#m | ic: threads ; michael

[nineliabilityrisk]

“ i don't know who i am anywhere else. ”

[[ this specific prompt triggered Something in my brain pardon me while i go wacky over it for a sec /pos (also formatting change bc the hellsite has decided to remove the option to edit ask replies, at least on mobile) ]]

-- [ asked by @mute-call ] --

To say Michael knew the feeling would be an understatement. What he didn't know – or, he supposes, hadn't realized – was that other people felt it, too. Fazbear Entertainment ... it had always been the Aftons' and the Emilys' burden to carry. Their creation, their story, their tragedy. Sure, others had been dragged into the mess in the past – Jeremy, those poor kids, their families – but he hadn't even stopped to consider how some of the other employees had been affected by the company.

Mr. Bell — Steven ( he keeps forgetting, they're more or less on equal ground now, and even if they weren't, they've been casual acquaintances long enough that he doesn't need to keep using honorifics for the guy ) especially. He'd been with the company nearly as long as Michael could remember, and, granted, that wasn't all that long, minus a few key events he would rather forget, but the point still stood. God knows the kind of shit he'd seen in his time here.

Michael was struck with the sudden urge to wrap the guy up in a hug. The kind with a few firm, comforting thumps on the back. Or at least clap a hand on his shoulder. Or something.

It'd been a long time since a real human person had earned an emotion other than mild annoyance from him, but Bell had done it.

Even still, he did exactly none of those things. Because those weren't things he did, and it would be weird if he did them at all, let alone to Mr. Bell of all people, the guy he's kind-of-sort-of-known for years now and only in a professional capacity. He'd probably explode from embarrassment. Or get asked if he needs to be drug tested. Or both. Maybe not in that order.

So, narrowly avoiding that absolute fucking nightmare, ( god, that would've been horrible, this is only their third or fourth time interacting outside of work and it's only because someone fucked up their schedules, Bell seemed like he was having a bad day, and Mike 'had nothing better to do' — he felt bad and wanted to help out but don't tell Steven that ) he just inclined his head and gave him an affirmative hum. If a small smile came with it, then, well... Can't blame him.

"Yeah, I... Yeah. This place... Hasn't really been the best, for me. But it's not like I can leave, y'know? Fazbear's is my home... Whether I like it or not," he said, ending it off with a soft chuckle as he remembered that Steven may not be as... Disillusioned with the company as he was.

Michael's reason for staying may be entirely different from Steven's, but... Steven doesn't need to know that. Better to keep him from knowing all the shit Michael's tangled himself up in with this company. Better to keep him from worrying. Safer for him, too, probably.

"Just, uh... I know how you feel. I'm here for ya, buddy." God. This is why he doesn't have friends. Not because it's hard, but because he sucks absolute ass at it.

[nineliabilityrisk]

"I didn't show you jack shit. I'm working and you were the one who decided to get all up in here and interrupt me. This is important work for the company, you know." For how snappy his word choice seemed, there wasn't much real temper behind his voice. Maybe even the tiniest bit of humor could be detected in his over-the-top performance of 'irritation,' a poorly suppressed laugh layered beneath his words. He even gestured loosely with the wrench in his hand ( not towards Michael, of course, he didn't want to freak the kid out ) — movements easy, open. Keeping his cool. Making light of the situation. It's easier to avoid suspicion if you don't let them know they just caught you red-handed.

If anything, he was lucky Michael caught him now and not even a couple minutes later – he'd hoped there would be next to nothing left after all this time ( his being sent in to check for remaining evidence was more of a precaution than anything, to tie up loose ends ) but if he'd been seen in the process of opening up the rabbit's chest cavity, he feared the worst. Sure, he could spin it, could stick with the 'company-requested maintenance and salvage' schtick, and Mike would technically have nothing but circumstancial evidence to point to his involvement — he'd likely get off scot-free if he managed to pull off the pretense of shock and horror he'd have to put on if he was meant to act like he'd had no clue that anything was going to be in there — but that would just be even more difficult. Not to mention that it'd mean that all the other signs pointed towards William as the culprit here. The one who hid ... whatever might be in there and left it behind to rot. And he would much rather take another 10 or 20 years in prison than remain a free man knowing that his mistake was the one to put the other behind bars.

So. Deflect and deter it was. Maybe stall a little if it meant getting Michael out of the room before he had to continue his work. Knowing the kid, ( and how stubborn he tended to be — wonder where he got that from, ) he'd have to wait until after Mike clocked out to keep trying to pry this thing open. He'd be lucky to get even five minutes alone with it before the bastard barged back in to 'check in on him' again.

Sometimes he begrudged how much he genuinely liked the kid. And how much he knew preserving what little was left of William's family meant to the man. Mainly because the boy was such a perceptive little shite — it would make things so much easier if they could just get him out of the way. Make him stop poking around. But it just didn't work like that. Michael's presence was a mildly annoying but ultimately minor evil in the grand scheme of things. He wasn't going to hurt the kid. Not even if he caught him. He just couldn't.

( Ciarán had never really considered the thought of himself caring for a young'un, whether it was his own or not. But he'd been around long enough to witness a good bit of Michael's late childhood and his slow transition into a young adult, even if just from an outsider's perspective for a majority of that time. So sue him if the attachment he felt wasn't exactly warranted — he was the closest thing to a step-dad the kid was going to get and he felt a certain level of responsibility for him no matter how strange the sentiment may seem. He was going to prioritize his safety, pretty much no matter what. )

From his spot knelt on the floor — he had been trying to pick up his tools ( and eventually the rabbit's arm ) when Michael had barged in — he tossed the kid an easy smile. His tools all gathered back into the box, ( rather haphazardly ... he'd organize them later, when he wasn't focused in on the conversation, ) he passed it to the younger man, gesturing for him to set it on the workbench next to Bonnie. "I was gonna try and put it back together– that is, if enough of it even still works. If not, it's scrap. Was told, 'f I can't fix it, to take what works 'n get rid o' the rest. So they can use what works to make somethin' new, I'd guess." An easy lie. Not too far off the mark from what he'd heard murmurs of from the higher-ups, so not too hard to believe, hopefully. So what if he wasn't the one who was actually supposed to do this job? He sure could act like he was.

"So if it gets a little banged up ... 's not the end of the world. You don't gotta worry. We're all good in here." He clapped a hand down on the robot's upper leg segment — as one would do against the back of a good friend, a show of camaraderie — using it as an anchor point to balance as he pulled himself up. Old bones protested at the strain ... he was certainly no longer as young and spry as he had been in his and Will's prime. "Right, Bon?" he asked with a chuckle. The robot remained silent. As always. "See? All good."

@nineliabilityrisk asked: " how is any of this my fault ?? " from ciarán, when everything is most certainly his fault // dusty toybox

"I DON'T KNOW, you're the one who showed me it." Not exactly. To Ciarán's credit, he did not purposefully draw Michael's attention to the absolute mess of property damage in one of the back rooms of the restaurant, but the CRASH that rang through the old building was more than enough to beckon him over. And, though maybe not tonight, Michael would have noticed eventually. He frowns as he moves the flashlight over the animatronic that was already damaged, its arm now broken off and on the ground sending an open toolbox tumbling with it. "Would've been none the wiser if you didn't. Not that I really care about what happens to these old things, but it would've saved me the paperwork."

He's lying through his teeth. Michael IS concerned about the animatronic— in fact, it's the suits confined to the shadows that have called him to stay here longer in the first place. It wouldn't be anything to question if he were anyone else. Just about any of the restaurants has always had old models, rusty parts, tech falling apart after years of abandonment. And to anyone else, Ciarán would just be another employee. Yet, there is a gnawing feeling deep in the pit of his stomach that Michael can't chase. Ciarán may not have broken it on purpose, but he doesn't buy the story that his coworker simply bumped into it, either, not with the level of damage ( signs of tampering ) that wasn't here before or with how strange his presence here is. The same could be said for the both of them, really ( Michael wonders if Ciarán recognizes him, if he doesn't buy the alias for a second— if he does, he hasn't said anything ). The decaying animatronics... they're the originals, the ones up and running when... when all those kids went missing. Never mind the fact that Michael had his own tampering to do eventually, why was Ciarán doing the same? Michael has been searching every corner he can, and if he can guess one thing, wherever Ciarán goes... his father tends to be close by.

"Unless you think you can fix it, but... that doesn't look like it's coming back on anytime soon." Michael frowns, trying to choose his words carefully. He almost shudders, thinking that if Ciarán does know it's him, is his every move being relayed back to his father right now? "I'm tellin' them it's your fault, they've already got enough reasons to be pissed at me." They already know, of course.

[5sosfanfictioncatalogue]

Arguing/Fighting Masterlist

a glimmer of hope that was starin' at me - @sup3rbloom​ (haveufoundwhaturlookingfor) Pairing: OT4 T, 7k

Summary: It's difficult being in a relationship with three guys, and one of them hates you. On their one year anniversary, the four go to a cabin to celebrate. Luke knows that he has to make a decision soon. Things get messy, and then they're okay again. Happy ending.

can't find the sound under my tongue (ao3) - lifewasradical luke/ashton M, 13k

Summary: One year, nine months, eighteen days. Luke and Ashton have been attached at the hip for one year, nine months, and eighteen days. Six hundred, fifty six days. Almost twenty two months. One could argue that no, it’s actually been months and years longer than that; but officially, their time together is bound by a date, one solid time where they said yeah, this is it. Despite being this far into a relationship, one punctuated by extended time on the road, living so intertwined, they still don’t live together.

Or, Ashton refuses to move in with Luke. Alternately, a fic inspired by black butterflies and deja vu

It's Not My Turn (ao3) - sorryuser michael/calum T, 693

Summary: Calum and Michael fight in an elevator. (it ends bery kinky)

Kicking and Screaming (ao3) - mikeyspankme michael/luke T, 2k

Summary: Michael wants kids. Luke doesn't.

look at this godforsaken mess than you made me (ao3) - lifewasradical ot4, luke/calum, michael/ashton T, 12k

Summary: “I want us to talk about the idea of romantic soulmates again,” Ashton starts, threading his fingers together over his lap. “We’ve had a chance to get to know each other a little bit over texts and stuff during the winter, but I still think we need to make sure this is approached delicately.”

Michael scowls from his spot next to Ashton on the couch, crossing his arms defiantly. “Here we go again.”

makeup isn't just for girls - @sup3rbloom​ (haveufoundwhaturlookingfor) ot4 T, 3k

Summary: During Quarantine, Luke takes up nail painting as a hobby. Eventually, he adds makeup too. When he's with the boys again for tour, he comes clean about his new hobbies. Unfortunately, not all of his boyfriends are supportive.

Prove It (ao3) - notonguexwithbutt michael/luke M, 8k

Summary: "A stretch of silence follows and Luke can feel his cheeks begin to heat up again. Because…Michael is telling him he can stay. And hang out. With him. Luke was leaving and Michael stopped him. His heart speeds up again and a smile starts tugging at his lips.

God, he really better not fuck this up."

Michael's day to himself gets interrupted when a very nervous Luke Hemmings shows up on his doorstep, acoustic guitar and bright blue eyes awaiting him.

sky blue (ao3) - tornlinshaw luke/ashton T, 1k

Summary: The first time Ashton said the words 'I love you' to Luke, he didn't respond back.

That Song That You Like (I Completely Disagree) (ao3) - guyi (orphan_account) ot4 E, 2k

Summary: Ten days before 5 Seconds of Summer begin their second headlining world tour, they have an issue. Calum, Luke, Michael, and Ashton can't decide what songs to put on the setlist.

Too Little (ao3) - starstruk97 T, 2k

Summary: Luke hates being short. Always being told he's too little or too young. People always baby him, tell him to be careful just because he's tiny or the youngest. But what's worse? When your best friends belittle you.

Or Luke is young and short, Ashton is overprotective, Ice hockey is rough, Luke gets hurt, but everything is alright in the end!

ups and downs - @sup3rbloom (haveufoundwhaturlookingfor) ot4 T, 8k

Summary: Ashton finds out he's pregnant in the middle of 5 Seconds Of Summer's North America tour. Telling his three boyfriends the news doesn't go as smoothly as he hoped it would.

Well Jesus Christ I'm Alone Again (ao3) - FayeHunter luke/ashton T, 3k

Summary: Luke's whole world comes crashing down on a Tuesday

We were trying to make it work (ao3) - outlawofideal michael/luke T, 3k

Summary: “Morning.” Luke rasps, taking Michael away from his thoughts. “Morning.” Michael smiles and caresses his cheeks softly.

or Michael and Luke have been in a relationship for the longest time but now they are on tour, their relationship cracks into pieces under high levels of stress

you've got stars, they're in your eyes (ao3) - lifewasradical luke/calum T, 10k

Summary: Calum leaves 5 Seconds of Summer.

[rabenschwcrz]

Thanks for reading my guidelines. I go by the mun-alias Midnight (she/they), early millennial, living in the CET timezone. English is my second language. My activity level is medium to low, my reply speed is slow, please don’t rush me. I'm still learning about Tumblr rp etiquette and guidelines, please be patient with me. If you see me doing something unusal or weird feel free to correct me at anytime but be respectful about it.

01. DISCLAIMER AND CONTENT WARNING. To interact with me, you have to be 18+ (mun and muse). I am not affiliated with the creators of any canon material and I don't own the associated characters. I claim ownership of my own original characters, written headcanons and texts only. This blog deals with darker themes and this is a general trigger warning for mature content such as blood, gore, violence, abuse, mention of sa, torture, trauma, sex, strong language, weapons and drug use.

02. MUN ≠ MUSE. It should go without saying but at the same time cannot be stressed enough. This is a morally grey and at times even villainous character. If you are easily offended we're likely not matching well as writing partners. Make sure beforehand that you can handle interacting with such a muse and do not take anything from ic interactions personal or too serious. If we started writing and, for any reason, you feel discomfort please communicate it. I’m always willing to take a step back and sort things out.

03. INTERACTIONS. Best way to interact with me is novel-style written text from the get-go. It doesn't have to be long, it's just way easier for me to reply to than ic talk. I usually drop smalltalk after one or two messages or won't reply at all, I'm sorry. For long-term text exchanges I prefer sideblogs over Google Docs since I'm not familiar with the latter (I'm willing to learn though if that's your preferred option). I'm also very open and curious to try threads, I'd love to have some writing on my blog. Feel free to hit me up if you're interested and are comfortable with doing any sorts of public threads.

04. WRITING. No godmodding, power play or meta gaming. I also don't like forcing or rushing certain dynamics that don't feel like natural character progression. Plotting beforehand is welcome but not mandatory. If it ever feels like being stuck we can pause the writing and have a small plotting session between scenes or even for the same scene. I am a big fan of the "yes, and" approach, give me something to work with. I don't have an estimated length for texts, it always depends.

05. FORMATTING. I don't do a lot of formatting. I have an icon border and prefer small font, my writing is usually continuous text with no line breaks for dialogue. Let me know if this is difficult to read for you and I will adjust, no questions asked. Generally, feel free to format your text as you wish but here are some things I have issues with: Excessive spacing between words (triple space and higher), excessive bolding or italicizing to a point where it distracts me; all caps, text from font generators (captions and highlighted phrases are perfectly fine but I can't read a whole text in those fonts).

06. SHIPPING. I'm multiship and multiverse, meaning every ship takes place in its own verse if not communicated otherwise. Michael is in a state of grieving and is therefore difficult to ship and it's certainly not my primary goal to get him into a romantic relationship as fast as possible. That being said, I do personally enjoy shipping but of course there's gotta be some good chemistry.

07. FOLLOWING. My approach to curating my dashboard is quite different, I would say, compared to what's considered standard. I follow a lot, and I mean a shitton, of people (2000+ blogs as of August 2024). I follow every blog out of interest and curiousity but please understand that it's impossible for me to interact with everyone. Don't get offended or take it personal when I follow but forget to reach out and also never feel obligated to follow me back. If you softblocked me in the past and I refollow you it's accidentially. Please hardblock me if you don't want that to happen again, I won't take it personal.

08. ACTIVITY. My blog is labeled low activity for a reason. Yes, I am here for rp, but I like to do lots of other things on Tumblr, too. There's periods of time where I don't have the energy to work on drafts or talk to anyone. Rest assured that you never did anything wrong when I disappear for a while. What I'm not willing to do is constantly giving activity updates on a schedule. I might make a post on current stats occasionally and if I go on hiatus for longer I will highly likely make a post about it.

09. DON'T BE A JERK. I have zero tolerance for homophobia, transphobia, racism, ableism, sexism, hateful comments in general, out of character drama, gossiping, constant negativity, passive aggressiveness, vague posting, guilt tripping, gaslighting and other similar behaviour. Just be a decent person and we're fine.

[donutloverxo]

Tainted

*gifs not mine*

Please note that my work is not to be reposted or published anywhere other than my Tumblr or AO3 account without my permission. Reblogs are most welcome though!

Note - this is inspired by a hc @sweater-daddiesdumbdork once wrote me and gave me a frigging murder kink. Life ruiner😡😡

Dividers by @whimsicalrogers

Summary - Steve saves you and plans on never letting you go again.

Warnings - 18+ only, smut(m/f), kidnappings, being held hostage, murder, blood, non descriptive violence, captain kink, slight murder kink.

Pairing - Steve Rogers x reader

Word count - 6.8k

Masterlist is linked in the bio!

One of the most amazing thing about living with you was that Steve never had to come home to an empty house. He was now responsible for you, he’d have to shoot you a text message, he had gotten pretty good at texting, thanks to your guidance, or call you, he definitely liked calling and hearing your voice better. He’ll always be old school.

You’d get that slight waver in your voice as you tried to pretend that you weren’t sad, he could see your cute little pout through the phone. And while he would never want to cause you any sort of pain, knowing that you’d be waiting for him, that you’re missing him when he’s away, made him feel wanted.

That even someone like him deserved love and happiness and a safe, boring life. That may be there was a reason he died only to wake up again in a strange new world.

That wasn’t to say you didn’t come with your own set of challenges. You were messy if anything, leaving clutter everywhere and putting off doing your dishes and laundry for days. Maybe not the most practical but definitely the cutest roommate in the world.

He’d learn to put up with it because it was worth it. Maybe, he could even learn to 'let loose' a little as people always recommended to him.

At first, he couldn’t wait to ask you to marry him. He had even impulsively bought a ring with your birthstone, he knew you were obsessed with them and astrology and maybe even dark magic. But then you surprised him with a date to an old diner and introduced him as your boyfriend to your friends.

He liked your friends quite a lot, he couldn’t really understand what they were talking about half the time. From what he could tell - by their fascination with his muscles and all the touching and squeezing to his biceps, them wanting to hear about his life before the ice - it seemed that they liked him too.

But hearing you call him that, your guy, your boyfriend, your beau, as your friend Stacey had put it, he decided that he wasn’t quite ready to let go of this blissful courting period. He was rushing things.

He needed to live in the moment and just enjoy being your boyfriend for now, he had all the time in the world to wife you up - preferably not to late though.

He was so unbelievably happy, ecstatic to see you, to surprise you, his mission ending a week early he got home as soon as he could. He thought of maybe taking you to Vermont for the weekend, he had never been but Nat told him it’d be a nice little getaway and that you’d love it.

His wide smile slowly fade away as he looked at the state of his door - the latch broken. Forced entry. Somebody broke his door in. He pushed the door wide open and made his way in.

He knew what was to come next but he willed that thought away. Maybe you kicked it in yourself, maybe you forgot your keys. He kept telling himself that because he was terrified of thinking the alternative.

He stepped in as soon as he was able to shake himself out of his haze. Looking at the state of his, and your, apartment. A broken vase, and the coffee table smashed in.

Crouching down to take a closer look he saw some blood on the ceramic. Whoever did this to your home, better hope that it’s wasn’t yours.

He got up, directing his simmering rage towards his new mission. He didn’t panic, not yet, he couldn’t give himself that kind of luxury. His mind coming up with ten different to find you and make the bastards who did this pay.

NOBody can hurt the people he loves, especially his girl, and get away with it.

***

Your eyes fluttered open before scrunching shut to adjust to the harsh fluorescent light. You blinked, looking around you while squinting.

Some sort of empty grey room... a window to the side but it was dark outside. You dress sticking to your skin as your whole body was covered in a sheen of sweat.

Three men in a corner, one for them shouting at the others in a foreign language.

You felt a yip of pain radiating in your arms and then realised they were tied up behind you - strapped to a creaky chair.

You tried to shake free of them, by wiggling your wrists but then winced at the burn it caused, capturing the attention of your kidnappers.

One of them smiled at you, walking towards you.

“Finally awake, are we?” he asked in an abnormally chirpy way. “You were out for quiet some time. Did you sleep well?”

He squatted before you, you could see his face, his cold grey eyes betraying the warm smile that graced his lips. Many white scars littered over his jaw...

And then you remembered.

How you rushed home when you felt someone was following you. Locking the door, you tried to call Steve but couldn’t get through to him.

And then your stalker broke into your home. You tried to smash his head in with a vase but couldn’t really do any real damage. Everything was hazy after that. Maybe he drugged you - you couldn’t recall.

You exhaled shakily when you realised he was watching you both from the corner. You could never forget his dark hoodie and hair. Or fresh cut on his forehead. You had never so much as hurt a fly or even slapped anyone. How you managed to smash his head in you’ll never know.

You looked at the man before you again when you heard him calling out your name, his smile haltered for a moment as he looked back to your stalker.

“I’m sorry about that, he’s a rookie. He’ll be reprimanded soon enough. This wasn’t exactly our plan but we’ve decided to improvise.”

You tried to speak but with your throat and mouth dry and your mind in shock the words wouldn’t come out.

“Oh, that’s alright, don’t struggle. We don’t want anything to do with you, you’re just a normal plain Jane going about your life, aren’t you?”

You could only give him a weak nod, still trying your best to shake yourself free of your bounds without him noticing.

“That’s right. You haven’t done anything wrong, you don’t deserve to have anything bad happen to you, do you?”

You nodded again. Your breath hitched when he got closer to you, in your face, his hands planted on your bare thighs with your skirt pooled just below your hips.

“But we don’t always get what we deserve. You’re close to the Captain, that’s right Michael’s told me all about how taken he is with you. I mean... I never would’ve imagined Captain America would pick someone like you but to each their own,” he cupped your cheek, the cracks in his palm harsh against your soft skin.

“What do you want?” you asked, not looking away from him.

“I want justice. For things to be in the right order. You’ll have to suffer for it, but know that it’s for a good cause.”

“You’re wrong,” you shook your head, “he’ll come for me.”

“We’re counting on that,” he snickered.

You’re not sure what came over you, all you knew was that you wanted his disgusting hands off of you, “He’ll come for me, and then you’ll regret ever touching me.”

“Uh, I don’t know about this,” you pulled on a thread from your skirt with your right hand, your other hand in Steve’s as he held onto your waist, pulling you into his side. “It’ll be inside me?” you shuddered.

“Yes, but,” Bruce scratched his head, he was adorable like that. You never would’ve imagined him to be the hulk, a 'rage monster’. “it’s not as bad as you think. You won’t even feel it. All shield agents and Avengers have one. Except Thor, because that wouldn’t be of any use. The radius is only on earths surface. You would’ve thought that would be enough,” he chuckled.

You pressed your lips in a thin line, looking at the chip, smaller than an acrylic nail, watching Bruce load it up.

“I know it’s not ideal, doll. But I’ll feel much better knowing I can find you, in case something goes wrong.” He kissed your temple, as you braced yourself.

“Will it hurt?” you gulped as Bruce lined the shooter or gun, by the looks of it, to your forearm.

“Just a little. You’ll barely feel it.” He gave you a sympathetic smile.

“Look at me, pup,” Steve gripped your chin, moving your head till you looked into his blue eyes, he pressed his lips to yours, massaging your tongue with his to distract you.

“Mm,” you winced and moaned into his mouth when you felt the piercing pain. It was like getting a flu shot but you had never having been a huge fan of needles either.

He released his hold on you as Bruce worked on cleaning your the blood seeping through your pierced skin. “You did good.” Steve said.

“Do I get a sucker?” You asked Bruce and he chuckled - as if you were joking, you do not joke about candy, “No I really want one.”

“Let’s keep this between us.” Steve told you both.

“Of course,” Bruce nodded, “I can keep tracker dormant till we need it but are you sure?”

“I’m not sure who I can trust.” But he knew he could trust his teammates.

You sniffled, keeping your tears at bay because really something so little shouldn’t make you cry, rubbing your hand over your wounded bicep as Bruce handed you some gummy bears.

“They’re Tony’s. He leaves snacks everywhere, it’s annoying.”

“Thank you.” You blinked up at him and offered some to Steve.

You never thought you’d need it. Until now, you were sure your friends or your mother would notice that you’ve been gone and Steve will find out and track you down. You knew he would. He had to.

He frowned, his nails digging into your cheekbones, pluckering your lips, “Where’s all that confidence coming from?” he quirked a curious brow up, “He’ll walk right in and pay for everything he’s done,” he snorted.

“You’re way underprepared to take someone like him on,” shut up, shut up, shut up, why the fuck are you egging him on? “He’s strong, he’s a survivor.” Even without the serum, he survived an abusive household, being bullied, being sick, and you knew how protective he could be. To the point where it was downright irritating.

“We’ve got all the time in the world to prepare, you should be worrying about yourself,” he spat.

You had always been bold, even in the most inappropriate of situations. Like when you lectured a boy for over an hour on respecting boundaries for throwing spitballs at you, in kindergarten. Steve even said that he fell for that ‘spunk' in you.

‘Well-behaved women rarely make history’ your mother had told you.

And really, you liked that about yourself as well. You liked that you found a man that would encourage that side of you instead of calling you ‘difficult’ or ‘bossy’.

However, you immediately regretted everything you had said. Not because it was untrue, but because your captor took out a sharp pocket knife, a dark glint in his eyes.

“We only need you alive,” he said as you gulped, “I suppose, it wouldn’t matter if you’re missing a finger or two.”

You frantically shook your head, choking on a sob. “No,” you pleaded, “you’ll... he will find me and you will - ”

“Go to prison at best. It’s a risk we’re all willing to take,” he put the blunt end of the knife against your cheek, “We have to do something to kill the time.”

You couldn’t breath, your heart hammering in your chest, what if he doesn’t come for you? You won’t be able to do anything about it. It wasn’t like you could protect yourself, at least in this situation, all you could do was wait for him.

You shut your eyes, and braced yourself for the pain. Except... it never came, you simply heard someone fall down, some sort of clattering sound.

Upon opening your eyes you saw one of his friends face down before your in the corner, the other guy, your lovely stalker, drawing out his gun, looking at the only window to your left. You swore you a saw a glimpse of a flying disk knocking your stalker out.

The man before you cursed under his breath, “Get. Up. Come on!” he ordered.

“Yeah, if I could do that I probably would’ve,” you snarked, still trying to get your aching wrists free.

You barely even registered - who could only be your Captain - sneaking up behind him, snapping his neck with his hands in a matter of seconds. He collapsed on the ground and you could finally see Steve.

His clenched jaw and cold eyes softened up on seeing you, you couldn’t help but let out a sob as you realised you were going to be free.

“You’re okay, sweetheart, it’s okay,” he soothed you, kissing your forehead before swiftly free your hands.

You stood up on wobbly legs, holding onto his arms for support, “Steve,” you breathed out, “you came for me.”

“Of course I did,” he sighed, gently pushing your face against his chest as he hugged you close to him. “As if I’d ever abandon you,” he smoothed a hand over your back and decided to not dwell on your comment. This wasn’t about him, you were in shock.

“I was so scared,” you sniffled, “he said, he - ” you couldn’t even finish your sentence as you broke down in a fit of sobs and hiccups.

“You’re safe now,” he promised.

“You - did you kill him?” you pushed away from him to look up at his face so you could take him in.

You had never seen him in his uniform. Only ever seeing him on the news but he had his cowl on and a suit that was much more on brand for ‘Captain America’ than the darker one he had on now. It made him look bigger - if that was even possible. Bigger than the shield now strapped to his back.

His usually clean shaven face had the faintest shadow to it while his hair was slicked back. He looked beautiful, so soft and innocent, definitely not someone who’s capable of hurting anyone.

“He hurt you,” he replied, bringing your hand up to his lips and kissing your bruised wrists, “and so many others, he got what was coming to him.”

“You knew him?”

“Yes. He got away the last time we tried to catch him - but we don’t have to talk about that right now. Are you hurt anywhere else?”

You shook your head, “No, I’m just thirsty and I really want to lay down,” you murmured, resting your head on the star in the middle of his chest.

He pressed a hand to his ear, letting his team know that he had found you. You vaguely saw agents clad in black gear storm the room.

“We did a sweep of the place. No one else is here,” Natasha said. “How you doing?” and then frowned when you didn’t respond.

“She’s tired. It’s okay, love,” he kissed your temple, snaking a hand under your knees and picking you up with ease.

You weakly nodded, wrapping your hands around his neck, glad to be babied by him because you didn’t have the strength to stand.

“They didn’t give you anything to eat?” Nat scoffed as you shook your head.

“How long have I been here?” you looked at Steve, struggling to stay awake.

“A day and a half. We’ll get you fixed up,” he swore, carrying you towards the quinget.

“Where are we?” you nuzzled your nose against the rough kevlar of his suit.

“Bermuda,” he said.

“Oo, I’ve always wanted to come here... just maybe not like this,” you chuckled but Steve didn’t find it all that amusing. You cupped his cheek in your palm, hoping to maybe calm him down a bit before falling asleep.

***

You vaguely heard a familiar voice calling out your name, you’d recognise it anywhere, it was one of your favorites, one you’d known your entire life.

“Mom?” you muttered, opening your eyes and looking around the room to look for her. You smiled when you saw her sitting on a chair just beside your bed, the faint, annoying beeping told you that you were probably in a hospital.

“Hey there, honey,” she smiled back at you, her eyes misty as she pressed her lips to your cheek. “Do you have any idea how much you scared me?”

“I’m sorry,” you tried to sit up as she fluffed your pillow up to support you. “I was... um... kidnapped.” Saying it out loud made it feel so ridiculous. Never in your wildest dreams would you have thought.

“Yes, Steve filled us in on everything. So, Captain America, huh?” she raised her brows.

“Yeah,” you chuckled nervously. Doing a once over to your large, mostly white room to look for him. He wouldn’t just up and leave you, would he?

“How long has it been going on?” she asked.

“Um, three or four months?” you winced when you realised just how much trouble you were in.

“And, you live with him. Linda filled us in on everything. You’re quitting your job too now.”

“It’s - it’s not as bad as it sounds...”

“Never mind that, you need to rest. Then you won’t have to worry about all this. I’m taking you home with me. And you’re never coming back here again.”

“What? No! I still have over two years of school left.”

“You can do it online! You can find just as a good a job in Queens.”

“No! I’m not coming,” you whined.

“Well, you’re not living with a man you barely know either.”

You were interrupted by a knock on the door. A doctor entering, apologising for disturbing you and Steve right behind her. He still hadn’t changed out of his suit.

He stood at the end of your bed, squeezing your foot to let you know he was there for you as your mother glared daggers at him.

“Looks like you’re doing good. Blood sugars back to normal as well...” the doctor said, “You’re free to go home.”

“Really?” you smiled. So done with everything. Sleeping in your own bed sounded like heaven.

“Yes, let us know if you need anything.” She looked over your chart again and then left.

“Good then, you can come home now.”

“No! I’m going to my apartment in Manhattan, the one I share with Steve.” You rolled your eyes. Pleading Steve to back you up with your eyes.

He cleared his throat, “Um, ma'am, you can come stay with us, if you like.”

He held your mothers gaze, to let her know that he was serious and earnest.

He knew he wasn’t perfect by any means. He had a million flaws and cuts that ran deeper than anybody would ever know but he always thought, or maybe arrogantly assumed, that if nothing else he was someone ‘you take home to mama’ as Clint had once put it. He thought that your parents, like most, would like him. That he’d easily get their blessing to be with their daughter. He was known to be America’s golden boy after all.

But your mother had ripped him a new one as soon as she saw him. Accusing him of abusing his power to woo you. That you were here because of him. That he’s not worthy of you.

And all he could do was stand there and take it because everything she had said was the truth. He didn’t deserve you, you were captured and possibly traumatised because of him.

At the same time, he couldn’t just let you go. Not till he gets to the bottom of who had hurt you and makes sure that you’re safe from now on.

“No, thank you.” She scoffed, looking back at you and shaking her head. “What are you doing with your life?”

“I’ve made a lot of mistakes but being with Steve definitely isn’t one,” you looked over to him, he looked just as tired as you, “I just want to go home. My home with Steve.”

“Fine, I’ve always let you make your own decisions.” she sighed, finally giving in.

“And I’ve never disappointed you.”

“That’s debatable,” she snorted, “I’ll come check on you tomorrow then. Maybe send me your address. You know? Something you should’ve done months ago.” She returned to glaring at Steve.

“I’ve only been living with him for a month!” you tried to defend yourself.

***

“I can take off my own clothes, Stevie,” you giggled, him kneeling before you to help you out of the sweets the med bay gave you. Your dress was dirty and ragged now. “I really liked that dress though. I don’t have many like it. You think we can get it back?”

“Maybe, I’ll see what I can do, doll,” he kissed your bare thigh before rolling your panties down your legs.

“You’re kinda dirty too,” you remarked, sniffing him. He didn’t smell bad, as if Steve would ever smell bad to you. Just a bit of gunpowder, like that of firecrackers, a bit pungent instead of his normal piney and woodsy scent.

“Thank you,” he deadpanned before cracking a smile, “I was just excited to see you. Or I would’ve showered before coming home and then I didn’t get a chance to.”

He worked on unbuttoning your shirt He insisted on you getting a button up instead of a t-shirt considering how sore your arms were from being toed up for so long. Tied up... like an animal.

“Hey,” you whispered softly, caressing his cheek, “come back to me.”

“Sorry, I’m just... I don’t know,” he shook his head. He couldn’t let you know the guilt and despair he felt, you’d end up comforting him instead of the other way around. “It’s just been a long day.”

“Yeah. Still can’t believe any of this was real.” Running your hands up and down his suit, the feel of the material almost soothing to touch. “You wanna shower with me?”

“Don’t know, doll. That showers pretty small.”

He did have a pretty generous salary but opted to live in a more modest apartment, he never took more than he needed anyway, with a small shower. Not too small, but definitely not big enough for you both.

“We’ll make do, come on. I’ll make you squeaky clean.”

He took over ten minutes to get rid of the suit. You watched intently as he removed more latches than you could count.

“Is it bulletproof?” you wanted to know.

“Yes. But probably not as good as a vest. I’ve never been shot so I wouldn’t know.” He answered, taking off his undershirt.

“It’s funny because I always thought y’all were naked under there,” you chuckled, and then your jaw dropped as he took off his briefs.

You had never seen his cock while it was soft before. He was always more than excited when you got to him. It was amazing how pretty he looked either way.

“You and so many other people,” he almost shuddered at the thought of having been asked the same question so many times.

After making sure the water was hot enough, you both stood under it.

You took some of the lavender wash you had bought from lush, squeezing it on your sponge. Steve, bless him, was amazing at so many things. Shopping - it seemed was not one of them. All he had in his bathroom was a bar of soap, one toothbrush and a vintage straight razor.

Which just won’t do for you, so you took it upon yourself to stock the whole place up with your favorite stuff. The lavender being Steve’s favorite, you remembered how flustered you got when he told you that you smelled good. And then tried to explain that you always smell good while turning redder than a tomato.

You did his front, asking him to bent his neck a bit so you could wash his hair because he was almost a foot taller than you. You were about to do his legs, you’d take any excuse to feel up his thick thighs but he told you he’d do the rest himself.

Taking the sponge from you, he ran it under some water, working on cleaning you thoroughly. Under your arms, your breasts, your stomach, between your legs and then your legs.

You were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen - he knew that since the moment he had met you. But something about washing you up like that felt so intimate even though there was nothing erotic about it.

After washing you thoroughly he wrapped you up in a towel, “My cute lil' burrito,” he booped your nose.

You puffed your cheeks out, you weren’t sure if you liked that nickname. Observing just how gentle he was with you, helping you into a cotton nightie, as opposed to drying himself off hastily and carelessly before pulling some sweats and briefs on.

“Don’t wear a shirt,” you pleaded, he looked amazing shirtless, but that wasn’t the only reason, you really liked feeling his skin on hours, pressing kissing on his perfect, smooth, golden skin, ”pretty please.” Right now, he’d give you anything you wanted and you intended on milking that as much as you can.

“Alright, doll,” he replied, pulling you up in his arms again as if you were his bride, as you giggled so sweetly, “now, what would you like to eat? No take out, it has to be healthy. And remember my culinary skills are limited,” he said, carrying you to the living room and putting you on the couch as he started working in the kitchen.

“Stevie, I’m not hungry. Well, that’s not true, I’d like some ice cream,” fluttering your lashes at him, “Mint chocolate chip? I’m pretty sure we have some.”

“Of course, puppy,” you smiled, at the prospect of getting a sweet treat and the nickname, “as soon as you eat something.” He added and you huffed in annoyance.

He whipped up a sandwich for you, two for him because he was starving, some peach iced tea so you wouldn’t eat his ear off while complaining.

You only picked at your food, giving more than half of it to him. You truly didn’t feel like eating, instead craving some cuddles with him.

You tried striking up a conversation with him multiple times. Not because you didn’t like silence. You did when it came to him, you could go hours without talking and it would feel so serene and perfect. You never had to talk just for the sake of it when you were with him.

But you had come to read Steve pretty well. He seemed distant and closed off. The air around you both thick with tension. You tried to ease it while telling him about how brave you were while quitting and didn’t cry at all, how Tony dropped by and was apparently stalking you - which was a bad idea because it seemed to make him angry, clench his jaw tight, his brows furrowed as he placed your plates in the sink.

Unsure if you had done something wrong or were mean to Tony, who was technically his boss, you twiddled with your fingers, “Um... I - I’m sorry,” you stuttered, trying to hold back tears. Spending the night at your mom’s house sounded like the better choice now.

“Hm?” he looked back at you, he could do the dishes tomorrow, “what for?”

“I shouldn’t have been snarky with Tony. I know he’s your boss and all that but he’s kinda cocky... And I got really mad when I found out he did like a ‘background check' on me. I mean I get why he would but still. I can apologize to him.”

“No no,” he shook his head, kneeling before you, taking your hands in his, “you misunderstood, love. I’m not mad at you, I could never REALLY be mad at you. It’s Tony I’m angry with, he went behind my back, ambushed you at work.”

“To be fair, you did the same when you asked me out,” you snickered as a blush crept up his neck.

“Right.” He finally cracked a genuine smile placing feather light kisses on your knuckles and the to the bandages on your hands.

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” you asked, running your hands through his hair, scratching his scalp lightly with your nails.

“It’s probably better if we don’t talk about it,” he said, laying his head on your lap. Your slight scratching massaging his never-resting head.

“I think we should. My mom said I don’t know you. And to some extent, she is right. I don’t. Maybe I’m just imagining things but... sometimes it feels like you’re holding back.”

He gathered enough courage to look up at you, your almond shaped eyes looking down at his and he knew that he could talk to you about anything. He did. But there will always be that little voice that tells him that he shouldn’t. He would only trouble you.

“Don’t you pride yourself on being honest?” you caressed his scratchy cheek.

He snorted. He really was dense enough to think he was the perfect son-in-law package.

“I just, the way you looked at me, when I killed that man, I’m afraid that you’re scared of me now. That’s the last thing I want. It’s my worst nightmare really.” He leant into your touch.

“Steve, that wasn’t because I’m scare of you. It was because I’m fond of you. You were so strong and brave and you saved me. I liked being the damsel in distress more than I thought,” He chuckled at that, his doubts a bit relieved, “that’s... not all though.” You murmured.

“What is it?” he wanted to know.

“You, um, the fact that you would do that for me... it’s just. I never thought anyone would love me that much.”

“I only regret doing it in front of you. I’m sorry you had to see that or go through any of that.”

“I’m not a child, Steve,” you rolled your eyes.

“Of course not, but you’re you. You’re pure and an angel. I - I’m tainted - tainted by blood, tainted by war - ”

“Steve, that’s not true. You’re not, you’re the pure-est person I know. War and - that doesn’t define you.”

“You wouldn’t feel that way if you knew about all the things I have done, sweetheart.” The sweet nickname he had for you, which now he used in a patronising tone, “I let my best friend die. And I couldn’t do anything about it.”

“What’re you talking about?” you frowned. You heard about Bucky from him and your history textbooks but you don’t remember reading anything like that.

“It’s... something I’m not ready to get into.” He put his forehead on your knee. He knew you loved him but there was only so much baggage you would be willing to accept.

“Okay. You can take your time and tell me if and when you’re ready, baby.” You went back to idly playing with his, “But I need you to know that I love you. Nothing you could ever say will change that. To think that... for a second I thought that you wouldn’t come for me.”

He snapped his head back up, “What?”

“I thought, that you’d be busy with your mission. You wouldn’t even find out I was missing or... you just wouldn’t care enough to come yourself. I mean, I knew you would come, obviously. But you have other more important work...”

“No,” he shook his head, “How could you ever think anything's more important to me than you and your life?”

“Yeah, I was being stupid.”

“You can be a bit silly sometimes, doll.” He nuzzled your tummy, making you giggle. “I’m never letting you out of my sight again. I was so scared I’d never see you again,” he confessed against your nightgown.

“That’d be a bit hard to do. Keeping an eye on me like that. But if it means I get to spend more time with you then I’m down.”

You convinced Steve to let you have some ice cream. He only let you have half a scope, telling you that you’d have trouble sleeping otherwise.

“I’ve been sleeping for most of the last two days.” You tried to argue but it was hard to change his mind once he had it set on something.

You both brushed your teeth together and he stared at you as you went about your night-time skincare routine.

Cleanse, serum, moisturize, sleep mask.

All he did was wash his face and he still looked fucking perfect.

He stayed true to his word, sticking by your side to the point where you had to kick him outside to have some privacy to pee in peace. He was right there waiting for you when you opened the door.

Finally, you were in your cosy bed. Light’s off and cuddled tight with your boyfriend. Your stuffed unicorn and your Captain America plushie to your other side.

With your legs tangled together, you rubbed your feet up and down his legs. Which were unfortunately covered with his sweats.

“Steve,” you whined.

“Yes?”

“Take off these damn pants. They’re hurting my skin. So friggin' prickly.”

“Sorry, doll. I know how precious your skin is.” He sounded like he was mocking you but he followed, pushing his pants away.

“Good?” he asked holding you close to him again.

“Mm-hm,” you hummed against his naked chest. “Let’s sleep like this everyday, please.”

“Sure.” He replied. He liked being a ‘human furnace' for you.

He wasn’t going to fall asleep. Not after everything that happened. He hadn’t slept well in the past week but he was afraid that if he’d shut his eyes for a single moment and you’d be gone. This time, he wouldn’t be lucky enough to find you.

He hadn’t been to crunch or even prayed in a while. Losing his faith a long time ago after all the terrible things he had seen. But he had prayed when he came back found his home to be wreck. He prayed that you’d come back to him because there were some things he just could not control. Nobody could.

After a while he lowly whispered your name. “Are you awake?” he asked.

It was silly but he missed you. Even though you were laying right next to him in his arms - the safest place you could be.

“Yeah. I can’t sleep. Even though I’m so tired.” You yawned. “You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“You sure?” You snorted. “You’re not a good liar, Steven.”

“Can I ask you something? And you can say no if you want I won’t mind.”

“Sure, shoot.”

“Can I, um, have you? I just need to feel you, sweetheart. After everything – I need to know you’re really here.” he was cut off by your lips crashing on his.

You winced when your teeth clamped together but he soothed your upper lip by nipping at it with his tongue.

“Steve,” you panted as he broke awake, shifting under the sheets and pushing the helm of your gown up.

He placed quick open mouthed kisses all over your thighs, over your stretch marks, spreading your thighs further to accommodate his broad shoulders, he made sure to check in with you again.

All you did was push his head towards your heat, begging him to eat your pussy - as if he needed to be told twice.

Swirling and spreading your glistening juices of arousal around your weeping lips, he dove in for his prize. Drawing patterns on your bundle of nerves before sucking at it harshly, he plunged his tongue inside. Lacing his fingers with yours and pinning your hands down by your hips.

You kept desperately pushing your hips up, wanting more. Arching your back up and holding onto his hands tightly as he lightly grazed his teeth over your clit.

“Say my name, sweetheart,” he demanded against your heat, the vibrations sending jolts of pleasure up your spine.

Your orgasm washing over you in waves, electrifying every nerve in your body as you clamped your legs around his head, holding onto him.

He kept lapping you up through it, taking everything you’d give him.

He loved worshipping you - spending as much time as he could between your legs - because you were his goddess but right now, he just needed to feel you.

He climbed up the bed, hovering over you, he pushed two thick fingers inside you mouth till the second knuckle.

“Get them nice and wet, doll.” He instructed.

You moaned around him, making loud suckling noises, “Yesh, Captain,” it came out muffled, what with your mouth full.

“Captain?” he smirked. You had only ever called him that as a joke, he never knew being called that in a salacious way could stroke a fire inside him. Making him them painfully hard in the confines of his tight briefs. He pulled his fingers out of you, pushing his hand down till it was between your legs. Nudging your entrance with them.

“Sorry, it slipped out.” You were too unabashed to feel guilty. 

He scoffed, “Say it again.” 

Pushing his fingers inside you. Pumping them at a fast pace before you even had a second to think. It was desperate and fast so unlike how it is usually between you both. He needed to be inside you but your needs would always come before his. 

“Captain,” you mewled, chewing on your lower lip and holding onto his face. You couldn’t see him clearly in the dark but you still need to look at him. “I told them my Captain would come for me. And you did...” he swallowed your screams with his mouth as you clenched around his fingers. 

“That’s right,” he groaned, sucking your slick off of his fingers, “I’ll always protect you. I’ll do anything for you.” 

Shaky fingers working on taking his cock out of the hard confines of his uncomfortable underwear. He didn’t waste a single second before sinking inside you, as deep as he could. He moaned into your neck, “So fucking tight, doll. Like you were made for me,” he bit your neck. 

Drawing his hips back he thrusted inside you, brushing against your g-spot, making you keen. 

He stopped immediately, propping himself up on his elbows he looked down at your hooded eyes. “You alright, sweetheart?”

You nodded, “Yes, it’s just so good,” as if to prove it you clenched around his length, to make him feel all of you just as he was doing to you. 

He groaned at that, his balls already tightening, aching for release, “What’s the safe word?” 

“Mm... buttercream.”

“That’s right, good girl,” he cooed as you whimpered at his praise as he withdrew his hips again, loving you in a slow soft way. 

Pushing your gown up till it was above your breasts - he didn’t really have the patience to properly take it off. He sucked a spot just above your breast, so you’d remember his love every time you looked at it. Your nipples pebbled and goose bumps painted your skin, with your cunt tight around him he knew you were close. 

Wrapping his mouth around one bud, He pulled and pinched at the other. He stopped his ministrations, he needed to look at you as you climaxed. To know that you needed him at least half as much as he needed you. 

Your face scrunched up as you met your bliss, your nails drawing blood from shoulders - not that he cared in the slightest. 

His hips retracting and thrusting as he lost all sense of rhythm and finesse chasing his end as you laid boneless beneath him. He kept fucking into you, filling you to the brim. 

He heaved above you, making sure not to collapse on top of you. Reluctantly he pulled himself out of you. 

Pulling you close to him, his lips pressed up against the crown of your head, he whispered sweet nothings to you. “My brave girl.” He kissed the tip of your nose. “You’re so strong, sweetheart.”

“Stronger than the hulk?”

“Yes, definitely,” he replied, tracing the bandages wrapped around your wrists. “Now try to get some sleep.”

“Oh, I’ll sleep alright. Thanks to you.” You giggled. 

***

tags will be in the reblog.

this was my longest fic!i know it wasnt the best conclusion to something i drew outover 4 chapters but its the best i could do. sorry for weird format tumblrs mad i had too much fun lol. comments and reblogs are really appreciated!!

[nineliabilityrisk]

Michael's shoulders slump as he notices how badly he'd scared the other guard. "Sorry, I... Should've called ahead or something. As you can probably tell, this wasn't exactly ... very thought out." In all fairness, it wasn't like he had Steven's number or anything, either. He just felt bad for spooking the guy.

Leaning up against the doorframe, he gave the man a small smile. "Sure I didn't. But I wanted to." A bolder statement than he'd usually make, but he wanted to reassure Steven.

Watching the man with perpetually tired eyes half-lidded as he savored the warmth of his coffee cup, he felt himself relax slightly. So he didn't completely fuck this whole thing up — that was good to know. The trip wasn't entirely wasted. "It — it really wasn't that big of a deal, man, but you're welcome."

Sure, he was contradicting himself – and the facts of the matter, if you thought about it, considering where they worked – but... Listen. Point number one: he was a little bit stupid. Besides that, he just... He was having a Time at the moment, okay? He just wanted to do something nice. Steven was his friend, the first friend he'd had in a really long time, and he was trying to show the other guy that he cared, but... Thing is. He's Michael Afton. He has had little to no proper socialization since middle school. He doesn't know how to interact with people. At all. And he's absolutely terrified of Steven thinking he's being weird or something.

"Yeah, yeah, 'course I am. Wouldn't'a made the offer if I wasn't." Michael wasn't usually the type to bullshit someone, especially not Steven, one of the few people he could actually talk about things with.

Still, if the guy wanted him to leave, he'd leave. Steven didn't seem like he was done, though — Michael waited to see what he'd say, taking a quick sip of his own coffee while he watched the gears turn in the other man's head.

Steven's justifications earn a chuckle from him — albeit a soft one, conscious of the other presences in the building. "You're probably right about that. Y'know, I get the feeling our, uh, fuzzy friends don't particularly like me." He knows they don't, actually. Well — it's not that they don't like him. It's that they don't like the man he's a complete spitting image of. "Think I saw Bonnie staring at me on the way in."

Finally fully entering the small office, he lifted his messenger bag from his shoulder and dropped it on the floor in front of the lockers in the back, kicking a few pieces of clutter around on the floor until he'd cleared a semi-comfortable spot for himself against the wall behind the left door. Back to the wall, he slid down, somehow managing not to spill a single drop of his coffee as he got all settled in, resting his forearms on his knees to look up at Steven.

"'Least nobody's being, uh, weird yet. Knock on wood, maybe they'll be nice to us tonight." Yeah, right. As if they ever are.

@nineliabilityrisk said: 11:38 PM. Another night shift for Steven. He's just getting settled in to his office for the night, checking to make sure everything is working as it should be, when he spots movement on the cameras. Not an animatronic, obviously, they don't move in plain sight of the cameras — not like this, at least. Someone else is here. It takes no time at all for them to get close to the office – someone familiar with the building? – and Steven is likely about to call someone, or turn to confront them, or whatever protocol is when it comes to intruders — when there's a light rap of knuckles against the metal frame of the right door and Mike's face appears in the dim light of the office. "Hey, Steve. Sorry 'f I startled you – really didn't mean to – and I know I'm not s'posed to be here tonight, but I also know they gave you a double shift—" Steven had spent most of the day keeping an eye on the patrons and had gotten six hours, at most, before he needed to be back to guard the place— "and I was in the area." His eyes dart to the side, face flushes slightly ... a blatant lie. He was probably nowhere near here. He very much went out of his way to do this. "So. Y'know. I brought you coffee." Sure enough, he steps inside, and he has two to-go cups of coffee precariously balanced in one hand, one he keeps turned towards himself and the other he offers out to Steven. He knows how tired the man must be, and he also knows, better than any, that falling asleep in this office would be a death sentence. So sue him, he ... doesn't want that to happen. Not to Steven. After falling silent for a moment, letting Steven take his coffee and helping make sure nothing spills, he seemingly finds the courage to speak up again. "I... Know I really shouldn't be here. I can go, lock up behind me, if you want. But — if you want the company ... I can stay. I promise you won't have to worry about me. I've spent my fair share of time here. One more night won't hurt."

"J-Jesus, Mike, you scared me! Heh. I thought you were an intruder." Which would be worse news for the intruder than for Steven, admittedly, considering what time it is, but still-- juggling police calls and real, human threats sounds a hell of a lot more stressful than the familiar, manageable dangers of the animatronics.

Or maybe he's just so tired that the thought of anything unexpected happening tonight has immediately set him on-edge.

"You--? ...oh, uh, wow, that's--" that's really quite kind.

"Come on, you didn't have to do that. You know I keep myself well-caffeinated here." Steven smiles and picks up his cup of soda from the desk, giving it a slosh or two to demonstrate. He doesn't mean to sound ungrateful-- on the contrary, he's deeply touched by this surprise visit-- but part of him can't help but wonder what in the world Michael's doing here. This isn't like swinging by a friend's place to drop something off; this is Freddy's. At night. Mike definitely knows better.

...which means that it's all the more considerate of him to have come by at all. It's such a big gesture, or at least it feels that way, that Steven isn't entirely sure how to react.

"...thank you." That's a good start.

The coffee has a sharp, pleasant aroma that makes Bell feel more alert even before he's started drinking it. Much better than soda. Taking the cup and cradling it in his hands, Steven basks in its warmth for a moment before looking back up at Michael, shocked again.

"Are you serious?" Company sounds... amazing. Bell is fond of the animatronics, but they're not exactly the best conversationalists at night. Getting to kill time on a night shift with an actual human being (and Michael, of all people!) sounds like a dream come true.

"I-- no, I couldn't ask you to do that." What if something goes wrong? And even if it doesn't, what kind of man feels entitled enough to another person's time that he'd keep them locked in a room for six hours that could and should be spent on getting some much-needed rest?

On the other hand, Michael came all this way. For him. This doesn't feel like an offer made from hollow cordiality.

"But... it's, uh, getting pretty close to midnight." Steven doesn't meet the other man's eyes. "Maybe staying here is safer than trying to head out?" That's the closest he'll come to saying yes, please, I'd love for you to stay.

He hopes the message comes through.

[asstronauts]

Alphabet Soup

rating: t word count: 1.7k pairing: jemily summary: perhaps love is in the little moments more than the grand gestures. 26 times (among many) that JJ and Emily fall a little bit more in love with each other in the everyday, smaller moments.

read on ao3, if you’d prefer

---

A - alphabet soup

JJ bought cans of alphabet soup for the boys when Michael first began to read, but Emily quickly found it much more entertaining to spell out words like "boob" or "ass" or "sex?" punctuated with a poorly modified capital P in place of a question mark. JJ had to shut it down when Michael asked what a "tit" was, and Emily panicked and mumbled something about birds.

B - bedtime

They would often unwind by reading before bedtime, and JJ found that Emily read through many foreign literature books. The nights she would fall asleep to Emily stroking her hair and reading aloud in words she didn't understand were the nights she felt most rested.

C - constellations

It was clear that Emily didn't actually know any constellations besides the Big Dipper and Orion. But when she laid on the grass with Henry and Michael, she made up stories in the stars about great heroes and the adventures they went on, and the boys fell in love with the night sky.

D - driving

JJ insisted on driving everywhere without the help of smartphone maps, which had gotten them lost on several occasions. Somehow it felt alright, when she had one hand on the wheel and one hand on Emily's leg, the windows were down, and her hair was streaming in the wind and reflecting the setting sun. Somehow it felt alright to be lost with her.

E - errands

For whatever reason, JJ made running any errand seem like immense fun. Buying groceries, getting gas, even sending a letter felt like an adventure when she was there. They'd only gotten kicked out of one grocery store — when JJ had knocked over an entire display stand of candy bars after running and jumping onto a shopping cart. They didn't regret anything.

F - forehead kiss

JJ wasn't that much shorter than Emily, but when the brunette pressed her lips to her girlfriend's forehead, JJ would feel the need to bury her face in Emily's neck to hide her blushing cheeks.

G - graveyard

On that day, JJ just needed space. So Emily took her to the flower shop the day before and drove her to the cemetery that morning and left her alone until she was ready. In the evening, they didn't speak, just laid with one another on the couch until JJ fell asleep in her arms.

H - horror movie

It was a cheap jump scare, but it made JJ scream out and grab Emily's arm, prompting the older woman to laugh at her. JJ responded with a playful slap, and Emily had to kiss her to reaffirm her love. They didn't finish the movie.

I - ice cream

On a day off, Emily took the boys to get ice cream, and when they came home raving about how Emily had managed to stack five ice cream scoops on top of a single cone, JJ knew she was with the right woman.

J - jaw

Emily's knees grew weak whenever JJ kissed up her jaw and whispered in her ear. Her girlfriend caught on and loved messing with her, working her up into a complete frenzy, then saying the most unsexy thing she could think of. Emily hated it, but she also couldn’t help but to collapse into a fit of giggles when JJ planted kisses all up the side of her face and whispered something like "corned beef" in a seductive voice.

K - kitchen

JJ would use every kitchen utensil as a musical instrument during any spare moment in cooking — while the food was cooking, while the water boiled, while the oven was preheating. She would sing into a wooden spoon and shove it into Emily's face to finish the lyric, and the two would dance in each others' arms all throughout the kitchen.

L - letters

When Emily spent her time in Paris and London, she and JJ wrote each other scores of letters the times they weren't together. They'd both filled up an entire box of papers and knickknacks until they were reunited. Even after, JJ would sometimes write a letter addressed to Emily, drop it into the mailbox and tell Emily to check the mail, for no reason except to make her smile.

M - mugs

JJ had an entire cupboard dedicated to mugs for her tea, which Emily could never understand because she only seemed to ever use two of them: one being a lumpy mug Henry had made in a pottery store and the other being a Valentine’s Day gift from Emily with lovely ceramic boobs protruding from the mug’s body.

N - notes

Emily bought a massive pack of post-its and began leaving notes for JJ around work, bringing a smile to her face every time she found a little colorful message. Some were encouraging — you can do it, you light up my world, you're amazing. Some were cheesy — i love you, je t’aime, when you see this blow me a kiss. And some were...questionable — JJ had to hide the extremely accurate (and well-annotated!) drawing of her naked body before Hotch saw.

O - omelette

Most of the time, Emily couldn't cook without the risk of burning the house down, but for some reason, she made the most scrumptious omelette. Despite not knowing how to cook scrambled or fried or boiled eggs, Emily's omelettes were always perfectly cooked, with an impeccable ratio of egg to filling. JJ tried everything she could to make them the same way, but the boys always preferred Emily's omelettes on Sunday mornings. JJ wondered if it was something she learned during her time in Paris.

P - plants

Before JJ, Emily had never been very good at taking care of plants. They seemed to die with little to no warning. But JJ had taught her well, making little plant calendars and teaching her signs to watch out for, and one morning, JJ caught her talking to one of the plants. As she listened more carefully, she heard that Emily was talking to each plant in a different language — according to the plant’s country of origin.

Q - quiet

The moments after the boys were put to bed were some of the only moments of quiet JJ and Emily got alone during the day. No matter how busy or tired they were, they always intentionally took a few moments to just quietly be with one another, curled up in the other's arms, lying in the other's lap, or simply sitting side by side.

R - rain

They'd gotten caught in the storm on the way back to the office from lunch. Despite JJ’s coat held up above them, the pair was getting drenched anyway, and they gave up and decided to make out in the rain instead. They swung their hands back and forth as they splashed over to the BAU, arriving soaked to the bone but elated, as Hotch shook his head at their sodden clothing and dopey grins.

S - Sergio

Emily had arrived home early and found JJ dancing in the hallway with Sergio to "Can't Stop the Feeling" blasting on the bluetooth speaker. She lifted her ban on Justin Timberlake that day, which had previously been in place when in a moment of weakness, JJ had declared she would choose him over Emily if given the chance. (She’d taken it back for Emily's sake, but deep down she couldn't really decide.)

T - thermostat

JJ liked the thermostat to be set at no lower than 77 degrees, while Emily loved the room as cold as possible. The first few months that they lived together was a horrible battle of constantly changing from one drastic temperature to the next, before JJ finally agreed to keeping the temperature low as long as Emily agreed to cuddle with her any time she got cold. Emily did not, however, realize that this compromise extended to the workplace, where JJ would sporadically ask for cuddles throughout the day, and Emily would have to comply.

U - ugly pajamas

Emily loved her ugly pajama sets. One of her favorites was a bright green Grinch onesie in a ridiculous Christmas sweater. JJ hated it until Emily showed it to the boys, and Michael howled with laughter and asked for one for himself. From that day forward, Emily bought her ugly pajamas in full family sets, including accompanying costumes for Sergio.

V - vanilla

Emily didn’t quite mind JJ’s early morning jogs because her favorite moments were when JJ came home after, took a shower, and climbed back into bed to give Emily a warm embrace, flooding her senses with the smell of vanilla shampoo. Emily would roll over to nuzzle her head in the crook of JJ’s neck and plant soft kisses there, breathing in her favorite scent.

W - wine

Emily drank red, JJ drank white. And Henry and Michael loved to join in, pretending to be adults by sipping grape juice from their colorful cups. Perhaps their family had unconventional tea parties, but at least they always had massive amounts of fun doing family activities tipsy. These were the nights when it was almost difficult to tell the difference between Michael and Emily’s coloring pages.

X - X-Files

JJ didn’t fully understand Emily’s deep obsession with The X-Files, but after Emily convinced her that she wasn’t only watching for Gillian Anderson, the younger woman began finding the long rambles and discussions of extraterrestrial life more endearing and interesting.

Y - yarn

JJ really wanted to get the hang of knitting and give something special to the boys, but Emily kept distracting her. Any chance she got, Emily would hold the yarn balls to her chest as fake boobs, use threads of yarn as mustaches, and drum the knitting needles against any surface. It wasn’t that JJ couldn't finish her projects out of annoyance — it was that JJ couldn’t help but laugh and find her girlfriend irresistible, forcing her to set aside her work and wrap herself up instead in the brunette’s embrace.

Z - zoo

It was Emily's explosive childlike joy when she had seen the dolphins. She claimed it was for the boys’ sakes, but JJ had noticed the pure excitement in her eyes when they saw the sign and felt the way Emily had tugged on her wrist to rush to the stadium and grab seats right in the splash zone. And in the screams of laughter and the moment when both Henry and Michael clutched at Emily when the water washed over them, JJ knew she wanted to spend the rest of her life with this woman.

[nineliabilityrisk]

“It’s not your fault, sweetheart. You did everything you could.” ( michael and rosa )

" it's not your fault, sweetheart. you did everything you could. "

[[ both my afton boys are getting love today <3 also i uh. decided to interpret this as some weird twisted up timeline thing where rosa is around to comfort michael after jeremys bite because i can NOT get that out of my mind. im sorry it fit too well and i. hm. i promise im entirely normal about michael and his assortment of Problems. ]]

-- [ asked by @khalaesi ] --

It's safe to say at this point that Michael is an absolute wreck. It'd been a week and a half since he'd received that phone call - and, oh boy, what an experience that was, when his father picked up the phone first and the poor manager who was just looking for their night guard's emergency contact ended up in a confrontation with the owner of their entire company - and he'd hardly left his room since. Well, no, that was a lie. He'd gathered up his things, walked to his mom's house, and then shut himself in his room. There was no way in Hell he was going to deal with his father's temper. Not now. Not after the news he'd received. Maybe not ever again, not after this.

He had been on one of his quick kitchen runs, looting the pantry and fridge for just enough food and water to get by before he could make it back into his room and lock himself away again. Rosa's voice startled him, making him drop the cup he'd been holding - luckily it was just one of their shitty plastic ones, and didn't break, just clattered obnoxiously against the tile floor. Fuck, he hadn't even realized she was in the dining room.

Sighing, he didn't bother to pick up his cup, slowly turning to face his mother and brace himself on the counter, resting his weight on his elbows as if he didn't even have the strength to resist gravity's pull any longer. In all honesty, he looked the part, too, with the dark circles under his eyes looking more like black holes, and his long, curled hair that he had always prided himself upon resting on his shoulders in a tangled mess. No doubt, it would mat with only a few more days of neglect and the whole mass would need to be chopped off, but he couldn't find it in himself to care. Just as he couldn't find it in himself to care about much else lately, including what used to be the well-managed, oft-shaved scraggly little bits of facial hair he was beginning to grow in. Overall, he looked like a mess. Not that he cared. But he was sure his mother would just look upon him with concern as soon as she truly saw his face, which he really didn't want to deal with right now. He loved her, sure, but the guilt over worrying her was another drop in the already overflowing bucket he was dragging around with him everywhere he went.

"You heard, huh? Who told you? Know it wasn't William, you'd rather die than talk to him again, and, honestly, I would, too. Was it Uncle Henry? Fuck, did I manage to get him dragged into my shit too?" To be fair, Henry was going to be involved no matter what. An employee was killed by one of his and William's inventions in one of their restaurants. He just... Didn't think Henry knew that he and Jeremy had known each other. Hell, he hadn't even thought that his mother knew of Jeremy at all. He thought they had been discreet. Hopefully, none of them were aware of just how close the two had been.

He let out a steadying exhale, unfolding his hands from the counter to hide his face in them for a moment. "That's the problem, I didn't do anything. I sat all nice and safe at home while he went to his shift not knowing that he wouldn't make it back in the morning," he said, trying so, so hard to keep his voice level, but, even still, it broke. Maybe he could write it off as being rusty from disuse.

"This keeps happening." Face finally lifting from his hands, his tired eyes lock with those of his mother. Such a familiar color. For as much as he's said to be a mirror image of his father, he still received his fair share from her, in his own little ways. His eyes, gentle where he could never remember William's to be anything but piercing. His curls, his smile - she was always there with him, just less noticeably than his father was. "First Evan, now... Now Jeremy. And William still acts like he doesn't know where Lizzie ended up, but... There's been too many of these 'accidents.' These animatronics are fucking dangerous, Mom. Why doesn't anyone notice? Why isn't anybody worried?"

Pushing off from the counter, he rounded the corner to the dining room, dragging a chair over to his mother's seat and plopping down next to her, movements sloppy, uncoordinated. He didn't even notice the tears dampening his cheeks until he rested his head on her shoulder, wet face pressing into the soft fabric of her top and eliciting a soft "sorry" from the exhausted boy.

[lovecolibri]

If Liz had mentioned at the hospital that she, Max, Alex, and Michael were all looking into Kyle's disappearance, I think Isobel and Rosa not worrying as much about it would make a little more sense. Alas, that would mean speaking about Alex like he's part of the group and we can't have that this season...:p

Well, we all knew Liz, "Max", Michael, and Alex were all looking into what happened with Kyle, though to me, their stories, seemed less about Kyle and more about their own stuff. I mean, yeah Max's storyline is all about him actually being Jones and looking for the guys that took his sword so he wasn't actually looking for Kyle it seems, but Alex's storyline was all about Deep Sky and Eduardo and Alex investigating him, Michael's was all about figuring out what happened to the radio, the towers, and the bats, and Liz's was all about figuring out Max is really Jones. And those all three are about Kyle being missing, he's the common thread, but it didn't feel like they were working with the urgency of finding a friend who could potentially have been killed, but more like they were wrapped up in their own thing that just so happened to coincide with Kyle being missing.

And on the Isobel and Rosa front, I think they easily could have had them sitting and talking about Kyle, saying they were worried and didn't know what to do and hated sitting around doing nothing and that leading them to try probing into m*ria's mind to see if they could contact her. The fact that they have literally NO IDEA what even happened to Kyle, if he's hurt or worse, who took him and why, what they could want from him, they do not have a lot to go on and given that the most likely answer they have is that the regiment is involved, the leader of which literally killed Kyle a day ago and then saw him up and about and acting just fine, I would expect a lot more worry and urgency from everyone. As good as the dialogue for the Alex/Liz scene was and all the kind words they said about Kyle, I was like, he's not dead yet! Why are they sitting around, relaxed and talking about him as though he died 7 years ago and they are reminiscing about what he would say to them? Kyle is missing and Alex is sprawled out on the couch in his office smiling and joking with Liz about Kyle's "code"? Where is the feral best friend energy? Where is the Ice Cold Military Man we know Alex can be when he needs answers? We saw him quite a bit this episode, but strangely not when he was sitting and talking about the person who is missing! And again, we had everyone showing more concern about m*ria who is safely in a hospital under supervision and has only been out for a few hours, not like, a month-long coma, than for Kyle who is missing and could be dead by now. It's just frustrating.

"Alas, that would mean speaking about Alex like he's part of the group and we can't have that this season" You're right and you should say it. Weird, since this has apparently turned into the m*ria d*luca show and Alex is her BIGGEST fan. Haven't you heard? 🙄🙄🙄

[nineliabilityrisk]

Elbows rested on table, face resting in palms. Tired, but not in the way he used to feel, the natural way – he doesn't get that, anymore. Restless yet fatigued, his constant state. He doesn't get to sleep, doesn't need it physically anymore, but its impact on his mental state could never have been predicted. Or maybe it could. It wasn't like he was a psychologist before all of this happened.

Hollow eyes half-lidded, empty lights tracing over the paper placed in front of him. "All according to plan, huh?" he asks, scratchy, artificial voice monotone yet cynical. "You're not the one who gets to be in there with them." He knows why his office has to be in the vents – theoretically, at least. He gets to be the bait... As if he hasn't had enough of that. Three different locations, now. He's survived three whole weeks in those godforsaken Fazbear locations full of robots who all wanted him dead – to varying degrees ... both in terms of the 'survival' and the robots wanting him dead, but the point still stands. Maybe he'd like to see Henry shut himself in there with the murder robots for once. (He wouldn't. He would be so sad. He would gladly continue being stupidly self-sacrificial if it meant Henry didn't have to put himself in danger. He hates this plan. He has no other option but this plan. He is going to go through with this plan.)

Henry isn't wrong about them being perfect for the job – two men, having long outlived what should've been their lives, with nothing left to lose. No family left, either of them. They'd both lost everyone they'd ever loved to the Fazbear name, now, and that wasn't even an exaggeration. With nothing left to tie them here, to what could be tentatively defined as their 'lives,' they were the perfect two to bring this story to a close.

Cold eyelights flick upwards just in time to catch the last bit of warmth on Henry's face and he tries to return the sentiment, ignoring the slight twinge as his rotted facial muscles tug against the sutures holding the corners of his mouth together. He'd honestly be glad if the last of his nerves died off quicker – fewer confusing, nonsensical signals for his brain to interpret. Unfortunately, he seemed to be stuck like this, kept suspended in his state of undeath by whatever the fuck that tangle of wires did to him. Maybe he was getting better, maybe he was just getting used to it – who knows? It wasn't like there was some sort of pre-existing research for him to reference his experiences against.

"Look, I just—" his voice crackles out for a moment, leaving him looking mildly perplexed as he tries to clear his throat, and thus, his voicebox – the old, rusted one Ennard left with him. "There's so much that could go wrong. What if one—one of them—" Tone shifts, this time, the robotic approximation of his own voice slipping into something more layered, some old memory from the voicebox coming to light. "We don't know what they'll do," he settles on eventually. Not quite what he meant, but the closest he could get in the fewest words. "They're haywire. Possessed. 'Every possible outcome' can't cover it all."

He's not worried about what they'll do to him, per se. He's proven himself capable of surviving encounters far worse than this. It's what they might do in general. How can Henry be sure that Michael can gather them all together in just one week? How can he be sure they won't realize something is up? They shouldn't be able to, running on instinct as they are, traumatized children and a killer trapped in a prison of his own making, but there's still that worry in the back of Michael's mind. They don't know for sure how much of William is left in that springlock suit. How much of Charlie is left – she was always a smart girl.

"I'll do my part. Will they do theirs?"

" this path we’re on… it’s gonna get us killed. you know that, though, don’t you? " from the angst prompts - from michael to henry [ pizza sim era or just slightly before ]

🍭 @nineliabilityrisk !

"perhaps." is all he says at first, as he sits with michael at his dining table. flipping through blueprints with a tilted head &. a swipe of dry tongue over his lips. he's wearing a hurricane utah shirt, grey &. a bit baggy. he never wore much that fit too tight in the stomach, nor the thighs for that matter. hair unkempt, curls hanging down around his aged yet still bearded face. a near perfect reflection of the grief of a man like henry. that which he has been forced to face, with death after death of those he had already mourned. the loss of his best friend, daughter, wife, business. &. arguably michael, as well. though their reunion was [...] bittersweet, it is true that he has become naught more than a monster of his father's making. if not for his steadfast heroic nature, &. his wish to do right by the poor souls whom have lost themselves to this ongoing madness. &. perhaps so is henry, at any rate. should be long aged past what he is, though mysteriously he remains fit to live out his misery day in &. day out.

the drafts are for the restaurant's interior, however the outside was a purchased building in a slightly off-the-beaten-path area of a densely populated town. safer, though garners more of a chance for traffic towards the restaurant. "perhaps not." he pushes the page towards michael with weathered fingers, looking upward. "but regardless, it - needs to be done." if only he knew. if only it was common knowledge to his nephew, that henry's resignation was all but set in stone. so much so as he figured michael was going to wish to remain behind as well. yet, there was an escape plan mapped out in case he is wrong. cannot subject him to the loss of choice, &. will not be responsible for another death. yet his plans for charlotte &. in turn l.e.f.t.e are left ambiguous, for now. "&. as it were, we are [...] perfect for the job." he tries a little smile that actually brightens his hazel eyes. though soon those eyes lower, lips closing &. pursing to rid his smile. "i promise you, michael -- i have [...] thought through every possible outcome. things should go according to plan, as long as you do your part."

[nineliabilityrisk]

This was... surprisingly not the weirdest situation Michael had gotten himself into. Tucked away in some dark, nasty-ass alleyway with what was probably one of the worst beings on Earth to be stuck in an alleyway with. He couldn't even leave, 'cause there were people out on the street. People that he'd drawn out with the sounds of the scuffle he'd just gotten into with the giant murderpanda when he'd first seen it. People that probably wouldn't take too kindly to seeing Mr. Walking Corpse pass them by. He'd already been evicted once for that. (Now that had been one of the more 'fun' things to learn about, once Ennard had left him.) At least the alley was pretty wide. More room to maneuver. Also, more room for trash to pile up absolutely everywhere. God, was he glad that most of his soft tissue rotted off, 'cause that included his olfactory system. Goodbye, sense of smell.

"Now, I agree with you on that first part, buddy," he said, voice sounding nearly as damaged as the bear's due to Ennard's unceremonious exit all that time ago. "But-" he clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, or, what was left of it - "not so sure about the second half. Tried it once. Didn't stick. You know this, you were there. Still not forgiving you or your pals for that, by the way." He really tried to act unphased by Funfred's words and the situation as a whole. Yep, that killer animatronic bear basically just told him to off himself in the middle of some random alleyway. Normal Tuesday night for him.

He very much did not react to Funfred calling William - Michael's father - 'Papa.' That was fucking weird. It would also technically make them brothers. He did not have the energy for that kind of mental acrobatics at the moment. That was something to be compartmentalized and locked away and ignored until the day he finally found a way to get himself off of this mortal plane.

There would normally be no chance in Hell that Michael would be acting this calm around an animatronic, especially not one that has proven himself to be as dangerous as Funtime Freddy, but, well. He was technically immortal, now, for one - not willingly, but, hey, Funfred had technically been a part of the cause, so he would have to deal with it, and, two... The panda seemed to be, well, pretty well contained already. "So. Found someone to fix you up, huh? I will say, you look a whole lot better than when I last saw you - that soup of cables and eyeballs I puked into the sewers was not pretty."

He clasped his bony hands behind his back, the gloves he wore doing their job to keep everything in place. Giving an exaggerated wince, he walked in a semicircle around where the pastel panda was slumped in a pile of garbage, giving him as wide of a berth as possible to stay out of reach but not being too overly cautious. As far as he could tell, the bear's arms still worked, after all, and even though his overall mobility seemed limited, Michael wasn't exactly keen on testing it. "Doesn't really look like they finished the job, though, did they? Having some trouble moving, there, Fredboy?" Okay. Maybe he was having a little too much fun with this. But, to be fair, this bear did technically have a hand in ending his life not all that long ago. This was just... Karma. Or something. Maybe, like... Passive revenge. Either way, he deserved to have something go not-terrible in his life for once.

"Okay. I'm done for now. I got enough of it out. Looks like we need to talk, though, 'cause I'd rather stop meeting like this." Squatting down - a good few feet away, of course, he was still well aware of who he was dealing with - to be closer to Funfred's eye level while avoiding making contact with the somehow slimy-looking pavement, he rested his forearms on his knees and squinted into the bear's eyes. "What the fuck are you doin' here, man? What happened to you?"

❝  Living is overwhelming! Dying might just be your thing!

Cause Papa just taught me one thing; 'TAKE THINGS INTO YOUR OWN HANDS!' ❞

[captainofthebrokentides]

Drug Addled Confessions Michael Ragosa x OC

Rhia, a nurse at San Antonio is enlisted to keep her boss in check after he accidentally takes MDMA, advice is given and the start of something big is kindled. 

Rhia sighed as she reached the nurses’ station, joining in Kenny’s emergency huddle.

“So I promised, I’d keep this on the DL, But I think it might need some damage control.” Kenny nodded subtly over to the far wall, where Michael Ragosa was leaning. The dark-haired administrator’s shirt was untucked, the collar loose and tie barely hanging around his neck. He was staring intently at a pump of hand gel, pointing the bubbles out to anyone who was passing by; very loudly. “How long has he been doing that?” She asked furrowing her eyebrows. Michael Ragosa was always so straight laced. She couldn’t think of a time she’d seem him properly smile – like a cheek hurting, uncontrollable smile, and she’d been working the night shift for six months. They’d had a few run ins in the recent months, their last big one had ended with him hissing at her that this was her last chance, her paperwork was about five weeks behind and she’s forgotten to stock count the pharmacy three days before, but it was on her to do list. She’s tried apologising, had explained that she was only human after all, but he had reeled off that the board were unprepared to take the heat of a missed stock take and he didn’t have the time or money to deal with an incompetent nurse. She’d been angry, shouting at him that if they weren’t so low on staff she wouldn’t have had to run between three trauma emergencies at the same time, and did he expect her to pull extra hours of the day out of her ass? She’d finished off her tirade by throwing her iced coffee at him. The brown liquid coating his fine features and soaking through his expensive looking white shirt. Luckily she had walked away and bribed Mollie to put her finished paperwork on Ragosa’s desk for her by the end of the shift, so she could at least cling to the last vestiges of being able to save her job. That was a fortnight ago … and the last time she’d spoken to him.

They’d got on well until about three months ago. He’d made her feel comfortable and laugh during her interview. He’d been nice enough to take an hour out of his day on her first shift to introduce her to the night shift big wigs like TC and Topher, both of whom now treated her like a member of their family, and to show her around the place, buying her a welcome cup of coffee when they’d arrived at the food truck. In the early months he’s even made a point of stopping her for chat in the corridors, his eyes looking warm and caring as he checked how she was settling in and if she needed anything. But over the last couple of months he had been becoming steadily more and more cold. He was being a dick, sometimes with, but mostly without reason. The only person he’d talk to without an edge in his voice was Landry. It hurt Rhia a bit to think that those nice, kind eyes that once welcomed her, now looked at her as though they were hard as stone, with no feeling behind them except annoyance and anger.

“About ten minutes” Kenny said quietly, watching as their boss gently ran his fingers across the wall as if he was lovingly caressing someone’s cheek. “Mhmm you should have seen him earlier, gazing into the ceiling mirror in admissions for a good five minutes, like a child staring into a candy store window.” Mollie agreed, closing the chart she was looking at sharply. The unexpected noise made Ragosa jump, the soles of his leather shoes actually leaving the floor, but his eyes never left the bubbles. “Is he having a breakdown? Do I need to get a psych eval?” Rhia asked, feeling equally worried and perplexed. “I know the whole Jordan and the Christian Scientist thing is a big bundle of hell, but I’ve never seen him like that.”

Kenny chuckled and ducked his head, beckoning Rhia closer to him so he could whisper. “Na, he’s fine. He’s high as a kite.” Rhia’s eyebrows shot up into her hairline, surely she had misheard, “What?” “Yup, he took some aspirin from Landry’s desk, but they weren’t aspirin, they were MDMA, and now he’s totally spaced” Mollie laughed and sauntered away “And making an ass of himself”

Rhia sighed, she had a feeling she knew what the answer would be before it even left her mouth. “I’m not even going to ask why Landry has MDMA on her desk, but what are we going to do Kenny?” The male nurse grinned at her, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “We aren’t doing anything, I’m needed in trauma two.” He clapped a large hand over her shoulder, “You however are going to keep him out of trouble, Jordan is already having a hell of a night, we don’t need him drawing attention too.” Rhia shook her head and tried to back away, but Kenny caught her by the crook of her elbow, his fingers gently squeezing the joint. “Oh hell no, Ken, he hates me. I’m not doing that.” Kenny smirked. “Who? Ragosa? That man doesn’t hate you. He can’t keep his damned eyes off you.” “Oh really?” Rhia pulled herself away from Kenny’s grip and crossed her arms defiantly over her chest. “What was all that shit he spewed at me the other week? He was so angry.” “You’re still here though, right? Did he even give you a disciplinary for giving him a bath in coffee?” Kenny had a point, she’d not heard a peep out of Ragosa since the incident, no word of apology or reprimand. “No.” “Exactly, the man has a sweet spot for you. Why don’t you use it to help us out?” Kenny wrapped his arm around her in a one-sided hug. Rhia sighed, she didn’t believe Kenny’s reasoning – Ragosa was married, sure it may be a little rocky right now, but she doubted he would be looking at her like that. She did have to admit though, she wouldn’t mind if he did, really. Michael Ragosa was an attractive man, with the warmest brown eyes she’d ever seen. She knew she’d get no peace for the night if she didn’t agree to Kenny’s plan. “Ok, but you gotta keep my back covered if we get busy.” “Sure thing! Good Luck!” Kenny nodded, grabbed a stack of files and walked away from the nurses’ station with a final chuckle at Ragosa, leaving Rhia alone.

She took a couple of deep breaths, she could do this, it was only Michael, he couldn’t hurt a fly really. She made her way over to the far wall, and reached out to touch Ragosa’s shoulder. He flinched for a second, but then turned to look at her, his eyes taking a second to focus. “Rhia!” he whispered breathily, and he smiled, and actual smile. Rhia found herself smiling back, his grin was infectious. “Hey Michael” she opened her mouth to coax him to leave with her when he cut her off. “Your hair, its so pretty, it always looks soft. Like silk. Can I touch it?” he didn’t wait for her to answer before twining his fingers through some of her loose waves, closing his eyes to indulge in the feel of it on his skin. “Sure you can Michael. And thank you, it’s nice of you to say.” His eyes sprang open again, and he gazed at her intensely. “I’ve got many nice things to say to you.” “Is that right?” he nodded, and fiddled with the ends of a curl. “Well, how about we go grab some water, sit in your office, and you could tell me them?” “Water” he repeated again. He allowed Rhia to take his hand in hers and pull him in the direction of his office. After a couple if seconds, he threaded his warm fingers through hers, and Rhia had to stifle a smile as a warm feeling began to bubble in the bottom of her belly.

Rhia closed the door of Ragosa’s office softly behind them and lead him over to the sofa. Michael sat down like a dead weight, the furniture complaining with a loud creek. “’m not that heavy” he mumbled. Rhia chuckled lightly and went to fill two glasses with water from the jug on his bookcase.  She passed one to Michael, and took a mouthful of her own, stowing it safely on the floor before herself down next to him. She made herself comfortable, crossing her legs underneath her. Michael watched her movements intently, sipping from his glass. Rhia looked up and caught his gaze, she smiled softly, but didn’t say anything, he looked like he was thinking. A few moments of peaceful silence passed.

“I didn’t mean it you know.” His head was hung in shame and he was looking up at her through thick, dark eyelashes. “I don’t think you’re an incompetent nurse. You’re so good at what you do.” He started counting compliments off on his fingers, avoiding Rhia’s eyes. “You’re kind, you’re caring. You always have a smile, people need to see that smile, it’s too beautiful to be hidden away. All the staff and patients love you. This hospital needs you, and I …” he swallowed heavily “I need you too.”

Rhia stayed quiet, listening to his speech, but she took his hand in hers, squeezing his fingers lightly for comfort.

“I’m sorry for saying it all. I’ve not been handling myself well lately, I let things get on top of me. Lydia and I are getting a divorce. She’s been keeping my kids from me. They have to call me in secret. Do you know how painful that is?” his handsome face crumpled slightly and his eyes became red with brimming tears. He rubbed a finger gently over her knuckles. “Everyone treats me like I’m a dick. All the time. Here and at home. Here at least it’s part of the job. Landry says I need to meet people halfway.” He slouched forwards, shoulders pulling themselves together in an unconscious self-protection move. Rhea sighed, it looked like these thoughts had been taking chunks out of him for a while. “I think that’s a good idea, it shows people you care and offers them some respect. That works for both here and at home. I won’t pretend to know what’s going on at home for you Michael, or how painful it all must be, but it can’t let you turn away from being the good, caring person you are. You should be you, live your life your way, give everyone respect and treat people fairly, and unduly judge no one.” Michael laughed and smiled at her. Another proper smile. Showing his pearly white teeth and displaying slight dimples. “Is that your key advice?”

Rhia smiled back warmly. “It certainly is.” Michael nodded. He pulled his hands away and rubbed at his eyes. “Do you want to know a secret?” he leaned in, so their faces were only a foot apart. His warm breath brushed cross her cheeks and Rhea felt her tummy clench with anticipation. His beautiful dark eyes held hers. He smelled like expensive aftershave, mint and coffee. She swallowed thickly and nodded, her words leaving her at their proximity. “I always wanted to be a doctor, you know, spend my life doing something to make other peoples’ lives better. I wanted to be good, beautiful Rhia. I wanted to be good, just like you.” He lightly touched his finger to the nip of her nose and gave her another heart-breaking smile.

“Why didn’t you?” She breathed, her brain clouded. He shuffled closer to her and put his lips next to her ear, his hand resting on her forearm. “I can’t see well enough, my eyes are deteriorating, I went with the next best thing. I’ve been waiting for something to push me to get surgery, something worth me facing my fear. I think I found it.” He pulled away from her, and watched her with sparkling dark eyes. Rhia smiled and cupped his face in her hands. “I think you should be you. Do what you want to do.” Michael nodded, and slid the tip of his tongue across his bottom lip, his eyes flicking between her eyes and rosy lips. His brows furrowed for a second, before smoothing out again. Clearly dealing with a inner battle. “You know what I’d like to do, right now?” his voice held a bubbling excitement Rhia laughed, “What would you like to do right now?” Michael got to his feet and took both Rhia’s hands in his, pulling her off the sofa with surprisingly controlled strength for someone that was rolling heavily on ecstasy. “I want to dance. Come on. I know where we can dance.” Rhia smiled and laughed, she let him lead her out of the office and into the courtyard where half the night shift were taking their breaks. A rhythmic Latino beat poured out of the speakers and filled the night air.

Michael, not caring about all the eyes on him, started to dance, arms in the air and hips swaying to the music. Unable to control her laugh or her smile that was mirroring Michael’s Rhia accepted his outstretched hand when it was offered, and tried to forget her surroundings. Ragosa spun her around and expertly helped her with every twist and turn. She laughed with him, and breathed in the fresh many scent of his aftershave every time she came up flush against his body.

“Rhia!” Rhia vaguely caught someone saying her name, trying to pull her out of her and Michael’s personal moment. “Rhia!” The voice belonged to Topher, who stood watching the two with his eyebrows raised. Rhia nodded at her friend and placed her hands firmly on Ragosa’s chest. “Michael stop, stop.” She coaxed, and he stopped, perplexed, watching Topher over her shoulder. “Yes Topher, what can I do for you?” she asked trying to catch her breath. “Kenny says you’re needed for an emergency assistance in Trauma three … if that’s not disrupting your night?” he grinned at her. Rhia looked at Ragosa who looked like a kicked puppy, his dark eyes sad. She gave his hand a squeeze. “I’ll be back, duty calls. Keep yourself out of mischief Mikey.” Rhia smiled and nodded at Topher as she passed him, “Cheers Toph, have a good break, we’ll talk later.” “Oh yes we will, you’ve got some explaining to do!” the older man shouted back as he made his way to the food truck.

Rhia pushed through people to get to the hospital doors, but stopped as she pushed them open. She watched as Michael continued to dance on his own, without a care in the world. “Wooh! Topher!! This is my jam!!” he yelled to the doctor over the music. Topher looked over at Rhia who laughed and shrugged going inside.

****

Rhia hadn’t seen Ragosa since she left him out in the courtyard, she’d figured he’d called it a night and gone home early, so she slung her rucksack over her shoulder and made her way out of the locker room and headed towards the entry doors to the ER department. To her pleasant surprise she found Michael waiting for her, leaning against a gurney. He had cleaned himself up, back to his usual smart standard, and his eyes were once again bright and clear. He shot her one of his dazzling smiles and waited for her to approach. “Hey, you’re looking good, how are you feeling?” she asked, placed herself next to him on the gurney, they were so close their shoulders rubbed against each other. He looked at her through his dark lashes. “Much better, I feel some … clarity.” He looked down at his toes. “my divorce is coming through, I worked out with Lydia that I can see my kids. And I decided to get the surgery.” He took a deep breath a looked up at her, his brow furrow free and open. “Thank you so much for tonight and everything you did for me. Thank you for listening. For being there. For indulging me. It means a lot.” He reached his hand out and grabbed Rhia’s giving it a squeeze. “I’m starting again. It’s a new chapter.” Rhia smiled at him, her cheeks flushing. She squeezed his hand back. “It’s a pleasure Michael, I’m always here, if you ever need me.” He breathed out a little chuckle and cupped her cheek in his hand. “I feel I might always need you.” Her cheeks burned with a blush and Rhia bit her lip through a smile that threatened to split her cheeks. “Would you like to come and grab a cup of coffee with me? One that we can drink, and wont end with it ruining my favourite shirt?” Rhia laughed and squeezed his hand tightly in hers. “I’m really sorry about that. I should have apologised sooner.” Ragosa waved his hand nonchalantly with a grin. “Never mind about that. So … coffee?” Rhia gave a sigh and leaned in pressing a kiss against his soft cheek. She liked how his skin felt under hers. “Right now, I think you need some rest.” She gathered her things and headed to the door. She turned back to look at him. He looked dejected and forlorn. “But let me know when your divorce comes through, then I’ll hold you to that coffee.” His face brightened and she waved, blowing him a quick kiss, “Have a good morning, Mikey.”

@reelovesbennycolon​ - it’s not Benny, but i thought you still might like.

[chickensarentcheap]

Sanctuary - Chapter 20

Warnings: none really

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @valkyrie-of-the-light

She stares at the cellphone in her hands; trying desperately to keep back the flood of tears that threaten. Tears of worry. Sadness. Relief. Anger, even. And frustration. So much frustration. That he’s been sent into yet another shitty situation.

 It’s willingly.  Offering himself up for people that don’t even know him, putting himself into harms way like some sort of sacrificial lamb for strangers that…for the most part…don’t understand the choices he has to make on their behalf. The danger he puts himself in. The lives he has to take. The way that he’ll have to escape death just trying to keep them alive.  Most never express thanks: very few of those who are rescued -and even less of their families- ever offer up even the smallest bit of gratitude. He’s being paid, they figure. He’s taking the money. Isn’t that enough gratitude?

“Mommy?” TJ is at her side, looking up at her with those huge blue eyes. One of which is going to be black and blue in a few hours; Millie had caught him square in the face with a right hook.  A knee to the face causing a bloody nose.

“Let me see…” she sets her cell phone down and hooks a finger under his chin, tilting his head backwards. “She got you pretty good, huh?”

He nods, not even flinching when her fingertips press against the swollen orbital bone and the bridge of his nose.

Definitely his father’s son.

“Well nothing’s broken,” she says, a sigh of relief escaping her lips.

She’s tended to many of her husband’s injuries. Seen a lot of bloody noses and black eyes and a hell of a lot worse. Fractured ribs, both stab and gunshot wounds.  She’s pulled shards of glass and other debris out of his skin with a pair of tweezers. In Dhaka she’d stitched up a wound on his right bicep with a needle and run of the mill sewing thread. Without anything to dull the pain.  And she’s seen the aftermath of shoulder and knee replacements; the one that would clean the incisions and apply fresh bandaging when homecare nurses weren’t able to make it.

He holds up a sandwich bag with near melted ice cubes in, and she takes it to the sink and dumps it out before adding fresh cubes from the freezer and tying the bag up tight. “Does she look worse than you?” she asks, as she presses the ice to the bridge of his nose.

“I didn’t hit her back, mommy. She’s a girl.  Daddy said never to hit a girl. No matter what. That it’s wrong. Did daddy ever hit you?”

“Daddy knows better. He knows I’d drop him. But he wouldn’t do that, anyway.  He’d never hit any girl. Especially me.”

“I’d beat him up. If you did. Just so you know.”

She leans down and presses a kiss to his lips.  “You keep the ice on it for a little while longer, okay? Just to keep the swelling down. You’re going to have a hell of a shiner tomorrow. You’ll get to show that off to daddy when he video chats with you guys. He wanted me to tell you that he’s safe and sound in Ireland. And that he loves you and misses you. He misses you so much.”

“I miss him too. Maybe he won’t be gone for very long.”

“Maybe. Hopefully. Here…” she takes his hand and places it against the back of ice against his nose. Then moves to the freezer once again and takes out three popsicles. “One for you and Tanner and one for Ovi. Can you ask him to watch you guys for a little bit longer? There’s something I need to do. Someone I need to call. Can you ask him, please?”

Her son nods, then turns his face up for another kiss.

“You’re my favourite,” she says with a wink, and pecks his lips. “And be careful out there, please. I don’t need you breaking an arm or a leg. Or a neck. Just take it easy, okay?”

“Okay mommy,” he chirps, as he rushes from the kitchen. Nearly colliding with the glass patio door that he’d forgotten he’d shut behind him.

“Tyler…” she sighs. “…really?”

“Ooops,” he giggles, then gives a shrug as he hurries outside.

She stands over the sink and watches him through the window, bounding across the deck in his bare feet, leaping from the top step and hitting the ground running. The landing never even breaking his stride; those long, lanky legs carrying him through the grass to where Ovi is pushing Declan in the baby swing and Tanner in the regular sized one.  TJ begins handing out the popsicles and explains to Ovi what she had asked, and the teenager looks up towards the house and gives her an okay sign.

***

Picking up her cell phone, she flips open the cover of the case and plucks a business card from the inside fold.  She wasn’t planning on hanging onto it; she’d taken their conversation at the park as a one off and was going to just throw the card away and get on with her life. Satisfied that she’d been able to give him the absolution that he’d desperately searching for. Finally able to put that long and dark chapter of her life behind her.

Instead, she finds herself dialling the number, leaning sideways against the counter as it rings on the other end. Nervously drumming her fingertips against the granite, tapping one foot against the floor.

“Are you busy?” she inquires, before he even manages to get a whole greeting out.

“Esme?” Shocked. But pleased.

“I really need to talk to you. Do you have a few minutes? I wouldn’t have called you if this wasn’t important. If I didn’t think you were the right person to go to.”

“I’ve got some time to spare. Anything for you. You know what. What’s going on? Are you okay?”

“Tyler’s in Ireland. On a job. And I don’t trust the person that he’s working with. The one that asked him for his help to begin with. I need you to look some things up for me. I’d do it myself, but with four kids to manage on my own…”

“Let me just grab a piece of paper and pen…” there’s a slight rustling noise as he searches for the items in question.  “…go ahead. What is it?”

“I need you to look up the name Michael McCann. M…C…capital C…A…N…N…”

“Got it.”

“He says he’s ex IRA. I’m worried he’s still active IRA. That should be available info, right?”

“Should be. There’s always articles about those guys. They’ve been a little quiet the last couple of years, but there’s bound to be something. You know what his role was? Or might still be?”

“By the sounds of things, he might have been…or still is…some kind of intel. An inside man. He knows a lot of secrets. He’s done a lot of dirty work for them.  He might still be doing dirty work for them. That’s what I need you to find out. I need to know what this guy’s story is. The real story. Not the line that he’s been feeding Tyler.”

“Is he falling for it? The line?”

“No. I think he’s starting to realize that something isn’t quite right.  None of this is sitting right, Mark. It’s leaving a bad taste in my mouth. He is not who he says he is. He came to Tyler for help. He suddenly just showed up in Telluride one day. Said he’d even followed him while he was in Guatemala.”

“How did he know Tyler was in Guatemala?”

“There’s someone giving him information. Someone that works for Nik. I haven’t even started to look into that yet. But I will. This guy says that he tracked Tyler down through me. That he’d heard about what happened in Dhaka and somehow my name got out there as being connected to it. Which is weird, because Nik said she kept that on the downlow. I don’t even have a personal file with her. I was a ghost. I didn’t even exist as far as the outside world was concerned.”

“The worldwide web is vast, Esme. You can find information on anyone. And if he heard your name and somehow connected that to this Nik…”

“He told Tyler that someone I used to work with told him my name. Which makes no sense because how would that person even know I was in Dhaka? And how would they tie me to Tyler? We weren’t married then. I still had my maiden name. So where would they get Esme Rake from? It makes no sense.”

“Well they’ve gotten it somewhere. Information is easy to find if you know the right people. And have the right amount of cash.”

She sighs. “I suppose so.”

“This guy just showed up? In Telluride?”

“He asked Tyler for help. Said that his wife and his kids were taken by the IRA. Had videos of them and everything. All bound up, beaten to shit. I didn’t see them. Tyler watched them. He said they were legit. And Tyler’s instincts are never wrong. He’s being doing this a long time. He knows when something is bullshit. He would have known right away if it was just a game. He doesn’t just jump blindly into things.”

“Could it be some kind of elaborate ruse? It isn’t unlike terrorist organizations to do pull out all the stops. It could be someone that is after Tyler. Someone that feels slighted. Someone he crossed paths with or got the drop on.”

“Tyler says he’s never dealt with the IRA. He’s never even been to Ireland. Until now.”

“Doesn’t mean someone he’s pissed off doesn’t have connections to them. Strong enough connections that they’d do a favour for them. Loyalty runs deep, Esme. And money runs even deeper. I’m sure Tyler’s pissed off a lot of people. Not that I don’t agree with what he does. Because I do. I’m quite fond of vigilantism myself. I admire him for taking on other peoples’ shit and doing the dirty jobs no one else wants to do.”

“So what do you think?” she asks, as she moves to the fridge, opening it and taking out a bottle of water. Fingers briefly lingering on the wine before changing her mind and shutting the door with her hip. “Sounds weird, right?”

“I’ve heard weirder, to be honest. Could be something. Could be nothing. I’ll look into it for you.”

“Off the books, right?”

“What do you mean? What…?”

“Mark, I know what you do. My mom told me. I know you’re FBI.”

He sighs.

“You didn’t have to keep it a secret. It’s no big deal. So you’re a Fed, so what? This means you have connections, right? You have ways of finding out shit that normal people wouldn’t be able to do? And you must know people that know people. People that have even farther reach and deeper connections. Right?”

“Esme…”

“This is between the two of us. I do not want this getting out there. And I especially do not want Tyler finding out. Not yet. Not until you dig something up. If there is anything to dig up. Can you do that for me? Everything off the books? Between us?”

“I can. I probably shouldn’t. But I can.”

She sips her water, glances out the window and watches Ovi and the kids are they feed the chickens and goats. “There’s something else.”

“Go ahead.”

“I know this is a lot to ask of you. So feel free to tell me to fuck off.”

“I’ve gotten myself in this far. Might as well jump right into the deep end. What is it?”

“Do you know anyone in Ireland? And by that I mean people like you. Feds. Ex Feds. Ex Marines even?”

“I know a couple. Why?”

“If I send you Tyler’s info…his cell number, his SAT number, where he’s staying…can you get someone to monitor all that?”

“Doesn’t he have his own people keeping an eye on him?”

“An extra pair of eyes wouldn’t hurt. I just want someone to watch out for him. He’s going into this alone, Mark. With nothing but the word of this McCann guy to go on. If something goes wrong and Tyler’s people can’t reach him or find him…”

“You’re really stirring the shit pot here. I highly doubt he wants you doing all this. What’s going to happen when he finds out? Because he will. Find out.”

“I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. Please Mark. I need your help. And I know you can do this. This isn’t easy for me. Asking for help. Especially from you. And it can’t be easy for you either. Me asking for help for something that involves my husband.”

“It’s a little…awkward,” he admits.

“He saved me, Mark. In every way a person can be saved. My life was so different after we broke up. I was in a really dark place that I didn’t think I’d ever get out of. That I didn’t know if I really wanted to get out of. I became a completely different person than the one you remember. Tyler came into my life at a time where I needed someone the most.  And it shouldn’t have happened the way it did. It was stupid and it was dangerous, and it never should have gone down like that. But it did. And I don’t regret it. I don’t regret falling in love with him. Or staying in Australia. Or getting married and having kids. His kids. You said you just wanted me to be happy.”

“I do. That’s all I want, Esme.”

“Then help me. Please. Because I can’t lose him, Mark. I almost lost him once. And this time I don’t want to lose him for good. I need your help. And that’s what would make me happy.”

He sighs heavily. “Send me the information. Email. I have an account on a protected server. I’m sending you the address now.”

And with that, he disconnects the call.

 *****

Tyler’s not sure how long how he’d been asleep for. After devouring three orders from room service and opening up another bottle of scotch, he’d stretched on one of the beds to watch the local news. Fully intending on staying up in case Yaz had already gotten to work and was able to dig up some information to send him.  He’s still lying on his stomach in middle of the bed; fully dressed, sheets and blankets not even turned down, his cell phone lying next to him, feet up by the headboard. Jolted awake by a sharp rap of knuckles upon the door.  

His head swims: a mixture of booze and the painkillers he’d taken after he ate.  A dull ache in the base of his neck as he places his chin on the forearm he’d been using as a pillow, eyes blinking against the harsh light of the cell phone screen within the dark room.

12:53.

His time? Colorado time? He doesn’t even know anymore. It couldn’t be the latter. Not if it had already been one in the afternoon when he spoke to Esme. He was tired; but he wasn’t THAT tired. There’s no possible way he’d sleep that long. Even with the help of meds and alcohol. And he’s pretty sure he changed the time on his cellphone. Or maybe it had done it itself.

He clears sleep out of his eyes, rubs at the back of his neck. Internally yells at his muddled and disoriented brain to get shit its shit together.

The knocking continues. Louder. More insistent. And he attempts to ignore it, switching positions on the bed and resting his head back on one of the pillows. The smooth cotton of the pillowcase cool against the back of his head. Eyes closed; hands clasped together at his chest. Knowing if he just stays quiet, whoever it is will just fuck off and leave him alone. Whatever it is, it can wait until the morning.  And he’s just beginning to nod off again when he hears whispering from in the hall; Irish accents, two female, one male.  One of the female’s asking the other two if they’d seen the man that he’d checked into the room. Had he left sometime in the middle of the night? If he did, do they know if he came back? He can’t make out the reply, but there’s a heavy sigh followed by more knocking.

It’s louder. More intense. A different sound than what knuckles make against wood. The dull thud that ensues when you use the toe of a sneaker or a boot.

His eyes snap open and he reaches for the top drawer on the nightstand, quietly pulling it out and then slipping the Glock from the holster. Flicking off the safety as he slips off the bed and silently makes his way towards the door. Pausing with a hand on the deadbolt as he listens; trying to pick up any hints of a conversation or any other noises coming from the hallway. Palm resting against cool, smooth wood as he peers out the peephole.

She’s young. Twenty at the most. A simple grey hoodie and blue jeans. A ball cap pulled over bright red hair. Carrying a purse along her left forearm, cell phone in her hand. A file folder clasped in her right.  She pounds at the door now, slamming her fist against it with all the power she can muster.

He holds the Glock down at his side, opens the deadbolt but leaves the chain across. A foot against the door, preventing her from trying to open it further.

“Who are you?” he asks.

“Are you the Australian?”

“Yeah, I suppose I am. Answer my question now.”

“Can I come in?”

“No.”

 “Why?”

“Because I have no idea who the hell you are.”

“I’m Erin.”

“Erin what?” he presses.

“Ferguson.”

“What the hell do you want, Erin Ferguson? It’s almost one in the morning. How’d you know who I was? Where to find me?”

“A lot of people know who are,” she says. “You’re the Australian. Here to get Michael McMann’s wife and kids back.”

He smirks. “Word travels fast. Who’s they? And how did they find out?”

“They. As in the people who have them. The people who took his wife and his kids. The people who are watching your wife and your kids.”

Tyler’s blood runs cold. Hand tightening around the Glock. “What did you just say?”

She cocks her head to the side, a smirk curving her lips. “Can I come in now?”

“No. Whatever you have to say, you say it right where you’re standing. What do you mean they’re watching my wife and my kids? The IRA?”

She nods.

“Why?”

“Because you’re sticking your nose in other peoples’ business. You don’t belong here, Australian. This isn’t your fight. If you knew what was good for you…for your family…you’d leave. Right now.”

“If you knew what was good for you, you’d stop talking in riddles. And you’d know that I have a loaded gun behind the door and my finger is already on the trigger. So stop the bullshit and tell me who you are and what you want, or I won’t think twice about putting one between your eyes, you hear me?”

That wipes the smirk off her face.

“Who are they” he repeats. “The IRA? You’re working for them?”

“I work for a lot of people,” she says. “They asked me to give you this. As proof.”  She offers the file folder.

“Proof of what?”

“That they aren’t messing around. That you’ve gotten yourself mixed up in something that you never should have wandered into it.  What goes on between them and McCann is their business. Not yours.”

“It became my business when McCann hired me. So you go back to whoever you’re working for and tell that their games won’t work on me. I don’t scare easily. And it’s them that’s gotten mixed up in something they don’t want to be mixed up in. I don’t fuck around. I’ll find his wife. And his kids.”

“And the risk of losing your own?”

“They’ll never get near my wife or my kids. They can try. But it won’t happen. You tell them I said that. And you tell them that if they so as much go near my family, I’ll come after them personally. And they won’t like the results. Tell them that. You tell them exactly what I said. That I’ll bring them within an inch of their lives and then I’ll stop and start all over again. You got that?”

She nods, shoves the folder toward him.

“Put it on the ground,” he orders.  “And then back away. Nice and slow. Keep your hands where I can see them.”

She places the folder on the carpet and does as she’s told, hands up as she slowly steps backwards, until she’s almost pressed against the door across the hall.

Tyler removes the chain from the door and pulls it open, casting a glance down both ends of the hall, keeping the Glock pointed at her. “Now go. Move. To the elevator.”

She walks backwards; hands still up, eyes never wavering from his. She never blinks. Never shows any signs of fear or nervousness with a gun trained on her.

“Press the button,” he orders. “Get on when the elevator gets here. Go back and tell them exactly what I said.”

He waits, gun still focused on her, until the lift finally arrives and she steps on. Not picking up the envelope and backing into his room until he hears the elevator doors slide closed and he knows she gone for good.

***

He hurriedly snaps the deadbolt back in place; refastens the chain and then stalks across the room. Tossing the gun into the middle of the bed and tearing at the envelope; splitting it down the middle as opposed to the flap or the seams. His heart pounds mercilessly in his chest; stomach clenching and brain swimming with a thousand different thoughts. None of them good.  And the frowns when he finds two smaller envelopes inside of the first. Each one marked with the words PROOF OF LIFE.  One dated two days ago, one just this morning.

What the fuck…

He rips into the most recent one first. Photographs. Of McCann’s wife and kids.  The kids are no longer hog tied and restrained on a filthy mattress. Sitting in crude metal chairs, hands and feet bond by what he easily identifies as rock climbing rope. Both kids are naked from the waist up, most likely so whoever views the pictures grasps the extent of what’s been done to them: bruises covering the entire rib cage, finger marks from wrist to shoulder. There’s dried blood on their face: caked under their noses and around the corners of their mouths. And the skin is raw where the duct tape over the eyes had been cruelly ripped off.

He feels sick. Bile rising in his throat.

The wife is in far better condition. But still bears the marks of her ordeal. Her hair has been crudely chopped off; chunks missing, the edges just skimming the bottoms of her ears.  Unlike the children, she’s in a wooden chair that’s in remarkable condition; polished, a clean, like new cushion. Bound only by her wrists. He frowns at that, holding her picture and one of the children side by side. It makes no sense. Why the children would be in such inhumane conditions while she…despite the hacked hair job and her own bruises…is still in pretty damn good shape. Normally the kids are treated better than the adults; it’s easier to beat on and torture adults, as they’re in far better condition and can take a hell of a lot more punishment before death finally takes over.

Photos still in hand, he wanders around to the side of the bed and grabs the SAT out of the drawer of the nightstand. Pressing three on the speed dial.

“Yeah?” Yaz simply greets.   There’s no hint of sleep in his voice.

“Did someone just come to your door?” Tyler asks.

“I was just going to call you. A girl came here. Looking for you. Said her name was…”

“Erin,” he finishes.

“Yeah. I take it she found you? I wasn’t the one who told her. I acted like I had no idea what the hell she was talking about. But she obviously knows me. She talked about Dhaka. About me flying the helicopter that got Ovi out. She kept going on and on about how ‘they’ know all about us being here. About you being the one that killed Asif.”

“Well technically that was your sister. What else did she say?”

“Just kept calling you The Australian. Says that ‘they’ know all about us. All about you, especially. About Esme. And the kids.”

“Fuck…” he mutters. “…what the hell? How’d this get out so quick? How’d they know we were here?”

“I don’t know. I have no clue.  I was going to call Nik after I talked to you. Maybe we’ve got a mole on the team. Someone is feeding them information. What did this girl want with you?”

She gave me pictures. Of McCann’s wife and kids. Proof of life as of six hours ago.”

 “How they look?”

“Kids are fucked up. Wife looks pretty good though. What’s her name? The wife? We have any information on her? Maiden name, anything like that?”

“First and married name. That’s it. Why? What are you thinking?”

“Something isn’t right here. Why are they being held in different spots? When was the last time we ever saw that when we had multiple marks?”

“Never.  Not in the ten years that I’ve been doing this, anyway.”

“The kids have been worked over pretty good. Whoever sent these wanted us to see that. Just how fucked up they are. But the wife? Worst she has is a shitty hair cut and some bruises. The kids are being kept in some shit hole and she looks like she’s just been tied up for shits and giggles in someone’s dining room.”

“You think we’re being played?”

“Yeah. But I’m not sure by who. You find out everything you need to know about the wife. Like right now. Don’t wait.”

“I’m on it,” Yaz says, and hangs up.

Tyler drops the SAT into the middle of the bed, followed by the photographs, then reaches for the second smaller envelope. Pausing before he opens it, stealing himself against what he knows is inside. He’d known as soon he saw the first selection of photos. Hell, he’d known as soon as Erin had brought up his own family.  He also knows that it’s a scare tactic, that whoever is behind their existence is hoping it will cause him to give up the search for McCann’s wife and kids in favour of returning to his own family.  The chances that someone will actually hurt Esme and the kids are slim to none. That’s not what these people want. Their endgame isn’t to hurt him. Just scare him enough to send him running home.

He tears into the paper, dumping a handful of polaroids into his palm. His heart once again pounding ferociously, ever muscle and tendon in his body suddenly tense.  Hands remarkably still despite the trembling travelling through the rest of his body as he flips through the pictures. Ovi and Mille going into the ice cream shop, Esme and Millie while out of their girls day, him and the boys while leaving after their getting their hair cut, the entire family out together for dinner, him and Ovi at the shooting range, Esme and him, alone on that hammock in the backyard.

Fuck…fuck…fuck…

He grabs his SAT once again, this time calling Nik.

“Yaz just called. Talk to me.”

“They know, Nik. Whoever has McCann’s wife and kids. They know who I am and why I’m here. How the fuck do they know?”

“I have no idea. Yaz thinks there’s a mole on the team. Someone who has access to all your files.”

“Just how many people is that?”

“Half a dozen.”

“For fuck sakes, Nik! This was supposed to be kept quiet. McCann knew I was in Guatemala. He said he followed me for the entire week I was there. Now whoever has his wife and his kids know who I am and why I’m here. Explain to me how the fuck this happened?!

“I’m working on that, Tyler. You’ll have answers as soon as I get them.”

“I have pictures, Nik. Pictures of my wife and my kids. Even pictures taken in my backyard. What the fuck is going on?!”

“They’re trying to scare you, Tyler. They’re trying to force your hand. They want you to back out and go home. Don’t give in to them.”

“You get someone to my house,” he demands. “I don’t care if you have to go there personally. You get someone there to keep an eye on my family. I’ll stay here. I’ll see this job through. But you get someone to my place, Nik. Now. Not an hour from now. Not two hours from now. Not six. Now.”

“I’m already on it. What do I tell Esme? Do I tell her about the pictures?”

“No. Just tell her that you think it’s better that way. To have some folks there. That you sent people ‘just in case’. That will be good enough for her. At least for now. Don’t even tell her that I talked to you. None of this ever happened as far as she’s concerned.”

“Do you really think McCann’s wife has something to do with this?”

“I don’t know. Everything is fucked. Right off the hop this time.”

“We should call it off. I should just bring you and Yaz home.”

“The job’s not finished. We haven’t even started it.”

“The job is fucked, Tyler. We’ve lost the element of surprise.”

“Doesn’t mean the job can’t go on. I’ve got this under control, Nik. At least on this end. You just make sure that my family stays safe. Because if anything happens to my wife or my kids…”

“They’ll be fine. I’ll personally make sure of that. Keep your head on straight, Tyler. Don’t let them win.”

“I’ve got shit locked down over here,” he assures you. “You just make sure you do the same thing over there. Take care of my family, Nik.”

“I will,” she promises. And ends the call.

[nineliabilityrisk]

If he weren't already backed into the corner, pressed up against the rusty steel walls of his poor approximation of an 'office,' he'd have retreated the very moment that thing started its approach. He'd been near-paralyzed since he heard the first sign of movement in the vent, since he'd heard his father's voice, since he'd seen that yellow, bony hand reach out and grasp the edge to start pulling the body in. He'd scrambled up out of his seat and flattened himself against the wall, flashlight pointed straight at the grotesque form hauling itself out of the vent right next to where he'd been sitting moments before.

This fear, while familiar, wasn't instinctual. It was learned. First from facing his father's anger when his job's stress became too much, to staring down Springtrap's yellowed eyes through the windows of his office at that godforsaken horror attraction - it was a unique form of terror. No matter which shape he took, an angry father or a rotting corpse trapped in the suit of a killer, he instilled the exact same fear in Michael. A fear that, while nearly all-consuming, still left him incensed. Left him room to feel anger. Feel the sting of all the slights his father had committed against him over the years. And so he had shouted at the creature, shouted at him about the secret that had been divulged to him by William's own creation, the very one that had killed Elizabeth.

Rationally, despite his fear, he knew, no matter what his father decided to do to him, he would survive, 'thanks' to Ennard's... Tampering with his mortality, but he also knew it would still hurt like a bitch. And bring up memories he would rather not relive. He'd been in far too many near-death scenarios to add another to the list. Still, he couldn't resist provoking the beast.

"What kind of monster do you think I am? I'm not you. You know what happened to Evan was an accident. I never wanted him to die. God forbid I believe that my father, who dedicated his life, every last one of his waking hours, to his work, would do such a thing as install safety mechanisms in his robotic abominations. I was a child, William. We all were. Children make mistakes."

If his muscles weren't half-rotted away, he'd be shaking. If his vocal chords weren't half-shredded from Ennard's unceremonious exit from his body he'd be screaming at his father, doing anything, everything he could to prove that he's not the monster William thinks he is. He is not his father. He never has been. Why must William misconstrue his genuine care for his siblings as some sort of sick power play?

"I was a child who had to spend years not knowing what happened to his little sister. Do you not understand how much that hurts?"

Michael didn't address the final comment. He couldn't. He was a shit liar, and they both knew it. He couldn't risk making up some fib that could expose Henry's plan. The one that they were all just pawns in. So he stayed silent, mouth clamped shut regardless of the pain it caused as the raw edges along the corners of his lips rubbed together, staring straight into the hollow eyes of his father, the eyes he'd been haunted by for nearly his entire life.

"You knew. This whole time, you knew what happened to Elizabeth and you never told me. Why? What could you have gained from that? She was my sister. I deserved to know." (- mikey for scraptrap, the ugly bastard [affectionate])

🔧 @nineliabilityrisk (poked the peanut)

"what, exactly, do you think you deserve -- michael?" the what is loud, snarled. retained voice, accented and growling brought forth from his time at fazbear frights in through his self-made repairs. the shank at the edge of his arm is ripe for the severing of jugular, though supposes he would simply rip off pieces of rotted flesh. the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, it would seem. "disappointed you didn't get to claim her as your victim, as well? i know you would have rather it been her." he adds. "she was always my favorite."

why the added insults to injury? is it to hurt him further? pawed gait coming forth angrily. his daughter is here. scrap baby. "i suppose there's still time. is that why you called her here? to finish what you started?"

[tasksweekly]

[TASK 194: MONTSERRAT]

There’s a masterlist below compiled of over 130+ Montserratian faceclaims categorised by gender with their occupation and ethnicity denoted if there was a reliable source. If you want an extra challenge use random.org to pick a random number! Of course everything listed below are just suggestions and you can pick whichever faceclaim or whichever project you desire.

Any questions can be sent here and all tutorials have been linked below the cut for ease of access! REMEMBER to tag your resources with #TASKSWEEKLY and we will reblog them onto the main! This task can be tagged with whatever you want but if you want us to see it please be sure that our tag is the first five tags, @ mention us or send us a messaging linking us to your post!

THE TASK - scroll down for FC’s!

STEP 1: Decide on a FC you wish to create resources for! You can always do more than one but who are you starting with? There are links to masterlists you can use in order to find them and if you want help, just send us a message and we can pick one for you at random!

STEP 2: Pick what you want to create! You can obviously do more than one thing, but what do you want to start off with? Screencaps, RP icons, GIF packs, masterlists, PNG’s, fancasts, alternative FC’s - LITERALLY anything you desire!

STEP 3: Look back on tasks that we have created previously for tutorials on the thing you are creating unless you have whatever it is you are doing mastered - then of course feel free to just get on and do it. :)

STEP 4: Upload and tag with #TASKSWEEKLY! If you didn’t use your own screencaps/images make sure to credit where you got them from as we will not reblog packs which do not credit caps or original gifs from the original maker.

THINGS YOU CAN MAKE FOR THIS TASK -  examples are linked!

Stumped for ideas? Maybe make a masterlist or graphic of your favourite faceclaims. A masterlist of names. Plot ideas or screencaps from a music video preformed by an artist. Masterlist of quotes and lyrics that can be used for starters, thread titles or tags. Guides on culture and customs.

Screencaps

RP icons [of all sizes]

Gif Pack [maybe gif icons if you wish]

PNG packs

Manips

Dash Icons

Character Aesthetics

PSD’s

XCF’s

Graphic Templates - can be chara header, promo, border or background PSD’s!

FC Masterlists - underused, with resources, without resources!

FC Help - could be related, family templates, alternatives.

Written Guides.

and whatever else you can think of / make!

MASTERLIST!

F:

Maizie Williams (1951) Afro-Montserratian - singer and model

Michelle Gomez (1966) Montserratian [Portuguese] / Scottish - actress.

Diane Parish (1969) Afro-Montserratian / Afro-Dominiquais - actress.

Heidi D'Amelio (1972) Montserratian [Irish, French], Kaskaskia, Haitian [Cajun, French], Basque, Breton, Italian, Swiss, German, French, Spanish, Irish, English - instagrammer (heididamelio).

Angela Yee (1976) Afro-Montserratian / Cantonese Chinese - actress, model, tv personality, and radio personality.

Pippa Bennett-Warner (1988) Afro-Montserratian - actress.

Dixie D'Amelio (2001) Montserratian [Irish, French], Kaskaskia, Haitian [Cajun, French], Basque, Breton, Italian, Swiss, German, French, Spanish, Irish, English / Italian - tiktoker (dixiedamelio) and dancer.

Charli D’Amelio (2004) Montserratian [Irish, French], Kaskaskia, Haitian [Cajun, French], Basque, Breton, Italian, Swiss, German, French, Spanish, Irish, English / Italian - tiktoker (charlidamelio) and dancer.

Emari Dyer (?) Afro-Montserratian - model (instagram: westindiandolly)

Gabrielle Graham (?) Afro-Montserratian / Afro-Jamaican - actress, singer, and dancer.

Samorezworld (?) Afro-Montserratian, Afro-Haitian - youtuber. 

Sharissa Ryan (?) Afro-Montserratian - model, Miss Montserrat 2014-2015, and Miss Jaycees Caribbean Queen 2015.

F - Athletes:

Rechelle Meade (?) Afro-Montserratian - sprinter.

M:

Q-Tip / Kamaal Ibn John Fareed (1970) Afro-Montserratian / African-American [including Bissau-Guinean] - actor, DJ, rapper, singer, bassist, guitarist, keyboardist, drummer, and producer.

Wil Wheaton (1972) Montserratian, Portuguese Jewish, Dutch Jewish, Irish, Welsh, French, Dutch, German, English - actor, tv personality, blogger, and writer.

David Jordan (1985) Afro-Montserratian / Bengali Indian - singer-songwriter.

Kadiff Kirwan (1989) Afro-Montserratian - actor.

Layton Williams (1994) Afro-Montserratian, Afro-Jamaican / English - actor, singer, and dancer.

M - Athletes:

William Duberry (1944) Afro-Montserratian - cricketer.

Alford Corriette (1948) Afro-Montserratian - cricketer.

Fred Sowerby (1948) Afro-Montserratian - hurdler.

Jim Allen (1951) Afro-Montserratian - cricketer.

Austin White (1959) Montserratian - cricketer.

Fitzroy Buffonge (1960) Afro-Montserratian - cricketer.

Livingstone Bramble (1960) Afro-Montserratian / Afro-Kittian - boxer.

Kenny Dyer (1964) Afro-Montserratian - footballer.

Mark Stephney (1965) Afro-Montserratian - cricketer.

Cecil Lake (1965) Montserratian - footballer.

David Lane (1965) Montserratian - cricketer.

Ottley Laborde (1967) Afro-Montserratian - footballer.

Ruel Fox (1968) Afro-Montserratian - footballer.

Paul Furlong (1968) Afro-Montserratian - footballer.

Richard Dyer (1968) Afro-Montserratian - footballer.

Keith Piper (1969) Afro-Montserratian - cricketer.

Daren Sweeney (1970) Afro-Montserratian - cricketer.

Trevor Semper (1970) Afro-Montserratian - cricketer.

Lesroy Weekes (1971) Afro-Montserratian - cricketer.

Davon Williams (1972) Afro-Montserratian - cricketer.

Lesroy Irish (1972) Afro-Montserratian - cricketer.

Elton Williams (1973) Afro-Montserratian / Afro-Guyanese - footballer.

Peter Phyll (1974) Afro-Montserratian - footballer.

Michael Duberry (1975) Afro-Montserratian - footballer.

Bruce Dyer (1975) Afro-Montserratian - footballer.

Junior Mendes (1976) Afro-Montserratian - footballer.

Wayne Dyer (1977) Afro-Montserratian - footballer.

Stanford Jarrett (1977) Afro-Montserratian - footballer.

Alex Daley (1977) Afro-Montserratian - footballer.

Clifford Joseph (1978) Afro-Montserratian - footballer.

McPherson Meade (1979) Afro-Montserratian - cricketer.

Zhaun Sweeney (1979) Afro-Montserratian - cricketer.

Darren Tuitt (1980) Afro-Montserratian - sprinter.

Jaylee Hodgson (1980) Afro-Montserratian - footballer.

Delroy Facey (1980) Afro-Montserratian / Afro-Grenadian - footballer.

Kurt Joyce (1980) Afro-Montserratian - footballer.

Simon Peddie (1980 or 1981) Afro-Montserratian - footballer.

Matt Piper (1981) Afro-Montserratian - footballer.

Vladimir Farrell (1981) Afro-Montserratian - footballer.

Sean Howson (1981) Afro-Montserratian - footballer.

Lloyd Dyer (1982) Afro-Montserratian - footballer.

Olsen Murrain (1982) Montserratian - cricketer.

Dorian Harper (1982) Afro-Montserratian - footballer.

Nesta Piper (1982) Afro-Montserratian - cricketer.

Marlon Campbell (1983) Afro-Montserratian - footballer.

Brian Stephney (1983) Afro-Montserratian - cricketer.

Shane Greenaway (1983) Afro-Montserratian - footballer.

Dean Morgan (1983) Afro-Montserratian / English - footballer.

Solomon Henry (1983) Afro-Montserratian - footballer.

Calvin Petrie (1984) Afro-Montserratian - footballer.

Ellis Remy (1984) Afro-Montserratian - footballer.

Jaafar Munroe (1984) Afro-Montserratian - footballer.

Lionel Baker (1984) Afro-Montserratian - footballer.

Andrew Julius (1984) Afro-Montserratian - footballer.

Jermaine Sweeney (1984) Afro-Montserratian - footballer.

Darryl Roach (1984) Afro-Montserratian - footballer.

Rowan Taylor (1984) Montserratian - footballer.

Alexander Bramble (1984) Afro-Montserratian - footballer.

Nathan Pond (1985) Afro-Montserratian - footballer.

Kelvin Ponde (1985) Afro-Montserratian - footballer.

Micah Hilton (1985) Afro-Montserratian - footballer.

Spencer Weir-Daley (1985) Afro-Montserratian - footballer.

Big E / Ettore Ewen (1986) Afro-Montserratian / Afro-Jamaican - wrestler and powerlifter.

Anthony Griffith (1986) Afro-Montserratian - footballer.

Bradley Woods-Garness (1986) Afro-Montserratian - footballer.

Dolston Tuit (1986) Afro-Montserratian - cricketer.

Michael Henry (1986) Afro-Montserratian - footballer.

Benjamin Manning (1986) Afro-Montserratian - footballer.

Leovan O'Garro (1987) Afro-Montserratian - footballer.

Corrin Brooks-Meade (1988) Afro-Montserratian - footballer.

Shabazz Baidoo (1988) Afro-Montserratian / Ghanaian - footballer.

Michael Williams (1988) Afro-Montserratian - footballer.

Craig Braham-Barrett (1988) Afro-Montserratian / Afro-Jamaican - footballer.

Adrian Clifton (1989) Afro-Montserratian - footballer.

Dean Mason (1989) Afro-Montserratian - footballer.

P. K. Subban (1989) Afro-Montserratian / Afro-Jamaican - ice hockey player.

Nyron Dyer (1989) Afro-Montserratian - footballer.

Jaison Peters (1989) Afro-Montserratian - cricketer.

Lyle Taylor (1990) Afro-Montserratian - footballer.

Quinton Boatswain (1990) Afro-Montserratian - footballer.

Julian Wade (1990) Afro-Montserratian / Afro-Dominiquais - footballer.

Omari Allen (1990) Afro-Montserratian - cricketer.

Marvin Farrell (1990) Afro-Montserratian - footballer.

Alex Dyer (1990) Afro-Montserratian - footballer.

Massiah McDonald (1990 or 1991) Afro-Montserratian - footballer.

Shernyl Burns (1991) Afro-Montserratian - sprinter and cricketer.

Matthew Whichelow (1991) Afro-Montserratian - footballer.

James Comley (1991) Afro-Montserratian - footballer.

Nic Taylor (1991) Afro-Montserratian - footballer.

Dale Lee (1991) Afro-Montserratian - footballer.

Ellary White (1991) Afro-Montserratian - footballer.

Ronsford Beaton (1992) Afro-Montserratian - cricketer.

Kendall Allen (1992) Afro-Montserratian - footballer.

Lester Ryan (1993) Afro-Montserratian - sprinter.

Malcolm Subban (1993) Afro-Montserratian / Afro-Jamaican - ice hockey player.

Donervon Daniels (1993) Afro-Montserratian - footballer.

Julius Morris (1994) Afro-Montserratian - sprinter.

Terrell Miller (1994) Afro-Montserratian - footballer.

Jamal Willer (1994) Afro-Montserratian - footballer.

Brandon Comley (1995) Afro-Montserratian - footballer.

Jordan Subban (1995) Afro-Montserratian / Afro-Jamaican - ice hockey player.

Clifford Newby-Harris (1995) Afro-Montserratian - footballer.

Darnell Furlong (1995) Afro-Montserratian / English - footballer.

Jamie Allen (1995) Afro-Montserratian - footballer.

Dajour Buffonge (1996) Afro-Montserratian / Afro-Antiguan - footballer.

Matty Willock (1996) Afro-Montserratian - footballer.

Joey Taylor (1997) Afro-Montserratian - footballer.

DJ Buffonge (1998) Afro-Montserratian / Afro-Antiguan - footballer.

Chris Willock (1998) Afro-Montserratian - footballer.

Joe Willock (1999) Afro-Montserratian - footballer.

Marshall Willock (2000) Afro-Montserratian - footballer.

Danny Facey (?) Afro-Montserratian / Afro-Grenadian - footballer.

Michael Bramble (?) Afro-Montserratian - footballer.

Vendol Moore (?) Afro-Montserratian - cricketer.

Lennox Cooper (?) Montserratian - footballer.

Oris Fergus (?) Montserratian - cricketer.

Non-Binary:

Billy Dee Williams (1937) Afro-Montserratian / African-American - Genderfluid (He/Him/His, She/Her/Her’s) - actor, singer, and artist.

Problematic:

Tesfaye Bramble (1980) Afro-Montserratian - footballer. - Convicted of rape.

Titus Bramble (1981) Afro-Montserratian - footballer. - Accused of rape.

[crimsoncityhq]

The night has been advertised by multiple commercials in the civilian’s homes, and even dead bodies littered on some residence lawns. It’s dusk on a Thursday in February. The gates to the Fire and Ice Festival are lowered after hours of waiting in the biting Chicago tundra, and the crowd, over 4,000 strong, rushes in. Most are expecting a night of drunken freedom, cozied up by the outdoor heaters that promise a warm welcome, but some foresee the chaos bound to erupt across the lawn.

The first act takes the stage, and anyone who isn’t inebriated, courtesy of the open bar, is perceptive enough to realize that, no, that’s not Kanye West. Instead they are mesmerized by the lyrical lip syncher Dante Yeast—he looks enough like him, it’s better not to question it. One would think that the O’Sheas, Vasiles, and the Fausts all gathered in one spot would spell disaster, yet the evening rolls on without a hitch, despite the tensions slowly building in its periphery. Fausts members, too, are scattered across the ocean of bodies, but some faces are missing, figureheads who pull the strings.

 Maybe they’re absorbed by the crowd; maybe they thought better of attending, but there’s a sense of unease that settles in the air. It’s not quite right, but no one can put a finger on why. Another beer, and the thought is lost is the swell of the music—if they didn’t know any better, they’d think the bass replicates the sound of distant explosions.

You’re free to start plotting. You can start posting starters/threads tomorrow, February 20th, 2020 at 7:30PM CST !  Part II coming February 24th ( Plot Slots can be found below the cut ! )

We’re going to allow each person to choose two plot slots for two characters max .If there are any leftovers, we’ll let members know when they can sign up for thirds.

You’ll notice that some of these plots are public, so feel free to have your character react to them/ notice them even if they aren’t happening directly to your character. However, if something feels like it happened privately to another character, please check in with their Mun to see if it’s okay for your character to know.

To be clear: these are not the only things that happen to your character during this plot drop and you are more than welcome to cook up your own trouble.

To sign up for a plot slot message the main! You can start doing that as soon as right now!

CHARACTER A, CHARACTER B, CHARACTER C, are approached by the venue to play as impersonators for the opening act of the show. However, it turns out…they are the show along with other noteworthy impersonators. 

CHARACTER D & CHARACTER E end up camped out at the ticket box office on the other side of the lawn seats. They want a refund for the musical event after their cards were erroneously charged the next day on ADAM & EVE. Much to their surprise they come face to face with CHARACTER F( Faust ).

AUTUMN DAWSON is shitfaced prior to arriving at the music festival. They try to crowd surf before the opening act, and would get immediately dropped if NATHAN BURR didn’t catch their fall. 

CHARACTER I & CHARACTER J purchased tickets to meet the bands backstage. They are led by the security detail of the event to two tents filled with a scent of gunpowder. Upon further inspection, they find a crate of fireworks. Do what you will.

CHARACTER K jumps on stage to hijack the mic and accidentally falls and breaks their ankle.

CHARACTER L & CHARACTER M are dosed with PCP by a stranger serving up “free” cocktails. Everything is a blur and they both snap back to reality an hour later, but they’re in the middle of an intense fist fight.

EFFIE FAUST & CHARACTER O engage in a mud wrestling contest that is being judged by no one whatsoever. 

CHARACTER P & CHARACTER Q make out in a port-o-potty, but realize shortly after they’re locked inside. It’s up to CHARACTER R to either let them out...or tip them over.

CHARACTER S is mistaken as Pat Benatar. ASLI DEMIR drunkenly convinces them to go on stage to sing LOVE IS A BATTLEFIELD.

 CHARACTER U & CHARACTER V go hard on the alcoholic beverages & psychedelic treats  at the start of the festival, by the end of it neither of them know where their shoes or wallets are. 

CHARACTER W finds their soulmate in a drunken stupor and grinds on them for the better half of two hours, only to realize the grindee is ZHI ROU, who has been uncomfortably shifting away from them this entire time. 

CHARACTER Y breaks all of their glow sticks and covers themselves in the liquid. It’s all fun and games until that shit starts to burn. CHARACTER Z does their best to quench CHARACTER Y with every bottled water they can find.

 CHARACTER A1, CHARACTER B1, & CHARACTER C1 are hired security guards for the event. They have no clue who hired them to do it. 

INGRID VASILE  starts to overdose on COCAINE. LEV VASILE notices their struggle and assists them to the med tent. DOMINIC MURPHY is around the med tent and notices the commotion. 

 CHARACTER  F1 tries to charge their phone using the musical equipment & gets electrocuted. Also it starts to play the most recent song listened to on their phone which is SONG OF THEIR CHOICE. 

GRIFFIN DYER is held up at security when they try to enter the venue, because they tried to smuggle in a small animal. CHARACTER H1 isn’t really security and jacks the animal instead.

SERENITY MICHAELS starts to question their sanity when they see a small animal run in circles in front of them and jet off towards the direction of the port-o-potty. 

RACHEL BYRNE feels something small and furry scaling the back of their dress, and, assuming it’s someone’s hand, slaps DAHLIA CAVALLI in the mouth before the small animal scurries away and they have to apologize.

CHARACTER L1 chases the small animal and just when they are sure they’ve caught it, the animal bites them on the neck. CHARACTER M1, who is higher than a motherfucker and hallucinating, sees CHARACTER L1 cradling their neck and automatically assumes a vampiric transformation is happening. CHARACTER L1 has to survive the following attack from a stranger with a pocket knife.

CHARACTER N1 is on their fifth drink at the venue. They hear a loud slurping noise, only to find the small animal lapping their beer in hand. Out of surprise they scream which causes the animal to shit on their hand and run away. CHARACTER O1 looks on in amazement, wonder, and terror as CHARACTER N1 wipes their hand on an unknowing CHARACTER P1. CHARACTER O1 is conflicted if they should say anything but takes a Snapchat video of the whole scenario anyway. It goes viral on Tik Tok the following evening.

The small animal finally gets caught by SANTIAGO PEREZ in a battle that lasts 10 minutes. The small animal is then given to CHARACTER R1 whom they assume is the owner. 

CHARACTER S1 is lost to the world, and passes out directly in front of CHARACTER T1 that had just spent twenty minutes in line for a cup of water. The cup of water is spilled on top of CHARACTER S1.

NAOMI WASHINGTON & CHARACTER V1 become instant buddies when they chant to the sound of “SHOTS” around the crowd. IRINA KOSHKIN takes this literally and pulls out their gun ready to fire. 

CHARACTER X1, CHARACTER Y1, CHARACTER Z1 all show up to the venue wearing the same exact outfit. You have declared them your number 1 enemy for the entirety of the music festival. 

CHARACTER A2 is high as fuck and thinks they’re making a flower crown for CHARACTER B2…..except it’s a crown of shrooms instead. CHARACTER B2 wears the crown, but has to swat CHARACTER C2 away who keeps trying to eat them. 

CHARACTER D2, CHARACTER E2, CHARACTER F2 suffer from dehydration. They try to find help at the med tent, but they can’t find where it is. 

ROSA LEON gets handsy with the bartender at the open bar and leads them away for a quick fuck, allowing RYAN HAYES and CHARACTER I2 to raid the bar freely.

 CHARACTER J2 is the aforementioned bartender and realizes a moment too late their station is being cleared out. Instead of returning to their position, they throw on some neon bracelets and join the party.

 CHARACTER K2 is doing some sick backflips in the middle of the crowd and are called out by the currently performing act mid-set for drawing attention away from the stage. CHARACTER K2 does another backflip to retaliate, but accidentally kicks CHARACTER L2 in the face.

JESSE VALENCIA hijacks a ELECTRIC BLUE STRATOCASTER from the backstage, and they are not caught. 

DAVUT DEMIR feels like they’re being watched and finds a silhouette with a rifle narrowed in on them perched upon a nearby building. They quickly retreat to find OPHELIA O’SHEA and P2 and warn them about the occurrence, who realize there are multiple snipers surrounding the pavilion. 

CHARACTER Q2 swears they heard a sound of explosions over the music, being in front nearest to the stage. They grab the microphone and scream, “WE’RE ALL GONNA DIE.” CHARACTER R2 & CHARACTER S2 start to openly panic. 

CHARACTER T2 (O’Shea) gets into a physical altercation with CHARACTER U2 (Vasile). They don’t stop until one or the other is knocked unconscious. 

ANDREA REED & BIRDIE MENDOZA try to leave the event, but notice that they’re trapped in the auditorium. CHARACTER X2 makes it to their vehicle, but is stuck in place by the surrounding vehicles around them. Unable to escape fully, they return back to the venue. 

CHARACTER Y2 hates their life at this music venue, because they’re stuck behind a rather sweaty individual. Their sweat keeps hitting them in the face, and at one point, they catch it in their mouth. It incites a ferocious bout of vomiting, and CHARACTER Z2 is trying to help, thinking they’ve been drugged, but CHARACTER Y2 can’t even explain what it is that made them sick.

 TATIANA BLANTER is hit with a spare bullet, but no one is able to find where the source is. As no one around seems to have their gun out. CHARACTER B3 conceals their weapon perfectly. 

 NOVA DEVERAUX suffers a panic attack due to the crowd gathered, and clings onto CLARA DAVILLA who is unable to get them to the med tent.

 CHARACTER E3 feels something warm splash on their face. They are unsure if it’s warm beer or urine. They’re pretty sure it’s warm beer, but remain conflicted the rest of the festival. CHARACTER F3 offers the shirt off their back for CHARACTER E3 to wipe the liquid off their face. 

 CHARACTER G3 is doing photography for the event, but realizes midway through the show that the performers aren’t who they say they are. They spot a face they know to be Faust affiliated in the crowd and scurry off toward the exit, only to be stopped by CHARACTER H3 (Faust) at the door.

MILES ST CLARE is the first to notice the lack of Fausts at the start of the music venue. They make their way to the police station in hopes of figuring it out, but instead they encounter burning police cars and chaos.