#if you go over 21 you bust and lose | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mostlysignssomeportents · 3 days ago

Text

Bossware is unfair (in the legal sense, too)

You can get into a lot of trouble by assuming that rich people know what they're doing. For example, might assume that ad-tech works – bypassing peoples' critical faculties, reaching inside their minds and brainwashing them with Big Data insights, because if that's not what's happening, then why would rich people pour billions into those ads?

https://pluralistic.net/2020/12/06/surveillance-tulip-bulbs/#adtech-bubble

You might assume that private equity looters make their investors rich, because otherwise, why would rich people hand over trillions for them to play with?

https://thenextrecession.wordpress.com/2024/11/19/private-equity-vampire-capital/

The truth is, rich people are suckers like the rest of us. If anything, succeeding once or twice makes you an even bigger mark, with a sense of your own infallibility that inflates to fill the bubble your yes-men seal you inside of.

Rich people fall for scams just like you and me. Anyone can be a mark. I was:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/05/cyber-dunning-kruger/#swiss-cheese-security

But though rich people can fall for scams the same way you and I do, the way those scams play out is very different when the marks are wealthy. As Keynes had it, "The market can remain irrational longer than you can remain solvent." When the marks are rich (or worse, super-rich), they can be played for much longer before they go bust, creating the appearance of solidity.

Noted Keynesian John Kenneth Galbraith had his own thoughts on this. Galbraith coined the term "bezzle" to describe "the magic interval when a confidence trickster knows he has the money he has appropriated but the victim does not yet understand that he has lost it." In that magic interval, everyone feels better off: the mark thinks he's up, and the con artist knows he's up.

Rich marks have looong bezzles. Empirically incorrect ideas grounded in the most outrageous superstition and junk science can take over whole sections of your life, simply because a rich person – or rich people – are convinced that they're good for you.

Take "scientific management." In the early 20th century, the con artist Frederick Taylor convinced rich industrialists that he could increase their workers' productivity through a kind of caliper-and-stopwatch driven choreographry:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/08/21/great-taylors-ghost/#solidarity-or-bust

Taylor and his army of labcoated sadists perched at the elbows of factory workers (whom Taylor referred to as "stupid," "mentally sluggish," and as "an ox") and scripted their motions to a fare-the-well, transforming their work into a kind of kabuki of obedience. They weren't more efficient, but they looked smart, like obedient robots, and this made their bosses happy. The bosses shelled out fortunes for Taylor's services, even though the workers who followed his prescriptions were less efficient and generated fewer profits. Bosses were so dazzled by the spectacle of a factory floor of crisply moving people interfacing with crisply working machines that they failed to understand that they were losing money on the whole business.

To the extent they noticed that their revenues were declining after implementing Taylorism, they assumed that this was because they needed more scientific management. Taylor had a sweet con: the worse his advice performed, the more reasons their were to pay him for more advice.

Taylorism is a perfect con to run on the wealthy and powerful. It feeds into their prejudice and mistrust of their workers, and into their misplaced confidence in their own ability to understand their workers' jobs better than their workers do. There's always a long dollar to be made playing the "scientific management" con.

Today, there's an app for that. "Bossware" is a class of technology that monitors and disciplines workers, and it was supercharged by the pandemic and the rise of work-from-home. Combine bossware with work-from-home and your boss gets to control your life even when in your own place – "work from home" becomes "live at work":

https://pluralistic.net/2021/02/24/gwb-rumsfeld-monsters/#bossware

Gig workers are at the white-hot center of bossware. Gig work promises "be your own boss," but bossware puts a Taylorist caliper wielder into your phone, monitoring and disciplining you as you drive your wn car around delivering parcels or picking up passengers.

In automation terms, a worker hitched to an app this way is a "reverse centaur." Automation theorists call a human augmented by a machine a "centaur" – a human head supported by a machine's tireless and strong body. A "reverse centaur" is a machine augmented by a human – like the Amazon delivery driver whose app goads them to make inhuman delivery quotas while punishing them for looking in the "wrong" direction or even singing along with the radio:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/08/02/despotism-on-demand/#virtual-whips

Bossware pre-dates the current AI bubble, but AI mania has supercharged it. AI pumpers insist that AI can do things it positively cannot do – rolling out an "autonomous robot" that turns out to be a guy in a robot suit, say – and rich people are groomed to buy the services of "AI-powered" bossware:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/29/pay-no-attention/#to-the-little-man-behind-the-curtain

For an AI scammer like Elon Musk or Sam Altman, the fact that an AI can't do your job is irrelevant. From a business perspective, the only thing that matters is whether a salesperson can convince your boss that an AI can do your job – whether or not that's true:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/07/25/accountability-sinks/#work-harder-not-smarter

The fact that AI can't do your job, but that your boss can be convinced to fire you and replace you with the AI that can't do your job, is the central fact of the 21st century labor market. AI has created a world of "algorithmic management" where humans are demoted to reverse centaurs, monitored and bossed about by an app.

The techbro's overwhelming conceit is that nothing is a crime, so long as you do it with an app. Just as fintech is designed to be a bank that's exempt from banking regulations, the gig economy is meant to be a workplace that's exempt from labor law. But this wheeze is transparent, and easily pierced by enforcers, so long as those enforcers want to do their jobs. One such enforcer is Alvaro Bedoya, an FTC commissioner with a keen interest in antitrust's relationship to labor protection.

Bedoya understands that antitrust has a checkered history when it comes to labor. As he's written, the history of antitrust is a series of incidents in which Congress revised the law to make it clear that forming a union was not the same thing as forming a cartel, only to be ignored by boss-friendly judges:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/14/aiming-at-dollars/#not-men

Bedoya is no mere historian. He's an FTC Commissioner, one of the most powerful regulators in the world, and he's profoundly interested in using that power to help workers, especially gig workers, whose misery starts with systemic, wide-scale misclassification as contractors:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/02/upward-redistribution/

In a new speech to NYU's Wagner School of Public Service, Bedoya argues that the FTC's existing authority allows it to crack down on algorithmic management – that is, algorithmic management is illegal, even if you break the law with an app:

https://www.ftc.gov/system/files/ftc_gov/pdf/bedoya-remarks-unfairness-in-workplace-surveillance-and-automated-management.pdf

Bedoya starts with a delightful analogy to The Hawtch-Hawtch, a mythical town from a Dr Seuss poem. The Hawtch-Hawtch economy is based on beekeeping, and the Hawtchers develop an overwhelming obsession with their bee's laziness, and determine to wring more work (and more honey) out of him. So they appoint a "bee-watcher." But the bee doesn't produce any more honey, which leads the Hawtchers to suspect their bee-watcher might be sleeping on the job, so they hire a bee-watcher-watcher. When that doesn't work, they hire a bee-watcher-watcher-watcher, and so on and on.

For gig workers, it's bee-watchers all the way down. Call center workers are subjected to "AI" video monitoring, and "AI" voice monitoring that purports to measure their empathy. Another AI times their calls. Two more AIs analyze the "sentiment" of the calls and the success of workers in meeting arbitrary metrics. On average, a call-center worker is subjected to five forms of bossware, which stand at their shoulders, marking them down and brooking no debate.

For example, when an experienced call center operator fielded a call from a customer with a flooded house who wanted to know why no one from her boss's repair plan system had come out to address the flooding, the operator was punished by the AI for failing to try to sell the customer a repair plan. There was no way for the operator to protest that the customer had a repair plan already, and had called to complain about it.

Workers report being sickened by this kind of surveillance, literally – stressed to the point of nausea and insomnia. Ironically, one of the most pervasive sources of automation-driven sickness are the "AI wellness" apps that bosses are sold by AI hucksters:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/15/wellness-taylorism/#sick-of-spying

The FTC has broad authority to block "unfair trade practices," and Bedoya builds the case that this is an unfair trade practice. Proving an unfair trade practice is a three-part test: a practice is unfair if it causes "substantial injury," can't be "reasonably avoided," and isn't outweighed by a "countervailing benefit." In his speech, Bedoya makes the case that algorithmic management satisfies all three steps and is thus illegal.

On the question of "substantial injury," Bedoya describes the workday of warehouse workers working for ecommerce sites. He describes one worker who is monitored by an AI that requires him to pick and drop an object off a moving belt every 10 seconds, for ten hours per day. The worker's performance is tracked by a leaderboard, and supervisors punish and scold workers who don't make quota, and the algorithm auto-fires if you fail to meet it.

Under those conditions, it was only a matter of time until the worker experienced injuries to two of his discs and was permanently disabled, with the company being found 100% responsible for this injury. OSHA found a "direct connection" between the algorithm and the injury. No wonder warehouses sport vending machines that sell painkillers rather than sodas. It's clear that algorithmic management leads to "substantial injury."

What about "reasonably avoidable?" Can workers avoid the harms of algorithmic management? Bedoya describes the experience of NYC rideshare drivers who attended a round-table with him. The drivers describe logging tens of thousands of successful rides for the apps they work for, on promise of "being their own boss." But then the apps start randomly suspending them, telling them they aren't eligible to book a ride for hours at a time, sending them across town to serve an underserved area and still suspending them. Drivers who stop for coffee or a pee are locked out of the apps for hours as punishment, and so drive 12-hour shifts without a single break, in hopes of pleasing the inscrutable, high-handed app.

All this, as drivers' pay is falling and their credit card debts are mounting. No one will explain to drivers how their pay is determined, though the legal scholar Veena Dubal's work on "algorithmic wage discrimination" reveals that rideshare apps temporarily increase the pay of drivers who refuse rides, only to lower it again once they're back behind the wheel:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/12/algorithmic-wage-discrimination/#fishers-of-men

This is like the pit boss who gives a losing gambler some freebies to lure them back to the table, over and over, until they're broke. No wonder they call this a "casino mechanic." There's only two major rideshare apps, and they both use the same high-handed tactics. For Bedoya, this satisfies the second test for an "unfair practice" – it can't be reasonably avoided. If you drive rideshare, you're trapped by the harmful conduct.

The final prong of the "unfair practice" test is whether the conduct has "countervailing value" that makes up for this harm.

To address this, Bedoya goes back to the call center, where operators' performance is assessed by "Speech Emotion Recognition" algorithms, a psuedoscientific hoax that purports to be able to determine your emotions from your voice. These SERs don't work – for example, they might interpret a customer's laughter as anger. But they fail differently for different kinds of workers: workers with accents – from the American south, or the Philippines – attract more disapprobation from the AI. Half of all call center workers are monitored by SERs, and a quarter of workers have SERs scoring them "constantly."

Bossware AIs also produce transcripts of these workers' calls, but workers with accents find them "riddled with errors." These are consequential errors, since their bosses assess their performance based on the transcripts, and yet another AI produces automated work scores based on them.

In other words, algorithmic management is a procession of bee-watchers, bee-watcher-watchers, and bee-watcher-watcher-watchers, stretching to infinity. It's junk science. It's not producing better call center workers. It's producing arbitrary punishments, often against the best workers in the call center.

There is no "countervailing benefit" to offset the unavoidable substantial injury of life under algorithmic management. In other words, algorithmic management fails all three prongs of the "unfair practice" test, and it's illegal.

What should we do about it? Bedoya builds the case for the FTC acting on workers' behalf under its "unfair practice" authority, but he also points out that the lack of worker privacy is at the root of this hellscape of algorithmic management.

He's right. The last major update Congress made to US privacy law was in 1988, when they banned video-store clerks from telling the newspapers which VHS cassettes you rented. The US is long overdue for a new privacy regime, and workers under algorithmic management are part of a broad coalition that's closer than ever to making that happen:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/12/06/privacy-first/#but-not-just-privacy

Workers should have the right to know which of their data is being collected, who it's being shared by, and how it's being used. We all should have that right. That's what the actors' strike was partly motivated by: actors who were being ordered to wear mocap suits to produce data that could be used to produce a digital double of them, "training their replacement," but the replacement was a deepfake.

With a Trump administration on the horizon, the future of the FTC is in doubt. But the coalition for a new privacy law includes many of Trumpland's most powerful blocs – like Jan 6 rioters whose location was swept up by Google and handed over to the FBI. A strong privacy law would protect their Fourth Amendment rights – but also the rights of BLM protesters who experienced this far more often, and with far worse consequences, than the insurrectionists.

The "we do it with an app, so it's not illegal" ruse is wearing thinner by the day. When you have a boss for an app, your real boss gets an accountability sink, a convenient scapegoat that can be blamed for your misery.

The fact that this makes you worse at your job, that it loses your boss money, is no guarantee that you will be spared. Rich people make great marks, and they can remain irrational longer than you can remain solvent. Markets won't solve this one – but worker power can.

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

#pluralistic #alvaro bedoya #ftc #workers #algorithmic management #veena dubal #bossware #taylorism #neotaylorism #snake oil #dr seuss #ai #sentiment analysis #digital phrenology #speech emotion recognition #shitty technology adoption curve

828 notes · View notes

rpftourney · 2 months ago

Text

Best RPF Ship - Round 2 Match 3

Propaganda under cut

McLennon Propaganda

The OG, the blueprint, the background love story that reverberates in every love song after them, the RPF that probs shouldn’t count as its too canon to be considered fiction. Forget Beat the Meatles, forget John showing Paul and co he and Yoko’s sex tape in the studio, forget high John cutting up the clothes of the girl Paul was sleeping with with scissors (okay, well don’t forget them exactly), this rabbit hole goes way, way deeper.

Their whole story is a mix of the most romantic bullshit cliche ever and the surrealist unhinged obsession you could possibly get, like if Love Actually and Shakespearean tragedy had a psychosexually obsessed mutant baby. There’s:

A meet cute in 1957 so iconic there’s a whole damn plaque commemorating it.

Disapproving parents who try to keep them apart, only for them to choose each other

A ‘best friend’ rival that leads to a bust-up with on stage

A trip to Paris, yes really, when John turns 21 and he takes Paul and not his gf.

A honeymoon period where their friends notice that they seem to ‘love each other more than most marriages’

A psychic bond?? As you do.

And then the break up, which is cliched c h a o s. They fall out and rebound hard. They get married within eight days of each other: it's very normal. John writes funeral on Paul’s wedding photos as he’s so normal about it. John moves countries and sells some weirdly intimate Paul pictures including this one of Paul sleeping that he didn't take but had for some reason??

They invent the diss track to send shit to each other. John is also btw playing Paul's records in private and crying about how he loves him really. It’s the break up period which also spoiled us by giving us THESE quotes:

(click to read)

Fellas is it gay if you admit to your wife you thought of sleeping with your best friend???

Then comes the tragic writing about each other in songs and diaries all throughout the 70s/John thinking the ‘I Love You’s’ in one of Paul’s songs were for him/John writing erotica and heavily implying the subject is Paul/’estranged fiance’ phase. They seem to be on the verge of getting back together and then John is murdered. It’s tragic and horrible so let’s just say that Paul doesen’t take it well and spends the rest of his life defending John, stuffing his house and studio with John’s things, writing at least one tribute song in which he still loses it on at least once a tour or gets stuck repeating ‘I love you’ over and over again. It’s batshit, it's so fucking funny yet heartbreakingly tragic and in the end its just two people loving each other too much to ever let each other go. You can’t compete, sorry, this shit has been going on since 1957 and we’re getting a book about their love story coming out next year. With peace and love, it's over, your faves could never.

#mclennon #travtrick #the beatles #brandom #paul mccartney #john lennon #travie mccoy #patrick stump #fall out boy #gym class heroes #rpf #rpf tourney #round 2

353 notes · View notes

ellaa-writes · 9 months ago

Text

The Beast Within

author note: part 8, masterlist here. This is more of a filler chapter, ending coming soon. A lot kind of things happening for a filler lol. barely edited, also think im losing the plot of this series. Next 2 chapters are going to be longer just to tie everything together. Might redo/rewrite this at a later time.

summary: Omegas are rare, in a world full of Alphas and Betas. Being a Omega was not only dangerous but they were highly sought after. After living your life has a Beta in disguise, you meet a scary Alpha, but not any normal alpha. But a gaint Apex Alpha who won't stop at anything to make you his.

tags: Mentions of lots blood, violence and dead bodies. A/b/o dynamics. Vauge and probably incorrect medical terms. No smut and barely any fluff. Lots of Angst.

The door to the elevator opened, revealing a mess. König's head tilting to the side as the smell of crimson infiltrated his senses.

The Beast perked up, nipping at his skin. Stepping out the elevator he was greeted with an unholy site. Broken pieces of furniture and dry wall laid strewn about, bodies and parts mixed in with the chaos, the once pristine carpets now stained with blood. Stepping over the rubble he made his way into what use to be the front door of his home, busted off the hinges and thrown to the side.

He knew you weren't here, he could smell it in the air. The home was cold and empty, remnants of what use to be, shattered and scattered around. Broken glass crunched under his feet as he walked around taking it all in.

His head snapped down the darken hallway, the heavy oak door barely attached to the frame, cracked and broken, almost like someone clawed their way in. His desk was littered with files, papers and photos. The gun he kept in the top drawer missing, it looks like it was pried off the hinges.

Digging his cellphone out, there was only one person on his mind has he dialed them up. Sitting down in the worn leather chair, laying his laptop across the mess on the desk. He brought up the security footage, watching every second before the line finally picked up. A deep rumble answered from the other end.

"I'm going to need your help, level red." König didn't know where you were but he had an idea. The man on the other line told him not to trust the women. In all hell's fury he wish he would have listened. "On 'm way." it sounded like he just woken up. "It's time sensitive, high priority. I forwarded the details. I want a list of who all will be on your team. Will meet up at 21 hundred." König ended the call abruptly.

Simon sat up from his bed, just having laid down before his Boss called. It wasn't long before he was dressed and watching the security footage over. Roze... He never trusted her, could smell the rot in her lies but the big guy trusted her and he trusted him. Holding his phone to his ear the line eventually picked up.

"Gots' a job fa' you" all he could hear was heavy breathing. "да" and the line disconnected.

You awoke to bright lights and white walls. Your head was pounding and it felt like you were going to throw up. The surface you were laying on was hard and cold, the sanitary paper crinkled under you as you shifted, sticking to your dewy skin. You could barely raise your arms to block out the intruding fluorescent light. Heavy like a stack of bricks, you could feel the medical tape holding down the IV tubes, itchy against your skin.

You didn't know where you were or how you got here. It looked like a surgeons room, the floors were white tile and the cabinets off the side, also white. You could hear voices coming from behind the double doors.

Sitting up you realized you were nude, not even the necklace you always wore, completely naked and cold. Your body sore and stiff, trying to shift off of the exam table, your legs straining to hold you up right. The IV's tugged against you has you managed to stand on two legs, wobbly. You yanked the tubes free, blood dripping down your arms.

Grabbing at the now torn sanitary paper that covered the table, you haphazardly wrapped it around yourself. Using pieces of it to dab at the blood. A shiver racked your body, you didn't know what was happening. Trying to recall the last moments, your mind was foggy but you remember standing in that office but after that everything was fuzzy. You couldn't help but think he had something to do with this. Whatever this was?

The voices abruptly stopped, the double doors to your room swinging open revealing a familiar face. But not a face you expected to see, not here.

Dr. Roze

That's when it all came rushing back to you. The walk you both had, her words about you being pregnant. The images you found in the filing cabinets, all the blood or death spread across those pages. The sound of the front door being broken of its hinges, the shouting and yelling. Glass shattering and gun fire being exchanged. You hid under the desk, König gun in your hand, the one you took from the drawer. Then you heard her voice, telling you it was safe and she was here to rescue you. And that's where it all went black.

You stared at her, eyes wide and lips parted. Clutching the thin paper to your exposed body. "Oh, you’re up?" Dr Roze said in surprise. Taking small steps towards your shaking frame. "Everything is ok, your safe here." she tried to explain and to calm you down. Eyeing your bleeding wounds and discarded IV. "Nothing to worry about dear. Why don't you sir down and we can talk." pointing at the steel chair to your left. You eyed in before slowly sitting down.

"You must have a lot of questions and I'll do my best to answer them all." she explained. She sat in a similar chair but on the opposite side of the room, giving you enough space.

"We've been working on a cure, well not really a cure but a solution to a very serious problem." Dr. Roze paused before taking a deep breath. "When I met you, I knew you could be the key. The key to helping us unlock a gene code we have been stuck on for year’s now." she waved her hands around.

"Why me?" your voice was so quiet and coarse, startling you as you spoke.

"Well when König, your former Alpha mentioned that he had himself an Omega but he was unsure...-" she cut herself off before continuing. "He was unsure about your origins, you smelt like an Omega but didn't act like one. He requested that I observe you, to figure out him your Omega origin was natural or manmade." Dr. Roze had her hands clasped in her lap. Her eyes boring into yours, she had a tight smile on her face, forced and unnatural.

You shook your head, confused. Former? Origins? None of it was making sense.

"I know this is a lot of information that may seem helpless to you. But I want you to know that without your DNA the surviving Omega population would have come to an complete extinction. You are a true hero, really." the doctor tried to comfort you.

"Where's König?" you shifted uncomfortable in the cold steel chair. Dr. Roze's smile faltered a little but she held it tight.

"You don't have to worry about him anymore." your mind was racing with questions. "Why?" did he just hand you over? Was that all part of the plan. Was that why he was ignoring you? Does this have anything to do with the photographs you found?

"I know it's going to be a hard transition but we have plenty of surrogate Alphas here. You can even choose one if you would like." Choose a new Alpha? What the hell is going on.

"I-I don't want a new Alpha." you whispered.

"Well, we can discuss that later. Nothing has to be done now. How are you feeling?" she brushed off your question.

"I don't know." and it was true. You didn't know how to feel about anything.

"That's fine, I know you’re confused and scared. Why don't I show you to your room and you can have a shower and some fresh clothes? How does that sound?" Dr. Roze stood from the chair, her hand stretched out in front of her. Beckoning you to her, and you went, slowly.

Dr. Roze took your hand and led you out of the room, the hallways were much the same. White and sanitary. She took turn after turn before stopping in front of a locked door. Raising her key card to unlock the door and dragging you through.

She brought you to a room, your new home, she called it. Watching as you walked around the confined space. It had a bed in the corner, a bookshelf, a small table with one chair, a sink and counter, a small open closet and another door leading to your private bathroom.

You sat on the bed, still only in the thin paper sheet. "If you need anything you can push this button right here" she motioned to a red button by the door. "I'll have some proper clothes dropped off for you. Why don't you get cleaned and rest." and with that she left. The door sliding into place with a click.

You felt trapped and doomed. The events replaying over in your head. You didn't believe a word she said, still not trusting her.

Trying to believed that your Alpha wouldn't abandon you. He couldn't, he can't.

The words bouncing around you head. You've heard stories about Omegas being experimented on. Locked up like cattle, their only purpose to behave and breed.

You missed your home, the one you created with König. The smell of the sheets, König's heavy scent filling your nose. The warm feeling in your tummy every time you looked at him.

It's been at least 3 weeks since you saw him last, maybe even longer at this point. You have no idea what day of the week is or how long you've been out.

You took the doctors suggestion and say yourself under the hot water, steaming bellowing around you. Your silent tears mixing in with the water as they danced down your face.

The meeting was brisk, the task easy. He was treating it as a hostage situation. Retrieve the prize and leave unharmed. But the only difference is that it was you. König knee bounced restlessly, up and down. He never had the discipline to stay still, ever since he was a child. The ticking of someone's watch matching his heart beat. He tried to rid his mind of the horrible things, the images of you diced up like meat. Nothing left of you, the only thing he could identify being your sweet smell.

The ride to the warehouse was brief, but it stretched on for what felt like hours. A perfect line of black alarmed vehicles, surrounding the building that housed this "cure". König barked out orders before charging forward, using his whole body weight to slam into the metal door. The weak screws and hinged snapping under his weight. The Beast clawing at his throat to be released, König's eyes turned black and his blood began to boil.

It didn't take them long to find your scent, a trail of destruction behind him like petals behind a bride. He tuned out the call outs coming from his headset, the only thing one his mind was finding his precious Omega.

The Ghost and the Russian stood off to his side, eyeing the giant, their own Alphas trying to hide itself in the darkest corners of the mind. Anywhere to get away from the intense energy of The Beast.

The lights were flashing red, a lockdown initiated. Most doors sealed themselves closed but nothing could stop The Beast. Ripping the reinforced door right off its hinges without breaking a sweat. Your smell stronger now, he was close he could almost taste you.

After a few minutes under the hot pelt of the showers water, your tears long dried up but your eyes still red and sore. You pulled yourself out of the glass enclosure, finding a pair of grey scrubs one size too big resting on your bed. The bed itself was made of steel, loosely wrapped in a sheet that felt like sandpaper against your skin. The thin black like cardboard as you tried wrapping it around yourself.

You don't know how you managed to fall asleep, or how long you were asleep. But the sound of an alarm awoke you. The lights were out, the only thing illuminating your cell was the red light from the button beside the door. Unsure of what was going on and unable to sleep any longer, you pressed your ear against the cold metal of the door. Trying to listen for anything, but all you could hear is the whines and whimpers of the other Omegas locked up here with you.

It wasn't long after when you started to hear the shouting and gunfire. Whatever was happening beyond your door sounded serious and it put you on edge. Not knowing what to expect you tried moving the furniture towards the door but found everything was bolted down. So you grabbing the sheet and blanket off of the steel bed and found yourself cowering in the bathroom. Waiting out the war zone happening outside.

You would think this was your end, but the smell of burning oak engulfed you. Your Omega whining, begging you to go after it, so you did. You didn't know how you ended up outside of the safety of your room. Stumbling over bodies, slipping on their blood. The only thing on your mind was finding the source to whoever that insatiable smell belonged to.

Corner after corner you passed through what use to be a door, it's counter parts laid flattened on the ground. The smell was so close, your nose sniffing the air trying to get just a little taste.

"Стоп! (Stop!)" the voice came from behind you, making you freeze in your tracks. Turning slowly to face a man, an Alpha, in all black wearing what looks like a dog mask. His gun pointed at you, he spoke something to quiet into the mic strapped to his shoulder. His black sunken eyes watching you. His smell was strangely fresh, like ripe lemon begging to be plucked. His stance was wide like the rest of him. It didn't take long for whoever he called for to enter behind him.

It was the skull face man, Simon, you think is his name. Soon as he saw your terrified face he forcefully lowered the other man's gun until he holstered it completely. Both men stepped to the side at the sound of thundering footsteps. The Beast was in charge has he nearly crashed through what was left of the passage. The surrounding walls cracking and buckling under his force. His eyes were red, like blood sap. His aura a bright orange like he tree set ablaze. The smell of burning amber knocking you off balance, causing you to fall on your ass. He was on you, quick and hard. Shoving his nose into your neck, his hot tongue lapping at the skin.

You were trembling, gripping onto his biceps has he manhandled you. This was your König but at the same time it was not. You've never seen him like this, geared up and strapped with weapons.

He was leaving blood smears all over you, his chest heaving like a bull after a fight. His nostrils flaring.

"We ought get goin'" the skull face said from somewhere behind your Alpha. König's grip on you tightened has he curled himself around you, lifting you up and wrapping your legging around his middle as he pushed forward with the two men close behind.

"Have you located her?" he all up growled out, his voice animalistic. It made the hairs on your body stand at full attention. A low ripple of fear washed over you, you don't know what was going on, what was wrong with him.

"да, she been located." the dog faced man moved ahead, gun raised. "Good" you hated it, hated the sound of his voice, the way it vibrated his whole body and ripped from his throat.

"Ooooomegaaa" it didn't come from his mouth, no it came from within your mind. You looked up into his blown out red eyes, he was looking right into your soul. You wrapped your arms around his neck, burying yourself into his chest. Closing your eyes tight, allowing this man carry you to safety.

Tag list: @plumdreadful @traumaramacenter @kaylp-godly @napalmfairy7 @hisa-plush @ramblingsofachaoticthinker @winters-doll @joyfulfxckery @purebeskar @collete25 @fandomsinthegalaxies @xo-konigs-little-princess-xo @jamieelol @luc1ddreamersatnight @cringeycookies

(sorry if I forgot to tag you, i haven't looked at my tag list in a while and probably needs to be updated)

#cod mw2 #könig #konig #könig mw2 #konig mw2 #konig cod #könig cod #konig x reader #konig x you #könig x reader #cod könig #könig call of duty #könig x you #Alpha König

187 notes · View notes

munsonsreputation · 1 year ago

Text

21 (already under)

eddie munson x fem!reader

word count: [3.2K]

warnings: warnings: no use of y/n, lovers to strangers, mentions of underage drinking, crying (mentions of breakup), isolation, brief talk of anxiety, cursing, angst...ambiguous ending (maybe part 2)

summary: it's eddie's 21st birthday and though you two have been broken up for 2 years, you can't help but wonder if you should call him up and wish him a happy birthday. but to your surprise, it seems he has already beaten you to it.

Pacing back and forth in the living room of your apartment isn’t ideally how you imagined to be spending your Saturday night, but in hindsight, these days you practically spent the entire day confined to the four walls.

Your days used to be filled with stops at the trailer park to visit your favorite metal head and nights spent at the Hideout being his biggest fan in the crowd. But all of that, including him was now gone in the rearview for quite some time.

So much time had passed, but at the same time it felt like it was just yesterday where you and him went your separate ways, living two completely different lives in the same small town where you did your best to avoid each other.

But how could you avoid him without running into his friends or stumbling into Uncle Wayne at the grocery store from time to time?

All of it was just fucking impossible, and a huge chunk of you wanted to pack your things up and move away, but you knew his ghost would follow you everywhere no matter where you were in the world.

Even tonight, in the confines of your apartment, you couldn’t avoid him.

It was his twenty-first birthday today. The big 2-1 that marked the age where he could finally drink legally without facing any repercussions from Hopper. A coming of age that was supposed to be celebrated with you next to him at the Hideout.

You two had planned it out years ago when you were just seniors hanging out at Lover’s Lake with your hands intertwined and the sun setting down on the both of you.

“Hopper is gonna lose his shit if you get busted for underage drinking again.” You chided quietly, feeling him pull one of his hands away from your waist to reach over and grab an ice cold beer from the small cooler he packed.

He rolled his eyes playfully, taking a swig of the bitter before holding it out for you.

“He did the same thing when he was our age…maybe even a little worse! He’s got to cut me some slack.”

“In three years, you’ll be 21, then that’s when he’ll cut you some.”

Eddie scoffed, slinging his arm across your shoulders, tugging you close to him as you squealed, trying not to spill the beer all over the both of you. Resting your head on his shoulder, you got comfortable, taking a sip of the drink that was definitely not your choice of beverage on a scorching afternoon, but it would make do for now.

“My 21st is gonna be at the Hideout, obviously.” He said, rubbing his hand up and down the expanse of your arm.

You looked at up him through your lashes, blinking kindly, “Yeah? I just know the groupies are going to have a field day with you.”

He met your eyes followed by a dramatic huff as he shook his head and squeezed your skin lightly, almost in a soft, scolding way.

“Stop that. You know you’re my favorite fan…my one and only groupie.”

You scrunched your face up at him lovingly, puckering your lips and silently asking him to grant you with one of his famous kisses that you would never get tired of — even if it was a little peck.

“Do I still need to RSVP or will the offer still stand?” You mumbled against his lips.

You could feel his smile against your skin, before feeling another kiss come down on them.

“It wouldn’t be a celebration without you there.”

Yet here you were years later anxiously pacing your apartment and contemplating whether you should pick up the phone and at least greet him on his birthday before the clock strike midnight.

Part of you wanted to think that the split between you and Eddie was amicable, but in reality it was something so far from that. You had always thought that maybe Eddie would have seen it coming — that the growing distance and constant fighting was a telltale-sign of a break.

But he didn’t see it at all. In fact, he was completely blindsided.

“Just tell me how to make it better.” Eddie pleaded, holding your face in his hands, attempting to try to change your mind about your decision.

You couldn’t bear to look at him, to see the desperation, heartache, and confusion cluttering his features in the worst kind of way — the way that you couldn’t fix because it was coming from you.

“There’s nothing you can do,” you whimpered, shutting your eyes tightly as the salt poured down your cheeks and you forced your face away from his gentle touch.

He pursed his lips together, rubbing a rough hand down his face as the silence ate him up whole, not knowing if he was man enough to go in for a hug or ask you to leave and forget that you two ever existed in a world where you two loved each other.

Because he still loved you, even when you were standing in front of him, breaking his heart into a million pieces that were bound to be shattered all over again if he tried to make any other offers to fix it — fix you two.

Your sobs filled his bedroom, cries that even you couldn’t explain because no matter the distance or stupid fights you and Eddie got into, this was the last thing you wanted to do. Desperately you wanted to see it through, to know that you and him would grow out of the phase together and come out of it stronger, but you knew deep down that this was what you needed.

What your heart needed.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered, swiping your fingers over your eyes as you finally opened them, met with the sight of him still crestfallen.

You couldn’t stand to be there any longer, brushing past his figure as you dashed through the trailer and dug for your car keys in your pocket. He didn’t chase after you — you had already left him standing there and he couldn’t bear watching you drive away too.

You weren’t sure what you were sorry for — perhaps everything.

The way it went down.

For not giving him any warning signs.

Leaving him with no closure at all.

If he was taking the heartbreak personally, you wouldn’t blame him because if he had done you the way you did him, you’d be avoiding him, too.

In defense, he avoided you first, ignoring phone calls where you wanted to check up on him and see how he was doing. Instead, you were met with Uncle Wayne’s voice telling you that the boy was busy — busying himself with trying to forget you.

“Who is it?”

You could hear him asking in the background, quickly covered up by his uncle clearing his throat trying to mask his nephew’s voice. It was then that you understood that things would never be the same, that Eddie couldn’t even bring himself to talk to you anymore because for him it was like torture.

But sometimes you’d imagine it would be different had you gone a different route with ending things with him. That maybe if you had let him down slowly you two would still be friends, maybe even the potential of getting back together someday.

Late nights since the breakup were spent dreaming up the scenarios where you and Eddie could co-exist—

“How are doing?” You asked honestly, reaching out a steady hand that you rested upon his watching the way his eyes flickered with content.

“Fine. I’m doing really fine.”

But then you wake up, the black and white in your dark bedroom and the empty spot beside you, a reminder that it wasn’t real, and it sure wasn’t forever. That you had left him unexpectedly with a flame without yours…leaving him on fire.

The sound of your landline ringing halted your undying pacing. Your stare burning a hole through the phone that rattled on your coffee table. It was nearly eleven, just an hour left before his birthday would be done and over with.

He was probably at the Hideout celebrating with his band, so it couldn’t possibly be him.

“H-hello?” You answered, kneeling at the table while one hand picked up the phone and the other held your forehead.

“Hey you, how is it going?”

Robin Buckley, the only person in Eddie’s life that still remained in yours, but from a distance. No in person hang outs or daily phone calls, just occasional check in’s to see how you were holding up because she knew that the breakup was still affecting you the way it was doing Eddie.

You sighed, shutting your eyes as your fingers rubbed your temples.

“I—I’m fine…you know, just hanging around. What about you?”

There wasn’t much energy you had left to try to convince her that you were doing something way more interesting than overthinking the night away. Despite you and her not being really close or acquainted, Robin was an expert at one thing, and that was reading between the lines and picking up on things.

She didn’t want to put you on the spot. To tell you that from your voice alone, she could tell you were lying through your teeth. She already knew it was hard enough already and her pointing it out would only make you feel worse.

So she cut to the chase.

“I saw Eddie tonight…at the Hideout for his birthday. Nance and I stopped by to buy him a few drinks and give him his present. He’s wasted. I mean just completely shit faced—”

You took a sharp breath in, squinting your eyes that were about to turn salty all over again.

“Why are you telling me this?”

It came out harsher than you wanted, but really the last thing you wanted to hear about was how Eddie was having such a blast without you there. Part of you wanted to think that he would relocate his birthday celebration, assuming it would bring up too much hurt partying in the place where he planned to do it with you.

There was a hitch in her breathing, probably partly taken aback by your tone, but she worked past that.

“I just thought you should know…”

Her voice teetered on the edge of wanting to say more, to tell you the full story, but she didn’t. She didn’t know if it was her place to tell you everything Eddie had said tonight, how his birthday celebration came to shit the second he got an ounce of tipsy.

“I appreciate it, Robin, but really, I’m—I’m over it, him,” you corrected, “I know he’s having fun.”

You didn’t mean to just hang up without allowing her to speak or say goodbye, but you couldn’t help it. One more second on the line with her and even just another word spoken of his name, then you were sure that you’d end up a crying mess with her consoling you through the phone.

You didn’t want to picture him half drunk happy, chugging down shots without a care in the world for the hangover he’d have the next morning. The way he’d have to wake up without someone taking care of him and holding his hair back as he’d throw up everything in his system. The thought of thinking about who was going to drive him home and get him back to the trailer safely.

It was sickening…the worrying thoughts that still lingered in your head when it came to him. How you shouldn’t even be concerned in the first place because he was an adult and capable of taking care of himself. Yet here you were still worrying, imagining the life you two would be living if you stayed in each other’s lives.

Even two years later this feeling didn’t budge and you were sure that if it kept up, it would be enough confirmation that you had made the biggest mistake of your life — letting your one true love slip through your fingers and now all that he would be was a painful reminder of the love you lost when you were younger.

And you were afraid that how it was going to stay.

You ran your fingers through your hair, giving the ends of them a particularly hard tug out of pure frustration and annoyance. Taking a deep breath, your hands ran down your thighs before you stood up and for the first time tonight you stopped pacing.

Instead, you began flipping the light switches off, ready to turn in for the night and accept the fact that wishing Eddie a happy birthday would do neither of you any good.

Reopening that wound would make it hurt more than it already was. Just because you were hurting and searching for that closure didn’t mean that he owed you that. He didn’t owe you the light of day, not even fifteen seconds of his time on a phone call.

It was already over and it was best you left it that way — to move on and keep trying to forget as everything just kept pulling you under.

You glanced back at your dim living room, fingers ready to pull on the beaded string on the lamp to make the whole place dark before you proceeded to walk towards your bedroom and sulk the night away, being greeted by the love of your life in your dream.

But instead, before the whole place could illuminate black and white, there was a knock at your door. One that pounded hard, almost banging, followed by grumbles on the other side of it.

“A—are you in there? I wanna…wanna talk!”

Another round of loud and noisy knocks and for a second you thought you were in a dream. Pinching your skin to try to wake you up from the horrible nightmare that was tormenting you and your frail little heart. But to no one’s surprise, it was real — more knocking and his garbled talking confirmed it.

Your feet moved quickly against the wooden floors, crossing the boundaries between the living room and entrance where you stood on the other side of the door, fingers moving nimbly to undo the lock and chain before you pulled it open.

There he was in the flesh, leaning up against your doorframe, lazily keeping himself steady. He reeked of alcohol and you weren’t sure if it was merely his deep breathing that pushed the sharp smell of vodka and whisky towards your nostrils — or if he had spilt a drink or two all over himself, but it was clear that he was wasted.

Just as Robin had told you — maybe even more.

You wanted to avoid eye contact, to try to focus your sights on somewhere other than his deep brown orbs that could see right through you, but it was futile. Immediately your eyes met, the stare lingering so intensely, speaking volumes in the most silent and torturous way possible.

Though he was intoxicated, he still knew you like the back of his hand. Could read every emotion that covered your face and even beneath the exterior that you tried to put on. He knew you had been crying.

The swollen skin around your eyes dropping them down and making them look sadder than usual.

The tip of your nose red from the constant sniffles and swipes of tissue.

The frown that remained on your face and the slight quiver of your top lip that indicated you were holding it back all over again.

“W-what are you doing here?” Your voice was small and gravelly, breaking harshly, and though you coughed to try to play it off, he still knew.

Eddie watched you. The way your arms crossed over your chest and you finally had the courage to flicker your sights away from him, looking down at his covered feet instead. Your fingers tips pinching and tightening on your skin awaiting his response.

“I don’t know…t—to say that I’m sorry.”

You pinched your brows together, snapping your head up to look at him, “Sorry? Sorry for what, exactly?”

He shrugged his shoulders as he frowned deep and shook his head like he didn’t even know why he was here standing in front of you.

“Before you left, you said sorry…b-but you didn’t give me a chance to say it.”

You didn’t know what to say, hell you didn’t even know if you had any words left to speak even if there was still so much left unspoken. You stood there, eyes glued to his droopy ones that blinked slowly before he finally leaned off the wood and took a step back further into the hallway.

He was stumbling over his feet, but you didn’t dare take a step forward to help him. Eddie didn’t need you to. He regained his balance with his head down, holding a finger out towards you in a sign for you to wait. To not shut the door and leave him out again.

“Why couldn’t you just…just let me fix it?”

He tumbled over his words, keeping his head low in an effort to not break down here right now, but he couldn’t help but look at you when all he got was silence.

You swallowed, biting your tongue while the tips of your fingers turned white from the harsh pinching, desperate to want to run away and hide even when this was all you wanted for the past two years.

“You didn’t even let me try. Do you know how much it h-hurts?”

The end of his question broke with his voice, a whimper and a crack that let you know that the salt would start pouring any second now. And it was the same for you, his figure now a blurry mess as you croaked and shook your head, still not speaking.

He jabbed his finger into his chest while his face scrunched up, almost turning red with the tears that began to pool in his eyes.

“I…I still love you and you were supposed to be there tonight. I kept hoping you would show up. T-that you didn’t forget—”

Your foot stomped against the floorboards as you finally let up on your arm and brought your hands up to your cheeks to whip the tears away.

“I didn’t forget, Eddie! How the hell could you think I could ever forget?”

Here you two stood yet again, resorting to this…whatever this was.

You didn’t try to shut the door or step back as he finally stepped closer, closing the space between the both of you and just leaving inches. His face was nearly nose to nose with you as you both stood there and breathed in everything.

The regret.

The longing.

The pain.

The loss.

The love that never left.

All of it flooding your senses and screaming at you to say everything that you had been bottling up. To release everything that you had taken with you under the waves of wicked currents in winless fights. That even if the lights were on or off, life without him was black and white, the cruelest kind of way to live because he showed you color that you could never see with anyone else.

And unlike the last time you and Eddie stood in front of each other, this time you didn’t pinch your eyes shut or move away from his hands that clutched your cheek. He didn’t have to be the love of your life inside your head when he was standing right before you.

“I missed you…and I’m sorry.”

💌 reblogs, tags, comments, + likes are greatly appreciated! leave a comment and let me know if want to be added to my taglist!! 💌

taglist: @translatemunson @kennedy-brooke @manda-panda-monium @tvserie-s-world @givemeth @steveharringtonswife @astolenkiss @loving-and-dreaming @awkotaco24 @engenelxver @elfiaaaa @pbs-theundeadmaggot @johnricharddeacy @gaysludge @scoopshxrrington @micheledawn1975 @ihatepeanutss

a/n: my first pure angst feel kinda fic that i've written! i don't have a part 2 planned for this yet, but maybe i'll write one depending on how i am feeling and what i think the future would look like for reader and eddie!! i love "21" by gracie and this song just screamed eddie vibes...i hope you guys like it!!!

312 notes · View notes

frankenjoly · 6 months ago

Note

skk + 17

sskk + 21

skk + “is it fun? is it fun for you to see me hurt?”

“Is it fun?” Dazai was saying, in a tone that even the most gullible person over the face of the Earth could recognize as dramatic for the shits and giggles. “Is it fun for you to see me hurt?” He even brought a hand to his chest leaning backwards in a way that almost made them lose balance.

“Cut the crap or I’m gonna drop you.” Chûya instantly answered.

Since Dazai’s leg was pretty much busted, the simplest option had been carrying him, bridal style as some sort of joke related to his stupid speech about them being destined to… something. Chûya didn’t even want to know what he would have said if finishing the sentence, hence timing the fake shot exactly then. And maybe that indulgence was a mistake, given how it had given him even more dumbassery fuel.

“So it is fun, huh? You won’t even go easy on a poor wounded man? You’re heartless, damn.”

“Those are very big words for someone who didn’t even leave a text and blew up my fuckin’ car, but ‘kay.” Two could play that game. “And I’m so gonna drop you.” Not really, since placing him back on the ground was done with way more care than Dazai would deserve after getting so annoying on purpose.

“People may have thought we were in cahoots, so you’re welcome.” Despite not commenting on how Chûya hadn’t really dropped him, it didn’t take a genius to decipher what he was thinking based on the smug grin all over his face.

“Whatever.” There came a brief sigh. “I’m gonna look for something we can use to kinda cast that leg, behave.”

sskk + “i’m not giving up on you, ever”

“Honestly, dropping the matter and hitting me like you meant it would have gotten you way further.” Akutagawa said, shrugging, and Atsushi scoffed.

“C’mon. For real?”

“Were you not able to regenerate, especially with such a speed, and if it wasn’t for the courage of that little girl… you wouldn’t even be here right now, jinko. Because you were holding back and trying to appeal to my consciousness while not even being sure that might actually work.” And then, he shrugged again.

“Am I a fool for believing in you?” Was Atsushi’s counter move. “Plus, it kinda worked for a sec, so…”

Akutagawa first stared at him dead in the eye, then quickly looked away.

“Yes. Knowing when to give up so you could actually reach your goal is important, I thought that was clear already.” Or none of them would be there right then, Atsushi guessed he might be thinking. Or not even one of them would have left that ship.

It made sense, sure, but he wasn’t going to yield. Even if he couldn’t convince Akutagawa either.

“Well, I’m not giving up on you, ever. ‘Kay?” Atsushi lifted a hand, trying to reach out in a similar way he had done back then when being pulled into the makeshift escape route. And, after taking a deep breath, he linked it with Akutagawa’s; if the price to pay was having it sliced with Rashômon, so be it.

Except nothing happened. Akutagawa didn’t say anything, and his gaze was now fixed on the sky, but he allowed the gesture… which already meant a lot.

(Also on ao3.)

#skk #sskk #bsd atsushi #bsd akutagawa #bsd chuuya #bsd dazai #bsd #bungou stray dogs #my stuff #clau stuff #ficlet #ness <3 #yeah i couldn't angst much i'm a pussy ksjdlkjdl #but that's a given atp

26 notes · View notes

nerdrops · 3 months ago

Text

no but like. imagine you’re adley rutschman and when you’re a college student, just 20, and people, usually grown ass adults are obsessing over you because you **might** be drafted onto their favorite team. you’re not even on the damn team yet. then you’re 21, and you do get drafted. and now there’s people telling you that you’re going to save an entire baseball franchise. and when you eventually get called up, all eyes are on you. and when you struggle, as all rookies do, you get called a bust. and god forbid you mess up someones parlay- you’ll get death threats and insults galore. and now you’re experiencing the first real slump of your career, and the same people that were treating you like some kind of god 2 months ago are the same people commenting on your girlfriend, on your weight, on your attitude. instead of showing a little bit of support or compassion, they’re treating you like you’re single handedly responsable for the team losing games. and people wonder why he deleted instagram 😐😐

#its SO weird how you treat this guy #ESPECIALLY WHEN 80% OF ORIOLES TWITTER IS OLDER THAN HIM 😭😭😭#leave adley rutschman alone

10 notes · View notes

shy-urban-hobbit · 1 year ago

Text

"Usual rules of 21 apply. You go bust, you have to either take a shot or do a dare." Jaskier stated for the benefit of everyone sat at the table.

"What are you, 12?" Lambert sneered as Jaskier dealt everyone in.

"Some of us would like to able to eat this month. Last time I played you guys for cash, you cleared me out."

"Not our fault you're a shit player. Besides, we gave it you back."

Jaskier heard Aiden mutter "How generous of you." From next to him and he felt his heart sink a little.

He so wanted his best friend and his boyfriends family to get along. He already knew Geralt and Aiden got along fine and Eskel was his friendly self after his usual shyness at meeting someone one new, always self conscious of his scars. Lambert and Aiden though seemed to be a no go. Jaskier was hoping they'd warm up to each other but three social meet ups later and they'd yet to say two words to each other that weren't sarcastic (Aiden) or borderline insulting (Lambert).

Things started off fairly tame, with most people opting to do shots first (bar Lambert, who was tonights designated driver for those who wanted a ride later and was playing with soda instead). However, a couple of hours and a good amount of Dutch courage later, the dares had started. Ranging from downing a shot glass of extra strength hot sauce that had Eskel making a desperate grab for the milk to Geralt doing a lap of the garden naked, much to the delight of a tipsy Jaskier. Lambert was incredibly happy for the potential blackmail material he was collecting. A still relatively sober Aiden laughed from where he was nursing his own drink, feeling relatively smug at having only suffered half as many losing hands as the others.

"Ok. Final hand, then I'm calling it a night." Eskel slurred from where he was swaying dangerously in his seat.

"Hmmm." Geralt agreed from where he was slumped against Jaskier, the brunette grinning like a madman as he sat twirling a small paper cocktail umbrella in his fingers (because of course he had cocktail umbrellas in his house).

"Ok, ok, ok." Jaskier stated, slamming the umbrella down and holding a finger up imperially, "Dare this time iiiiiiiissss....loser has to kiss Lambert!"

The table erupted.

"Why the fuck am I the dare?!'

"Eeeew!"

"Don't care if he's adopted. I'm not kissing my brother, Jask."

"I never said you had to kiss him on the mouth, you perv!" Jaskier sniffed "And it's only if you lose!"

The others all looked to Lambert, who was also the designated dealer at this point, "Fucking fine. Let's get this over with."

Aiden stared at his cards in disbelief, ignoring the wolf whistles and cheers, "You're fucking kidding me."

23. Bust.

"Oh, get over yourself." Lambert snarled back.

"You guys don't - don't have to.' Eskel managed to get out, looking between them like he was expecting a fight to break out.

Aiden shrugged and downed the rest of his whiskey, "Dare's a dare. Just make it quick."

"Not going to be a problem."

"Wait, wait!" Jaskier called, grinning impishly, "New rule. Aiden's not related, he does have to kiss on the mouth!"

"Jaskier." Lambert let a warning growl slip into the word but didn't get any further as a pair of lips pressed against his then swiftly retreated.

"There. Done." Aiden said fishing his phone out of his pocket, "I'm calling a cab."

"You're over on Beech, right?" Lambert asked.

Aiden nodded.

"I'll drive you. It's on my way home anyway."

"You don't have to."

Lambert jangled his keys, "Designated driver. Remember?"

"Still. Thanks."

Both of them tried to ignore the way Jaskier was excitedly jabbing Geralt in the ribs with his elbow.

"Esk, you coming?" Lambert received no reply from his brother who, it turns out, had wandered over to the couch at some point in the last few minutes and passed out.

"Let him crash here." Geralt muttered, "Won't wake him now."

"Jaskier, I'll see you Monday." Aiden said, giving his friend a tight squeeze and Geralt a couple of solid back pats before looking back at Lambert, "Ready when you are."

The door to his flat hadn't even clicked shut before Lambert was kissing Aiden soundly. The other man humming into it happily.

"Fuck me, that was torture." Lambert said, making his way into the kitchenette and grabbing two beers from the fridge handing one to Aiden before flopping down onto the couch. Aiden hummed in agreement, taking a swig as he leaned over the back of the couch, wrapping an arm around Lambert and resting his chin on his shoulder. Watching as the other pulled up the next episode of the series they'd started binging.

"You know we're going to have to tell them eventually, right?"

"I know." Lambert butted his head against Aiden's affectionately, "I just..."

"Just?" Aiden prompted, taking another mouthful of beer while Lambert got his thoughts in order.

"I'm not embarrassed or anything. Everyone in my family is already up in each others business and you were already friends with Jaskier. I just - I just want it to stay like this for a little longer. Just us two, nobody else."

Aiden pressed a kiss to Lambert's cheek, "I get that."

"Plus you do realise Jaskier will be even more insufferable when we do? He'll say it was down to that little stunt of his tonight."

"Eh. If he can remember it, let him have it. I know I'd prefer it to the true story of how we met getting out." Aiden said with a laugh as he released Lambert and vaulted over the couch, landing next to him with far more grace than a man clutching an almost full beer bottle should possess before placing it on the coffee table.

"Ugh. I think that's the first time I've cheated to lose! I feel dirty."

"Yeah?" Lambert gave a grin as he moved until Aiden was laid out on the couch underneath him. The others hands already sneaking up the back of his shirt, "How dirty, exactly?"

#the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #aiden/lambert #aiden x lambert #lambden #lambert/aiden #lambert x aiden #witcher aiden #witcher lambert #lambert #secret relationship

52 notes · View notes

mumms-the-word · 9 months ago

Text

First Confessions

Day 21 of the BG3 Fic February Challenge

How could I not write first confessions for ALL my Tavs/Durges?

Each little flash fic below is the first time my Tav/Durge has said "I love you" to their LI. Some confessions happen really early! And some, surprisingly late. I had a fun time trying to think how each Tav/Durge would confess and what the LI's might say or do in that scenario. Hopefully you guys will be enjoy one or two of these as well.

Check out my masterlist of BG3 fics!

---

21: Love confession (by any character)

---

Dani

“Gods, I love you.”

It fell out of her mouth in the middle of a laugh, her nose slightly scrunched, her sharp teeth flashing, her eyes misty with mirth. They’d been swapping stories around the fire, telling jokes, sharing funny memories, until at last Gale had sent half of them into fits over a tale about a student at Blackstaff who’d convinced him to play a prank on a much-despised instructor, resulting in a marble bust of the instructor spouting a colorful variety of insults thanks to a well-cast magic mouth spell.

She said it casually and instinctually, the way she did when she was with her Rovers. Without thought, but also meant with her whole chest. Affectionate and warm and light. It didn’t strike her until a moment later, wiping her eyes, that it was the first time he’d heard her say those words to him. The first time she’d said those words to anyone other than the Rovers. His face had seemed warmer after she said it, but that could have been from his laughter too. If he thought anything of it, it didn’t show on his face.

She couldn’t have known then that it would be the first many I love you’s between the two of them. But even so, in the moment, she wouldn’t have taken it back for the world. He often made her smile, often made her laugh, and she loved him to bits for it.

So the words came easily. They always came easily, meant with as much affection on that first utterance around the fire, with all her friends as a witness, as they did one thousand reiterations later, when she spoke the words softly into the crook of his neck as they lay together alone in their bed.

But she had no way of knowing what lay in her future that night around the campfire. That night she said the words with a laugh, bright and affectionate, falling a little bit in love with him but thinking nothing of it.

She didn’t know, of course, that at the very same moment he was falling a little more in love with her too. It would only be a handful of days before those words returned, murmured softly under a starlit sky, carrying the weight of a different, deeper kind of love.

But for now, as a far as first confessions go, the words were out there, but her love remained a fledgling little secret, tucked away in the back of her heart to grow over time.

———

Invi

“I love you.”

She whispered it into Astarion’s blood-flecked hair, sinful red on bone white, holding him tightly as he shook under the weight of his world crashing down around him. Cazador was dead just a foot away, the ritual ruined, seven thousand and six spawn alive but with nowhere to go. And one broken, shuddering spawn who was shattering in her arms.

She probably shouldn’t have said it. It was probably the worst thing she could have said. She didn’t even know if he could hear her over the roar of grief and pain in his skull. She could sense it in his body as he pressed his hands into the blood-soaked stone of the ritual platform, his chest heaving with choked sobs. She could sense it in his mind where they were connected by the tadpoles, all barriers gone. His thoughts were a whirlwind of emotions, relief mixed with sorrow, anger mixed with frenzied joy, and grief, so much grief. It was too much for his mind alone so his body has responded for him, releasing the energy in a torrent of tears and wailing cries.

Still she held on, embracing him as best she could, grounding him the only way she knew how. She understood what it was to lose control like this. She remembered all too well the night she’d struggled against her bindings, every cell in her body urging her to break free and kill Astarion, while the person inside, the girl known as Invi, screamed in the prison of her mind that she loved him and fought with all her strength to resist. He’d stayed with her the whole night. She could do no less for him now.

Still. Maybe she should have saved the words for later. Maybe they would have been better said in a quiet room where it was just the two of them. Maybe this confession would be another mistake in a long road of mistakes she’d already made. But the words were out there now. And she said them again, pressing a kiss to his hair as he struggled to regain composure.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

She wanted to say so much more, but she didn’t know how to communicate it. Those were the only words she had, and in the end, those were the words that calmed him.

He didn’t say them back. She didn’t expect him to. She didn’t even know if he had really heard them. But now that the words were out there in the world, she could deny them no longer.

She had wanted to say them the morning she woke up, still bound, and found Astarion safe and well by the smoldering campfire. She had wanted to say them before they entered this room to fight Cazador, just in case she never got the chance to again. Both times she had choked on them, unsure of the timing, or how he would respond, unsure if she even really knew what love felt like.

No more. She said the words now, because they were the only words she could say. Whether he was ready to accept them or not, she had said them, and she refused to take them back.

———

Freyr

“I love you.”

He murmured it softly into Minthara’s ear as they lay together in a shared bed at the Elfsong, the darkness of the room interrupted only by a few sputtering candles. He traced his fingertips lightly across her nightshade skin, slowly up the curve of her spine, following the paths laid out by scars, pausing at old wounds as his fingers brushed against them. She lay against him, cheek on his chest, fingers at the pulse of his neck, dozing lightly. But at his words, she stirred.

He didn’t know why he said it. He didn’t know what had possessed him. Or perhaps, that itself was the problem. Nothing possessed him. He was free of his dark urges at last.

It was the first night his mind had been quiet, the first he could easily remember. In the dark of the room, with Minthara drifting away into a meditative doze, there was nothing whispering in his mind anymore. The only voice in his head was his own.

And so, unable to sleep because of the quiet, he had contemplated the woman in his arms. Turned every drifting thought back to her. Admired her beauty, her strength. Replayed the words she had spoken earlier that day, the words she had whispered as she had guided him to lay back on the bed, trying to commit them all the memory now that he had a mind to remember things. And in his contemplations of her, the words had simply fallen from his lips.

She turned her head, resting her chin on his chest, blinking sleepily at him. He waited for her to scoff, tell him love was a weakness, or even ignore his words entirely. But instead she smirked faintly and traced the curve of his lips with pad of her thumb.

“I know,” she murmured, her voice a gentle rasp.

Of course she knew. How could she not? He’d been drawn to her from the moment he met her in that ruined temple months ago. He’d devoted himself to her the moment he’d watched her fight. Sworn to protect her when he saved her from Moonrise. Vowed to kill Orin as vengeance for her as much as for himself after hearing how Orin had tormented her. Now with Orin dead and his madness at an end, he saw his actions for what they were, what they had perhaps always been. The actions of a man madly in love.

Yet he didn’t feel any weaker for having said the words. If the dark urge were still a part of him, it would have churned his gut with revulsion. But there was no more dark urge. There was only him and the woman in his arms.

Perhaps he would say it again, another time. Perhaps it would be a phrase that came easily to his lips, and perhaps one day she may even say it back. But for now it was a simple truth that they shared between them. No more need be said.

———

Ardynn

“Halsin? I love you.”

She said the words as casually as she was able, trying desperately to ignore the pounding of her heart in her chest or the way her hands trembled with fine tremors. They were walking hand-in-hand through the newly cured lands around Reithwin, the air quiet but for the sound of a few intrepid birds that had been among the first to return. She spoke the words into the still air and held her breath, trying not to look as scared as she felt when Halsin turned to look at her.

She must have said it a hundred times in her head before this moment. A fleeting, silly thought when she’d had too much to drink at the tiefling party. A yearning plea when she was in the depths of the shadow cursed lands, clutching a token infused with his nature magic to her chest. A whispered prayer as she lay across from him with the campfire between them.

When they’d lain together for the first time, under the stars with the river drifting lazily by, when his lips were on her skin and his hands on her body, the words had laced together in a pattern in her mind, locked behind her teeth as she clenched them together and arched her back with pleasure. When she fell asleep in his arms each night since then, it was the last thought she cradled close to her heart before drifting away. When she woke with her body against his and opened her eyes to find him smiling gently down at her, it was the first thought that sprang to her mind.

She screamed it in her head in the midst of battle, urged the words to form on her tongue in desperate moments where he was hurt or in danger. But she hadn’t said them. She had nearly choked on the words several times, at the Iron Throne, at the Netherbrain, when she had run and jumped into his arms a tenday after the defeat of the brain, having reunited with him in Thaniel’s lands, each time nearly letting them escape only to bite them back in a hurry. These days she felt the words fill her mouth when they were doing nothing of consequence at all, sitting in silence over a meal or contemplating the landscape together. But she had never once said them out loud.

Because he had never said them, either.

She didn’t doubt his love, of course. He proved it daily with his tender looks, his desire, the very fact that he had stayed by her side in a city that he could barely tolerate and still found time for her as he worked to build a new community for refugees of the smoldering city. She heard it when he called her “my heart” and cradled her face in his warm hand. She tasted it on his lips when he kissed her, felt his love press into her skin when he kissed her forehead.

He loved her in his own way. In the way that wood elf bear druids who were over three centuries old loved. She was content with that. And she would be content if he never said the words that rang daily in her skull, beating with her heart. She just didn’t know how he would respond if she said the words.

A part of her worried he would react negatively, withdraw, create space between them to remind her of his nature to roam. But even if he did, it wouldn’t change what she felt. She loved him. Roaming and all.

So she said them now, trying to sound casual, as though this were part of their every day speech when it very much was not. He turned to looked at her, only the barest hint of surprise on his features, and for a brief moment she regretted ever putting a voice to her thoughts at all. But then he smiled warmly and bent to kiss her, her hand still in his.

“And I love you, my heart,” he said quietly.

Just as naturally as if he’d said it a hundred times before.

17 notes · View notes

tgrailwar-zero · 8 months ago

Text

The rest of the players played through. You watched as all three hit-- and all three found themselves firmly over 21. Even, surprisingly, DURYODHANA. A few sighs and frustrated groans later, that meant that standing was a solid call- you had won!

GIRL: "Ah… I lost…"

IZOU: "Dammit! That's a bust."

DURYODHANA: "I suppose that means I lose. Congratulations."

You're granted 400 PPT- a pretty solid profit considering you didn't put any money in this round. It seems like NERO is a pretty lucky one. You watched IZOU sigh, finishing his drink and shrugging.

IZOU: "Well, I'm outta cash. Are we gettin' outta here?"

You heard DURYODHANA scoff, leaning back in his chair.

DURYODHANA: "Come on, you can go on your little date later. There's still light out, and now there's money to win. I'll show you around the casino hall, give you a good time, promise. If you want, I can even toss some cash to Izou... as long as he pays me back."

IZOU: "Well..."

NERO: "I'm inclined to agree with Duryodhana. I quite enjoy winning. And besides, he did pay for our first round, it'd be rude to leave so early."

You saw MUSASHI shrug, seemingly entertained either way.

#thgw story #main post #thgw: chapter 6

11 notes · View notes

preservationofnormalcy · 1 year ago

Note

Ugh, this weekend's been a mess. Five days is the longest I'd ever lost to my hypersomnia (if it even is that at all). I've been spending the weekend catching up on missed appointments and obligations. Suffice it to say, my boyfriend was worried sick.

My camera's been a bust. At 4:21 AM, the recording just gets messed up. Nothing but static and a garbled mess of ringing audio. Before that, nothing seems to be out of the ordinary. It's just me, tossing and turning in my bed as I sleep.

My partner, he... Came to visit during the week. Apparently I was gone. I don't remember even an inkling of any of this. I worry that whatever's taking me is doing bad things to my body. I'm still human, but it doesn't seem like I'm actually eating when I'm not there. And yet, I feel an ungodly exhaustion when I wake, as though I'd been living multiple lifetimes.

I don't know what's going on anymore, and I don't know who's watching me. I'm checking over my shoulder every minute, and I'm afraid to leave my apartment. Ironically, I've actually been losing sleep. I'm worried I'll disappear again when I go under.

How do I keep myself awake?

-S(leeping anon)

Norm is going to get a little personal, if that's okay. As personal as I can be with the autoredact.

A few years ago, I experienced an...event. I don't want to/can't talk about it. It's not the same as what you're experiencing, but I can understand a little of what's happening to you.

I understand the fear. I understand not knowing what's going on, the feeling like you're dying. I understand feeling mad that this is happening to you, that you didn't deserve it, the bargaining and begging. I know you're feeling like no one else understands it either.

I understand the paranoia and feeling like you can't trust even yourself. I know what it's like to feel unwelcome in your own....skin. Like a stranger.

The hardest part was asking for help. You've done that, and I'm very proud of you for it. Whether it's something mundane or something extranormal, I'm very proud of you for it.

The second hardest part is getting the help. Can you find one of our branch offices? For me. If you're at a site I can make it to, I promise I'll come say hi. We'll do our best to figure this out, but you have to come to us. You don't have to be strong, S, but I'd like to see you doing better than you are now.

The journey out of the pit starts with practicing the climb.

#office for the preservation of normalcy #ask #advice

37 notes · View notes

chickensarentcheap · 1 year ago

Text

Bedtime snippet :D Chapter 21 of Lost and Found

@tragiclyhip @munstysmind @mrsmungus @secretaryunpaid @youflickedtooharddamnit @residentdormouse @alisbackalleybbq @ninjasawakenedmystar @thebejeweledwatercat @themaradwrites @asirensrage @kmc1989 @karimac , @theesirenteller

After the cut. I got carried away ;)

For context: If you've seen E2, picture the scene where he's in the hotel room checking on his supply case and the kid starts that whole "do you think you're a hero?" conversation :) Picture Tyler doing what he was doing before that kid approached him ;)

“What is it you want to hear? What exactly do you want from me, Esme? Do you want me to completely freak out? Totally lose my shit on you? Bust up my hotel room? Put holes in the walls? Is that the kind of reaction you want?”

“I don’t know. I mean, I’m glad you never got like that. But I’m also a little weirded out, I supposed. That you didn’t go off the rails more than you did. I thought seeing Millie and realizing she was yours…”

“Seeing Millie and realizing she IS mine is what stopped me from going totally off the rails. Made me realize you had other reasons for staying under the radar. I’m not exactly well-liked. Not in this circle, anyway. I’ve pissed off a lot of people. Burnt a lot of bridges. There’s quite a long list; there's tons of people who wouldn’t mind getting revenge. I just figured maybe that’s why you kept her a secret. That maybe you were worried if word got out that I had a kid, they’d make her a target.”

“I never once thought about any of that. You weren’t the issue, Tyler. You didn’t do anything wrong. It was never about you. I mean, it WAS. But not like that.”

“I wouldn’t have blamed you. If you’d thought that. It’s pretty reasonable; not wanting trouble to show up on your doorstep. You wanted to protect your daughter.”

“OUR daughter,” she gently corrects. “She’s OUR daughter. And I never felt like I had to protect her from you. Or because of you. It was all me. I didn’t want you to turn us away. That’s what I was afraid of. That you wouldn’t want her because of me.”

“I would have wanted her. And I would have wanted you, too. I’ve only wanted you for the last five years.”

“I didn’t know that. No one ever talked about it. Your personal life. Nik never mentioned how you were doing outside of your firefighting and your reno business and doing the odd job here and there for her. And to be honest, I was scared to ask. I didn’t want to hear that you found someone else. That you’d moved on. And I know that sounds selfish as fuck, but…”

“Want to hear selfish as fuck?” Filling the last magazine, he snaps it into its holding spot and then turns to face her, arms crossed over his chest as he leans back against the table. “I used to hope that you were dead. Not because I was angry at you and felt you deserved it. Because I would have rather you be permanently gone than with someone else.”

She blinks at his brutal honesty.

“I could handle you being dead, but not with another guy. Now who’s the selfish one? What kind of person even thinks like that? How messed up does someone have to be to come up with something so fucking twisted?”

“You’re a human being. You were hurt. And when we’re hurt, we don’t exactly think properly. We don’t…”

“It wasn’t because I was hurt. Or angry. It was because I didn’t want you with anyone else. Because all I could think was how if I couldn’t have you, I didn’t want anyone else to either.”

“I felt the same way. Every time I thought of you with someone. It fucking killed me inside. To even go down that road. I didn’t want you with anyone else. Which is pretty messed up considering I’m the one who left you.”

“We both have our issues. We always have. It’s never been one hundred percent healthy. I mean, look how we met. WHERE we met.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s wrong, though. Us. I’ve never felt felt it was wrong. Have you?”

“I’ve never regretted a single thing. I’d take that bullet to the neck a million times over if it meant I got to be with you.”

“Don’t say that, Tyler. Don’t even think it. Because I don’t deserve it. That kind of devotion. I don’t…”

“I think the problem is that you WANT me to be angry. Or angrier than I am. You WANT me to totally lose my shit on you. You want me to yell, scream, tear shit apart, and make you feel like complete and utter shit.”

#Tyler and Esme series #Lost and Found

11 notes · View notes

laundryandtaxes · 2 years ago

Text

Being under 30 and genuinely complaining about getting carded or shocked that someone won't serve you without ID isn't cute or reasonable, it's annoying. If you think there is one thing that being 21 looks like, you're wrong. I should know. I have carded people absolutely expecting fakes to find a legitimate ID proving they're 22. I have carded people I assumed were about 22 based not just on looks but on behavior and discovered that they are 28. Every person I know almost certainly knows at least one adult over 21 who is regularly confused for a teenager or young adult. 9 years is not as long for adults as it is for children- I cannot just check off whether you look postpubescent or like a child. It is not like most people look drastically different at 27 than they did at 22. Okay, you came in with your boyfriend and I didn't card him because he looks over 30 to me, but that's an extremely common way for cops to bust bars (CPD and I'm sure plenty of other departments send a cop who looks old enough into an establishment with a minor who is told to order a drink, banking on the fact that it can be uncomfortable to card one person in a group because it speaks to the obvious age of those who didn't get carded which I think is literally entrapment at fine dining establishments, where an outsized amount of deference to guest perception and ease of the dining experience is built into the culture) and I'm not going to potentially lose my job and license to do it and pay a fine so that you can have a cocktail with dinner. Drink a coke or bring your ID.

50 notes · View notes

invisibleraven · 1 year ago

Text

Growing old can go to hell

Reggie's twenty first birthday is not something he's exactly looking forward to. Thankfully Ray and Rose are there to help him through it.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY @innytoes!

As a present, I wrote you angst set in your amazing Reggie is the one who survives AU verse.

I hope you enjoy!

On AO3!

Reggie’s first birthday after The Orpheum is a haze. He spent most of his days then so deep in grief that every moment seemed to blur together. He slept when he could, but he was so often plagued by nightmares that he’s not sure when he’s awake or asleep or anything. Those were dark days, and he’s really not sure when he quite surfaced to even note that he was any older.

The next year Reggie is in therapy, but he’s also trying to write music again, trying to live again. It’s hard, and he loses more days than he gains in staring at his notebook, blank of all the things he longs to say. Rose and Ray try to encourage him, but there’s only so much he can do. He’s taken to sitting in the shower, letting the water wash away the black, bleak thoughts that consume him, but he tries not to do it too often. The days still all seem to swim together, so he never really registers when he’s suddenly nineteen.

Twenty is spent in the hospital. He tripped over a cord helping set up at a Petal Pushers show, busting his ankle. The nurse who processes his paperwork is the first one to wish him a happy birthday, and he knows he nods in acknowledgement, but that’s it.

Rose and Ray are a bit dismayed that he never shared his birthday with them. He’d certainly celebrated theirs over the past few years, but never his own. He tells them that he’s never been one for birthdays, it’s fine, he’d rather not do anything. They aren’t happy about it, but they accept the lie.

Which it blatantly is.

Because as a kid, Reggie loved his birthday. MeeMaw would always make him a cake, heaped with frosting and sprinkles, singing in her warm southern drawl with Pops strumming along on his banjo. Gifting him with books, toys, and when he was old enough, a horse named Jake. His parents would not be as warm, mainly ensuring he got clothes and things he needed, but it was a day they didn’t fight, which was enough for him.

But then they moved away from Georgia, and his birthdays kind of just… stopped. Money was tighter, so Reggie understood. He bought himself a snack cake from the 7-11 and quietly sang to himself from then on.

Well until he met his boys.

Luke, Alex, and Bobby always made a big deal of birthdays. Their families all sucked, so they made sure they all had a day that they felt loved by the people that really mattered. They would get each other a cake from the grocery store, and while the presents might be a roll of tokens from the arcade or a pizza, or a new guitar strap, they were filled with love. Plus they would end the night with a jam session and their favourite movies.

Reggie never thought when he ended his seventeenth birthday, falling asleep against Luke’s shoulder while Return of the Jedi played on, would be the last he would celebrate that way.

This year was somehow all the worse though, because they had made plans for this year. Getting into a real bar without having to use the truly awful fakes that Bobby had gotten them. Drinking something that wasn’t the watered down beer Alex stole from his dad in a fit of rebellion. Going to every bar and trying to get a gig there now that they were legally allowed in.

But now they wouldn’t get to do any of that.

And Reggie broke down into sobs when it hit him that Luke, Alex, and Bobby never would. They would never be any older than seventeen. They would never have a real ID to use on the disinterested bouncers on the Strip, or be able to buy their first legal drink.

Reggie knew he needed to keep living, Dr. Butler and him had many a long talk about not giving into despair, that he needed to keep going, live the life his boys never would. Which was what he had to do, because Reggie was 21 now, and soon enough he’d be 22, 25, 30… he would keep on aging, getting older.

Alone.

No, that wasn’t fair. He might not have the guys any longer, but he still had Ray and Rose. The two loves of his life, who supported him in every way, who picked him back up when things were the bleakest. He could still celebrate with them. Grow old with them, even if Ray had forbidden cracks about the few years that separated them long ago.

He was sure Rose was just waiting to ask what he wanted to do for his birthday, and while the temptation to say nothing was there, he decided that for them, he could celebrate again. Just… not in the same way, that would be too hard.

Sure enough, it was a day or two later that Rose pounced. Well, more so made circles with her finger on his chest as they all came down from their orgasms, Ray snuggled into his other side, a mere moment away from dreamland.

“So tesoro,” Rose started. “It’s your birthday in a few days.”

“Yup.”

“What do you want to do? It’s a bit late to plan a surprise party…”

“Oh God, don’t do that,” Reggie pleaded with a grimace. “I hate surprise parties.”

“We could have a few people over?” Ray suggested sleepily. “Tori and the Petal Pushers, maybe a few people from the studio?” He nuzzled his nose behind Reggie’s ear, then along his jaw, and even as sated as Reggie was, the move still made him shiver.

“I think I’d rather just have a quiet night in with the two of you,” Reggie confessed. “Eat some cake, go to bed early.”

“Are you sure? Twenty one is a big one, we have no problem making a big fuss, or going out to a bar with you,” Rose offered.

“No,” Reggie shook his head. “Just… low key birthday at home. That’s all I want.”

“Can we at least get you a present?” Ray asked.

“Nothing big,” Reggie said. “I… birthdays are hard for me. I just want to get through the day.”

“We don’t have to celebrate if you don’t want to,” Rose whispered, pressing a kiss to his heart.

“I know you want to though,” Reggie said, lifting her hand to press a kiss to her knuckles, then repeating the motion to Ray. “You’ve both done so much for me, the least I can do is let you throw me a bit of a birthday.”

“Red velvet cake then?” Rose said with a smirk.

“My favourite,” Reggie said with a smile.

“Pizza, cake, presents, sounds like a good birthday to me,” Ray remarked with a yawn. “Sleep first though.”

The other two agreed, and before long, they were all asleep, and Reggie smiled as he dreamed of cake.

The day of Reggie’s birthday was gray and misty, which he thought fitting, as it matched his gloomy mood. How could he even think of celebrating? Here he was, alive and healthy while his best friends were dead, and if it weren’t for fate, Reggie would have-should have-died with them. It wasn’t fair that he got to grow older, to live life to the fullest when their lives were just… over.

He peered open his bleary eyes, wiping his palm over his face. It was rare he slept alone these days, but he had begged for solitude the night before, and his partners had granted it. Probably for the best, since he had no wish to see them. To see their disappointment when he could barely manage to get up, let alone spend the day acknowledging his birth.

He groped for the phone, finally bringing it to him, and sighed. He should call someone, let them absorb his worries and guilt, absolve him of his melancholy. Only… who on Earth would he call?

Alex, Luke, and Bobby were gone, and he had little to nothing to do with their families. Bobby’s lola Celia was the only exception, but she was in a home now, and he felt weird calling her so early. He knew that Luke’s parents had tried reaching out a few times, but after no response from him, they stopped. Reggie couldn’t find it in him to talk to Emily, to look her in the eye and explain why her darling boy was gone, but he was still here.

He hadn’t seen or spoken to his own parents since that fateful July day, and that was a mere “I’m going out!” at them while they argued. He’s not sure where they think he is, and he had only gone back to get his things when he knew they were out. Sure, it was cowardly, but without the guys to back him, Reggie knew returning to that house would only spell disaster.

He could call MeeMaw. He should call MeeMaw honestly. He was all she had left really, and they talked every week for the most part. But then he remembered that she was out with some of her friends on some cruise or another. She had told him she’d try to call if she could get reception, but if not, she’d ensure they had a long jaw when she got back, and that his card was in the mail.

But Reggie called none of those options, instead dialing a very familiar number, oh so slowly rotating the dial for each one, and then hoping and praying that there would be no answer as the call connected.

“Dr. Butler’s office, Inez speaking.”

“H-hi Inez, it’s Reggie,” he said softly. “Is she free?”

“Oh hi babe, lemme see… Yes, she had a cancellation this morning. Gimme a sec and I’ll patch you through.”

“Thanks Inez, you’re a doll.”

“Anything for you sweetcheeks,” Inez giggled. Reggie knew the woman enjoyed their little flirtations, she claimed they made her feel young again. Even when Reggie protested that forty five was not old, nor did she look it. “Oh and Reg? Happy Birthday.”

Reggie was sure he choked out a thanks as the hold music played, his grip on the phone almost white knuckled. Finally the awful tuneless gibber was done, and the smokey voice of Pepper echoed down the line. “I was wondering when you were gonna call.”

“Hey Pep.”

“Hey sweetie, doing okay?”

Reggie gave a mirthless laugh. “What do you think?”

Pepper hummed. “Well I don’t know Reginald, I’m not a mind reader, remember. That’s the whole point of you coming to me right? So you can tell me how you’re feeling and I come up with ways to help you cope or deal or whatever it is you need. So I’ll ask again, how are you?”

“Pretty shitty, honestly,” Reggie admitted. Then told her how he was feeling-the black mire of guilt that he was here and his friends were not. That they never would be, and the unfairness of it all.

“It is unfair, yes,” Pepper said. “But it’s not your fault Reggie, we’ve been over this.”

“But if I hadn’t gotten distracted by that dog…”

“Then you might have very well eaten the street dogs too and be dead as well.”

“Maybe I should be,” Reggie said. “It feels… wrong that I’m not.”

“Do you think any of your friends would feel that way if it had been them that survived instead of you?” Pepper asked. They’d gone through this dialogue so many times before, and Reggie knew what his depressed brain wanted to say, and what answer Pepper wanted to hear.

“No,” he sighed. “They would keep living, keep going. Which is what I need to do.”

“Good,” Pepper hummed. “First step though; get through today. I know it’s going to be hard, but you’ve got your partners there with you, and I’m just a phone call away.”

Reggie slowly breathed out of his nose, centering himself. “I know.”

“You got this kiddo,” Pepper said reassuringly. “Now go demolish a slice of cake for me and I’ll see you next week.”

“Thanks Pep.”

“Happy Birthday Reggie.”

There’s a knock on the door as he places the phone back on the receiver, and he calls out a hello. Ray and Rose tentatively open the door, apprehensive smiles on their faces, and Reggie grins, beckoning them closer. Moaning when he sees the try piled high with breakfast.

“Figured we’d start the day off right at the very least,” Ray says, pressing a kiss to his temple.

“You sleep okay?” Rose asks, swiping a piece of toast as Reggie takes a deep drink of the coffee they brought, already doctored just the way he likes it-black as night with enough sugar to kill a man.

“Not especially,” Reggie admits, taking a bite of the crispy bacon. “Nightmares and the like.”

“You know you can always come to us when you can’t sleep tesoro,” Ray reminds him.

“I know, but I was tossing and turning-I wanted at least you two to have a good night’s sleep,” Reggie replies. “Plus it just means we can all snuggle and have a nap later.”

“Devious ulterior motive,” Rose says.

After that there’s little talking as they polish off the food, and as much as he wants to, Reggie doesn’t ask what their plan is. He knows that if he does, he’ll protest them making a big deal out of him. Instead goes with the flow, lets them put the dishes away and then lets himself be pulled into a hot bubble bath. He sighs with contentment the moment he sinks into the water, head lolling against Ray’s shoulder, hands coming up to embrace Rose. Giggling when she pokes his side, wiggling her eyebrows and motioning to under the water where he is poking her.

Reggie really loves baths okay?

They stay in the bath a while, sloshing the water about, until their skin is pruned, their legs are wobbly, and they are freshly cleaned under the shower spray after making the bath water just a little dirty. The warm towel envelops Reggie and he laughs when Ray uses it to ruffle his hair, while Rose frees her curls from the bun she had sported in the bath.

From there they get dressed, all casual lazing around clothes, and Reggie takes a small comfort in his favourite flannel, welcoming him and shielding him a little, like it was armour instead of worn cotton.

They spend the rest of the morning in the garden. Rose has the green thumb of the three of them, and she putters around, tending to her flowers while Ray weeds, adding the pile to the compost. Reggie takes out his acoustic, strumming idly and fetches them a pitcher of lemonade to enjoy as the sun grows higher in the sky. He’s learned long ago that he and plants don’t get along, so aside from watering the ones that fill the studio-his own form of meditation and prayer-he tends not to touch the greenery, lest he kill it all.

Lunch is simple grilled cheese, eaten on the patio, the radio playing softly and Reggie gives a soft smile as one of the songs that comes on is one of his. A sweet tender ballad about lost love that Rose helped him pen. She had refused the credit, but Reggie still sneaks half the residuals from it into her account every month and Ray pretends he doesn’t know when she questions them both about the extra money.

The afternoon is spent napping. Reggie curls in between Ray and Rose on their bed, sighing in comfort as he sinks into the mattress. Inhaling their combined scent, the sweet apple pie scent of their fabric softener, the flowery scent of Rose, the more citrusy scent of Ray, and Reggie’s own smell-the cedar and bergamot aftershave that Alex had bought him one year and he kept buying even if it wasn’t his favourite, just to keep that part of him alive.

He sleeps fitfully at first, but Rose just grips him tighter, singing soft lullabies in Spanish, while Ray adorns his face and neck with soft kisses that eventually helps settle his restless being. He awakens as it gets close to supper time, stretching and yawning. He’s slightly surprised to find Ray and Rose there with him, but ultimately pleased. Rose is reading a book while Ray is quietly doing a crossword puzzle, both of them smiling down at him.

“Good nap?” Ray asks quietly.

“Much needed,” Reggie replies around a yawn. “Thanks for staying.”

“Never an issue hun,” Rose assures him, leaning down for a simple kiss before they all slowly leave the bed. Rose calls for pizza, and they devour it in front of the television, watching some of Reggie’s favourites; The Breakfast Club, Star Wars, and Labyrinth.

“Time for cake?” Ray asks as Bowie starts to sing.

“Cake?’ Reggie asks, then freezes. He had forgotten��it was his birthday. He had simply spent a day with his loves, as they had never mentioned it. A wave of feeling washed over him. “Yeah, sure, cake.” He knew his voice was low and sad, but…

“We won’t sing, or make you wear the hat if you don't want,” Rose said.

“No no it’s just…’ Reggie starts, wiping at the tears starting to form in his eyes. And just lets loose all his hang ups about this day. A torrent of grief and regret, and guilt, so much guilt. But Rose and Ray hold him through it all, clean his face when he’s done. And promise to always be there, to remind him of what he needs to-what he has to live for.

They might not understand, but Reggie’s eternally grateful for the two of them, and with watery eyes and a snotty smile, urges Rose to get the cake. “Think I need it after all that.”

Ray jumps up and gets them all stupid party hats, Reggie not even complaining when the elastic cuts into his chin. Manages to keep smiling as Rose enters with the cake, a deep red colour coated in heaps of frosting, a few candles burning atop it. Rose and Ray sing Happy Birthday to him, in Spanish and English, even though Ray is horribly off tune, and Rose is trying her best not to laugh at his horrid singing.

Reggie looks at the dripping wax, and knows he should make a wish. But the one thing he wishes for, he can’t have. No amount of candles will bring his boys back. Instead he wishes for happiness, for the hurt to lessen, and for many more birthdays like this one, surrounded by the loves of his life.

The cake is delicious, as always, and Reggie wonders if he can get away eating another slice for breakfast the next day. Then it’s time for presents. Reggie protests that they didn’t have to get him anything, but Rose holds a finger up to his lips to silence him.

“It’s your birthday, presents are mandatory,” she says. “Plus we spent very little on them, so shush and open them.”

Rose gives him a little coupon book; a get out of dishes card, a massage, breakfast for dinner, silly little things that he can turn in anytime before next year. He loves it, and tells her so. Ray hands him a framed photo of the three of them, squished together in a hammock and looking radiantly happy, Reggie can’t even remember the photo being taken, but he does recall the contentment he felt at that moment, and kisses both of his partners in thanks.

“We have one more,” Ray says, and he looks almost… apprehensive as he hands the box over.

Reggie tears the paper off, and sucks in a breath. It’s a scrapbook, and the cover has the Sunset Curve logo across it. With trembling fingers he opens it, sucking back a sob as the first photo is a shot of the four of them at a gig, sweaty and smiling, not a care in the world. What follows is shot after shot of Luke, Alex, and Bobby. Reggie features in the group shots, but he took a lot of these photos himself, and had stored them in a shoebox in his closet.

There’s ticket stubs to their gigs, handwritten lyrics, liners from their demo, it’s all here. A testament that Sunset Curve existed, that they lived. The final photo is what breaks Reggie though, the tears flowing freely, as it shows the guys surrounding Reggie as he blows out the candles on the cake they got him for his 17’th birthday.

“This is… this is so much,” he finally manages to get out.

“We wanted you to always have a piece of them,” Ray said.

“They’ll always be here,” Rose states, tapping his heart. “But know they can be right here, whenever you need them.”

“I love you both so much,” Reggie cries, letting the tears flow freely as they hug him tight, the book falling to the coffee table as he brings them in closer.

Reggie will never be a big fan of his birthday, even if they do get easier in time. But this one? This one will always be his favourite.

#my stuff #writing #fanfic #ray/rose/reggie #julie and the phantoms

11 notes · View notes

goldenheartgirl1 · 2 years ago

Text

Ch.6-Winning Hands TWST Mafia AU

There was nothing extraordinary to the job, given that Ace was only 17 there were only a few things he could do at the casino, but given the fact that he knew many card games he became a Dealer. The casino was roaring with business as usual, laughter and cheers of disappointment or excitement filled the air, and Ace was hard at work with his customers. His uniform was black slacks and dress shoes, paired with a white dress shirt and a black vest that contained a red heart design over his left pectoral, the gloves and bow tie also were black and in all it was a dull look to Ace. In his mind these were common “Casino” clothes like from the movies.

“Full bust!” Ace called out with a smirk and looked at the men at the table. “The game is black jack gentlemen, remember to get as close as you can to 21 and not over.”

“Hit me.” One called out, receiving a card from the dealer before the next man called out his move.

Ace loved all kinds of games, Texas Hold ‘em, Black Jack, Baccarat, he always had fun playing those kinds of games. Perhaps it was spurred on from his father and brother, the three always had a blast hanging out so it could have been a natural development. As the game continued on there were sudden shouts and yells of disturbances that caught everyone’s attention, running through the casino was a middle aged man with his hands clutching onto loose thaumarks with security chasing him. Deuce was one of the guards following and caught up fairly quickly but the man only shoved him into Ace’s table, sending chips and cards flying as the pursuit was endless to the perpetrator. The redhead was quick to help Deuce to his feet and checked on his friend carefully to make sure there was no permanent damage, unlike Ace, Deuce worked security and the check in counter and was on his feet constantly. Getting injured in a way that would hinder his ability to stand would be troublesome.

“Oi, you alright man? You didn’t hit your head?”

“N-no I’m fine, I need to go after him-” Deuce replied with a grunt, standing up to help with the chase but when the two looked over the man was already trapped under some guards.

“Too late, looks like they got him.”

“Damn it..I wanted to catch him.”

The teasing tone that came from Ace only sparked an agitated look from the darker haired man. “Oh? Deuce is still trying to live out his policeman fantasy huh?”

“Shut it! Just because I’m dedicated doesn’t mean-”

“Enough, both of you.”

Both froze up and looked over to their boss, Riddle, who was walking to the guards with Trey and Cater behind him. His expression was cold as he glared at the thief and spoke in a regal yet pernicious voice. “How dare you come in here, lose your own money, and then proceed to steal from others to make up for your pathetic play. You are no longer welcome here, if I see you come in here again it will be off with your head.”

With a nod the man was escorted out, the casino owner looked around at the stunned faces of his customers and cleared his throat before announcing loudly. “I apologize for all those that had to witness a criminal in your midst, please continue your games and welcome yourself a free beverage in the Burgundy Bar.”

Cater and Riddle shared a look and the tangerine haired man smiled as he took out his phone. “I got it~ I’ll keep an eye on the bar and make sure to maintain order. Should I also post some things in the media?”

“Yes, update the black list and advertise the entertainment and people at the bar.” Riddle replied before walking off with Trey.

Trey glanced over at Deuce, who was still leaning on Ace for balance, and spoke with a smile. “Good work, if you both want to take a break now would be good while the staff clean up the mess.”

“Sounds good to me!” Ace replied, letting go of Deuce and heading to the bar, the bright cyan eyes from the part-time guard looked at Trey with apprehension.

“Are you sure? You guys are not going to need me?”

“Deuce, there is nothing wrong with taking a break, besides Riddle and I have some important business to take care of with Azul right now. The night should be a bit more peaceful now.” Trey assured him with a kind expression before following Riddle.

Feeling a bit disheartened, the darker haired man fixed his red vest and tucked his white shirt back into his red slacks, a black spade was designed on the front of his vest right at his right pectoral. Deuce removed his white gloves and tucked them into his pocket while accompanying Ace and Cater at the bar. It was loud and rather obnoxious to get through the customers but it was worth the second to sit down, Ace smiled at his friend and chuckled as he nudged him with his elbow. “Hey don’t look so glum, we get a break out of the commotion!”

“Yeah but-”

“There’s nothing else to it, come on Deuce try to relax. You’re more of a stick in the mud than Idia.”

“Ace is right!” Cater pitched in, sliding a drink to Deuce and taking a picture of the two before giving a big grin. “Gotta do a whole vibe check to make sure everyone is happy. You both really fit the image here you know? Totally artistic clash with the outfits and looks!”

Half of the time the poor teens barely understood Cater, but the media manager was very good at bringing up promotions and making everything at the casino look perfect. Ace just gave a polite smile and shrugged as he replied. “Well it’s not my first choice of clothing. Hey, on another note Cater, what is with Azul coming here all the time?”

Deuce’s curiosity was also attained at Ace’s question, pitching his own input. “Yeah, and those two guys that come around with Azul are so strange. Riddle can’t stand one of them and Trey seems indifferent.”

“Eh? Oh right, you both were only hired here a couple months ago.” Cater realized and set his phone down for a second. “But you really don’t know who they are?”

Both shook their heads and Cater looked around them cautiously before getting out of his seat and motioning them to follow him, leading them to a private booth with door attachments. They sat quietly for a moment, both teens watching their manager with confusion as a finger played with a lock of orange hair. In contrast to the majority of staff, Cater was not in a typical uniform, his outfit was a cream colored shirt with a tan and brown tweed waistcoat, his shoes were black and his pants a tawny brown color. There were no gloves or bow tie to his clothes but the earth tones helped to bring out his vibrant fern green eyes. After the doors were closed securely, he kept his voice low and took out his phone to retrieve some pictures.

“So, let me make this clear, you can never tell anyone what I’m about to tell you ok?”

“Alright?” Ace replied skeptically while Deuce only nodded.

The first photo was of Azul, taken at an odd angle without the man’s knowledge. “Despite only being a couple years older, Azul is the mafia leader to the Ashengrotto estate-”

“Ashengrotto!?” Both Ace and Deuce shouted, eyes wide while Cater leaned back in shock before hurryingly trying to make them quiet down.

“Ok good! You know what that name means, good..” Cater sighed and put his left hand over his heart. “Jeez, total heart attack..anyways, he and Riddle work together to promote their business and keep the cash flowing. Our businesses are in a collective unit called The Coin, two sides collectively working together for a common want or need.”

“Just to be clear, isn’t working with the mafia..illegal?” Deuce asked with concern, he did not want to be involved in illegal activities that could jeopardize his future.

“No, technically we do not do any malpractice with them. Riddle is always working hard to make sure that we all stay safe and are not criminalized for what happens outside of the casino.”

“Jeez, what about that purple haired guy then?” Ace questioned, gaining Cater’s attention. “He was here a few weeks ago and security had to escort him out, but he was not added to the ban list.”

“Oh, that was one of Vil’s cronies. I haven’t met him, but that’s because Trey warned me to keep my distance for now. He was part of The Pride though, a union between the Savanaclaw Gang and Informant agency.”

“Whoa, pause for a second, rewind.” Ace groaned, leaning back in his seat. “Can you just start from the beginning? Otherwise this will get more confusing?”

Cater thought to himself, tapping his cheek with his index finger before smiling and nodding. “Alright! But it’s a long story, I’ll try to make it simple and quick for you two.”

“Is it really that complicated..?” Deuce muttered to himself as Cater took a breath and began to explain.

“Once upon a time-”

“Don’t tell it like a fairytale!” Ace snapped but Cater only chuckled and continued.

“Riddle and Trey were working on the proper paperwork to officially claim the business as his after the untimely death of his father. Mrs.Rosehearts did not approve but Riddle wanted to escape his oppressed life and continue his fathers legacy, to which Trey joined in. Another person by the name of Chenya had gone off on his own abroad for college, I’ve only seen him a couple times. Anyways, being the new casino owner meant there was a lot to do and Riddle needed a way to spread his name out, and I was brought on the scene! We were doing wonderfully for the regular gamblers but at the time we lacked the popularity we needed to make us a crown jewel in the city, to which Azul introduced himself one day. Apparently he’s had his eyes on this place for a while, but when Riddle rejected the offer to sell the business they struck up a deal. If Riddle could get more than one million new customers in one month then Azul would give up, and if not then he would have to sell the rights to the mafia.

I’m sure you realize that Riddle was not one to give up, so the three of us pitched several ideas together and worked our heads off to get as much advertisement as possible, the hardest part was getting the right clientele in. It didn’t help that Azul’s men, Jade and Floyd, continued to try and mess with us and our business the entire time. But by the time a month was up we managed to get more than one million new people through our doors and Azul was not happy about the defeat, but he respected Riddle’s valor so they struck up a new deal. Riddle got to keep his business so long as he paid Azul for protection, again this unsettled Riddle and he denied the deal. But then a few days passed where our people kept getting attacked and robbed that Riddle had no choice. In order to hold some power Riddle suggested a different kind of deal, that Azul would be paid for bringing new clients and using his men whenever needed, Azul is basically paid to give out bodyguards or laborers if Riddle needs them and to not harm anyone that worked in the casino. It worked out in the end, but they still hold a pretty tense partnership.”

“Wow..” Deuce said softly and blinked for what seemed like the first time in minutes. “We have ties to the mafia?”

“Yes, it’s more complicated as far as their deal goes but it’s confidential.” Cater chuckled and showed a picture of a shadowed figure, the face was unrecognizable because the picture was taken in the dark but the tall figure was there. “This is Malleus. He is the head of Thorn Agency, otherwise known as the assassin’s bureau. We normally don’t see him but his men like to skulk around here for their jobs..I’m sorry to tell you this guys but when we have a death here or someone sent to the hospital there’s a good chance it was intentional.”

“Wait, now we have assassins too?!” Ace sputtered out in shock.

“Don’t worry they’re completely professional, they would never harm someone that isn’t their target. Let’s see..you already know Idia obviously, he’s an underground doctor..then there is Sam who is a black market dealer for everyone and anyone. Both Idia and Sam have a “peace” compliance between the two groups so no fighting is allowed around them. And then there’s Kalim and Jamil that run the bank, we obviously have to maintain friendships with them.”

“Does the bank hold ties to us and the Mafia then?” Deuce questioned, leaning back in the booth.

“Of course! We have a different deal with them though. The Coin and The Pride are given a sum of money from the bank to keep the violence away from the streets of Golden Sands, we keep the violence away and we get paid along with having our cash stored there. Since Golden Sands district is filled with hospitals and other business firms we try to avoid chaos, any group that does not comply with the peaceful territory risks having money deducted and being turned over to the police.”

“Cater, what about the informants? Why are they coming here?” Ace asked, trying to get back to his own question from earlier.

“Ah..Do you boys know of Vil Schoenheit?”

“He’s a model right?” Ace questioned while Deuce only shook his head, not knowing the man’s name.

“Right, Vil is the head of his own informant agency, he likes to snoop around with some of his people to get dirty secrets on people to sell or blackmail with.”

“Huh?! If you know this, why don’t you tell the police?” Deuce questioned in annoyance. “First the mafia, then assassins, and now informants? Why can’t you guys go to anyone?”

“I think I know why,” Ace mumbled before asking. “Because “snitches get stitches” right?”

“Right on the nose Ace~” Cater replied cheerfully, tapping the tip of his own nose before continuing his explanation. “All of us know each other too well, this is a dispute between the groups, it is none of the police’s concern what happens. Besides, each region has paid off cops, some are on our side and others are on The Pride’s side, so we couldn’t tell who to trust. Anyways, we need to keep vigilant to keep Vil’s group out but it can be tough since they know the times that guards and staff switch shifts. No matter how many times we try to switch it up they always figure out the pattern.”

“So that’s why we had that weird week of day crew switching with night crew..”

Deuce still did not look pleased by the information but pressed on with his questions. “In that case, what does The Pride want?”

“The Pride consists of Vil’s group, which love to tear down the people we have as clientele, and the Savanaclaw gang. I assume you know this gang since they’ve hit the news several times over their destruction of city property and constant interruptions of construction projects. Both groups seem to hold a hatred for the city itself so we do our best not to get in the way. Azul especially has animosity for the gang since many of Azul’s business partners want to expand the city.”

“But why does Vil want to deal with a gang?”

Cater’s expression changed right then, it was of dismay as he released a sigh and stared at the two. “It’s hard to say..Leona and Vil have mutual respect but by what i’ve heard they constantly are fighting. I wish I could answer that to you both. All I know for certain is they both have a common goal of getting rid of the holders of the city, those in politics, construction, financial support, they can’t stand people like that. To be honest though, I can’t either but they’re like, our main source of money? So we put up with people like that.”

Ace and Deuce were quiet, thoughts rolling and grinding uncomfortably in their heads, the two shared a look of uncertainty before turning their attention back to Cater. Ace however was the first to break the silence as he stood up and exaggerated his arms stretching up as he commented. “Alright! Well I’m going back to work, come on Deuce!”

“Alright, thanks again Cater.” Deuce replied, standing up and following Ace out of the booth, the red head however was walking towards the entrance to the casino floor. “Ace? Where are you going?”

“Just uh, going to check and see how our boss is doing.” Ace replied with a cheeky grin as he made his way upstairs to the third floor, Deuce followed after him in a frenzy.

“Ace! I know what you’re thinking so stop right now!”

The two sped up the stairs and Ace’s cherry eyes narrowed when he thought about which meeting room Riddle would have gone into, ignoring Duece’s protests he snuck closer to the wall of doors and carefully pressed his each door until he recognized two voices. Deuce caught up and grabbed onto Ace’s shoulder as he hissed into his ear. “Ace! Come on, we can’t eavesdrop!”

“Shh! I’m trying to listen.” Ace grumbled as he shoved Deuce back a little and kept his ear to the door. “Oh shit they’re talking about a heist.”

“Really?” Deuce asked in disbelief and pressed his ear to the door, but then glared seeing the grin on Ace’s face. “You just lied didn’t you?”

“If you can’t make them, trick them.” Ace replied then refocused on trying to hear through the thick door.

The conversations were muffled thanks to the heavy doors but occasionally the two heard yelling, mostly from Riddle, and a taunting laughter. Unfortunately, no solid words could be made out and this frustrated Ace greatly, he slowly turned the knob of the door to try and open it but found it locked. Deuce noticed the growing aggravation and gently smacked Ace’s hand away from the knob and took out a couple bobby pins from his pockets and began to pick at the lock, Ace watched in surprise and asked. “Since when do you know lock picking?”

“Don’t even ask Ace, you don’t need to know..” Deuce muttered before getting the door open and giving a smirk of pride to Ace.

With the door cracked open they listened to what they could, which was not much when the door suddenly swung open and both teens stared at the tall teal-haired man in front of them. He gave them a polite smile but it was laced with a form of sadistic anger, he bent down a bit to loom over them and asked. “Can I help you gentlemen with something?”

Both of them sputtered and started blabbering out excuses when Trey came over and carefully moved Jade to the side a bit and scolded the two. “Guys, this is an important meeting, you’re lucky that Riddle is occupied, if you want to keep your jobs you’ll leave now.”

There was no need for further convincing as they ran off, leaving Jade and Trey at the door to watch them, only then the heterochromia twin chuckled softly and commented to Trey. “You always have such entertaining employees, it’s a shame they can’t join the meeting.”

#ace trappola #deuce spade #cater diamond #chapter 6 of series #information dump #mafia au #mention of the other groups

9 notes · View notes

in-my-shifting-era · 2 years ago

Text

Stress Relief

Eddie Munson Imagine [Fluff]

Summary: When the cloud of stress refuses to clear you go to the only person you trust to get you what you need do relax, Eddie Munson. (Reader and Eddie are over the age of 21. The events of season for do not accrue.)

Warnings: adult themes; talks of selling, buying and smoking marijuana. Also talk of stress and anxiety. minors please dni.

———————————————————————

Anxiety has plagued your brain all week. Having to balance college classes on top of a part time job to help pay bills is has all become lot to manage. Your friends offered a night out at a party to let loose and clear you mind if things, but the thought of being in a crowded room full of sweaty drunk college kids was not how you wanted to relax on your weekend off work and school. What did sound good to your stressed out brain brought you back to one person who just always seems to ease that stress, Eddie Munson.

You where supposed to be in Eddie’s graduating class before he was held back and made a third time senior. You weren’t close Eddie or any of his hellfire sheep but you did share several classes with him in your time at Hawkins High. While everyone thought he was the leader of some satanic cult who sold drugs to kids. You never took part in the name calling and rumored whispers. What you did do was buy weed accusingly from the nerdy metal head who wasn’t as big and scary as the town made him out to be.

Weed seemed to calm the buzzing thoughts of anxiety. It made the unmanageable seem, well manageable. First it started with a puff while you studied for a test or a puff when you’d need to do chores to bust the motivation you need for them. The first time you approached him in his spot in the woods to buy your Junior year after applying to colleges triggered your first panic attack. That’s when you learned his satanic cult was a D&D club and he secretly had a heart of gold. After his initial confession with your interest in the drug you soon became one of Eddie’s favorite regular customers.

After graduating you stopped buying and using weed regularly. Saving money was also a huge plus from using the herb as an anxiety aid. Eddie quickly became a distant whisper you here on the street when you where walking around town.

Now your new anxiety with college and adulthood brought you to that same spot. The same worn picnic table is somehow still standing. You tap your fingers along the side of the table, an anxious habit you’ve picked up since high school. A twig snap brought you out of your thoughts.

You turn your head in the direction of the sound and your shoulders relax when you are met with familiar soft brown eyes. “ I don’t mean to scare you. I just got back my favorite client. I don’t wanna lose her to a heart attack. I honestly thought you had dropped my number after you graduated.”

The metal head held the same dimpled cheeky smile on his face as he rocked awkwardly on the balls of his feet with his hands in his vest pocket. His hair was longer and more tamed since the last time you saw him. He’s gained some muscle and got taller, something you didn’t think was possible.

“I’m sorry I kinda vanished on you. Once I went away to college I was too busy to smoke.” You offer Eddie and apologetic smile that he takes with a small nod as he maneuvers his lanky legs to join you at the picnic table setting his families metal tin down between you both. “I’m just happy you remembered my number when you needed the stress relief again. Has that gotten any better; the anxiety?”

Eddie know why you stared to smoke. He had asked you why such a popular and pretty girl was buying weed off the twin freak. The sweet gesture of him asking made your cheeks burn a light pink which you try to hide with a smile and eye contact as you spoke. “It’s became different stress but I’m managing. Weed just seems to help in that.” You laugh shyly meeting his gentle gaze from across the table.

Eddie smiles your demeanor and opens his Tim taking out an 8th and placing it on the table. “Since you’re a returning customer I’m giving you a special discount. $25 for the 8th. I even rolled it for you because I remember you told me one time you hated rolling yourself. No extra charge.” His ringed hands fidget with the plastic bag as he throws you a comforting smile.

A small blush creeps onto your face at the kind gesture and the fact he remembered something so small just to make you feel comfortable. “Thank you Eddie, I really needs to repay you for being so accommodating to my herbal remedy fix.” Eddie’s dimples return as he closes his tin and stands to bow at you. “I am happy to assist you m’lady. I hope this helps your stress. You know where do find me if you needs anything. Even if it’s not herb related.”

You smile widely as Eddie stands up stepping away from the table. “Thank you Eddie. I promise you’ll hear from me again. I may need someone to smoke with if I’m going to get back into it regularly.” This makes a small blush fall onto Eddie’s pale cheeks. “I don’t usually smoke with clientele, but I do smoke with friends if the offer would still stand then.”

You match his blush with your own and smile widely. “ I’d like to smoke with a friend sometime. Stay out if trouble Eddie Munson.” Eddie starts walking towards the street where you imagine his van is parked turning for a moment to flash a friendly smile. “I’ll do my best sweetheart. No problems though.”

With that he left you sitting at the picnic table shaking your head laughing lightly to yourself. Maybe you’re anxiety can lead to something worth while if it means being with Eddie Munson more.

Ah I don’t know how I feel about this. It’s kinda self indulgent since I use weed to release stress and I’d do anything to have Eddie as my cute drug dealer. Anyway let me know what we think of this. Feel free to leave a request!

#stranger things #stranger things imagine #eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #eddie fluff #eddie stranger things #fluff imagine #minors dni #eddie x reader #eddie blurb #eddie x fem!reader #eddie x y/n

11 notes · View notes