not moving from it’s position.

“You’re a gorgeous little thing, sitting so nicely. Y’know what? I’m gonna draw you!” You flipped to a new page in your notebook, turning to face the bird as you started to sketch. Your eyes darted from the paper to the crow in front of you, your hand quickly working to draw and block out rough shapes. “I’m y/n. Not that you care, though. You’re a bird. I just moved here, and I’ve heard a lot of strange things about this place. But, it’s nice here.”

You turned your notebook around when you finished the drawing. “Look, it’s you!” you exclaimed, slowly reaching a finger out to try to pet the bird. It nudged it’s tiny head against your finger, accepting the act of affection from you. “Well, aren’t you just the sweetest thing?”

The sky soon got dark as the night came around, and you were still sat in the forest. You eventually packed up your bag, saying your goodbyes to the crow before leaving. Was it strange that a crow sat with you for literal hours until you left? Possibly. But, it was almost comforting. You could talk about whatever was on your mind, and it didn’t matter what you said because you were talking to a little bird.

Okay, it was a little strange. But, so was the rest of Port Townsend.

Over the course of the week, you found yourself going back to the forest over and over again, and the crow was there to greet you every single time. “Hey, birdie!” You sat down in front of the log, rummaging through your backpack. “I, uh, I did a little research on what crows like to eat. I brought peanuts and suet, I didn’t even know what suet was.” you mumbled, opening up the plastic bag you brought and sprinkling the food on the log next to you.

“You know, I’ve had a really hard time getting settled in ever since I moved here. My parents are really tough on me and I wanted nothing more to get away from them,” you explained, “But, I kinda miss them sometimes. It’s a little lonely here. Plus, I’ve heard some crazy things, like this old butcher shop blowing up? Heard the lady who did it was crazy, but no one’s seen her since.”

You turned to face the bird, but he was nowhere to be seen. “Birdie? Where’d you go?” you called out, getting up and looking around. You knew that it was just a bird, but something about it was so strange. You had been around birds before, and you had never met one like him.

Squawk. Squawk.

Whipping your head in the direction of the noise, you spotted the peculiar bird. He was sitting on top of a book, his beak pecking at a few of the pages. “What the hell,” you mumbled to yourself, walking towards him. It was a spell book, you had quickly discovered, and the pages he was pecking at showed a spell on how to turn your familiars into humans.

“No. No, no, no. You… you are just a bird. This is a silly little coincidence, because you are just a bird.” You got up, quickly packing your stuff up. “I have clearly overstayed my welcome, this is becoming weird. Um… bye? Yeah, bye.”

You threw your bag over your shoulder, quickly walking away. Your brain felt like it was spinning inside your head, trying to comprehend what the everloving fuck just happened. You had heard rumors of witches and ghosts in town… but they weren’t real. They could not be, that would be crazy.

This isn’t real. You’re crazy, y/n. It’s a bird.

One in the morning rolled around quickly, and you were still wide awake. You were hunched over on your bed, scrolling away on your laptop as you researched familiars. The more you scrolled, the more you believed that you needed a wellness check done. The most terrifying part was that it was all making sense to you.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

You almost jumped out of your skin, looking over at your bedroom window. There he was, perched at your window. Scrambling out of bed, you quickly slammed your window open. “Okay, what the actual fuck is going on?” you asked, feeling ridiculous for even talking to the bird at this point. “Whatever you are, I don’t want to deal with it. This is not real, you are not real.”

You started to pace your room, talking to yourself at this point. “And, aaaaaand! There’s no way that all of this supernatural stuff is real, okay? There’s just- where did you go?” You looked back at your window. The bird was no longer there, but the book was. The same damn book that you had seen in the forest.

“Oh my god. Oh my fucking god, I am going insane.” You reluctantly picked the book up, flipping to the pages that were oh-so carefully bookmarked. Familiar transformation spell. Even just reading about the process made your stomach queasy, it was gross. You continued to flip through the pages, trying to find any information about the book. Your eyes flickered through the pages, catching on something in the very back of the book.

E. Finch.

You had heard the tales of Esther Finch before. She had lived in Port Townsend for a while, but one day she just vanished. No one heard from her, no one saw her. All that was left was her house and her… bird. Her crow.

You felt your mouth go dry and your heart drop as the puzzle pieces connected. Your entire world felt as if it had been turned upside down. Everything as you knew it was gone, everything you were taught from your parents ceased to exist.

Holy shit.

Your body moved before your brain could even think, slipping the book into your bag as you slipped your feet into your shoes. Before you knew it, you were out the door. You didn’t exactly know where you were headed, but you had a bad feeling about it.

Esther Finch’s house. It looked like it was never even abandoned. No one dared to touch the house, and those who did were usually never heard from again. You took a shaky breath as you approached the house, your heart beating in your ears as you made your way to the front door. As you put your hand on the door knob, you questioned why you were even there. But something drew you to that house, and to that stupid bird.

Without another thought, you opened the door and made your way inside. The lights were still on, which was unusual for an abandoned house. But, it was literally the most normal thing that you had seen that day. “Hello? Is anyone there?” you called out, your eyes darting around as you took in the sights in front of you.

You made your way around the house, stopping to look at things here and there; knick knacks, paintings, the weird medieval-looking torture device in the middle of the room. Well, everyone did say that Esther was a little strange.

Your final stop was in the kitchen. Setting your bag down on the counter, you rummaged around in it until you found the book. “I can’t believe that this is my life.” you grumbled, opening the book up.

Squawk. Squawk.

You huffed, looking over. The bird was sat in his cage, just watching you. “You know, this is absolutely insane, birdie.” You walked around, searching the cabinets for all of the ingredients. If she was a witch, then there had to be ingredients somewhere. “You could be a lot more help, since you’re apparently not just a stupid bird. You know, I’ve told you a lot of crazy things, you could’ve given me a heads up.”

Once you found all of the ingredients and got some pots onto the stove, you pulled out a knife from the knife block on the counter. “Well… this better work, bird boy. Or else this is a really unfortunate end for you.”

Chop. Squawk. Rip.

It was a disgusting and gory process, and it took everything in you not to get sick all over the poor bird, or what was left of him. You would pay any amount of money to erase that image from your mind. You set your knife down, holding your hands up in the air due to the blood and guts covering them. “Okay, um, copperhead snake rattles. That’s the last step.”

You looked around, snatching the jar up when you spotted it. Grabbing one of the snake rattles, you crushed it and sprinkled it over what could only be described as your own Frankenstein’s monster.

Within seconds, the disfigured crow was no longer there. Instead, a boy was sat there. He had shoulder length brunette hair and deep brown eyes. It was like a model from a magazine, he was almost too gorgeous. He looked over at you, grinning from ear to ear.

“This is nice and all, but you are very naked right now.” you grumbled, quickly turning around to face away from him.

“Sorry!”

a/n: it wouldn’t be a story from me without a cliffhanger. let me know if you want a part 2, and if you want to be in a taglist specifically for dead boy detectives storied lmk! and, once again, thank you to cafekitsune for the cutesy dividers! <3

#_emily’s writing_#dead boy detectives #dead boy detectives x reader #monty finch #monty finch x reader #monty the crow #monty the crow x reader

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bitchcakegreen · 7 months ago

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I finally watched all four episodes of season 3 part 1 and I have thoughts, as a fan and as a screenwriter/former romance novelist, and professional director. I didn’t have netflix but I got it for this season. I did this kinds of analyzations and such during Game of Thrones. Hopefully people enjoy reading. Full disclosure, I have not read any of the Bridgerton books. (I’m about three chapters into Romancing Mr. Bridgerton)

First off, give me all the Pen and Colin all the time. I’ve been hoping they get together from season 1 and I’m so happy Shondaland didn’t make us wait another season, as the books go in a different order. There’s a lot of subtle nuance to Pen and Colin’s scenes, Colin always seeking out Pen wherever they are, the tent pastry scene followed by Colin clearly eating the same pastry as Pen did. The tent scene was freaking hot. I said what I said. Things of this nature make their love affair so lush. It’s that journey to getting to the carriage scene that’s so thrilling.

I didn’t mind Francesca’s subplot or the Mondrich one but I do agree with many I’ve seen here that the subplots almost took over. There was a lot of emphasis placed on things other than Pen and Colin which annoyed me somewhat. Hopefully when we get to part 2 there will be more intense focus on Polin and the subplots are just rotating around them because right now, with the pacing of these first four episodes, it’s the opposite. Polin feel as if they are somewhat an afterthought.

The Cressida redemption movement I don’t think will last into part 2. I think all this work is to try and make the audience sympathize with her and then when she goes after Pen, Pen as Lady D, and so forth we are supposed to think “OH! But she was being so nice.” Hopefully I’m wrong and they follow through on her storyline because if they don’t…they wasted a lot of time and storyline on her instead of focusing on Polin.

I’m ambivalent about Lord Debling, so meh. Sorry about it.

Anthony and Kate - absolutely unnecessary but I know why they brought them in. One, he is the Viscount so he would be around. Two, they are fan favorite. I get it. I accept it. It was just wasted real estate for me. But to each their own.

I love Mr. Finch and I LOVED he got to be such a beaming brother-in-law for Pen in the green dress. I do wish they hadn’t shown us the dress reveal in the trailer. It would have been such an awestruck moment for us to see it first in the show. Sweeping cape removal and glittering loveliness.

Pen’s sisters and their race to get pregnant. It’s all a setup for Pen to be pregnant first or with the male heir by the end of the season. Cute but really long winded in getting there. There is a now since deleted promo clip of Pen, with Colin standing behind her, where she takes his hand and places it on her stomach. So we’re getting a pregnancy nod somewhere next part. May even be why she faints in whatever scene they show in the trailer for part 2.

Eloise needs to get her head out of her butt. I don’t think she’s angry Pen is LW but more angry that she didn’t figure out Pen was Whistledown sooner. She’s mad that Pen didn’t try to see her during the offseason, yet she tells her at the end of season 2 to get the fuck out of her life. Get it together Eloise. I love Eloise, don’t get me wrong, I adore her. I just want her to stop acting like an ass and TALK to Pen.

There is discourse about the second Colin threesome scene, but there really shouldn’t be. There’s a reason for it. It showcases that Colin is done with the charade he’s been playing all season. He isn’t the bon vivant, dashing rake he’s supposed to be. It’s jarring but it’s a scene with a purpose.

All the Polin scenes are delightful. The balloon scene might be my favorite - the pastry scene I include in this. And of course the first kiss and the carriage scene (which lives in my head on repeat) but I have to say, I wanted more Polin screen time. I think if we spliced all the Polin scenes together we see that out of four hours of film, they have maybe a cumulative 1 hour of screen time. Which isn’t much for a couple that is the lead of the season. Hopefully the ratio will be better in part two.

Merit badges and raises to the Featherington coachmen and to Pen’s maid Rae. They are MVPs and are totally gossiping about Polin. You know that tea was flowing in the servant’s quarters about the carriage ride…

Scenes I hope we get in part 2.

1. Full on sexfest with Pen and Colin, the likes to rival Daphne and Simon.

2. Whistledown reveal to Colin. First I want him angry - that passionate angry we use in romance novels. The kind where the hero is always “I’m so mad at you right now I can’t see straight but I need you writhing with passion underneath me screaming my name RIGHT NOW!” kind of angry. I want ripped corsets and torn skirts. If you know you know.

3. Pen and Eloise make up.

4. Big stupid lavish wedding.

5. More unhinged Queen Charlotte wigs. Because reasons.

Sorry this was such a long post, but I needed to get my thoughts out. Thanks for reading if you made it this far. Now excuse me while I go watch part 1 elevenity million more times.

#romance novels #romance writers #polin #bridgerton #writing #bridgerton thoughts #colin bridgerton #colin x penelope #polin bridgerton #writer thoughts #late night writing #bridgerton season 3 #penelope featherington #shondaland #netlfix #bridgerton netflix

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stargazing-imagines · 1 year ago

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Summer Fling — Conrad Fisher & fem!reader

Description: this is your last summer at cousins before moving to a different state, but will this the only summer that you will have with Conrad?

Warnings: mentions of summer fling, but other than that nothing except bad writing

Fandom: Summer I turned pretty

“My parents just put in a offer on a house in Florida.” You said “we’re leaving at the end of summer.”

It wasn’t even the start of the summer and your parents are already talking about moving. You were at the pool outside of the beach house with belly.

“So your not coming back to cousins?” Asked belly, you shook your head

“I don’t know, my parents want to settle down for a while, they may put the beach house up for sale, but then again they may want to come back during retirement,” You said “Besides, I’ll be off to college soon so who knows when I’ll have time to come back.”

"'But you can't leave," said belly "what about Conrad?"

"What about him?" You asked as you stared at him in the distance

"I don't know maybe the fact that Conrad has been in love with you since we were kids.” Said belly “come on are you just now finding that out?”

“I was busy ok!” You said as you placed your hands up in surrender “college apps have been a butt and I still can’t believe I have to finish them while on vacation.”

“What colleges have you applied to?” Asked belly

“Let’s see, finch, brown, Princeton… the list goes on.”

The two of you chuckled before going back to talking

——

“Conrad, when are you going to man up and tell her that you like her?” Asked Steven “you know, every guy will be wanting her this summer so you better make your move fast.”

The thought of you with another guy has stirred a feeling inside of Conrad, but as the person he is. He’s afraid of hurting you

“You know I can’t.” Said Conrad “besides she wouldn’t like me back.”

“How do you know?” Asked Steven “oh that’s right, because you haven’t asked her out yet, I can feel the tension between you two you know.”

“Hey guys, Conrad is your mom home?” You asked

“No, I think her a laurel went into town or something, what you need?”

“My mom is making a cake and she wanted to know if she had some extra sugar.” You said as you smiled at the end of that sentence, Conrad got up from the couch and walked over to the kitchen, motioning you to follow him.

“Thanks.” You said, before you could walk out the door, Conrad stopped you.

“Hey… are you seeing anyone?”

“No… why do you ask?” You asked as you smiled, curious about his question.

“Do you want to maybe go out with me?”

You stood there, taken aback at what he said. You were about to speak, that was until your mouth goes dry

“I need some water…” you said as you walked to the sink “you don’t think?”

“No she won’t mind.” Said Conrad

You nodded your head before grabbing a glass and filling it with water, then you chugged it down before setting it down, walking in front of the island in the kitchen

“I’m sorry did you just ask me out?” You asked with a smile on your face

“Yeah… so?”

“Look… I would love to go out with you, but it’s just… I’m wrapped up in college applications this summer and I can’t really hang out a lot.” You said “besides I don’t think I’ll be back at cousins next summer if I’m going to be honest.”

“Why’s that?” Asked Conrad, you sighed

“My parents are selling the house and getting a retirement house in Florida while I go away to school.”

“Well… who says that it has to be a relationship?”

“What are you suggesting?” You asked

——

It has been a few weeks since you and Conrad had decided to have a “summer fling”, at the moment you were at the beach tanning, when all the sudden your mom called out for you

“Y/n!” Shouted your mom as she waved something in her hand trying to get your attention. You lowered your sunglasses at your mom as you got up gathering your things.

“What is it?” You asked as you sat your stuff down on the porch of your parents summer house.

“It’s a letter, from Princeton!” Said your mother “open it!”

You took the envelope from your mothers hand as you ripped it up, when you read the paper your jaw dropped

“No way!” You said looking at your mother “I got in!”

“Congratulations!” Shouted your mother as she hugged you “I need to tell everyone about this, my daughter is going to Princeton!”

You chuckled before walking over to Susannah’s summer house, you were wanting to tell Conrad and everyone the good news

——

“No way! You got into Princeton?!” Asked Steven

“Yep, I guess you’ll be joining me after you graduate next year.”

“Hopefully.” Said Steven “but other then that, congratulations, you deserve this.”

At that, Steven have your a hug which you received back

“Where’s Conrad? I want to tell him the good news,”

“He’s in his room.”

“Cool!” You said then you walked upstairs to find Conrad, when you did something or someone grabbed your hand before you could continue walking down the hall

“I missed you.” Said Conrad as he gave you a kiss on the back of your hand

“Aww, I’m flattered.” You said “but I can’t do this today, I actually came over with good news, I’m going to Princeton.” You said as you held up your acceptance letter

“That’s great!” Said Conrad as he gave you a hug “I guess you a Steven will be going to the same college.”

“Yep.” You said

“Well… I’m happy for you.” Said Conrad as he gave you a hug

“Thank you.” You said as you hugged him back

“This isn’t going to change anything is it?” Asked Conrad as he pulled away slightly from the hug

“Hopefully not.” You said as you had a reassuring voice

“Good, because I don’t know what I’ll do without you.”

With that he gave you a hug again

——

The summer I turned pretty masterlist

#the summer i turned pretty #tsitp imagine #tsitp conrad #conrad fisher x you #conrad fisher x reader #conrad fisher

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polin-erospsyche · 6 months ago

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So I did a full analysis/reaction to the trailer because it dropped as my plane was about leave and I was going out of my mind and I needed something to do. Thank you @polinsated for sending the video of the trailer for me to obsess and hyperventilate over while stuck on a tiny chair in a very public place.

Also I apologise for how long this is going to be. I literally had to break it down in parts because tumblr can’t process it but also I had so much fun making this that I just really want it on my blog 😂😂😂

She seems way to happy with herself for someone’s whose carefully constructed life is hanging by a thread. Pen what are you up to?

Everyone is so happy and Eloise is just holding on for dear life and some sense of normality. She’s carrying such a heavy secret from her favourite sibling and she’s loosing Pen in a whole new way. The very fragile ground she’s been walking on is collapsing right under her feet. But also please El be kind to Pen and understand that this girl has been wanting this boy her entire life, finally has him and now is being put against the clock to drop this huge bomb that will destroy everything. It’s terrifying and understandable, give her time.

Give me more of mama Bridgerton with baby Pen. This girl is about to receive so much motherly love she’s been lacking her whole life. Violet has probably been waiting for this moment since Colin was like 5. She’s so happy to welcome the 5th daughter she never had into her home and her family.

Tbh their reaction at the engagement was my reaction at the trailer drop, jaw on the floor, choking on my tea. Also Finch is just the happiest brother in law??? Like let this man and Rae be the best man and bridesmaid at the wedding at this point. You know it would make his entire year.

Pen is dressed entirely, from head to toe in lilac, she’s so in love and we love to see it ❤️

Pen, love, please be happy about your upcoming nuptials. Why do they all look like they’re about to go to a funeral and Portia’s the one planning it excitedly?

This is the moment we all started to die. Like the fact that we all collectively lost our shit precisely at this moment??? The way they just gravitate towards each other when everyone is going outside? I have always loved you Colin, there’s nothing that makes me happier than being with you??? The way there’s a huge grin on his face and he proceeds to twirl her around?? Just both of them happy and so so in love??? Oh god it is too sweet in here for me to breathe properly.

Then we collectively just kept loosing our shit but for another entirely different reason

El, darling, I know you’re stressed and unhappy but please be kind to your bestie. It’s hard, it’s terrifying, she just got the boy of her dreams and you’re giving her a clock to drop the bomb that will destroy her dreams. Although we all agree with El, Pen you really should tell him before he finds out on his own and kisses you in the dark alleyways of London

#part 1 of trailer reaction #my shit posts have taken on a whole new level of unhinged #I AM SO SORRY #but also I am not #it allowed me to process the bomb #that just fell on all of our heads #and I had so much fun making this #polin #bridgerton #bridgerton season 3

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 2 years ago

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LANDLESS GULL (I)

|| COV MASTERLIST || PREVIOUS: PROLOGUE || NEXT: CHAPTER II ||

PAIRING: Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Three years later, you find yourself in a similar situation. But will new revelations put more of the past event into perspective? Or will your anger overcloud your judgment?

WORDCOUNT: 9.7k

WARNINGS: Implied stalking, angst, illegal activities, self destructive tendencies, insinuations of PTSD, sleeplessness, violence, abductions, talks of death, drugs etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

The routine was the only thing that saved you, and it had never once wavered. Not in two out of the three years since the death of your father.

Wake up at five, sit in silence until six, and leave the house by seven.

Though you were in your last year of college, the wallet in the pocket of your sweatpants was still bare of the plastic of a standard driver’s license, so, you take the same long route you did every morning; feet hitting the concrete. The black iron under your grip leaves you shivering as you lock the front gate to your family’s estate, the end of the long walkway a grand, overgrown, sight as you take one last glance.

Hucking your backpack higher over your shoulder the elusive black form of the resident stray cat darts from one of the overgrown and thick bushes to another; the steadily browning leaves a barrier of dying flora.

“Don’t kill the finches, yeah?” You huff quietly, eyes dull and heavy with fatigue as the morning air chills your skin. Even if it was getting colder as the seasons changed, your mind never once went to the prospect of calling a cab.

The thought of someone you didn’t know driving you somewhere…you frown as you think it over, shoes stamping on top of weeds sprouting from the broken sidewalk as the utter stillness of the morning grows long. No. No, It was easier to walk or take the bus. A train, maybe.

But walking lets you think; makes you tired.

So, by eight AM you were always at the Café an hour's journey away, cheeks chilled and body quivering like your bones were made of ice. The winter was worse, so you didn’t have it in you to even consider complaining.

Hector smiles at you when you walk through the old front door, dodging the umbrella holder slightly in the way as your nose sniffles. You pointedly stare at his large mustache instead of into his eyes, sighing lightly.

“Ah, there she is!” He exclaims. The excitable Café owner had told you that his family had come up to Chicago from New Jersey only a decade ago, which would explain the still prominent accent. “Just in time, eh? C’mon then, I got a nice hot one ready just for you like always, Sweetheart.”

“Trying to make me wife number three, Hec?” You slyly remark, walking over the hardwood floors and itching at the skin under your eye. Lids flicking open and closed as a call to sleep seeps into your brain, you take comfort in the familiar atmosphere.

It was dimly lit, the business, relying more on natural light than anything. The scent of coffee and baked goods stuck to your nose, waking you up as you pull the thick cotton canvas of your jacket closer and look around as you shuffle to the counter. Shelves lined with bags and small homemade treats make a quick smile grow.

How does he find the time to bake all of that?

Hector laughs, but you pay little mind. In your coat pocket, your fingers play with a coin, thumbing the engraved face slightly. A slow glaze of memory spreads its fingers over your eyes when you spy a family picture on the counter—the mustached man with his two daughters.

“Hell, if all it takes is fresh coffee cake and two espressos, my odds are lookin’ pretty good if I can say so myself.”

You snap back to the present with a stiff neck, blinking quickly. Clearing your throat, you roll your orbs and remove your hands from your pockets, rubbing them together and creating friction when the lack of heat starts to burn.

“No offense, but I think I’ll stick to my oppressively single ways, Big Guy. You have better luck with the lady down at the bank anyways. What’s her name,” you stare at Hector’s large nose, raising a brow as he moves his body to the side and grabs his utensils. “Cassidy? Crissy? It’s something with a ‘C’.”

The man’s filling up your drinks and pulling a piece of fluffy cake from the display case, rushing about as if he’d never known peace in his relatively normal life.

Hector was in his mid-forties. Balding. Large and stocky—not exactly someone you’d envision running a business like this all on his own and actually enjoying it. His pasty complexion reminded you of a carton of milk left in the sun, but he got on well enough with the locals to a point where everyone on this street knew him personally. Above all, Hector was a people person. Speaking to him was easy, and the constant burning anger in your chest loosened when he was around. Let you breathe.

All things considered, you quite liked the man.

“Clarissa,” Hector enunciates, putting everything on the counter as you pull out your wallet from your back pocket. “And, yeah, she’s the security guard down there. Beautiful damn woman, Kid.”

Your lips quirk as you take the items in crowded hands carefully, slapping two tens and a few crumpled fives to the counter. As you’re turning and walking to your seat, you call over your shoulder.

“Like a woman who can beat you up, then?”

“God, do I.” You share a chuckle together, and, knowing your routine, Hector begins to whistle under his breath and wipe the front counter clean of crumbs.

Always taking the corner seat next to the large front window, you slip into the wall booth and put everything on the table grunting before shucking off your backpack. Besides you, most of the morning customers just came and went as they pleased, picking up what they needed and leaving—realistically you should as well.

Majoring in history and minoring in business left you deep in work and covered to the neck with projects; already sleepless nights didn’t help when the large classrooms of the University of Chicago got too loud to stand, the raised speaking of students like screaming in your ears. You always skipped morning classes, particularly the large ones for your own sanity. Attendance was tanked, but because the work was all posted online your grade hadn’t suffered.

You'd gotten it up since the first year, at least. That was all that mattered.

Taking a sip of your first cup of espresso, you let the caffeinated liquid hit the emptiness of your stomach and sigh. You place it down on the woodgrain, closing your eyes for a minute and tilting your head down. Around the beverage, your hands twitch at the warm material, feeling your own blood pump in your veins and the loose shirt under your jacket sag as warm air comes to create a dichotomy of senses. Hector always kept the Café warm, but it was never enough for you.

Everything always felt cold.

Blinking back to the present, the Tv situated atop the small bookshelf in the corner spews the early run of the news as you gather your laptop from your bag and set it down; eager to get to work.

“...As we experience the anniversary of the death of—” You blink, fingers pausing over the keys as half of your password is typed out. Staring at the blinking black bar, you hear a violent inhalation of air from the front desk.

“Oh, fuck, Dear, I’m sorry. I forgot that it was today. Here let me–”

“No,” you interrupt, shaking your head harshly and tiling your gaze in Hector’s direction. You stare hard at his dirty apron. “No, it’s okay. Leave it on.”

Your voice is stiff, digging into that well in your stomach of barred teeth and barbed wire. Blood instead of water and a bucket made of bone that dips into crimson liquid.

“But…” He trails, and your hands hover above the laptop. You notice a tremor before picking up your drink once more, downing a good portion of the scalding liquid with a gulp. You clear your throat against the burn and lower it.

“If I had an issue with it, Hec, I’d tell you. Trust me, I already know what the date is. Lived it for three years to the day.”

The man grumbles, itching at his round chin. Not too keen. He picks up the remote near the cash register and lowers the volume all the while he sends your hunched form glances with creased brown eyes.

“We remember the countless donations to those less fortunate than himself, the man always seen with a smile on his face greeting visitors, and the tragic end he met as a result of a robbery gone wrong.” Your jaw clenches, hands curling in as you glare at the blinking black bar with hidden hatred. A cruel smirk slashes your lips. Robbery gone wrong, now that was funny. You never knew how anyone believed that. “...Admissions to the Museum of Natural History are at half-price all week.”

The news anchor moves on and your fingers spread to rest atop the smooth keys, lungs tight.

They had been talking about your father, of course. The fabricated story was like a knife to the chest every time someone brought it up. Acquaintances at school, professors. Taking a peek outside, you see groups of random people walk past wondering for an instant if they’d come in and recognize you.

Your dad was incredibly well-known when he was alive.

A robbery, your sneer grows as you log into your laptop, face falling to a blank slate as you clink on a plethora of named files. Pathetic. Of course, the CIA would spew something like that.

“What’s going on? Please, Dad, what’s happening?” The world is swirling with technicolored lights. Amber eyes. A hand on the top of your head.

The words pop up as a document loads, bolded and black. You shake off nausea and take down more caffeine, finishing off the first cup with muted disgust. Pushing it farther down the table, you move the second closer.

OPERATION: KINGFISHER

OVERSIGHT: STATION CHIEF KATE LASWELL, TS/SCI

OPERATIVES: CLASSIFIED

STATUS: ACTIVE

MISSION REPORT: MONDAY, 0823, CHICAGO, USA: THREE YEARS PRIOR:

All the rest was blacked out in long streaks of dark highlighter, the image fuzzy. A sharp needle inserts itself into your nerves, every slam of your heart like a gunshot as your sides pinch with disappointment.

No. Your jaw clenches.

How long had you been trying to get access to all of the government documents that were relevant to your case after you figured out the CIA was behind your father's and your abduction? A full year at this point? So many sleepless nights and under-the-table deals. And the information that mattered the most was still a level above the fabricated station you had given yourself to slip past lines upon lines of code like a snake in the grass.

You want information on Private Samson Row. The name you had figured out belonged to the person who had pulled the trigger on your father. You’d sleuthed out the others’ names as well through a straight week of only coffee and red-eyes. But you'd done it.

Captain John Price, Lieutenant Ghost, Sergeant John ‘Soap’ MacTavish, and Sergeant Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick.

Private Samson Row.

What had given them away to be a government body was the one-word phrase that Price had barked after the shot was only an echo.

“What in the fucking hell are you thinking, Private?!” The leader's voice yowls and grunts as you slowly open your eyelids, lashes fluttering over your cheeks. “We needed him alive, you Muppet!”

From then it was history.

Blatant irritation stems in your veins at the brick wall that now presents itself mere black lines away from a reason as to why this all had happened, fingers flinging across the pad to fly through the fifty-two-page file. Not a single word was visible.

“Son of a…” You strangle the curse under your breath and go to dig your fingernails into the back of your neck until crescents form. Blazing white pain and a shifting of sinuses.

If it wasn’t obvious, the laptop with you now was rarely used for schoolwork. In fact, you never even planned on going to campus today—no one expected you to, so it was better to feign brokenness instead of icy fury.

“Kate Laswell,” scoffing humorlessly, you shake your head at the only portions of the document filled in, “I keep seeing your name on everything. Christ, with the intel that I’ve read up on involving you, I’m surprised your personal file wasn’t more difficult to crack open. Only took me four days. ” You mutter to no one and nothing numbly.

But it seems an answer is given.

The bell atop the front door swings, a small tinkering of tarnished silver metal and a creak of rusted hinges. Feet that stamp lightly, but press firmly. Bleeding contained purpose.

Your body stills; lungs going immobile.

When you were young, you could memorize the sounds of the staff going down the stairs at the mansion. Tell who was who just by the pace and the weight on the creaking wood; it was a game that you were sure you could still play even years later in that practically abandoned estate. The slightest sound made you snap to attention when you were alone.

Just as this one did. But that wasn’t because of paranoia.

“Ah! Hello, Sir, welcome!” Hector calls, motioning with a hand as the air goes tense. “What can I get you today? We’ve got a little Coffee Cake left if you want, I gotta say, man, it’s my best batch yet.”

It was because you knew him. Those feet.

This can’t be right.

A throat clears. “Sorry, Sir. Not today.”

That voice. Your eyes shutter wider, eyelashes frozen at the screen of your laptop.

British. Smooth. It was a voice that played in your subconscious at a constant—never leaving. A flash of amber eyes. Blood slashed your vision, coating the world in a sheen of red; gore dripping down your face faster than water. A funeral shroud of pure hatred.

Gaz. Kyle Garrick.

With a quivering hand, your finger slowly clicks the Escape key like it was an intimate partner, watching the document disappear on quick feet and with ruffled clothes into the scene of your wallpaper. Staring blankly at the multiple incriminating folders that meet you, your ears twitch to the sound of a slow inhalation; tapping digits over a pant pocket.

You don’t dare look up.

A tall shadow begins approaching, and you briefly seize. Humming emanates in the back of your head like a kind of drunken sloshing of senses.

Run.

Your heart mirrors the steps that Gaz takes. Against the nature of the cortisol and rampaging adrenaline in your blood, a flicker of your lips betrays a chilled amusement. A part of you had always known this would happen. It’s strange to say, but even as your legs start shaking, your expression is measured; held-back brows, loose lips, and a fluidness to your shifting eyes.

But your mind…

What’s he doing here? You panic. Why…why is he here? They couldn’t have possibly known I was reading up on them, could they? No, no, I’ve been careful.

You can’t move. Your mind can’t function. Every nerve is sparking with a need to sprint and flee. But yet again, your body leaves you frozen.

One of the double chairs in front of your table is pulled out, and a figure dressed in a white shirt covered by the second layer of a fitted blue athletic top calls your gaze. The build of an intensive workout schedule is shown unabashedly, sleeves pulled up to dark elbows that shift the tense forearm muscles. Brown and tan Army pants cause your eyebrow to raise incredulously before the limbs disappear under the barrier.

The frozen shackles on your limbs break and your lips move before you can shut yourself up. Maybe it was the familiar atmosphere, or maybe it was the therapist’s words from that month-long fiasco of court-mandated therapy way back in the beginning.

The coin in your pocket burns, and you long to clench it in your fist until you’re dripping blood like a stuck pig.

“Not exactly trying to hide it, are you?” You look back down at your laptop, opening the search browser and pretending to look up something unimportant. “I’ll admit it, Gaz, I like this instead of having a gun shoved halfway into my vertebrae. Not too fond of it, you understand?”

Silence holds out. A head turns away for a moment as his body shifts in uncomfortableness.

“I’ll be needing you to come with me, Ma’am.” The accent punches you in the throat, the stern order that coasts along like a fish in water.

What gave him the right?

How does one stay calm when your head is like a pot of boiling water? The bubbles roll in great waves of anger and fear as you try and stay outwardly calm with struggling success. You doubted you were able to look anything besides purely rage-filled, but didn’t dare check by looking into the man’s eyes—or even his face for that matter.

You glared over the screen and dug daggers into his bobbing Adam’s Apple, settling on your answer. Sarcasm.

“And I’ll need you to understand that I’d rather choke on this coffee cake.” Your finger points slightly to the untouched plate with a tremor in its bones. “I don’t want another barrel pointed at my forehead, no offense.”

Gaz’s jaw shifts, clenching before loosening, and in his sensitive ear, the radio sizzles to life with a spark.

“Kyle, I’ve got eyes. Talk to me.” The Brit looks outside through the glass, immediately finding the large figure leaning against the wall of a library across the street.

Gaz’s Captain has his arms crossed, beanie-covered head tilted to seem like he’s watching cars that pass by; a gruff-looking man simply people-watching. Everyone misses the bulge of a pistol stuffed into the small of his back—under a brown leather jacket and a black sweater. Price itches at his brown beard with a frown.

“In position, Sir. Speaking with her now.” The man at the front desk of the Café watches him closely, pretending to clean a spot on the back counter that seems to never go away despite the multiple passes. He wouldn’t be a problem if it came down to that.

“Copy. Keep on schedule.” The Sergeant wasn’t sure why he was here—why out of all the others in his Task Force, Price had decided he needed to be the one to engage with you.

“Roger that.”

This was the last thing he wanted to do.

He didn’t know how to convince you to come with him without replaying the scene from three years ago; it was imperative that he didn’t do that. Though it had been necessary…his thighs shifted over the rickety chair. It wasn’t supposed to end like that. Everyone was paying for it.

Gaz’s brown eyes glance to the table, one hand going to fix the position of his favorite ball cap over his head and press it down.

He felt naked without his gear.

Figures I’d be the only one bloody stripped down to nothing.

“Ma’am,” the Brit starts slowly, watching your ears twitch as you burrow deeper into your large jacket. A flicker of hesitation seeps into his heart. With a frown on his tense lips, he could still see your shoulders bunched up; breathing labored. You were terrified—rightly so. “It would be best to listen to me, yeah? No one’s going to hurt you. This is for your own safety but I need you to come quietly.”

Kyle had put all of his cards to the shock value; the hope that your fear of him would prompt you to come along in a shell-shocked reaction and a hesitance of an imaginary weapon. It worked in a few other missions, he’d even done it a few other times in the army, though it was always a hit or miss.

But staring hard at your thin lips, he noticed anger as well and was forced to face reality. This was never going to work.

Your internal timer ends, and all the primal instincts trapped in your mind let loose a vile scream. The memories are too great; too violent. Even this man’s voice is a brand in your soft tissue.

“Listen to who? An accomplice to murder? And ‘not hurt me’.” You snort, reaching up to grab the top of your laptop and close it with a slam. Hector pauses his fake cleaning as you stare at Gaz’s nose and the barely-there stubble that lives over his upper lip and cheeks. “You’ve done a pretty horrible job of that…The only way you’re getting me to go with you is in a body bag.” Your brow raises. “I’m sure you’re familiar with them, hm? I’d kind of hoped you’d already be in one by now if I’m being honest.”

“Listen,” Kyle prided himself on being patient, but the clock was ticking. Laswell needed you at the designated location and that was where he intended to take you in one piece. The injection needle in his back pocket was looking more and more promising if this continued to be difficult, a mixed concoction that only the CIA could put together to knock a person out for a long while. But why did he feel so hesitant to use it? He’d also been the only one to suggest someone try and speak to you first before forcing you to go along with them.

I guess this is what happens when I try and put in my two damn cents. Stick to procedure next time.

“I don’t think you understand the position you’re in—”

“The position I’m in is entirely you and your little friends’ fault.” You growl, voice breaking and eyes turning to look outside. Snapping when you see his lips part, “Don’t even try to deny it.”

Kyle’s mouth closes with a clench of teeth.

Trapped like an animal you have half a sense to gnaw your own leg off. There was a hunch in your mind as to what was happening—the files you’ve read that weren’t blackout out gave in-depth mission details; play-by-plays. These people worked in teams. Always.

Your eyes dart with frantic knowledge as Gaz sits tense, a subdued annoyance flaring as his hands tap the table and thinks deeply.

You find Captain Price easily and the agony grows. The stocky man shifts in the morning light, the familiar body leading to a slashed remembrance of folded arms and black balaclavas. His stare was like a burning piece of wood shoved directly into your eye sockets.

Alleyway in the back, your feet shuffle, tense. You had to get out of this. Take the corner and run to the busier intersections. Try to keep calm. Breathe.

Easier said than done. Kyle was the same man who had put a gun to your head with the intention of pulling the trigger—your life was nothing more than a bargaining chip. Would he do the same again?

Yes. No one was saying he didn’t have a weapon on him now; the only difference was this time you didn’t know why he was here in the first place. The easiest answer was the documents, but was it that simple? Why send the same people after you?

Not that simple, but it is illegal. The thought of going back to a small room; a rope around your wrists…your hands go to itch at the healed skin, still sensitive despite the years. The Sergeant clocks it with a pulling frown and tight brows.

“Ma’am,” Gaz’s voice snaps your vision back to the table, and you go to take a drink of the remaining cup of espresso to calm your nerves. You send a glance at the heavy backpack beside you and blink. “I didn’t have to come and speak to you, alright? I’m doing this to try to find some standing. This isn’t a ploy, but you have to follow me.”

“Isn’t it?”

“Bloody…no.” Kyle grunts, itching at his neck as his earpiece goes off. He looks sideways.

“Kyle, this isn’t working. Stick ‘er.”

“I can get her to come along,” he mutters harshly, not noticing one of your hands going to place the drink down while the other sneaks to the strap of your bag. “There’s no need to—!”

The force hits him right in the neck, and his head snaps back with a heavy jerk. His chair falls backward from the weight, sending him sprawling in a tangle of limbs and rushing feet over the floor. A heavy crash emanates throughout the building and the wind is knocked from his lungs as brown eyes bug out of the sockets.

“Hector! Call the police!” The front door is slammed open with a violent noise of shaking glass and a bell. Shrieking hinges.

“Bloody fucking hell!” Kyle shouts, shoving the backpack off of him and ignoring the sharp pang in the back of his skull. He recovers quickly. Hot irritation spikes as Price barks into the earpiece; the Sergeant scrambles after you with fast force.

“After her!”

Your feet slam to the concrete as the laptop stays tucked into the crook of your elbow, chest conforming to the press of it as you puff out quick breaths. Inside your ribs, the blood rushes out to your head, creating a pound like a drum.

Shoving aside others on the sidewalk, shouting sounds out from behind you before the dark shadow of an alleyway meets your snapping vision like a blessing from above. Pushing past an older man, you take a sudden turn into the darkness, the morning chill momentarily getting pushed back by the fire under your skin. Wind rushes past your ears.

Faster, you tell yourself, feet flying over stray garbage bags and puddles, don’t let them catch you. They can’t catch you.

Easier said than done. They were trained soldiers. SAS in league with the CIA.

Panting, you clutch your laptop tighter and feel cold sweat drip down your spine before a yell echoes from the entrance behind you.

“Hey!” It was Kyle’s voice, stern, but the sound of another set of feet told you who else was in pursuit. If you were being honest, the Captain scared you far more than the Sergeant did.

Your eyes go unfocused as reality sets in.

“They came back for me,” muttering, you see the brief alleyway end up ahead. “They tracked me down again to finish the job.”

“Bravo 7-1 she’s comin’ to you!” You don’t register the grunted words until you’re already taking the corner on the opposite side of the street, about to disappear into the expanse of a crowded downtown rush.

The wall of muscle sends you sprawling out on your back, the laptop flying from your hands in a wide display of just how fast you’d been running as discomfort ripples up your spine as the ground meets you. The pain that blossoms in your nose is sharp and immediate; a groan exiting into the air as you close your eyes tight to push back the shock and the momentum that had just been immediately halted. Nonsensical words exit you in slurring huffs.

“Steamin’ Jesus,” A Scottish accent hits your pulsing ears, as your shaking hand covers your eyes, teeth bared as a dull ache stems from the back of your head. Rocks poke into your back. “You alright down there? Didnea expect that.”

A hand snaps to the collar of your shirt, hauling you up easily as your bearing has yet to come back to you. The word spins.

“Ow,” your lips release a whine, face turned down as you blink away black dots. Large feet covered by brown combat boots become clear as the running slam of the other two gets closer.

Starling, you snap your head forward and attempt to rush off with barely functioning feet.

“Ah, ah!” The Scot laughs, and a locked fist stays rooted into the textile of your clothes. “Can’t have that, now.”

You look up at a strong man with pale skin—brunette stubble over a sculpted jaw and a scar over the chin. Long lips that curl into a smirk to show off white teeth. If you had to guess, this was John MacTavish. Soap—otherwise called Johnny.

You’ve seen the photos in the files, but you have no rush to look into his bright cerulean gaze anytime soon, but you see wisps of his mohawk sitting on his forehead.

“Get your hands off of me.” You growl, feet straining to stay steady. Your lids blink quickly to gain control as, like a newborn foal, it’s like your body doesn’t know how to control itself. “Bastard.”

Jesus, my head’s yelling at me to sit down. The hell is this guy made out of? Stone?

The Scot only chuckles as Gaz and Price catch up.

“No can do, Little Lady.”

Kyle lets out a deep sigh as he stops, having seen the entire scene play out when you ran head-on into the older man and tries to tell himself to feel bad—he did slightly, but the mirrored pain in the back of his own skull found some sort of redemption.

Girl’s got an arm on her. He rubs at the back of his head.

“I think that makes us even. Wouldn’t you say, Ma’am?” The Sergeant huffs light-heartedly, staring at you without so much as breaking a sweat from the short pursuit. The Captain shakes his head, going to pick up the laptop on the ground as your teeth clench.

“Call Ghost. Get him over here for the Exfil.” Civilians watch, but like they usually do, no one steps in to say anything or to spare more than a glance. “ASAP.”

“Shut up.” You scowl at Gaz’s chest, replying to his comment. Jerking yourself out of Soap’s hold, he lets you stand fully by yourself before he presses large fingers into his earpiece to mutter something out. The Scot still eyes you closely. There was no use trying to run anymore. “It was the least you deserved. Or are we forgetting how we met in the first place—should have dumped coffee over your head too.”

“Now that’s overkill, isn’t it, Love?” He can’t help but snap. Perhaps it was the dull thumping in his skull, or perhaps it was just you. “Manners never a prospect in your home?”

No one tested his patience quite like this and he’s only just re-met you. Your anger was justified, the Sergeant knew deep down, but he’d never expected this. In the brief time, you had insulted him, thrown a bookbag at his head, and then insulted him some more. Maybe the Captain had been right when he suggested all those weeks ago that it would be better to just knock you out right off the bat.

Still could…Kyle twitches his nose, huffing to himself and shaking his head.

You bare your teeth. “Shove that overkill and that stupid nickname up your—”

“Enough. Both of you.” The Captain interjects, growling out as a black van pulls alongside the road. Walking to it, Price shakes his head, fingers pressing into his nose bridge as he enters the passenger seat. “Fuckin’ hell.”

You fall silent and fight back the burning heat in your cheeks as the lack of ability to escape becomes evident to you. What else could you do? Scream? No—they’d just shove you in the car and put a gun to your spine again.

Every option led to you getting into that car. That…that compacted black car with tinted windows and filled with the men you hate the most.

Will Private Row be in there? A pang of horror enters you. Will he…?

Your father’s blood is forever stuck into the fabric of your flesh like a tapestry. Lining the stitching of your pores and the embroidery of your genes.

“Go on, then,” Soap prompts, a hand pressing into your shoulder blades like you were an unruly calf. Your eyes narrow, lips pinching down into a tight frown.

Today was supposed to be easy. Simple. No college, no questions, and certainly no abductions. Your dad was always on your mind—what happened? Why did the Private shoot him when in every report you had read interrogations of that kind took hours upon hours to finish?

If I keep my cool, you reason, feeling all of the eyes on you as you grab the car handle and pull it open with a pop, maybe I can get answers as well. Straight from the source.

Your eyes search the interior and a great weight is lifted. No one else besides the driver and the Captain, who are separated by a wall and a small window in the front, is present. No Private Row.

Thank God.

What would you have done then?

These last three years were a learning period, and when you hop into the vehicle and shuffle to the far right, your hand delves into your jacket pockets; the one connecting with the coin, its metal cold to the touch. Your finger skims it, pressing into the groves until an indent forms in your flesh. But there was one thing you learned in the time you spent destroying yourself to get even a sliver of information on your abductors. They were always playing games.

Games of intellect, of mental fortitude and knowledge. It was a chess piece being moved and hoping yours was in the line of fire so the king could be checked. Your unease is still present, the quivering fingers and the snapping gaze but if you can keep your head on, then maybe—

The car door on your side opens.

“Excuse me, Ma’am. Can’t have you by the door,” Gaz mutters, and your lips release a stifled scoff. But you do as you’re told, watching from the corner of your eyes as the tall body scoots inside, easily situating itself in between you and the door they were apparently afraid you’d throw yourself out of.

They’re going to lock it anyways—what's the point? You could call them paranoid, but that would just be hypocritical. When the last sliver of outside light is cut off as the door closes, you flinch at the loud noise and take a steadying deep breath. Soap sits on your opposite.

You’re completely stuck in the middle.

Kyle watches as Ghost sends a glance back. The Sergeant nods stiffly and the car peels out. Johnny leans back, arms crossed, and watches the world as it passes by while those brown orbs stay locked on you. The subtle shaking of your shoulders; the way your eyes bug and the pupils stay small.

Sweat stays on your eyebrow ridge, and Gaz thinks about how close you’ll become to a snowball if you pull in even farther. The man clears his throat in dismissal and a small sliver of regret. After all, you are a mostly innocent party in this.

He’s about to open his mouth and ask if your head is okay when a deep chuckle sounds off from the front of the car.

“Well, you’ve been busy. Laswell was right.” Your ears perk, mind forcing back thoughts of the walls closing in around you as Price’s gravel voice sounds out. The car smells like gunpowder and leather. “How’d you manage this, then?” You blink at the interior window and say nothing.

You’d seen the bear of a man take the computer; had no doubt he could find a way into it, though you had never thought it would happen that fast.

Your lips thinned.

Kyle and Soap exchange glances, curiosity sparking as Ghost drives them to where Laswell told them to meet with the package.

“That’s none of your business.” The comment exits you in a string of whispers, defensiveness sparking.

“Well, it’s my business when my name’s on it, eh? How long did this take to pile together?” Your mouth stays shut as the Captain’s visage looks back at you from the rearview mirror with narrowed lids.

“Sir?” Gaz asks, confused.

“She’s got files on us—on all of us. Kate too. More than she thought.” The Sergeant looks down at you in surprise, eyes going slightly wider.

“What in the hell does that mean?” Soap questions, hands gesturing out from his cross-body hold as you sink even deeper into yourself. Bitter tears bite at the back of your vision.

“It means someone’s been digging where they weren’t supposed to.” It’s the first time that Ghost has spoken, but it was all that was needed. Your body shivers at the Manchester accent; the numb brutality of it.

But you say nothing, and the ride is silent besides the way all of the hard stares nearly spoke words out loud.

Everything just felt like a blur of sound and color. Separate; removed. If you tried hard enough, you were back in the Café with Hector—eating that coffee cake you never even got a bite out of and chugging down espresso that you were already craving again.

Your finger digs deeper into the coin in your pocket.

The cops would show up. There was no doubt that the past New Jersey resident hadn’t called them when you told him to. But there was also no doubt that the CIA would step in and take jurisdiction. It was what they did when your father was murdered—they’d spun a story as you sat in a room that belonged to a detective and sobbed in an inconsolable state. Reporters and news crews outside.

Nothing we can do, you were told, it was a robbery. Out of our hands, but we’ll try our best to find the culprit.

You already knew the culprit. The man in the corner. His name was Samson Row and he had been nervous. He had a trigger finger.

Your eyes harden as they glare at the floor and your jumping feet. For your father, you would get as much information as you could, and then leak it if you had to—if these people let you live. But before that, you wanted to know why. Why had he died? You’d do nothing until that was answered.

Swallowing down saliva, you speak as the car turns off the main road, heading farther and farther away from the parts of town you knew. Your lungs go stiff.

“So where’s Row?” The air shifts as your hoarse voice coldly utters, “What? Is he not part of your little group now? Figured he’d be here to finish off the rest of it, he only did half a job last time.”

Kyle looks to the side, an elbow resting on the window sill. Soap clears his throat awkwardly as his great body shifts.

“Hm,” Price grunts out. But if you were looking for an answer, no one gives you one.

Hatred flairs. What gave these men the right to think they could just push you aside like that? They put a gun to your head! Killed your father!

The rabid sense of justice and entitlement grow until your jaw is clenching, unease mixing with agony. You deserve answers even if it kills you.

Your mouth opens, and your instinctually watering eyes stay stuck to the floor.

“I–”

“Laswell’ll explain,” Gaz’s quiet voice leaves you tense, muscles wound up as if you had forgotten he was there. A barrel flashes over your sight and you want to shift away but know you can’t.

Kate Laswell. So that’s who you’re going to meet.

“...Good,” you lick your lips.

About time.

It’s only ten minutes later that you’re let out of the vehicle, an underground parking garage and its dim lighting making your pupils widen to accommodate the darkness. Gaz gets out first, keeping the door open for you by the frame and you pause before following after, keeping a wary eye on him.

“Head alright?” You frown and stare at the Brit’s nose.

“Hope yours hurts even more.”

“This way.” You follow after the Captain’s voice, leaving the Sergeant behind to gape, blink, and slowly shut the car door. Ghost slips past with a hidden amusement and the group continues on.

This is going to be one hell of a mission.

To you, it was clear that this was a military base.

The entrance needed a keycard, and the vehicles stored underground were armored besides the one that you’d been brought in. The hallways were lined with tile and the staff that walked past were all dressed in clothes ranging from fatigues to full-on issued uniforms. People would try to meet your eyes, but you always looked away before they were able.

“In here.” Price utters, sliding an identification card through a reader before a faint clicking emanates out. The brunette tilts his head firmly as he opens the door.

You blink, but unlike the strange and heated interactions with Gaz, you hesitate to get on the Captain’s bad side. The chilled eyes digging into you as you state at his scarred hands… Your body shivers and you slip past the men into a brightly lit room.

Even without a weapon pointed at you, their eyes still felt like knives. Their words like bullets. Everything reminds you of three years ago, and try as you might, all you want to do is go to bed and forget about this.

Still the adrenaline hadn’t crashed, and when it did you knew you were going to be out of school for a week. Shaking. Sobbing. Rolling on the floor refusing to eat because what if they were right outside the door of your bedroom?

As you expected, the door closes behind you with a lock being set in place. But what you didn’t expect was to not be alone in this medium-sized room holding only a table and…

Your gaze widens on the figure in one of two chairs. Slim, yet fit, her pale skin sits under a simple white blouse and a lanyard over her neck. Hands intertwined and sitting over a stack of physical files in manila folders as a wedding band glints.

Dirty-blonde hair forms strands of bangs with the rest held back like a hostage near the top of her back, wrinkles in her forehead and around her lips. Without thinking clearly, your eyes make contact with hers, and you’re left violently flinching away, blinking rapidly and tilting your head down to force away amber and gold. Your heart seizes, but you recognize that shade of blue you’d just seen.

Gunmetal. So, this was Kate Laswell in the flesh.

A soft sigh meets the air.

“Please, sit.”

Biting your lip wearily, you start forward, hand connecting with the extra seat before you slowly pull it out. Your fingers tap the material before you hesitantly lower yourself into it, eyes going to any possible exit beyond the door behind you.

There was none.

“I’d like to apologize for the stress, but you can imagine that we wanted to cause the least amount of panic possible. To both you and the public.” Your vision sits on her lanyard, watching the picture jump as she moves to sit farther upright. “Kyle was the one to suggest speaking to you first, though I didn’t think it would work.”

You slouch.

“It didn’t.”

Kate blinks at your frame, studying the ragged look and evident sleeplessness. She would almost call it sickly. A frown grows over her serious face.

“Do you know why you’re here?”

“Where’s Row?” To hell with subtlety, you decided.

“It’s not as simple as that.” The woman doesn’t miss a beat, shaking her head back and forth slowly. “I’ll need you to listen to what I’m about to tell you.”

“...And why should I do that?” Your brow raises, voice gaining ice. “You’re responsible for my father’s death. You know that? You had oversight for that Operation.” Laswell stares at you, you can feel it. “Hell, you had oversight for a lot of Operations. What was the number… forty-five and counting? But that’s really just a blanket number, isn’t it?”

You can’t help the comments, they fall from you quicker than blood, and the back of your head burns something awful. Lights dance.

“John told me you had government documents on your laptop. A number on all of the members of One-Four-One.” Kate sighs quickly, motioning to you with a hand. “I have to admit, I did expect something like that to happen—so I made sure to let them know that you most likely already knew they were SAS.” A pause. Your hand goes to itch at your nose, peeling back skin as a way to ground yourself. But you’d be lying by saying you weren’t intrigued and a bit in awe. You’d underestimated how much Laswell actually knew about you. Who was to say they hadn’t been keeping an eye on you this whole time? Who are you kidding, of course they did. You curse yourself internally. “But unfortunately, that’s not why we’re here.”

Your fidgeting halts; eyes narrow. The Agent moves back, taking up a file and spreading it open, you watch with rapt attention.

If not the stolen documents, then what?

“Do,” pictures meet light, and your interest peeks, “these individuals seem familiar?”

One was of a man in a nice suit, expensive looking with a well-trimmed beard of blonde hair and a bald head. Tattoos are inked into visibly pale skin. The photo was taken as he was getting out of a large vehicle, armed guards holding a door open though it looked like he himself wasn’t in need of the entourage.

He was built like a boar on steroids.

Your hand grabs the page and brings it closer, face pulling close in concentration as your hands go clammy. You had no recollection of this stranger.

So what is this about?

The next was of a woman with a darker skin tone, perhaps from South Asia, though you couldn’t be certain. She was dressed nicely as well, in silk skirts and a long-sleeved shirt that wraps around her smaller body. The look is finished off with a thin garment over her shoulders.

She’s picking out spices at an outdoor market, the image partially covered by the lip of a jacket as if someone had been trying to be discreet.

But the guns of the armed guards are still seen as they flank the woman.

You look up, placing the photos down and shaking your head. Pulled in eyebrows causing your gaze to stop at Kate’s nose. “No, why?”

“Because they’ve put a price on your head.” Your body freezes and it takes a moment to register what she just told you.

Eyes wide and lips slightly parted; the ache in the back of your skull burns brighter as you find your breath has stopped. Sucking down a gasp, you bring a hand out of your pocket to scratch at your neck, mind running.

“What…what?” Laswell takes the pictures back, continuing nonchalantly as if your heart isn’t about to explode. You feel faint, and the lights buzz in your ears.

A price on my head?

“Crime syndicates with terrorist connections.” She begins, and you can’t help but listen. “Since your father’s death, they’ve been waiting for you to take up the mantle. Your families held tight bonds in the past—the museum your father was running was a cover to smuggle Yaromir Osipov’s weapons,” Kate points to the man, then to the woman, “and Mala Kham’s drugs. They were later sold at an undisclosed location and a portion of the profits was sent back to fund conflicts. Hired assassinations. Symbolic murders...”

The rest is left as an open statement.

“I…” You stutter, panic palpable. The air was getting thicker; harder to breathe. You can’t remember a time when your own clothes had felt so suffocating to wear.

It wasn’t a question to you as to why you’d restrained yourself from looking anything about your father up in the CIA databases. It was a fresh wound and an incredibly bloody one. The man that raised you wasn’t that man—the one that would smuggle drugs and weapons into Chicago and sell them off somewhere else.

The man you remembered was respectable and above all, kind. Indirectly causing the deaths of people? No, that wasn’t him. Your mind broke at even the barest insinuation. It… it refused to even consider it.

Kate Laswell watches blankly, humming under her breath and nodding to herself. As if she’d just confirmed something that she’d been on the fence about.

She continues.

“When three years passed and you never got into contact, your mother either, their product wasn’t getting sold at high rates anymore. Chicago is a vastly important playing field. The best way to get another house in power is to take out any remaining opposition and reinstate someone else.”

“My mother and I,” you murmur with a hysterical look that snaps into your eye. A sharp rigidness enters vertebrae, hands hastily slam the table in a grand display along with a crashing chair behind you as your feet push you upwards. “She’s in Ireland,” your mother was a traveling nurse, going abroad more often than not and away constantly. You hadn’t talked much after the first year of your father's passing. She left you to your grief and took hers with her. “D–do you have her in custody already or…or—She should be with someone! Is she still just—?”

“She’s in a secure location.” Kate interrupts, her hands raising. She’s calm; incredibly so, and you feel that serenity of her voice leaks into you, your shoulders lessen from their raised-hair stance. “And an Agent I trust is with her. She’ll be back in Chicago soon.”

“Jesus…” A hand spreads over your face, digits on the table clenching. While your mother and you didn't talk often, there was no part of you that wanted her dead. Not a single piece.

A sheen of embarrassment floods your blood at the scene you’d just made, but that doesn’t stop the confusion.

“But, wait,” your hand lowers, and you frown at the lanyard, “why would you care?” Kate places the photos back into the folder and closes it. “And why would you murder my father if you felt like this would happen?”

Where’s Samson Row?

“Our intention was never to have a casualty involved with our investigation.” Laswell sends you a glance with her emotionless eyes. “Nonetheless with a witness. It was an unfortunate accident.”

Your face blanks.

Unfortunate accident.

“Then why did your Private,” your mouth spits, hostility immediately pushing past formality, “shoot?”

No hesitation.

“We don’t know.” The laugh that rockets from you is cruel; violent and full of malice.

“What?!” You point at her, leaning forward over the table as your common sense vanishes. “You're the CIA and you can’t even control who you employ?! You murdered an innocent man!”

Kate looks at you with nothing, blinking slowly as you glare at her forehead. Did she not even care? The Agent says your name seriously.

“Your father was many things, but I can assure you, innocent was never one of them.”

“You expect me to just believe you?” You nod sarcastically multiple times, your loud voice no doubt flying under the opening of the door. “Just to, what? Accept that your Private shot him in the head right next to me for nothing? That’s hilarious if you think I’m that dumb.”

“What Samson Row did was against orders. No one here gave him the green light and thus I can’t say why he pulled the trigger. You’re going to have to accept that we don’t have the answers you’re looking for.”

Angry tears are splattering the table, a rampant betrayal. It was getting incredibly hard to not start swearing at this woman, but your father raised you better.

“I don’t believe you.”

“I have no doubt about that,” Laswell speaks lowly, “but I’m not lying to you. If your father kept all of this hidden…then there’s no thought as to if he cared about you,” a delicate silence as your jaw clenches, both hands clenched over the table as your head bows down, salty water bouncing off the flesh. “You should remember that.”

Your mouth opens, but you close it just as quickly. What could you say to that?

“You…don’t know…” Whispering can’t hide the enraged tremor of your tone. “Why?” The hopelessness.

Kate gives you a minute, and when your tears come to a slow stop, she opens her mouth.

“I’ll be providing you a protection detail until the cells overseas can be disposed of. You and your mother will be well taken care of in the safety of your own home.” She continues, “If you can do something for me in return in the meantime.”

A harsh laugh exits and bounces off the walls.

“Why am I not surprised?” Laswell ignores you.

“Your father had sensitive information that searches of his shipping lot and museum office didn’t offer any leads on. While you’re spending more time at your home, I want you to look for them. Anything that involves other dealers or a location to a hub.” You roll your eyes, smirk growing on bitter pieces of flesh.

“Why don’t you do it yourself?” You ask the Agent with a splay of your hand, foot tapping the ground in a rhythmic beat as you stare hard into the wall above her hair. Swiping at your cheeks until they’re raw. “I know you’re not above breaking into houses.”

“After the event three years ago, my superiors are,” a small noise in the back of her throat as she pushes herself up from the table, “less than pleased with how One-Four-One and I are handling this situation. It would look better on paper if you cooperated.”

“Is Samson dead?” Shoving your hands into your pockets, you lean back on your heels, tilting your head as you look at Kate’s collarbone. You can see her take a breath; lungs inflating like plastic sacks.

“Yes.” It’s like a punch to the gut—you have to stop yourself from staggering backward. Your next words are strained as your hands clench. But the woman just watches, intrigue laced in her studious eyes; half-narrowed with a dipped chin.

“How.”

“Do you have any other questions for me?” It was apparent that your inquiries would get you nowhere, at least the ones that mattered to you.

You nod stiffly, cutting your losses. You’d just look into it yourself. “Who’s going to be at my house?”

“Kyle.”

You’ve got to be kidding me.

“And why him?” Your voice growls, and you have a sudden need to pace around the room as your ears twitch to Laswell’s sighing and the shifting of her papers.

“Sergeant Garrick is trained in VIP protection. I’m sure you’ve read all about that.” Slyness enters her tone.

Of course you had.

Every file on your laptop was a mix of both professional and personal documents—all unimaginably delicate information if it were to get out into the public. For the Task Force itself, as well as their families. It would mean even more death and slaughter.

A nail in a coffin. Blackmail.

“I know that.” You grunt, taking a hung skin by your fingernail in between your teeth and biting down until you rip out portions of your flesh with a dull burn. “That’s not what I’m asking you—he’s the man who put a gun to my head.”

The insinuation is bare to the world.

“And now he’ll be the one using it to point at others.” The Agent slips past you, and your nose picks up the scent of linen and cigarette smoke.

This is the point that you should stop talking. Cut off loose ends and think of a way out of this. But you’d gotten cruel; cold-hearted with little regard for others feelings. What you wanted was the upper hand. You needed it. Some semblance of control in a situation that was so far out of it that the concept itself should be in space. Control was how you’d survived. You recall a flash of a file with Kate Laswell’s name attached and you’re speaking before the connotation fully registers.

“I wonder if your wife knows what you do. How many families have you ruined?” The woman pauses behind you, a hand on the door. Her legs shift. “Do you tell her? Or do you keep her conscious clean as you spread the blood on your hands over to her?”

Scream at me, you plead, eyes small. Yell. Rage. Please, just do something predictable. Let me win something.

Kate looks over her shoulder at you, but your vision stays anchored ahead; back turned away from the door entirely. Eyes blinking; lungs jumping like frogs to find oxygen as if to suck down flies.

“I should thank you.” The words echo. “You’re giving my department leeway to move on Osipov and Kham now that a US citizen is in direct crossfire…” The woman turns back to the door. “I’ll be expecting Garrick to send updates every two days. Try not to kill him.” She walks out the door on steady feet and it stays unlocked behind her when the metal eventually closes with the semblance of a period in a sentence. The almost inhuman silence left in its wake makes your ears ring with noise in the absence of all else.

Alone, mere seconds later, your hand quickly snaps to your mouth to muffle a wail, eyes kept firmly shut in grief as your knees shake. You only barely stop yourself from hitting the floor as the panic finally registers; halfway folded over the table.

A ways off in the hallway, none the wiser, Gaz leans against the wall—arms crossed and head resting behind him. It’s only at the sight of Laswell that the calm man perks to attention like an eager soldier.

Since he knew his charge already, Kyle had stayed behind while all the others of the Task Force had left with various degrees of goodbyes and well-wishes. Pats on his shoulders as he chuckled and made them swear to not have too much fun without him.

About to open his mouth and ask the fast-paced woman how it went, he’s interrupted by Kate’s blue eyes blazing as she glances at him.

“Good luck, Sergeant.” Her still voice is grim. “You’ll need it.” The female Agent walks on without another word, leaving the Brit wide-eyed and staring after.

“...Brilliant.” He fixes his cap and sighs before the sound of his cracking knuckles echoes through the hall. “Just bloody brilliant.”

TAGS:

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missterious-figure · 7 months ago

Note

(This is basically my brain right now cause of the deep dive I got from this Wine Au and coming up with headcanons and just thinking about other bird behavior.)

So imagine this if you will: birds at that casino getting into a fight- and I’m not talking about flashing the ass that Sun and Moon do - I’m talking like full on FIGHTING like they kicking/scratching at each other and feathers are flying everywhere, and people are panicking. With that size and strength (since I imagine them being quite strong since you know…Harpys), getting between these birds to break up a fight is a DEATH WISH - people have gotten hurt really bad and or killed when they tried to stop it - They have sharp, long talons that can cut several inches deep. Their legs? If you get kicked, whether it be in the ribs, legs, or arms, that bone will be broken… if they were human. If they were harpy? Deep bruises most likely. It is dangerous for humans to stop the fighting and the only way the fight stop is unless 1.) the opponent dies and/or gives up, 2.) an even BIGGER bird stops it, or 3.) with drugs.

Although this was catered to bigger birds in mind- like ostriches or peacocks. If they were of the smaller side of birds like finches, I imagine the fight would just look like 2 puff balls yelling each other.

Sorry if everything is messy and grammar sucks/or there is mis spellings… it’s hard putting words together when it’s in writing because my thoughts are jumbled up and going a mile a minute, making it hard to grab onto the right words so others know what I mean.

So you are pretty spot on, actually!

Most harpies have their talons regularly trimmed, but a kick or punch could still do a lot of damage. Don't forget, they have powerful bites too.

Eclipse is one of the Birds of Paradise's largest harpies. (the peacock boys are all way bigger than they are supposed to be. The casino has other peacock harpies, and none are as big. Most are like, 5-6 ft tall.) He helps put a stop to most fights. If he's not available, the staff has to stop the fight with another large harpy or darts.

And small harpies can be stopped with a little bit of air jail time

(Also Don't worry about it!! The writing seems fine to me. I totally understand the nervousness though.)

#dca au #wine and feathers au #answered

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alfpage85 · 2 months ago

Text

You're The Sugar In My Cookies: a Hello Neighbor Fanfic

By Roy Page

**Raven Brooks Middle School**

Nicky Roth was walking down the hallway, casually flipping through the pages of his science textbook. The upcoming test had been on his mind all morning, and he wasn't paying attention to much else. Maritza and Enzo were walking a few feet behind, deep in conversation about something trivial.

Finch, however, wasn't focused on her friends or the upcoming test. She was focused on one person—**Nicky**. Over the past few months, Finch had noticed something about herself that she couldn't quite explain. At first, it had started with little things: watching Nicky during class, finding herself laughing at his jokes even when no one else did, and feeling oddly flustered whenever he was near.

Finch's Mind: Why is this happening? she wondered, clutching her notebook tighter. He's just...Nicky. Weird, quiet Nicky. Why do I keep staring at him like some idiot?

Finch's heart raced as she continued to watch Nicky, who was now leaning against his locker, talking to Maritza about their plans for the afternoon.

Maritza: "So, Nicky, what's the plan today? More spying on Peterson?"

Nicky: "Yeah, I think so. He's been acting weird lately."

Maritza: "When isn't he?"

Finch hesitated before approaching them, trying to play it cool. As she neared, she felt her palms grow sweaty. She wanted to talk to Nicky, but she didn't want Maritza around. Not because she didn't like her, but because Finch felt like Maritza always had Nicky's attention.

Finch: "Hey... Nicky."

Nicky turned his head and gave her a small smile, his usual, easygoing expression in place.

Nicky: "Oh, hey, Finch. What's up?"

Finch's heart skipped a beat. She opened her mouth to respond, but her mind went blank. She quickly forced out the first thing that came to her mind.

Finch: "Uh, nothing, just...wanted to ask if you got the notes from last class."

Nicky: "Yeah, I've got them. Do you need them?"

Finch: "Yeah...yeah, that'd be great."

As Nicky reached into his backpack to retrieve his notes, Finch felt her face grow warm. She quickly glanced at Maritza, who raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Maritza was the type who noticed things, and Finch didn't want her catching on.

Nicky handed the notes to Finch, his fingers brushing hers ever so slightly. Finch felt like electricity had shot through her hand, and she instinctively pulled away, her face turning even redder.

Nicky: "You alright?"

Finch: "Y-yeah, I'm fine. Thanks, Nicky."

Maritza: "You look a little flushed, Finch. Are you feeling okay?"

Finch: "I'm fine, I swear!"

She quickly turned on her heel and walked away before she could embarrass herself any further. As she hurried down the hallway, her mind raced with the same thought that had been haunting her for weeks.

Finch's Mind: I like him. I actually like him.

Later that day, Finch found herself in the **school courtyard**

during lunch, nervously biting into her sandwich while stealing glances at Nicky, who was sitting with Maritza, Enzo, and Ivan. Every time she looked at him, her heart raced, and she felt a sinking feeling in her chest. What if Maritza liked him too? She and Nicky were always together, and Finch couldn't deny they had chemistry. But Finch couldn't help herself.

Ivan: "You've been acting weird lately. What's up?"

Finch: "Nothing. I'm just...thinking about the test."

Ivan smirked, not buying the excuse for a second.

Ivan: "Yeah, right. You've been staring at Nicky like he's the last cookie in the jar. Come on, Finch, just admit it—you like him, don't you?"

Finch's face turned bright red.

Finch: "Shut up! Keep your voice down!"

Ivan: "I knew it! You totally like him!"

Finch: "Okay, fine! Maybe I do. So what?"

Ivan: "No wonder you have lots of pictures of him explain this." Ivan took out a few pictures of nicy that finch secretly took.

Finch: "HEY where did you got them." She snatch them from ivans hand. "Wait a mintue what did you do to the other." She pulled ivan grabbing his cloth.

Ivan: "Umm delroy took them."

Finch: "AND?"

Ivan: "And he hand them to nicky."

Finch's Mind: Oh no... Nicky has those pictures? Panic surged through Finch as she tightened her grip on Ivan's shirt, her mind racing. This can't be happening!

Finch: "You let Delroy give Nicky the pictures? Are you kidding me, Ivan?"

Ivan tried to squirm out of Finch's grasp, his eyes wide with regret.

Ivan: "Hey, calm down! I didn't think it was a big deal. Delroy thought it was some kind of prank—"

Finch: "A prank?!" she nearly screamed, her heart thudding wildly in her chest. What if Nicky thinks I'm some kind of weirdo stalker? She released Ivan, burying her face in her hands as embarrassment flooded over her.

Ivan: "Hey, maybe Nicky hasn't even looked at them yet. You can still fix this!"

Finch groaned, knowing she had no choice now. She had to confront Nicky before things got any worse. Taking a deep breath, she stood up, determined.

Finch: "I'll talk to him. But if he thinks I'm weird after this, Ivan, I swear you're going down."

Finch's nerves were at an all-time high as she made her way to the library after lunch. She knew Nicky often hung out there, either studying or drawing in his sketchbook. She took a deep breath before walking in.

There he was, sitting at a table near the window, scribbling in his notebook. Finch swallowed hard and forced herself to walk up to him.

Nicky looked up as she approached, offering a smile that immediately made her heart do a somersault.

Nicky: "Hey, Finch. What's up?"

Finch stood there, her words caught in her throat. This was it—the moment she had to confront him about the pictures. She shifted on her feet nervously.

Finch: "Nicky, I... um... I need to talk to you about something. Did Delroy... uh, give you anything today?"

Nicky's expression shifted slightly as he furrowed his brow.

Nicky: "Oh, those pictures?" He reached into his backpack and pulled out the small stack of photos.

Finch's face went beet red as Nicky set them on the table between them. Her mind raced for an excuse, but nothing seemed good enough.

Nicky: "I didn't really get it. These are photos of me, theres one when i fall asleep in my desk, theres one when i was just alone near a tree." He looks at finch with a small smile, he stond up and grabs the photoes with one hand finch backs and hits a wall her face turning red.

Nicky: "I know you took these right?" He said with a smirk face.

Finch's heart pounded in her chest as Nicky leaned closer, still holding the pictures in his hand. Her back was pressed against the wall, and her face burned with embarrassment. She opened her mouth to respond, but the words stuck in her throat.

Finch's Mind: He knows! What do I say?

Finch: "I... I... yeah, I took them..." She could barely look him in the eyes. "But it's not what you think!"

Nicky chuckled softly, his smirk never fading. He looked back at the pictures, flipping through them casually.

Nicky: "So, why'd you take them?" His tone was teasing, but there was a softness to it, as if he wasn't upset—just curious.

Finch squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, gathering her courage. I can't believe I'm actually doing this, she thought.

Finch: "I don't know, okay? I just... I couldn't help it! I was always looking at you, and I guess it just sort of happened." She finally looked up at him, her voice dropping. "It was dumb, I know. You probably think I'm some kind of creep now."

Nicky blinked in surprise. The teasing smirk faded from his face, replaced with something more thoughtful. He wasn't laughing anymore, and Finch's heart pounded even louder in her ears.

Nicky: "No, I don't think you're a creep, Finch." His voice was soft, gentle even. "Honestly, I think it's kind of... sweet?"

Finch's eyes widened in shock. Sweet? Did he really just say that?

Finch: "Wait, what?"

Nicky rubbed the back of his neck, looking a little embarrassed himself for the first time.

Nicky: "Look, I get it. It's kind of awkward, but... I'm not mad, Finch. I just didn't expect you'd be... interested in me like that."

Finch's Mind: He knows. He totally knows.

She felt her stomach flip at his words. Was this actually happening? Finch didn't know whether to feel relieved or even more embarrassed.

Finch: "I... well, yeah. I like you, Nicky," she admitted quietly, feeling like she was about to faint. "I've liked you for a while now."

Nicky was silent for a moment, studying her face, and Finch braced herself for the rejection she was sure was coming.

But then, to her absolute shock, Nicky smiled—a real, genuine smile.

Nicky: "I kinda like you too, Finch."

Finch's breath caught in her throat.

Finch: "You... you do?"

Nicky nodded, his cheeks faintly red now.

Nicky: "Yeah, I do. I didn't really know how to say anything, but... I guess this makes things a little easier, huh?"

For the first time that day, Finch felt like she could finally breathe. She couldn't believe it. Nicky actually liked her back!

Finch: "So... what now?"

Nicky grinned, looking a little more like his usual, laid-back self.

Nicky: "How about we hang out after school? Just you and me?"

Finch's heart soared, and she couldn't help but smile back.

Finch: "Yeah, I'd like that."

As they walked out of the library together, Finch couldn't stop the warm, fluttery feeling in her chest. Maybe things weren't so bad after all.

As the sun began to set, casting a warm glow over Raven Brooks Middle School, Finch found herself walking side by side with Nicky, a stash of freshly baked cookies nestled in her backpack. She had baked them that morning, hoping to impress him with something sweet, and now, she couldn't help but feel giddy as they made their way toward his house.

Nicky: "So, you actually made these yourself?" he asked, glancing over at her with genuine curiosity.

Finch: "Yeah, I thought you might like them. It's my secret recipe." She smiled, feeling proud of her little culinary creation.

Nicky laughed softly, his warm gaze making her heart flutter. "I can't wait to try them. You know, I didn't expect you to be such a great baker."

Finch blushed, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Well, I try. Baking is kind of my thing."

They arrived at Nicky's doorstep, and Finch dug through her bag, pulling out a cookie she had saved just for him.

Finch: "Here, try this one!"

Nicky accepted the cookie, his fingers brushing against hers once more, sending a spark of electricity up her arm. He took a bite, his eyes widening in surprise.

Nicky: "Wow, that's not bad! It tastes amazing!" He paused, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "You're also amazing."

Finch's heart raced at his compliment, and she felt a blush creeping up her cheeks. Nicky waved goodbye, heading inside while Finch turned to walk home, her mind racing with excitement.

As she walked past a nearby bush, she suddenly spotted a perfect hiding spot. She crouched down, feeling a mix of joy and embarrassment. Her heart raced as she recalled Nicky's words—"You're also amazing."

With her camera in hand, she snapped a quick picture of him through the window.

Finch's Mind: What's wrong with me? She chuckled softly to herself, feeling both giddy and shy.

Finch: "He likes cookies... and he likes me." She grinned to herself, unable to shake the warmth blossoming in her chest.

As the picture slid out of the camera, Finch gazed at the image of Nicky, a small smile spreading across her face. She hugged the photo tightly to her chest, as if she were really embracing him.

Finch: "I wish I could keep you with me all the time."

With that, she carefully tucked the picture away in her backpack and began her walk.

#hello neighbor #wtrb #nicky roth #finch #finch x nicky #nicky x finch #my fanfics

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