#i too would steal a police officers gun

[betterbooktitles]

"I’m certain I’m not the only millennial who feels we as a nation have taken a dizzying turn when it comes to drugs. I remember a uniformed police officer showing up once a week in 5th Grade (a year before Sex Ed) to explain how to avoid buying and taking drugs. Luckily, I already knew the dangers of the drug trade because I had seen The Usual Suspects. I knew cocaine was a bad thing to buy, sell, or steal, especially from a drug kingpin. The D.A.R.E. program, however, let me know how important it was to say no to anything fun, including alcohol. At least until I understood a little algebra first. We did role-playing exercises where we walked one by one toward the portly police officer and he casually asked if we wanted to hit a mimed joint with him. All we had to do was say “no” and walk to the other side of the room, defying the only rule I knew about improv. We wrote essays about how important it was to preserve our pristine bodies and minds, obviously unsullied since we had yet to take the class teaching us how puberty was going to defile them both. I’m still mad that my friend Nicole’s essay beat mine in a contest, and she got to read hers in front of the whole school all because she had the benefit of an older brother who took too much acid and sat in her room all night talking about why the existence of light proved God was real. My essay about a time I saw my friend’s dad drink a beer and then drive his truck somewhere was also good! We signed pledges to enter the new millennium drug-free. We took the red pencils that said “Friends Don’t Let Friends Do Drugs” and sharpened all of them down to say “Let Friends Do Drugs,” “Friends Do Drugs,” “Do Drugs,” and simply “Drugs.” Despite that little rebellious act, my friends and I spent a solid six months swearing we’d never put any harmful substance into our bodies besides every form of candy available.

Imagine how I feel now as a D.A.R.E. graduate becoming my dad’s drug dealer. It’s less thrilling than I thought it would be. Between my father’s warning not to hang around one specific neighborhood in Cleveland as a kid and nearly every TV show about drugs, I thought I’d always be buying marijuana from an intimidating dude who definitely had a gun and would use it immediately if he thought I was wearing a wire. Instead, I now buy marijuana from a well-lit storefront that looks like the Apple Store. I’ve even gone to a place where a guy with an iPad explained what each available strain would do to me. I buy what sounds good with all the confidence of a man pointing at items on a menu written in a language he can’t read. I put it all in a cardboard box. I place a book on top. I mail the box to my dad from my local post office. I tell myself the book is to hide the contraband crossing state lines, but in truth, the book is what clears my conscience. I want to send my dad something edifying while also sending him the drug that all of America worried would make me unable to read if I tried it once. The unrequested book is a red herring to distract from the vice, like when you were young and didn’t want to buy condoms outright at the store so you cushioned them between a pack of peanut M&Ms and a magazine. Hmm, what else did I need, — right, while I’m here — might as well pick up a few condoms.

Right as marijuana becomes legal in most states, I’m about done with the drug. I’ve had three good times on edibles, and one of them was when I felt nothing and fell asleep at 9:30 PM. I’m flabbergasted that my dad likes edibles. He seems to be a man free of anxiety. Case in point, I once brought him some THC lozenges to our summer holiday in Chautauqua, and around dinner time I told him “You might want to only take half of what I gave you” to which he replied, “I took it hours ago.” He was stoned and no one noticed.

While I’m stuck in my head, stoned or sober, wondering why I didn’t take some acting gig 15 years ago, wondering if I’ll ever make enough money, worrying I’m doing everything wrong including in this moment as I write this sentence, my dad is enjoying himself.

Judith Grisel, the author of Never Enough: The Neuroscience And Experience of Addiction, describes using marijuana as throwing “a bucket of red paint” on your brain. She was approaching the stimulant clinically in terms of how it differed from the laser focus of other drugs (THC reacts with many receptors in the brain, cocaine focuses on one), but now every time I smoke, I think of the red paint metaphor. While other people seem able to crank an entire joint and do insanely complicated stuff like function at their jobs, I am reduced to a gelatinous blob, on top of which my eyes and brain are navigating a dream state that, like many dreams, isn’t all that interesting the next day. Mostly, I get high and can’t decide what I want to watch on TV or what video game I want to play, I realize how hungry I am, and then I fall asleep with cereal still stuck to my teeth. Pot, for me, is like the squid ink hitting the screen in Mario Kart: I can still see where I’m going, but everything gets a little harder to do, and the panicked half-blindness makes everything slightly more chaotically fun."

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[hayleythesugarbowl]

hey girlyyyyy could you maybe write for Tim Bradford from the rookie and like the reader is his rookie and while they’re on patrol they run into someone who knows the reader’s abusive ex bf and he makes threats against reader and after their shift reader is super scared so he escorts them home and stays with them idk just an idea 😅

Nightlight || Tim Bradford x reader

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ masterlist • john nolan fic  ⋆˚｡⋆୨୧⋆

summary: when you encounter a man while on patrol who has a threatening message from your ex, your TO, Tim, offers to spend the night with you

word count: 10.4k

warnings: abusive past relationship, reader kind of has a panic attack, mild language, blood, guns, inaccurate police stuff

a/n: ahhh i had so much fun writing this, love!! i took your idea and also added some stuff so i hope you like what i did. i also apologize for the length, i kinda went wild. i imagine this to take place in s1. fem!reader. enjoy!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~°~❦~°~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

     “7-Adam-19, armed shoplifter, Radcliffe Complex, 718 Oscar Road. Respond.”

     The dispatcher’s voice filled the silence of the car.

     “7-Adam-19 responding.” Officer  Bradford set down the radio and replaced his hand on the steering wheel.

     “What’s the most important thing to remember when dealing with an armed shoplifter, Boot?” Tim asked you after a moment. 

     “Why did I think that when I was in short-sleeves I would get a break from your Tim Tests?” you muttered.  

     You’d been Bradford’s rookie for seven months now and some days he still treated you like it was your first day on the force. You appreciated him trying to teach you so thoroughly, but did he have to be so Tim all the time?

     “Is that your answer, Boot?” 

     “No, um, I guess it would be that he’s armed. But no, that’s too obvious for you. Ok, what about what they’re stealing? Their physical state? Keeping their hands in sight at all times?”

     Tim sighed, looking bored. “Wrong. It’s—”

     “Suspect on the move, heading east on Apple Boulevard,” came the dispatcher’s update, interrupting your TO’s answer.

     “Looks like we’re headed east,” Tim said, turning sharply in the direction you’d just come from. 

     “Saved by the suspect,” you joked. 

     “Don’t think this is over,” Tim narrowed his eyes at the road. “Lessons don’t stop for crime.”

     “Ok, batman.”

     Tim glared at you.

     “I mean, Sir.”

     After you’d first been assigned to Officer Bradford, you’d been told stories of his ruthless training style. Your first thought was that you needed to impress him from day one.

     Well, technically your first thought was damn, because you’d have to be insane not to notice how objectively attractive he was. But you’d quickly quelled that thought—crushing on your TO was not how you wanted to start your career as an officer. 

     So, impressing him was your second thought. And you had been more than a little terrified of not impressing him. 

     You would be lying if you said that wasn’t how things still were between you two, to a degree—you trying to prove yourself and him making it as difficult as possible. 

     But, at least after several months, you felt like your TO trusted you more. 

     “There!” You pointed to a man running down the street, duffel bag in hand.

     Tim hit the gas, surpassing the suspect, and skidding to a stop in front of him, effectively cutting him off. 

     You both hurried out of the car, weapons drawn on the man who was currently aiming his gun back and forth, between you and Bradford. 

     “Police! Drop your weapon!” Tim shouted at the man. 

     The man hesitated, seeming to be weighing his options—how easily he could take out two cops. 

     “Set the weapon down, nice and easy,” Tim ordered, his own gun still pointed at the suspect.”

     The man, seeming to sense the inevitability of his capture, sighed and set his gun on the ground. 

     “The answer was dialogue, by the way,” Tim addressed you, his eyes still on the suspect. “Dialogue is the most important  thing when dealing with an armed suspect.”

     “Good to know,” you acknowledged, before ordering the man in front of you. “Hands behind your head, interlace your fingers.”

     The man’s gaze shot to you as he obeyed your commands. 

     “Hey, lady cop, you look familiar,” the criminal squinted at you. 

     “You must have me mistaken for someone else,” you said. You’d never seen this man in your life. 

     “I swear—”

     “Hands on the car!” You ordered 

     The man reluctantly did what he was told, placing his palms on the side of the shop. 

      “Wait a minute,” the man sized you up before smirking slowly. “Your Paul Cranston’s girl, ain’t ya?”

     You felt your blood instantly run cold at the name. 

     “You must have me mistaken for someone else,” you said again, robotically, grabbing one of his arms. 

     “No, no I’d recognize that pretty face anywhere,” the criminal whispered. “He told me all about you. Hey, why don’t you let me go and I’ll give you a friendly tip?”

     You responded by twisting his arm behind his back even harder.

     He winced. “So you didn’t hear then? Paul’s out.”

     No. That couldn’t be true. Paul wasn’t supposed to be out for—

     “Boot, you going to cuff him or not?” Tim called impatiently.

     “Right.” You shook off the stupor and began handcuffing the suspect. Your mind was still on that name, however, and your reflexes were slowed.

     Which is how the suspect was able to rip his arm from your grip and shove you to the ground as he tried to make a break for it. 

     Tim tackled him almost immediately, wrestling him into the cuffs that were dangling on one of his wrists where you had started to restrain him, and pushing him towards the shop.

     “Wait, Paul’s got a message for you!” the man hurried out, looking only at you as Tim waked over and shoved him into the backseat. “He said you best watch yourself, because he has connections, and he still hasn’t gotten his revenge. He’s out—and he’s coming for you.”

     “That’s enough, get in the car.” Tim slammed the door shut, and the echo of it rang in your ears as the man’s words played over and over again.

     He’s out, and he’s coming for you. 

     “What the hell was that?” 

     You looked up to Bradford’s questioning—and furious—face. He offered you a hand and you took it, standing up to face him. 

     “Sorry, I—”

     “‘Sorry’ doesn’t stop criminals from escaping,” Tim shouted. “Get your head in the game. You do want to be a cop, don’t you, Boot?”

     “Yes, sir.”

     So much for Tim trusting you. You couldn’t believe you’d almost just let a suspect get away. That had never happened to you before. But, that name—

     Your TO shook his head, walking to the drivers side and opening the door. “You know, I should write you up for that.”

     You noticed his wording. “But you’re not going to?”

     He waited for you to get into the passenger seat before saying, 

     “I didn’t say that. First you’re going to tell me what just happened between you two.”

     You flinched. “It—nothing. It was nothing.”

     “Uh-huh. It didn’t sound like nothing. Who’s Paul Cranston?” 

     You swallowed hard. “He’s just someone I used to know.”

      A million images flashed through your head. Paul’s face looming over you. The flashing lights and sirens. Waking up in the hospital. 

     You shook yourself out of it. You didn’t want to talk about this now. You swore you’d never talk about it again. “Shouldn’t—shouldn’t we get back to the station. Don’t we have to book this guy?”

     Tim sighed, started the car, and re-entered traffic. You breathed a sigh of relief. 

     “Control, this is 7-Adam-19. I need an ID on a Paul Cranston,” Tim spoke into his radio. 

     And so much for not talking about this now.

     “Can you do that without suspicion of a crime?” You asked him.

     “You can when dispatch loves you.” He winked at you. 

     You rolled your eyes at him as the radio began speaking. 

     “Paul Cranston: caucasian male, date of birth 8/4/92, recently released on parole, history of theft and domestic violence.” 

     Tim turned his gaze to you. “How do you know this man, Boot?”

     “It’s—a long story,” you told him. 

     “Well then you better start talking if you want to finish before we reach the station,” Tim commanded, making a left turn.

     “Can’t you just let it go?” You asked him. “It’s really not that big of a deal.”

      He’s out, and he’s coming for you. 

     You couldn’t fight the shiver that racked your body. 

      Tim’s eyes flicked to you, before returning back to the road. Suddenly, he slammed on the brakes, shifting the car into park before turning to you. 

     “If this is another one of your ‘I’m dying, where are we’ tests—”

     “Boot, focus,” Tim barked. 

     “With all due respect, sir, I don’t think it’s really any of your concern if—”

     “Of course it’s my concern!” Tim shouted. His expression was so intense, you squirmed under his gaze and you felt your face heat. 

     He looked torn for a moment, before sighing and saying, “It’s my job as your TO to train you to the best of my abilities, and I can’t do that if you’re withholding information that may affect your performance as an officer.”

     “Fine,” you breathed. “It was a long time ago. I was 18, Paul and I met freshman year of college. We started dating and things were fine, good even, for a while.”

     “Until?” Tim prompted.

     “Until he got pissed one night because I caught him coming home really late with a ski mask and a bag full of stolen cash. Cliche, right?”

     You looked to Tim, but his expression was as stony as ever and you continued.

     “Apparently, he’d been stealing since high school and turns out he’d lied to me about working in retail and a whole bunch of other stuff. I threatened to call the police if he didn’t stop and—”

     You took a deep breath, steeling yourself.

You watched the houses and trees and cars pass by as you drove towards the station. 

     “—and he hit me. It didn't stop after that—once he knew he could get away with it. He said if I ever told anyone—about the robberies, the beatings—that he’d kill me. And I let him go on like that for months. I was so scared that if I called anyone, he’d make good on his promise.”

     Tim’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, his fingers turning white, but he didn’t speak.

     “But then, one night, it got so bad that I thought he might actually kill me anyway. So I waited until he left the room for a minute and I called 911. He was arrested and—and that’s all I remember before I blacked out. I woke up in the hospital the next morning.”

     You kept your voice even, trying not to let the emotion show through your story. You were just recounting facts. This was almost 10 years ago, and you’d moved on with your life. 

     But reliving it all was hard, even after so much time had passed. 

     “It’s actually why I joined the academy,” you finished. “I wanted to save people, the way the officers that night did for me.”

     You were both silent for a moment. 

     A muscle in Tim’s jaw ticked. “Does the department know?”

     “Yeah,” you sighed. “It’s all part of my file.”

     “And the guy back there?” 

     You shrugged, glancing back at the suspect and lowering your voice. “He must be one of Paul’s partners or goons or—I don’t know. I guess he’s been in contact with him since he was released, if he knows what I look like.”

     The thought made your skin crawl. 

     “I don’t know what came over me,” you kept going. “It’s been years, I just—I didn’t expect to hear about him out of the blue from a criminal on the street, you know? But, I promise it won’t happen again.”

     Tim ignored that. “Do you think it was an empty threat?”

     “I don’t know,” you admitted. “But I sure as hell hope so.”

     Bradford was silent for a long moment, his expression tense.

     The radio crackled to life. “7-Adam-19, we have a 215 in progress near your area, 239 West Armston Street. Respond.” 

     “Negative,” Bradford answered the dispatch call. 

     You stared at him, shocked. “Why aren’t we taking that? We can drop this guy off afterwards.”

     “Yeah, I agree,” the suspect chimed in from the backseat. “I think you should take that first.”

      Tim payed him no attention. “They’ll have someone else over there in minutes. We have more important things to do.”

     “You’re not even going to ask me if I know what a 215 is?” You joked. Tim never passed up an opportunity to quiz you. 

     “What’s a 215, Boot?” 

     “Carjacking.”

     “Correct.” Tim nodded. “And we’re going to have a talk with Sergeant Grey.”

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

    “Paul Cranston, released on parole from a thirteen year sentence three days ago, currently believed to be residing in the Woodland Hills area.”

     You sat in the briefing room, surrounded by other officers, as Sergeant Grey read out your ex-boyfriend’s file. You stared into Paul’s face on the screen, his mugshot visible from all angles. 

     Bradford stood near the front of the room, leaning against the wall. 

      “The department is aware of Officer (Y/l/n)’s history with Mr. Cranston,” Grey continued. “And will take necessary action should the situation progress.”

      “So, what’s the course of action here?” Tim crossed his arms. 

     “I’m afraid, as of now, there isn’t one,” Grey said. “Since there is no direct proof against Paul Cranston, we’d essentially be taking the word of a petty thief and wasting resources on what most likely was a desperate attempt to escape arrest. The department doesn’t exactly consider it a threat.”

    “Doesn’t consider it a threat?” Tim’s voice was low and dangerous. “How about a charge for threatening an officer?”

    “But Paul didn’t threaten an officer,” you sighed, thinking. “The armed robbery suspect did.”

     “Exactly, Officer (Y/l/n),” Grey agreed. “Basically, our hands are tied.”

     “Then untie them,” Bradford snapped, beginning to pace. “There’s gotta be some technicality we can get him on. Violation of parole, conspiring with a felon, failure to—”

     “That’s enough, Officer Bradford,” The sergeant fixed your TO with a firm look. “I appreciate your concern for (Y/l/n)’s safety, but we’ve done all we can do. And, for now, that’s nothing.”

      Tim’s concern for your safety. That thought had been in the back of your mind since the ride to the station. You couldn’t figure out why Tim was so determined about this. You supposed you were his rookie and was his job to look out for you. It was just, up until now, he hadn’t exactly done anything to make you believe he’d care so much.

     “Failure to take action could be endangering one of our officers,” Tim said, his jaw clenched. “Who’s to say this guy won’t make good on his threat? At least increase security at (Y/l/n)’s residence.”

     “Tim, its fine,” you said, your voice firm. “Let it go.” 

     They were making a big enough deal about this already. It probably was just a case of a criminal trying anything to get free. You doubted Paul even cared about what happened to you anymore. He probably never wanted to see you again—and that was a good thing. 

     But, then, you couldn’t get those words out of your head.

     He’s out and he’s coming for you.

     Bradford turned to you, his chest rising and falling. He looked so…resolved. Like he did when chasing down a suspect or that time when you’d walked in on him in the training rooms.

     Images of Tim shirtless, the muscles in his back tight as he pushed himself harder filled your head and you quickly shook them away. Definitely not the time. 

   “We’ll send a surveillance team to Paul’s location in the morning,” Grey said, turning to address you. “But for now the best thing you can do is to go home, get some sleep, and not let this rattle you. Understood?”

     “Yes, Sergeant.”

     “Good. Because the last thing the L.A.P.D needs is a cop who lets their personal life get in the way of their ability to do their job in any way that’s less than exemplary. I trust that’s not the case?” 

     You glanced to Bradford, certain he was going to mention your mistake with the suspect earlier. 

     “No, Sir,” Tim said instead. “My rookies don’t do ‘less than exemplary’. Don’t worry about (Y/l/n)—she’s proved to me she has what it takes to be an officer.”

     “Glad to hear it. Shift over. Everybody else, back to work,” Sergeant Grey waved everyone away. 

     You walked towards the front of the room, hearing grumbled complaints about midnight shift from the unlucky officers who still had to do patrol as you did so. 

     You stopped in front of your TO. His eyes were on you, his brow drawn in something that looked like concern.

     “Thanks,” you said. You couldn’t believe he’d told Grey all that—it was the most complimentary thing he’d said about you in your whole time riding with him. 

     “I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true,” Tim stated, shrugging. “I expect you to live up to any praise I’ve given you.”

     “Yes, sir,” you nodded, almost smiling.

     “Besides, you’re being trained by me. You’d have to be royally screwed up not to become one of the best on the force.”

     “And he’s humble too,” you teased. “But I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

     “Whatever, Boot.” Tim smiled, shaking his head. 

     “Be nonchalant all you want,” you said, feeling brave. “I know you like me.”

     For a brief moment, Tim looked like you’d slapped him. But then, the flash of—whatever that was—was gone and his expression was replaced by one of cold indifference. 

     “In your TO not your friend, (Y/l/n),” he stated. “It’s not about liking you. It’s about training you.”

      You sighed inwardly. Just when you thought you were making ground with Tim, he treated you like you’d just met. “Of course, how could I forget.”

     Tim stayed silent. 

    “Well, I should head out,” you told him, “I’ve got a busy night ahead me. You know, trying not to get killed by my ex and all.”

     You’d meant it as a joke, to make light of the situation that left you feeling more uneasy than you’d care to admit. Tim, however, just shook his head and brushed past you, out of the briefing room. 

     You stood there for a moment, trying to work through what had just happened, before turning around and taking a step in the other direction. Only to find Officers Lopez and Bishop standing in front of you, staring between you and Tim’s retreating figure. 

     “So how’d you do it?” Bishop looked you up and down.

     “Do what?” You asked, confused. 

     “Get Tim wrapped around your finger,” Lopez answered for her, smirking. 

     You felt your eyes widen. “Tim’s not—” 

     “Please,” Lopez put her hands on her hips. “I’ve watched him train dozens of rookies and he’s never stood up for any of them like that. So naturally I figured you’re either blackmailing him or sleeping with him.”

     You blanched, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks as you let what Angela said sink in. You knew she was just teasing you, but the statement caught you off guard. You imagined you and Tim—together. It wasn’t necessarily an unpleasant thought. And then you realized what you were thinking and you chided yourself, hurriedly un-imagining it. 

     “No, that’s not—neither one of those things,” you answered quickly. “Trust me, Tim doesn’t give me any special treatment, if that’s what you’re implying. I actually can’t tell if he hates me half of the time.”

     “We’re not implying anything,” Bishop replied. “Only observing. And he doesn’t hate you.”

     “How can you possibly know that?” You were suddenly insecure. You still held on to a secret dread that you were going to wildly disappoint Tim—that you already had. Sure, there was all the stuff he had just said. But there was also months of him being hard on you and saying that you weren’t friends. 

     “Because I’ve seen him hate plenty of people,” Bishop spoke. “And he definitely didn’t look at them the way he looks at you.”

      The way Tim looked at you? You weren’t aware he looked at you in a way that was different from the way he looked at anyone else at the station.

     “What are you guys trying to say?” You asked them. 

     “I’m saying watch out,” Bishop raised an eyebrow. “Because Tim might like you more than he’s willing to let you—or himself—in on.”

     Could there be any truth to what the two officers were saying? Was it wrong for a small part of you to hope there was?

     “Um, ok,” you said, blinking. “I’ll keep that in mind, thanks.”

     “Don’t believe us if you want, it’s your call,” Bishop shrugged, backing up. “But I’m telling you, you mean something to Tim that the rest of us can only guess at.”

     And with that she walked out of the room.

    “Bishop can be intense,” Angela said when the woman was out of earshot. “She’s got that whole ‘anti-cops-dating’ thing going on—but I do think she’s right about this. Tim’s tough, and I’m sure he gives you hell—but it’s not because he doesn’t like you. I actually think it’s quite the opposite. ”

     Was there really something that everyone saw between you and Tim except for you? You still couldn’t even entertain the thought that Tim had feelings for you that were more than TO and rookie. 

     “Well you’ve certainly left me with a lot to think about,” you said finally.

     “Then I’ll let you start thinking—you’re welcome for the peace of mind.” 

     You wouldn’t have used the phrase peace of mind, yourself. Sure, it was nice to know that the officers who had known your TO for years were confident that he didn’t look down on you. But, this conversation also had left your head swimming with conflicting thoughts about Tim that you didn’t feel like dealing with right now.

     “And take care,” Lopez said knowingly. “We have your back if anything happens.”

      With that, your thoughts slammed back to the current situation.

    “Right, that. You—you think something’s going to happen?” You asked, trying to sound casual.

     “I think in this job we have to be prepared for the worst,” she corrected. “But I also think that bastard would have to be pretty stupid to mess with you.”

     She smiled at you and you smiled back. After watching her leave, you followed her path, heading towards the locker rooms.

     You thought about what she had said about you and Tim, about Paul.

     You hoped she was right—you just couldn’t say which you hoped she was more right about.

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

     Your thoughts bounced between your conversation with Talia and Angela and the message from your ex as you walked to your car minutes later. 

     When you woke up this morning, you thought the most stressful part of your day would’ve been a police chase or a shootout.  You never would’ve expected it to be my ex-boyfriend is out of jail and could be hunting me down and my training officer might have feelings for me.

     Funny how things could change so fast.

     Suddenly, you heard a bang. You spun around quickly, your heart in your throat. But it was only a car door being slammed shut from across the parking lot. 

     Get a grip, you told yourself. 

     You rounded the corner, running a hand through your hair.

     You stopped. Tim was leaning against the side of your car, arms crossed in front of his chest. He looked you up and down.

     “What are you doing?” You asked. 

     “Driving you home, Boot,” Tim said. “Get in the car.”

     “Tim, you don’t have to—”

     “That wasn’t a question, give me the keys.”

     There was no point in fighting him. Besides, there was a small part of you that didn’t really want to fight him. 

     You tossed him the keys to your car and got in the passenger seat with a sigh.  

     Tim started the engine. 

     “If this is about Paul, this really isn’t necessary,” you said after you’d been driving for several minutes and the silence became too much. “I can handle myself. I am an officer, in case you forgot.”

     “You’re a rookie,” Tim corrected, eyes never leaving the road. “And if the department won’t do anything, then I will.”

     “What—we’re not going to go looking for him, are we?” You asked.

     “Of course not,” Tim scoffed. “I’m not a vigilante, Boot. Where do you live?”

     “Take a left at the light,” you guided. 

     Neither of you talked for the remainder of the drive, save your occasional directions. When you pointed out your apartment building, Tim parked the car and handed you the keys. 

     “Thanks,” you mumbled to him as you got out of the car, grabbing your bag and heading towards the building.

     You heard a door shut behind you and turned to find your TO standing on the sidewalk, an eyebrow raised.

     “You didn’t think I was just going to let you spend the night alone with a target on your head, did you, Boot?” 

     “Tim—”

     “No more protests,” he said firmly. “As your TO, I—”

     “No, I was just going to say that if you were planning on staying here, why couldn’t I have just driven my own car?”

     “I don’t let my rookies drive,” Tim walked past you and to the front door. “Even off-duty.”

     You followed him quickly, getting out your key and letting you both in.

     When you reached your apartment you did a quick scan of the space—it wasn’t exactly like you’d been expecting company, much less your training officer. You cringed at the messiness.

      “How many entrances and exits are there?” Bradford asked. 

     “Um, just the front door. And there’s windows in the kitchen and the bedroom,” you said. 

     You skimmed past everything in the place, looking towards the window in your bedroom. Your eye caught on one of your bras hanging from your bedpost. You quickly ran over and shut the door, blushing and hoping Tim hadn’t noticed.

     “Please, Boot,” Tim made a face. “It’s nothing I haven’t already seen before.”

     “Ok no offense, but I usually don’t let guys see my bra the first time I bring them to my place,” you joked.

     “If that’s an offer, I’m going to have to politely decline.”

     “What—no,” you hurried out, worried your voice sounded wrong. “I just meant—”

    Tim interrupted. “I’m going to do a sweep of the place, make sure everything’s as it should be.”

     “Is that really needed?”

     “I’m not taking any chances.” He left the room and you sunk down onto the couch, letting your bag fall to the floor. 

     Your TO returned a few minutes later. “All clear.”

     “See, everything’s fine,” you said, speaking just as much to yourself as you were to Tim. 

     “Well,” Bradford started, amusement in his eyes. “I wouldn’t say everything is fine. Your storage closet’s a fire hazard.”

     Had Tim Bradford just made a joke?

     “I’ll be sure not to exit through the closet in the events of a fire,” you said sarcastically. “And if you keep insulting my living space, I’m going to be forced to kick you out.”

     “Bold for someone whose career I could end.”

     “You can’t end my career for that,” you shot back. Paused. “Can you?”

     Tim raised his eyebrows.

     “Only one way to find out,” you said enthusiastically, teasing him now. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t let the closet trap you on the way out.

     “Nice try, Boot. But you’re still stuck with me for,” Tim checked his watch. “eight hours.”

     “Nine hours,” you corrected. You had to leave for work in nine hours.

     “You’re right, I should get us drinks,” Tim joked.

     You rolled you eyes and he shot you a look. “Help yourself to anything in the fridge.”

     Tim got up, disappearing into the kitchen.  

     “Is all you own ginger ale, Boot?” He called. 

     “There’s six year old tequila in the cupboard,” you suggested.

     “Ginger ale it is.”

      Tim joined you in the living room again, carrying two bottles. He handed one to you, sitting down on the opposite side of the couch. 

     You noted the careful distance he put between you. 

     “What’s this thing made of, Boot? Plywood?” Tim asked, inspecting the couch.

     You smothered a laugh.

     “Get comfortable. It’s where you’re sleeping,” you answered. 

     “Won’t be necessary. If you’re not awake you’re not aware.”

     “So, what, we’re taking shifts on guard like this is a stakeout?” You asked.

     “Don’t be ridiculous. I didn’t come here to sleep.”

     “Tim I can’t let you stay up all night while I’m unconscious.” you sighed.

     “You can if it’s an order. Besides, no offense, but rookies are historically less vigilant and have a slower response time…” 

     You tried not to take offense at that. “Right, Eagle Eye.”

     Tim glared at you. 

     “Angela told me.”

     “Of course she did. And at least I didn’t leave valuable evidence on the street to chase after a dog wearing a top hat.”

     “Sparky could’ve been involved in the crime,” you said, indignant. “And that was one time!”

     “One time too many,” Tim mumbled, lifting the bottle to his lips, his eyes sparkling. 

     “Ok, so when you were a rookie you were, what, perfect?” You shot back.

     “Damn straight.” Tim nodded. 

     “You made no mistakes, at all?” You prompted.

     “Well,” Tim took a sip of his drink. “There was one thing.”

     “Aside from the graffiti incident?”

     “That wasn’t a mistake because it wasn’t my fault. I was following direct orders and—you know what, never mind. If you don’t want to hear it—”

     “No, no, I do!” you scooted towards the edge of your seat in anticipation. “And none of that ‘I worked too hard and too efficiently’ crap.”

     “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said sarcastically. “My first week on the job I was put on paperwork duty, which was—”

     “Boring and tedious? I can imagine,” you deadpanned, having been put in charge of paperwork by Tim many times.

     “I was going to say necessary and a valuable skill to have,” Bradford corrected. “But anyways, we had just got done booking a couple suspects and I was working on the reports. A triple homicide and a prostitution case. It was a long day and I was tired and I guess I got sloppy—”

     “You? Sloppy?” You interrupted.

     “Do you want me to tell you this story or not?”

     “Right, sorry. Continue.”

     Tim did. “I’d just finished tagging the evidence for both cases and when I was filling everything out I somehow got the numbers mixed up. Long story short, according to my report, the homicide gun ended up being linked to the prostitution case and the weapon allegedly used in the triple homicide was…a pair of pink, fluffy handcuffs.”

      You couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped you now.

     “Forensics caught it before it was sent to the judge, thank god,” Bradford sighed. “But the next day when I was getting ready for my shift, I was greeted by dozens of similar handcuffs in my locker—apparently Smitty has a guy.”

     “Tell me you kept them,” you begged, pulling your knees up to your chest.

     “Of course not!”

     Tim blinked.

     “Well, not all of them—Isabel made me take a pair home. I found out later that she was the one who orchestrated the whole prank. She used to do stuff like that all the time before she, uh,—”

     “Tim—”

     You’d heard about Bradford’s ex-wife. How she’d become an addict, gotten herself mixed up with bad people. You knew how much it had affected Tim, even if he hadn’t said so. 

     She was in rehab now, getting her life back together. You were glad she was finally getting the help she needed. Still, you knew how much she meant to Tim. How much it had hurt him to move on from her and let her start a new life without him. 

     “I’m fine.” Tim said firmly, clearing his throat. “It’s good to talk about her…before. She’s on the right path now.”

     You stared at the ground in front of you, picking at your fingernails. 

     “Are you still in love with her?” The question was out of your mouth before you could stop it. You didn’t know why you asked—didn’t know why you cared what the answer was. Ten minutes ago you wouldn’t have even dared to ask that question.  

     But he was being so uncharacteristically open and you seemed to be getting along well. You reluctantly brought your eyes up to Tim.

     His eyes had gone wide. He looked like he wanted to leave or yell at you or both, and you immediately regretted it.

     But then his eyes softened and he opened his mouth. “No. I’ll always care about her and she’ll always be someone that I did love. But relationships change—people change.”

     You nodded. “I get it—I mean, I’m kind of rusty on relationships—but I get it. I actually haven’t dated anyone since Paul. I guess it was just hard to trust someone after that. I kind of sabotaged any relationship that had any chance of starting.”

     It was the first time you’d admitted that to anyone. You wouldn’t have pegged Tim as being so easy to talk to. You had almost forgotten about the whole Paul situation before you’d just brought him up. You had been enjoying hanging out with Tim, no matter the circumstances. He was actually pleasant to be around when he wasn’t on the clock. 

     You imagined this happening more often—you and Tim, not just coworkers but friends. Maybe even more. Maybe this was one relationship you didn’t have to end before it started.

     You dared to let yourself think about it. You watched Tim process your words. Saw the emotion clearly written in his face as he looked at you intensely. 

     “Hey, thanks again for not letting me be alone tonight,” you told him, you’re voice soft. 

     “Don’t take it personally, Boot,” he said. “My house is being repainted and even your place beats breathing in paint fumes all night.”

     “I’m honored,” you laughed, rolling your eyes. “But you have to admit this has been fun—hanging out.”

     Your little impromptu sleepover. You smiled.

     Tim, however, looked like a switch had been flipped inside of him. You watched as he clenched his jaw, leaning almost imperceptibly away from you 

     “Listen, Boot—”

     He was cut off by the sound of breaking glass and a loud thumping sound. 

     You both shot up off the couch, abandoning your drinks. Tim’s hand went to his gun. You did the same. 

     Tim turned to you. “Stay here.”

     “Like hell,” you shot back, following him as he started to do a sweep of the main room.

     If that sound was someone—Paul—breaking in, you weren’t going to sit here and let Bradford fight your battles for you. 

     He signaled to let you know he was moving to the kitchen. You nodded, following. 

     “Clear,” he muttered, and moved on towards the bathroom. You were right behind him when you heard another noise, like the muffled sound of scraping of furniture, and you spun around.

     The bedroom. It was the only room in that direction that you hadn’t checked yet. 

     You glanced to Tim, but he hadn’t heard it. He was a few feet ahead of you, just now entering the bathroom. 

     You slowly stepped away from him and made your way across the apartment, down the hall and over to the closed bedroom door.

     Holding your weapon in one hand, you opened the door with the other. But, you barely had time to see what was on the other side before you were grabbed and a cloth was shoved into your mouth. 

     Your gun was ripped from your hand, and you were pushed hard onto the ground. Your wrist burned where you landed on shards of glass from the broken window

     Something smacked into the back of your head and you were dragged and thrown onto the bed on the corner. You heard the door shut. 

     Squinting up into the light, rubbing your throbbing head, your heart dropped as you saw who was in front of you. 

     “Did you miss me?” Paul sneered, spinning your gun in his hand. 

     You froze. Everything crashed into you at once. The events of the last time you saw your ex-boyfriend sped through your mind. Suddenly, you were scared and 18 again, at the mercy of this man. 

     “I guess you got my man’s message,” Paul continued. “Because you don’t exactly look shocked to see me. Scared, of course, but not shocked.”

     Coming back to yourself, you scrambled up onto your knees, ready to knock him out.

     Paul shook his head, laughing. “No, no. If you move even an inch I’ll shoot you right in the forehead.”

     You sat back down, your heart thumping in your chest as you scanned the room for a way out. Some way to get the upper hand on him. You had been trained for this.

     “Listen to me,” he continued, his hand coming to the gag in your mouth. You flinched away from him. “I know there’s someone in here with you. If you try to scream to alert them, I will also shoot you.  I’d like to play with you first before I put a bullet in your brain but, hey, I’m not picky. Is that clear?”

     You nodded, trying to measure how fast you could knock the weapon out of his hand before he could take a shot at you. Paul took the cloth out of you mouth.

     You gasped in air. “Backup’s going to be in here any second and then you’re going back to prison.”

     Tim would notice you were gone. He had to. 

     “Oh, I don’t think so,” Paul smiled. “I’ll be long gone and you’ll be long dead before that happens.”

     You glanced towards the door. What was taking him so long?

     Suddenly, Paul reached forwards and gripped your face in his hand. “Just as beautiful as I remember. It was such a shame things had to end with us as they did. How did that happen again? Oh, that’s right. You betrayed me.”

     “And that was the best decision I ever made,” you spat. 

     Paul backed up, shaking his head. “You’ve gotten feistier, baby. It’ll make this so much more fun for me.”

     He stepped back towards you, his face inches from yours, sneering. “This’ll be just like old times.”

     Bam! The door to your bedroom busted open. Bradford rushed in, taking in the situation. You breathed a sigh of relief.

     “Get down on the ground!” Tim growled.

     Paul froze for only a second, fear flashing across his face, but it was enough. You lunged, wrestling the gun out of his hands, your wrist protesting. 

     You trained it on him. Paul was surrounded.

     “You have five seconds to get on the ground before I shoot you,” Tim bit out, his expression murderous.

     “Come on, baby, you’re not going to let Officer Buzzkill treat me like that, are you?” Paul appealed to you. 

     You leveled your gaze on him, ignoring his words. “You heard him. Get on the ground.”

     Paul slowly knelt, never taking his eyes off of you. Tim charged him, pulling out handcuffs and locking them around his wrists. 

    You took a moment to be amused—of course Tim had off-duty cuffs. 

    “So this ends the way it starts, huh?” Paul shook his head. “You getting me locked up?”

     “Just like old times,” you echoed his earlier statement. You stayed stoic, putting your hands on your hips to hide the way they shook.

    Anger sparked in Paul’s eyes before he took on a smug expression. “You’re right. You’re the same girl you were when I met you. You haven’t changed a bit.”

     “Don’t listen to him, Boot,” Tim warned hauling the man up off the ground. 

     “You know I’m right,” Paul’s manic eyes bore into yours. He was enjoying every moment of this, laughter in his tone. It took all that was in you to keep your expression blank, unaffected. “You’ll always be that person I knew—the person who loved me. Because you did—love me. You could’ve walked away. But you didn’t. You just took it all like the victim you are. You pathetic bitch—”

      He was cut off abruptly as Tim slammed him face-first against the wall. Paul cried out.

     “That’s enough!” Tim shouted. “If you ever threaten—no, if you even look at (Y/l/n) again, I will hunt you down and personally remove every external limb from your body, do you understand me? (Y/n) is a million times the person you will ever be and you don’t get to make her feel small. If I didn’t think sitting in a cell for the rest of your life was a worse fate, I’d kill you right now—screw the department.”

     Your ears were ringing, your head dizzy as you tried to ground yourself. Your voice came out tiny. “Tim, stop.”

     Bradford turned to you, almost as if he had forgotten you were in the room. He was breathing hard, his fists clenched around the man in custody. 

     “And she’s not a victim,” Tim whispered, turning back to Paul, his voice right by his ear. “She’s a survivor.”

     With that, he shoved Paul back to the ground and moved over to you, his eyes roaming over your face. Your body. He took the gun out of your hands, setting it on the desk. Then, he gripped your injured wrist and you winced as he inspected it.

     “Probably hurts like hell, but you won’t need stitches. Any other injuries?”

     “Um, he hit me in the back of the head,” you felt your scalp, a lump already forming.

     Tim’s hands moved to your hair, his touch gentle, his breath on your cheek as he leaned to get a better look.

     Your own breath caught, your heart racing at the intimacy of your position. 

     “What’s the damage?” You almost whispered.

     Tim’s eyes met yours, the heat of his stare spreading through your body. “You’ll have a nasty bruise, but there’s no external bleeding.”

     Tim stepped back, and you found yourself wishing he hadn’t.

     “Are you—are you ok, Boot?” He asked carefully. 

     How did you even answer that question? You were still in shock, unable to process what had just happened. 

     “I will be,” you settled on, breathing in slowly. Exhaling.

      Tim looked like he wanted to say more but he clenched his jaw, glancing in the direction of Paul, who had been uncharacteristically silent. Maybe he had finally accepted his defeat. 

     “I’m going to call for back up, you go clean that up,” Tim gestured to the blood covering your wrist where you had landed in the broken glass. “You need help?”

     “No, I got it,” You nodded, walking towards the bathroom as you heard Tim make the call.

     “911, what’s your emergency?”

     “This is off-duty officer Tim Bradford, badge 34831. I need a unit to my location for a 126. Suspect in custody. Code 1.”

      Tim’s voice faded as you made your way down the hall, shutting the bathroom door after you to access the medicine cabinet behind it.

     You took out the necessary supplies and began cleaning the wound. You stopped in front of the sink, letting your burning eyes close for a moment, massaging your temples. 

     Now that you were alone, you let yourself collapse, bracing your hands against the counter 

     Images flooded your senses. 

     The gag. Paul hitting you from behind. You, young and frightened, huddled on the ground. That gleam in his eyes.

     Your eyes snapped open, your breath coming out fast.

     He’s in custody. You told yourself. He can’t hurt you anymore. 

     You looked at your reflection in the mirror staring wearily back at you, your hands still shaking as you brushed your hair back from your face. Was it hot in here or was it just you?

      Turning your attention back to your wrist, you took a deep breath and continued to dab at the wound.

      You reached for the bandages on the counter. A sheen of sweat broke out on your forehead as you wrapped your arm. 

      You pictured Paul’s grip on you. His words rang in your ears. 

     You’re the same girl you were when I met you. You haven’t changed a bit.

     The room tilted. You swayed on your feet so you sunk down to the ground, leaning your head against the cabinet, the cool wood pressing against your head. 

     You tried to slow your erratic breathing but you couldn’t. You couldn’t—

     The sound of footsteps and voices carried through the door. You were vaguely aware that it was probably the backup here to take Paul away.

     You closed your eyes, your throat tight, you pulse thundering in your ears.

     I’m ok, you tried to tell yourself. I’m ok. I’m ok.

     You were unaware how long you sat like this. You had no concept of time. Your thoughts were wild, images flashing in and out, unable to form conscious ideas. Every breath sending a sharp pain through your body. 

     “Boot?”

     The muffled voice was closer than the others had been. 

     “Boot?” The voice was louder now. You registered Tim at the door. He knocked once. Twice. 

     “Boot, I’m coming in,” he shouted, his voice laced with worry. The door was shoved open. 

     “Dammit,” he cursed, seeing your state. You felt him getting closer to you, but you didn’t look up as he knelt by you, his concerned expression taking in yours.

     “Hey, look at me,” Tim coaxed. “(Y/l/n), breathe.”

     He seemed miles and miles away. There was a pause.

     “Hey, Boot, I got another test for you,” he spoke quickly, gently placing a hand on your shoulder. “I want you to tell me the most annoying person we work with.”

     “What?” You rasped, barely hearing him. 

    “Bishop’s an easy target,” he said. “And Lopez is a slob, so you can’t go wrong there. West’s got the whole daddy issues thing. Don’t even get me started on Nolan—”

     You swallowed hard, your mouth feeling dry.

     “And then there’s me. I mean, I’m annoying right?”

     You breathed a shaky laugh, opening your eyes slowly. 

     Tim smiled. “Oh so you agree? It’s ok, Boot, you can say me. Go ahead, I can take it.”

     When you didn’t say anything, Tim kept talking. “Personally I’d go for Detective Coleman. The man makes double what I do and I’m convinced he doesn’t own a decent looking tie.”

     “L-like the—the green one from last week,” you managed, trying to slow your breathing.

     “Leprechauns would call it tacky,” Tim agreed. “Now, since we’ve discussed this from all angles I’m going to need you to choose wisely. Because this is going to go on your evaluation for today.”

     You gulped. “Are—are you going to get me fired if I say you?”

     Tim let out a quiet, relieved laugh. “I knew it. Guess who’s going back to long-sleeves on Monday?”

     “In this heat wave? You—you wouldn’t dare,” you joked, sniffing.

     “I don’t know, I am the most annoying person you work with—sounds like something I might do.”

     You laughed again, this time the sound coming out less strained. You focused on taking deep breaths, feeling your heart rate return to normal. 

     “There you go.” Tim stood up, offering his hand to you for the second time that day. You gripped his arm as he pulled you up onto shaky legs.

     “Thanks,” you mumbled, embarrassed to have had your TO see you like this now that your head was clearer. 

     “For what, doing my job?”

     You smiled weakly at him, running a hand along your forehead. “Sorry for um—”  

     “Having a normal reaction to a highly emotional situation? Don’t apologize for being human,” Tim said firmly, his forehead creased.

     “So, he’s gone?” You’re voice came out small.

     Tim’s expression softened. “He’s gone.”

     You nodded again, looking at the floor.  Tim sighed, reaching an arm out. “Come here.”

You took a step towards him and then you were in his arms, his embrace strengthening you as he rubbed your back. You stood there like that, not wanting this to end. Not wanting to put distance between you again. Finally, he pulled back and looked down at you, his gaze weighted, before taking a few steps towards the door. You looked over Tim’s shoulder.

     “Hey, (Y/n), look at me.” Tim said. You brought your gaze up to meet his. “He is never going to hurt you again, ok? I’ll make sure of that.”

      You let your eyes fall closed, feeling ashamed that you had been so affected. That Tim had to handle all of this for you. “I know. And I’ll understand if after…all this, you don’t see me fit to—to be a police officer anymore.”

     Tim’s eyes hardened, his voice hardening with them. “With all do respect, Boot, that’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever said. I meant every word of what I said back there—you’re a survivor. All I saw tonight is that you are a brave and intelligent woman who just so happens to have a scumbag of an ex-boyfriend. Don’t let it define you because then he wins. You’re a great cop, (Y/l/n). It’s rookies like you who make the force as strong as it is.”

     You listened to Tim speak. He sounded so…passionate. Bishop’s words came back to you.

     Tim might like you more than he’s willing to let you—or himself—in on.

     You desperately wanted that to be true, now more than ever. He’d been so kind to you in this past hour—staying with you, rescuing you, reassuring you, bringing you back from whatever dark place you had just been in. 

     And then this. Talking about you like he…like he really cared about you. And maybe it was just because he felt like as your training 

Officer he had to protect you. But in the moment, it felt like maybe it could be more than that. 

    “So what I’m hearing is, I’m getting a promotion?” You teased finally, brushing your hair back from your damp face, breaking the silence. 

     Bradford put up a hand. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, you still have a lot to learn from me.”

     You sighed. This was normal, this was comfortable. How you and Tim always acted with each other. You were both relieved and disappointed at the change back into familiar territory. 

     You ran a hand through your hair, stifling a yawn. Saying today had been a long day would’ve been the understatement of the century.

     “Now come on,” Tim flicked his head in the direction of the door. “It’s way past my bedtime.”

     “Let me guess, nine p.m. sharp every night?” You teased.

     “That’s not true.”

     You raised an eyebrow at him.

     “Nine-thirty,” he admitted. 

     You giggled, following Tim out of the bathroom and into the hallway which led to the living room.

     You glanced at your bedroom as you passed it, trying not to think about what had happened in there. It was over now, you told yourself. 

     “Since my room is kind of a crime scene, I guess we’re both crashing out here,” you sighed, gesturing to the couch. 

      Silence filled the room and you immediately realized your mistake, cheeks flaming. 

     “Or, right, I guess you can go now. Danger’s over.”

     “Are you kidding?” Tim said. “And get to bed even later? I’m not going anywhere.”

     You stepped into the living room. You were glad Tim was staying. You felt safer with him here, even though you knew it was irrational. 

     “I’ll get the blankets and stuff,” you said, turning back the way you’d came.

     “Let me go with you,” Tim offered.

     “I would but they’re in the closet and I don’t want it to trap you or something,” you said. 

     “You think I can’t take a closet full of your crap? Bring it on,” Tim challenged and you led him down the hall. 

     A few minutes later you returned to the living room, blankets and pillows in tow. Tim helped you pull out the couch bed—you were grateful you’d opted for this couch instead of a regular one—and you stood back, admiring your work. 

     “Take the couch,” you told him. “It was your bed originally.”

     “Not gonna happen.” Tim crossed his arms. “It’s your house. And you’re injured.”

     “I’m fine. And where are you going to sleep? The floor?” You asked him. 

     Tim scanned the room and then sat down on the chair across from the couch-turned-bed. 

     “Are you sure you’re ok on that?” You asked. It didn’t exactly look comfortable for spending hours on.

     “Trust me, Boot, you got the short end of the stick. Have fun sleeping on plywood.” 

      You smiled. “So, what, you’re just going to sit over there and watch me sleep?”

     “I can leave, if you’re—”

     “No,” you’re voice came out faster and more sharp than you’d intended. “I mean, you came all this way, I don’t want you to have to get an Uber home at this hour.”

     You climbed into bed, aware that you were still in your clothes, but not caring enough to change. 

     “We should get some sleep, it’s been a long night,” Tim sighed. He got up and turned the lights off, darkness filling the room. 

     “Damn, boot,” you heard Tim’s voice even though you couldn’t see him anymore. “It’s pitch black in here. You don’t sleep with a light or anything?”

     “Well I don’t usually sleep in my living room,” you pointed out. Then you stifled a laugh. “Wait a minute. Is Officer Tim Bradford afraid of the dark?”

     Tim scoffed. “I’m not afraid of the dark.”

     “Your secret’s safe with me,” you teased.

     “There is no secret,” Tim shot back.

     You winked. “Exactly.”

     “You’re impossible.”

     “Thank you.” You smiled.

     The room fell silent. You heard him sit back down. 

     You laid back, staring up at the ceiling. The seconds ticked by. 

    “Do you—do you think he really would’ve shot me?” You asked, finally.

     “I don’t know,” Tim admitted. “He clearly thought you guys had unfinished business. But guys like that get high on fear—on desperation. He couldn’t have that if you were dead. In his mind, he’d be losing his power over you.”

     He paused. 

     “Besides, I don’t think he would’ve gotten the chance,” Tim said. “He clearly underestimated the badass-ness of his opponent.”

     You snorted. “Did you just say ‘badass-ness’?”

     “It’s a word!” Tim defended. 

     You laughed, turning over on your side. 

     “But seriously, if you ever need anything, you can always talk to me,” Tim said, sounding earnest. “I mean it.”

     “I may just take you up on that,” you responded. “Do you tell that to all your rookies?”

     You could barely make out Tim’s frame in the dark. “No, not all of them.”

     “I’m going to take that as I’m special,” you said. 

     Your next words were out of your mouth before you could stop them.   

    “You know, Lopez and Bishop had this crazy idea that you had feelings for me,” you said, staring up at the ceiling. “But I told them it was just that—crazy.”

     Tim didn’t speak.

     “It is crazy right?” You asked. You had to know. He still was silent. “Right?”

     “Boot, look—” Bradford started. His voice came out rough, as if he hadn’t talked in days. Your heartbeat was a deafening roar in your ears. 

     “Tim?”

     You could hear more than see Tim’s movements. He stood, pacing the length of the room. Sat back down. Stood up again. Sat. 

     “Dammit, Boot, I can’t do this,” he finished. “I can’t do this right now, (Y/n).”

     Your pulse quickened. He hadn’t denied it. 

     You stood up. 

     And maybe it was having to deny your attraction to your TO for seven months. Maybe it was the adrenaline still coursing through your veins from the attack earlier. Maybe it was because the darkness felt safe and secret—made you feel like you could do anything. Maybe you were just too eager after his small encouragement—or, lack of discouragement.

     But, whatever the reason, you walked over to where Tim sat, kneeled down, looked into his confused, strained eyes, and kissed him. 

     Tim froze, his lips still against yours. And then, almost as if he was afraid you would vanish or startle, he placed his hand gingerly on your waist, and leaned into the kiss.

     And he was kissing you back. Tim Bradford was kissing you back. 

     His free hand went to your hair, deepening the kiss as he gripped you closer. He kissed you like he had been waiting a lifetime.

     It was desperate and raw and passionate—it was perfect.

     You broke apart, both gasping for breath.       

     “Listen, Boot,” Tim started. You watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. “You’ve had a long and confusing day—”

     You interrupted him. “Yeah. Yeah, I have. But I’m not confused about this.”

     You brought your lips to his again. This time he didn’t hold back. He pulled you closer to him and you felt the warmth of him through his shirt. 

     When you came apart again, he was smiling. 

     “Well, I guess I can check thinking that you hate me off my daily checklist,” you whispered. 

     “I don’t hate you, Boot,” Tim said. “I actually hate how much I don’t hate you.”

     You studied the planes of his face, the light from the hallway illuminating his eyes. His lips. His jawline.

     “Boot—”

     “If you’re going to say that this is a bad idea, I don’t want to hear it. Not tonight,” you said. 

     “I thought that was obvious.” Tim stated matter-of-factly. “I was going to say actually I’d appreciate it if you did turn on a lamp or something, because—”

     You laughed, kissing him again. 

     “But seriously,” Tim continued. “You know we can’t do this.”

     “Why not?” You pouted. “If it’s what we both want.”

     “It’s not about what we want—we could be putting both of our careers in jeopardy.”

     You knew he was right. Of course he was right. 

     “But is it—what you want?” 

     “God yes,” Tim blurted, standing up, his voice strained. “It’s what I’ve wanted from the moment I started training you. Do you know how hard it’s been trying to put distance between us and deny every damn thing when all I wanted to do was—”

     He broke off, running a hand along his hair. 

     “Then do it.” Your heart pounded in your chest. “You’ll only be my TO for a few more months, we’ll just keep it a secret until then. No one has to know.”

     Tim looked at you. 

     “Ok you’re right, Bishop and Lopez will totally know something’s up,” you admitted.

     “I guess I’ll just have to transfer,” Tim joked.

     “What happened to ‘Tim Bradford finished what he starts’?” You asked.

     “Oh I intend to do just that,” Tim whispered. “Are we really thinking about doing this?”

     You thought about the consequences you could face—Tim could face—if it got out that you and your training officer were romantically involved. You knew it would be a huge risk—one that could get you cut from the program.

     You looked at Tim. He was watching you like he never wanted to let you go again. You thought about how long you’d wanted this, even if you didn’t fully know it until tonight.

     And the decision seemed clear.

     “Yeah,” you beamed. “Yeah I think we are.”

     He cupped your face in his hand, his fingers warm against the back of your neck. Your eyes closed against his touch. You felt comfort for the first time in hours.

     “You need rest,” Tim whispered and your eyes fluttered open. “As much as I’d love to do this all night.”

     You nodded, backing up towards your bed. Tim ran a hand through his hair again and then sat back down in the armchair.

    “What’re you doing?” You asked him.

    “Going to bed,” Tim answered, as if it was obvious. 

    “Get over here,” you gestured, rolling your eyes at him.

    “I was hoping you’d say that,” Tim smiled. 

     You climbed into bed beside him, pulling the covers over both of you.

     You lay your head on Bradfords chest. You could feel his heartbeat in your ear as you closed your eyes.     

    “You know, this will kind of be like doing undercover work—minus the threat of getting killed,” you said. 

     “I don’t know about that—I wouldn’t put anything past an angry Sergeant Grey.”

     “We’ll just have to be so in-character that we never find out,” you said. 

     “I’ll make sure to be extra tough on you next shift,” Tim agreed. 

     “And that’s different from any other day how?” You shot back, sitting up. 

     “Hey, training rookies is a sacred duty and I take that very seriously. If you think I’m going to throw your education out the window simply because—”

     You shut him up by pressing your lips to his. You echoed his earlier words. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

     Tim shook is head slightly, eyes roaming over your face. 

     “What?” You asked.

     “You’re so beautiful, (Y/n),” Tim breathed. “I’m so glad I can finally tell you that.”

     “Me too,” you said. “Even if it took…this for it to happen.”

     “Speaking of which, maybe I’ll take a sick day tomorrow,” Tim said. “Since there’s no way Grey—or myself—is letting you go to work. What’d you say?”

     You wanted to fight him, say you were fine and you could make it to your shift the next day. But the promise of taking a sick day with Tim was to tempting to pass up. 

     “I say I’m glad your house is being repainted,” you teased. “Because then you’ll have to stay with me.”

     Tim smiled knowingly. “My house isn’t being repainted, Boot. And I’m all yours.”

     You grinned, laying back down and resting your head back against Tim. He wrapped his arm around your shoulder.

     You felt safe, protected in his arms. 

     The rest would come. Dealing with what had happened tonight. Starting your secret relationship with Tim. Eventually facing everyone at work who had heard the news and would want to ask if you were ok. And you would be ok.

     But for now, this was enough. He was enough. 

     “Tim?” You whispered.

     “Hmm?”

     You struggled for words to fit the gravity of what you were feeling for him. “Thanks for…everything.”

     “What are TOs for,” Tim shrugged. 

     “Apparently keeping the night light business afloat.” You giggled at the look on Bradford’s face. 

     “Shut it, Boot.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~°~❦~°~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ˋ°•*⁀➷ hope you enjoyed loves!! i’m so down bad for tim it’s not even funny 😵‍💫

[imaginesheaven]

Bar owner!Reader x TF 141

Friendship headcanons

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of injuries, a bit of angst?

This literally turned almost into an Oneshot *haha* I couldn’t help myself ;D Enjoy~

Your bar “Tango Down” is known by almost every soldier and police officer. It is the ultimate spot to meet for drinks after a hard work day or mission. Since your bar has a very good reputation you are also known and well respected.

Of course, the Task Force 141 visits frequently when they are not away for a mission. “Hey, (Y/N)”, Price greets as he enters the bar firstly. To hear his voice once again brings a big smile on your lips, “Look who’s still alive! The usual, boys?” They give you all nods as they take their places on their usual table.

Years ago, when you first opened your bar Price was one of the first customers you had. Still to this day he is your favorite and most frequent one. After the Task Force 141 was built he brought them to this place, where you all grew extremely close with time. Even grumpy Ghost has a soft spot for you.

“Good to see you all. How you are doing?”, you put the drinks down on the table. A flash of fur whizzes between your legs right into the loving arms of Soap. “Bloody Jesus, Cougar! I wish this freaking dog would love me as much as he loves Soap”, you roll your eyes playfully annoyed as the soldiers cuddles your “scary” Belgian Malinois named Cougar.

“Sometimes I believe you are only here for Cougar”, Soap shrugs his shoulders grinning like he isn’t even sorry for stealing your dog away every single time he steps into the bar. “We brought you a present”, Gaz can’t contain his pure joy as he holds out the bottle of Whiskey. “Thank you so much! That goes directly into our cabinet for special events!”

Price started this tradition years ago when he started to visit your bar regularly. Every time he came back from a mission you got another expensive and exotic bottle of alcohol like Whiskey or Wine. John was and is still incredibly grateful to have you at his side after hard missions talking to him, pouring drinks and keeping his mind occupied with happy thoughts. The Task Force 141 keeps this tradition still going. Here and there when there is a reason to celebrate you pop open one of the bottles with them.

“Don’t worry, love, at least Ghost, Gaz and I are here for you”, Price puts his hand on your shoulder smirking as you take a seat with them. Soap is way too distracted to follow the conversation at all. He keeps playing with Cougar. The two of them have an own tradition. Soap gets Cougar after every mission a new toy to play with him.

It’s usually very calm and quiet in the bar due to the high number of soldiers and police officers. They can keep everything in order for you if you need it, but you are actually able to sort it out on your own. Just like this evening…

“What is going on here, Kick?”, you ask your bartender. He rolls his eyes annoyed, “Just a round of men making trouble. They keep talking trash about the soldiers.” You let out a whistle to call Cougar to you, “We take care of it.”

“Guys, your time is over here. I don’t tolerate little boys talking bullshit about real men”, you stand your ground against the five men. They might be taller than you, but it doesn’t intimidate you at all. They start to laugh, “How about no? What will you do?” Apparently, the leader of this little gang takes out a handgun from the back of his jeans.

Without flinching you grab his hand aiming the gun at the ceiling punching with the other against his throat. That leaves him choking for a few moments as you take the gun apart leaving it useless at the table. The guy doesn’t have enough yet trying to grab you. Quite painful you twist his arm as you push his face against the surface of the table. “Leave. Now”, as you let go of the men they bolt out of the bar scared for their dear life.

For a second the silence is deafening in the bar until the Task Force 141 starts cheering. They others follow suit very fast, but you wave them off with a red dust on your cheeks, “Stop it, please.” You store the gun behind the counter, “Drinks on me for everyone … BUT ONLY IF YOU STOP CHEERING!” Within a second everything is back to normal.

“Stop messing with my jukebox, Soap”, you have your back to the machine as you prepare the drinks, but you are sure he is already on his way to turn on a certain song. Soap loves messing with you and getting on your nerves playing one song over and over again until you lose your bloody mind.  

He looks at you with his puppy eyes, “Come on! It’s my absolute favorite song!” Smirking you roll your eyes and make your way towards the table with new drinks. “What did we just witness? You absolutely wrecked this guy”, Gaz stares at you in disbelief. “You were in military, right?”, Ghost recognizes a soldier when he sees one and you were for sure one. You let out a sigh, “Yeah, Special Forces for a few years.” Price raises his eyebrows surprised. “Don’t you dare to take a look at my file, John. That’s the past”, you wink at him grinning. Sometimes you could read him like an open book.

“Enjoy your drinks, boys!” The team shares a brief glance. Every time they are at your bar they learn something incredible new about you. It is like you are a never-ending pit of surprises. It makes them wonder what person you have been in the past. Especially John Price. He might have a look into your file nevertheless.

The night comes to an end. You keep sorting out the rest of the bar alone as the light goes out suddenly. The little hairs on your neck start to stand up and your senses tingle to warn you from the oncoming danger. Upstairs where you live above the bar you can hear Cougar barking. You already brought him up so he can rest. Now you realize your mistake. He would have protected you.

A hand grabs your neck from behind as the first punch lands. The fist collides with your stomach and the pain leaves you breathless. You can’t see their faces in the dark but you are more than sure that these are the troublemakers from earlier. They keep beating you. The pain is just overwhelming until the darkness takes over.

Captain Price enters the bar followed by his team. To his displeasure you are not behind the counter to greet them with your usual bright smile. “Kick, where is (Y/N)?”, Soap asks the bartender. They all feel that something is very off and they don’t like it at all. Even Cougar can’t be seen anywhere.

“(Y/N) is upstairs. Recovering. I’m not sure about company, but I guess you can try”, Kick knows it would be useless to tell them you don’t want to see anyone. They are going to make sure you are okay and no one will stop them. Price makes his way upstairs followed by the others.

They can hear Cougar barking at them coming up the stairs. “It’s okay, Cougar, it’s just the boys”, you say calmly to the dog as you pet his soft fur. Cougar greets them happily when they come through the door. Of course, the dog makes his way towards Soap to beg for some scratches. After a few head rubs Cougar is satisfied and comes back to your side placing his head onto your leg. You have never seen the dog that clingy, but he is ready to protect you with all he has.

John seems cool, collected and focused on the outside, but on the inside he is raging. Just like the others. Your face shows the last remnants of the beating. A black eye, a bloody, split lip and so on. They don’t even want to imagine what bruises your clothes are hiding. “It’s okay. It looks probably worse than it actually is”, you try to downplay the truth, but all of them can see it in your eyes. These troublemakers broke you a little bit and no one was there to protect you.

Ghost takes a step forward and grabs your chin softly to take a closer look at your face, “This is absolutely not okay. They made it personal.” Without a further word he let go of you giving Price a short nod. They know what they have to do.

“Wait! Please be careful. All of you”, you grab Price’s sleeve to keep them from leaving. There is no chance you can stop them at all. You just want them to come back to you safe and sound. John gives you a reassuring smile, “Of course, love.”

With that they went away to deal with the problem. None of the men told you what they did to the troublemakers and you never asked. They would literally give their life to keep you safe. After that everything just went back to normal.

“Johnny! No!”, you try to pry the beer bottle out of Soap’s hands as he reaches over the counter. “You have to be faster than that, sweetheart!”, he celebrates his achievement and takes a gulp from the beer. “No jukebox for you for a whole week! It’s like I’m dealing with children!”, you give up laughing. Price shrugs his shoulders, “Now you know how I feel.” You lean against the counter watching the boys. Gaz and Soap try to out beat each other in darts, while Ghost gives Cougar some head scratches hidden beneath the table. No one should see what a softie he turns into around you and Cougar.

This is literally perfection for all of you.

   Bonus

“Isn’t that the owner of your favorite bar?”, Laswell hands Price the file after he bugged him for weeks, “Are you sure that’s right?” John shrugs with one shoulder not really interested in getting a lecture, “Yes, just making sure who’s serving me drinks. I’ll take that with me.” He leaves Laswell’s office with the file under his arm. John is going to take his sweet time to read through your past.

Laswell leans back in her chair dialing your number, “He got your file, (Y/N).” She almost can hear you grinning through the phone, “Almost everything is classified so John won’t learn much about me. He just could have asked, you know? Thanks for letting me know, Kate. Greet your wife!”

[cuubism]

Made in an Instant (5/5)

Dream's eldritch pregnancy, conclusion

Hob has never been so angry in his eternal fucking life. He’s going to find whoever decided to kidnap his pregnant husband and brutally murder them. Back in his day, people lost hands for stealing. Maybe he’ll bring back drawing-and-quartering. Now that was a good punishment.

With Matthew and Lucienne’s help from the Dreaming, he’s managed to track the kidnappers down to an abandoned prison just outside London. It’s really too on the nose. Dream will be peeved about the lack of creativity. Hob gets teary at the thought. Fuck he’s worried about him.

He doesn’t encounter anyone as he breaks into the place, which is worrisome. Shouldn’t there be someone? Guards? Kidnappers? He’s got his ancient broadsword strapped to his back—it felt more poetic than a gun—and he’s itching to just swing it through someone. Getting hacked in half will teach them to mess with Dream.

He passes dozens of empty, decrepit cells, walking faster as he still doesn’t find anyone— then stops. Turns to the cell at his right. That’s Dream’s magic. He feels it. And as he steps closer, he finds runes traced along the floor, along the walls and bars, a cage of magical lettering.

The only problem: the cell door is already open. And Dream is nowhere to be seen.

Shit. Is Hob too late? Did they take Dream somewhere else? Did they hurt him again? He spins in place, already starting to panic, he’s going to have to—

“Hob.”

Hob whirls around. Dream is standing at the other end of the hall. His coat is rumpled, but he looks generally unharmed. Most importantly, he’s not in a prison cell.

Hob rushes over to him, embraces him. Dream hums with pleasure at the touch. “Thank God. Oh, love, thank goodness you’re okay.” He holds Dream at arm’s length, looking him over. “Are you okay? What happened? Did they let you go?”

“I freed myself,” says Dream. He holds out his wrists, which have what look like burn marks on them from some sort of manacles. “I am. Mostly. Unharmed.”

Hob takes his hands, looks over his wrists carefully. “If they bound your powers like that, then how did you get out?”

“My powers were bound.” Dream smiles craftily. “But hers were not. I wished for us to get out. And she unlocked the cell.” He really seems quite proud of it. “We worked together.” Then he grimaces, pressing a hand to his lower belly. “Unfortunately, she has now taken this wish on as her own, and, I believe, decided she wants to get out. Now.”

“Now?” Hob flits around him, trying not to panic. Again. “Isn’t it too soon?”

“Wishes are often made in an instant,” says Dream.

Hob takes him by the arm and starts bundling him towards the exit. “Alright, let’s go home, then. Christ. Did you kill the kidnappers?”

“I do not kill humans,” says Dream.

“Did you eternally punish the kidnappers?”

“Yes.” He seems frighteningly unperturbed considering he’s just been kidnapped and is now apparently going into magical labor. Maybe he’s just compartmentalizing. Dealing with it all by not thinking about it. Hob will just have to do all the freaking out for the both of them.

He gets Dream into the car. Buckles him in. Starts driving at a speed that would definitely get him a ticket if he wasn’t married to someone who could just make police officers become suddenly and mysteriously distracted.

“How are you feeling?” he asks as he drives.

Dream considers. “Hmm. Restless. I’m curious what will happen.”

“You don’t know what will happen!?”

“This is untrodden ground, Hob,” says Dream. He does not sound as concerned about it as Hob thinks he should be. But then, the pregnancy itself has never seemed to concern him as much as it has Hob. It’s the grander scale of the thing that weighs on Dream’s mind. “No Endless has carried a child before.”

That’s just absolutely fantastic.

“We will find out,” says Dream, settling deeper into his seat.

Yeah, we sure fucking will, Hob thinks.

Matthew catches up with them partway through the drive home. Dream must have sent him a message in whatever dream-way he has, though Hob doubts he intended for Matthew to actually come find them. Hob feels briefly bad about not trying to contact Matthew himself, to let him know Dream was okay, but he was a bit distracted by the whole magical labor situation.

“Who the fuck kidnaps a pregnant lady?” Matthew exclaims as he soars in through the open car window, landing awkwardly on the dashboard. Dream slants a look at him, and Matthew amends, “Uh, I mean, a pregnant dude.”

Hob’s pretty sure that wasn’t the part of the statement Dream objected to and that calling Ye Olde Lord of Dreams dude might actually be worse.

“Does that make it worse or better?” Matthew wonders.

“Their fates were sealed the moment they threatened my child,” Dream intones, ominous as a storm front. “Now their minds belong to the Dreaming, where they will be fed upon by nightmares bearing the faces of their most deeply held fears. For eternity.”

“Definitely don’t kidnap pregnant ladies,” Matthew mutters. He ruffles his feathers in a shiver. “You good now, boss?”

Dream just inclines his head.

“You good, Hobster?”

“Well, my husband is going into some kind of unprecedented magical labor,” Hob says, voice tight. “And I didn’t even get to chop anyone’s head off, so I’m a bit worked up.”

Matthew squawks in alarm. “Labor?!”

“Do not be dramatic,” says Dream.

“Sure, sure,” says Hob. “It’s a regular Tuesday.”

“I am fine,” Dream says, more firmly—this time to Matthew. “Please inform Lucienne all is well. I will send for you at a later time.”

“You freaking sure?”

This time Dream gives him a stern look, and Matthew ducks his head. “Right, right. Well, see you later, then, I guess? Um. Good luck?”

He cringes to himself, but then wheels away out the window again. Dream rubs his forehead tiredly. 

“Don’t want the whole peanut gallery in the delivery room?” Hob asks, and Dream cracks a small smile.

“Would you truly have killed them?”

“I was kind of looking forward to it actually. Bit peeved you dealt with them first.”

Dream chuckles, tension easing. Hob’s still going way above the speed limit, and should really keep his attention on the road, but still he holds out his hand on the center console. And Dream takes it.

--

At home, Dream continues to be restless. Hob bandages his wrists, not that he thinks it will really do much. Dream changes into some of Hob’s comfortable loungewear. And then just starts pacing. Walking restless circles between the kitchen and living room, back and forth, back and forth. Hob’s never seen him like this. Normally Dream is very still, in control. He doesn’t fidget.

“Shouldn’t you lie down or something?” Hob asks. The way Dream is treating this is really not helping him fret any less.

Dream keeps pacing around the kitchen. “Hmm. No. I am going for a walk,” he says, and heads for the front hall.

“A walk?” Hob follows him at a rush, nearly tripping over his own feet. “Dream—”

Dream is already putting on his shoes. “Wear a coat at least,” Hob says, draping one of his own over Dream’s shoulders.

Dream gives him an arch look. “Are you not coming along?”

“Of course I’m coming!” With a frustrated sigh, Hob puts his own shoes on too.

He follows Dream out to the street, empty at this hour of the night, and across to the park, where Dream trudges off into one of the woodland trails like he’s on a mission. Hob follows, scrambling to catch up.

The forest path is absolutely dark at this hour, lit only by scant patches of moonlight. But Dream has always seemed comfortable in the nighttime, so he doesn’t seem perturbed. Meanwhile, the empty surroundings are not settling Hob’s anxiety.

“Dream, are you sure we should be wandering about in the park?” he asks.

Dream raises an eyebrow at him. “It is not as though we will need to go to a hospital.”

“It’s just— it’s the middle of the night.” And you were just kidnapped, he thinks but doesn’t add. Hob doesn’t know what delivering an Endless baby is supposed to be like, but he’s pretty sure he doesn’t want to do it in the fucking woods. “We can go to the Dreaming if you like?”

Dream shakes his head. “She wishes to be born in the Waking. I believe so she can properly meet you.”

“…Oh.” Hob’s heart squeezes. And he resigns himself to doing whatever Wish wants, even if it means delivering in Richmond Park. She’s going to be a spoiled terror, he already knows it. Much like Dream, if he’s being honest.

“Fine,” he says, and takes Dream’s arm. Pulls him close. “Why are we in the park, then?”

“Wish is restless,” Dream says. “And. I am restless. I can feel all her budding dreams, her feelings, they are wrapped up in me far more tightly than any other dreamer’s and the process of disentangling them is agitating us both. And out here it is…” He looks up at the empty sky. “Quiet.”

Again, Hob is painfully reminded that Dream verbalizes so little of what he actually feels. And he’s reminded, too, just how strange, how beyond comprehension, this pregnancy really is. Human pregnancies are already strange and miraculous, but this is… soul-bending. He can’t imagine how it must feel, for Dream to be so close to their daughter for so long and then have to figure out how to let her go.

“Okay,” he says, wrapping an arm around Dream’s waist and letting him lean on him. “Take your time, then. Both of you.”

“I was not ready,” Dream admits, “for this to happen now. I thought there would be more time.”

“I know, darling. Me too.” Hob kisses Dream’s temple, rests their heads together as they walk. “You’ll still have her though, yeah? Even after she’s born. She’s not going anywhere. It will just be a change.”

Hopefully Dream will stick to his agreement to take some maternity leave after the birth. He is really going to need it.

“And you will get to meet her,” Dream says. “I look forward to that.”

Hob does, too. God. So soon.

For a while they are quiet, just listening to the low breeze, the night birds, and the waving branches, taking in the moonlight and the isolating darkness of the park at night. It’s peaceful. A bit eerie, too. But this atmosphere is Dream’s element. He is a creature stepped right out of it. And it seems to calm him.

Finally, Hob asks, “Does it hurt?” Surely if it did he wouldn’t be strolling around out here, but then, Dream is very catlike in that he does not like to let on when he is hurting. Hob knows it well.

“No, except in the way exhaustion might be said to ‘hurt,’” Dream says. “But it’s no matter. You needn’t worry about me.”

“Dream,” Hob says quietly, “I thought we’d gotten past the point where you realize that I’m always going to worry about you.”

Dream stops walking, pulling Hob to a stop beside him. He turns to Hob, brow furrowed, and Hob takes him by the arms. “You deserve someone to worry about you,” he says. “Someone to care whether you’re feeling well. I want to do that. I want to fuss over you.”

Dream keeps staring at him, expression pinched, but then softens and says, lowly, “I like when you do.”

He’s said so before, but it can be hard, sometimes, to get things internalized with Dream. To get him to feel he can have it. Count on it.

“It’s settled, then,” Hob says, and Dream huffs. “I’ll take care of you.”

“As you wish,” says Dream, but leans in close to Hob as they start to walk along again.

Hob wonders what it all feels like. He had never watched Eleanor go into labor, it wasn’t really the done thing at the time, but he grasps the idea of what it’s meant to look like. But Dream doesn’t show much on the outside, other than his evident restlessness. Everything about his pregnancy, if something so nontraditional can be called that, is so cerebral, it leaves Hob apprehensive for how the ‘birth’ is meant to go.

It’s all a lot. It’s a lot.

“Hey,” Hob says abruptly. “I’m proud of you.”

“For… being… pregnant?”

“Yeah, for being pregnant— but more for trying again. I— even so many years later, I think about Robyn, and the things I didn’t do or should have done, and it’s daunting to put myself in that position again. Even if I want it. So, I’m glad that you’re willing to try again, because I know it’s the same for you—maybe even more so.”

“We promised to make it good,” Dream says quietly. Something Hob said to him once, when Dream had first dramatically announced that he was inexplicably expecting a child.

“And we will,” Hob promises. The more he thinks about it the more freaked out he gets, honestly, but he’s going to be self-assured for Dream. At least externally. “We will, darling.”

“You never had other children,” Dream says, more confirmation of a fact than a question.

Hob grimaces. “Couldn’t bear to. I think, if I didn’t have you, I wouldn’t want to now, either. I can’t have another family pass me by while I go on. Hurts too much.” He owes Death free drinks at the Inn till the end of the world, this time around.

“Yes,” Dream agrees, solemnly. “Better, this time. I hope.”

It will be. Hob’s determined.

He kisses Dream’s cheek, keeps him close in the circle of his arms. And they walk on into the night.

--

It’s some time later when Dream stops, seemingly at random, and says, “Okay. We can go home now.”

Hob says, incredulously, “Dream, we’re on the complete other side of the park.”

“Easily remedied,” says Dream, pulling out his sand. Before Hob can say, wait maybe you shouldn’t do that right now, the world is spinning violently around them, and their bedroom rushes up to meet them.

Dream lands primly on the bed. Hob hits the floor, only just managing to get a hand up in time to not break his nose. He rolls over onto his back, looking up at Dream. “Not to be like that, but I think pregnancy is making you crazy.”

“I have been balancing her powers with mine for months now, splitting my focus to prevent it from creating chaos in the Dreaming.” Now he sounds truly weary. “As she has grown it has become more challenging and occupied more of my attention. Her power is impulsive. Whimsical. It is like trying to contain sparks.” He smiles tiredly. “I suppose it has made me scattered, yes.”

Hob finally pushes himself up from the floor, goes to perch beside Dream. He kisses Dream’s temple. “I like your crazy.” He lays his hand on Dream’s stomach. “And hers. Even if it means I have to buy extra fire extinguishers for the sparks.”

Dream smiles, tilting his head against Hob’s.

“Now you just stay there,” Hob tells him, helping Dream get out of his coat, pulling his shoes off, and nudging until he gets settled in the center of the bed, “and let me get you whatever you need.”

“Only you,” says Dream.

Hob fetches him some water anyway.

When he gets back, he slides into bed beside Dream. “It is not long now,” Dream tells him, solemnly.

Heart lurching, Hob braces a hand on Dream’s shoulder, and… waits.

He doesn’t know what he’s waiting for.

“What are we waiting for, exactly?”

“Patience,” says Dream.

Does he have to be like that?

Well, at least he’s not writhing in pain. Hob will take the confusion of… whatever this is… over having to watch him in pain.

Dream holds out his hand. Hob takes it, twining their fingers, heart pounding with anxiety. He recognizes the moment when Dream lets most of his focus slip into the Dreaming, into himself, that endless ocean of him. His eyes fall shut, his rigid spine relaxes ever so slightly, his jaw loses its tension, and he becomes distant. Hob keeps squeezing his hand, grounding him.

Dream lets out a huge breath, squeezing tight on Hob’s hand, and reality sort of… slips.

It breaks down the middle and skids sideways, and for a moment everything is all mashed together, like a door that’s never meant to be unlocked is being jammed open so something can get through, and Hob can’t tell where his hand ends and Dream’s begins, if he’s still awake or what year it is or if they’ve been flung into the Dreaming sea, there’s a deafening whine in his ears rising in pitch, his skin prickles all over with static. And then Dream reaches into himself, into the everything-that-is-him, and where his hands go his form goes sort of inside out like he’s actually reaching out of himself instead of in. It’s incredibly nauseating to watch but Hob can’t look away, never mind that he’s not sure which direction is even up anymore.

When Dream withdraws his hands, he’s holding a baby.

For a long moment, Hob can only stare at the two of them, speechless, his tiny daughter and his insane husband who’s pulled an infant out of fucking— out of where? Hob still hasn’t gotten an answer on whether he has a uterus!

The lack of physical progression is breaking Hob’s brain, it feels like Dream’s pulled Wish right out of the fucking ether, and Hob really might pass out but he can’t pass out because Dream’s the one who’s manifested-or-whatever a whole baby so if anyone gets to pass out it’s him.

“Dream…” he whispers, incredulous.

Dream smiles tiredly. He looks absolutely exhausted now, like it’s all crashed down on him all at once. He looks down at the baby, meeting her eyes as something passes between them, then leans down to kiss her forehead. Then he shows her to Hob, holding her carefully. “Your daughter, Hob Gadling.”

Wish looks up at him with wide eyes. She isn’t crying, which normally would alarm him, but nothing about this is normal, and she didn’t come out of a womb—apparently—so she isn’t covered in blood or amniotic fluid or anything, she’s just there. She actually exists. It wasn’t all some insane fever dream.

And she looks so much like Dream, with her tuft of fluffy black baby hair and bright blue eyes. Hob touches her cheek lightly in wonder, and gets a little static shock for his trouble. When he yanks his hand back, Dream chuckles, and Hob swears Wish is laughing at him, too. He just knows it. Co-conspirators, they are. “Sparks, you said.”

“Yes. One of her many abilities.” He gestures for Hob to take the baby. “She will not shock you again.”

“Eh, I’ve dealt with worse than a little electrocution.” Hob carefully takes Wish and cradles her in his arms. “Alright, Sparkle, let’s not burn down the flat just yet, yeah?”

He barely gets the sentence out before Dream bursts into tears.

Hob only manages not to jump in shock through years of ancient holding-babies instincts. As it is, panic spikes, because Dream doesn’t cry. Not really. He often looks like he’s going to cry, but rarely lets the tears fall.

Now he’s sobbing. Hysterically sobbing, chest shaking, clutching at Hob’s shirt. Hob would be worried about his ability to breathe if Dream actually needed to breathe in the first place.

“Okay, alright, sweetheart, it’s alright.” Hob maneuvers Wish into one arm so he can cradle Dream with the other. Dream presses his face into Hob’s shoulder and wails. “Shhh, honey, oh, love, it’s okay.”

Endorphins crash? Hob thinks desperately, because he’s never seen Dream sob like that. Or at all. But he imagines it must be jarring to gradually grow a whole being inside you and then be abruptly thrown off the cliff of separation.

“Here, love. Breathe. Come on, now.” He takes Dream’s hand and guides him over so that Wish can grasp onto his finger with her little baby hand. “Do you want her back?”

Dream shakes his head, but stops hyperventilating, pushing himself further into Hob’s side. “No. You should hold her. It is just that. I cannot feel her as I once did.” He takes a shuddering breath, but steels himself. Hob wishes he wouldn’t. If there’s any time Dream shouldn’t have to shore up his emotions, it’s now. “I knew this would happen. But I have grown selfishly accustomed to her presence close to mine.”

“It’s not selfish,” Hob tells him, heart breaking. “It’s not. It’s okay. You love her. And she needed you. She still does.”

Dream lets out the heaviest of breaths, and slumps against him, utterly spent. He slips one bandaged arm behind Hob’s back, the other still stretched towards their daughter. God. Their daughter. Who Dream pulled out of what feels like thin air. It only gets stranger and more amazing the longer he thinks about it.

He looks down at her, cradled so tiny in the crook of his arm. Was Robyn that small? He can’t fully remember. But Robyn screamed and cried so much his presence filled up the room either way. Wish is quiet, just looking up at him with her wrinkly newborn face. She’s like a wisp of thought, a silent scattering of light, like Dream on some days when he fades into the shadows, just a bit. Dream had described her internal world as whimsical and vibrant and so this transition into waking must be quite overwhelming indeed. Just like it so often is for Dream.

“She’s beautiful, Dream,” he says quietly, getting choked up. Dream hums in agreement. “She’s perfect. The both of you are.” He kisses the top of Dream’s head. “I’m proud of you.”

Dream grumbles, but Hob knows how he needs to hear that sometimes.

“You should rest,” Hob continues. “You’ve been through a lot.” More than a lot. Hob still hasn’t fully gotten the panic of Dream’s disappearance out of his system. And he would not be surprised if it was affecting Dream more than he let on, too.

“I do not…” Dream starts, but trails off.

“You’ve kept an eye on her for months, darling. I’ve got her now.” He bids Dream to lay his head down on his chest, pets his hair, and Dream makes a low, pleased groan. “We’ll be okay, love. Promise.” And maybe by the time Dream wakes up again Hob will have been able to wrap his head around the existence of Wish. Probably not, but he can hope.

Dream sighs again, tiredly, but subsides, and soon enough seems to slip into proper sleep, Wish’s tiny hand still latched on to one finger.

Dream wrapped under one arm, Wish cradled in the other, Hob lets out a long breath and privately takes a moment to be relieved that everything went okay. No matter how many times Dream had tried to assure him, he had never been fully able to shake the fear that lingered from Eleanor’s death. But thankfully, weirdness of it all aside, everything seems to have worked out.

Hob looks down at Wish, who’s still just gazing up at him peacefully. Pretty soon he’s going to have to get up to get her sorted with diapers and a swaddle and whatever else a sort-of-human baby needs. She’ll need to eat as well, and he’s not sure how Dream wants to handle that. But he doesn’t want to disturb Dream’s peace so for now he just stays, holding her against his chest.

“Think it’s just us for a while, love,” he tells her. “It’s alright. It’s all been a lot for you, I bet. But you saved your da, d’you know that?” It’s pretty remarkable, when he thinks about it, that her powers had manifested enough that Dream was able to use them to escape. “You’re going to be a right terror, I can just tell already. Wishing all sorts of mischievous things. Going to have to get some proper child locks or you’ll wish yourself right out onto the street, won’t you?”

She makes a soft cry, and Hob knows it’s normal for her to cry, good even, but still it hurts his heart. Fuck, he really is going to have to move either her or Dream in order to arrange some milk. But if he takes Wish with him to the kitchen to prepare some formula, Dream will be distressed if he wakes alone. If he leaves her in a bassinet, he’s going to be stressed to leave her unattended. Maybe he’s not as prepared for this as he thought. Maybe there is no true being prepared. Especially when it had all been so different, the last time he’d had a child.

“Yo!”

Hob almost jumps again as Matthew appears and flutters down to land on the foot of the bed. If he’s not careful he’s going to have a heart attack. “Jesus Christ. Some warning?”

Matthew cringes. “Sorry. I just came to make sure he’s okay. The Dreaming went sort of inside out and it freaked everybody out.”

Hob strokes a hand through Dream’s hair. He doesn’t stir. “I think he’ll be out for a while. Did the Dreaming sort itself out?”

“Yeah, it settled down.” Matthew hops closer, peering down at Dream and Wish, tilting his head. “Damn. He really did it. I mean, I knew a few people who had babies, when I was alive— but jeez, I’m not really sure I believed it.”

“Tell me about it.” Matthew keeps peering at Wish, so Hob adds, “You can say hi to her. I promise she’s real.”

“‘Real’ doesn’t really mean much when it comes to dreams, dude,” Matthew says. But he leans down by Wish. She studies him, eyes wide and blue. “Holy shit she looks just like him.”

“I know, right?” Hob’s not sure if it’ll stick. It’s easy to say the baby looks like Dream now based on her blue eyes and tuft of black hair, but babies’ features can change a lot as they grow.

“Wow. This is… a lot.” 

“How do you think I feel?”

“I can’t imagine,” says Matthew. “I’m glad everything worked out, though.” He hops down to the bed and plucks at Dream’s hair affectionately with his beak. Dream still doesn’t stir.

“He’ll probably come to check in on the Dreaming in short order, knowing him,” Hob says. He’s not exactly happy at the thought of it. They might have been able to avoid Dream getting pulled temporarily back into work if he hadn’t gotten kidnapped by a group of incompetent occultists, but Hob knows he’s going to want to at least set foot in the palace briefly after all that. “Do me a favor and kick him out as fast as you can?”

“Kick him out. Yeah, that’ll end well for me,” Matthew says, then shrugs in a flutter of wings. “I’ll do my best. And I should probably go let Luce know everything went fine. Is, uh, there anything I can do to help before I go?”

Hob’s about to say no, then reconsiders. “D’you think you can make baby formula without hands?”

--

While Matthew is in the kitchen attempting to do that according to Hob’s instructions, Wish finally decides that she’s proper hungry, actually, and lets out a loud shriek that nearly pierces Hob’s eardrums.

Dream sits bolt upright like he’s been struck by lightning and spins towards him.

“You’re alright, love,” Hob says, even as Wish shrieks again and he grimaces at the volume. God, she’s like a fire alarm. Add soundproofing to the list of modifications Hob’s going to have to make to their flat. He hands Wish back to Dream as Dream reaches for her. “She’s just hungry. I deputized Matthew to make some formula.”

“There is no need,” Dream says, and holds the baby close.

“Matthew, nix the formula!” Hob calls out to the kitchen. “Dream’s going to handle it.”

Matthew calls back, “I don’t want to think that about my boss!”

“You’re the one who’s sexualizing a perfectly natural process!”

Matthew squawks in outrage, and Hob laughs as he hears the fluttering of wings that heralds him fleeing back to the Dreaming.

“I think you delight in tormenting him,” Dream says.

“He started it.”

Dream doesn’t berate him for it. He only smiles down at their daughter, running a light fingertip through her fluffy hair. And Hob remembers a conversation they’d once had, about what it would be like when Wish was born.

“Were you excited to be born, Hob?” Dream had asked.

“How the fuck should I know?” Hob had said. “I was three seconds old.”

“Hm,” Dream had mused. “I was never truly ‘born’ in this sense, but I believe if I were I would have been very displeased about it.”

It had made Hob laugh in the moment, and then made him feel sad when he thought on it later.

It was said that raising a child let you relive your own childhood. Hob had found it to be true with Robyn, despite how Robyn had grown up in an era so different from his own, so much more comfortable, never going hungry, or wanting for the things that Hob had wanted for as a boy. When he’d seen Robyn play, seen him learn, he’d remembered things he’d forgotten, moments of life lost to time. Wish’s childhood will be different in ways he can’t even imagine. Supernatural baby, supernatural parent, modern world of modern dangers and wonders. But still so much of it comes back to the simple things, growing and learning and playing.

He doesn’t think Dream really had a childhood. Never had the chance to grow and learn and play. He doesn’t know all the detail of how it was with Orpheus, but he knows Dream looks back on that time primarily with guilt. And it can’t have been easy to try to raise a child when you were never one yourself.

Hob had promised Dream that he would make it better this time. That he would make it good. He wants to show Dream what childhood can be like. What a happy family can be like. Had Dream and Calliope had that, if only for a time? He hopes so. He really hopes so.

Either way, Hob is determined to show him. And when he looks at Dream smiling down at their daughter… he thinks he might even succeed.

[etherealyoungk]

—⟡ covert desires (teaser)

summary:  the mission is simple - infiltrate a high-stakes auction that the top leaders, businessmen, women, and politicians of the world attend every year and steal one of the most highly guarded and hidden-away paintings from the target’s collection. the only downside, you had to work with kim mingyu, whom you absolutely hated. and to make it even worse, you had to pretend to be his wife for this mission to work.

pairing: spy!mingyu x assasin!reader (fem!reader)

themes: spy au, mafia, enemies to lovers, fake marriage, mutual pining, spies, angst, fluff, killing

warnings: suggestive, kissing, use of curse words, weapons, guns, knives, violence, use of drugs/painkillers, blood, gore, killing, death

wordcount: 750 words for the teaser (17.8k full fic) link to full fic here!

a/n: i had so much fun writing this! please note that this is purely a work of fiction! 

i'll be posting the full fic when i hit 3.5k to celebrate! teaser under the cut!

you wipe the last of the blood off your hands and carefully move the body, manipulating the crime scene to make it look like it was a suicide. with a carefully crafted suicide scene, the police wouldn’t even blink an eye and just close the case as a suicide, not wanting to bother investigating further.

you just had to leave around the right clues and bait them. once they’d find it, they’d conclude the case without thinking any further and your job was done. you were sure no one would even miss the bastard that you had just sent to hell anyways. after scanning the room, you make sure everything is in place before exiting quietly and disappearing into the shadows. 

when you reach home to your apartment, you swiftly change out of your soiled and bloody clothes. the idiot decided had put up a fight, making things harder for himself really. you planned on killing him quietly, but the fight he put up was unnecessary and he wasn’t going to stand a chance against you regardless. you would have finished earlier and your clothes would have been significantly less bloody. sighing, you peel off the clothes and they fall to the floor in a heap as you step into the shower. the warm water offers some sort of relief and relaxation, your muscles relaxing under the hot water. wrapping a towel around yourself, you step out and hear the faint ring of your burner phone fill the room.

“hello?”, you say as you put the phone to your ear.

“did you get the job done?”, the voice on the other side asks.

“yes, you didn’t hire the best for no reason, did you?”, you scoff back, offended he’d have a sliver of doubt in your skills. 

“good. we have another urgent matter on hand and it has to be discussed in person. you know where to meet me”, the voice adds.

“i swear if it’s another-“

 “you’ll love this one, trust me”, the voice says, cutting you short and hanging up as you begin to say something. you curse under your breath; that idiot never had manners. you huff,  throwing the phone on the bed, changing into something comfortable before you crash into bed, too tired to complain or think about anything else. 

you were an assassin or a hired killer you could say. but you liked to call yourself an assassin - because let’s be real, it sounds cooler. you were trained, skilled, and good at what you did – which was killing people, bad people specifically. when you weren’t out hunting people down, you were working as a barista at a local cafe. it was somewhat therapeutic compared to your other occupation. but you had to if you wanted to survive in this world. if you wanted your life to have some semblance of normalcy. the world was a cruel place and somehow you ended up doing this for a living but hey, at least it paid well.

the next morning you’re sitting in the hall of seungcheol’s fancy office, or what you liked to call the safehouse. “you’re here! let me tell seungcheol”, dino says upon seeing you, flashing you a friendly smile. you give him a small smile as he retreats, making his way to look for seungcheol.

seungcheol walks in a few moments later, and his presence can be felt in the room immediately. no one messes with him – everyone knew that. he was the most feared man in the underground mafia and a threat to the government as well. his connections and dirt on powerful people ran too deep with secrets only he knew and used as leverage. hell, even the government would hire him to do their dirty work so he was practically untouchable.

“what’s this urgent matter that needs to be discussed in person?”, you ask, once he sits down opposite you.

“no hi?”, he prompts, raising his brow as he looks at you.

“no thank you for yesterday?”, you prod back, challenging him. you were really the only person seungcheol let speak to him like that. he’d pretty much raised you and he didn’t seem to mind, especially since you did most of his dirty work.

“we seem to have gotten ourselves another lucrative mission”, he starts off, treading carefuly with his words. “it’s something worth millions if not billions, so this is a really high-stakes operation.”, he tells, observing you. “and we’re getting paid handsomely for it and so will you if it goes well”, he says.

taglist: @daisycheols @naaaaafla @weird-bookworm @fairyhaos @icyminghao @kyeomyun @joshuaahong @idubiluv @slytherinshua @wheeboo

send an ask or drop a comment down below to be added to the taglist for this fic!

[daryltwdixon]

The Ruins of Us: Chapter 2

Chapter 2 of the Working Title fanfic

relationships: daryl x reader, Shane x reader

notes: when do I have to come up with a title???? You arrive at camp, Daryl is back to the mask he puts on in front of others: snarky, no bullshit Dixon. And then you find out Merle is missing.

x flashback x

You’re gripping the wheel of your mom’s beat up sedan down the one lane highway toward the patrol station. Cursing to no one but yourself and the dash, you slam your hand on the wheel. What the hell did the kid get himself into this time?

You pull up to the station and race to the door. Catching a glimpse of yourself in the glass door, you wince inward–probably could've put yourself together to look more mature in this moment. But when you got the phone call from Daryl that he’d been taken in, you didn’t think twice before hopping in the car. Your off the shoulder shirt hangs loose over your same old worn denim shorts, your boots that are a size too small coming up to your shins. Great, you’re going to look like some redneck girl coming to bust her friend out of jail. Well…that was technically the case…

When you enter the station, the woman at the desk has you sign in and has you take a seat. Your leg is bouncing non stop while you bite your nails raw in the waiting area. On the phone, Daryl just said he was an idiot and needed a ride then continued to curse out the police station til the officer came and hung up the phone on him. You’re not sure what he did to end up here, but if it’s anything like the last time, it was stealing beer from a gas station or possession of something or other. A man suddenly comes through the door from the back, hands on his hips. He’s built strong and tall. Dark, luscious hair on top of his head that invites you to run your fingers through it. His five o clock shadow only adds to his masculine aura. It takes you a moment to stop ogling at him before standing up when he calls your last name. When he sees you, his eyes roam up and down you and you’re cursing yourself again for not changing. 

“Your boyfriend back there got himself into some serious trouble today” he says, deep brown eyes on you.  

“Not my boyfriend,” you mumble, your hands in your back pockets. You sheepishly look away.

“Good news for me then,” he quirks a smile, holding his hand out to shake yours. You can’t help but blush and smile back, taking his warm, calloused hand.

“Name’s Shane. Let me go get Dixon for ya,” he looks you over once more and turns back through the doors. 

x flash forward x

When you came up from the bushes, you were greeted with the sight of people standing around with rifles and guns pointed at Daryl.

You looked down at the decapitated biter next to the deer you and Daryl had been following. Poor baby had it's throat ripped out.

“Son’m bitch” Daryl exclaimed, “Tha’s my deer!” swinging his arms up in frustration. You stay behind a little, not wanting to bring attention to yourself too much. This was Daryl’s group and you didn’t know how they’d take to a newcomer. 

“All gnawed on by this filthy,” he kicks the biter, “disease-bearing,” another kick, “motherless” kick, “poxy bastard!”

The members of the group start giving him grief about his words and he snips back at them with quick retorts. You know this Daryl. This is the Daryl the world sees, the one he hides behind. He’s pointing around the deer, wondering if they can eat around the bite, looking hopefully at the others.

“Would not risk that,” comes a graveling voice that makes you finally step forward within eyesight of everyone. Daryl tenses and stands almost like he’s in defense mode as you come out of the woods to show yourself to the group. The people around the deer look up in surprise at you, but none more than the man you once called yours. 

Your eyes are glued on Shane, who has dropped his gun to the ground with his mouth agape. Out of the corner of your eye you see Daryl hit the still-alive biter with an arrow and stalk off, mumbling. 

Shane approaches you with his hands out, reaching for your face. He cups your face in both of his hands, then reaches around you to hoist you up into a desperate hug.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into your neck, “I’m sorry baby,” 

You wrap yourself around him and breathe him in. It’s been such a long time since you’ve seen him– since he’s held you like this.

xx

After some pleasantries with those standing nearby, you follow behind Shane into their camp.

You’re walking up the hill to the RVs and tents when you hear Daryl shouting for his brother. You look around for the redneck bastard brother but he's nowhere to be seen. Shane stalks ahead to him, and another man in a white tee is approaching as well. You recognize him from Shane being out on patrol before the world went bad, but you can't place his name.

“Daryl, just slow up a bit. I need to talk to you,” Shane says carefully.

“Bout what?” he stops, turning back to Shane and you.

“...About Merle.” Shane says, stopping in front of Daryl, “there was a…uh, a problem in Atlanta.”

Your breath catches, shit, is he–

“he dead?” Daryl voices your thought.

“We’re not sure,”

“Well he either is or he ain’t!” Daryl growls at Shane, circling him.

Thats when the man in the crisp white tee shirt approaches closer and explains the situation. Merle (not surprisingly) acted a fool and got dealt the consequences and is now handcuffed to a roof. You could almost laugh, it sounds so much like him– but Daryl looks pissed. After a moment of chewing on his lip, staring at the man, Daryl flings his crossbow, lunging for him. Shane shoves himself into him, pulling Daryl into a headlock. Theres muttering about filing a complaint with the police about chokeholds being illegal, and you push your way in front of him before the dude who handcuffed Merle gets involved.

“Baby, out of the way, Rick’s a cop like me,” Shane orders. Ah, Rick. Right, okay. 

You put your hand up at him, and kneel down in front of Daryl.

“Daryl,” you say calmly at his eye level. He’s glaring at the ground, refusing to look up at you. 

“Daryl,” you say again but with grit. He finally looks up, Shane’s hands loosening their grip as his breath steadies. 

“You know Merle,” you begin, “he doesn’t play well with others. Let’s listen to how the idiot got himself into this predicament and have a calm discussion. I’ll go look for him with you after.”

“Like hell you–” Shane begins but Rick cuts him off, “What I did was not on a whim,” he says in Daryl’s face. You back up, walking over to the other women watching everything go on. The men continue discussing until Daryl yells in frustration that he’s going to go get him. Rick tells him he’s going back into town to get Merle for him, and plans to get the bag of guns. You turn around, facing the women. Theres a few of you standing by the RV, and the woman with dark hair and bangs is pissed. She turns away into the van, leaving you with the others. 

“Let her be,” the girl blonde girl on your left says. She looks about your age, maybe a year younger, “she’s pissed that her husband wants to risk his life on Merle fucking Dixon,”

“I know Merle,” you state, and they whip their heads to you, “he’s like a brother to me too, so shut the fuck up” you stalk over to Daryl.

He’s pacing around while the others debate Rick heading out for guns and Merle. 

“This is bullshit,” Daryl mutters. You nod, holding your hands on your hips. 

“I’m comin’ with” you state.

“Naw, you stay. Like Shane said” he shakes his head at you but you glare at him.

He sighs, finally looking you in the eye, “Fine… I don’ wan’ ya outta my sight again, anyway."

Chapter 3 is here!

[susie-dreemurr]

Fuga Impossível: A story summary for The Gringos

I’ve been seeing people (mostly non-BR) get confused over Cellbit and Tazercraft’s references to their old prison break series, Fuga Impossível, (Impossible Escape) which is canon to their character in QSMP. As they discuss it in some story parts, including Cell’s recent letter to the boys, I thought that it’d be helpful to do a little summary! This is basically the Tazercraft wiki page for the “enredo” (plot) but translated and with a few differences.

Plot summary, from beginning to end, below:

Pac and Mike planned to infiltrate a museum in a big city to steal a valuable diamond, the plan being Mike's. However, almost at the end of the mission, the police end up finding and arresting them, and Pac and Mike are taken to the police station, where they are questioned by Detective Marrone, who makes them give themselves up and sends the two to sleep in prison. Upon waking up, Pac discovers that Mike has knocked out a guard, so the two decide to escape via a helicopter, but are caught by Marrone. Not even the efforts of Pac and Mike's lawyer, trying to clear them of the charges, reversed the situation; Pac and Mike end up being taken to the great prison of Alcatraz.

Arriving there, they are introduced to the prison director, Davi, and see the prisoner J.V trying to escape, but he is quickly recaptured and taken to the cell, which is next to Pac and Mike. The three end up becoming friends, and later, while staying overnight, they meet Cell (Cellbit), another prisoner (so called by the cell phone he carries) with many contacts, who offers them money and protection. It is noted however, that J.V distrusts Cell due to his dangerous and violent ways.

Pac, Mike and J.V start making their prison break plan; they intended to use a pickaxe stolen by Pac and Mike in the mining area, swapping it for a plastic one made by J.V, and escaping through the toilet pipe. Unknowingly for them, Cell overheard everything that was said and tells Pac and Mike not to trust J.V. It turns out that Cell then sends the police officer Felps to search the cell of the two for the pickaxe, but he does not find it. Cell then confronts them, saying that he wants to run too; Pac, Mike and J.V reluctantly agree.

They set the escape date for the next day, but on the same day, J.V, who was in solitary confinement, escapes, and makes a hole in Pac and Mike's cell, with the intention of starting the escape before and thus avoiding Cell. When J.V tries to plug the hole he made, Cell surprises him, stabs him and, after getting them to show him the location, betrays Pac and Mike, fleeing alone in the minecarts (later it would be seen that Cell was caught by the guards). At J.V's funeral, Mike finds a letter, where Jv says he suspects Cell, and tells them to look for his companion Guaxinim (Racoon), a very sneaky prisoner. They speak with Raccoon, who agrees to join them. Pac, Mike and Raccoon go to Cell's solitary cell, but discover that he has already been released. They then decide to go to Cell's cell to steal his cell phone. Arriving there, they try to steal the cell phone, but Cell finds them. However, Raccoon discovers that the cell phone has no signal, and Cell threatens to kill them if they tell anyone.

Pac and Mike decide to use the money (given by Cell when they entered the prison) to pay a prison gang to scare Cell. However, the gang they paid off (Rayquaza) was actually Cell's own gang. Pac, Mike, and Raccoon decide to tell Guard Felps about Cell's cell phone not having a signal, but Cell kills Felps and steals his gun. Then there is a gang fight between Rayquaza and a rival Cell gang, and the other prisoners take the opportunity to make a rebellion. Pac, Mike and Raccoon take advantage of the situation to escape and Raccoon reveals that J.V took advantage of his escapes to build a raft for them to flee and would take Raccoon along in exchange for protection. They find the raft, but Cell (who overheard the three's conversation) surprises them, making them take him.

The four leave Alcatraz Island, but the raft that Jv designed starts to sink because it was only designed for three people. Pac, Mike, Raccoon and Cell then decide to stop on an island. Raccoon was an engineer, so he was assigned the role of repairing the raft and discovers that even if he fixes it, it will still only hold three people. With that, Cell, who has a gun, lets the 3 decide which of them will die. Raccoon later checks his gun and discovers that it only has one bullet — Raccoon then starts to repair the raft, but everyone is starving (except Cell who had gotten some apples from a tree and Raccoon), and Pac and Mike believe Cell would be feeding Raccoon just because he knows how to fix the raft. Suddenly, a police helicopter appears; the group manages to hide the raft in a nearby cave without being seen, and a short time later the helicopter leaves the island. Meanwhile, Cell manipulates Pac, Mike, and Raccoon into thinking they are betraying each other. Mike, who took Cell's knife, stabs Pac, but Raccoon appears and the situation is cleared up. With the three of them knowing this, they trick Cell into thinking that Pac and Raccoon wanted to sacrifice Mike. The three go to a cave to make the plan, but Cell discovers the lie and presses the button at the entrance to the cave, thinking of locking the three there, but the button locked Cell himself in a trap. Cell threatens to kill them with the gun, but Raccoon tells him to keep the bullet for himself. Pac, Mike, and Raccoon exit through a hole behind the cave, abandoning Cell. On the way to the raft, they hear a shot fired by Cell (it is not known if he committed suicide). Finally, Pac, Mike and Raccoon leave the island on the raft, making an impossible escape

[n0v4t33z]

The Syndicate - Chapter 1: Misfortune of a Prodigy

Pairings: Choi San X Female Reader, Park Seonghwa X Female Reader, Ateez X Female Reader, Bangchan X Female Reader

Summary: Y/N is a Detective with a promising future in the police department until she's kidnapped by the infamous mafia boss Choi San and from him, she learns the dark secrets her superior has been hiding the whole time so she teams up with him in order to put a stop to it.

Genre: Lots of angst, Romance, Crime Fiction, Psychological Drama

Word Count: 2.9k

Tags/Warnings: For Mature Audiences, Language, Graphic Violence, Mentions of Illegal activities (i.e Kidnapping, extortion, assassination etc.), y/n gets roughed up by Wooyoung in the beginning , Slow Burn, Fluff sometimes, Work In Progress, Non-Idol AU, Mafia AU, Very suggestive at times, y/n cries alot, y/n having inner turmoil, Ateez being bad boys, Wooyoung and Yeosang are a little mean in this story tbh, Guns, Gunshot wounds, Assassination attempt(s)

I'll update tags as the story progresses

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

Spotify Playlist🎵 | Series Masterlist 📝

Author's Note: Hi guys! This is the very first story that I grew courage to post on here, so please be kind! I would also like to just kind of let you know that this is a work in progress so updates may not be as quick and they will be pretty slow as I am quite busy with work although I'm quite a bit ahead in the story writing wise so in the mean time I have enough chapters to be able to post. I really hope you guys enjoy the story! 💜

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After being called into a crime scene, I finally arrive to my destination and notice a couple of bystanders and a few journalists outside the hotel, I show my police shield to the officer guarding the crime scene and I head inside. I look around and notice the beautiful crystal chandelier on the ceiling and the beautiful marble floor of the lobby. I’m assuming it’s another one of Aurora Syndicate’s rival gang member’s death. I head over to the presidential suite of the hotel and there he was, a man who was around his 50’s bludgeoned to death, judging by his clothes he had a lot of money too. While my mind was focused on the crime scene I feel a hand on my shoulder interrupt my thoughts then I turn and realize it’s my partner Detective Christopher Bang “ Hey, I genuinely thought you weren’t going to come since it’s past the time you get off” He gives me a smug smirk judging from the tone of his voice. I shrug keeping my eyes focused on the victim’s position.

“Well, duty calls. Besides it has to do with AS so you know I’m up for this. So, whose this guy? He looks like he’s loaded" Chris takes out his notepad and hands it to me for me to read “Well, the guy’s name is Shiro Ito judging from his bank cards and identification used to get this room. He was allegedly involved in laundering money for The Aurora Syndicate, my guess he might have been stealing or giving out information which is why they probably killed him.” I slowly nod then I hand Chris his notepad back “Makes sense why they would have killed him, were his records clean?” He nods “Yep, clean as a whistle. The receptionist downstairs told me he was the owner of a few clothing stores which makes sense and is probably how he was able to launder money for so long without being questioned.” I get a little closer to the body and I look at the impact wounds. The wounds looked very deep, something very personal was the reason this man was killed. The suspect is definitely not a female, judging by the severity of the wounds it was definitely a male. I shift my gaze over to the man’s hands whom was holding on to something tightly.

With my gloved hands I pry open the victim’s right hand to reveal a cuff link with a beautiful iridescent stone. My face instantly lights up and I put it in an evidence bag. “Chris, this was not a woman who killed him. Look, a cufflink with an Aurora Borealis stone and it doesn't belong to Mr. Ito, he took it off of the attacker while he was trying to fight him off. If we find who this cufflink belongs to we've got our guy.” Chris’ eyebrows slightly raise while crossing his arms in front of him “Narrowing it down won’t be too hard, I’m positive it’s someone in the AS’ inner circle hence the name of the stone.” I turn and hand it over to a crime scene technician “Put this in evidence please this one is very important.” the technician nods and marks the evidence, I look back over to my partner who was engrossed looking at his notebook and I let out a small yawn “I’m heading home now, I’m exhausted. You mind finishing up here? I'm also almost finished with the police report from the last case so I'll turn it in first thing tomorrow cool?” He nods while he puts away his notepad in his back pocket and looks to me with a small smile “Yeah for sure, see you tomorrow.” I wave goodbye and I head back to my car and drive home for the night.

While I driving home I begin to think about that cuff link. Whose is it? And why was Mr. Ito killed? Hopefully we’re able to get the suspect’s print off of the cuff link but I highly doubt that since it’s probably covered in Mr. Ito’s prints.

When I arrive at my apartment complex, the lights to the parking lot are busted so it was kind of dark but not enough to where I couldn’t make things out. While I carefully get out of my car and I start to walk to my apartment. While I look through my purse to find my house keys I hear the cocking of a gun behind me “Take one more step In that direction and I will kill you.” I jump up and I turn around dropping my purse on the ground. I focus on both figures both dressed in black one was average height with jet black hair framing his face, and a tall one with blonde-brown hair. I raise my hands slightly to show I have nothing in my hand then the tall one removes my gun from my holster. The guy with the black hair grumbles “Mingi hurry up, I have a feeling someone saw us.” The dark haired male grabs me and points a gun to my lower back while his hand covers my mouth and nose with a cloth “If you scream things will get much worse from here, you wanted to be the hero so now’s your chance to take the fall.” Mingi the tall one, walks up to me and injects something into my neck, zip ties my hands and slings me over his shoulders like a rag doll. I have to fight to stay awake. I have to at least see the vehicle. I force my eyes open trying to stay awake whilst trying to free myself from Mingi's strong grip but my eyelids become unbearably heavy and I fall unconscious before I’m able to see the vehicle.

A few hours later, I wake up in a lowly lit room and quickly realize I'm tied up to a chair. Slightly groggy, I look around and see no one was in here. This empty room, is practically a near empty room with a crudely made empty bookcase behind me which looked like it hadn't been cleaned in years along with a mix of bunch of random debris on the ground and dried blood. I sigh then I yell out “Hello?! Let me out of here please!?” After yelling for what seemed like a little while I hear footsteps fast approaching, and soon the door clicks open. It was the dark haired guy who abducted me again. “So you finally woke up, it took you long enough.” He stands in front of me and stares me down all while I look up at him trying to show him I wasn’t scared of him which was an obvious lie considering how I was manhandled earlier so easily. “Why am I here? Who are you?” Completely ignoring my question he reaches over and squeezes my cheeks really hard to the point where I jerk my head back in pain unable to escape his grip “You know, I hate cops. I hate how they try to dig up your business.” I glare at him “Well, maybe you shouldn’t be getting rich off of illegal businesses and death. ” He lets out a mocking laugh and lets go of my cheeks slightly throwing my head back with force that was pretty aggressive “Wow, Detective you’re funny. You know not everyone grew up with the same stupid sense of right and wrong as you right? We do what we can to survive.” I shake my head “No, you and your stupid mafia sheep are just a bunch of idiots who will eventually fall victim to natural selection.” He grabs a fistful of my hair “Oh, we’ll see about that.” He leans in close to my face “I need the rest of the names of the cops who are working on the Ito case, you pigs have something that belongs to San.”

Oh god, is he talking about Choi San? So it was his cufflink, I should have known. I shake my head “No, I won’t tell you anything...” He mutters under his breath “You little- I seriously don’t have patience for you...” he grabs me by the collar of my shirt and punches me in the jaw. A sharp pain shoots through my jaw and the taste of blood fills my mouth, for a few seconds I look at him slightly dazed while I mumble “I’m not telling you.” He shakes me violently pulling me from the rope I'm tied to “Talk! I need those names now!” he pushes me back and I fall on my back and on my arms letting out a pained cry “No! I’m not going to tell you anything!” The male walks over to me and kicks me several times in the stomach causing me to let out pained screams and cough up blood. Slowly I start feeling like I was losing my consciousness again but before it happens he grabs me by the rope I was tied up with again and pulls the chair back up “Hey, are you passing out? Come on, tell me names and It’ll all stop. I promise.” He spits out mockingly. I shake my head while I look at the floor trying to dissociate myself from the situation I’m in. Blood profusely drips from my mouth onto my white collared shirt soaking through the shirt and feeling the dull drops of blood fall onto the fabric. One, two, three..

The dark haired man walks over to the corner of the room and grabs a crop whip and hits me so hard I could hear the whip crack. I let out a cry of pain and suddenly a thin, tall, dark haired man dressed all in black wearing a leather jacket comes in and grabs his shoulder “I think she’s had enough. You can stop hitting her now Wooyoung, she’s not going to talk.” Right after he comes in another man enters the room, he wore a wine colored dress shirt and some fitted dress pants with his dark hair slicked back and black rimmed glasses. It’s Choi San, the current leader of Aurora Syndicate. He looks exactly the way people described him to be. Handsome, cat like eyes with a jawline sharp enough to cut diamonds, and a very intimidating prescence. Wooyoung, slighty nervous knowing he messed up looks over at both guys and says “Seonghwa, San, I tried being nice but she was being so rude I didn’t have a choice.” San looks over at Wooyoung quite irritated and says “Can’t you ever follow orders? We need her alive. I never asked you to do this.” Wooyoung raises both of his hands and nods “Alright, alright fine. I’m sorry. I just thought that because you usually-” San turns to Seonghwa and cuts him off “ Seonghwa, please take her to the infirmary and ask Jongho to clean up Wooyoung’s stupid mess” San then makes his way over to me and kneels down, looks at me for a few seconds and lifts my chin up with his finger to meet his gaze all while wiping the blood off my chin with his thumb “I’ll talk to you later Detective, we have some things I wan to discuss.” he gets up and wipes the blood he wiped off of my chin onto Wooyoung's shirt. Slightly annoyed by this action, Wooyoung scrunches up his face in distaste and follows behind him leaving me alone with Seonghwa.

The man quietly walks over to me and uncuffs me from the chair. “That’s a lot of blood, I hope Wooyoung didn’t do too much damage.” His soft voice had some calming effect to where I was slowly coming back from my dissociation and felt a bit more grounded. He kneels next to me and for a few seconds he lets me recollect myself “Let’s go to the infirmary, hopefully you can get rest there.” Slowly tears well up in my eyes making my vision blurry. He lets out a soft sigh and gently pats my back “It’s okay, don’t cry. I can’t guarantee that nothing will happen to you but I suggest you just listen and answer the questions you’re asked.” I shake my head “No, I’d rather die than throw my whole squad under the bus.” He fixes my disheveled hair and says “I know, but trust me the faster you fess up the faster you’ll be able to leave. Just think about it, please.” He slowly helps me up and picks me bridal style in his arms.

While we head over towards the infirmary I break the silence by saying “Why are you being so nice?” For a few seconds he stays quiet until he finally responds “Well, I believe in treating people with kindness despite whether or not I dislike something about them. For instance, I don’t like the feds but that won’t stop me from being a decent human being.” I look up at him in sheer confusion “But you’re a literal criminal. You steal and kill people for a living.” A small smile appears on his face and he says “Criminal or not i’m still human. Remember, we all have reasons as to why we do things even if sometimes those things aren’t good.” He’s right, even the people on the other side of justice have their reasons for being criminals. Not everyone decides to do it because they want to be evil, most of the time it’s the lack of money, or a cry for help. Everyone is different.

When we finally enter the infirmary it smelled exactly like a hospital, intoxicatingly sterile. Jongho was at his desk on the computer but as soon as he sees me in Seonghwa’s arms he quickly gets up and walks over to us. Seonghwa gently sets me down on the examining table. Jongho looks at me for a brief second in horror then looks over at Seonghwa “What the hell happened? Why does she look like this?” Seonghwa looks at Jongho and says “It was Wooyoung, San got pretty upset about it too.” Jongho looks over at me and glances at the police badge around my neck making a very uncomfortable face and huffs under his breath “That bastard..” He uncomfortably smiles “ Seonghwa, I’ll take it from here thank you.” He nods and walks out the door closing the door behind him. Leaving Jongho and I alone.

Jongho puts on some latex gloves and he grabs his stethoscope from a drawer near his desk. He gently places the chest piece on my chest and does a whole routine check up listening to my breathing and what not, shortly after he finishes he puts his stethoscope around his neck and clears his throat “I listened to your organs and everything sounds fine, no broken ribs which is good. I see that your arms are quite red, so you might get bruises but no broken bones which is good news too. I also see that you coughed up blood but you’ll be okay you’ll just be sore for a couple of days the internal bleeding will heal on its own as it's not severe. I'm going to give you some pain killers, they’ll help for a couple of hours.”

After taking the medicine he proceeds to clean my busted lip “Thank you, but I have a question.” His eyebrows slightly raise “Oh, sure what is it?” I give him a pleading look and I say “Why am I here?” his face grows a little serious and he goes back to cleaning my wound “Oh, well you’re here because San Is looking for a family Heirloom he lost... That heirloom is so important to him because it was a gift from his father and to get it back he decided he was going to hold you for ransom until the police hands it over.” I sit there trying to process everything for a few moments then I respond “Isn’t that a little overboard for a cufflink?” Jongho shrugs “It is, but knowing how San is since he really treasures everything his father gave him. I’m sure he really doesn’t want to replace it and it’s understandable.”

San’s father, Junseo “The Phantom” Choi. He was killed in a shootout last winter at a restaurant he frequented. I look down at my police badge then I look over at Jongho “San could have just asked me to give it to him. It's really that simple.” Jongho shakes his head “I wish it was that easy but it’s complicated, let’s just say that your Captain and San’s family aren’t on great terms so in a way this is payback .This is as much as I can tell you because to begin with I wasn’t even supposed to tell you any of this so please just act like it’s the first time you’ve heard about it when San questions you.” I nod “Of course no worries. By the way thank you for not trying to kill me.” Jongho’s small smile comes back and he says “Of course, none of this is your fault to begin with.” Suddenly a guy with light grey hair that almost looks white comes in and says “Hey, I’m taking her from you San wants to talk to her. Is she clear for interrogation?” I give Jongho a worried look and he gives me a small reassuring smile, helps me get off the examining table and walks me over to the guy at the doorway “Yes Hongjoong, she's clear.”

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Next Chapter

[highfantasy-soul]

I think The Acolyte is really pointing to the similarities between the Jedi Order and police (specifically American police) - Torbin being the unfortunate focal point of that (though Sol was heavily influenced by the 'hero/savior' role that is common to police too).

The Jedi put a massive amount of emphasis on combat training. They have lightsabers that they go on a whole-ass pilgrimage to create, they learn from the age of 6 (at least) how to use it/block blaster bolts/attack, etc. and then they're sent out into the field.

American police get HOURS AND HOURS of firearm training, are taught that every time you step out into the community, you're walking into a war zone where everyone wants you dead and anyone could pull a gun on you at any moment to try to kill you.

Then when they (both police and Jedi) go out into the field...it's mostly sitting around doing nothing. It's paperwork. It's driving around. It's talking to locals about non-lethal things - or at least, things that aren't about an evil person shooting at you. It's boring.

That is one of the major things new police officers note is that they thought the job would be high-adrenaline, exciting and dangerous (due to all the copganda on TV) and when they actually got in, it was so so so so so so so boring to them. They didn't see the value in helping out their community through non-violent means, they wanted to be part of a shootout and kill the bad guy and be a big hero! (This is a major problem with the US military as well, and with the cops in this country being trained AS a military force, there's no wonder there's such a huge overlap in this thinking)

So what do they do with all that weapons' training and ideas of being a flashy hero? They LOOK for an opportunity to escalate situations. They seek out 'dangerous' neighborhoods so they can 'get some action' (see: the officer who murdered Tamir Rice). Someone reaches for their wallet to pull out the ID the officer told them to get and that same officer shoots them dead because 'I thought they were reaching for a gun!!'

Torbin seemed to be running into the same situation on Brendok. He was trained as a warrior (just look at how expertly he deflected all those bolts, how he was able to keep Kelnacca from immediately killing him), he didn't expect his Jedi missions to be quietly sitting on an 'uninhabited' planet for weeks just taking environmental samples. He was itching for a different type of mission - or at least to be able to go home. So when a drop of action comes around, he's far too eager to jump on the opportunity and 'do something'. That 'something' being attacking the locals with the intent to steal their children because he's just so tired of being on a 'boring' mission.

Idk, just something to think about when looking at why the Jedi reacted the way they did and why 'peacekeepers' seem to only be interested in combat rather than exploration. Maybe it has a bit to do with their training and the propaganda they're taught about the Order. I don't know a single eco-biologist who was itching to pull a gun on local populations - maybe because they're trained to want to study things rather than being given tons of firearm training. If the Jedi were trained a little more on non-violent activities and a little less on lightsaber training, their outlook when going on missions might be different.

[ghcstao3]

"bold of you to assume the guy who trapped a cop in his own car would not encourage crime" (about Soap) when did this happen?! *excited/feral*

he should become friends w/DC's Jason Todd, a vigilante who uses guns, protects kids & occasionally quotes classic English lit while pew-pewing his enemies--(same man also met Batman when he, at the tender age of 13, tried to steal the Batmobile's tires)

what I'm saying is, Simon "it's not illegal if you don't get caught" Riley, Johnny "screw cops" MacTavish & Jason "feral intellectual anti-hero" Todd should really meet. 3 gorgeous, precious big dudes destroying capitalism on the daily--

i think that story is a part of his bio? it's at least on the wiki:

In 2016, Soap almost faced disciplinary action for punching a Military Police officer, knocking him out and locking him in his own vehicle. No charges were filed to avoid embarrassment for the officer.

so. Yes. i suppose they'd all be three peas in a pod in terms of disrespecting authority not for the sake of disrespect but for doing what's right and maybe because it's a little fun, too

[aita-blorbos]

AITA for having impure thoughts and insulting God?

i (18F) am a devout christian, and have always maintained a dedication to save myself for marriage. unfortunately, i’ve recently begun having… impure thoughts… which i believe have been invoked by our school’s star football player (18M) who i’ll call J (not the Big J though!)

now, J is highly feared by a lot of kids at school. he’s very violent and frequently bullies kids he considers nerdy prudes. i overheard a group of nerds discussing wanting to get back at him, so naturally i got involved and took the lead

our plan was, we lure him to an abandoned house and jump out at him dressed as ghosts, filming it to show to the whole school how embarrassingly scared he got

of course, given how violent and aggressive he was, he opted to instead try to fight the ghosts, endangering some of the nerds. we put it to a stop and revealed ourselves before anyone could get hurt, and he was surprisingly delighted by our surprise for him

unfortunately. the floor he was standing on collapsed, sending him down three stories, wear he was impaled on wood. we rushed to him, and with his final breaths he swore revenge

now, everyone was obviously freaking out, so i decided to be the reasonable one. i told everyone we needed to get rid of the body. there was too much evidence that would suggest we lured him here with the intent to kill him, so chopping him up into pieces and hiding him beneath the floorboards seemed like the most logical solution

honestly i was really relieved he died. my impure thoughts went away after his death so clearly this was an act of god. J deserved to die or else he wouldn’t have died, simple as that

two months passed, and our school greatly improved now that J was gone. everyone got along great!

until one of the nerds who helped with the plan got killed, a note written in blood left at the crime scene. J’s last words

even worse, though, was the fact that the police discovered J’s body and an investigation had been opened up

i came up with a plan to cover our tracks by going to the police station and attempting to frame our rival town for the murder, but the police had already gained a lot of evidence that i was there at the crime scene (having found my WWJD bracelet at the scene of the crime)

i explained to the police that J’s death was an act of god, and in my rage i…….. well im very ashamed to admit this. but i called God…… a son of a b word…..

i was able to steal an officer’s gun and get away on my bicycle, but now another one of the nerds is dead and i’m very worried

but most of all i’m worried about my soul! first those horrible horrible thoughts J cursed me with, then i called God the b word! what is wrong with me!

[smilebuddies]

Imagine that you are robbing a bank, which role would you choose???

“Ooh! I would wanna go into the bank and steal the money! SOUNDS FUN!!”

“I would steal the money too!”

“NONE?! I WOULD NEVER STEAL! I would be the police officer!”

“Same probably..I would be the police officer..”

“A THIEF!”

“Getaway car driver!”

“I would just sit in the getaway car, and wait for the others to come out.”

“THE ONE THAT HAS A GUN.”

[frostings-silly-little-art-blog]

ok i scribbled this out really quick so yah lol its not great

Hatred to the point of obsession. Obsession to the point of addiction. Years of chasing down the most notorious criminal, nights filled with the vision of your gun shooting him, his reign of terror ending, as satisfaction and relief blossom inside. Countless times you've run into him just for him to come up with a wild escape and lose him by the tip of your fingertips. The neverending chase. Long ago any friends you had left you, which was ok at the time because it gave you more time to work on your research and plans to stop him. In your office there were papers everywhere, layouts of buildings, places he's been and newspapers hung on the wall. Even a photo of him printed out, used for knife target practice. A wonderful stress reliever. 

If you were honest with yourself back then you could say life was good. Not perfect but you had purpose, something to look forward to every day. When you did encounter him it was always a wild adventure. All black clothing, long trailing coats, red spikey hair and a cheeky grin. He pleasured himself by making some snarky remark and going on long rants about his evil plan. Occasionally he would catch you, tie you up to a chair, be forced to watch him steal valuable items or blow up some empty government building until you could escape and stop him. But he would never kill you. You didn't think to question it at the time but thinking back he never had a problem killing before.

Nonetheless that was all over now. Just a week ago you turned on the news to see there was a big accident, something to do with a malfunction in a train causing it to derail. Of course followed by fire. By the time police got to it, any passengers there were dead. That wasn't what was important. It was sad, sure but the important detail was where your long nemesis was seen moments ago. you couldn't believe it.

A few hours before the crash you were chasing him, he was terrorizing a bank. Making everyone dance to some shitty music he put on while his henchmen carried the money to their van. Well, after you got there it was the normal. He tried to get you to dance but after some threatening from you and flirty jokes from him he dropped a smoke bomb and made a run for it. The chase had started. His henchman drove away with the money after he waved them to go without him. You and him, like old times, before he got a whole team to help. After a bit of running you saw your chance and raised your gun, just at that moment you realized these rails aren't as empty as you thought. A train pulled by, he grabbed onto the side, pulling himself in. You tried to run after it but it was too late. So you went home to brood. And figure out where the train was headed.

It was the same train on the news. You called the day off work (some customer service call line job you got after being sacked from the police for “being too obsessed”). Eventually they released a few passengers' names and pictures of them.

“Felix Blink.” next to the name there was a picture of your redheaded nemesis. so that was his name. you had always called him Shadow Flame. or Flame for short. That name was chosen after a particularly long session when you were tied up and you started asking questions about who he was, when he wouldnt say you tried coming up with a nickname for him. He thought the name was genius and called himself that from then on. Even if the name was a bit goofy.

Of course the obvious answer was that it was all part of his plan. Another evil ploy to cause mayhem and destruction. He probably jumped out of the train at the last second. So you just had to wait for him to resurface.

But it's been six months. half a year and not a whisper from him. You couldn't get yourself to take down the papers and research. Even now you are sitting in your office, surrounded by years of your journey with Flame. Oh how life was so pointless now.

Two months later. you couldn't stand your office anymore and started going to the actual building for the job, your little box office was boring even with the Cat Stevens poster you put up. After a bunch of calls from annoyed customers you went on break for a cup of coffee and a smoke outside the building. Some of your coworkers were gossiping about the news that they identified Felix as Shadow Flame. About time, you think to yourself.

“Explains the lack of news from him.” The girl that is two boxes down from you spoke.

“Honestly, what I always thought was worse than any crime he committed, yes even the murders, was his terrible name. Who calls themself Shadow Flame?” The guy who's office is a few rows down from you chuckled to himself.

You couldn't help yourself from defending the name, “Oh come on. Like you could come up with a better name. Plus it's a bit demeaning to the victims to say that was his worst crime.”

“Are you seriously defending a criminal?! Oh god, Martin, you aren't one of those crime freaks, are you?” Few rows down guy spoke again, before taking a sip of his coffee.

You sighed, smoke trailing out of your mouth. “No. I was simply stating there is much more to complain about than his name.”

“Hah, alright, sure.” Sarcasm seeped into his words. He turned to the door when someone walked out. They went to gossip about some random other news. Luckily you were able to escape to finish your break in peace.

[skzoologist]

word count: ~3.8k

warnings: there is a crime scene there described, mentions of past abuse

genre: angst, with a hint of crack

a/n: The last of the event's requests, done at last. This was requested by an irl friend, and since I know her very well, I made a few changes to it. Now it's focused on certain characters more and turned into angst, because we love that in this household. And my previously hidden fixation over DBH is newly lit and I only need to look at the word count to know I am absolutely fucked. But I love the world of that game too much, and look, police SKZ??? I cannot be the only one who loves the concept this much, I just know it 😔 No, police!Chan doesn't have a hold on me, what are you talking about- Anyway, Darling, hope you enjoy reading this, there's plenty of main course with a hint of fine wine there!

Please let me know if I left a warning or anything out, I will add it in! Reblogs, likes and feedback are greatly appreciated!

!I don't condone anyone stealing my work and posting it anywhere without my permission, or feeding it to AI!

!This is just fiction, my interpretation of Stray Kids. By no means is this how they are and how they behave in real life!

He was at the wrong place, at the wrong time. 

It was that simple.

He’d merely wanted to take a brief walk around the neighbourhood, to freshen up his mind and wind down from a stressful day of work. Nothing more, nothing less.

And yet, he somehow found himself crouched in front of a window at a house that wasn’t even his, mind you, and just bearing witness to a scene that made the breath still in his lungs. Not a single coherent thought passed through his mind, body operated purely by instinct as it stayed there, motionless, as if he himself had been turned into a statue.

The room he’d been peering into was bathed in vermillion, splashes of it everywhere: on the expensive furniture, the once shiny floorboards, even the glass he’d been peeking through. And amidst all that stood an android, his clothes pristine and untouched, looking as if he’d been put there from a completely different scenario. The light on his template was a calm blue, creating a serene light in the dimly lit crime scene.

Before he could even think about what to do next, the nearby android turned towards him, movement precise and calculated. Not a single hair was out of place on his head, expression as neutral and calm as it could be. Their eyes met, one a pair of deep cerulean, another a pair of darkness, wide and scared, pupils shrank down in utter fear and anxiety.

He knew he couldn’t run anymore, with how he’d been seen. It would only take the police to check that android's memories to see his face and pin all of this on him, while the real culprit would be left to run free and commit another crime with no shackles to restrict them.

Not a chance he would let that happen!

“Sir, don’t move and put your hands where I can see them.” - an unknown male’s voice called out to him, sending him nearly into a heart attack.

Shaking, but knowing he quite literally had no choice now if he wanted to stay alive, he slowly lifted his hand up above his head and turned around, the movements choppy and shaky. The sight in front of him made the blood freeze into his veins.

A police officer was standing there, pistol drawn and pointed right at him, the man’s presumed partner having his hands on his own holster, housing another gun, ready to be pointed at him as well. His eyes instantly glazed over, panic being the only fragile obstacle between his tears and the wide world.

Because those two weren’t simple officers, no. They were well-known for their amazing skills, tackling hard cases and solving them swiftly, as if they were mere child’s play to them. Captain Bahng and Officer Kim were highly praised and sought-after individuals in their fields, their Department quickly gaining fame and the trust of the people.

Which was why he prayed that they would believe him and how he had nothing to do with the dead body in this random house, even if there was only a slim chance of it ever happening.

“Sir, we’re going to need an ID and a clear explanation on what happened here.” - the senior officer said, his voice now much closer as he’d been inching towards the scared boy ever since. “I- I’m Han Jisung, I uh, I live down a few roads over there and please believe me when I say I don’t know what happened here. I was just taking a walk when I noticed the strange spots on this windowhereanddecidedtocheckandsawitwasbloodand–” - his words became a jumbled mess, his breath short and much too fast to be considered normal.

The officers noticed it too, how his eyes seemed unseeing, his whole body shaking and going into a panic attack. The captain quickly put his pistol away and approached Jisung swiftly, only after a quick glance at his partner, who nodded back and followed him closer, stopping a few metres away, hand still hovering over his open holster.

“Sir, I need you to listen to my voice and breathe with me. Take a deep breath in, then, breathe it out. In, out. Yes, like that! Breath in, then let it out.” - the captain instructed, a small smile dancing on his lips to appear at least a tiny bit friendlier.

Jisung followed along as best as he could, his body and mind retreating from the verge of an attack slowly, but surely. His breathing stabilised, only hitching in his throat every once in a while. Only small tremors could be seen running along his hands, the digits twitching occasionally.

“Good, you did good. I’m terribly sorry Sir, but we cannot let you go, given the circumstances. My partner here, Officer Kim, will keep an eye on you while I go in and investigate. I would be grateful if you would comply.”

While he was still a bit out of it, Jisung nodded his head so fast, it was a miracle his vertebrae were still intact. That small smile ever so slightly widened on the captain’s face before he glanced back at his partner and stood up, having been kneeling in front of Jisung this whole time. The other policeman once again curtly nodded, his eyes drifting down towards the scared boy and quietly prompting him to stand up. Jisung thankfully read the silent command and followed along, watching as Captain Bahng took his pistol out again and carefully opened the door.

The android was still standing there, the blue light of his LED spinning as it was processing new information, his eyes falling upon the new arrivals’ forms.

They felt strangely alive, causing a shiver to run up Jisung’s spine.

“Ah, you must be the android the caller mentioned before. Seungmin, can you question him while I take a look around?”

“Looking after a potential suspect wasn’t enough? You’re working me to death over here.” - the officer’s voice was light and teasing, drawing a sigh out of the older one.

Despite their playful banter, Seungmin did as he was told, calling over the android and asking it about everything, down to the tiniest of details. Jisung merely stood there in silence, mainly because he was still shaking in his boots, praying to any god out there that he would not land in jail.

All the while Chan’d been walking around the room, gloved fingers hovering around potential clues and traces. The body laid next to a table that stood there emptily, a shattered bowl and spilled food found nearby, a few of the latter’s pieces still sticking to the wall above and painting the beige surface a light brown. The puddle of blood around the body was spread wide, as if no blood was left in it anymore. Arches made with those same vermillion blotches could be seen around, staining the furniture and walls, as if the murder weapon was flung around after each stab in a morbidly graceful spectacle. Seemingly no injuries were on the body as it laid there, back facing the ceiling, forcing the policeman to leave it as it is, until the investigators came around and took photos of everything in their original state.

The house itself was big, having two stories with several rooms on each floor, all spacious and well furnished. The now dead owner must have been well-off, although that didn’t come as a surprise, the neighbourhood being closer to the heart of the city. But now as it stood there, empty, it only posed more problems, making the investigation harder with its endless potential hiding spots for easily missable vital clues.

It took the captain a good ten minutes to scan the first floor briefly, his eyes stopping at an opened magazine. Curiosity drove him forward, something in his gut telling him it was important. His fingers hovered over the marked page, the big letters in the middle confusing him, creating a slight furrow in his brows.

“Hey, Seungmin. What’s the android’s model?” “BI-800, why?” “Then where is the HS-900 model one?”

Seungmin hummed, also appalled by the situation. The two officers quietly discussed things, but Jisung saw.

The android’s light flashed in an ominous red, yet in the blink of an eye it was gone, only that usual, serene blue could be seen in its place. It made Jisung question his sanity, if he was so freaked out he was starting to hallucinate now.

“I’ll check the upper floor, stay here and watch the doors and these two. That android has to be here somewhere too, if the house owner actually bought one.” - Captain Bahng said, voice firm and turning serious.

And so the other three waited on the first floor in silence, the atmosphere so heavy, it was basically palpable. The air itself turned chilly, as if something was in the making, yet none of the humans knew about it. 

Officer Kim was already in his stance, ready to take action in a millisecond if needed, eyes sweeping over the place in a calculated manner. Jisung was just standing there, fidgeting with his hands, the skin around his nails on the verge of bleeding from the constant abuse. All the while the android just stood there, eyes fixated on the stairs, never once looking away.

As if he was waiting for something.

A few minutes later a quiet thud could be heard, barely registering in the humans’ ears. Both of them snapped their heads towards the stairs now as well, waiting for something, anything to happen.

Yet, Jisung felt the urge to look at the android who stood next to them again, as if it was an insatiable itch itself that had to be satiated.

The light on his temple was blood red, never changing its colour, no matter how long the human looked at it.

Not even a moment after this discovery did a male run down the stairs, so distressed he nearly tripped down the oak steps. Somehow he found his balance and successfully righted himself, just in time to land safely and for Seungmin to slam into him, pushing him down onto the ground. Chan wasn’t far behind, looking dishevelled and a bit out of breath, no doubt the unknown male’s doing.

That same male was writhing in the officer’s hold, trying his best to break free while shouting, begging to be released. But the small splotches of blood, both red and blue, begged to differ, putting him on the prime suspect’s pedestal, no matter how hard he cried and pleaded with the policemen.

It all happened in the blink of an eye, and Jisung somehow saw it all unfold with perfect detail, his body jerking backwards into faux safety.

The android disappeared from next to him, no, he ran there with calculated and efficient steps, a pistol drawn from one of the holsters sitting snugly in his hand, pointed right at the weapon’s rightful owner’s head. All movement ceased when a click could be heard, the gun merely the pull of a trigger away from firing.

No words were exchanged, yet the android’s demands were obvious. Their hold on the suspect lessened, allowing the male to scramble out and hide behind the robot, tall form now small and timid. His fingers were desperately clinging to that typical outfit all androids were forced to don, hold so tight his knuckles turned white. Tears were still endlessly flowing from his strikingly blue eyes, forming wet trails on flushed cheeks and long hair.

In a strange twist of fate, those strands were the exact same shade as the blood that could be seen smudged on his clothes and face, mixed with a few splotches of terrific blue.

The same blue that started spreading on the android’s white uniform, the puddle seemingly appearing out of nowhere and growing ever so slowly. Yet, he didn’t seem bothered by it, remaining in the same position and putting a comforting hand on the male clinging to him.

“Listen, I know it’s scary and you have every right to be scared, but if you lower the weapon, we can help you. Just–”

Chan’s voice was interrupted by a simple ‘No’, the word cold and firm. It left no room for discussion, planting fear in the policemen’s minds and locking their limbs into place. Nausea took its place in their guts, as if it had been waiting for this exact moment to rear its ugly head. 

He couldn’t lose his partner like this, Chan would rather take his own life with his own hands before that could ever happen.

Jisung didn’t know how he was still standing there, with dry pants no less, but he just couldn’t take his eyes off of the scene playing out right in front of him. He watched it all with bated breaths, nearly lightheaded from the lack of air his unmoving lungs failed to provide him with. His eyes were starting to water as he forgot to even blink, his body unwilling to function and let him look away, to spare him from this horrid scene.

Just as the android’s finger was starting to pull the trigger, his hand suddenly dropped down, entire body turning limp. His supposed partner clung to him for dear life, holding his body up and breaking out in another wave of fresh tears, loud sobs leaving his lips now.

A noticeable puddle of blue liquid could be seen on the android’s clothes, staining the red-haired male’s hands and the floor beneath. The machine himself was turning unresponsive, now dull, dark blue eyes slowly being hidden behind long lashes and closing eyelids, the LED on his temple turning dim, as if life itself was bidding its quiet goodbye.

Loud wails and pleas could be heard, the broken male sobbing his heart out while holding onto the android as if he himself was his lifeline, his everything. The shutting down machine’s deep violet hair was stained with his own blood, the liquid inevitably getting there with every gentle stroke the strands got.

It was utterly heartbreaking to bear witness to.

“Tell him to go into emergency mode. Right now.” - Chan’s voice cut through the air, startling both Jisung and the mourning male.

When no answer greeted him back, the captain repeated himself, somehow even more serious and firm than before.

“If you do that, we might be able to save him. But he needs to save every power he has remaining, if you want him to live.” - he continued, a determined glint in his eyes.

The red-haired male curtly nodded, taking hold of the android’s face and asking him to go into emergency mode in a hushed whisper. In a matter of seconds the order was followed, only the dim light of his LED telling them he was still alive, merely resting.

“What-, what now?” - came the question from the still crying male, glistening eyes looking up at the officers.

It was ironic, how these law enforcers were his only hope now, when they were the exact ones who chased them there.

“We get into the car and go to our base. That’s the only place he can still be saved.” - Seungmin said while Chan was already out the door, starting up the car so they could leave faster.

Jisung watched them leave, the red-haired, tall male never letting go of the android he lifted with ease. The officer noticed it as well, his eyes widening for a split-second before righting his expression and motioning for Jisung to follow them as well.

“Wait, I’m going too?!” “Well we can’t exactly let you go after all you’ve seen. Don’t worry, no harm will come to you.”

The poor witness didn’t quite believe the policeman, sweat already gathering on his forehead once more as endless possibilities of what could happen to him ran through his head. Still, he silently followed the other two, glancing back to see Officer Kim follow them out of the house.

Once they were all in the car -the android still held in the crying male’s grip-, the car sped off as the siren was turned on and cars passed by, the speed limit having been broken long ago.

“It’s all my fault. He was just defending me, but that disgusting man hurt him in his last moments. Please don’t send him to the factory or the disposal site, I’m begging you.”

Chan glanced back at the sobbing man through the rearview mirror, eyebrows furrowing a bit more as he didn’t have a grasp on the full story just yet. He had his hunches, but those were just that: hunches. He needed evidence, and the words of a desperate person were a strong start.

“We won’t, just tell us what happened.” - his voice lost its harsh edge, trying to be as soothing as it could in the tense situation. “I–... I’m an android too, and that dead body belonged to our so-called owner.”

“That explains so much.” - Seungmin commented after the silence was growing too long, his voice soft and contemplating. “He bought us together, me and Bae hyung, loving how pretty we looked. He always flaunted us around, never letting me out of the house, saying how I was a decoration only he could see. So he only sent Hyung out, making him do every chore that was outside the house. And whenever Hyung left, he…” - the red-haired android gripped tightly onto his own thigh, expression pained and untameable anger swimming in those azure orbs of his.

Jisung couldn’t help but feel empathy, doe eyes watching closely with every drop of attention he could squeeze out of his tired body and mind.

“I was abused at every given moment, strange and unknown emotions forming within me along the way. And whenever Bae got back and we were left alone, he patched me up, even though he got no command for it. It left a foreign warmth inside my chest, something that only grew as time went by. He always looked out for me silently, even though he wasn’t even how he is now, not back then. It’s my fault he became like this, just like it’s my fault we’re in this mess. He always said ‘Hyunjin, you are too reckless’, but I never listened to him. And look where that got us.”

The deviant, now known as Hyunjin, let out a silent sigh, hugging the other machine closer to himself, as if it was even possible.

“Long story short, I supposedly messed the food up I made for dinner and got yelled at, harsh words and harsher slaps thrown my way. And before I even knew it, that man took a knife and lunged at me, but Bae hyung appeared in front of me and took the blow, taking that same knife and killing him. He told me to hide upstairs while he himself tried to hide every evidence of my existence in that house. Seems like he failed, but it’s a miracle in itself he hid so much in so little time, with that injury of his. And after all that, he cleaned himself and met you guys, or, well, saw you looking in through the window.” - Hyunjin said, the last sentence directed at Jisung as he turned towards the now surprised boy. “And how do you even know that??” “We only need a touch to transfer data and memories, didn’t you know?” - the android said, a somehow simultaneously sad and teasing smile dancing on his cherry red lips.

Jisung’s cheeks reddened in embarrassment, his eyes looking out the window as he heard the officers stifle a laugh -well, only one was trying to stifle it-. The police department where Captain Bahng and Officer Kim were stationed came into view, the building only a few streets away.

Yet when they’d reached it, they didn’t park at its designated parking lot, no. Instead they went to the underground one, the sudden darkness that was only illuminated by harsh fluorescent lights invading Jisung’s eyes. The words ‘Employees only’ were written in bold, big, red letters on a sign above, explaining why the quokka had never seen this place before.

Parking took only a minute at best, the car being haphazardly stopped right in front of the elevator doors. Everyone hurried out of the vehicle, Chan already at the elevator, waiting for it to arrive.

Once inside, the captain pressed a finger to a specific spot on the panel and pressed one of the newly appeared buttons. The doors closed and down the elevator went, confusing the poor pedestrian who was accidentally swept into all of this.

It took a minute or two for the ride to stop, but once the doors were open, Jisung’s breath caught in his throat once again. He wasn’t sure how he hadn’t just choked to death already, but he wasn’t about to complain.

There was an entire underground base underneath the seemingly average police station, fully kitted out with the best of the best technology and equipment. It felt as if he was in a movie somehow, seeing how secret agents of the government worked in the shadows, making a part of him deep inside giddy with excitement.

The few people who were there had already been looking at their leader, waiting for instructions patiently.

“Felix, I need you at the med bay ASAP. Minho, you go ahead and keep an eye on this witness. Changbin, go and get the spare parts ready and transport them to the med bay. Jeongin, start working on covering our tracks.” - the commands were swiftly given out, each and every member already moving before their orders were fully finished.

All Jisung could do was silently watch as everything happened around him, the androids whisked away and out of his sight. He hoped the injured one would survive, his heart felt for both of them. But he couldn’t say anything, too stunned from everything around him and where he was, the nerd inside him now freaking out fully and freely.

“Are these the drugs kicking in, or am I dreaming right now? I can't believe I'm in a secret base of all places, wow.” - he couldn’t help but mutter out, still not believing what had happened to him in the last few hours. “What drugs?” - came the sly voice beside him, causing him to physically jump in place, a hand placed over his frantic heart. “Fucking shit, don’t do that dude, I nearly died from a heart attack!” “Then you shouldn’t joke about drugs in the presence of police, idiot.”

Jisung’s skin burned as he looked away from the laughing male, the floor suddenly becoming much more interesting.

[wetsoggybeans69]

Wholesome Headcanons I think the cowboy bebop characters did in their childhood.

●Spike

He had this really old toy gun he adored. he would constantly go around going BANG! Little Spike was absolutely devastated when it broke.

●Faye

●Jet

When she got her memories back, something comforting she remembered was sneaking into the kitchen at night to steal sweets.

When he was innocent and didn't know how corrupt the police were, he used to idolize cartoon heroes and police officers he saw on tv.

●Vicious

would never tell a soul, but he used to feed the stray cats. Also, crumble up bread for the birds whenever he went to the park.

●Gren

used to smash keys on the piano whenever they were in contact with one. In the same line of thought, they would immediately try to play with any instrument they saw.

Julia

Whenever her mother wasn't there, Julia would sneak into her mother's bathroom to play with makeup. She'd mostly just smear red lipstick over her face, So if you're wondering, that's where her love of red lipstick came from.

●Edward

little Ed would make weird things for the people they liked. The adults were creeped out by it, but Ed was happy.

●Ein

Ein would absolutely bark at everything when he was pup, and he could get away with it too, because he is adorable.

[puppetmaster13u]

Been thinkin about Batman & Pokemon crossovers, so have a list-ish of what I think they'd have. Might do Gotham's rogues too later. First ones listed would probably be their starter of sorts, but honestly that can be up for debate too.

Bruce Wayne -Lets be honest as part of his Brucie cover he probably hides the fact he has a few of these lol [1] Absol (Everyone knows he has one & it probably wears a bow-tie to Galas) [2] Jigglypuff (Mostly for his Brucie cover but he loves the attention seeker) [3] Kangaskhan (C'mon mister adoption-issue definitely has one) [4] Noivern (Big dragon-bat for the Batman) [5] Drakloak (Another parenting pokemon, one had by both Bruce & the Bat) [6] Metagross (Very smart armored friend for the Bat) [7] Silvally (Let's be honest with all the labs in Gotham he probably found it) [8] Iron Valiant (Look at it and tell me its not here to steal ur gender) [9] Mareep (It's his therapy sheep that he can hug because fluff) [10] Hisuian Goodra (powerful shy friend for the socially awkward man)

Alfred Pennyworth [1] Dragapult (He deserves a ghostly dragon friend swarmed by lil dragons) [2] Gallade (We know he's good at hand-to-hand combat) [3] Cinccino (C'mon give him a helper in cleaning the manor) [4] Blissey (Let's be honest with how often the bats are hurt he needs help) [5] Solgaleo (If anyone deserves a big intimidating sun lion it's Alfred) [6] Dachsbun (I mean just look at it, he deserves a bread dog as the cook) [7] Drampa (Grandpa dragon, enough said for the grandpa of the batclan) [8] Sylveon (Another healer helper who probably was part of the service) [9] Flabebe (Let's be honest this buddy helps with the garden)

Dick Grayson [1] Staraptor (I mean speedy dark bird friend who starts small & cuddly looking) [2] Lucario (Honestly they probably spar spikes vs escrima sticks lol) [3] Growlithe (Mans worked as a police officer, every one of them has one) [4] Salamence (If you read the lines pokedex you know exactly why this fits) [5] Joltik (A secret tiny electric friend to sit on his shoulder or head)

Barbara Gordon [1] Emolga (C'mon energetic gliding bat friend is totally Batgirl) [2] Herdier (Probably a gift from her dad as a puppy who she raised) [3] Swoobat (Another bat bud to help her in fighting) [4] Deoxys (Who would want to mess with Oracle with a 'mon like this lol) [5] Porygon-2 (Oracle is everywhere & this lil data bird is too)

Jason Todd [1] Talonflame (Speedy red bird who starts tiny & gets huge) [2] Chandelure (I mean ghost friend for the undead boi?) [3] Steelix (Let him pain its head red for vigilante/crime lord work) [4] Corviknight (Let's be honest he got this one while in the League) [5] Decidueye (There's not exactly pokemon with a gun but there's this) [6] Roaring Moon (I mean this looks constantly ready to maul you lol)

Cassandra Cain [1] Weavile (Look at it & look at her backstory, her dad definitely gave her it) [2] Marshadow (I mean it's the pokemon who copies others via shadows) [3] Crobat (Bruce: I don't have favorites; Also Bruce: Gives her one of his bats) [4] Sensu Oricorio (They can dance together for funsies) [5] Kecleon (She's very stealthy & can disappear with a friend)

Harper Row [1] Midnight Lycanroc (She was very angry in the beginning so have friend) [2] Cloyster (This one is straight up from vibes lol) [3] Nidoqueen (Big armored friend for vigilante work & hugs) [4] Shiny Venomoth (A friend to help keep watch over her brother) [5] Pidgeot (Dye the head feathers blue for Bluebird work) [6] Tinktatuff (Tinkering buddies who can build cannons together)

Stephanie Brown [1] Marshadow (She found it on the streets while trying to take out her dad) [2] Gabite (Look at that face & tell me they wouldn't do mischief together) [3] Scrafty (Street kid w/ her equally scrappy pal do battle togethre) [4] Fearow (She'll steal whatever pokemon she likes from Bruce thx) [5] Paldean Wooper (Dead Robin club has a new death-themed member)

Terry McGinnis [1] Zorua (He definitely needs a fluffy friend to hold as a child) [2] Mimikyu (Living shadow pal in matching disguises) [3] Flygon (He got it as a trapinch below their floorboards) [4] Zekrom (This was probably hidden in the Batcave or deeper in the caves) [5] Iron Jugulis (This is definitely the sort of thing that'd be in Neo-Gotham) [6] Iron Treads (Look at it & look at Terry's batsuit, they can match together)

Tim Drake [1] Dragonair (Gifted by his bio-parents because appearances) [2] Milotic (Also given by the Drakes before they left again) [3] Duraludon (Mister CEO deserves a skyscraper dragon for intimidation) [4] Noctowl (Night owl to go vigilantying with him & tries to get him to sleep) [5] Iron Jugulis (Honestly he probably built it, let's be honest)

Duke Thomas [1] Kilowattrel (Glowy bird friend? Glowy bird friend.) [2] Murkrow (Shadowy bird friend? Shadowy bird friend.) [3] Watchog (A friend who goes on patrol & shines like he does) [4] Umbreon (He deserves a dog-cat to help with the trauma) [5] Dedenne (Another squishy friend who helps comfort him) [6] Chi-Yu (Look at this lil fire goldfish, he deserves a fire goldfish)

Cullen Row [1] Cubone (I mean just read the pokedex entry, enough said) [2] Pikachu (I just like to think he carries it around like a big cat) [3] Sobble (Sad friend bois who can both grow together) [4] Eevee (Fluffy fox-dog he plays fetch with as he deserves) [5] Flamigo (It just sort of followed him home & is overprotective now)

Damian Al Ghul [1] Gliscor (Poisonous scorpion bat friend given by his mom probably) [2] Skarmory (Blade bird also trained to be an assassin of sorts) [3] Pawniard (Another blade friend but also a pawn like he was to Ras) [4] Aegislash (A literal blade friend who he can use as a sword) [5] Ceruledge (Ghost knight buddy for the son of the dark knight) [6] Paldean Tauros (BatcowBatcowBatcowBatcowBatcow) [7] Spearow (Angry baby bird to go with an angry baby vigilante) [8] Arcanine (TitusTitusTitusTitus) [9] Poochyena (Tiny puppy that Titus brought back during fetch) [10] Dreepy (Gift from Bruce who got his own dreepy from Alfred as a kid) [11] Ralts (Emotion sensing friend to help him understand social rules) [12] Eternatus (Ever see Goliath, Damian's demon dragon-bat? This. This.)

Mathew McGinnis [1] Murkrow (They're probably everywhere in Neo-Gotham) [2] Iron Moth () [3] Orange Minior () [4] Galarian Farfetch'd () [5] Pupitar ()

Jarro the Starro [1] Starmie (Starfish friends, it likes to hold him on top of its head) [2] Ditto (tiny squishy vigilante pals who are the same size as a batarang) [3] Orthworm (The biggest friend he can ride on the head of) [4] Wishiwashi (Big swarm of friends who can get big like the Starros) [5] Espeon (Psychic cat friend befriends psychic starfish) [6] Tangela (I just think the vibes would fit)