#its supposed to look like henrys busting down a door

[small-spark-of-light]

i wanted to finish the alignment chart so heres more

[oh-for-fic-sake]

Their Alright... For A Boomer

Masterlist

Summary: Being a girl with a larger chest always got you attention, maybe having your nipples pierced to try and fell more confident handt been the best idea, but how can you regret it when your latest client; the sexy Mr Cavill  was ogling them but could this end up being more then just that one time you were eyed by a hot celebrity?

Warnings: Suggestive, No Smut, Fluffy? Cute and funny, Swearing

A/N: this was a request from @fanficlover91​ i hope you like this hun, i tried to keep it hot but sweet and respectful? Which was a struggle but i hope i got the vibe you wanted. And as always i hope you all enjoy.

Taglist: In Reblogs.

You blushed as you looked down the lense at your model. He smirked sweeping his eyes over you non to subtly. You could feel the blues penetrating you with a hot stare. The was the distinctive fast clicks on you camera snapping a burst of shots managing to capture his smirking face and eyes sweeping over your form appreciatively.

You stood tall and smiled pulling away double checking the shoots. You bit your lip. Fucking hell this was both the best and worst job you had. Henry Cavill was the most enticing male you'd ever had the pleasure to photograph. He didn't even have a good side, every side was good! There wasn't an unflattering angle on the man!

"And that's a wrap? I think we have everything we need Mr Cavill" you said professionally making to move away from him and begin to swap sd cards and label them before packing away. Henry gawfed and rose quickly panicked almost.

"I- err no! Wait I was... Well hoping that I could have some more done?" he said chaseing you across the small studio you could hear his agent Leah scoff from the side lines. You frowned and looked to her nervously. The woman had been watching and tutting, scoffing and clicking her tongue through the whole session. It actually made you nervous, wasn't she pleased with the shoot? You were worried, being freelance this was your first time doing a celebrity shoot for a magazine but the usual photographer was in hospital having a stroke a few days prior and you were the only free photographer in the agency that was close enough to take the job. Sure you wasn't well known but still it was a little disheartening to have someone seemingly unimpressed with your work.

But it was when you eyed her you saw she wasn't giving you the evil eye. Her frown was directed at henry, a scolding look you'd give a misbehaving child. You frowned a little puzzled, but shook it off in favour of looking to Henry. Your actual client.

"More? I... I? Thought the piece only needed a few to choose from? They were very ah... How do I put it? Thorough? With the brief" you explained hoping Leah would step in and clarify just what was going on. Because you didn't have a clue.

"I yes but- I'd love to top up my portfolio? You know? I err yeah have a few changes going on and... I mean a few greys and such... Just want to update it a tad... I'll pay obviously- I'd pay anything for more time please?" he pleaded watching you closely eyes wide and bright full of hope.

"I... Err" you shifted swapping your camera from one hand to the other and craned your head around the man trying to spy his agent. But you had no hope of peeking around this gargantuan man. Just like with the camera he demanded your full attention.

"And for Instagram and stuff! There's only so much I can do in a selfie... I'd even recommend you- advertise your work!" he quickly added sounding desperate now. It would help you out if you did have a few shots of him for in your own catalogue. It shouldn't matter but having a celeb under your belt was actually a good thing. It meant you'd acted professionally and been good to work with.

"I suppose so, I do have a few extra sd's here... Tell you what I'll do another shoot for you as long as I can pick a few to put in my portfolio? Then we both update our files?" you nodded to him speaking slowly. He grinned and relaxed nodding quickly pleased with himself for wrangling more shots. You'd never know he was just glad to has more time with you.

"Oh yes absolutly! That's fine here should we get started now or?" he asked biting his lip trying not to stare at you for too long. But it was hard you were fucking stunning!

"Oh yeah sure iv got time, let me just sort these out and set up, need to switch, you've tired my poor camera" you said with a grin trying to ignore the man as he beamed at you looking excited nodding enthusiastically. You backed up and spun around trying not to blush as you felt henry gazing openly at you.

"Right well if the magazine ones are done I will be off then" Leah called packing up her bag with a small chuckle to herself. You froze and spun quickly seeing her seemingly abandoning you with Henry.

"Wha- oh you don't have to you can stay-" you tried to reason unsure why, I mean who wouldn't want to be alone with this huge glorious man? Maybe you just didn't trust yourself with him? He had been 'making love' to the camera all afternoon. Smouldering bedroom eyes that was making it hard to focus. You had been getting hot under the collar all day as you kidded yourself he was eyeing you, not the camera or would be readers.

It didn't help that you had caught him oogling your breasts earlier. But you wasn't mad, it was your own fault. It was the Hight of summer and you had on a string vest with a thin bra, that you could clearly see your nipple bars through. You didn't feel uncomfortable or anything, you didn't blame Henry for looking. You cant exactly ignore your tits.. The were pretty large for your frame. You were curvy but they were as one ex put it 'exceptional'. And besides he had looked not touched and he hadn't been a creep about it. In fact he had done a double take and then blushed when he realised he had been caught looking. But as you said you get that with big boobs, you'd had it your entire life, it was actually one of the reasons you'd got them pierced. It helped with your confidence and you convince yourself that they were looking at the bars. Not you per say.  

"Okay aunt Leah I will see you in a few days." henry interrupted you quickly smiling practically ushering the woman out the door. He moved fast ever picking the womans phone and juice bottle to help her leave quicker.

"Yes, behave Henry I'll see you soon" she said with a giggle before calling a thank you and goodbye over her shoulder at you. You swallowed nervously and gave a quick bye as the door clicked behind her and you were left alone with Henry. The man groaned stretching as he spun around a huge grin on his face, making your knees tremble a little. Fuck.

Henry came over and watched you closely as you scribbled the name and date along with the publication name on the sd case label. You tried not to notice as he hovered biting his lip then took off the blazer and threw it on the table beside you drawing your attention as he did grunting a little. The v neck letting the smallest amount of soft looking chest fuzz that had been teasing you all day. He grinned slyly as he caught you eyeing him and crossed his arms over his chest flexing for your benefit. You gasped and quickly looked back to the camera in your hands inserting a new scarf into the new fully charges camera.

"Soo how do you like this kind of work?" henry said casually trying not to seem like a creeper but god damnit he couldn't stop eyeing you. If he had known how sexy you'd be he would have demanded to be doing a bloody swim wear shoot!

"You mean people?" you stuttered trying not to look him in the eye. Not that it helped because the rest of him was just as fucking sexy! You quivered all over desperately trying to remember how to breath, yet didn't want to draw in too deep a breath and make your tits bounce for him and look like a slut. There was a very fine line for a big busted girl, to much wobble will make you look like your trying to get attention.

"I mean celebrities, magazines we were told you mainly do private shoots for events and model portfolios" he offered leaning forward as he leant back on the desk next to you hooking one ankle behind the other. The way he stood placed his crotch in your line of sight as you looked down and worked on setting up the camera. You flushed. Oh god he looked er... Bigger then you'd thought earlier, not that you were looking but... Well you couldn't help notice the package! The man was a fucking serial man spreader! And that thing was huge! With the muscles he was packing he could probably bench press you with his crotch!

"Oh well its different... And you sir popped my celebrity cherry" you froze on the spot as you said that, it had meant to be an ice breaker, a joke but instead had sounded fucking creepy!. You snapped up to him making to apologize as your face flamed mortified but he had thrown his head back laughing. The deep rumble sent chilled down your spine.

"Well I'm honoured to have popped your cherry~" he teased placing a hand over his heart with a cheeky grin making you blush and nod then turned to him with the new camera all set up.

"Soo where do we start?" you said moving on quickly looking up at him trying to forget the whole cherry comment.

"Where ever you want me, i will let you take the reigns command me as you will" he chuckled standing tall once more and looked about the room casually to the various small set ups, different furniture, seats sofas and mini tables dotting the space.

"I... Okay then you said Instagram? How about we start with some facials-FACE SHOTS! Face. Shots. Not facials fuck. Shit" you quickly tried repairing the damage whist cursing yourself wanting nothing more then to be swallowed up by the floor.

"No, no love facials sounded perfect~" he said winking before gliding past you making you stutter and almost choke on your breath. Oh good lord this was a bad idea. You followed as he sat down on a sturdy sofa and looked head on at you and bit his lip once again watching you with a sultry look.

And that was the beginning. You followed him about taking various snaps whislt having small talk. He seemed to be very flirtatious as he spoke, dropping lines and compliments as he made eyes at you. You flushed each time clamming up at his suggestive comments. And rightly or wrongly you flirted back trying to seem cool and suave. But inside you were fangirling unable to belive you were here with this incredibly gorgeous man teasing one another. On a few occasions he even growled as you scampered about him, crouching and taking shots from blow getting some delicious angles that dampened your knickers. Then in between all this he managed to get little tied bits. You'd told him you were on agency freelance and were trying to get into the social media platform as it seemed easier in this day and age rather then to be in fashion photography. You wanted to be commercial not private but no one would really take a chance anymore.

Then you suggested a few shots on the sofa laying back trying to think of something different for your portfolio, maybe a body length shot. He was quick to agree and dived onto the sofa saying he had an idea you swallowed nodding not fully trusting the look in his eyes. But that was forgotten as he relaxed stretching out over the sofa legs crossed and resting on the arm of his hands behind his head and a devilish smirk looking down the lenght of his body. You knelt at his feet trying to get a flattering image of him looking down but cursed as the camera wasn't playing ball. The lense was focusing, this was why you used the other one first, the camera had a few issues and was temperamental.

"What's wrong?" he asked frowning a little at you as you growled pulling the camera away fro your face and began trying to manually focus the lense.

"Oh its.. It wont focus.. It does this sometime, really need to throw it out but.. She was my first I'm sentimental" you said feeling silly as you battled with the camera.

"We all are with our firsts... How about you come closer instead, I really want to see this shot, never done one at this angle.. Out of all my shoots your the first to suggest this~" you froze and looked to him but he just smiled impishly at you. Slowly you rounded the sofa and leant over him positioning the camera at his stomach as he looked right into the lense giving you a definite bedroom eyes, half lidded and burning. Both dreamy and amazingly sexy. It was as if he could see you beyond the lense, as if it wasn't even there!

"You can come closer love, I wont bite, not if you don't want me to~" his voice was low and teasing, luring you in like a siren. You trembled and moved along him but he tutted and moved a hand to your hip and pressed, coaxing you onto the sofa and sat you on him making you straddle him. You gasped squeazing your camera tighter as he moved you easily, warm palms holding you both delicatly and firmly. You could see in his eyes he was weary unsure if he had gone to far but you squeezed him between your thighs and relaxed making him grin up at you getting the message you didn't mind at all. You aimed the lense at him once more and got the shots you wanted.

"Perfect! Mr Cavill" you said actually a little sad that this session was over. It had been nice playing this little cat and mouse game with him. But all good things come to an end.

"Ah now i have a policy love, when a womans on top they can call me henry, among other things~" he said smoothly laughing as you chuckled nervously fiddling with the camera in your hands and shifted over him a little.

"I will try to remember that for next time boomer~" you teased managing to overcome your nerves as you pulled away the camera with a giggle winking at him as he stuttered. For a second you thought you'd gone too far but a quirk to his lips made you relax once more.

"That hurt, that was hurtful" he teased pouting not releasing you from his lap, instead holding you tighter, fingers digging into your sides making you gasp and bit your lip as he pulled you to his crotch and ground into you teasingly.

"I'm so sorry~" you uttered breathless trying to keep yourself together. But this man was something else, like a drug- the devil all fanged smiles and smooth words. God you were fucked, you knew this man could do anything to you and youd thank him for it~

"I doubt that" he cooed and slid his hand higher growing more and more confident. The last few hours of casual flirting had built up his appitite. There was no misconceptions, you wanted him as much as he wanted you.

"Oh yeah?" you said coyly tipping your head to him playing along willing for this to happen, whether it be a one of fuck or something longer. You didnt have any complaints~ this was your body and youd enjoy it with who ever you wanted to!

"Yeah prove it!" he hissed and moved quickly sitting up and swinging around planting his feet on the floor. You yelped as he moved surprizingly fast and managed to keep you in his lap now face to face with you eyes roaming your face settling on your lips.

"And how should i do that" you teased tilting your head skimming your lips with his as you spoke. He groaned and held you tighter making you whine breathlessly willing this to happen. You wanted him and you wont deny yourself the chance.

"Make and old mans day" he said plainly and leant back resting on the back of the sofa, you watched him closely and brought your hands to his shoulders prodding at the neck of the t shirt and drew your fingers down slowly feeling him shiver at the light skimming fingertips.

"Oh really Boomer? And how would i make and old mans day?" you teased once more making him grunt but he quickly caught himself as your fingers smoothed over the teasing curls that peeked over his top. You scratched over them lightly with your nails making him draw a needy breath and chuckled at him. He was sexy and cute~

"By accepting a job offer?" he said before smileing smugly as you paused and frowned. Had you missed something? Was he after a freebee?

"Job offer? Really another shoot?" you snorted suddenly not feeling sexy, more like he was trying to butter you up for some fuck for parts shoots or something. He sighed and began speaking before you could get yourself all twisted. But then again you could have taken his offer wrong.

"Manage my social media. I have many companies and brands reach out to me for endorsements. They want me caught wearing their brands. But I'm to busy most of the time I cant make it to the locations they want. It actually doesn't seem worth it most of the time, with cost of flights and time lost travelling to and from studios itd be easier if I had my own personal photographer that travelled with me its be easy, slip on the clothes and what not take a few snaps and then you touch them up and post them on my social media." he explained watching as it sunk in that he wasnt trying to pull a fast one. Well he was but not trying to fuck you over... Just fuck you... And keep you because you were fantastic and he wants nothing more then to have you around hime as much as possible. In the single dat he had spent working with you, you had enchanted him, not only were you sexy but you were good at your job and easy to work with but also funny and cute and he needed to get to know you.

"Of course its a very big venture and we'd have to have a few dinner and lunch dates to work out all the nitty gritty" he added after a few beats of silence trying to make it clear he was interested... Very interested~ it worked as you fluched and a playfull look donned your face your fingers began stoking his chest hair once more. He relaxed shuddering under the nails as they teased his curls.

"Is this a big ploy to get a date Boomer?" you purred his new nick name making him groan when you squeezed him between your thick thighs once more grinding on him and the considerable bulge below you that twitched.

"No... Maybe is it working?" he said quickly hissing at you shifted in his lap once more, his hands snapping to your hips trying to still you before he came undone in his boxers. You were a very dangerous woman and something told him you knew.

"Well it sounds like an offer I'd be very, very interested in taking further~" you clarified giggling when he swallowed dryly and eyed you surprized that his plan had seemed  to work.

"Good to hear~ so got anything planned after this?" he asked feeling a wave of confidence at the prospect of snagging a date with you. He hadn't meant to sound so eager but... He was eager and that was that.

"Yes" you said with a straight face and got up off of him spinning around heading to the table with your camera bags. You gave him a glance and giggled seeing him still sitting there gobsmacked legs wide open and his crotch that was now definitely bigger then it had been earlier.

"O-oh" he stuttered seemingly unsure how to proceed. You giggled as he fumbled over his words. Then decided to grant him some mercy and began speaking whilst popping out the sd card from the camera labeling it like the previous one.

"You see I had a very cheeky client today who asked for a shoot last mineut. But I wasn't to bothered he was very very sexy even if he was a boomer, but get this out of nowhere gave me a job offer? And we're having dinner- he promised pizza~" you giggled glancing at Henry as he slumped in the seat realising halfway through that you were talking about him. He smoothed his hands over his face and jumped up coming over to you shaking his head.

"You know I'm not actually a boomer?" he quipped folding his arms. You rolled your eyes at him as you packed your stuff away making sure to recheck everything.

"Have you seen your selfies? Your a boomer, boomer" you teased making him scoff but laugh at the name that has now stuck.

"Wait you've seen my selfies? What do you think?" he asked wanting feedback on the silly shots he took. You paused halfway through zipping up your bag and turned facing him fully giving him a thoughtful look then shrugged

"Their alright... For a boomer" you giggled when he preened for a second then his face dropped into a pout when you finished the comment.

"I repeat...That was hurtful" he said covering his heart with a kicked puppy look making you laugh and hoist your bags over your shoulder and make for the door with him hot on your heels.

"Its fine boomer a second date will make up for it I'm sure~" you sniggered at him playfully looking back at him as he followed you out of the door.

"A date for each time you call me boomer? Deal" he quipped walking along side you offering you his arm like a true gentleman unlike the teasing horny little shit he had been all day. Not that you minded either. Gentleman on the streets, freak in the sheets and all that jazz.

"God we may aswell marry now then boomer" he laughed nodding in agreement the banter from the day still in play as you both left the building.

"Seems so, I mean were at ten that's what the kids consider boyfriend girlfreind territory" he anounced with a sigh playing on the 'boomer' joke making you giggle and roll your eyes as he mentioned the tally. Then you frowned and quickly counted your 'boomers' and opened your mouth you correct him, arguing that ten was incorrect.

"I think its nine boomer- ah see what you did their sneaky boomer!" you cried pushing him playfully at his little trick. He roared with laughter and quickly tangled his fingers with yours dragging you back alongside him guiding you down the street towards a place he knew served pizza, he didn't remember but apparantly he promised pizza...

[diavolosthots]

DARK DECEPTION CHAPTER 11

READ CHAPTER 10 HERE

Author's note: I finally updated this lol. This is definitely building up to the climax that I hope to have in the next few chapters, but we'll see.

Warnings: mentions of rape, non-con, mentions of torture, angst

Pairing(s): Diavolo x Reader, Lucifer, Leviathan

After his talk with Lucifer, Levi attempted to text you under the disguise of another game day, but you had yet to answer. Different scenarios ran through his head, all of which didn’t end well, but he hoped you could hold on just a little longer. Diavolo hadn’t seemed right with him for some time now and even before the wedding, where he reluctantly agreed to be on your side, he knew that something was up, but he could never place his finger on just what that was. Now he knew for sure and honestly he’s patting his own back for going to Lucifer with that. “Alright.. Hacking into the castle…” Nervousness rushed through him but Lucifer swore that spell protected him from being detected by Barbatos and that’s the only thing he’s counting on right now. He needs to get this done as soon as possible because the last thing he wants is for something to actually happen to you. 

Meanwhile, Lucifer took it upon himself to come up with a plan of his own. He hadn’t talked to you since that wedding, and he swore he would stay out of it, but if you truly are in danger like Leviathan said, he may be the only one who can help you, and no matter what you are to him, your safety is of utmost importance. He made a promise back then. A promise to protect you, and he would never go back on that promise. It pained him to see you in the arms of someone else when you should be in his arms, safe and sound… Mentally, he was going insane as scenarios ran through his head of everything you had endured this far, and would endure for the foreseeable future unless he manages to get you out of there. He was determined to get you out of there, too, but going against Diavolo, betraying the one person he thought would never betray him after swearing his loyalty to the guy… it will prove more difficult than anyone could think. For now, the spell protected them from being seen by Barbatos, at least in the future, but Barbatos wasn’t dumb and he would figure it out sooner or later… he’d sense something was wrong. 

Lucifer walked circles around his room, in deep thought. The most obvious action he should take is bust in head first, as ridiculous as that sounds. If they take too long coming up with a perfect plan, Barbatos and Diavolo have more time to perform the perfect defense… no… Lucifer needs it to be completely spontaneous, in a way that no one sees coming, and he needs to do it sooner than later, before the spell wears off… Possible complications start running through his head and he even has to take into account that the citizens may be against him. They serve their King, of course, and even if he could take most of them out easily, it would take energy out of him, energy he needs to rescue you. Leviathan would obviously be at his side, as would the rest of his brothers, but how much could they take before they, too, would fall victim to exhaustion? Losing one of them would be like losing you, and he can’t have that. His pride and irrational side tells him to do it by himself, to keep everyone else out of it, but he also knows he wouldn’t stand a chance at doing it alone. He needed his brothers, just like he needed them back then… except this time, he’s determined to have no loss, no casualty… but a definite victory. 

“Lucifer!” His name being called pulled him out of his thoughts, Leviathan standing in front of him, in his room, once more. The demon’s eyes were wild, something unreadable storming within them and he wondered what had happened. Had Leviathan already got caught? No… they can’t be that fast. “What is it?” The heavy breathing, the wild eyes, the shaking hands… none of it were good indicators to Lucifer. Had they already lost before the battle even began? “I.. I did it… He was hiding cameras, but not just in the gaming room… they’re all over the castle…” That’s why Leviathan was freaking out? Lucifer would’ve guessed as much, considering that Diavolo was always seemingly everywhere at just the right times, “Is this what you’re so upset about? I do--” “No! It’s not that there’s so many… it’s… it’s what I saw, Lucifer…” Levi swallowed thickly, his wild eyes turning into ones of sadness as he recalls the past few minutes, “I was… I was going through them, and I landed on the one in the dungeons, by the maze, you know where Henry 1.0 now is… There was a door… and .. it looked like Cerberus was in it…” Lucifer raised an eyebrow, “Cerberus? Nonsense Leviathan, he’s here, protecting the grimoire…” but Leviathan shook his head, “No. I’m sure it was him…  You can’t hear anything but I saw.. I saw (Y/N)... and she looked terrified.. I’m pretty sure she was screaming… I think.. I think Lord Diavolo is using him against her, to torture her…” 

Fear ran through him, although he hated showing it. Cerberus was a beast, even he knew that, and if Cerberus was being used against you, he also knew that you had little to no way of surviving, or at least escaping. He pushed past his brother, speed walking down the halls to Leviathan’s room where the cameras were still pulled up. Levi, of course, followed him, scared for you as well, “wait! Lucifer! I don’t… you don’t want to see this…” but it was too late. Lucifer already sat at his brother's desk, watching as the horror unfolded in front of his eyes. Nothing could be heard, much like Leviathan had said, but he didn’t need to in order to understand what was going on. In a way, he was actually glad that he didn’t hear anything because there you were, in Diavolo’s chambers, kicking and fighting against him as he threw you onto his bed. It was clear that there were bruises, scratches, and probably even bite marks on your precious skin, and Lucifer knew that Cerberus was actually there, being used against you, and not where he was supposed to be. 

“Lucifer… I don’t…” but the eldest held up his hand to shush Levi. His eyes were trained on the screen, watching as Diavolo tore through your clothes, his mouth opening in words that he knew were let out in shouts, all while you cried helpless beneath him. The demon practically winced when he saw their King have his way with you, spreading your legs harshly as you squirmed and tried to get away from him, but to no avail. Lucifer bit the inside of his cheeks, chewing on them as his heart ached, for you. Someone he put his loyalty into, someone who called him his best friend, was doing this to you, against your will, in a way that no one should ever be handled. Heavy thrusts moved you against the bed, which was looking like it banged against the wall from the sheer force, and Lucifer felt sorrow when you turned your head away to try to escape the picture of it all, but Diavolo wouldn’t have it. He gripped your face by the chin, talking to you again. Part of Lucifer wanted to know what he was saying, but another part of him couldn’t bear to hear the unfavorable words that left the Demon Lord’s mouth. You cried, he knew you did, shutting your eyes tightly in hopes that this nightmare would be over soon. He didn’t know what it was, but Lucifer couldn’t look away, even after his heart shattered into a million pieces and rage filled its place instead. He tried staying calm, to not let too many emotions show on his end, but it was hard when he watched you, the one person he truly loved, be used like a toy. 

He sat there for what felt like ages, watching Diavolo play with you, until his hips stilled and he presumably had finished. Once again, he watched as the King’s lips moved with words, letting go of your face but not before a hard slap was delivered to your cheek. Lucifer could practically hear the echo of the action. Leviathan took it upon himself to turn it off, to get that off of the screen, knowing Lucifer wouldn’t have. “Lucifer…” he tried again to reach out to his brother, placing a hand on the eldest’s shoulder in a form of comfort, but Lucifer brushed it off, standing up quickly and walking out, before anyone realized how close he was to breaking, “get everyone together, Leviathan. We’re going in.” he didn’t know what prompted him to say that, but he needed to get you out of there, as fast as possible. Even as tears started to cloud his vision, even when he started to feel so useless… he swallowed it all, putting his head back up with pride as the plan came together in his head. No one would do that to you ever again, and he will get you out of there, no matter the cost. 

[whump-town]

Will You Take Me Home?

Here is some heart-warming fluff to make up for what I did with the cancer fic. I would do it again so I’m not sorry but I do feel remorse for hurting you

Word Count:  5055

Retired Hotch’s Birthday

The normal temperature of the room outside his nest of throw-blankets and heating pad causes goosebumps to break out over his exposed arm. He groans, not even bothering to check the caller ID as he puts his phone to his ear and answers “Aaron Hotchner”. His voice has taken on the gravel of disuse, fogged by the painkiller-induced nap he’d accidentally fallen into. If he was following his doctor’s orders, that wouldn’t happen. His body would have acclimated to the drugs and the pain wouldn’t leave him so exhausted that he can hardly keep his eyes open when it dulls to throbs. Which, he’s not aware of just yet, but is the very nature of this call: his detrimental habits.

“Sleeping beauty,” the other person greets and he leans back against the pillows behind him, rolling his eyes. The phone rustles and Hotch shakes his head as he hears the faint scratching and rustling of keys at his door. “I knocked four times,” he’s informed. “I was starting to think--” the door comes free and Hotch doesn’t even look up. “I thought I was going to find you dead in here.” The call ends and from the other side of the couch, he hears, “which, by the way, would be a hell of a thing, you know? Dead on your own birthday.” He closes his eyes but feels the cushions get pushed down, the telltale sign she’s leaning over the back of the cushion overtop him. “Speaking of which,” she beams. “Happy Birthday, old man.”

He looks up at her, taking in the full effect of mischief he could only hear before. The expressive lines of her smile spread across her face and it’s a distinct moment when all he can think about is how truly awful things had been between them at the beginning. How mean he was, really, because it wasn’t her. It was his own inability to trust. Yet, here she is before noon on his sixtieth birthday leaning over his couch and no doubt about to start a pot of coffee that she’ll consume over three-fourths of.  Suppressing the smile tugging at his own lips, he raises a more important matter at hand. Far more pressing than why it is that she’s letting herself into his home. “How long until they come?”

Retired doesn’t mean born yesterday (whatever the opposite of that is, really). He’s not around the office anymore but given Garcia’s questioning last month of his favorite cake flavor, Dave’s inquiry into his schedule for this week, and Emily’s early arrival he knows exactly what they’re doing. To her credit, Emily pretends she doesn’t and she might be more convincing if he didn’t know every tell she’s had for the last two decades.

“Who?” she asks. “How long until who comes?” He just looks at her. A stand-off, really, to see who caves first. They’re assholes so this could go on forever and if she were looking for the thrill of watching him break and she would press on. She cracks but not because he’s better at this game, just because she’s excited. “You have an hour. I’ve been sent to get you ready so you’re not a crabby old bastard when they arrive.”

He groans, sinking back into the couch and pulling his blanket up over his head. Effectively locking her out. Well... not really. She just leans further over him, not caring when he grunts tries to burrow farther away. “Come on,” she shakes his shoulders. “Aren’t you the least bit excited? Penny made you those cookies you like and Derek is bringing Hank, who, I might add, is very excited to see Hops.” And she’s only buttering him up because-- “I’m not supposed to tell you this because it’s a huge surprise but Dave left this morning to go pick up Jack. He’ll--” she can’t even get it out. He peaks out, just the top of his head so he can narrow his eyes at her. To see if she’s just fucking with him, using his feelings against him but he sees only sincerity. She grins, she knows she’s won. “So up and at ‘em old-timer! You’ve got a gaggle of people to entertain!”

Old-timer? He’s four years older than she is. That’s not what he comments on. “Gaggle?” he repeats back to her, grunting as his knees protest his standing. “Really showing your age there,” he mumbles and steps out of the way of the pillow she throws at his head. “What?” he defends. “You said it, not me.” He shakes his head, heading back to his room and leaving her to entertain herself. Which she will and he can hear her rustling around the coffee machine. Nearly surprised that she doesn’t complain he still hasn’t set up the Keurig she got him for Christmas (which they are rapidly approaching him having owned now for a year).

Though he isn’t sure how to express it anymore, he’s excited to have them here. Even if he knows that it will get overwhelming, he can’t deny that the night will end far too soon and he’ll find himself missing them all over again. But that’s not what’s important. In an hour (less than that knowing Penelope and her strict party-throwing agendas) he’ll have them all right here. Reid with his never-ending knowledge, quizzing him on the book recommendations that Hotch has been slowly working his way through. With Derek and Savannah and Hank, the latter of which can’t pronounce Hotch and it makes his heart do a funny little thing when the toddler sees him and screams in pure delight “Hops!”

JJ will pour in with Henry and it’ll be like old times watching Henry and Jack slunk off together (and they all pretend like they don’t know they’re smoking pot in the backyard). Emily and Dave force him to mediate the same four fights that they always have and then they’ll stick around long after the others have gone home to talk about whatever comes to their minds.

And Penelope.

His house is about to be flooded with baked goods and meals in containers because despite being alive as long as he has, she denies the notion he can feed himself. She’ll organize them in specific ways and each will be labeled in her neat handwriting so he can tell what’s in each. Most of them will be vegetarian because she’s worried about his cholesterol (and the environment) and a few will be spicy and chicken will make its way into a few of the dishes. He’ll thank her and kiss her cheek and she’ll remind him like she always does, that all he has to do is ask. He won’t but he does appreciate how much she cares. As smothering as it can be.

He showers quickly, giddy in a strange way to get out and be properly ready when the others arrive. Not too quickly, the last thing he needs is to bust his ass while Emily is here. She is far too comfortable with herself and with him and he knows that she will come in here if she hears him. The other thing about that woman is that she might have a distaste for constantly being touched but she can put that aside to annoy him. Which has created this weird mind-game thing he knows he’s losing when he doesn’t even notice her encroaching on his personal space.

Everything is a battle with her.

He decides to save himself the trouble of being bullied and searches through his dresser for a pair of jeans. He owns maybe two pairs of jeans both purchased forever ago and just to help him fit in with the parents at Jack’s school during field trips and soccer games. He stuck out like a sore thumb when he was a kid and he knows he still does but he won’t be the reason Jack gets weird looks. Emily had raised an eyebrow at that (why he had even divulged this to her is beyond him) so evidently it didn’t really do the trick but Dave assures him he looks fine and Garcia thinks he looks like a DILF so… he’s fairly certain that’s good. He’s not really sure what that means but he’s learned it’s better not to ask her to clarify.

Emily is fixing the couch when he comes out, the apartment filled with the scent of the coffee she’s brewed while he was showering. “You’re going to burn the house down with this thing,” she tells him. She holds up his heated blanket as it offends her. “You need to go to the doctor, there has to be something they can do.”

What surprises him isn’t her apparent anger-- with Emily, it’s a diversion. Her anger is rarely that, it’s to distract, and right now he knows he’s to perceive her anger and not the way she fears for him. The way that she can’t say “I love you” like the others but can, instead, be outraged that his body has been working against him for so many years. She’s not angry at him for needing to be tucked up in that blanket all the time, she’s afraid of a vascular issue that might kill him or that he’ll leave untreated until they’re all being reunited at the closest general hospital. Waiting for a doctor to tell them that he waited too long or that his heart can’t handle another surgery or a million other things.

He takes the blanket from her, clumsily folding it over and tucking the cords into the folds. “I have gone to the doctor,” he assures her. Not for that specifically but he did bring it up. He leaves it at that for now and she understands that means maybe later. It’s not worth getting into and he doesn’t feel like thinking about George Foyet and his knife today.

“Hey,” Emily hums, smirking at him. “Your ass looks really nice in those jeans.”

He stops dead in his tracks, frowning as he looks back at her but just as he’s about to inquire what, no doubt, awful thing she’s done to make her feel the need to compliment him to compensate for it, the apartment door opens. They both turn to the noise and Garcia steps in and freezes when she notices the two of them standing there.

Looking at the bags full of things she has in her arms and then to Emily and then to Hotch she sheepishly smiles. “Happy Birthday?”

With a sigh, having accepted this defeat a while ago, Hotch steps to help her with bags. He tries to hide his amusement but he cuts Emily a glance, three bags in his left hand and more still coming, and he can’t help it. Garcia turns back just as the smile eats its way up his face and he shakes his head. For a split second, he can see her apprehension, the way that her fear of going overboard or embarrassing herself washes over her before she carefully masks it (and to think he gets all the shit about masking). “Thank you,” he whispers so sincerely that he has to avert his eyes. Adding softly, “you know, you’re the only person who ever cares to make me celebrate it?”

Which just makes her sad. “Sir,” she whispers frowning. “You deserve the world, do you know that?”

He blushes, shaking his head, but he can’t get the words out in his shock.

“Oh,” she tsks. She stands on her toes and pulls him down so she can wrap her arms around him. “I love you.”

Emily makes a sound of disgust behind them and he’s glad for the distraction before all this undue attention gives him a heart attack. “Bleh,” Emily rolls her eyes. But she brightens when she sees the red Tupperware container holding the cookies. “Are those the--”

Garcia sees Emily zero in on them and hands them right to Hotch, holding them to his chest. “Are not for you,” she says to Emily with a nod of her head.

So Emily just looks to Hotch and he passes them to her with a shrug and weakly defends, “they’ll go stale if she doesn’t eat half of them.” They’re his birthday cookies but she’ll get her hands on them anyway. If not today then the next time she lets herself in. If not her then Reid when he gets bored and wanders over here for entertainment. If not Reid then Dave then Derek… you get the point. He’ll never finish them on his own.

Garcia lets it go because she knows that’s how he is and because she has a crapload of other things to make sure he eats. He leaves her to mess with his fridge, it’s better to let her do her thing. She’ll move his almond milk to the side door because that’s its proper place (even though he’ll move it right back) and come in about five to ten minutes to fuss with him about a specific something she notices he’s lacking. Today it will be the complete lack of breakfast foods in this house when she knows for a fact that his doctors are giving him hell about eating more than once a day.

He’ll have no excuse, never does, but she won’t give him a chance to provide it either way.

Reid arrives next and actually knocks and waits for someone to let him in, something none of the others will do. He sheepishly offers Hotch the books he’s artfully wrapped in a newspaper and Hotch ignores it for a moment to hug him. If they don’t do it now Reid will just wait in anxious anticipation for it because he knows it’s what people do and he likes being hugged by Hotch but he doesn’t know how to initiate it himself.

“The Sultan of Brunei spent $27.2 million on his 50th birthday,” Reid tells him as soon as Hotch lets him go. “Michael Jackson was there,” he says with a nod. And Hotch smiles and listens to him anxiously work his way around the point that he’s trying to make. Which is that by the standards of the Sultan of Brunei, this party will be exceptionally small and quiet… the way Hotch would want it to be.

They are still standing at the door, talking about what the act of giving a card means. The way that the stories get warped and it thrills Reid to slide the pieces of that puzzle together through-out various cultural ideals until you have them. And that America has a very strange, above-average affinity for birthday cards.

Derek nearly hits Reid with the door when he comes in. Too distracted with a squirming Hank on his hip and Savannah behind him fussing with him for not knocking. He brightens the second he places his eyes on the two of them, a face that Hank matches perfectly upon seeing his favorite people.

“Weed!” the toddler greets throwing himself into his godfather’s arms. Reid takes him happily, laughing at how tightly Hank holds onto him. He just loves that Hank never gets tired of him. He could still see Hank every day for a month and Hank would still greet him with the same enthusiasm as the first day.

Derek is kicking his shoes off, offering Savannah his hand so she can do the same when he notices Hank still excitedly talking to Reid. That’s by all means not abnormal but-- “Hey,” Derek mumbles Hank. He nods his head to Hotch who is standing watching Reid and Hank with a bright, wide smile. “Don’t you have something for Hops?”

Reid puts Hank down before the toddler can start to squirm and Hank immediately glues himself to Hotch’s leg. No one knows why it’s just what Hank likes to do but not just, in general, he only does it to Hotch. He stands for a few seconds, both arms wrapped around one of Hotch’s legs, face pressed into the material of his jeans, and Hotch stands still to allow him to do it. Hops is a nickname he has no control over, the same way that Reid doesn’t fight that he’s been “Weed” now since Jack was two and stumbling over his name.

Hotch got off easy. When Henry was younger he just sort of kept his distance from Hotch. Hank… just really loves him.

“Is that a hot wheel?” Hotch asks softly when Hank finally peels himself away enough to offer the bright toy clutched in his hands. Hank beams up at him and stretches to hold it higher, trying to get Hotch to take it. “Oh wow,” Hotch gasps, shaking his head and pretending to just be so impressed by this toy so severely dwarfed in his hand. “Do you know what colors these are?”

Derek holds his hand out for Savannah to take and guides her through the house. Moving them to the kitchen to talk with Garcia and Emily knowing that he won’t be getting his son back this afternoon. Both because Hank won’t want to leave Hotch or Reid’s side and because Hotch and Reid won’t want him to leave. The Hotwheels was entirely Hank, they spent twenty minutes finding the perfect one when all Derek needed from the store was stain. Though they all agreed to no presents because Hotch would already hate them invading his home with cake, they all got him presents.

The others all got him books because that’s what they know he likes and he really does love to receive books. They’re fun entertainment and they all say something about how not only they perceive him but also the sorts of things that they like and he… well, he loves that.

Derek built him a new bookshelf. It’s sitting in the back of the truck and he’s waiting on Will to get here to drag the thing in here. Derek had noticed two weekends ago that one of the shelves Hotch uses in the hall was bowing under the weight of the books on it so he’d made something to replace it. Thin but heavy-duty-- he’d considered all the ins and outs of the current shelf. Things he didn’t like about it until he has a higher shelf that doesn’t stick out so obscenely.

Which doesn’t matter, really, Hotch will love it either way.

Hank keeps “Hops” distracted while the others pull dinner together. Emily is set to ice the cake but she’s awful and she’s sent to sit in the living room with the other three. Hotch is sitting in the recliner, Hank sitting on his knees and telling him about what he did in preschool this week while Reid pokes through the bookshelf Hotch keeps by the door.

JJ knocks as she comes in but still lets herself in. Henry is bummed to see Jack isn’t here yet but he’s quickly distracted and swept right back out the door to help his father and Derek move the bookshelf into the house. They don’t really need Henry’s help but it’s an effective way to ensure Hotch doesn’t try to help. Not because he can’t but because… he’s old and they don’t want to break him.

They’re just buying time, anyway, until Jack and Dave get here.

With them comes the party…

Hotch only puts Hank down to hug Jack, biting down his tears when he realizes that his son now stands just as tall as he is. Probably bound to be taller. He’s grown out his blonde hair in college and just as Hotch is opening his mouth to ask about school, how seeking out that Master’s Degree is treating him, he spots--

“A puppy!” Hank shouts.

Jack smiles timidly, stepping back to show his father the dog still held back by Dave’s hold on her collar. “Her name is Scout!” Jack kneels down, beaming up at his father while the thrilled puppy licks his face. “Do you get it?”

Oh, he gets it alright. Emily had snitched him out two weeks ago (to his own son, of all people) and admitted she was a little worried. He still doesn’t think there was ground for her fears. It’s not abnormal for him to shut himself out and if his therapist doesn’t think he’s any crazier than normal then that should mean he’s fine. At least, that’s how Hotch feels about it. That’s ignoring the way that everyone else feels. Which is that he’s visibly more on the edge and jumpy. That he gets irritated in public spaces and his anxiety is getting worse despite starting therapy and medicine he swears is helping.

Jack had done his best to get through to his father but sometimes Hotch makes those conversations like talking to a brick wall. That conversation had ended rather badly, honestly. Jack had yelled, shouting mindlessly that he’s twenty-five and he’s too young to have to be taking care of Hotch like this. Too young to have to fear that each day he’ll receive that phone call and the crazy thing is that Jack wouldn’t even be surprised-- everything about Hotch’s life is damning proof to the fact that he acts impulsively, reckless, and without care to his own well-being.

Jack had called later and he’d apologized, they both had. It had been careless on Jack’s behalf, Jessica had explained to him at sixteen some delicate things about his father. He’d come to understand just what it means for everyone around Hotch to love him. The way that his mother had tried to stifle that urge in his father and Jessica and Dave and Emily and Derek and everyone who has ever loved a man like Aaron Hotchner has tried to walk him back off that ledge. But it’s as if he was born there and you can move him but you can’t take that fundamental calling away. Can’t wash his darkness away.

Jack had spent his entire childhood likening the characters around him to his father, just pulling at strings to understand the man. Sometimes he’d earn himself a smile and other times a grunt. He’d bring his father the books or replay scenes in movies all to just see his reactions to know if the man he sees his father as is the same one Hotch sees himself as.

Freshman year of high school they’d read To Kill A Mockingbird and he’d thought his father to be a man like Atticus Finch. In many ways, he is but he keeps coming back to that book. Until during that heavily apologetic phone call, Jack had laughed and realized his father might be a bit like Atticus Finch but he’s a Boo Radley. The recluse that always represents unwavering good.

Hence Scout.

What had driven Boo Radley from his home? Little Scout Finch.

He lets them into the house, not really sure what to say. “You know,” Hotch mumbles, shaking his head. He watches the puppy eagerly work her way around the others. Snaking between legs and nearly knocking Hank over in her excitement but the boy is around enough dogs to only laugh harder. “You could have just got me a… gym membership of something.”

Derek huffs at that and now, he’s sitting in his living room watching his closest friends snickering at his son’s clever book reference. With a sigh, he leans down and offers his hand to the puppy, frowning when her first instinct is to lick him. “Hi, Scout.”

Jack squats down, petting Scout while she continues basking in Hotch’s attention. “You don’t go to the gym, dad.” Jack rubs behind her ears, smiling when Scout doesn’t divert her attention from Hotch. She’s zeroed in on him and he’s fairly content with that. “Besides I got Scout from that program that they run in Richmond.” There’s this dog training thing they do down there that his friend actually works at. Scout failed her training-- as it turns out she’s a bit of a reject. They’d tried to start her out as a service dog but she’d been too smart for that too. Too eager.

Hotch raises an eyebrow at that, not liking the sound of what he thinks is happening. Those dogs are expensive and it’s already enough that she’s a German Shephard. “What do you mean?”

Jack glances at Dave, “well…”

Dave steps up and soothes it out. “I made some calls and Jack’s friend helped us out. Scout is a reject from two academies, a failed service dog and from the police dog academy in Richmond. So she’s too smart for them to just send anywhere.”

Great, Hotch thinks.

“It’s perfect,” Emily snickers. “Hotch loves to take care of things and now he’s essentially got a toddler again.”

“She is potty trained,” Jack offers quickly.

But Emily is right and the idea is brilliant. Hotch does like to take care of things and having Scout will prompt him to start taking walks in the morning again. It might help him implement a strict eating routine, place him in the kitchen to feed her. He won’t go do things for himself but he will take her to the dog park and sit there until she’s tired. Throw balls for her to retrieve and (what had been the killing stone) is that she’s far too smart for her own good. She’s got other training. Senses anxiety and depression and is very protective.

Hotch frowns down at Scout, she’s placed her head on his knee watching him as he takes this in. Hank is leaned up against her side, fingers trailing through her short fur, and she’s entirely unbothered by it. She’s only worried about Hotch and Hotch is worried about her. He’s never had a pet before. Jack had a goldfish he fed occasionally but… there’s no way that counts.

“Thank you,” he says softly, rubbing at his fingers anxiously and frowning when Scout smacks his hand with her nose. He sighs and puts his hand on her head, scratching like he thinks she wants. Too distracted to note what she’s effortlessly just done. Put off by her clinginess, he’s not even thinking about the curling hot ball of nerves in his stomach. His mind does wander but she nudges him again and he sighs and keeps patting her head.

Dinner goes well and Scout and Hank are glued to his sides. Hank to his left feeding him chips and Scout green beans which Hotch sees and chooses to ignore. Her immediate allegiance to him is a little strange, she’s not too bothered with Garcia or Derek no matter how hard he tries to win her over (feeding her green beans just like his son). Scout does like Hank, Henry, Jack, and Reid. She takes to them like it’s nothing. She’ll go from ignoring Derek’s attempts to get her to sit to trot right over to Reid and lay over his feet.

Hotch does enjoy that, it’s funny.

They funnel out slowly after eight. Hank has already fallen asleep in Hotch’s arms and Savannah has to wipe his tears up and shush him back to hazy contentment with the promise he’ll see Hops soon. Derek will probably be over in a day or two to make sure that the shelf is holding up well and to transfer the books and he’ll bring Hank along to distract Hotch to do it.

JJ and Will trickle out not too long after. Henry and Jack conspire together to get Dave to take them for ice cream and he caves-- Jack promises to text him before he falls asleep to tell him where he landed for the night.

Garcia takes Reid home, won’t let him take the subway back at this hour and Hotch doesn’t even have to ask they just know to text him when they get home safe. He promises to eat the food Garcia left and she already has the date in which he should run out marked on her calendar. She’ll give him a week to bring back the Tupperware before coming over here herself and seeing what he has and hasn’t eaten.

Emily sticks around until ten. The two of them picking up meager things and she promises to come by early tomorrow and the two of them will go to PetSmart to figure out what kind of food Scout should be eating.

And before he knows it…

“I guess it’s just me and you then.” Scout tilts her head at him. “You want to… go to bed?”

He’s not really sure how the dog thing works. TV has shown him plenty of times they’re not supposed to sleep in your bed so he makes her a blanket bed of her own and marks down a dog bed on his list of things to get tomorrow at the pet store. He tells her goodnight and then blushes at how silly that sounds.

He’s in bed, changed into pajamas, and yawning into his book but he’s committed to reading a chapter every night. He hears her get up but he still jumps when his bedroom door is opened. She doesn’t wait for a command and doesn't listen to his “no” before jumping up into the bed alongside him. He’s trying to grumble, to get up but she lays right across his hips. Turning her head to look up at him and he gives up. “Only tonight,” he says.

Tonight turns into the way she sits between his legs, when they’re listening to the guy at PetSmart help them pick out food. To the way she looks up at him when he tries to estimate how big she’ll be to get her a properly sized bed. Which ultimately turns into him giving up and Emily hiding her smirk at just how whipped he already is.

Tonight turns into every night and if his nightmares stop coming as frequently because she’s laying atop him he doesn’t say anything. If he starts going out more and the team starts picking out pet friendly places to meet him for lunch or to have a coffee break then he also doesn't say anything but Scout is right there.

So… what exactly does it take to draw Aaron Hotchner away from the ghosts? A puppy.

[imjustwritingg]

partners pt. 2

Hi everyone! I hadn’t planned on writing a second part to this until Jess requested it, so big shoutout to @ilithiyarys because without her this might not exist. Enjoy and let me know what you think lovelies!

Read part one here. 

Part two also on AO3 and FFNet.

It was supposed to be a simple take down. An easy operation. Breach. Apprehend. Everyone goes home. Except it wasn’t easy and all hell broke loose.

The team was doing a raid on a crew selling big guns out of an abandoned warehouse near Englewood. They had geared up, dressed to the nines in their vests and thigh holsters, with their guns at the ready. Hailey and Jay entered through the front while Kevin, Kim, and Adam took the back.

Jay had entered first with Hailey behind him, a steady hand on his shoulder, as he led them inside the warehouse and they cleared room after room.

When a rustling of some kind came from ahead of them, Jay stopped in his tracks and held a closed fist up at Hailey. She stopped behind him immediately and they stood still for a single moment before Jay turned and nodded to the right. Hailey went right as instructed and Jay held the left as they made quick and quiet steps towards an entryway, pausing just outside of it. Jay leaned forwards, poking his head in just enough to survey their path. He gave his partner the all-clear with a thumbs up and the pair of them pushed forward to the next room. They came to a set of closed double doors with dusty plastic windows in the centers of them. Unable to get a clear sight through the windows, Jay reached for the two-way clipped to his shoulder.

“Ruz, report,” he whispered into the radio.

Adam came back seconds later in the same hushed tone. “Back stairwell, south side of the building. We got the eye on the room. Count eight offenders, all armed. Guns are here too.”

“You see a set of double doors in that room with windows in ‘em? They look like hospital doors.”

“Affirmative. Far end of it and they’re closed. You behind?”

“We are. You ready?”

“On your order, brother,” Adam said.

Jay looked back at Hailey, who nodded at his unspoken question, and then reached for his radio again.

“Move in,” he commanded.  

The team breached the room from their ends and began taking immediate fire from the offenders. They took out three of them with ease, going for cover behind concrete pillars and wooden pallets and barrels - anything they could use to help shield themselves from the bullets flying through the room.

Jay and Hailey had separated, each fanning out to return fire – Hailey kneeling down behind a pillar while Jay crouched down by a pile of pallets several yards away.

“5021 Henry...10-1, 10-1! Shots fired at police! Requesting immediate backup...we’re taking heavy fire...” Hailey spoke into her radio.

Jay looked over at his partner as she made the distress call to patrol and the two locked eyes. She nodded once, signaling she was okay.

“Ruz!” Jay called out then.

“We’re good, we’re good!” he heard Adam shout back a second later and then Jay reached for his radio again to make sure the entire team heard his next orders.

“Burgess take center, Ruz and Atwater get her flank...Upton on me...in three, two, one...”

The team popped up from their places of cover together and unleashed heavy fire of their own. They were able to take down three more of the offenders, leaving the remaining two shielded behind a wall of pallets. The team moved in closer, ready to end this with the odds in their favor of six to two. As they neared the center of the room, a loud succession of pops rang out one after the other. The team ducked in an instant at the familiar sounds of an assault rifle firing, its bullets tearing through the wooden pallets like paper and ricocheting throughout the main room.

When there was a single moment of silence Jay spoke into his radio again to give one more command.

“Go!”

The five of them moved forward in a line of side by side formation, the distinct sound of a magazine reload happening within feet from them. Adam and Kevin took one end of the pallets, Jay and Kim took the other, boxing in their offenders, and Hailey stood back at the ready in case someone made a run for it.

There was another succession of pops that rang out as each pair stormed either end, and finally took down the remaining offenders. When Jay saw his three teammates were okay and that the perps were indeed down and disarmed, he took a step back and holstered his gun.

“5021 Ida...offenders down, requesting multiple ambos and the crime lab...”

“Hailey, you good?” Jay called out through the pallets as Adam spoke over his radio.

“Hailey?” Jay called out again thinking she must not have heard him with the radio chatter.

He turned and walked around the wall of pallets in search of his partner. Once he spotted Hailey, his heart nearly gave out when he saw her on the floor trying to reach for her radio that had somehow detached from her vest. And then he saw the blood.

“Hailey!” He shouted as he ran over and dropped down beside her.

Jay looked her over with rushed hands trying to find a wound, praying it was superficial and her vest had caught the brunt of it. He watched as she gasped for breath and tried lifting her arm, but she could barely move. He reached for the straps of her vest, removing them as carefully as he could without causing her any further discomfort, and he saw the hole in her chest just above the left side of her collarbone. He immediately applied heavy pressure with one hand and reached for his radio with the other.

“5021 George...10-1, 10-1! Officer down...I need an ambulance now!”

Jay heard the calls of his partner’s name from the rest of the team and in a flash Kevin was crouched down on the other side of her on the floor.

“Kev, I can’t move my hand. Take off her vest, check for any other entry,” Jay ordered.

Kevin quickly did as he was told, pulling at the velcro of Hailey’s vest until he could remove it completely. He noticed the slight tear and burn residue on her shirt and lifted it up over her stomach to see dark purple bruising already taking form just below her breasts. He scanned the rest of her torso and then looked up at Jay.

“Looks like it’s just the one. Vest caught the other. Dark bruising on her chest, probably hurt a few ribs,” Kevin said.

Hailey opened her mouth to try and speak, but could only gasp for breath as she struggled to breathe. Jay shook his head as he leaned down closer to her. “Don’t talk, Hails. Just breathe for me. Deep breaths. Ambo is coming. You’re gonna be fine. Ya hear me? You’re gonna be fine.”

Hailey’s gasps came out harder, her breathing becoming shallower. She lifted her good arm to try and reach for Jay, her eyes closing and opening as she began to fade in and out of consciousness.

“No! You gotta stay awake Hailey! Come on, stay with me. Please, stay with me,” Jay pleaded with her as he felt tears stinging in his eyes. Hailey blinked her eyes for a moment until they closed again, and her arm dropped down to her side.

“Girl, come on! Not like this,” Kevin whispered as Jay pressed harder against her bullet wound to try and cease the bleeding.

Blaring sirens echoed through the broken windows of the warehouse moments later, and then Brett and Mackey, Voight, and patrol officers were surrounding them. Brett made quick work of patching up Hailey’s wound as best she could to try and contain the bleeding while Mackey secured an oxygen mask over the detective’s face. The pair of them, along with Jay and Kevin, got her on a stretcher and they wheeled her out to an ambulance.

Jay didn’t wait for the rest of the team or his Sergeant as he climbed into the back of the cab with his partner. He reached for her good arm and held her hand in his as they were sped off to Med. When they arrived at the hospital, Jay was held back as the paramedics and nurses rushed Hailey through the doors of the emergency department.

He’d been sitting in the same uncomfortable plastic chair for nearly an hour when the rest of Intelligence entered the waiting room. He stood to meet them, catching his Sergeant’s eyes and shook his head.

“Nothing yet,” Jay croaked out.

“This isn’t on you, Jay,” Hank told him.

“How is it not on me? I led that bust. I was calling the shots.“

Hank shook his head. “You did everything right, Jay. It was an accident.”

“She’s my partner. She should have been next to me instead of hanging back. I should have – “

“You didn’t know how it was gonna go down. None of you could have known that. And from what Kevin told me at the scene, you jumped right into action, kept it together for her until the ambo showed up. You did good, Jay,” Hank assured him.

Jay shook his head in disbelief as he sat back down in the chair he had previously occupied and Hank took a seat beside him. He felt the tears he’d been holding back finally fall from his eyes, not caring who saw.

“I can’t lose her Hank,” Jay whispered.

“I know and you won’t. She’s gonna pull through,” Hank told him as he placed a hand on Jay’s shoulder.

Jay looked up and met his Sergeant’s eyes again as he tried to control his heavy breathing as more tears filled his eyes. “I can’t lose her. I – “

Hank squeezed his shoulder as he looked at his detective. “Jay, I know.”

“Jay?”

They both looked up to see Will standing in front of them and rose from their chairs in an instant.

“How is she?” Jay immediately asked as the rest of the Intelligence team and multiple patrol officers stood behind him waiting. He watched as his brother took a deep breath and then locked eyes with him.

“She’s really lucky. The bullet just missed an artery. She’s still in surgery, but Dr. Marcel was able to remove it. She did lose a lot of blood, but she’s hanging on. She’s a fighter, that’s for sure. They’re trying to repair as much of the damage to her shoulder as they can while she’s still under. They don’t wanna have to put her body through another surgery. She has two broken ribs, several others severely bruised, and she’s got some swelling on the back of her head...most likely a concussion from the fall.”

Jay stumbled on his feet as he heard his brother explain Hailey’s injuries and all, but dropped back down into his chair. He rested his elbows on his knees and dropped his head to his hands, feeling another batch of tears in his eyes.

“Is she gonna be okay?” Hank asked the older Halstead.

Will took another deep breath and gave a nod. “She should pull through just fine, but we’ll know more once she’s out of surgery and get a scan of her head. I’m not sure how much longer that’ll be. It’s a waiting game now.”

He cast a worried glance down to his brother before looking back to Hank. “I’ll keep you all updated as much as I can.”

Hank gave him a nod and then Will disappeared through the doors of the emergency department. He caught the familiar eyes of Maggie, one of the head nurses, through the doors. He nodded at her and waved her over.

“I heard what happened. Anything you need?” Maggie asked as she stood in front of Hank.

“Can you get Jay cleaned up please?” Hank asked her in a hushed tone nodding down at the detective. She followed his eyes and saw the blood staining Jay’s hands, jeans and jacket.

“Of course. Jay, come with me,” she said carefully as she set a hand on the man’s shoulder.

The contact snapped Jay out of his daze and he looked up with red rimmed eyes. “Maggie?”

“Come with me. I’ll get you some fresh clothes,” she said again with a gentle voice.

Jay nodded and stood from his chair. Maggie placed a hand on his arm and led him into the E.D. while Hank turned to look back at Adam, Kim, and Kevin.

“Did any of those bastards make it?” Hank asked them.

Kim and Kevin shook their heads, and Adam locked eyes with their Sergeant. “Died on scene.”

“Good,” Hank said with a short nod and ending the conversation.

Another forty-five minutes went by before Maggie brought Jay back out into the waiting room. He had been able to shower in the staff bathroom and was given a matching pair of hospital sweats and sweatshirt. He seemed to be more lucid as he glanced around the room. Most of the patrol officers that had once filled it were now gone, most likely having been called back for duty. He saw Kevin sitting in a chair with his head down and his eyes closed; the man really could sleep anywhere. But what Jay hadn’t expected to see was Vanessa Rojas sitting next to the sleeping officer. She was scrolling on her phone and only looked up when Jay took a seat in the empty chair beside her.

“Hi,” Vanessa said, offering a kind smile as best she could given the circumstances.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call you. It all happened so fast and I – “

Vanessa quickly shook her head at him and dropped a hand to his arm. “Hey, no. It’s okay. I’m sure you’ve been going through it. Kev called me. The others had to head back to the district, but Voight didn’t want you to be alone so we offered to stay.”

Jay only nodded in reply as he leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath. He felt Vanessa’s eyes on him giving him a once over.

“You good?” Vanessa asked a moment later.

Jay glanced over at her and raised an eyebrow, but she just gestured down at the outfit he had on that clearly wasn’t his. He nodded again and looked forward, his eyes staring out in front of him instead of meeting Vanessa’s eyes.

“Yeah, I uh, I had her blood on me. Had to toss my jeans and jacket,” he said.

She gave a short nod as she kept her eyes on him. “Kev filled me in on what your brother said. Sounds like she’s gonna be okay.”

“I just need to see her. Hear her voice. I need to see for myself that she’s okay. I don’t know what I’d do if –  “

“She’s gonna be just fine, Jay. Your brother said as much. Hailey’s one of the toughest people I know, and after everything she’s been through, there’s no way this is what would’ve taken her out. There’s no way she’s leaving you when she only just got you.”

Jay turned his head to meet her eyes then. He saw the knowing smile on her face and gave her a questioning look, but Vanessa just rolled her eyes at him.

“Oh, please. I knew way before either of you were ready to admit your feelings for one another. I wasn’t all that surprised when she finally told me you guys were seeing each other,” Vanessa told him, coaxing the tiniest of smiles from him as he looked down at the floor.

“Ya know, it wasn’t that long ago I was sitting in this same waiting room next to Hailey when it was you back there,” Vanessa said then, pointing to the sliding doors leading into the emergency department.

Jay nodded his head as he recalled the incident with Angela Nelson. How it was Hailey’s face he saw first after he’d woken up besides the doctors and nurses. He remembered the look of relief on her face, the pure happiness in her smile as she stood next to his bed. And then he remembered the day she came to take him home, how there had been something she wanted to tell him. He’d had a feeling of what that something was and he was ready for it then, but he screwed up by almost answering his damn undercover phone and Hailey had closed up on him. He shook his head again at the memory and met Vanessa’s eyes once more.

“I was an idiot then. We’ve wasted so much time. I wasted so much time,” Jay said to the young woman.

“All that matters now is that she’s gonna be okay. You still have time, Jay,” Vanessa told him.

Before Jay could respond, the doors slid open and Will stepped into the waiting room, meeting his brother’s eyes. Vanessa swatted at Kevin’s arm, waking the man from his nap, and the three stood to meet Will as he approached them and gave a soft smile.

“Hailey’s out of surgery and off the anesthesia, but she’s still pretty out of it. They’re gonna take her for a quick CT scan to check her head, and then they’ll get her into a recovery room.”

Jay breathed a deep sigh of pure relief and smiled his first real smile of the day as he stepped forward and clapped his brother on his shoulder.

“Thanks man,” Jay told him.

Will nodded, smiling widely at his brother. “I’ll come get you once she’s settled.”

“Thank you,” Jay told him again and then he was gone as soon as he’d arrived.

Jay blew out another deep breath. She was out of surgery. She was okay.

“You good, bro?” Kevin asked.

“I am now,” Jay replied.

“Well, we all know whose face she’s gonna wanna see when she wakes up so we’ll head out, but keep us posted. Tell her we love her,” Vanessa said glancing between the two men.

Kevin nodded in agreement and clapped a hand over Jay’s back. “Yeah man. If y’all need anything just let us know. I’ll fill the rest of the team in.”

“Thanks guys,” Jay told them.

He bumped fists with Kevin and Vanessa gave him a quick side hug, and then they left him on his own. He sat back down in his chair, finding it easier to breathe as he replayed his brothers and Vanessa’s words over in his head.

She was okay. They still had time.

It was another hour before Will finally collected his brother from the waiting room and led him to the recovery floor.

“We filled her in on what happened after she came to, but the pain meds knocked her out again. She’s a bit pale, but she’s okay,” Will assured him as they stood outside the door to Hailey’s room.

Jay nodded once in understanding before Will opened the door, gesturing a hand at him to enter.

“I don’t foresee you leaving this room anytime soon so text me if you need anything,” Will said from the doorway.

“Thanks man,” Jay told him. Will smiled at him one last time before he closed the door and left his brother and Hailey alone.

Jay turned and took in the sight of her lying in her bed. She was pale like Will said she’d be and her bed was raised just enough so that she was propped up slightly. He could see pieces of bandages peeking out from the neck opening of her gown from the surgery. As he walked over to the side of her bed, he noticed the slight bulge over her chest and stomach through the fabric, and he remembered what Will had said about her injured ribs. More bandages.

He caught sight of a chair in the corner of the room and brought it over to the side of her bed. He sat down next to her on her good side, unable to resist reaching for her hand, and breathed out another sigh of relief at the warmth he felt.

He stared at her face as she slept and found himself shaking his head at the irony of the situation as he remembered the conversation they’d had not too long ago. Back when he and Adam had done an undercover buy with a couple of meth dealers and they were cornered by an unexpected offender with a gun.

“I’m just glad it wasn’t you in my position...”

Jay had said those words to her as Hailey drove them back to the district. After he had held her as she cried for him, thinking the worst had happened to him yet again.

Here they were three months later and she was right where he’d been one too many times before. Laid up in a hospital bed and recovering from a bullet.

He understood then how she must have felt when it had been him in this situation. How frustrated she must have been with him all those times he was reckless and put himself in harm’s way. He made a silent promise to himself and to her in that moment that he’d do better, that he’d be better for her. The last few hours had been his own personal hell and as much as he never wanted to feel this way again, he especially didn’t want Hailey to have to feel it again either.

He kept a hold on her hand, brushing his index finger over the inside of her wrist and felt her pulse beating against her skin. He was sure he’d never felt something so wonderful as he did right then, seeing her alive and feeling it too.

He smiled again as he kept his eyes on his partner, his grin quickly growing wider at the realization that they weren’t just partners. Hailey had become his best friend. His favorite person. She had come into their unit and changed everything for him. Encouraged him to go to therapy, forced him to face his demons, to be better like he tried to be before she came along. He wouldn’t be the man he was now if it weren’t for her.

He lifted her hand to his lips and placed a soft kiss to her palm before he put it back down at her side. He didn’t let go even as he dozed off.

When he blinked his eyes open sometime later, the first thing Jay saw was a pair of blue ones staring back at him and he smiled instantly at the sight.

“Hey you,” he whispered. He straightened himself up in his chair and leaned forward, squeezing her hand that he still had a hold on.

Hailey gave him a crooked smile, the morphine still making her somewhat drowsy as it continued to drip into her IV bag, and she squeezed back weakly.

“How are you feeling? Do you need anything?” Jay asked her.

“Yeah, get me out of here,” Hailey croaked out.

Jay smiled at her again, glad to see his partner still being her usual sassy self even with the circumstances that surrounded her.

“Yeah, that’s not happening anytime soon. Not until Dr. Marcel clears you,” he told her. She groaned back in response as she shifted slightly in her bed.

“Seriously though, do you need anything?” Jay asked her again.

“Nuh-uh. ‘M good,” Hailey mumbled as she set her eyes back on him and took in his appearance for the first time since she’d woken up.

“You okay? The team? Did we get ‘em?” Hailey asked him.

“You’re laid up in a hospital bed and worried about everyone else. Why am I not surprised?” Jay smirked at her.

“Tell me.”

“The team is good; everyone is back at the district. And yeah, we got ‘em,” Jay told her.

“And you?” Hailey asked.

Jay took a deep breath as he looked back at her. He could see the worrisome look in her eyes and knew he wouldn’t be able to lie to her. She could always read him so easily even before they’d started seeing one another. He reached out his free hand and held her hand with both of his, clutching on to her as tight as he could without hurting her.

“I’m fine now that you’re awake. Gotta tell you though, it didn’t feel too good seeing the girl I love bleeding out the floor,” Jay told her, his voice raspy as he felt another run of tears fill his eyes.

Jay smiled at her as he saw her mouth part open at his confession and then he noticed how her eyes glossed over from sudden tears. He released her hand before standing from his chair and leaned over the side of her bed to press a kiss against her forehead. He felt her take hold of his hand and looked down at her with another soft smile on his face.

“You love me?” Hailey asked him. Her tone was small and questioning as if she’d thought she might have heard him wrong, but Jay just nodded back at her.

“I love you so much, Hails. You have no idea how much,” he told her.

“Come here,” she whispered, tugging on his hand and trying to pull him towards her. He just shook his head playfully at her before leaning back down and kissing her briefly on the lips.

“I can’t kiss you how I really wanna kiss you, but that’ll do for now,” Jay told her as he pulled away. He sat back down, scooting his chair as close to her as possible, and rested his arms on the side of her bed.

“Stupid oxygen tubes. I don’t even need them,” Hailey mumbled making him laugh.

“I disagree and they’re gonna stay exactly where they are,” he told her as he stared at her with a stern look in his eyes.

“Fine,” Hailey groaned again as she pulled her hand out of his and started tracing mindless patterns on the top of it instead.

“So they told you what happened?” Jay asked her as he watched her.

“Yeah, gonna be out of commission for a while. PT and a lot of desk duty for the next month or two. From what they told me, it seems we’re gonna have matching shoulder scars, partner.”

“Now who’s the bullet magnet?” Jay teased in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere.

“If I didn’t have such a headache right now I would roll my eyes at you,” Hailey told him causing him to smirk back at her. Her fingers stilled over his hand and her eyes started to droop. She blinked them open trying to fight the sleep her body was obviously craving and needing.

“Why don’t you rest some more, huh? The quicker you do that, the quicker you get out of here,” he suggested as he took hold of her hand again.

“You staying?” Hailey whispered as her eyes started closing again.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he promised.

“Jay?”

“Hmmm?”

“I love you too,” she mumbled to him before her eyes closed once more and she gave in to the pain meds.

He couldn’t fight the grin that splayed out over his face as he heard her say the words to him. He squeezed her hand again even though she was fast asleep and leaned back in his chair, content enough now knowing she was alright.

As he sat there holding her hand and watching her sleep, the grin on Jay’s face grew wider as he replayed their conversation in his head. He was so in love with her and she loved him back just the same. He didn’t know what would come next for them, but he was sure that whatever it was they would be just fine. She was okay and they still had time and they would deal with things together because they were partners.

[malsmanor]

The Earthquake [Phantom Manor one-shot]

Little one-shot about what is easily my favorite (yes, I am veeery morbid :3) part of Phantom Manor’s story. The immediate aftermath of the Earthquake that struck Thunder Mesa in 1860, featuring my own take on the characters. Enjoy, be aware that this is a translation from my native language and beware of the following trigger warnings:

- Death (I mean, why else be in this fandom to begin with :V) - blood - moderately descriptive gore - natural disaster.

Enjoy :P

Mélanie knew her worst fears had come true the very instant she was greeted at the door by Anna's chalk white face. The maid's gloved hand tugged at her young mistress’ dress in a feeble attempt at stopping her but Mélanie stormed into the corridor, leaving the trembling servant at the entrance.

Jake followed, his eyes darting around in the shadowy hall now cluttered with smashed pottery, broken portrait frames on the floor and toppled over furniture. The earthquake had been so devastating it was as if the entire house was now leaning on its side like a dying animal. The walls were skewed, the floorboards bent and wind busted through the shattered window panes, filling the once sumptuous manor with the smell of rain and thunder. Black clouds swirled above the red rocky spires of Thunder Mountain and Thunder Mesa was shrouded in a silence so absolute it almost felt supernatural.

Following the bright yellow hem of Mélanie’s dress as she ran through the gutted rooms of the place she called her home, Jake felt a sudden ache in his chest. He had never felt at ease in the manor, to him that richly decorated abode was as hostile and unwelcoming as its occupants, with its poisonous green wallpaper and the velvet-lined armchairs that seemed to have eyes and mouths stitched right where your back was supposed to rest… and yet, in seeing it turned upside down like a dollhouse after a particularly intense playtime session made his heart heavy. He couldn’t even imagine what thoughts crossed Mélanie’s mind in that moment. It wasn’t only the house that was damaged beyond repair, and they both knew it.

They reached the balcony above the ballroom and Mélanie clasped her hands on the railing, struggling not to break down crying. 

The ceiling had collapsed, or at least a good chunk of it had.

The chandelier laid smashed on the dinner table that had practically snapped in two under its weight and piles of rubble and wooden beams cluttered the staircase and dance floor. 

Covered in dust and splinters from head to toe, Jasper was digging in the dirt like a madman, too frantic to pay heed to his injured and bloodied hands as he called his masters’ names over and over.

As Mélanie and Jake got to the lower floor, the butler was trying to push aside a massive wooden panel and once the young man rushed in to help, it finally budged. Jake had never seen Mr.Jones so discomposed and overwrought. His usual condescending grin and impeccably tied neck scarf had been replaced by a look of pure anguish. 

The Ravenswoods may have been a shady and unapproachable bunch, but the butler’s face was not that of an employee whose only concern is to find another pair of equally rich patrons to work for now that God’s judgement had smitten his previous cruel masters, but that of a devastated friend of the family.

Mélanie watched the two men work in silence, too overwhelmed to move or even cry.

Her parents were dead.

She didn’t have to see their bodies to know this, and yet she clung till the very last to the unlikely possibility that they may have somehow survived.

As if to rob her of that sliver of hope, Thunder roared in the distance as bright blue lightning cracked the sky framed by the two tall windows. The curse was real, and it had struck. Rapid and merciless as only the raw force of nature could have done. Henry and Martha Ravenswood were no more, crushed by the weight of their greed, the very walls and wooden sculptures of the manor they cherished so dearly even though it was built on the sufferance and tears of others, on a foundation of lies and murder.

Yes, Mélanie did know of her father’s actions at that point. The shocking revelation was  actually still fresh in her mind and so was the horrifying realization of having been the cause of so much senseless bloodshed… but she loved her parents dearly and unconditionally, as many children do.

Only then, at the revolting acknowledgment of her own hypocrisy, a warm stream of tears began to roll down her rosy cheeks as Jake and Jasper removed the last layer of wood and plaster, uncovering the bodies of the Ravenswood spouses.

As if staged with the specific intent of making Mélanie forget why she wanted to escape their controlling grasp and ran as far away as she could from that cursed house, man and wife laid next to each other, Henry’s caped shoulders shielding Martha from the debris as if he wanted to kept what was precious to him safe and close until his very last breath. And alas, the age-old question had to be asked: was that an excessive display of love or of pure greed?

At that sight, Mélanie fell to her knees, now sobbing uncontrollably and before Jake or Jasper could offer her any comfort, the young woman felt Anna Jones’ arms wrapping around her and immediately threw herself on the chambermaid’s lap just like a scared child would.

Anna caressed her hair, reassuring the last of the Ravenswoods that everything was going to be alright as she raised her gaze to met the equally distraught eyes of her brother. Jasper gave her a knowingly nod and removed his dirty overcoat, used its lustrous purple fabric to wipe off the blood from his hands covered in cuts and bruises and threw it into the unlit fireplace. He then accosted the windows and pulled down the embroidered curtains with a snap, folding them on his arms.

“Care to lend a hand, young man?” he asked, his voice still hoarse after all the digging. Jasper was naturally gaunt and unpleasant-looking even on a regular day, with his discolored blond hair and sunken pitch black eyes but in that moment he looked particularly pitiable so, Jake nodded even though a shiver had just ran down his spine.

He knew what the butler intended to do with those drapes: makeshift shrouds for the masters of the house, until proper burial service could be arranged. 

“Even though you’re probably the last person in the whole world the Master would want in his home right now, I can’t afford to be picky.” added the manservant with a sly grin, regaining some of his usual spitefulness. 

Jake didn’t reply, rolling up his sleeves as Jasper handed him one of the curtains. He’d do it for Mélanie and nobody else. She was worth the hassle of handling the cold dead body of someone who wanted to see him out of the picture. A girl like her was worth that and so much more, perhaps even worth dying for.

Butler and train engineer knelt down next to the two entangled bodies in the rubble and both felt horribly out of place for a split second, as if they were about to interrupt what seemed like a sweet, even intimate, moment. 

Mrs. Ravenswood looked like she was peacefully asleep, with no dust on her red hair and face nor any visible injuries. She was still surprisingly attractive for a woman her age and Mélanie had undoubtedly inherited her looks even though her curly auburn hair originated from Mr.Ravenswood’s side of the family.

Unlike his wife’s, Henry’s body had not been left unscathed by the collapse of the roof. His right elbow was caked in blood as the jagged bone protruded out of a tear in the sleeve and his back was stained with red, probably dripping down from the violent blow to the back of his head that had killed him instantly.

As Jasper and Jake turned the corpse over to separate it from Martha’s, they were greeted by the chilling and unwelcome sight of Henry’s still wide open bloodshot eyes. Jake couldn’t help but quiver, as he tried to call upon logic and attribute what he thought he was seeing to a trick of the light or the disquieting metamorphosis that any face goes through when death comes, as the tendons spasm and the muscles distend…

And yet he couldn’t shake off the thought that Henry Ravenswood was grinning.

[lustresky]

lal ; chapitre deux ; peu m'importe, si tu m'aimes

l’hymne à l’amour masterlist & lily’s lil’ stories

chapitre un ; et la terre peut bien s'écrouler

Buzzing.

Cold.

Chills.

As you open your eyes, you take a deep yet shaky breath.

Goosebumps litter your skin, a numbing type of ache holding your limbs in place.

You hear the squeak of a chair from the side.

Is it the man from before?

You shift your eyes to the right.

No, it isn’t…

The man now beside you is younger, wrinkles barely present on his face; and instead of wearing a doctor’s coat, he wore a three piece suit. His hair is golden, coiffed perfectly. 

“Good day, Miss Collins.” 

You narrow your eyes at the name.

“Collins?” You croak, wincing as the shrill sound escapes your throat.

He furrows his brows, and stares straight into your eyes.

“Your name…” He whispers. 

“For this role…” He continues.

At the mention of the word role, a switch flips on in your head.

REGISTERING [NEW ROLE]… 

He takes a pause.

You stare back at him, expectant.

”Is Elizabeth Collins.”

Your eyes gloss over.

REGISTERED: ROLE #2

LAST NAME: Collins

FIRST NAME: Elizabeth

DATE OF BIRTH: N/A

OCCUPATION: N/A

MISSION: N/A

He takes another pause.

“Now,” He claps his hands together. “What is your name?”

“My name is Elizabeth Collins.” You answer back immediately, zero hesitation in your voice.

He nods.

“Your date of birth…” 

REGISTERING [DATE OF BIRTH]...

”Is June 21, 1954.”

REGISTERED: ROLE #2

LAST NAME: Collins

FIRST NAME: Elizabeth

DATE OF BIRTH: 06/21/1954

OCCUPATION: N/A

MISSION: N/A

You give him a nod.

“Your occupation— for now, at least…”

REGISTERING [OCCUPATION]... 

“Is as a journalist at The New York Post.”

REGISTERED: ROLE #2

LAST NAME: Collins

FIRST NAME: Elizabeth

DATE OF BIRTH: 06/21/1954

OCCUPATION: Journalist at The New York Post

MISSION: N/A

“Noted.” You say.

He hums in content, and opens his lips once more.

His voice drops to a whisper.

“Your mission…”

REGISTERING [MISSION]... 

“Is to become Senator Harry Baxter's personal assistant,” He starts.

“Find every little thing— every little secret, about him…”

“Seduce him…”

“Plan and go on a rendez-vous in his villa. Just you two, all alone.”

“Inform us of the date and time.”

“Then, once all’s said and done, follow the man with the metal arm.”

You nod.

REGISTERED: ROLE #2

LAST NAME: Collins

FIRST NAME: Elizabeth

DATE OF BIRTH: 06/21/1954

OCCUPATION: Journalist at The New York Post

MISSION: 

Personal assistant.

Seduce.

Secrets.

Rendez-vous.

Inform date and time.

Man with the metal arm.

“Will that be all?” You ask.

A smile creeps up on his face. “Yes.”

A pause.

He opens up his mouth for the last time.

“Go break a leg.”

Baxtor lifts an eyebrow and looks up at you.

“Well, Miss Collins,” He says, satisfaction clear on his face, and plops your documents down on his desk. “You’re certainly… well suited for this job.”

Personal assistant.

You let your rose painted lips curl into an enthralling smile.

“I believe that that isn’t the only thing that I’m well suited for, senator.”

His eyes widen.

A haze clouds over them.

You tilt your head to the side, fluttering your eyelashes and pursing your lips in an almost pout.

Seduce.

“Would you like me to show you, sir?”

He gulps.

His gaze flickers from your own eyes down to your bust.

“I’d certainly like that, Miss Collins.”

Baxtor enters the room.

You continue shuffling his documents.

“Elizabeth? What are you doing here in my office?”

You look up at him.

“I’m your personal assistant, sir. That means I have to sort through your files.” You say nonchalantly, a smile on your face.

Secrets.

He hums, and walks to your side, his arm coming up to rest on your waist.

You ignore the uncomfortable feeling in the pit of your stomach as you continue to act coy.

He leans in close.

“I’m sure that you’re more than that now.” He whispers in your ear.

You force out a giggle. 

“Am I, now?”

He nods.

“Well, if you’re so sure,” You say, turning around to face him properly. 

You let your eyes drop from his gaze and onto his lips. 

“Why don’t you invite me over tonight for a little…”

You take a pause, playfully cocking your head to the side as if you didn’t know the word.

“How did the French call it, again?”

Rendez-vous.

He chuckles. 

“A rendez-vous?”

You nod.

He leans in closer. 

“So?” You raise an eyebrow.

He laughs, his nose brushing against yours. 

“Does 8 PM this evening sound good to you?”

You bite your bottom lip and smile up at him.

“8 tonight sounds perfect.”

He gives you one last smirk before pulling away.

“I’ll be waiting, then.”

You watch him leave, a smile plastered on your face for appearances.

As soon as the door clicks closed, it falls.

You whip out your mobile phone.

Inform date and time.

“Today— March 12, 1979. At 2000.”

You hear a satisfied hum from the other side.

“Noted.”

Before you could have even knocked, the huge mahogany door opens wide.

“There she is.” Baxtor smiles.

You laugh. “Here I am.” 

He pulls you in for a hug. You inhale a whiff of his cologne as he does so.

Royal Copenhagen, huh?

Once you both separate, you give him a smile. “Shall we get started, then?”

He shakes his head and chuckles.

“I think that we should have dinner first,” He drops his eyes onto your body; clad in a skin-tight, beige, wool dress, ending on your mid-thigh. 

You pretend not to notice how they linger and stay on your exposed legs. 

“Wouldn’t want the food to go cold now, do we?” 

You giggle. “Well if you say so, sir.”

His eyes go back up to yours immediately. “As much as I love hearing you call me that, sweetheart, I’d much prefer Henry for now.”

“Hmm… Henry it is for now, then,” You let your lips form into a perfectly practiced smirk. “But I’m sure I’d slip out and say sir— oh, I don’t know… sometime later tonight?”

His eyes gloss over.

He leans in, making your noses brush against one another— but before he can do anything, you lift a finger up and press it on his lips, effectively stopping him in his place. You open your mouth, and say;

“Wouldn’t want the food to go cold now, do we?” 

You laugh as surprise overtakes his face.

After a beat, he shakes his head, a playful smile now resting on his lips. “Let’s hurry, then.” 

He lets you in; taking your hand and guiding you through the massive and luxurious villa and towards the back.

When you spot the candlelit dinner beside the pool, you hum appreciatively.

“Ever the gentleman, are you?”

He drops your hand, and instead places his own onto your waist.

“Anything for you.”

You giggle, and shift your eyes to the pool.

An idea forms in your mind.

“You know what?” You say, hands already going for the bottom of your dress; the action making his hand fall to his side.

You look back at him with a smirk. “I think dinner can wait for now.”

Hands grasping at the hem of your dress, you take it off in one full motion and toss it to the side.

In less than a second your body is submerged in the pool with a splash.

You rise up, raking your hands through your wet hair.

Baxtor looks down on you from the side of the pool, complete amazement written clearly on his face.

“Well?” You say, a playful smile on your lips. “Aren’t you getting in, Henry?”

At the sound of his name falling sweetly off your tongue, his whole body stands up straighter; and before long he too has stripped to his undergarments.

With a splash, he jumps in, before breaking the surface right next to you and pulling you in close to his chest.

“May I?” He asks, ever so gently.

You giggle. “You may.”

Your lips connect.

After a few minutes of hand roaming and tongue exploring, you break the kiss for a gasp of air.

He doesn’t stop— now going for your neck; peppering kisses all along your collarbone.

Suddenly, his stomach rumbles.

The chuckle comes past your lips immediately. “Looks like dinner’s gotten tired of waiting.”

His laugh vibrates against your throat. “‘t seems so.”

You put your hands on his shoulders and pull away.

“Let me make myself proper, then.”

He stares straight into your eyes.

“Sure thing, sweetheart.”

You push your body towards the tiled stairs, leaving him all alone in the pool.

Knowing that he’d like the show, you purposefully sway your hips a bit more as you start climbing up.

You reach the end.

A shot clangs against the air.

You barely flinch.

You look back; seeing Baxtor’s now lifeless body floating in the calm body of water— his blood slowly tainting its clear colour.

You scrunch your nose up in pity.

Poor pool boy.

You bend down, grabbing your dress and putting it back on.

A glint of metal catches your eye.

“Подписывайтесь на меня.”

Follow me. 

You translate the words automatically in your head— but you’re not quite sure how.

Last time you had checked, you barely spoke a lick of Russian.

You brush the thought off.

You look up.

A man, with scruffy black hair and a black mask, stares back into your eyes. His case is dangling by his shoulder whilst he stands straight— like a soldier.

You shift your eyes to his left arm, which is mainly covered due to his black leather jacket; but the shine of metal from his hand confirmed your suspicions. 

Man with the metal arm.

You look back at him.

He narrows his eyes, as if he recognizes you.

The next words that came out of his mouth makes your entire body freeze.

“Evelyn Richards?”

Your heart leaps in your throat.

What?

Before you can dwell too much on the name, however, a voice cuts through the silence.

“Sir?” 

Your eyes widen and shift towards it.

I thought we were alone?

Before you know it, your feet are dragging your body away from the crime scene and outside into the parking lot; a mental map clear in your head thanks to the floor plans of the villa Baxtor had sent to you before he had bought it.

You get inside your car and press on the pedal— not wasting a single second.

It’s when you’ve driven a good amount of kilometers away from the mansion that you realize something.

Something important.

You were supposed to follow the man with a metal arm.

Fuck.

You slam your fist on the hood of your car.

If he hadn’t said anything, you would have; but him saying that name threw you off guard. Whoever lived with Baxtor didn’t help your surprise either.

Evelyn Richards…

Evelyn…

Richards…

You rack your brain.

Who the fuck is Evelyn Richards?

Your mobile phone then rings— effectively cutting off your thought process.

Anxiety and fear courses through your veins.

You pick it up.

“Where are you?”

You look up to your left, and see a sign.

Doing your best to not let your voice quiver, you say, “Between Emery Way and Myers PL.”

A beat.

“We’ll be there in a minute.”

A minute later, exactly just like they said, a black van pulls up to the back of your car.

You get out and walk towards the vehicle; head hung low and heartbeat high.

The van door opens as soon as you step foot in front of it.

“How did you not know that he had a personal butler?” A man, whom you’ve never seen before, spits the question at your face, anger laced through every word.

You open your mouth to defend yourself. “He never listed it in any of his records.”

“Oh, of course,” He huffs and scrunches his nose up at you. “And he definitely writes down the fact that he wants to change jobs and become the Undersecretary of the World Security Council instead, doesn’t he?”

You scoff up at him. “Those things are completely different from one another.”

“Sure they are.” He sneers. “Whatever, get in— boss is gonna have your neck once we get back.”

You keep your jaw shut tight and did as what you were told.

Whispers.

“How did she not know?”

“She said that it wasn’t written on any of his records, boss. Probably hired illegally.”

A scoff, then a pause.

“And where is he, now?”

“We’re still not sure, but we’re doing our best to find him.”

“Well do better.”

A shuffle of the feet.

“We will, boss.”

Another scoff.

“You better, I don’t pay you people for nothing.”

Another voice then pipes up.

“Sir? Should we wipe her now, or should we wait for him too?”

A beat.

“Wipe her now— the sooner she forgets, the sooner we can use her again.”

You feel a needle prod your thigh.

“Noted, sir.”

It plunges.

You thrash, but nothing changes.

“Might as well freeze her now, too.”

A hum.

“All right sir.”

You feel your body being shifted into another spot.

The cold welcomes you once again.

chapitre trois ; coming soon! as always, requests are open! & pls don’t forget to like and reblog, thank you! c:

[ill-skillsgard]

The Offer - Henry Deaver x Mistress

Warning: 18+ brief mentions of sex/public teasing/cheating/etc.

Soooo here’s another Henry x mistress imagine that nobody asked for. And just so you all know, I will continue to use your prompts in these imagines as they fit the timeline I’m going for. So if you’ve sent an ask about this dirty cheating bastard, I haven’t ignored it! I just have this world unfolding in my brain and I have to make the pieces fit accordingly. Thanks for reading and, y’know... Not jumping down my throat about the content. Enjoy! PS, I wanna know who sent the original Henry and his mistress prompt. You have single-handedly ruined my life and I love you for it. 

Enjoy!

The drive to the next city over started out great. Henry had picked you up at your apartment building exactly when he said he would and smiled brightly as you came out trying to hide your own eager grin. His eyes followed you, entranced for a moment until he snapped out of his short-lived daze, whipped his seatbelt off and got out of the car so he could open the passenger side door for you. You went red in the cheeks when you realized what his intentions were and stood next to the running car. Trying to get a good look at him before he approached only made you seem like you were checking him out, and you were, and he bubbled inside knowing that your stare was on him.

"Henry, you don't have to open the door every time. I promise you won't lose any gentleman points if you just let me do it myself," you lightly chided.

"Non-sense. I'm picking you up for a date. I pick you up, open your door, walk beside you, pay for dinner and then hopefully by the end of the night, I'll get a kiss."

"You'll get a lot more with that attitude," you joked.

"I don't see the mystique in allowing you to do everything. Open your own door, get in while I'm still sitting, split dinner and whatnot... No. That's not how a man takes a woman out on a date."

"If you insist, Mr. Deaver."

You loved the way Henry fumbled with his bottom lip and tried not to act like you referring to him so formally turned him on. He probably heard that all day long from his employees and peers but never in a context such as the subtle ribbon of seduction you wove around the title. You gave it a lustrous ring, a potent flick in the groin that made him want to hate you for tainting such an everyday greeting. 

The drive drew out before you realized that Henry was taking you into the next town over. He didn't have to tell you why because you already understood his motivations. It was too risky for him to be seen with you in the city where so many people he might know had the chance to happen upon you. This he did not speak, but you were in silent agreement. The guilt you had been successfully suppressing so far was starting to leak out of the seams, threatening to bust out and flood your head with more than just a pang of liability. There was a monster of shame growing in you and you could feel it squirming already in its early stages. You could only imagine the size of Henry's own iniquitous beast; it must have sprouted legs by now.

Henry ordered whiskey and implored you to go nuts and order whatever you wanted regardless of the cost. The wine was brought to the table and you dove into your first glass with no hesitation. After he had had a thorough look around the restaurant, he settled into his seat, relaxed his shoulders, stretched his legs out under the table and reached one hand between the water cups and the centrepiece of shell white calla lilies until you threaded your fingers through his. The pads of your fingers rested on his knuckles and you smiled as he began stroking the web between your index and thumb.

His ring was off and you could only wonder whether he had been keeping it off or if he was trying to spare you the reminder again. You didn't want the answer as much as the question flapped around in your head like a bird caught in a flag. This was supposed to be a nice night— your first one together since Paris.

"What are your plans after dinner?" You asked.

Henry smirked, a weak scoff leaving him in the process. "You're already thinking about the end of our date, huh?"

"No, not like that. I just want to know what you're thinking."

Henry leaned in closer, tightening his grip on your hand and whispered, "Well, I was hoping to take a pretty lady back to my place."

"Your place?" Your whisper was rash with disbelief.

"Yes. The condo. It's officially all mine."

"I get to see where you live?"

Henry bobbed his head back and forth, weighing his words. "I'd hardly say that I live there. Most nights I'm in a hotel living out of a suitcase. But, yes. I'd like to take you there... If you would allow it."

You scrunched up your face jokingly. "I'll allow it."

"Great," his eyes sparkled as he raised your hand up to kiss your knuckles.

He only let go of your hand when your food arrived and he had properly thanked the server. You both ate and chatted about average topics, skirting around the fact that ninety percent of your exchanges as of late had been heavily laced with explicit details of how bad you both wanted to fuck each other. Was he ignoring that, or was he too much of a gentleman to bring it up in public?

Taking matters into your own hands, you slipped off your right shoe and lifted your leg up until you found his thigh with the ball of your stocking foot. Henry straightened in his seat, nearly choking on a piece of pasta. He grabbed his linen napkin to wipe at an invisible splotch of food at the corner of his mouth while you ran down the inseam of his pants and didn't stop until thigh met groin. 

"Insatiable woman," he whispered.

"Sexy man," you countered.

Henry looked down to see your painted toes encased in nylon, pressing at his groin until he ran the risk of becoming too aroused. He clamped one large hand around your foot, halting you from rubbing at him.

"Hey, now... I have to ask you something. Let's uh... Save the tickle time for home... Or the car," his tone went dreamy.

You gave him your best evil smirk and withdrew your foot only because the premise of him having a question to ask you temporarily stole your attention.

"What is it, Mr. Deaver?"

He shivered slightly, trying to shake off the butterflies hosting a grand waltz in his stomach. "I've been thinking about you lately."

"I certainly hope so," you giggled.

"Not like that. Well... Yes, like that but also in a more professional way."

You were intrigued. Unsure of what he meant, you sipped your wine and listened intently for him to continue. "I know you don't particularly enjoy your job and I can't stand the thought of how people treat you... So I was racking my brain trying to think of some solution. There's school, apprenticeships, night classes... And then I thought of something else."

Henry paused for you to answer but you were caught up in the anxiety of what he might say next. "I'm all ears!" You urged him on.

"My assistant is going on maternity leave soon..."

"Oh... My god."

"Don't jump yet... Just listen. She's going on maternity leave for a few months and I need to find someone to replace her. She's had no time to train a stand-in, so I've been charged with hiring somebody that I think would fit the slot."

"Henry..."

"Let me finish," he raised his hand to quiet you down. "Look... I know it's a dumb, stupid, idiotic idea but I can't think of anyone better to fill the position than you."

"I don't know the first thing about being an assistant," you claimed.

"You know your way around a computer, yes?"

"Of course."

"And you can work a cell phone, I've gathered. You can write, you know... And read. All qualifying traits," Henry chuckled. "It's really just a glorified secretary job. Only... You get to travel with me and... Book my hotels, flights, dinners, lunches... set up my appointments, take my calls when I'm busy."

"Henry, that is absolutely ludicrous."

"I know," his eyes brimmed, and for a moment he looked like a vibrant young man that had just fallen in love. "It's really stupid! But... God, I just want you around me and I don't want to think of you making half of the minimum wage at a job where people don't even thank you."

"But an assistant? That's really playing with fire."

"Look... You don't have to say yes or no just yet. Have some time to think about it. She's not leaving for another couple of weeks. And if you still hate the idea then I'll find you something else."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why are you doing this?"

"I told you... I don't want you working in the café anymore. You're too good for that."

"What about—?"

"I'm taking care of everything."

"Maybe you should take care of your own business before you try taking care of mine," you looked down at his ringless hand.

"What do you think I'm in the process of doing?"

"I don't know," you admitted.

"As far as I'm concerned... We're separated. My business is my own. I can have dinner with whomever I want... Hire whomever I want. It doesn't matter anymore."

"Does she know that you're going around telling everyone that you're separated or is that just what you're saying to me?"

Henry withdrew into his seat, grimacing at you for the gentle accusation. It was to be expected. Your incredulity was not unwarranted and he knew that. With a sigh, he lifted his tumbler and sipped his whiskey slow.

"Nobody knows yet. It's not really something you can just casually bring up in the office."

"That's why we're in another city having dinner at a place that's nearly impossible to get a reservation for, isn't it? You haven't told anybody."

"Do I need to?"

"I guess not if you're still worried," you grumbled.

"Hey... Come on. This is all still very fresh. It's not like I'm going to parade through the streets telling people that my marriage failed and I've already fallen for somebody else."

The last part of his statement made your heart clench tightly in your chest. He had fallen for you. And now he wanted you by his side to oversee his day to day proceedings. It was a roundabout way of him saying something that he wasn't sure if he could say yet. Suddenly your skepticism faded and you chose to look at the endearing side of his offer.

"I hate you," you said with a wry smirk.

"If you hate me so much then why don't you put your foot back in my lap and try to get me hard again?"

"Yes, sir."

[thedeevirus]

JEALOUS EDWARD NYGMA

yallsothirstyfored said:Annoying things they do to get each other’s attention when they are busy or interested by something else and they crave for attention.

Enjoy!

Also added to Nygmobblepot Ficlets on AO3

***

‘Evening’.

Henry smiled widely. First rule of The Foxglove; Always be happy to see the customer. Or at least their wallet. In this case, Henry didn’t have to pretend. The man on the bed was dressed in a green suit with dark, chocolate brown eyes and one lean, long leg draped over the other. Far more attractive than the obese sixty five year old widow he had been ‘entertaining’ the night before.

‘Evening handsome’, Henry replied, walking towards his client, ‘What can I do for-‘

The door slammed behind him, making Henry jump. He swallowed hard as a large, waxen skinned figure loomed over him. Even as he began to sweat, he wondered how the pasty brute had hidden behind the door!

‘I-uh- I don’t usually see more than one cl-client’, Henry stammered.

The massive hulk advanced on him, causing Henry to fall backwards into an armchair. He pressed himself back as the monster (it didn’t feel right to refer to it as a ‘man’) glowered down at him with bloodshot eyes. A musky odour rose from its tattered black suit.He noticed the other man get up from the bed.

‘We’re just here to ask some questions’, the man said breezily, ‘But I suggest you answer quickly. “Else Grundy here will get cranky’.

Grundy moved around the armchair and placed both slab like hands on Henry’s shoulders. Henry cleared his throat.

‘Talk about what?’

‘Penguin’.

‘Penguins? Like the birds?’

The man in green leant in and even though he was smiling, Henry suddenly wasn’t sure Grundy was the one he should be most worried about.

‘Here’s a riddle for you. In the next five seconds there will be a dead man in this room if he keeps asking stupid questions. What is his name?’

‘H-Henry?’

‘The Henry that has Oswald Cobblepot aka ‘The Penguin’ as a regular client?’

‘Yeah?’

‘You don’t sound very sure’, the man smirked as he stepped back, ‘Jog his memory big guy’.

Ed grinned in relish as Grundy began to exert pressure on Henry’s shoulders. Having his own ‘hired goon’ was a rush he could get used to!

Grundy shook Henry gently. Ed had already warned Grundy not to get carried away until they had the information they wanted.‘Ah! I’m sure! I’m sure!’ Henry cried desperately, teeth clacking as he was lifted bodily out of the chair and slammed back down again and again.

‘You not Henry?’ Grundy demanded.

‘I’m Henry too! I’m Henry and I’m sure!’

Grundy looked at Ed. Ed nodded and Grundy stopped abruptly. As Henry shook his head dizzily, Grundy slowly released his grip. Henry flopped back into the chair. His eyes widened as Grundy placed both hands on the head of the armchair instead, at either side of Henry’s skull.

‘What do you wanna know?!’ Henry gasped.

‘When did Oswald first hire you?’

‘A few years ago’, Henry said, wincing as he hesitantly rubbed his shoulders, ‘When he was mayor’.

This surprised Ed. He had been in total control of Oswald’s schedule back then. Every moment had been accounted for and he had rarely left Oswald’s side. It was what had made him an exceptional Chief of Staff.The thought that Oswald had subverted his fool proof system by sneaking off behind his back irked Ed. Had he not trusted him to tell him where he was going?Ed shook his head annoyed. Why the Hell did it matter? It was ancient history. But ancient history was, by nature, full of mysteries and Ed couldn’t stand to leave this one unsolved.

‘Why?’

‘He said he wanted to tell someone how he felt about them and wanted to practice’.

Ed fidgeted with his gloves. Oswald had started coming to The Foxglove because of him?

‘You didn’t think that was strange?’ he asked.

Henry shrugged.

‘No. We get weird requests all the time here. He also wanted to practice kissing’.

Ed gave a bark of laughter. Bet Oswald thought that had been money well spent.

‘And what do you do for him now?’ Ed asked, feeling a bit better that Oswald had been the death of his own carefully planned machinations, ‘Please don’t include any intimate details. I’m not sure Grundy’s charming childlike innocence could handle the imagery’.

Henry chuckled politely at Ed’s joke. Grundy gave a low growl and he stopped.

‘Nothing really’, Henry said.

‘You expect me to believe that?’

‘It’s true!’ Henry said hastily, ‘I don’t need to leave out any details ‘cause we don’t do anything ‘intimate’’.

‘Then why does he come here?’ Ed demanded.

‘Sometimes he asks me to kiss him, hold him or massage his bad leg but we mostly just talk’.

‘About?’

‘Mostly about how he’s making the city better’.

‘I bet he talks about that a lot’, Ed said sourly.Oswald’s favourite subject had always been himself.

‘It’s actually really interesting!’ Henry said somewhat defensively, ‘Do you know crime’s dropped 85% since Oswald invented the licence thing?’

‘Of course I know!’Henry flinched at Ed’s harsh tone and Ed adjusted his glasses self-consciously.‘Continue’, Ed said, fingers drumming on a nearby table.

‘Honestly, it’s hard to keep track since we kinda talk about everything. Music, art, theatre, his mother…’

Henry trailed off, thinking.

‘He never mentions anyone else?’

‘He talks about an old friend called ‘Jim’ sometimes. Is that you?’

‘I’m the Riddler. I ask the questions here’.

Ed felt a flash of vindication as recognition materialised in Henry’s eyes. It felt good to see his reputation hadn’t been put on ice like he had been.

‘Sorry Mr Riddler’.

‘What does he say about Jim?’

‘That he wishes they were on the same side. I think Jim’s a cop though so that makes it kinda difficult for them to be friends’.

‘If you think Penguin knows what friendship means then you’re a moron’, Ed said darkly.

‘Maybe’, Henry said thoughtfully, ‘I know people call Oswald a monster but he’s always been a perfect gentleman with me. I think he’s a very lonely man’.

‘It sounds like you feel sorry for him’.

‘I just think it’s sad he needs to pay money just to have someone to talk to. He seemed a bit happier at our last appointment though so maybe he’s found someone?’

Ed felt his eye twitch involuntarily. Oswald? Find someone?!Henry’s familiarity was also bothering him. Since when did Oswald let rubes like this moron call him by his first name?!

‘So there’s nothing else between you and Oswald?’

‘Of course not. I’m a professional’.

Ed bit back a curse. The whole reason they had come to The Foxglove was to gather ammunition for Ed’s ultimate revenge against Oswald. One of Ed’s spies had told him the Penguin used the facilities weekly and had a ‘favourite’ host. Ed had overestimated Oswald’s attachment and cursed his impaired mental state. Yet another crime to lay at Oswald’s doorstep.

‘Well this is a bust’, Ed growled.

‘I’ll make sure you’re refunded for the session? if that’ll make things better?’

‘You actually think we’re paying for this?’

‘Guess not’.

‘You look glum for someone who’s still got all his limbs’, Ed said, heading for the door, ‘Say anything about this little visit to Oswald and Grundy might change his mind’.

‘Wait!’ Henry said suddenly.

‘What?!’ Ed snapped, hand on the doorknob.

‘If you’re really The Riddler, I have a message for you from Oswald’.

‘Wait, Oswald knew I was coming here?’ Ed asked.

Suddenly Ed saw an image of the new coat his usually shabby Narrows informant had been wearing when he had given him the information earlier that day. Bait at the end of Oswald’s hook. Ed gritted his teeth. He should have noticed that! The old him would have noticed that! The pleasant memory of the sudden recognition in Henry’s eyes also became bitter ashes. So, he only knew Ed’s name because Oswald had told him in anticipation of Ed following the trail. Not because Ed’s fame preceded him.

Ed numbly watched Henry pull on a green jacket and a derby hat along with some reading glasses, too furious at having fallen for Oswald’s bait to do anything else. Too nervous at what was coming next.

Henry spun on his heel dramatically and Ed’s eyes widened. It was like looking in a mirror and somehow more disquieting than the dread Ed usually felt looking at his actual reflection. With props identical to Ed’s own effects, the similarity was astonishing. Even Grundy could see the resemblance, judging from how his head was ponderously swivelling between he and Henry.

‘Riddle me this!’ Henry declared, striking a flamboyant pose as he read from a cue card, ’They say “If you love something let it go. But if it keeps coming back who does it belong to?”’

Ed was silent.The impression had been startlingly accurate.Oswald had obviously intended it as a cruel jab. A reflection of who Ed had once been. Who he should be. Forgotten glory that he would never experience again.Instead, inspiration had struck like lightning.Two could play at this game.But Ed preferred an audience.

‘I-uh don’t think you’re supposed to answer’, Henry said, turning the card over to show the blank opposite side, ‘There isn’t one on this’.

Ed shook his head, chuckling to himself.

‘No. I think I got the answer just fine. You wear this getup often?’

Henry’s eyes darted away and Ed’s eyes narrowed.

So, it seemed Henry hadn’t been entirely truthful about the ‘intimate’ details.Ed blinked hard to dispel and unwanted image of Oswald in a tuxedo, stroking a top hat suggestively.This had the strange side effect of conjuring another memory.Isabella.Was Oswald trying to replace his first love? Or was it just another subtle insult at Ed? Look Oswald can have a second chance too!If it was the former, it was ridiculous! What Ed and Isabella had had was special! It didn’t matter if Oswald had apparently known this Henry for longer! Ed and Isabella’s short courtship had been Oswald’s fault!But then, why did the thought of Oswald using Henry as a petty insult make him so angry instead of it being Oswald genuinely missing him?! Ed did not miss Oswald. He hated him! That was the whole reason they were here; to get ammunition!Ed’s thoughts were so frantic and mixed up that it took him a few minutes to notice Henry babbling placatingly.

‘L-like I said, whatever’s going on between you two, my relationship with Oswald is strictly business and um, if you like, I mean, you have booked me for the hour, we could have some fun of our own?’

Ed glared at Henry as Henry blithely continued digging his own grave.

‘We could make it even? So, you know, there’s no need for anyone to be…. jealous?’

Ed smiled poisonously.

‘There’s no need for you to be conscious’.

Grundy’s large fist descended, squashing Henry’s derby hat flat. He crumpled into an insensate heap on the floor.

Ed considered killing him but decided against it in the same instant. Killing him would surely signal to Oswald that his little pantomime had gotten under Ed’s skin. Ed grinned in relish as he pictured Oswald’s reaction to the little show he was forming in his own head. How delicious that Oswald had given him the idea! Even better was the thought that Oswald would figure that out.

Let Oswald have his dress up doll. Oswald hadn’t known Ed would come here. He had hoped. He was so obsessed with Ed it was pathetic!He’d never have the real thing. Not even if he came begging on his knees for forgiveness. Looking up at Ed with tears in his green eyes, grasping his jacket, pleading. The ‘King of Gotham’ on his knees. Had he ever been on his knees in front of Henry? Did he act out his fantasises in this very room?Longing and lusting for Ed. Desperate for his love. His attention.Ed felt his cheeks reddening and inhaled slowly.He noticed Grundy looking at him, brow furrowed in concern.

‘Ed okay?’

‘Best I’ve felt in days’, Ed said cheerily, pushing the worryingly erotic images to the back of his mind.

Grundy smiled, reassured that his friend was feeling better and jabbed a thick thumb behind him.

‘Window?’ Grundy suggested.

Ed stepped over Henry and glanced outside, surveying the alley below.

‘Good thinking buddy. Meet you outside’.

Ed headed for the door as Grundy prepared to relocate Henry’s unconscious body. He glanced back over his shoulder as he opened it.

‘Don’t try too hard to aim for the dumpster down there’, he said.

[hellimagines]

Fake Characters -- Patrick Hockstetter

*My masterlist link can be found in my blog description*

Request: "Patrick headcanons for him having a girlfriend who's really preppy and innocent until he finds out one night how demented she actually is and she's actually crazier than him and his heart Z O O M S" - @saea

Summary: Patrick gets assigned to a project with you, and slowly finds himself trying to pick you apart.

Warnings: explicit drug use (cocaine), light sexual themes, blood, violence, and lowkey murder

Pairing: Patrick Hockstetter x fem!reader

Word Count: 5,700+

A/N: I'm sorry this is so late, but honestly, are we surprised? Anyways, this isn't how I usually write things, it's a really long imagine rather than HC's, and it doesn't follow the request entirely (sorry lmao). Also, we don't do Consistent Tenses in This House and we're not gonna talk about the ending. Enjoy lmfao

Patrick Hockstetter didn't care much for you or your 'type'. He, as well as the rest of the Bowers Gang, had a tendency to steer clear of the preps and the populars: too much attention and too much hassle in the long run. He liked the girls (and the occasional boy) who were quiet, kept to themselves, and wouldn't be noticed if something were to... go wrong. So, when Patrick decided to randomly show up for his AP Lit class one day (a class he didn't belong in but was in anyway), he instantly regretted it. — Only a few seconds into class and the teacher had already set his demeaning eyes upon Patrick, an eyebrow arched in distaste. "So glad you decided to show, Mr. Hockstetter," he says, walking to stand in front of Patrick's desk. "Today's the beginning of our new read, and we'll be doing the project in pairs."

Patrick doesn't care at first, he figures he'll be stuck with one of the nerds in the front, trembling in their seats with sweat dripping from their forehead. He typically manages to scare them into doing the work for him if the project that's being assigned doesn't interest him.

"Mr. Hockstetter, you'll be working alongside Ms. (Y/L/N) for this project."

Patrick wants to slit the teacher's throat then and there. He knows he can't get away with threatening you to do all the work; you have too many friends and too many allies willing to make his life difficult if he fucks you over. It's only when you saunter up to him, slamming a copy of The Odyssey onto his desk (Patrick swears he chokes on the dust), does he really know he's fucked.

Despite your harsh actions, you're staring down at him with a gentle, yet anxious, gaze. "My parents are gonna be at a banquet tonight. So, we'll start on the project at my house, five o'clock. Don't be late, Hockstetter- I'm not doing this on my own," you sigh, nervously tugging at the bottom of your sweater (nervous of him or the thought of doing the project on your own, Patrick isn't sure).

"Yeah, whatever." Is all he offers you before he's snatching the book off his desk and leaving the classroom, the teacher shouting loudly behind him as he goes. — When Henry finds out Patrick is going to be spending the majority of the month in class and alongside you, he isn't happy about it. Before Patrick can even begin to justify his reasoning or explain that he'd still be around, the ash-blond git is tackling him to the ground. Patrick's unlit cigarette flies out of his hand as he's slammed to the asphalt, but he doesn't have time to grieve its loss. Henry instantly begins to pummel away at his back, trying to smash Patrick's face into the street beneath him, effectively tearing up the taller boy's face, arms, and upper body. Patrick lays there, complacent, for a few seconds, before violently jerking his body and throwing Henry off of him. Vic and Belch stand beside Amy, watching with worried eyes as the dominant teens fight out their frustrations. It takes a while, but soon enough their fists are bruised and their mouths are bloody, both of them kneeling over as they gasp for breath.

"I'll still be around you winy piece of shit. I've just gotta handle this crap."

"Fuck you." — Patrick shows up at your house at exactly 5 o'clock, blood staining his shirt, and a cigarette hanging from his busted lip. His face is destroyed, to say the least: covered in scratches, bruises, and dry blood. The rest of him doesn't look any better.

You squint at him, "Please don't get blood on my carpet." Before leading him to your room, refusing to ask any questions or offer any medical attention. He's not your problem.

Patrick is only slightly suspicious that you don't question his injuries or tell him to put out the cigarette, but he shrugs it off and obediently follows you to your room. Your house is large and sparkling clean- the kind of clean that makes it seem unlived in, and Patrick feels wrong calling it a 'home'. But once he gets to your room, he can only shake his head with a quiet chuckle at the sudden contrast- your room is clearly not like the rest of the house. Patrick shuts the door behind him and lets his backpack thud to the ground, before turning to find you unexpectedly holding out a dish to him. It's stained grey due to all the ash inside and is littered with used cigarette buds. Patrick raises an eyebrow but accepts it without question, slumping himself into your desk chair while you sit on your bed.

You instantly begin digging around in your backpack for the materials needed for the project, and Patrick takes the chance to look around and further judge your room. Crystal-white Christmas lights are hanging up, bordering your ceiling and illuminating the room in bright, unnatural light. You have pictures of your friends, family vacations, cheer meets, and other mindless things scattered along your walls. Posters of people Patrick doesn't recognize are pinned in random areas as if you didn't care where they were placed. Your bed is made and void of any debris (probably the only thing that resembles the rest of the house) but your floor is scattered with clothes, school books, pencils, and a water bottle here and there. Patrick isn't surprised to find your room has character, but he doesn't entirely believe it's your character being shown.

"How long are you planning on staying?" you ask, causing Patrick's eyes to zip back to you and away from his surroundings. You're staring at him with attentive (e/c) eyes, waiting for an answer as you tap your fingers against the books in your lap.

"Dunno. 'Til you kick me out 'suppose," he shrugs, leaning back into the chair with a bored expression. He'd forgotten all about his cigarette during his wonder-filled daze, so he takes a long drag after speaking- not missing the way your eyes linger on the filter caught between his lips.

Your voice is soft, "Won't your parents want you home?"

Patrick's smirking now, "Nah. Didn't come home for a few weeks once and they didn't blink an eye when I finally walked in the door lookin' like the personification of Hell."

"Where'd you go?"

"Sewers."

You seem to take the hint and drop the conversation, rolling your eyes at his bluntness while tossing your backpack to the side. "My parents won't be home until tomorrow. You can stay if you want."

"You askin' me to sleep with you, babe?" Patrick takes immense satisfaction in the way your cheeks flush and your eyebrows furrow, your mouth gaping for a retort.

The books in your lap nearly slide to the floor due to your sputtering. "No! I'm trying to be friendly!" you shout, incredulously.

Patrick shakes his head and flicks his cigarette against the ashtray. "Don't need a friend. I need to get this fucking project done so Henry gets off my damn ass." He takes another long drag after that, eyeing you over the orange glow of his cigarette as his fingers subconsciously run along a cut on his jaw.

Your eyes scan over his injuries once more, as something seems to click inside your head. "Just because Bowers doesn't care 'bout school doesn't mean you have to follow."

Patricks scoffs on his exhale, narrowing his eyes when you don't move away from the smoke. "Don't need a therapist either, babe." He's met with an eye roll, but you leave the conversation alone. Patricks likes the way you don't prod at things that he clearly doesn't want being picked at. You begin to explain the details of the project that Patrick had missed after he had left class, your voice free of scorn or annoyance. He doesn't know what your angle is yet, but he feels like you should be yelling at him by now. Instead, your voice is almost... understanding.

"Mr. Higgins said it's due March 14th. So... about six weeks. Plenty of time," you finish, handing him the paper with all the rules, materials, and extra crap for the project. Reading the book, analyzing it, putting together a poster (and stealing the materials), working out a presentation, plus all the in-class work wasn't gonna be as quick as he hoped. He had to work at the same pace as the class, which was something that made his jaw tense and his fingers squeeze the cigarette to the point it almost broke. Henry was gonna kick his ass. Again.

"I don't wanna waste six weeks on this crap. I can get it done in four- on my own," he growls, taking a quick puff of the cigarette before angrily putting it out (he didn't need it accidentally dropping on your carpet from his anger).

"That's not how projects work, Hockstetter," you sigh, voice annoyingly patient. "I can get it done that quick, too. But then we'd be bored the remaining three weeks. A handful of coked-out all-nighters isn't worth that. Besides, we have the work to do in class, and if we read ahead or any of that, it'll mess shit up."

Patrick practically perks up like a dog. "You use?"

Your breath hitches and your eyes widen. "What? No, what makes you say that?" You speak too quickly and once again, your hands are fumbling with your sweater. A nervous habit, Patrick notices.

"Firstly, babe, you're a terrible liar. I never said what you use. Secondly, people wouldn't say a 'coked-out all-nighter'. A simple 'all-nighter', or some caffeine related shit would've done the trick," he smirks, leaning forward to stare you down. He had known there was something about you the second you had opened the front door, and now he had you trapped, ready to find out everything.   "It's just a saying, I didn't mean anything by it," you stumble, (e/c) eyes searching his murky ones in a panic.

Patrick shakes his head in false pitty. "Relax. I'm not gonna tell anyone," he scoffs, leaning back in your chair and kicking his boot-clad feet up onto your desk.

Your body slouches in relief and Patrick's smirk widens, watching as you busy yourself with handing him sheets of paper and a pen, trying to seem nonchalant. You weren't who you claimed to be, and Patrick was gonna figure out your real character. The universe was challenging him, and boy did he love a good challenge- especially a cute one. — As the week wore on, Patrick found himself spending more and more time at your house and beside you in class. You two were sometimes seen outside of class, but not often, silently agreeing to keep your two worlds separate. Patrick didn't want Henry baring down on you and being an ass, and you didn't want your clique scrutinizing and sticking their noses up at Patrick. Henry and the boys were getting bitchy about his absence, sure, but he had a job to do and he wasn't gonna let Bowers' profound jealousy fuck it up.

It was roughly a week and a half into the project when Patrick became tired of trying to manipulate and coax secrets out of you. You seemed immune to his words and his tricks, and after your last slip up you had become tight-lipped, refusing to see that satisfied smirk on Patrick's face again. So, becoming fed up with your soft words and nervous fiddling, he nabbed a hundred from his mom's wallet and had Belch drive him out to Augusta. He was going to get you to admit your imperfections no matter what it cost him (or his mom).

Your filthy rich parents are always gone because of work and socialite activities, leaving you home alone constantly, and to your own devices. Meaning, Patrick isn't suspicious anymore when you allow him to smoke inside your house or when you don't question his bloodied body being dragged through your doors. Today's no different.

After Patrick knocks on your front door, you lead him through your house, speaking nonsense to him about your day, despite Patrick's obvious disinterest (he's got other things on his mind). Once you've brought him to your room and he's shut the door, he can't hold back the wicked smirk from his face any longer. Patrick's quick to pull a cigarette from his pack and extend his arm, catching your attention, succeeding in shutting you up. He isn't stupid, he knows you smoke but have refrained from doing so around him (and others no doubt). But the way your eyes widen and a slight gasp leaves your mouth is priceless. It takes you a good 30 seconds of flicking your eyes back and forth, from him to the cig, before you're snatching it out of his hand with a shaky breath. You have it in your mouth without realizing what you've admitted to, but Patrick can tell you don't care as you furiously pat yourself down in search of a lighter.

"Here." Patrick snaps open a silver zippo, the flame flickering against the cigarette, as you instantly inhale, making sure it catches. Satisfied with himself, he kicks off his shoes and tosses his backpack on the bed before throwing himself beside it, getting comfortable. You stand in front of him, anxiously smoking, while looking anywhere but him.

"Why didn't you say anything?" you ask after a few minutes, the cigarette beginning to dwindle down between your fingers.

"Why'd you try and hide it?" Patrick shoots back, raising a challenging eyebrow.

"If anybody found out I smoked, I'd be kicked off the team. Everyone else does it, yeah, and the fucking captain does it, but I got on the team because the other chick... got in an accident. I can't risk anything." Your voice is shaking again, and now Patrick has another fucking secret to discover.

"An accident?" he asks, fingers twitching at your words while his eyes roam over your tense body. "Yes." Your answer is short and your eyes are narrowed, lip curled in an unconscious snarl. Patrick grins wickedly but says nothing more as you hastily put out the cigarette and collapse beside him on the bed.

He can't help himself, "What other secrets you hidin' from me, babe?" he hums, tugging on a strand of your hair, making you whimper in shock.

"Nothing, Hockstetter. Let's just get this project done," you growl, shoving his hand away from your silky hair.

'Nothing my ass', Patrick thinks, although proud of your sudden hostility.

The two of you work without incident for the next few hours, Patrick waiting patiently for his time to strike. He's sure he resembles a viper or a panther or a wolf or some other threatening animal ready to pounce, but you don't look the least bit threatened. You simply refocus his attention every few minutes, scold him when he's being an ass, and make sure things are getting done. He's getting tired and beginning to think his moment is never going to come; but when you yawn around 9:30, Patrick practically shouts in victory.

"Tired, babe?" he says, voice surprisingly smooth for the way his eyes light up and his fingers twitch.

"Not your babe," you hum, refusing to answer his question.

"You always could be." You answer with another yawn, turning your head so he can't see you proving his point. "Let's pull an all-nighter, hm? Just this once," Patrick knows it won't be just this once, "and then you can get your well-deserved break from me. We can get a few days, possibly a week, worth of shit done tonight, and you'll be free to be with your friends again."

The way you look at him, your lip tucked between your teeth and your eyes so soft, Patrick knows he has you before you do.

"What makes you think I wanna get rid of you, Hockstetter?" Or maybe you have him.

Patrick doesn't let his shock show though, and only shakes his head with a chuckle. "C'mon, babe. I'm constantly trailing blood in here, messin' up your sheets and your homework, and keepin' ya from your friends and your pretty little cheer uniform. I know that short skirt misses you almost as much as I miss it," he purrs, running the back of his knuckle over your cheekbone.

Patrick doesn't care about any of that stuff (save the skirt), and he knows you don't either. He sees the way you roll your eyes when you get phone call after phone call from your friends, begging you to hang out. The way you clench your fists when you hang up the phone, before turning and smiling at him brightly. He sees the way your eyes linger on his fresh cuts and bruises, and how you purposefully run your fingers over his damaged knuckles when handing him something. Your eyes and touches filled with longing. He knows you haven't washed your sheets in the week and a half he's been over, messing them up to piss you off. He knows they smell (reak) of him: cigarette smoke, blood, stolen cologne, and chaos. He knows how your cheer uniform is tossed carelessly in your room, not minding if it gets dirty or ruined, whereas you have a hidden leather jacket hanging up in your closet, void of any injury and no doubt in pristine condition.

You haven't told Patrick any of these things, but he knows.

You don't flinch away from his knuckle as it's run along your cheekbone, instead, you sigh softly, causing Patrick to smirk in victory. There's a war going on inside your head, he can tell, but as long as he wins, he doesn't care what you're thinking.

Finally, you nod, "Yeah, alright. I'll go grab some snacks and coffee-"

"Won't need that, babe."

It takes you a minute to process his interruption and it's meaning, but he grins once it hits you. "Patrick, you didn't!" you cry, and he doesn't admit how the sound of his name being spat out of your mouth turns him on (even if he has to shift on the bed to hide his hard-on).

"Sure did."

He reaches into his backpack (the one he brings to school and now he's laughing at the horror on your face) and pulls out a tiny bag of cocaine stored inside a CD case. He fishes out a dollar bill and a credit card (that is definitely not his) from his pocket before plopping the items in front of you. You don't say anything for a few minutes, and Patrick doesn't push. But, he does begin emptying out the coke onto the case and using the card to cut it up. You watch him quietly, the horror fading slowly as the powder becomes thinner and a few lines are formed.

"Bills have germs," you finally speak, and Patrick almost scoffs, but stops himself in the name of money.

"That so, babe? You got a straw then?" he asks, knowing damn well you more-than-likely do. You wouldn't have said something if you didn't. He watches you get up and walk to your underwear drawer, where you dig around for a second before pulling out a ziplock bag. Inside he can see tiny bags of blow, straws, cards, and other crap he can't make out.

"You have a fucking cocaine kit?" His voice is full of judgment, but he's shifting his hips against the bed, his cock aching, knowing you're too busy pulling out two straws to notice. You don't answer him, but you do hold up a middle finger before you return to the bed. Patrick's already cut up four thick lines and is grinning wildly at you, impatiently flicking the card between his fingers.

He nods to the straws, "Better?" He's smirking now and all you do is roll your eyes while tying your hair up into a ponytail.

Before Patrick can blink or offer any more witty remarks, you're bending over the case and snorting all four fucking lines in one fucking go and Patrick nearly chokes on his own goddamn tongue and practically cums on the spot. Two of those rails were meant for him, and he's pretty sure he poured out a little less than a half onto that case, but fuck, he's not gonna scold you. You seem to know what the fuck you're doing, and he's not the babysitter type anyways. When you pull back, fingers covering your nostrils and inhaling deeply, Patrick can't keep the smile off his face and the hearts out of his eyes (but if anyone asks they weren't hearts bc that's just not how he rolls).

"You're fucking staring, Patrick," you grumble, voice weak and airy from holding your breath.

"Yeah, because that was fucking hot and not what I expected. Granted, you took my lines, but whatever," he mumbles, still staring up at you in awe.

You look down at him when he says that, eyes wide in shock. "Oh fuck, my bad."

"So many secrets," Patrick's snickers, before busying himself with pouring out and cutting up his own lines (exact same as yours because he'll be damned if he lets you one-up him in his own fucking game). You hand him his own straw, but Patrick simply grins before snatching the one you had just used out of your hand. You shout in protest, but it's too late, he's already bent over and snorting the case clean. Patrick lifts his head with a dopey grin, sniffing noisily as you glare at him. Both of you split the residue on the case, silently rubbing it against your gums before Patrick shifts himself to lean against your pillows. You follow suit, instinctively laying beside him with a satisfied hum. Patrick had managed to not only unlock two of your secrets, but he also got you to perform them, and the thought caused his fingers to jump at his side, his grin spreading. Plus, he had also found another secret in need of unlocking, just waiting to be heard and discovered.

"What're you so happy about?" you sigh, your words rushed and airy as you turn on your side to stare at him. Patrick copies your position, allowing his fingers to run over the side of your face once more.

"Finally cracking you open, (Y/N)."

"Sure, Patrick," you laugh, and Patrick's eyes flutter shut at the sound.

The next few hours are spent contently working on the project, with the frequent bump and line to push you guys forward. As Friday night begins to turn into Saturday morning, Patrick finds himself melting into your bed and no longer wanting to pick up The Odyssey or anything else for that matter. He can feel you curled up against his back, the book tucked into your arms as your eyes scan the words lazily; he's sure none of the information is registering with you and you'll have to re-read most of it in the morning, but you don't seem to care. The coke had been put away roughly two hours ago, nearly three, and Patrick was trying his best to disregard the comedown washing over him in waves. 

"We should try and sleep," you finally declare, noticing the soft, warm light beginning to peak into your room from your curtains. It wasn't going to be easy to fall asleep, but it was a decent option with your current states.

Patrick only grunts, not wanting to have to walk home with his heart racing the way it is and his throat aching. His limbs feel like Jell-O and his eyes burn, but once you remove yourself from his side, he forces himself to sit up. As he begins to sluggishly slip on his shoes, your hand on his shoulder stops him, and he looks up to see you pouting.

"The fuck you poutin' for, babe?" he sighs, turning back to his shoes.

"Stay, Patrick. You've been up all night and you're dealing with a come-down. Besides, I don't wanna be alone."

Patrick is positive you don't care about being alone, but your pouty lips and tug on his shirt magically coax him back into your bed before he can realize it. He slithers under the covers with you beside him, tensing up when you bury yourself into his side. He wants to push you off, tell you to go fuck yourself and hug your pillow, but he doesn't. Instead, he drapes an arm over your body, loose and hanging, and lets his eyes slip shut, willing his heart to calm down and his body to sleep. — Patrick and you had managed to achieve a few days worth of work during that night, and Patrick kept up his end of the deal- he didn't bother you at school and never offered a glance your way. But, he could tell his absence was bothering you, and it made his smirk widen each time he caught you looking at him. Patrick didn't show up for class during those few days, purposefully leaving you hanging with the class work, and it only took two days for you to seek him out.

"Patrick!" you shout as he's about to clamber into the Trans Am and speed off to god knows where. Patrick and the boys turn, Henry beginning to stalk forward at the interruption. However, Patrick grabs ahold of his shoulder and yanks him back, waiting for you to continue. "We have more work to do for the project."

'No we don't,' he laughs to himself. Patrick smirks and flicks a dismissive hand at the boys, ignoring their shouts and insults as he walks to your side and throws an arm over your shoulder. "Miss me already?"

"Shut up." -- It's been three weeks and Patrick isn't any closer to figuring out the dubbed Cheer Secret. He gets you to smoke around him constantly, and the two of you go through a few grams when you can afford it, but you don't utter a peep about the chick who had the 'accident'. Sometimes you'll rant about your friends and your family to him, things Patrick doesn't necessarily care about, but he listens to you anyway in hopes of a slip-up. But, no matter how high or drunk you get, that secret stays hidden within you and Patrick is over it. You rile him up in ways nobody else has before, and he wants nothing more than to make you his, but he can't without figuring you out. So, he works out yet another plan, one he isn't sure is even going to work.

Patrick makes sure he gets into another major fight with Henry before going to your house that day. It's a pretty bad fight, one that leaves his lip split, a cut on his eyebrow, gashes on his forehead, cheekbone, and his jaw, and many more hidden injuries beneath his bloody clothes. He knocks on your door, leaning heavily against the doorframe and waits for you to answer. When you do, you're actually shocked at his state- he hasn't looked this bad in weeks, and you can't contain the gasp that falls from your lips.

"Won't get blood on the carpet," Patrick murmurs while stumbling into the house, mindlessly walking into the direction of your room. The fight was more severe than he had predicted, and fuck, was he hoping more than ever his plan would work. Even as blood seeps from his body and his head swims with lost thoughts, Patrick still needed to know your secret.

You follow him into your room and help lower him to your bed. "What happened this time?" you ask, gingerly lifting his shirt up to inspect further damage. Patrick doesn't stop you.

"Henry was bitchin'. Gave 'im a piece o' my mind, and he gave me his. Pretty sure I left 'im bleeding out by the fuckin' river," Patrick slurs, wincing when you press against a cut on his side. Blood drips out at the contact, and you're instantly swiping it away, frowning.

You look up at him, "You just... left him there?"

Patrick nods silently, laying back on the bed with a huff. "Not my problem if he fuckin' dies. He shouldn't have opened his damn mouth." Your grip on his arm tightens, and Patrick sighs quietly. At least you weren't running away. "You gonna rat me out, babe?" he sneers, but even he can tell his voice is void of any true malice.

You scoff, "No, Patrick. I'd be a hypocrite. I have no right to do that- besides, I'd miss you too much."

Patrick laughs before he's coughing and groaning in pain. "Hypocrite, huh? Whatcha hidin' now? Don't wanna die on a cliffhanger," he coughs, lifting himself onto his elbow to try and subdue the pain and look at you better.

"Don't worry about that right now." Is all you say and Patrick is groaning again because 'fuck, I was so fucking close'.

You begin to tug at his shirt, and Patrick complies with letting you take it off. It sticks uncomfortably to his skin, but you eventually manage to peel it away with only a few grunts and hisses of pain. Patrick allows you to spend the next hour tending to his wounds, trying to rethink his plan over and over again. You're gentle and careful with him when all Patrick wants is to uncover your dark and rough side- the side he knows is screaming to be let out. By the time you've finished, Patrick's torso is scattered with bandages, and his face has been thoroughly cleaned and disinfected.

"Don't let this happen again," you say to him while putting away all the supplies you had needed.

Patrick watches you quietly for a minute. "It will. That's how me and Bowers work, if he's still alive. If you've ever been in a fight, or even dealt with the life we do, you'd understand." You still at that, and Patrick smirks.

'There it is.'

"Don't... don't say I haven't lived that life," you whisper slowly, standing up and turning to stare him down.

"How can I not? I don't know a thing about you, babe," Patrick says, resting a hand against his side as he looks up at you.

"I'm on the cheer team, straight-A student, AP classes-"

"Shut the fuck up," Patrick interrupts, scoffing loudly. "I'm not talking about the fake shit, (Y/N). I'm talking about you. The real fucking you. The leather jacket in the closet, the longing for my bruised knuckles, refusing to rid your sheets of my smell, accepting my smokes and my blow- that's the real you. And she's amazing. She's the person I wanna sit in here with, not whoever is looking at me now. So drop the god damn act already." He wasn't supposed to rant and go on a tangent, but once he started he just couldn't stop.

You stare down at him, your (e/c) eyes slowly losing their softness. Something almost akin to relief replaces it, and you collapse next to him with a quiet laugh. "I don't know if I want to cry, scream, or hit you."

Patrick grins, "Why not all of it?"

"Nobody was supposed to find out... ever. All of it was supposed to stay a secret until I got out of this shitty town. I... god, I don't know how you've figured me out in three weeks but I applaud you," you hum, resting your head in your palms. Patrick lets the comfortable silence that follows wash over you for a short while, before growing impatient. "Tell me about the girl." It's not a question or a plea, but a demand. You look over at him, eyebrows furrowed before you sigh in defeat.

"I fucked up."

"We all do. Talk to me." Patrick doesn't like the gentleness of his tone, but he can't do anything about that now.

You take a minute before sitting up straight. "She was the weakest link. I needed on the fucking team for college, and she was my way in. It was the few days of tryouts, and it had come down to me and her, but I could tell they were favoring her. She just... fit right. And I couldn't have that. So... I did what I had to. Lured her to the quarry with the promise of a drug deal, before pushing her over. She died and everyone thought it was suicide. I was let on the team and the rest is history." Your voice didn't waver throughout the story, and at the end, you look up at Patrick with a simple shrug, showing no remorse.

Patrick looks into your eyes for a minute, taking in their apathy, before he strikes. He places his hand against your cheek and pushes you back against the bed, kissing you roughly. You cry out in shock, hands immediately shoving at his chest to push him away.

"I killed someone!" you shout in disbelief, staring up at him with wide eyes.

Patrick smirks, "I know."

Patrick dives back down and kisses you once more, maneuvering his injured body above yours. You whimper quietly in defeat and wrap your arms around his neck, tugging him closer to you. Patrick growls in satisfaction- you're everything he expected you to be, and he couldn't be prouder at having figured you out. Now that you were wrapped around him, literally and figuratively, Patrick wasn't letting you go any time soon.

All Writing Taglist: @teageowen @mads--world @alex--awesome--22 @hxdesworld @frozenhuntress67 @samanthasmileys @simonsaysyasss

Bowers Gang Taglist: @kaitlinlexiexx @darth-stetter @admiralsixx @ssstutteringbbbill @scckzy

[billyboisfangirlarmy]

The Bowers Girl (2)

Previous part

Warnings: swearing/ sexual content

I walk in the door from the night before. I ended up staying with Beverly at her house. I’m pleased I can say I actually have a real friend… a girl one at least!

“(Y/n) where the hell have you been? I waited all fucking night!” Henry’s voice booms throughout the house. His boots making each step he takes unnecessary loud. I put my hands up in confusion. “You told me to stay somewhere else. You guys were camping.” Henry turns red faced. “Yea, we were camping. You were supposed to come with us! Who told you some bullshit like that?” I pointed straight at Patrick who is trying to hold his laughter in.

Henry turns back and glares at his friend. “Who’d you stay with?” I look back at Patrick watching his face move through emotions. “A friend.” I say trying to move past my brother and go up to my room. As I pass him he grabs my arm tightly. “What friend?” “Henry let go.” “Who the fuck did you sleep with you slut?” He yells at me pulling my arm harshly. “NO ONE!” I yell yanking my arm back and running up the stairs.

I throw my bag on the floor and slam myself on my bed in tears. Even when dads not here I still have to deal with Henry. As my tears flow from my eyes knocks on the door become present. “Go away Henry.” I yell stuffing my face back into my pillow.

My door opens and footsteps come to stop at the edge of my bed. “I told you to go away!” I sit up throwing one of my stuffed animals at him, but it doesn’t hit Henry… it hits Patrick.

He picks up the small bear and waves it around. “Aw, how cute.” I roll my eye huffing. “What do you want?” To my surprise he sits on my bed and passes the animal back to me. “He didn’t mean it. He’s still drunk.” “Still doesn’t mean he should do it. I have to deal with dad. I don’t need Henry barking up my tree too.” Patrick shrugs the bag he carries slung loosely on his shoulder. “Just needed an okay, not your life story.” I scoff. “Why’d you even come in here?” “Henry made me.” I cross my arms and lay down again. “Just leave.” Patrick chuckles moving his bag as he stands up. “My pleasure.” His lanky figure disappears past my doorway.

Why is he so mean to me? I’ve never done anything to him, but he acts like the worst person ever. I roll onto my side finding what might be my answer. A notebook. An old heavily drawn notebook with the initials PH on the front. Did he leave this on purpose? I could open it and 20 spiders could come crawling out. Maybe it fell out of his bag while he was sitting down. He would’ve taken it if he knew it was here.

I flip open to the first page with horrified eyes. Could he really be this dark? We all knew Patrick was messed up a bit, but I never imagined it to be to this extent!

I closed my door locking it as well. Then I snuggled up in my covers flipping and reading the pages with my eyes. The deeper I go the more my eyes open as doors and the images and words fill my brain poisoning it.

I woke up to yelling and screaming, and as my eyes open falling on the sight of my white curtain blowing in the wind I see my window open. I didn’t leave my window open. I never do! I reach under my bed and try to find the baseball bat I keep stored away, but alas I found nothing. A jingle of bells ring within my closet followed by a giggle. I stand up and inspect the sight for a few more seconds.

The giggling continues, along with the bells. “Pst. Come on (y/n). Come on and play.” my door pulls open a few inches revealing nothing. Until little feet tap upon the floor.

Tap

Tap

Tap

A 2 foot doll races out of the closet. Her features torn away with each step. Becoming decrepit and molded. The stain dress turns brown and eaten with holes. The giggling continues and the little doll jumps on me.

I scream begging myself to grapple the thing off me. It giggles more and nips its fingers into my skin. The mouth becoming razor sharp and digging into sections of my legs. I scream and cry out for what seems like hours until my door is busted open and my dad comes running in with Henry on his heels. My father rips my arms away from my face. “What the hell are you screaming about?” Henry runs to my other side placing his palm on my cheeks wiping my tears. “T-the doll. It changed and tore my skin. I-It hurt so bad I couldn’t take it. I just-” “What fucking doll. You’re not hurt you fucking liar.” My dad pushed my arms back against my body in one fluid motion. He stumbles out of the room slamming the door shut.

Henry looks at me with sad eyes only I see. “Are you okay?” I examine my body to see my skin in tacked, but the spots burning as if they were really there. I nod my head looking back at my brother. “You just had a bad dream (y/n).” He stands up helping me as well. “The fuck are you doing with your window open?” “I-I.. I must’ve forgot to close it last night.” Henry nods closing it and then walking out.

I waste no time getting dressed and getting out on my bike riding off into town to meet up with my friends. I ride past Patrick’s house allowing myself to let my eyes drift in that direction. He’s in the garage and… working out? Time slows as I pass him. Each curl of his arms the muscles flex and obtain my attention. Right until he meets my eyes. He’s as surprised as I am, but still plasters a smirk on his lips. I shake my head and focus my eyes forward once more.

I make my way to the ice cream shop catching my friends in sight. “Hey guys!” I say happily. “Hey there (Y/n)!” Stan cracks smiling. “What’s cooking good looking?” Richie asks wiggling his eyebrows at me. “Mhh lean in and I’ll tell you.” Richie leans in closer to me, and at the last second I smash his face in his ice cream. “HEY! THAT'S NOT FAIR!” “Aw come on Rich! Don’t hate the player! Hate the game!” I sass at him placing my hands on my hips.

After we all enjoy our ice cream we go riding around the town. As we’re riding through town Beverly stops us. “Come with me.” She says in a rushed tone. As we go to follow her a Blue car breaks right in front of me. Henry looks at me with narrowed eyes. “Get in.” I look back at my friends, but they all nod for me to jjust listen fearful of what couuld happen. I say nothing as I enter the car in the back seat with Victor and Patrick. Henry ordered me to stick by their side the whole day so I wouldn’t be poised by those losers (As he says).

I stay up in my room as the boys spend their time doing god knows what.. My eyes scan over the words scribbled in black inc in the overused notebook.

The way her hair flew in the wind making her appear as an angel. She’s not real. She’s put here in my presence to test me of my strengths. If I fail all I know will blast out in fire and the flames will melt away into the fantasy world. The fake one. Where I have no control of my world.

I killed the squirrel outside my window. Shot it with the paintball gun. It fell all the way to the ground and ceased to breathe once I got down to the ground.

Things like this line the pages line after line. Crud fantasies, and secrents Patrick holds come alive when I read this notebook. The deeper I go the more I learn about the stranger. The more he makes sense to me.

Page 38.

Nothing can compare to the touch of her. The resistance I feel breaks and I cannot strive to do anything but grasp her flesh and bring her close. The intoxication of her scent drives me wild. It did start as a test, now It’s more a mission. Yes, she is the key and the solution to my end, middle, and beginning. Each day I see her I try and make her see. Sending her messages that she’s too incompetent to receive, but I could teach her. Only if she let me touch her sweet smooth skin running along her bones. The blood that runs through her body heating up as I- “(Y/n).” I quickly look up from the notebook to see Henry in the doorway.

“Yeah?” He comes to my bed sitting on the side. “Come down stairs. We need something new. You’re good at creating things out of thin air.” “Um.. thank you?” I laugh at my brother and continue to following him down the steps to the old living room filled with the rest of the Bowers gang members.

“Hey (y/n)!” Belch stands with a red cup in his hands. My eyes move to the vodka sitting on the table. “Drinking? Again?” Henry plops in our old man's recliner sipping from a red cup as well. “No worse than shooting dads gun.” “No better either.” I mumble taking the only seat available which is between Victor and Patrick.

“Goodie two shoes.” Victor laughs as I sit. “I am not! I smoke all the time! How do you think I’m so calm all the time assholes?” Their eyes almost pop out of their heads. “You’re fucking lying!” Henry says leaning in surprised as well. “Henry, brother, do you really think I could live here if I didn’t? Why do you think my door is locked all the time?” Henry shrugs. “Guess I thought you were digging in your hole. Hell if I know! You should’ve shared!” I laugh standing once more and going to my room to retrieve a joint I had rolled not to long ago.

I place myself back on the couch placing the joint between my lips. “Aw shit, do you guys have a lighter?” Seconds later a flame is brought close to my face. I turn to see Patrick with the same look he always gives me. The same useless look, but I see something else hiding in there. Something he’s wanting to say. “Thanks Patrick.” He lights the white rolled paper allowing me to fill up my lunges with the sweet hemp. I exhale and out of the corner of my eye I see Patrick squirm. Not from uncomfortableness, but almost nervous. I turn to him passing him the joint, and he happily accepts making any effort not to touch my skin.

It goes around once, and then twice, and a third time. On the fourth round I speak up in curiosity. “Has anyone here ever done a shotgun?” They laugh as Victor grabs his crotch saying he’s too big to fit.

“No you idiot! It’s when one person forces the smoke into the mouth of another person.” They look around more confused. I sigh and turn to see Patrick looking at me. “Do you wanna try Pat?” He rolls his eyes. “I don’t do little smoke tricks-” “Pussy! If you don’t do it I will!” Victor chimes in from the other side of me. “Fuck it.” Patrick breaths out turing to face me more. “So what do you do? Blow it into my mouth or something?” I laugh taking a separate hit. “No. I’m going to turn the joint backwards so the lit part is in my mouth. Then you put your mouth on the other end and sucks while I blow smoke from my side.”

I place the joint in my mouth and look at Patrick. “Ready?” I try to mumble out. He nods and brings his lips to the J. Our lips are almost touching and my whole face gets hot when I see his eyes.

Patrick POV:

She’s teasing me. She knows it too. I stare at her facial expressions as I let the smoke consumes my lunges. Her eyes are pulling me in. She wants me and I know it. I want her too, but I know if I do she’ll crumble into dust. She’s not real. She’s only another puppet in my game. If she’s real they one day she’ll let me know in the most obvious way. She’ll know, understand, and believe me when I say I am the only real being. Then I won’t be alone.

She pulls away blowing the rest of the smoke out of her mouth onto my face in a sexual manor. Batting her eyelashes laughing as I blow my smoke out feeling the effects take over. She laughs uncontrollably falling over and leaning on me. I internally panic feeling her warmth on mine. I can just imagine feeling up her skin as she clashes with me.

I place my hand on her revealed arm and have to pause for a moment. It’s better than I’ve imagined. She doesn’t bother to move off of me as I began to stroke up and down her silky skin. She only sinks deeper into me drinking from a cup. “The fuck do you think you’re doing Hockstetter?” Henry stands up promptly seeing my hands on his sister. I shrug leaving my hand in its place. “Nothing?” “Get your hands off her.”

She giggles moving further up almost into my lap. “Bug off Henry. I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.” Henry walk over to us in a rage. “(Y/n) get the fuck off. You’re acting like a whore.” “No. I can do whatever I want. I can even do this.” (Y/n) picks up my hand and places my open palm around her breast. My mouth drops open as I feel the flesh covered by the thin tank top.

I squeeze unintentionally making her body slightly arch back into mine. I feel myself getting hard as she moves on top of my lap. Henry becomes raged and pushes her off of me and in her spot on the couch. I grab one of the blankets and place it over my bulge before anyone could see.

(Y/n) stands up, bends down, grabs the bottle of vodka, and turns it up. Once she’s had enough she puts it back in its place. She giggles staggering her way to the steps. “Goodnight boys.” the rest say their goodbyes while I sit and stare at her. She leans herself on the railing smirking. “Goodnight Patrick.” I gulp watching her. “Night.” I state simply. She frowns and walks up the rest of the way to her room.

“Fuck dude! She’s into you bad!” Belch rushes to say. I shake my head taking another swig of my drink again. “She can be into him all she wants. He touches her ever again and I’ll kill him.” Henry threatens me. I roll my eyes over the bullshit excuses. “You can try Bowers.” I try and push off the feeling of nerves away, but am unsuccessful. I only crave more of the touch I got. I only crave her.

(Y/N) POV:

I slam my door shut in anger. Even when I make the moves he doesn’t give a fucking reaction! He’s a fucking emotionless doll! Oh, but I so badly crave his attention, and I have no clue why! His large hand upon my breast gave me a feeling I’ve never had, but know I’ve craved forever. I wanted it so bad, but I didn’t even know. I huff laying on my bed opening the notebook again for my nightly read. If I want him that badly I need to prove it, but how do you prove something to Patrick fucking Hockstetter?

[soldierallen]

Married. 4

Summary: you're in love with Sebastian and you're one of his three best friends however he finds a women be loves and marries her

Warnings: cursing, an argument.

Featuring: Sebastian Stan, Henry Cavill, Alexandra Daddario.

Part 3:

-

She drove to Henry's office, it was only a few miles away from the hotel.

Sebastian turned on music in the car he seemed calmer, happy to be not around her I don't know but that's the vibe I am getting

"You know I've always loved this area" he looked out the window sitting in the passengers side

"Why didn't you buy a house here instead of the suburbs?" Henry had a hotels all over the city but he worked closely only to one, the one in the middle of Times Square on Broadway he had an office in Hell's Kitchen not too far,

"I did what she wanted, not what I wanted i wanted to live right in the middle of everything the lights traffic, all of it" he tried not to feel bad for himself but he did he was never selfish on anything he put everyone else before himself until recently because she taught him to be selfish and non-giving he wasn't like this it was new for her and rest of the boys.

"But we made the right choice" he lied to himself and she knew he was lying..

Henry called "you're on speaker with me and seb" she yelled out

"I'm at the Hilton come here instead of my office" that sneaky bastard!, she tried not to smile but she did

"Okay we'll meet you in a little" they hung up

"What was that about he never goes to the hotel? And this early?" Sebastian said confused "Oh he told me eariler he had business there I guess he's not finished" lie, he was finished he just stood at the hotel so he could catch Alex and her "person" together.

The two friends talked walking down the parking garage and entering the hotel lobby, they went up to the front desk

"Where's Henry Cavill the owner of this joint?" She laughed

"He's not in" a very stuck up voice looking at the screen on her computer rather than looking at Sebastian or y/n the two very confused as to why she was being so mean?. Sebastian got a hold of Henry but he appeared out of nowhere

"Mr Cavill I'm sorry I tried to stall" the women said at the desk, they saw Henry his shirt was untucked a few buttons opened and a shiny substance on his lips...lip gloss Henry nodded being embarrassed that he was caught

"I'm sorry about that" he said he was embarrassed "cougar? your age? Or 19?" She tried to lighten his mood

"That 19 year old was one time she lied she was older she was in a club for god sakes and Why are you dressed like that?" Henry asked she had on red short shorts with white sneakers, a shirt that was stripped up and different colors

"Did you pick out your clothes in the dark? Aw sweetheart" Sebastian said both of the men laughed loudly in the hallways "very funny, are we not going to acknowledge Henry having sex before we got here? And talked to us on the phone whilst being in her? Or just about my outfit??" she said they laughed

"I had sex and you're wearing a bad outfit we all make mistakes" Henry said trying not to break character and laugh "you know what assholes" she started to laugh but soon the sound faded from her throat as she looked in front of her she saw her...

"Don't be so dramatic we're just...playing..with...you" Sebastian said stopping midsenteces to really take a look at the women who had caught his eye

Right in her eye view was... Alex

"Is that ally?" Sebastian said pointing she was in the the dinner area she was there alone.. not for long

"see why she's here?" Henry said trying to look normal when really both Henry and y/n were dying inside ready for the big reveal

"Baby" she screamed loudly disrupting a few people's dinners of course, she ran towards him hugging him tightly Henry and y/n took a look at each other and then continued to look at what was unraveling infront of them.

"What are you doing here!" She smiled, we all knew it was fake except for Sebastian. Henry scratched his jawline ready to hear the excuse "this should be good" he whispered for only y/n to hear

"We came to have lunch with Henry? You told me you were staying the day at the house." His hands on her hips her hands on his neck

"My cousin came in town early and he wanted to spend time with me at his hotel, Henry is this one of you're hotels?" She asked knowing out of all the hotels he picked Henry's.

"Yes" he said short and sweet

"And you- I mean y/n you look well...rested" she said while letting go of seb, y/n rolled her eyes she felt like every time she was with her her eyes rolled so far back they were going to fall out her god damn head

"Where is he?" Sebastian said both of his friends a nervous wreck, I wonder what the devil herself was feeling she thought.

"Hes up in his room I'll call him" she said with a smile calling him

"Hey peter could you come down sebastian's here and he wants to meet you...ahuh Oh yeah?..oh my god of course of course...okay Yeah okay I'll see you in a while hope you feel better"

"No way she's getting away with this!" she whispered underneath her breath Henry nudged her to be quiet

"He's feeling really sick right now i have to get back to him, have fun with your lunch babe." she said with a smile and a kiss to his lips, y/n's stomach twisted from anger this was how she was suppose to get caught he's too fucking blind to see it, she walked away from us with a wave.

y/n Henry looked at each other with such defeat this was their way out, she won.

"Let's go to our seats" Henry said trying to shallow the anger of defeat, they sat at their respected seats ordered and everything "so the guys are throwing me a bachelor's party are you up for it Henry " he asked

"No" Henry said realizing how mad that sounded he had to fix the answer

"The only reason why is because we took that road trip for a week" Henry said

"Which was exhausting" y/n said matter of factly she looked at social media kind of engaging with conversation however she wasn't having it having Alex win with being caught really brought the spirits down, Tom's back in town.. maybe I should see him or something

"I mean the guys arranged it for me I have to go" he was talking about his bigheaded rich friends with the yacts

"Oh so you wanna be with the more expensive friends I see" y/n said making Henry give a nice smile on his face ready for a laugh

"No that's not what I meant" Sebastian said "Yeah we know we don't own yachts or go to fiji every week but who was there when you got black out drunk and threw up all over miss Jameson's front yard" still looking down at her phone texting

"me y/n and Anthony were so DRUNK as well, we had to clean it because Anthony lived next door we didn't want his parents to find out" Henry said laughing with y/n Sebastian laughed to "you're my best friends clearly I love you both but those guys are-" we cut him off midsentece

"Married, yeah we get it single friends left in the dust always" Henry said breaking the bread that sat on the table handing some to y/n She declined

"Come on" Sebastian said getting very defense of his new friends, Henry rolled his eyes clearly knowing Sebastian wasn't having it

"We're just busting your chops relax seb" she said she put her phone on the table gently

"What's on your mind?" Sebastian asked, it was a frequent question with the two.

"Nothing our food is here and I'm hungry" that wasn't the case at all.

the food arriving only minutes later and everyone collectively talked, ate and then Henry needed to get back " want me to drop you off there" y/n said "here's the asshole answer, my driver's outside" Henry said knowing what's coming, Sebastian and y/n made gagging noises "alright alright, I gotta go" he hugged them both he whispered in her ear as he hugged her "you have to tell him sooner or later" she tried to make beileve she didn't hear him. He walked out and them too

"Can you take me home?" He said she nodded, going up the hill to the garage she was swinging the keys around her finger not paying attention to the hill they were walking on the conversation didn't exist it was a nice silence they both got Into the car

"Sebastian I have to tell you something"

"Doll, are you okay? You look nervous what's on your mind"

"I'm fine but I need to tell you something and I can't wait any longer"

Here she goes...

"Seb-" she was cut off by a phone ringing that annoying fucking iPhone ringer pissed her off

"Can you not answer it this is important!" Y/n said getting clearly aggravated

"Its ally I have to something might be wrong" he eagerly was going to press call

"No you don't, Sebastian do not answer that phone!" He answered it anyways not complying to anything she said, she sighed her anger was getting so big in her chest, every time she tried to tell him she interrupted someway or another it's like she had a god damn tracker on her.

She started the car and begin to drive as Sebastian talked on the phone, she thought maybe she could just tell him right now while he's on the phone with her. She drove to his house and he finally hung up she wasn't going to talk to him.

"Doll I'm sorry what did you want to tell me"

"Nothing" she continued to drive looking at the road soley "Please tell me I'm sorry"

She took a turn down his street

"You're home" she drove into his drive way parking waiting for him to get out.

"Y/n please tell me what's on your mind?"

"you know you always gotta fuck it up? we were having such a nice day we had an incredible night together ugh just you're so oblivious to everything it's ridiculous" she exploded finally

"Please tell me what you were going to tell me" he tried his best not to get loud to get his point across

"I asked you to do me one favor don't answer the phone I need to talk to you- you just go ahead on your way and answer the fucking phone!"

"So tell me" He yelled They both got out of her car slamming the doors shut, both of them in front of the car she was furious

"I'm sorry please enlighten me what's so god damn important" his voice raising to meet her voice

"I'm not going to your fucking wedding, you asshole" getting back into the car

he was in shock "y/n wait we need to talk about this Y/N" he screamed her name loudly she got into the car and drove away, he threw his bag on the floor his hands rubbing his face harshly

"Chris" she yelled over the speakers on the call

"Yeah what's wrong"

"I need you"

"I'm on my way"

Tagged: @hiddlestonstansworld @lovely-geek @imcalledflorence @misz-adrii @escapistdreamer-wishfulthinker @someplxce @cuddlesforlashton @coffeebooksandfandom @weasley16 @ilovethewayyourheartbeats @vogueworthy-barnes @xeniarocks @thisismysecrethappyplace

[canchewread]

Editor’s note: once again I’ve been away working on long-ish articles for the main website, having spent parts of the past week adding Part Two and Part Three to my five part series on media retractions, corrections and busted bombshells relating to Russia, since the summer of 2016. Hopefully, I haven’t been away too long but I’ve discovered that separating your informal blog writing from your formal essay writing, does not in fact magically add extra productive hours to your work day - I can only write as much as I can write.

In light of the fact that our beloved Pig Empire is now publicly supporting a slow-motion right wing coup in Venezuela (a coup that the U.S. already tried to kick off at least twice over the past decade and change) - I thought I might take a moment to teach a little bit of history about the historical and ideological underpinnings of US foreign policy as it pertains to developing nations in America’s sphere of influence; which has at various times included the Middle East, Africa, Southeast Asia as well as South and Central America, in the area that is commonly known as “Latin America.”

Today’s quotation comes to you from “The Price of Power: Kissinger in the Nixon White House” by arguably the greatest investigative “war” reporter of our time, Seymour Hersh.

Reading Hersh can be something of an acquired taste; please keep in mind that we’re talking about a guy who has forgotten more than you and I will ever known about cartoon super villains like Richard Nixon and Dick Cheney - the facts and quotations in Hersh’s work tend to come at you fast and heavy, like a raging torrent of righteous accusation from an author who knows the material like a fish knows water and firmly expects you to keep up as you read along. Once you catch the frenetic rhythm of Hersh’s writing however, the rewards for the diligent student of Pig Empire corruption, murder and hypocrisy are immense, and the same is true of “The Price of Power” - a book that functions as Sy’s extremely unauthorized biography of infamous genocidal warmongering freak, former National Security Advisor and U.S. Secretary of State Henry Kissinger.  

The above passage comes from the twenty-first chapter of the voluminous tome, appropriately titled “Chile: Hardball.” Understanding it however, requires a broad stroke grasp of the U.S. relationship with Chile prior to the democratic election of Salvador Allende, a socialist, in 1970. As detailed in this chapter, the U.S. Central Intelligence Agency had been involved in shaping Chilean politics on behalf of both the American government, and powerful U.S corporations with interests in Chile, throughout the mid-1950′s and into the late 1960′s, with an astounding degree of success. Quoting Hersh - “by the mid 1960′s Chile had become widely known in the American intelligence services as one of the CIA’s outstanding success stories. The Agency had managed to penetrate all elements of Chilean government, politics and society...” This included, not coincidentally, helping influence the Chilean elections of 1958 and 1964 towards U.S. puppet, corporation-friendly candidates and against Salvador Allende Gossens, a member of the Socialist Party; we’ll come back to him in a moment.

Economically, the CIA’s control of Chilean politics allowed for the creation of a strongly-pro American corporate paradise with companies like the Chase Manhattan Bank, PepsiCo, International Telephone and Telegraph Company (ITT) and especially Anaconda copper, reaping immense profits at the expense of the Chilean people; who grew more destitute even as conditions for U.S. corporate profit taking grew more favorable. As is common in situations of rising inequity, heartless pillaging and squalid poverty, this phenomenon began to galvanize the Chilean people towards left wing economic redistribution programs and naturally, the already immensely popular Salvador Allende - a situation that terrified corporate America as much or more than it terrified the aggressively anti-Communist U.S government and its covert arm in Chile, the CIA. 

This created a unique problem for the Nixon White House because, while Allende was indeed an avowed socialist and ran on a platform of “land reform, nationalization of major industries, closer relations with socialist and communist countries, and redistribution of income” the reality is that he represented a very different type of left wing leader than the revolutionary communists the U.S. was waging the cold war against in places like the Soviet Union, China and closer to home in Cuba. As the above quotation from Price of Power notes, Allende’s willingness to use Chile’s democratic process and peacefully accept the results of elections opened the door to democratically elected socialist movements in the West, or even the United States itself - a possibility that neither the corporatist Nixon, or the imperialist Kissinger could tolerate; even as the Cold War wound down from the hysteria of the post-WWII period and into the long grinding detente that Nixon and his National Security Advisor would orchestrate.

In the late summer of 1970, during a meeting of the influential 40 Committee, Kissinger is reported to have uttered the now infamous quote “I don’t see why we need to stand by and watch a country go communist due to the irresponsibility of its own people” and thus, the race to destroy Allende was on. Once again, the CIA was tasked with rigging the Chilean elections, this time with the offer of a sizeable war chest from the previously mentioned American corporations. Unfortunately for the Pig Empire however, Allende, running at the head of a newly-formed united leftist coalition, won anyway – immediately sending Nixon into a rage and putting the CIA in the business of ousting the newly-elected government, even before it took office if that was at all possible.

What followed was a three year terrorist campaign of propaganda, violence, false flag incidents, economic sanctions, financial sabotage of the Chilean economy by a massive coalition of western nations (see Nixon’s infamous “make the economy scream” quote), the bugging and surveillance of Chilean diplomats and officials in the United States, assassination attempts and at least two separate, CIA backed coup plots - one of which finally struck home on September 11th 1973, leading to the death of Salvador Allende and the rise of genocidal right wing dictator (and brutally anti-communist western ally) Augusto Pinochet in Chile.

While the CIA-backed 1973 coup and the U.S. government’s long term support of Pinochet (including looking the other way when the dictator order the assassination of former Chilean ambassador to the United States, Orlando Letelier; who was killed with a car bomb on a busy Washington D.C. street) is one of the most heinous crimes in the history of the Pig Empire, for the purposes of our discussion what’s important is to recognize the similarities between the pre-coup situations in early-70′s Chile, and today in Venezuela.

In Chile we see a long-term, concerted plot to maintain American corporate dominance; a plot that spans multiple presidencies, crosses political party lines and involves rigging elections, causing economic devastation and fostering (ultimately successful) coup attempts. In Venezuela, the United States has been trying to bring down the left wing government since at least the 2002 attempted coup against Hugo Chavez, an effort that has involved attempting to interfere with elections, causing economic devastation and fostering (still unsuccessful) coup (and possibly even assassination) attempts. This too is a policy objective that has spanned multiple presidencies (in both countries) and sees the U.S. government backing a violent fascist minority opposition movement against a democratically-elected left wing government they’ve driven into the ground through economic warfare. Both Chile (copper) and Venezuela (oil, preferably traded in petrodollars) have key strategic resources that matter to powerful U.S. corporations and Pig Empire planners. Both countries have been the target of extensive propaganda campaigns in the U.S. media, then and now, designed to justify what is clearly an illegal coup attempt on behalf of western imperialist/capitalist interests.

More important than the operational similarities at work here however, is the matching ideology that underpinned the Nixon White House’s war against Allende and the now decade and a half (at least) long war against the Chavez and Maduro governments in Venezuela. The Pig Empire’s quest to topple the left wing government of Venezuela didn’t begin with Maduro’s supposed corruption, it began when Hugo Chavez decided to use the nation’s vast oil reserves to help the poorest people in Venezuela; oil reserves American corporations could be using to generate enormous profits. We were fostering coup attempts long before the right wing opposition voluntarily boycotted the most recent Venezuelan elections and our media lied every bit as much about Chavez as it does today about Maduro.

In other words, after almost seventy-five years of post-WWII U.S. imperialism in Latin American, the Pig Empire and its affiliated private interests are still unprepared to tolerate anything but pro-U.S. western capital-friendly, right wing governments... “in our backyard.”

Looking around at present, it seems clear that things haven’t changed very much since Kissinger’s time in government; which probably shouldn’t be that surprising since the genocidal architect of Nixon’s blatantly imperialist U.S. international policies remains a cherished influence in American political and foreign policy discourse to this day; even among so-called liberals.

- nina illingworth 

[you-want-fuckign-cicadas]

Into The Abyss, part 5

suffer.

Felix belongs to @smoresthehalloweenqueen

more under the cut, warning for suffering i guess

Felix is hurting. His left arm hurts like hell, and so does the rest of his body, to a slightly lesser extent. The blackness is spreading, he can tell. It's gone all the way up his right arm (which is the only non-hurting part of his body, in that it is entirely numb and he can't move it) and has started to creep down his left arm, and also the rest of his body.

He's fairly certain that was not supposed to happen. But here it is, happening. And it hurts.

He gave up trying to tell stories about half an hour ago. Now he's simply sitting, surrounded by ink creatures that are in various states of sleepiness. Evidently, becoming an inky eldritch beast doesn't mean that you don't need sleep. Felix wishes he could sleep, but he has a sneaking suspicion that if he closed his eyes, he wouldn't ever open them again.

So he stays awake, trying to keep watch. That tends to be really hard when you can't even see ten feet in front of you because your eyesight is blurry and also you're dizzy and feel like throwing up. He'd probably miss an elephant walking into the room, and he knows it. It doesn't stop him from trying, though.

He winces slightly, shifting his weight onto the wall. It's hard to breathe. Every movement hurts. Silently, he curses Not-Alice; but he needs to keep watch (or so he tells himself), and so keep watch he does, unaware that something else – someone else – is watching him.

Henry runs up to “Alice”'s area and slams his fist into the door. “Hey, angel! Come out!”

The door doesn't open, but he can hear “Alice”'s humming. She speaks through the speaker. “Yes, my little errand boy?”

“What did you do to Felix?!” Henry slams his fist onto the door again. “Tell me!”

“Oh, I just tried to harvest his soul, errand boy,” “Alice” says, laughing wickedly. “He got away, though. I'll find him when he's dead. It shouldn't be long now.”

“What. Did. You. Do.” Henry levels the gun to the door. “I will bust in there and I will shoot you, but only if you don't tell me. Although I might still do it even if you do, because you're just that bad.”

“Well, ah...” “Alice” seems at a loss for words. “To put it this way, I simply shoved him a bit closer to the ink. Or, rather, I put the ink inside of him. With a needle.”

“You gave him a tattoo?”

“No, you imbecile. I stuck a syringe full of extra-thick ink in his arm.” “Alice” sounds annoyed. “It's extremely toxic to humans, and has a habit of spreading very quickly, so I think it shouldn't be long before I have his soul in my hands. And then I will be perfect.” More laughter.

“That's what I figured. You're just all about being perfect, aren't you?” Henry says, steadying the Tommy Gun. “Why is that the case, though? Did something happen to you? Besides the obvious.”

“It was Joey.” The softer voice is speaking now. Henry much prefers this side of “Alice”, but it's barely ever there, and he suspects that it's dying. Just like Felix. “Joey...hurt us. Both of us.”

“I know. That was the obvious part.” Henry replies, lowering the Tommy Gun slightly. “But you didn't have to keep the cycle going. You could have just lived your life. Not killed anyone.” A pause. “We could have been friends.”

“Like you were friends with Felix? Abandoning him the first chance you got?” The harsh voice is back. With vengeance. “I think I prefer it this way. Alone, but feared.”

“Suit yourself.” Henry turns to leave, but hesitates. “I think you'll end up regretting it, though.”

“Maybe I will.” “Alice” says. “But then again, maybe I won't.”

The gate shuts behind him.

Felix doesn't even realize when he nods off, which makes this the perfect time to collect him.

“Alice” had thrown a wrench in his plans with the syringe full of ink, yes. And the hidden darkness he feels from the boy's shadow is somewhat alarming. Yet, both of them pale when he compares them to the need for Felix's soul; the ritual needs it, in order to be complete. He needs it, in order to catch his 'old pal'. Some friend he was.

Yes, it's true that it might attract the attention of some...undesirables. The Angel, yes. The Ink Demon, perhaps, if that abomination of a failure wasn't chasing after Henry. Most definitely the Lost Ones. It was surprising how easily the boy had bonded with them, but then again, they could probably see his soul, just as easily as him. It would most certainly attract the Liar, and the Wolf. Maybe Sammy.

All of those can be taken care of very easily. A cut here, a well-placed bottle of acetone there, and maybe a hole in the floor to plunge the Demon back into Level 14, and a bribe for Sammy (so narrow-minded, and such a fool), and Felix's soul would be his.

He lifts the boy up. Felix doesn't weigh much, which surprises him a little, but he doesn't dwell on it. He'll have to act quickly, or he'll lose his window of opportunity to the ink.

There's only one thing that could go wrong...

The Light is gone. They know. They feel it. And they know who took their Light.

Our Light. Our Light is gone. We will get our Light back from him. The Light isn't his to have, his to hurt, his to snuff. We will protect our Light.

They just need to figure out which one is which.

Suffice to say, Henry's day has gotten a lot worse, just in five minutes. First, there was a weird Searcher swarm. Then a giant Searcher with a mining hat. And now “Bendy” is right in front of the Little Miracle station Henry is hiding in, staring directly at him. He gets the distinct feeling that the demon wants to ask him something, but also that it really wants to kill him, and that it's trying to decide which is more important. Evidently, murdering him wins out, and “Bendy” slams his entire weight into the station. The station tilts over, threatening to fall, and Henry feels himself start to panic. He forces the feeling down and pushes the muzzle of the gun through the small gap of the Miracle Station, carefully aiming at the demon.

The demon stares at the muzzle of the gun and sets the station back down. Henry almost thinks he's done, but then “Bendy” somehow fits his entire arm up to the elbow into the Miracle station. Henry ducks as it swipes at him, and then shoots it. It retracts pretty quickly after that.

Henry peeks back up, watching as the demon inspects his newly hole-ified arm, shrugs, and then taps it. To Henry's infinite surprise and curiosity, the hole heals, and the bullet drops out...somehow. Spontaneously, he asks, “How did you do that?” and then ducks down to avoid being swiped at.

To his surprise, “Bendy” does not try to tip over the Miracle station, no does he swipe at him. Instead, he simply shrugs and makes weird gestures. They probably mean something, but whatever it is, Henry can't tell.

This frustrates the demon, and then he does tip over the Miracle station, this time all the way. Henry promptly freaks out and shoots him even more, and “Bendy” flees, apparently having reached his limit for how many times he can get shot before it starts to slow him down.

Henry climbs out of the Miracle station. Should I track him down? He wonders. Nah, that's a death sentence. Best to keep looking for Felix.

And so he continues on his quest, unaware of the dangers he will be facing.

Where am I?

It's dark here. Very cold. Where's Felix? I can't sense him.

I can't move.

Where is everyone?

Somewhere in the studio, a slightly blobby ink figure claws its way out of a puddle. It flops onto the floor, gasping for breath, and then stands up shakily.

No one around. It's eerily empty.

It begins moving, wandering aimlessly as if looking for a lost item that it misplaced.

I need to find someone who can help.

It stops for a second, looking up and down, and then keeps walking, unaware that it's heading straight for danger. Level 9 isn't a good place for it to be.

That is where “Alice” watches, and where she waits.

who wants to take bets on how long it takes for felix to kick the bucket

and let’s re-play the game of Who the FUCK Kidnapped Felix This Time

[ayellowbirds]

Keshet Rewatches All of Scooby-Doo, Pt. 15: "Spooky Space Kook"

("Scooby-Doo, Where Are You", Season 1 Episode 15)

AKA "The Mystery Machine Is Itself A Mystery of Interior vs. Exterior Dimensions"

I’m breaking from my standard format for these, because holy jinkies, you need to see and hear this villain’s laugh as video. Text and gifs alone will not suffice.

As seen above, the episode opens in the evening on a view of a fairly run-down rural area. An equally wrecked spaceship flies low over the landscape, orange light pulsing from within, and it comes to a stop and lands out of view. A figure walks onto the road, clad in a space suit that also pulses with an eerie “glowing sound” (if you watch enough cartoons, you know what the sound effects for “glowing, pulsing light” are like) that suggests radioactivity, the head within visible only as a skull. The camera closes on it, and the freak starts whooping and laughing as the interior of its helmet flashes the same red-orange as the spaceship.

It’s fantastic. While not the creepiest, it’s definitely the best villain design of the season, if not the best of all of Scooby-Doo: Where Are You. The ruined ghostly spaceship is a design that both makes no sense at all (why does it look tattered?) and fits perfectly.

Meanwhile, the gang are on the road in the Mystery Machine, and Shaggy offers to make sandwiches for anyone who wants. Only Scooby takes him up on it, and the view cuts to Shaggy assembling what Fred calls a “Jaw-Stretcher Special”.

Mind you, this is overtly the back of the Mystery Machine. Exactly how large is that van supposed to be? It reminds me of the camper van my dad used to own, only far more spacious. Definitely more roomy than its exterior would indicate, by far. We’ve seen interior shots before that showed bare walls, as well as the first episode’s collection of questionable and disturbing equipment. Is it like a TARDIS?

Shaggy adds bologna, meatloaf, and “a slug of double Dutch chocolate syrup”... just as the van cuts out. They’re out of gas, and miles from the nearest station!

...so, I’m going to say it here: Fred is a really bad driver. I don’t know why it falls to him to drive, except that he assumes a leadership role, but as we’ve seen, he’s a lousy navigator, and now it’s apparent he doesn’t keep an eye on the fuel indicator, either. Granted, it seems he was intended as the oldest of the gang, so it may be that he’s just the only one who as a license, at this point.

Oh my gods. Is that why they do what Fred says? Because he’s the only one who has a driver’s license? Did we finally figure out what he brings to the group, aside from traps that never work?

Going to the nearest house to see if they can buy some gas from the residents, they’re menaced by its owner, a surly chicken farmer with a long rifle and a conviction that the gang are actually reporters trying to bother him about “it”—the same spaceship from the establishing shot, and “something” that has been creeping around ever since “it” showed up.

Velma spots a trail of bizarre footprints glowing on the ground nearby, which the farmer confirms is the same kind of print he’s been seeing. The gang decide they’ve found a mystery, and seem to smooth things over, because the next scene is the Mystery Machine back on the road, Daphne having mentioned that it was “nice” that he gave them some gas. Fred agrees, because it means they can seek out the “ghost craft”... just before an eerie light passes over the van, and the gang catch sight of the alien ship setting down over the hill.

They wind up at the wrecked boundary fence of an abandoned army airfield, and follow more glowing tracks through the bent and busted gate.

They’ve only been walking for a few seconds when there’s a clattering, crashing sound, and Velma yelps, “I bet it’s the outer-space ghost,” suggesting i may need to reevaluate my ranking of the gang’s credulity vis-à-vis ghosts. Sure enough, the eerie cackling starts up again from off-screen, and the gang are firmly spooked as they follow the tracks to a work shed from which a strange mechanical noise emits. They find an electrical generator that has only just shut down... and then see the spaceship setting down by the opposite building!

Instead of investigating the craft, Fred suggests they split up and look around. The usual antics ensue, with Scooby and Shaggy’s squabbles over a bag of peanuts leading them right to the space-booted feet of the ghost, and a chase scene that leads through the distinctive setting of the airfield. It’s one of the few times the gang are investigating something other than a castle or mansion this season, and it really stands out, though one wonders why the many planes seen on the field were just left to rust.

Fred, Daphne, and Velma discover a machine shop with fresh grease and recently-used machines, and when Fred winds up hooked and hanging from the ceiling due to the ghost’s machinations, Velma protests Freddie’s assumption that she’d know how to even identify the controls for the hook.

Well, there’s characterization that won’t last. It seems as though, in this first season, Velma’s scientific expertise trends much more academic, including some chemistry but mostly being focused on research and analysis instead of the physical science work that would later be a big part of her interests.

Velma and Daphne meet up with Shaggy and Scooby to get help getting Fred down, and Fred and Velma quiz Shaggy on the details of “this thing you saw”. Apparently he was vague about the details of the ghost alien.

The phantom starts its whooping and giggling act again, and the chase continues as the gang flee in opposite directions, with Scooby and Shaggy winding up in the mess hall (”Never heard of a special place to make a mess...”), proving they have some kind of instinctive sixth sense for snacks that drives them towards the nearest kitchen without even intending to do so. Shaggy finds nothing, but Scooby manages to scarf down a small roast ham, an entire chicken on a bed of greens, and most of a jar of olives before Shaggy comes over to check on him. Shaggy realizes the remains of fresh food are a clue—"Like, how come a ghost from space keeps chicken and ham around?"—and they head out to find the others, running into the ghost again.

The girls and Fred, meanwhile, find a copy of yesterday’s Gazette, with glowing fingerprints left on the front page. “Why would a ghost from outer space be reading yesterday’s newspaper?”

This is why it’s important to maintain details in your haunting site. Big Bob understood that, he even went so far as to make monster-specific food labels.

As the chase continues and the gang reunite once more in the motor pool, they find a busted old jeep with four flat tires... that actually conceal another four wheels, found after Scooby notices that the exhaust pipe smells of gasoline.The jeep even starts remotely, driving out past a larger truck, where the “goony ghost” reveals itself behind the canopy covering the truck bed. But before the gang can react, four more ghosts appear!

Noticeably, the extra ghosts don’t move or even glow, they just stand there looking spooky. It’s enough, as Shaggy and Scooby flee up into a control tower and signal the rest of the gang over the still-functioning loudspeakers with the bugle call for noon mess, still apparently the only one they know. So, Scooby and Shaggy have no idea what a mess hall is, but they know the melody to summon you to one by heart?

Unfortunately, the ghost corners the boys in the tower, and they’re forced to jump out with a parachute. The scene fades to a police car: the farmer saw their car parked by the gate, and in spite of his seemingly ornery character, became worried for the gang and called the sheriff. 

They catch sight of the ghost, who flees into a building, which Fred calls “a bad mistake”—because the steel door the ghost shuts behind itself leads to a wind tunnel for testing aerodynamics.

Fred starts up the turbine, and the ghost grabs hold of a steel ladder as the resulting winds blow off its helmet, mask, and eventually the whole dang costume, revealing an ordinary human: the farmer’s next-door neighbor, Henry Bascombe.

Again, note that the culprit gets a whole name, but the innocent man is just “Mister Farmer”, and the cop is just “the Sheriff”. 

Shaggy reveals his discovery from the airfield control tower: a reel-to-reel projector to beam the image of the spaceship onto the night sky, and an audio player sped-up to sound high-pitched and eerie. The gang “wanna bet” that the extra ghosts were stuffed dummies and that the jeep was driven by remote control, but never actually check. It’s also left unclear what exactly Bascombe filmed to make the spaceship footage, or where his improbable mechanical skills originate.

The sheriff explains that Bascombe heard that the Air Force planning to re-open and expand the field—how does he know that Bascombe knew this?—and the farmer deduces that it was a ploy to scare his neighbors off so he could buy their land cheap and resell it to the Air Force for a profit.

Almost, but not quite.

When will our burden be eased? When will we finally hear “meddling kids”?

(like what i’m doing here? It’s not what pays the bills, so i’d really appreciate it if you could send me a bit at my paypal.me or via my ko-fi. Click here to see more entries in this series of posts, or here to go in chronological order)

[queen-of-the-merry-men]

SUNNY SIDE UP SNEAK PEEK 

SUMMARY: Regina tries to relax after a dinner with Cora. 

-----------------------

Driving home Regina could feel the heat burning behind her eyes and the pressure weighing down in her chest. She sucked in deep breaths trying to steady herself, focusing all her energy on getting back home, where it was safe, where she could recuperate. Blasting the radio on while she drove, she tried to let the sound of the music drown out all her thoughts on what had just happened. She tried to ignore the echoes of everything Cora had just said.

Yes, her mother had been awful but she always was. And yes, her words stung but that would pass. She’d get over the stinging, she always had.

By the time she pulled up to her apartment building, she felt almost okay. A plan had already started to form in her head for the rest of the night. Since drinking was out of the question for the next few months, she’d try and relax with a nice warm bath, actually bust out one of those luxury bath bombs she was usually too busy for and enjoy the soak for once. Afterwards she could put on some soft music, comfortable pajamas and read one of the books Belle had been recommending for weeks now, escape a bit. The thought of those things was already bringing her back to life. Dinner had been stressful, but it was over now. She could relax.

Walking in her apartment she threw her keys on the living room coffee table and sighed as she tossed her purse on the couch.

Regina liked her apartment. She’d moved in a few months after Daniel died, after enduring a short stint back with her parents when she was grieving. The idea of it had seemed a bit daunting at first, living alone and moving on. She’d never had a place to herself before and never really thought that she would after she got married but she quickly learned that living alone had its perks. It was the first time she’d been able to create a space for herself without compromise for anyone else. Everything from the cream-colored sofa to the burgundy drapes and horse-shaped bookends bore her mark. It was her apartment and she loved it. She was safe here. Free.

Slipping off her shoes she headed for her bedroom, intending to pick out her most luxurious silk pajamas for the night but stopped short when she saw what was on her bed.

In the center of her duvet laid the baby book she’d bought when she’d found she was pregnant. She’d forgotten that she’d been looking at it this morning, flipping through it and imagining all the answers she and Robin would fill it with. Its pages were still open.

Tears filled her eyes as she remembered page five. The page dedicated to grandparents.

Her mother didn’t want her to have this baby. Her child was going to grow up with a grandmother who didn’t approve of her existence. Tears ran down her face as she sobbed at the realization of just what kind of family she’d be bringing her baby into. Would she grow up feeling unloved by her grandmother? She wouldn’t even know her grandfather Henry. He was dead… and so were Robin’s parents. Cora would be the only living grandparent their child had and she already wanted her gone.

Oh god…

Before she knew it she’d crawled into bed, still dressed in her clothes for the day, crying her eyes out as she clutched one of her pillows into her chests. She didn’t know how long she stayed there just crying but she knew that she wanted to stop. She couldn’t though. She was just too sad.

Then she heard her phone ring. Sitting up in bed, it was like a switch went off. Her tears stopped and she swiped at her eyes, wiping away the tears as she headed to living room to get her cell phone from her purse. Seeing Robin’s face flashing on the screen she lets out a soft groan. She forgot he was supposed to come over to help with the scrapbook. He couldn’t see her like this, he’d freak out. It was better to cancel.

Clearing her throat, she answered the phone, trying to sound as normal as possibly. “Hey.”

“Hey!” Robin’s cheerful tone came through the speaker. He sounded so happy she could practically hear his smile. “How was dinner?”

Regina pressed her lips together, hesitantly. “It was… fine,” she lied, as convincingly as possible. “Cora was… Cora and I won’t have to do it again until next month. Thank god.”

She pulled a smile on her face, trying to trick her voice into sounding happier but judging by the silence on Robin’s end she doubts that she succeeded.

“Are you alright,” he asks, the concern clear in his voice.

“I’m fine,” she said, shaking her head. “I just… I remembered that I had some work to do when I got home so if we could reschedule the whole scrapbook night…”

Again, he paused. “That’s fine, I guess. Are you sure you’re okay?”

Feeling her throat tighten, she nodded. “I’m okay,” she said forcing herself to feel cheerful. “I just have to work, I promise.”

“Okay,” he said, sounding unconvinced. “I’ll text you tomorrow.”

“Sounds good,” she replied, before ending the call. Pulling the phone away from her ear she let out a relieved breath.

Normally, she’d be able to talk to Robin about anything but the idea of telling him that her mother didn’t want their child to exist… it just killed her.

Pressing a hand to her stomach she thought of the baby inside her.

I’m not gonna lie to your daddy when you get here. It was just this once I promise.

Taking another deep breath she reminded herself that stress wasn’t good for her child. She had a plan to relax when she got home. She should stick to it.

Digging underneath her bathroom sink she pulled out a bath bomb and used to run herself a calming lavender infused bath. She soaked for half an hour letting the smell of the water calm from the outside in. After finally stepping out she moisturized her skin with a new chamomile lotion that she’d been planning to use for ages. As she rubbed it into her skin she made a mental note to pick up a tub of cocoa butter to help avoid stretch marks as her pregnancy progressed. By the time she pulled on her silk pajamas for the night she felt like a whole new woman. Completely calm.

Once dressed she went back into the living room ready to pick out a book for the night. Looking over her bookcase she realized that the list of books she planned to read had been piling up for a while now. She should get back into the habit of reading for fun. Catch up on some of the recommendations Belle had given her.

Just as she’d figured which book to get started on she heard a knock at her door. She didn’t even have to open it to know who was there. Looking through the peephole she she rolled her eyes when she saw Robin on the other side. Of course he’d come.

Pulling open the door, she shook her head at him. “I told you I had work.”

Robin shrugged his shoulders. “I was in the neighborhood.”

“It’s a small town Robin. You’re always in my neighborhood.”

He chuckled, nodding his head. “True but I went to the grocery store and look what I found.”

Regina scowled at him as he pulled a pint of ice cream out from behind his back. “You came all the way over here to hand me a pint of ice cream.”

“Not just any pint of ice cream,” said Robin, shaking his head. “Deluxe chunky monkey, with extra fudge and walnuts.”

A snort escaped her as she shook her head at him. “Does this look like the body of someone who eats chunky monkey?”

“Obviously not,” he concedes, “given that you’ve always said any flavor of ice cream other than neapolitan was just self indulgent.”

He raised an eyebrow at her judgmentally and she smirked knowing he’s remembering their middle school years when she’d become obsessed with her figure and, subsequently, dieting. Ever since then she’d eaten only vanilla ice cream, or coffee when she was feeling extravagant.

“However,” he continued, “but I figure if weight gain is unavoidable why not let yourself indulge for once. Besides, you wouldn’t want to deprive our child fudge and chocolate chunks, would you?”

He smiles at her, holding out the ice cream imploringly, staring at her with his puppy dog blue eyes. It’s annoying how undeniable he looks.

Shaking her head, she rolls her eyes but steps aside. “You’re lucky you caught me in the middle of a break.”

She hears him laugh triumphantly as he walks into her apartment and a smile tugs on her lips. Why does smug Robin have to be so goddamn adorable?