#should be in the squad and it’s a crime she isn’t | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rollingsins · 1 year ago

Text

all hers, part xxiii

summary: Tara and Sam rush you to the hospital. You see a familiar friend.

warnings: (+18), Tara is Ghostface, graphic violence.

word count: 4.9k

a/n: let me know what you think, love you guys as always ;)

In all her life, Sam has never seen so much blood.

It’s everywhere. All over the back of her hands, in her hair. It’s all over the floor, all over the ceiling, all over Tara.

All over you.

Everything is soaked crimson red.

She presses her hand a little harder against the wound in your stomach, trying to stop it.

But it spills out, flushing the floor like it’s a red sea.

Tara’s sobbing.

Her hands are on your face, your eyelids have long fluttered shut. There’s a pulse, Sam can feel it, but it's faint. Barely there.

And there's nothing Sam can do but watch as she listens to her baby sister wail for you to open your eyes.

“Tara,” Sam murmurs. She’d touch Tara’s shoulder, try to snap her out of her grief infused trance, but she’s too scared the moment she lifts her hands you’ll bleed out all over the basement floor.

Tara rests her forehead to your cheek, the water from her eyes staining with the blood on your face, turning it a light shade of pink.

She murmurs something Sam can’t hear. Presses her lips once more to the side of your cheek.

“Tara!” Sam says, a little more forcefully.

The ambulance should have been here by now. Sam had called ahead of time and then again once more. The moment you’d passed out.

But it’s been ten minutes and there’s no sign of them.

“Call them again,” Sam instructs, once she’s sure she has Tara’s attention, “Tell them she’s bleeding out.”

Tara’s bottom lip wobbles, but she does what she’s told.

She sinks her face back down into your neck and presses her phone to her ear, her words a desperate mumble.

The ambulance arrive not five minutes later.

It’s a flurry of lights, and stretchers and crime scene tape as the police follow, not long after.

These are Millwood police officers, and Sam doesn’t recognize a single face.

But for all their questions, they don’t get much out of either one of them. Tara’s at your side, hurrying out with the EMT’s as they pull your limp, bloodied body onto a stretcher, hooking an oxygen mask around your face and taking Sam’s place putting pressure on your wound.

Sam follows, not wanting you or Tara far from sight.

“Is she going to be okay?” Tara asks, voice frail as they pile into the back of the ambulance. Sam presses her hands to Tara’s shoulder in support.

They’d very nearly kicked Sam out. The ambulance isn’t massive, and Sam had half-expected to be relegated to riding in a squad car on the way to the hospital. But Tara’s near hysterical, and the only thing slightly calming her down is Sam’s hand wrapped tight around her shoulders.

“We’re doing our best, honey,” Says the EMT, not unkindly, “But we need to focus on her, right now. Okay?”

There’s a thick layer of gauze pressed to your stomach to soak up some of the blood. But within seconds it’s coated through.

The EMT’s barrel off to each other, almost speaking in code. Heavy medical terms Sam doesn’t understand. But she gets the gist.

It’s not looking good.

She squeezes Tara’s shoulders a little tighter as Tara’s whimpers break out into sobs.

When the ambulance pulls into the hospital they take you away.

You’re rushed through the cool linoleum floors, whisked behind a pair of swinging doors that Sam and Tara aren’t allowed through.

You’re going straight into surgery, is what the EMT had said. It could be hours before there’s news.

It had been a fight to stop Tara from barreling in after you.

She stands now, looking horrific; covered in blood, sweat, and her own tears as she argues with the receptionist. Bloody shoeprints follow in her wake.

“There’s a viewing platform,” She says, voice shrewd, leaning down onto the receptionists counter, “There’s a viewing platform to watch surgery. I’ve seen it in Grey’s Anatomy. I need to be there.”

“Ma’am,” Says the receptionist, looking pointed. Her phone is pressed to her ear, no doubt trying to call for security, “There is no viewing platform. That’s a TV show.”

“Tara,’ Sam murmurs, tugging at her sister’s arm, “Come on. We can’t do anything now. We just have to wait-”

Tara shakes off Sam’s hand, shooting her an angry glare.

“My girlfriend needs me,” She says, voice desperate, “If there’s no viewing platform, can’t I be in there? I’ll take a shower. Where one of those hospital gown things. Please.” Her voice cracks, “I have to be in there. I have to be with her. If she dies and I’m not there…”

Her voice trails off. She looks like she’s about to cry again.

Sam reaches out, presses her hand firm against Tara’s back.

The receptionist looks up, pity overtaking her features.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” She says, “You need to let the doctors do their job. I’ll have them update you when they can.”

She doesn’t call security.

Tara deflates like a lead balloon. Sam is alert, on guard, a little concerned Tara might take matters into her own hands and careen through the hospital in a sprint to find you.

But instead she lets Sam take her by the hand and lead her to the waiting room.

And then, she promptly takes out her phone, shoulders seizing in aggravation. Anger overtakes her features. The tears promptly stop, like someone has just turned off a hose and replaced it with a flamethrower.

“I’m suing the hospital.” Tara says, voice a growl. She’s swiping through google for lawyers. Sam bites her lip and welcomes the distraction. Better Tara take out her emotions via google than swinging a punch at the hospital receptionist.

“Okay, Tara.” She says, voice tired. Her knee bounces. Sam had called Woodsboro hospital, and your Mom and Dad had been rushed to the emergency room, their fate not dissimilar from yours. It feels wrong to be sitting. Sam feels like she should be pacing, or checking on you or doing something.

But there's nothing she can do except sit. Stew in her own panic.

“I’m suing the police, too.” Tara says, looking up, “What kind of police force doesn’t know their Sheriff is Ghostface?”

Sam hums.

Usually, she’d argue. In the overarching sense of morality, she often ends up on the opposite side of her sister.

But privately, she agrees.

How could no one have seen the town Sheriff had been Ghostface all along?

Tara drops her phone. The anger, quick as it had come, evaporates. Her lip quivers.

“Sam?” Tara asks, voice small. Sam looks up. Tara’s eyes are red, a little puffy. She’s wiped most of the blood from her face but speckles of it still linger in her hair.

She looks as if she might cry again.

“Do you think she’s going to be okay?”

It’s not a question so much as a plea for comfort. Sam scoots a little closer, draws Tara’s head onto her shoulder.

“She’s in the best place,” Says Sam, voice a little hesitant, “They’ll do everything they can to make sure she’s alright.”

She doesn’t want to lie. In truth, it had looked bad, and Sam has no idea if you’ll pull through or not. Tara sniffs against her shoulder, and Sam feels the thin material of her t-shirt soak through with Tara’s tears. She rubs Tara’s back, comfortingly.

“If she dies, I don’t know what I’ll do,” Tara murmurs. She loops her hands around Sam’s arm, clinging to her like a baby koala in a tree, “If she dies, Sam, I’ll die.”

“Don’t say things like that,” Sam says. She squeezes Tara’s shoulders once more, “And let’s not get ahead of ourselves. She’s in surgery, she’s not gone yet. Okay?”

Tara says something inaudible. Her grip around Sam’s arm tightens. She settles for resting her head against Sam’s shoulder, and Sam’s heart soars.

Tara isn’t affectionate, not with her.

She’d be lucky to get a hug out of Tara most days. They snipe at each other like sisters because that’s what they are. When they were kids it was hair pulling. Silly, bouts of sibling rivalry. But Sam’s older now, and that isn’t what she wants their relationship to be.

It’s more than sisterly for Sam. It’s maternal. Their own mother off god knows where, not a care in the world her youngest daughter is covered in blood and falling to pieces in a dingy hospital waiting room.

And so Sam will be the mother Tara needs. She presses a quick kiss to her sister’s head, and closes her eyes. She doesn’t believe in God, not really. But she prays hard now.

Because if she doesn’t pray and beg and cry she knows her sister will never be the same.

Please, God, she thinks, desperately, please let her wake up.

When you wake, you’re in a meadow.

You blink up at the pale blue of the sky, not a cloud in sight. You sit, rubbing at your eyes.

This isn't Woodboro, is all you can think. Woodboro is winding suburban streets and million dollar houses. This is a grassy field in the middle of nowhere.

You turn, confused, looking for any sign of life.

And then you see him.

Clear as day, standing over you. His expression is mild, he looks almost pleased to see you.

And you can't think of why.

"Wes?" You ask. You blink, then clamor to your feet. He doesn't move, or speak, or make any effort to acknowledge his name. You step a little closer, mind whirling.

“Are you real?” You ask, wide-eyed.

He looks real. Floppy, blonde hair. Searing blue eyes. Stubble dotting the round of his chin. His lips, slightly chapped, they way they always were. You can smell him - that cologne he liked, you can feel the warmth from his body.

You blink.

Wonder if he’d be weirded out if you touched him.

But you do it anyway.

He smiles, a little lopsided, as you graze the skin of his forearm.

“You’re real.” You breathe out in wonder.

Then you frown.

“But you’re dead. I-”

Killed you.

His smile fades.

You swallow.

“Where’s Tara?” You ask, as if you'd just realized she isn't here.

The look on his face is pained.

Panic surges through you. You whirl around, looking for her. Grass blooms as far as the eye can see. There’s nothing else. No roads, no signs. No power poles, nothing.

No sign of anything else. Anyone else.

“Where is she?” You ask again, “Wes, tell me where Tara is. Has something happened to her?”

You rack your brain, trying to think of the last time you’d seen her. But your mind draws a blank. You don’t remember anything. Nothing but her and her pretty smile.

You grab at Wes’ arm, shake him.

He blinks. And suddenly, the look in his eyes is mean.

“You’re not going to see her again,” He says. His lips purse, “You’re not going to see anyone again. And it’s your fault.”

And then he disappears.

His body crumbles like paper under water. You falter forward, your grip on his arm the only thing keeping you upright.

You cough, eyes watering as the ash hits your mouth.

You look up, desperately.

The birds chirp. A pleasant breezes settles through the blades of grass. You panic.

“Tara!” You cry out, wildly fumbling your way through the meadow, “Tara, where are you?”

You break out into a sprint. But the meadow doesn’t end. You run and run and run. A mile. Two miles. Until your chest is heaving and you’re covered in sweat. And then you collapse to the ground. Your stomach aches like someone is twisting metal through your insides.

You pant, tug your shirt up to see a bare patch of skin. There’s nothing wrong with you. Your eyebrows knit together as you start to cry.

You don’t know where you are, or what’s going on.

You can’t remember yesterday, or the day before, or the day before that.

You just think of Tara. You wonder where she is. She wouldn’t leave you alone in the middle of a field. She loves you.

Surely, she’s looking for you.

And then a soft voice draws you out of your stupor.

There’s a road behind you that certainly wasn’t there before. You blink, mouth falling open. It’s Chase, eyes sparkling. He’s in his old pick-up truck, the one with the paint peeling off the sides and the stupid ‘ladies man’ charm hanging off the rear screen mirror.

“Hey,” Chase says, with a smile on his face, “Get in.”

Tara had settled for maybe thirty minutes.

She’d closed her eyes, and for a moment, Sam had almost thought she'd drifted off to sleep. And then, inevitably, someone had to ruin it.

"Samantha Carpenter?" He'd called. He's wearing a uniform, a Sheriff's badge pressed to his chest. The badge is old, looking a little rusty. Sam frowns, and sits slightly upright.

Tara rises at the same time.

“Who are you?” Sam asks, frown on her face.

The man charges forward, a little awkwardly. He accidentally bumps a coffee table, sending a slew of magazines careening onto the ground.

"Sorry," He says, as Sam and Tara blink up at him, "Should have introduced myself. I'm the new Sheriff. Well, the old Sheriff. The old old Sheriff. I've been asked to step in."

He reaches down onto the ground and fumbles with the magazine.

His smile is sheepish.

“My name is Dewey,” He says, “Dewey Riley.”

“Okay, Dewey,” Sam says, frowning slightly, “This really isn’t a great time. My sister's girlfriend is in surgery."

The look on his face is apologetic.

"I know," He says, "I'm sorry."

He reaches into his pocket and draws out a small notebook, "We didn't get a statement, back at the house. I know it was a little - hectic. But we really need to get an account of what happened."

“What happened was your Sheriff was a raving psychopath who kidnapped my girlfriend and tried to murder her,” Growls Tara, "What happened was she stabbed her so hard she's been in surgery for the last three hours-"

Dewey purses his lips.

“I understand,” He says, “I’m sorry this happened. I know it must be very traumatic.” He lets it hang. Sam frowns.

“I know you,” She says, suddenly, it all coming at once. His face is so familiar, “You knew my-”

Father. Is what she wants to say. She catches herself just in time. Tara doesn’t know. Nobody knows. And it’s not the time or place for family revelations.

“You knew the original Ghostface.”

Dewey tilts his head.

“And the one after that,” He says, with a weak smile on his lips, “And the one after that. And the one after that. I know what it’s like to survive a Ghostface attack.”

He touches Tara’s shoulder, sympathy on his face.

“Like I said, I’m sorry this happened to you.”

“I’m suing you,” Tara says, quietly. Hatred brews behind her eyes, “I’m suing the entire Woodsboro police force. For all I know you were all in on it. I’m not talking to you without a lawyer.”

Sam pinches her nose.

“Tara, he’s just doing his job-”

But Dewey smiles.

“It’s all right, I understand.” He says, but he doesn’t step away. Instead, he sits down. Tara stares, “But it’s a bit conspiratorial, don’t you think? A police force of Ghostfaces’? Logistically, it’d be a nightmare.”

Tara blinks.

“You don’t have to talk to me,” Dewey says. He leans back in his seat, “But if you don’t, they’ll send someone else. Maybe the state police. Maybe the Feds. And they won’t do it here. They’ll take you to the station, keep you in the interrogation room for hours. The death of a police officer is a very serious matter.”

Sam swallows.

“I think you should stay here and be with your girlfriend,” Dewey says, quietly, “I think she’ll want you here when she wakes up. But that will only be the case if you can tell me what happened.”

Tara’s quiet a moment.

And then she speaks.

“It all started four weeks ago.”

Infuriatingly, Chase doesn’t say anything for a long while.

He hums along with the radio, taps his fingers against the wheel. Ignores you staring at him.

Ignores your barrage of questions.

“Where am I?” Is the one you keep repeating.

This reality isn’t reality. That much is obvious by now. You’ve been in an endless field talking to ghosts all day. Tara is nowhere in sight.

Chase looks over at you.

“You’re nowhere.” He says. And then he smiles again and tilts his head back. Mumbles along to Bryan Adams’ “Heaven”.

“Is that supposed to be funny?” You snap. You lean forward and shut the radio off, “Is this heaven? Is that where we are?”

Chase laughs.

“You really think you’re going to heaven?” He asks, bemused. His eyes twinkle.

You swallow.

“So, I’m in hell?”

Chase shakes his head.

“No. Not yet, at least. You’re nowhere.”

You grind your teeth, frustration overtaking you. Chase and Wes are some incredibly unhelpful ghosts.

“How can I be nowhere?” You ask, “Am I dead? Is this- limbo, or something?”

Chase looks over at you. He tilts his head, taking pity on you.

“You’re in your own head,” He says, softly, “You’re dreaming. This isn't real. None of it is real.”

You blink. This doesn’t feel like a dream. It’s vivid. You can touch, feel, smell everything around you. You press your hand to the dashboard. It’s solid under your hand.

“I’m dreaming?” You ask, confused, “So this isn’t real? You’re not… real?”

Chase shrugs.

“I’m dead, remember?” He says, “But I guess, dead or alive, it doesn’t matter when you’re dreaming."

You close your eyes and picture Tara. You want her here now. You want her to take you in her arms and kiss you and tell you everything’s going to be okay.

But when you open them, it’s still Chase staring back at you.

“If I’m dreaming, then I want her here.” You say a little accusatory, looking at him as if he’s the one keeping her from appearing.

“That’s not how a dream works,” Says Chase with a quiet hum, “You might want her here, but your subconscious doesn’t.”

“Every part of me wants her, especially my subconscious.” You growl.

“I think the point of a subconscious is you’re not conscious of it.” His eyes twinkle again. You huff, irritated.

“Are you a ghost or my psychologist?” You grumble under your breath. You stare out the window. That damn meadow still rolls in its wake.

“Neither,” He drawls. His hands tighten on the wheel, “Maybe I’m your guilty conscience. Him and me, maybe we both are.”

You draw in a breath. Remember Wes’ eyes. Blue, so blue. Trusting right up until the moment you’d turned your knife on him.

“But we don’t have to talk about that,” Chase offers. His smile is sad, “We could pick up where we left off. Like we’re best friends again.”

You hadn’t thought much about Chase, if you were telling the truth. You hadn’t thought much about any of them. Tara’s good at that, making you forget.

It hadn’t occurred to you that it might not necessarily be a good thing.

“I’d like to wake up now.” You declare, loudly.

Chase peers over at you.

“I don’t think that’s how it works.” Is all he says.

You frown.

“Something’s really wrong.” You murmur. You don’t know it but you feel it. Your stomach aches once more. Desperately you try to remember.

But there’s nothing.

Not a single fleeting memory from the last time you’d been awake. Vague memories, all cobbled together. Like the time your father had taught you to ride a bike. The first time you’d scraped your knee. Your first kiss with Tara.

You squeeze your eyes shut.

Ghostface, something about Ghostface.

But you can’t quite work it out. It’s like you’re moving in slow motion, your thoughts not quick enough to keep up.

Chase turns the radio back on and belts out the rest of the song.

Dewey doesn’t stay long.

Tara talks quietly, but quickly. Like she’s trying to get him out of there as fast as possible. She tells Dewey about Richie, about the attack at the house. She tells him about that time he’d stabbed her, about how she and Sam had worked it out.

The Sheriff had taken them down to the station and left them in her office.

Tara had seen the suspect board, the dotted lines drawn between the victims. And then she’d remembered something that had sent her flying out of her seat.

Stab 2, the only clue Ghostface had ever left you.

The movie where Ghostface had been the mother.

He leaves with his well wishes and a promise to follow up when the investigation had started. There would be more they had to do, he assured. Witness statements, likely long talks with the state police. But he’d hold them off for a while. Allow them to wait for you in peace.

Tara returns to her seat, hands twitching in her lap.

And Sam’s quiet as she thinks.

Through all the frantic panic of the last few hours she hadn’t allowed herself to think of why.

Why had the Sheriff targeted her sister? Why had Sam’s own boyfriend joined her? Why had the Sheriff killed those poor kids - Sadie, Aaron, Amber, Chase, Sam. They were children, after all. Eighteen year old children.

And then she thinks of her father.

Some people are just bad, Sam, he sneers at her now, some people just want to cause hurt.

Sam thinks of her own sister.

Tara had been violent, so so violent.

She’d taken the knife out of the Sheriff’s throat and all but used her as a pin cushion. She’d screamed, and cried, the look in her eyes terrifying as she’d taken what little life the Sheriff had left in her.

Tara got angry sometimes, this Sam knew.

But not like this.

Sam swallows. She leans forward and touches Tara’s arm. The Sheriff’s blood is dried now, but it seems to be the least of Tara’s worries. As if, sitting here, covered in blood is an everyday occurrence.

“Are you…” Sam thinks, trying to phrase it the right way, “Are you alright?”

She fails, clearly.

Tara looks over at her as if she’s an idiot.

“Am I alright?” Tara asks, eyebrows knit together. Her voice rises. The other people in the waiting room look over, “My girlfriend is in hospital. She has a stab wound in her stomach and no one will tell me what’s going on. Am I alright?”

“That isn’t what I meant,” Sam says, hurriedly, “Sorry. Forget I said anything.”

Tara shakes her head, expression sparking with annoyance.

“I’m going to talk to the nurse again,” She says, standing, “Before you ask me any more stupid questions.”

And she’s back. The sister Sam knows so well.

Sam rubs her eyebrows and tells herself not to think so hard.

Tara approaches the receptionist once more. Sam watches, eyes squirting as she tries to make out their words. When Tara hurries back in a sprint, Sam’s heart leaps.

Tara’s eyes are wide as she approaches.

“She’s out of surgery,” Tara says, and her voice can’t hide her excitement, “She’s not awake, not yet. But she’s out of surgery, Sam.”

You feel sleepy.

Sleepier than you should, considering you’re in a dream.

Chase is humming again, his hand sprawled across the back of your seat, the way it always was. Like he’d just wanted to be close to you.

One of his few, fatal mistakes.

It had been so easy, then. Just you and Chase, taking on the world. Laughing at dumb twitter memes, watching movies together at his house. The days when he’d been staring with puppy dog eyes and you’d be too blind to notice he’d been looking at you.

You try to think about a reality where you’d never met Tara. Never fallen in love with her.

You imagine yourself in the 1950s. Chase would have been your sweetheart. You’d go out with him on weeknights and drink milkshakes, and hold hands, and make out in the back of his truck just down the street, so your Dad couldn’t see.

No Tara, no murder.

Just life.

And it makes your stomach turn.

“I would have never been happy with you.” You murmur. He looks over. There are those puppy dogs eyes again.

“I would have never been happy with any of them.” You continue. Not Aaron and his pretty eyes. Not Sadie and her sweet laugh.

Pretty, sweet and boring.

“No,” Chase agrees. He’s slowing down the car, but you barely notice. Your eyes are drooping, “You wouldn’t have. You’re too fucked up for that.”

You can see Tara now. Almost feel her. The ghost of her lips brushing yours. Her hands in your hair, brushing it back. Her eyes wide, desperate. Like she’d give anything in the world to see your eyes open.

“Wake up, baby,” She’s murmuring. Quiet, like it’s just for you, “Wake up and come back to me.”

You hum. That sounds nice. Chase withdraws his hand from your seat. He touches your arm, smile sad. Like he’s about to leave.

“I’m sorry that you’re dead.” You murmur.

You’d say it with more reverence but there’s no point. He is, after all, a figment of your imagination. You’re talking to yourself.

Chase leans forward. Presses a long kiss to your forehead.

“Me too.” He says. He squeezes your hand.

“But I think it’s time for you to wake up now.”

When the nurse tells Tara the room they’re keeping you in, she breaks out into a sprint.

Not a quick walk. Not a light jog.

A sprint.

The nurse stands in her seat, screaming at her to slow down. Sam scrambles up out of her seat, apologizing quickly to the nurse and hurrying along after her sister.

Hallways pass by in a blur. Doctors shout as Tara barrels past them. She shoves everything out of the way. A stretcher is sent careening into a window. Medical supplies burst and are sent sprawling all over the floor as Tara charges a rolling cabinet out of the way.

She all but shoves a little old lady in a wheelchair out of the way in order to reach the elevator. Leaves Sam there, apologizing profusely as she does.

But Tara doesn’t care.

There’s only one thing that matters; you.

She’s out of breath when she finally reaches your floor.

There’s a nurse by your bedside, plugging you with an IV drip.

Your face is white, so pale, you almost look as if you’re made of marble.

Chest heaving, Tara approaches. She ignores the nurse and sits down at your side, taking your limp hand between her own.

“It’s okay, baby,” She murmurs. Her lip trembles. Her heart is racing. She reaches over the bed and presses a soft kiss to your forehead, “I’m here now.”

The nurse retracts from you, studying her.

“You must be the young lady who’s been giving our receptionist hell.” She says, but her voice is light, teasing. She reaches out and squeezes Tara’s hand.

“I’ll send the doctor in to give you a rundown of the surgery,” She says, “But don’t worry too much, sweetheart. We fixed her up. She’s going to be alright.”

Tara’s heart sings.

She looks up at the nurse, wide-eyed. Her lips are chapped, her face still stained with blood. She looks terrible, frightening. But her eyes spark with hope.

“Promise?” She asks, with all the energy of a small child asking for a bedtime story.

The nurse squeezes her once more.

“I’ll send in the doctor.”

And with a wink, she turns on her heel and closes the door behind her.

The heart monitor beeps, steadily. You don’t move. Your eyes firmly pressed closed. Tara touches the tip of your jaw, working her fingers along the ridges of your face. Your chin, your nose. Your closed eyelids.

You look perfect, Tara thinks, even like this. Her beautiful, perfect girl.

She settles on your cheek and cups it, moving in closer to press the softest of kisses to your lips.

“I love you so much,” She murmurs. The heart monitor is in tune with her own heartbeat. She links her fingers with yours and presses a kiss to the back of your hand, “And it’s over now.” She promises, “No one will ever hurt you again. I’ll die before I let anyone ever hurt you again.”

She wants to climb into bed with you. Take your frail body in her arms and hold you close. Curl her hands through your hair and cradle you into consciousness. Wake you with soft kisses and soft words and never let you go ever again.

But she doesn’t.

There’s a tight bandage around your midriff that has her wary.

Instead, she scoots herself as close as she can possibly get, and rubs her nose against yours.

“Wake up, baby,” She coaxes, voice soft. She presses another soft kiss to your lips, “Wake up and come back to me.”

The heartbeat monitor beeps.

And then you feel it all at once.

Color drains back into your cheeks. There’s air in your lungs. Your throat is dry, like sandpaper. Pain, and drugs pump through your body.

You groan, your eyes flitting open.

And the first thing you see is her pretty brown eyes staring back into yours. Her eyes are wide, loving, hopeful. Like she's just witnessed a miracle.

“Tara.”

#all hers #scream #scream vi #tara carpenter #jenna ortega #tara carpenter x yn #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter x reader #jenna ortega x yn #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x reader #fanfic #mine #ghostface!tara

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thevulturesquadron · 6 months ago

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THAT LATEST EPISODEEEE

Okay okay I have many thoughts and I apologise if this is gonna end up very incoherent and disjointed but I NEED TO TALK ABOUT IT BECAUSE AHHHHH

You know what the episode did very well (the writers, man)? Make the audience feel like they're taking crazy pills. There's this almost cognitive dissonance from the rest of the squad (Charles esp) with the way they say and behave because as Rogue stated "none of you were there". This is SO good in showcasing that you can be as understanding as you want, be literally a part of the same group... and STILL it's not enough because you didn't have the (in this case unfortunate) exact experience. The previous episode is a great addendum to this. The rest of humanity's (majorly the big wigs of course but you get what i mean) scared and at worst callous and apathetic reaction to the genocide. They're not scared because of what happened to those mutants, they're scared because of what Magneto would do in retaliation. Cooper is another example of how much actual experience can wholly change a person. She's not a mutant... but she was THERE. Erik and Rogue were there... right in the middle of it. How does anyone expect SOMETHING to not happen. You know who else saw what happened? Us, the audience. The latest episode felt frustrating and cathartic in the best way. It felt like decades of repressed righteous anger spilling in the most messiest manner, but it's OUT there. It needed to be said. Rogue's rant at the group before joining Erik, Erik's iconic "SHUT UP" line (yo lemme tell you istg i said the EXACT thing after that drivel Charles said). That's another thing that was so well done. Showcasing that no matter how well meaning Charles is... sometimes it feels like the dude's not LISTENING (Erik talks about watching a child be eviscerated in front of his very eyes, and I feel like all he's getting from others is an 'aw im sorry thoughts and prayers now can you please CHILL out') and does need this slap in the face. And the consequences keep piling up (the last big thing being what happened to Logan). Nothing will ever be normal and it's sad and scary and I'm very much looking forward to what comes next.

On a small note, showing how Roberto's decision was unsure with him trying to apologise to Jubilee and then his shocked reaction at her not wanting to hear him was so sad. It truly felt like a boy who only realised how massive of a consequence he's facing but just wanting his friend back.

I'm pretty sure I had more things to say and a more thoughtful way of saying them but anyway... 10/10. VERY ANGERING AND FANTASTIC. I CAN'T WAIT FOR THE LAST EP!!!

HI!!! ✨SAME!! 💜💜💜💜 thanks for coming in kicking the door down and shouting my way cause I needed that!! My brain has been stuck on a loop with the events in E9.

I love, love, love this episode exactly because of the strong emotions it made me go through. To see the division, to see where everyone stands, to see what matters most to them: what they are going through or an ideal? It. Was. So. Good! It was skin itching to see it at the same time. Each episode has continued to take me by surprise and go beyond my expectations.

I love how well the writers have been able to portray the difference between people who have been through horrible events, and those who have seen them ‘on screen’. Remember in episode 7 when Amelia said 'a survivor is the last thing I’d wanna be.’? Now it resonates even more than ever. It’s poetry. And yes, Cooper isn’t just someone who ‘saw it Magneto’s way’. No. She was one of the perpetrators caught in the middle.

So that when Scott goes around saying ‘Magneto is responsible for this.’ When Wolverine is out for blood - it should make you angry cause it feels like the crimes that Bastion has orchestrated are secondary to the X-men's agenda of 'righting a wrong'. Bastion is just a battle, another villain they need to defeat. But the call was coming from inside the house all along.

I’ve seen people online saying that this episode did Magneto dirty. But I think it’s the opposite. Magneto had always been capable of awful things in his pain and anger, but that’s not the point the writers are trying to make. The name of the episodes is ‘Tolerance is extinction’ - the whole point is to put the viewer in the uncomfortable position of understanding Magneto’s anger, but knowing his actions have big consequences, all the while making you lose your mind at how backwards and ignorant Charles' side seems. People are dying because ultimately his dream is more important than the people the dream is made for. And Rogue and Magneto are calling him out on it. The beauty of it is that Charles is preaching an ethical way where everyone matters, but how entitled and arrogant he must come across when everyone else around him is just ‘sacrifices he is willing to make’ for the sake of an ideal. It’s beautiful and awful that the cry for battle and survival is coming from the mouth of those that have nothing left but violence in them, while the champions of the just offer shackles and tell those that suffer to endure more for the greater good.

Yes this episode is supposed to make people angry and confused. And I think it succeeds.

If there is one less positive thing to say about the show, it's the pacing. You can feel that they were forced to put everything in just 10 episodes because there are a lot of moments throughout the show that are either missing or rushed. (For ex. in this last episode I would have liked to have scene with Rogue and Roberto on Asteroid M, in a similar fashion to what we got for the two X-men squads; just a glimpse at how things are impacting them instead of immediately seeing them in a 'villain guards' roles.) But I am not going to hold it against the show; from what they've delivered it reads a lot like cuts that they needed to live with.

#x men 97 #x men #x men ‘97 #x men 97 spoilers #magneto #erik lehnsherr #max eisenhardt #rogue #charles xavier #wolverine #roberto da costa #anna marie #anna marie adler #textpost #marvel

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ackerifle · 1 year ago

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Captain Levi x prisoner of war reader please 😊 🙏

spoils of war!

yan. captain levi ackerman x fem captain. reader (ft. special operations squad)

+ CW. — au: canon adjacent, war crimes, treason, imprisonment, abuse of power & authority: mistreatment/abuse of pow, non-sexual nudity, choking, restraints & hot iron branding, uncharacteristically long post because it’s combined with another work i was making; not proof-read.

it came as no surprise that paradis island was capable of producing and preparing such an overwhelming abundance of competent and proficient soldiers. even if many civilians had initially criticized their old-fashioned choice of weaponry, their contentious plays on the battlefield, and even their morales as a stand-alone concern in itself; their doubts would soon be long forgotten once the soldiers had returned, claiming their first victory that would soon become countless victories. the war may still have yet to be won, but it is no secret that lady luck certainly favored the survey corps’ soldiers with all she had.

and that is precisely why levi had so easily been able to whisk you away with not so much as a glance from his subordinates and superiors alike, during an attack no less. in retrospect, you should have adamantly defended your right to fall back on this particular mission to your commander, should have let this great burden fall onto the shoulders of one of your fellow captains, and have been done with the whole situation entirely. but there was much more for you to prove to your commander and newfound nation than your other marleyan peers.

even if you had demonstrated your worth as a valuable asset time and time again, had gotten your hands dirty for the sake of marley’s name and conquest, serve your own motherland and its peoples only to turn your back on them halfway through the war; you would remain the only ‘foreigner,’ in power, a potential traitor in the eyes of soldiers who were your supposed comrades. if you could betray once, you could betray again— and those who held such leery and low beliefs of you simply could not be reasoned with.

but the judgment and distaste that was made very well clear to you by the marleyan military was nothing in comparison to levi's contempt. actually, it was captain levi now, although that isn’t such a shocking revelation when you take into account that you had also been promoted to captain status during your years away from home. however, your title was a gift from marley, not paradis, and that alone made all the more difference.

you hadn’t remembered him when the two of you came face to face after half a decade. when all of your soldiers had either met their final fates or been broken down with wounds beyond repair, captured and detained; you too, had fallen with them. and when levi had stormed down the ghastly corridor of deadmen and far worse to reap his reward of the fight well won, he had found you. the first thing he noticed was that you looked better, happier. far happier than he could’ve ever dreamed to see you when you were still in paradis— even with the absolutely disgusting mud, grime, dirt, blood, and shit smothered onto your raw and tender skin, with injuries that were likely already infected and guaranteed to last you a lifetime of scars, and well over half of your comrades-in-arms deceased. for someone who was just about to lose everything, you seemed so alive.

at the time, he had approached you wordlessly. slowly trekking his way down to your pathetic and forlorn figure, limp with lassitude and slumped in defeat in a messy pool of your own blood. given enough thought, levi thinks he must’ve looked angry back then. teeth grinding together behind a disturbing sneer, and eyes left wide open until they felt dry enough that he may as well have cried; levi acted far quicker than even his own thoughts could. as the end of his blade dipped beneath your chin, experimentally tapping the sharp side against your neck before raising the entire weight of your head until you could face him.

for but a moment's time, something vulnerable had flashed through levi’s eyes, and he remembered this feeling from his youth, that of a scared boy. his relentless heart wouldn’t stop in its persistence to beat out of his rib cage, and his sentiment, his fondness for you had resurfaced with bone chilling ardor. he was rendered completely, and wholly speechless. mouth agape and stunned into silence, but levi must have let your name slip from his lips in a voiceless whisper, because you finally opened your eyes, “do- do i, know you.” and so you had forgotten all about him.

you truly had done something so utterly unforgivable. leaving him all alone and abandoned while he remained under the unanswered pretense that you were taken; only to have been double backing on paradis the entire time, while he was the only one suffering, left in egregious shambles over your absence. so now he was going to do something unforgivable to you.

“get up.” levi always finds a way to announce his presence before making his way down to your cellar— as if the sound of him (unnecessarily) slamming the rickety door open and stomping on the the concrete steps wasn’t enough for you to catch the hint. a faint window of yellow light from above could be seen framing his silhouette on the uneven stone ground, and you brace yourself for whatever words of wisdom levi has so graciously decided to enlighten you with today, “it’s your lucky day.”

biting back a mirthful huff and an equally incredulous leer, you study his next words carefully, “we’ve got visitors coming today.” you’re quite observant of how he intentionally takes his time when it comes to unlocking your cellar door, his eyes don’t leave you, as if he enjoys seeing you imprisoned behind bars, and it makes your skin crawl, “visitors?”

your copycat repetition was intended to be silent, though you can’t help but ponder his statement aloud. there is something odd here, levi slides the door open and enters the caged room with you, you don’t know what it is, he grabs you by the arm far too intimately for someone holding a hostage, no— you know what it is; his voice, levi doesn’t bother to close the cellar door as he guides you down the ill lit, damp and dreary hallway, he almost sounds like he’s looking forward to having these ‘visitors’ coming today.

“you’ll be happy to see them.” as if reading your mind, levi offered his ominous words of assurance, if one could even call them that. opting to ignore his response in favor of studying your surroundings, partially because you weren’t conscious for the trip down, and partially to soothe your nerves, you have distant memories here— “familiar to you yet? the old headquarters’ basement.”

levi bites his tongue to refrain from adding in a sardonic jab about how you would have been there to witness the construction of the new headquarters, the symbol of paradis island’s first victory in the war, if you had simply stayed. but levi trusts that he’s spent enough time re-indoctrinating your pasts together with the days he’s been granted leave to tend to his war trophy. but his heart still aches every time he remembers your neglectful memory was due to your own carelessness, nothing to do with marley brainwashing you, or any sort of militaristic torture into subservience. was he that insignificant to you that over the span of five short years, you would think no more of him?

the two of you seem to recall your trainee days on paradis very differently, and the notion itself puts levi in a sour mood, “hurry up, the ropes don’t make you fucking immobile.” he barks with a shove in between your shoulder blades, “cuffs with enough leeway for me to move a single centimeter at a time? how accommodating!” levi shoots you a dark glare, “behave.”

it leaves your body sore when you come to a standstill atop the steps, vision straining at the introduction of an unhealthy combination of natural and artificial lighting on your luminescent-deprived eyes. levi takes advantage of your poorly adjusting eyes, suavely escorting you into a new room. there is something that you notice immediately upon entering the unrecognizable area, it is the smell of smoke. instinctively, your eyes frantically search the room to locate the source, landing on a small coal fire, all the while levi continues to usher you forward until you bump into a wooden surface.

peering down, you’re greeted by a low, yet unusually and unconventionally capacious table. each corner holds an individual ring of rusted metal, hooked to the ends with suspicious purpose. but before you can dwell on it too much, the force of levi’s hands on your shoulder and waist have you coming to your senses. with one calculating motion, he swivels you around, turning your body until you’re faced towards him, and although your hands are tied together behind your back, you struggle like you can touch him. levi is unfazed by whatever attempts you can bring yourself to muster to aid in escaping his grasp, dropping his hands to your torso with dangerous constriction before slamming you down onto the table with all his might.

your lower back takes the brunt of the force, and by god does it hurt. the edge of the table digs spitefully into your back and spine, causing you to momentarily scream in agony. and in an instant, levi distracts you from the pain when his hands start roaming your body, starting with your shirt. when he gets closer, the severity of the situation finally sinks in, and you only hope you’re wrong about what will happen next. wildly moving in his hold does little when your limbs are bound, and your legs are lifted too high from the floor for you to even do anything, and despite still maintaining full control over your movements, levi lets out an annoyed grunt either way.

his right hand quickly descends down onto your neck, enveloping your airway with a firm squeeze, enough to get you to stop violently staggering about. levi is more concerned with the position this has now put him in, only a menial worry, really; unbuttoning your shirt with one hand proves to be rather difficult, so he’ll have to tear at the fabric. like it was an ordinary sunday morning, he is more worried with the tattered frays and cloth pieces your blouse will discard, than you, a literal captive, scrambling to get out from beneath him. he decides he will both unbutton and rip the shirt, using his thumb to sloppily shove the buttons through while also dragging the article further down your body.

“fuck, don’t. this is inhumane, even for an enemy soldier!” it hadn’t crossed his mind that you may have taken this the wrong way, his intentions that is. but you did give him an idea for another day, “well, you aren't quite a soldier— no, not even a civilian of paradis anymore, now are you?”

levi halts his movements, but doesn’t release you, instead, feigning a thoughtful pause before continuing, “but that doesn't matter, even if you miraculously find your way back to marley, they won't want you back, not after i'm done with you.” your heart drops, and your thrashing increases tenfold, causing his grip on your throat to loosen with every move, but levi is able to ignore it with his determination to get those insufferable buttons undone.

the sound of a door and hurried footsteps interrupt any frenetic and hysterical thought you’re having, even levi tilts his head in the direction of the clamoring, “hm, it seems they’ve arrived.”

casual chatter could be heard nearing the two of you, and when voices were revealed you were horrified. gathering at the open doorway was a group of four soldiers, or so you had presumed, as they had the same matching uniform as levi. there were three men, and one woman; all of which who are holding something. two with the same rope that had your arms and legs tied together, one with a singular iron rod, and the lady with a water basin and a washcloth resting halfway inside the bucket and halfway on the outside. and what terrified you even further was that they seemed unperturbed by the sight before them, it’s almost as if their smiles grew wider.

“sorry we’re a little late, captain!” the woman chirped, lowering the water basin in her hands to a more comfortable position to allow gravity to uphold its weight, rather than her arms, “it’s about damn time you all finally show up, restrain her.” levi was blunt and to the point, glossing over greetings entirely, and aiming his index finger in your direction.

there was a lot going on, and levi disappeared behind the three figures approaching you in the midst of it all. the short-haired woman must have placed the basin on the floor, because her hands were definitely free when she reached for your shirt, “it’s been so long since we’ve last seen you, you know.” how she had managed to keep such a cheery tone and face while also single-handedly witnessing your torment and anguish was beyond you, and you leaned away from her touch.

“yeah, captain said you forgot all about us.” it seemed that distancing yourself from the chipper lady had landed you into the trap of another, this time, a blond man with a blithe though hurt grin on his face, “we’ve got so much to tell you.” the tallest of the three added, carelessly placing a hand on the buckle of your belt.

entering your peripheral vision was the final soldier of what you presumed to be levi’s squad, he had been the one carrying the iron rod in his hands, now absent, as he made his way towards you, finding a spot next to the woman, “a lot happened while you were away.”

that’s right, you remember them. these soldiers were of the plethora of cadets that had enlisted in the military when you and levi had graduated. you had only encountered them a handful of times, but they were recurring guests in your life thanks to levi preparing for his promotion, the one you never had the chance to witness for yourself due to your leave. who knew they would be the same people to disgrace your pride and dignity by stripping you naked, even if they were much gentler than levi ever cared to be with you, there was no greater comparison than a pack of hungry wolves. and it was so draining to fight them, you tried and tried, but when the ropes had come out, you gave in.

and their names, they were: petra, eld, gunther, and oluo— which you had only picked up thanks to their small-talk with one another as they defiled you. shutting your eyes to avoid dwelling on the feeling of having your arms and legs strewn out, wrists and ankles bound by the rope that had been threaded through those worn out coils. all attention was focused on your shallow breathing, praying to disassociate hard enough to block out their jovial conversation. but you had picked up on something else, the burning coals. expectedly, the room was airless and sultry with a running fire and six people confined to such a small room. but this scent was different, like you could smell the heat, and that heat smelled like iron.

snapping your eyes open, you raise your head as much as your neck would allow it in your pitiful position, desperately scanning the room for answers. and you get them when you finally hear levi’s voice, “grab her arms and legs, i didn’t get this shit custom made for her to fuck it up.” readily, as if anticipating this specific command, petra and oluo had taken hold of your calves, while eld and gunther grabbed the inner side of your elbows. when levi leisurely drew near the side of the wooden table, the only thing you could see was the iron bar in his hands, the black metal now a light ash grey, emanating heat even with the distance levi was holding with you.

“wait, stop. get that fucking thing away from me!” the only control you had over your own body seemed to be your mind and mouth. even when you banged against the table, pulling away from the left side of the table where levi menacingly stood, recoiling as much as you could through the grip of the four soldiers and the ropes.

if it was forgiveness you wanted, you wouldn’t get it. that much levi would make sure of. if you wanted to run away? to be disobedient? then he’d reward your bad behavior with a deservingly bad punishment. carefully, levi lowered the scorching iron pole to align with the left side of your hips, though he wasn’t cautious for your sake, of course not, you deserved this and much more, but because he refused to let your little tantrum screw this up. you could feel the metal before it even touched your skin, burning away any body hair that may have been there to a crisp, and the sheer radiating from it had you screwing your eyes shut. you braced yourself, preparing to feel the searing iron, but it never came. levi contemplated whether or not he wanted to do it slowly, or to startle you after letting fifteen seconds pass, he fancied the latter.

it was so much more painful than you thought it was going to be. the sweltering hot iron rod blistered your sensitive skin, and you shrieked and cried in pain. it was scalding hot to the point it felt as if the metal was actually ice cold, and it pressed stiffly against your side, sinking into the fat of your hips. you had screamed until you couldn’t no more, until your voice cracked and your vocal cords bled, something the soldiers restricting you seemed to ignore. but the smell, the smell of your flesh being burned to the point it would leave a fresh, bloody mark. it was nauseating, and you gagged and heaved, but nothing to come of it. and despite how hellish it was, how it caused you unfathomable pain, caused you to convulse and spasm in your restraints, the pressure of the iron rod only lasted five seconds.

levi had counted, retrieving the metal pole and alleviating the pressure of its marking on your body after five maliciously counted seconds. you couldn’t tell if it hurt worse when the cold air nipped at the new wound than it did when it had been applied to your skin. tears fell from your eyes, and you don’t recall when you had started crying, but your face was wet with those salty droplets. shuffling resonated within the room, and the weight on your limbs was released. how tired you were, defeatedly laying your head until you could feel the rough surface of the wooden table. eyelids getting heavier by the second, you dared glance at the brand on your hip, the two letters ‘LA,’ bold and clear.

if you had the energy to, you would have flinched when a hand holding onto a lightly wetted rag came into contact with the new marking. the hand was tentative and mindful, applying little to no pressure on your hip, but just enough to cleanse the burn. you could have sworn you heard the sound of humming, but you knew you heard levi’s voice, “if you so much as think of betraying me again, i’ll do more than just mark you with my initials.”

#ackerifle #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere attack on titan #yandere aot #yandere aot x reader #yandere levi ackerman #yandere levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x reader

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smoshsfavoritepizzaplace · 2 months ago

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omg I think keith and olivia are soooo underrated nowadays since they're freelance and newer cast members have being appearing in more vids.

As an og squad girlie, I have a biased for them. I do wanna say that during 2019 when it was a lot of shayne+court+damien+ian vids they always bring a kind of energy that was lost for a bit in vids during that period.

Keith has such great energy, he is able to vibe with everyone in the cast. His laugh makes me smile and he is prob the realest one in smosh. I'm so glad he was able to beat cancer!

Olivia, I live for her unhinged and unapologetic randomness, I HATE how ppl chalk her up to not being funny esp in TNTLs but if you've seen her, her strength in is written sketches. Also I love Shayne's reaction to anything that she says lol

When either or is an a vid, I drop everything and become feral to watch the vid lol

I love Keith and Olivia too! I as well love Shayne’s reactions to the random things she says lol. It always cracks me up how she thinks, she will also be on tomorrow’s culinary crimes so that should be good. Keith is such a fun guy. I love when he’s in videos bc he brings an energy not many other cast can. It isn’t as often as it was, but the Keith + Olivia + Shayne trio is probably top 3, if not top 5 favorite trios of mine. In tntl, I think they’re very underrated as well. I think every Olivia bit has made me laugh at how much they fall apart and Keith’s bits make me feel the same.

#smosh #smoshblr #anon ask #keith leak jr #olivia sui #shayne topp

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written-in-flowers · 2 years ago

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Kimura Delivery Service: Pt. 1

Pairing: OC x S.W.O.R.D leaders (yes, you read that right)

Genre: smut, fluff, angst,

Word Count: 9k

Fandom: High & Low: The Story of S.W.O.R.D

Summary: After a life of swinging her fists, Sakyia is hopeful about her easy going job of delivering packages…However, her aunt neglected to mention the “regulars”: The gang leaders of S.W.O.R.D. and the undeniable affection they all grow to have for her.

Overall Warnings: blood and violence, fighting, gang activity, crime, mentions of death, multiple relationships, girlboss being a girlboss, not really ‘poly’ but girl has a string of lovers.

Prologue < | > Part 2

Tagged: @belle643

Chapter 1: S is for Sannoh Hoodlum Squad

The apartment above the store was smaller than her old home, but it looked cozy. Even with the old furniture, chipped wallpaper and musty carpet underneath her feet, she felt a sense of warmth throughout the room. Looking around, they’d certainly have to fix it up to be comfortable. With a separate bedroom on the side, the bathroom remained the only other room. She figured her and her mother would be sharing a room until they could afford a bigger place. She didn’t mind. It was better than having no bed at all. She opened a window to let out the stuffy air, and saw the spectacular view…

A small courtyard and the opposite building behind them.

When her mother and aunt came back up, Sakyia noticed they’d brought two young men with them. One was tall with long black dreadlocks, and his companion was darker and shorter. She guessed these were Junpei’s friends. The boy with the dreadlocks smiled when he saw her, then nudged his friend, who also grinned.

“Sakyia,” Hana said, “I’d like you to meet Tettsu,” the tall one waved, “And Dan,” the short one bowed slightly. “They come and help me from time to time.”

“Because Junpei tells them too.”

“Cobra doesn’t force us to do anything,” Tettsu immediately said, placing down one of their boxes. “We’re always here for our neighborhood. It’s what Sannoh Hoodlum Squad is about: protecting and caring for the town.”

She tried to stifle a laugh, “Sannoh Hoodlum Squad? That’s your gang’s name?” It wasn’t the worst name she’d ever heard.

“Yeah,” he replied. “Cobra is our leader.”

“His nickname is ‘Cobra’?” she snickered, picking up the box of kitchen items. “It would be.”

“Sakyia!” Midori furrowed her brow, “Stop being rude.”

“I’m not being rude,” she put it on the counter, giggling softly, “Just voicing an opinion. You told me Sannoh is a good place to live.”

“It is,” Dan told her reassuringly. “You’ll see once you’re settled in. Sannoh Hoodlum Squad isn’t like the ones you’re probably used to seeing. We take care of our people.”

“You can come to the diner and see for yourself,” Tettsu suggested. “It’s called the Itokan Diner.”

“Ooh! That sounds nice!” Midori said. “Is it a new place? I haven’t been home in such a long time; everything’s changed around here.”

The pair began explaining it to her as Sakyia helped unload the car downstairs. They seemed nice, but most gangsters did. However, looking them both over, and listening to them talk, they did not seem the type to be in gangs. They were friendly and helpful to her aunt, who appreciated them enough to offer rice balls the next time they came. They didn’t brag or flaunt any fancy things they’d bought. Should she have passed them in the street, they’d appear like any normal youths. Sakyia knew more than most that appearances can be deceiving. She decided she’d leave her judgment for more contemplative hours; she had work to do.

Sakyia spent the rest of the day putting things away and trying to make something of a home in the apartment. She made shelf space for her art supplies and books; her mother brought small potted plants to place along the window sill for some life. Family photos went on shelves and walls; they’d put her father’s remains in an ornate wooden box on the bedroom dresser. By the time they’d finished, night fell and the apartment seemed less empty and shabby.

“We need food,” her mother frowned when she saw the empty fridge. “I’ll order take out for tonight. Burgers, Blossom?”

“I guess,” she shrugged.

“Don’t get burgers,” Hana said, unpacking the last kitchen box. “There’s a perfectly good diner down from here that serves way better food.”

“That diner your friends mentioned?” asked Sakyia.

“You’ll love their food,” she insisted. “Naomi is such a great cook, and the prices are reasonable.” Midori looked at Sakyia with raised eyebrows, and Sakyia shrugged again. They turned to Hana who nodded, “I’ll place the order. Sakyia can go pick it up. You can walk there, it’s not too far.”

“Ugh, Auntie,” she groaned, plopping onto the couch. She let her body sink into it as she said, “I’m so tired. Can’t they deliver?”

“They don’t do that,” Hana replied. “Stop being lazy. You’re young. Besides, Junpei might be there.”

“Um okay, so?”

She caught her mother and her aunt looking at one another. She groaned and let her head fall back on the couch. It was inevitable that this would come up: Cobra was a young man. Sakyia was a young woman, new in town. “He’s a man of few words, but he’s very nice-” Hana began, but Sakyia cut her off.

“-I literally just arrived,” she said. “I’m not looking for a boyfriend. I’m looking to sit down and never get back up again.”

“We weren’t thinking that at all,” her mother said unconvincingly. She grabbed a bottle of wine that Hana brought, and said, “Your aunt was telling us what a nice young man Junpei is, that’s all.”

“Mh-hm, your mom keeps complaining to me about how you’re always at home, you don’t go to school, you don’t have a lot of friends-”

“-Well, I wasn’t really in a place to make any friends.”

No, she hadn’t been. Yes, there’d been fighters she became friendly with in the warehouse, but nobody she saw outside of the place. Twelve years fighting on dirt and sawdust, her hands and wrists wrapped up, forged her into something. A weapon. Jiro took up most of her time, so she never went out with friends or her mother all that much. The one person she'd grown closest to sat in a Rasen prison cell. Sakyia recalled the times she’d tried fitting in with girls at her school: going shopping, wearing makeup and pretty clothes; talking about boys they liked and things they did over the weekend. She wanted that life. She wanted a circle of friends who stuck by her side, and lifted her up. Often, she imagined going shopping with a group of friends, and visiting her mother's salon togethet.

But, Jiro pulled her away from that to fight in the pits. Plus, the bruises kept people at a distance. Thinking of the endless fights night after night already tired her out. She withdrew the small sketchpad from her bag with a pencil, and returned to her drawing.

She was done with fighting. She did not mind a bit of practice to keep herself in shape, but fighting people? Sakyia refused to do it ever again. She’d wasted her life on pointless fighting. She’d only done it because of Jiro; otherwise she might’ve given up on it entirely and focused on her art. Martial arts used to be something her father and her shared. When he died, it felt meaningless to continue. Sakyia looked forward to helping her mother in the salon, doing simple tasks and meeting people. Maybe she can enroll in a beauty school and become a stylist herself. She could still go, if she wanted; she was only twenty-five. She still had so much ahead, and with Jiro and the warehouse gone, she could be something more than that.

“-Alright, she’ll come by to pick it up,” Hana said over the phone. “Thank you, Naomi. Have a good night.” She turned back to Midori and Sakyia by the television, “Alright you, time to go. Here’s the address,” she scribbled it down on a piece of paper and handed it to Sakyia, “She says it’ll be done in thirty minutes or so.”

“Then, I’ll go in thirty minutes.”

“No, young lady,” said Midori, picking up her glass of wine from the coffee table. “You’ll go now. That way it’ll be hot when you bring it back.”

“You two just want me out of the house so you can have the wine to yourselves,” Sakyia accused, putting her pad and pencil aside.

“That’s right,” she smiled, pouring her sister a glass. “I haven’t drank properly since I married Jiro,” she said to Hana. “He said he thought women drinking was an ugly trait. I can’t believe I actually listened to him.”

“I can’t believe you married him!” said Hana, sitting on the sofa between her and Sakyia.

This was her cue to leave. She slowly stood from the couch, slipped on her jacket and shoes, and headed out the door. Once outside, she entered the address into her phone and began walking. The sky started changing from day into night, and she saw businesses already closing. She did receive curious looks from locals who’d never seen her, but she nodded politely. Walking down the street, Sannoh did not seem like such a rough place. It did appear a bit run down in places, yet she liked that. It felt real. Sakyia saw herself living in this small town. She could inherit the salon or start her own art gallery and sell her drawings, if they were good enough. She smiled softly. This could be a good place for her and her mother.

She found the Itokan Diner wedged in a corner of the street with a small sign bearing its name in bold letters. Sakyia took a deep breath, and then pushed on the door. Her stomach growled at the scent of savory food in the air. She took a look around the small diner: it had bench tables, posters and words plastered on the walls, and chandeliers made from glass bottles. The rustic, comforting look must draw in a good amount of people during the night. She then noticed the room going quiet when she walked in.

“Hey, Sakyia!” Tettsu called to her from one of the tables, “You actually came!”

“Um, yeah,” she said, caught off guard by his grin, “My aunt ordered some food and I’m picking it up.”

Behind the counter, a short slim woman with brown hair stirred a pot over the stove. Sakyia guessed this was Naomi, the woman her aunt mentioned. She turned around when the door opened and smiled at Sayika.

"You must be Sakyia," she said. "Hana said you'd be coming by to pick up the food. It won't be ready for a while, so if you want to sit and have a drink, you're welcome to."

"Thanks," she took a seat at the bar. "They kicked me out so they can have all the wine to themselves. What do you have to drink around here?"

"Beer mostly," she replied.

Beer wasn't her favorite, but she asked for one. She gazed around the diner and noticed a drawing on the wall. It was a crown with two tigers on either side with the gang's name on a banner. She snorted. It was a decent design. She'd still seen worse. She took a swig from the beer Naomi placed in front of her and noted the photos on a shelf nearby. Two men stood together in front of a familiar logo on the wall. Two snakes tangled together in a circle underneath the words "Mugen" was a familiar sight to her.

"This used to be Mugen’s place?" the question came out before she stopped herself.

Naomi finished wiping a glass and said, "Ah, no. My brother, Tatsuya, was in it before he started the diner. The other man was his best friend, Kohaku. Why? Did you know them?"

"Not personally, but guys in the warehouse used to wear their vests and talk about them." She took another drink of beer when Naomi moved closer to her.

"Warehouse?"

She'd said too much. If this woman's brother was part of Mugen, she might not know about their part in the fighting rings. "I used to be a secretary in a warehouse in the bay area. With so many men around, they all try to impress you and say they know guys in Mugen or are a part of it."

"A lot of guys used to do that," said a male voice behind her.

She turned to see a dark haired man sitting not too far away, his own plate of food in front of him. His wide shoulders slimmed down his torso, though hidden behind the green sweater he wore. Judging by his face, he didn't like what Sakyia was saying.

"Doesn't mean Kohaku was involved," he said. "Guys in Mugen used its name to do bad things like deal drugs and women. But we weren't involved in that."

"Never said they did," she replied, a bit taken back by his reaction. "Just things I heard." She noticed another photo with Cobra and the other man with the first two. They also wore Mugen vests. It explained the man's reaction.

"She was only saying, Yamato. She didn't mean anything by it," Naomi defended her.

Men were so sensitive. She wondered what Yamato might say if she told him that Mugen members liked to fight and bet in the warehouse. Drinking her beer, she remembered a boy she'd fought who boasted about being part of Mugen. He made it sound as if she should've been scared of him. Sakyia would admit he dislocated her shoulder, broke her upper lip, bruised up her stomach and nearly choked her, but she'd beat him. He lost when a swift kick to the temple knocked him out. Sakyia smirked to herself. She recalled what she'd said to his manager.

"It appears that Mugen isn't as tough as they say."

"You were a part of Mugen, then?" she asked.

"Cobra and Yamato were," said Tettsu, coming over to her side, "But the rest of us joined them when they started the Sannoh Hoodlum Squad."

"Is there a signup sheet or something? How do you even join a gang?" The idea amused her. Naomi laughed as she turned back to the stove.

"Well, um, you sort of show up to the base and, kind of, join?"

"Why? Are you interested?" a deep voice asked from nearby.

She turned around to see Cobra sitting in a corner booth, a motorcycle magazine in front of him. In the dim lighting of the diner, his hair shone a dark gold color and softened his features. She understood her mother's suggestion at once. Even Sakyia wouldn't deny it: he was handsome. He didn't smile and spoke in a low voice.

"What if I was?" she asked, leaning back on the bar. "Do you accept women?"

The men in the bar laughed, but Cobra gazed at her. She tried not showing her uneasiness at his silent staring. His eyes remained absent the usual flirtatiousness; they observed her closely, as if they could see through her act. He studied her and she didn't like it. It reminded her too much of the men at the warehouse, who examined her like a horse for sale. The men who trained her said she had a slim body good for dodging and speed. She often fought men and women larger than her and her size came in handy. Cobra looked at her the way they did now.

"Depends," he said, "How good of a fighter are you?"

"Fighter?" Dan furrowed his brow.

Yamato turned to him in surprise, "What do you mean by that? She's a girl."

"That doesn't mean she couldn't fight any of you," said Naomi, who continued stirring her noodles. "She's got the body for it. She’s smaller and probably quicker than you, Baldy."

“Hag,” Yamato spat back, though his smile gave away the affection.

"Oh, I can't fight to save my life," Sakyia fibbed, finishing her beer. "I can't do all that fancy, tough guy martial arts stuff that guys do nowadays." It wasn't anyone's business what she could and couldn't do. Her father used to tell her not to show off or boast about her skills; that way she had the element of surprise. "I don't mind watching though. It’s kinda hot when guys fight each other," she added, winking at him. She expected a reaction, but didn't get one. He continued staring, and she stared right back. "What about you guys? What's your gang all about?"

"We protect the town," Cobra said. "There are other gangs around here who like hurting people and stealing. We stop them. We look after each other and make sure everyone is safe."

"How admirable. Most gangs I know deal drugs and fight all the time."

"Don't be fooled," said Naomi, putting rice into a small styrofoam container. "These guys use their fists to solve their problems all the time. You won't believe the amount of times they walk in here all bruised up and bleeding."

"But we win," Yamato quickly added, digging back into a hot plate of food.

"That’s not why we fight though,” said Cobra, going back to his magazine. “We fight hard because this town is worth fighting for. We all came together because of that shared love for our town. If you stick around long enough, you'll see it for yourself."

"Who could possibly want to mess with this little place?" she asked, the smell of the food making her hungry again. "There isn't anything here."

"People who want to step on the weak," he said. "The people who steal from those who already have nothing."

“I suppose my mom and I should be glad we moved into such a well protected area then,” she said, smirking at his righteous statement. She found it funny how serious he sounded. “So, do I call you if I ever need ‘protection’ or do you guys operate like Batman, and you happen to show up at the right time?”

The younger members chuckled at the joke, but stopped once Cobra stood up. All the nerves inside Sakyia lifted her shoulders slightly. She didn’t want to fight. Cobra came a few feet to her, then said, “I don’t think someone like you needs protection in the first place.”

“Meaning?”

“You claim you don’t know how to fight,” he said, “But then explain the scars on your knuckles.”

Sakyia looked at the hand on the bar, where a long scar stood out against her skin amongst smaller ones. “Accident,” she answered quickly. “It’s how I got this too, if you were planning on mentioning it,” she tapped the thin scar where Yoshi busted her nose. It healed well enough, but left a mark. “I was riding on a motorcycle with a friend, and it turned over. I broke my knuckle bone and my nose. Nothing suspicious about that.”

Cobra’s seriousness broke into a shadow of amusement. “I’ve been riding my motorcycle for years. I’ve never seen people get such specific injuries from an accident.”

“Are you some kind of motorcycle accident expert or something?” she spat back, “I got them from an accident, that’s it.”

"Your mom said she was opening up Sungmi's salon," Tettsu said, taking your attention from Cobra and his questions. "Will you be working there too?"

"Yeah," she nodded, peeling her eyes away from Cobra. "I'm not a stylist or anything, but she says I can clean and do reception."

Naomi came to her holding three styrofoam boxes. "Oh, she's opening back up the salon?"

"She'll be helping run it, yeah."

"Thank god!" She sighed in relief, "All the women around here have been going to the barber because the salon’s closed. It'd be nice to get a proper haircut."

"And a manicure or pedicure," Sakyia added. "My mom is hiring some nail artists to bring in more clients. She's going to have it properly running in a week or so. She actually does my hair," she showed off her short wavy bob, the ombre colors of brown and black fading out. "You should stop by when it's open."

"I definitely will," she said, "And I know plenty of other women who will stop by."

"I can come too," Tettsu chimed in eagerly.

"Salons are for women, Tettsu," Yamato rolled his eyes.

"There's nothing wrong with a man going to a salon," Sakyia said to him. "Same as a woman going to a barber shop.”

"Then I will come by," Tettsu smiled. "And you can come to my family's onsen."

"Your family's bathhouse is for men," Naomi told him.

"We could make a private space for her."

Sakyia chuckled, "The offer is nice, but no thank you."

"Well, if you change your mind…" he blushed, turning away. “You can just, you know, drop by or whatever.”

"What's with your nickname anyways?" She turned to Cobra again. She hated how he’d seen her scars and deduced their cause. She needed to prod him back. Her mother might scold her, but she didn’t care. "Is it supposed to compensate for something?"

Yamato nearly choked on his food. Dan and Tettsu stifled laughter and Naomi busied herself with putting the food in take out bags. Cobra didn't smile but he didn't glare either. His lack of reactions had begun to annoy her. Also, his stare made her squirm inside.

"In school," he said, smiling somewhat when he saw she wasn't being malicious, "There was this grapple I learned how to do. People said I did it so tight, it was like a cobra squeezing them. Someone said it and the name stuck," he shrugged.

"Maybe you can show me," she suggested, picking up the plastic bags Naomi handed her. "You know, since this town is so dangerous and I'm a defenseless woman wandering the streets at night."

Yamato gawked at her, "Wow, this girl's bold!"

“I doubt you’re defenseless,” Cobra smirked.

She tried not laughing at their reactions. She paid for the food and drink, thanked Naomi and said her farewell. Once outside, she giggled to herself. Men were so easily shocked by bold behavior. They seemed like a decent group. She decided she might stop by the diner more often.

That was how people made friends, right?

When she returned to the shop, she climbed the stairs and heard her mother laughing behind it. Sakyia stood outside the door for a moment to listen. She hadn’t heard her mother’s laugh for a long time. Full of mirth and giddiness, she’s sure the wine is helping it along but Auntie Hana’s presence adds to this. A surge of hope actually swirled in her chest. Maybe things will work out for them in this little town.

“Ma, I’m back,” she called into the apartment as she entered.

“Oh, good! We’re starving!” Hana sighed in relief, coming to the kitchen counter where Sakyia placed the bags. She began opening the bags, deeply inhaling the food, “Perfect. Naomi is a great cook. You’re both going to love her food.”

“Okay, okay, let’s get to eating.”

Her mother grabbed utensils, and passed them around. Sitting at the small dining table next to the kitchen, the women dug into their meals. Sakyia agreed with her aunt about the food: it was delicious. The tender chunks of meat stew melted in her mouth, full of seasonings and spices that complimented the bed of rice underneath. Only her mother’s own cooking surpassed it. Dipping a piece of broccoli in the sauce and eating it, her mother spoke.

“Sakyia,” she began, “Your aunt and I have been talking while you were gone.”

“Uh-oh.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hana asked, affronted.

“Because whenever she starts a sentence with ‘your aunt and I have been talking’, it’s about to be something crazy.”

“Ah, hush you,” her mother nudged her with a smile. “I know we talked about you working with me in the salon, but Hana here told me she’s been looking for a delivery person for the store.”

“Okay…” she listened, eating another piece of saucy steamed vegetables.

“I think it’d be a better fit for you,” she stated, eating a bit of her own rice. “You’d be bored in the salon. You used to whine and wail about it when you were little, and you haven’t changed since then. Going around the districts, seeing the different places and meeting new people might be better for you. You’d be occupied and stimulated instead of sweeping floors and listening to gossip.”

“I wanted to sweep floors and listen to gossip,” she said. After the years she spent in the rings, she’d somewhat looked forward to ‘boring mundane work’.

“No, you didn’t,” her mother said. “You only want that because of, you know, your last…job.” She watched her daughter for a moment, seeing the way she avoided her gaze. “It’d be good for you,” she added. “You might make some friends that way and have a normal life.”

It sounded convincing, she wouldn’t lie. Sakyia knew deep down she’d get tired of working in the salon. It’d been the same during her childhood. She looked at Hana, “What would I be doing? Just delivering stuff to people?”

“Yes,” she nodded, drinking some of her wine. “People drop off their packages or send them in through other people; I charge and stamp them, and you’d take them where they need to go. Before you ask, a lot of these people don’t have the means or the time to give the packages and letters themselves. The family service is there to help them out. Besides, it’s good money,” she eyed them both before eating from her bowl. “It’ll help you greatly to have two incomes instead of one.”

“She’s got a point,” her mother agreed, washing down her food with water. “It’ll be good for us to have extra money coming in; then we’ll be able to get our own place quicker.”

Sakyia mulled this over while she ate. Her mother and her left their old home in a hurry, leaving them with little chances to find a proper and affordable place. If they save enough money, they can move into an apartment and leave the dingy flat above the postal shop.

“How would I get around?” Sakyia asked, seeing the flaw right away.

“You can use Koichi’s scooter,” she said. “He left it behind when he moved out of town. It’s in the courtyard between our building and the ones behind it.” She saw Sakyia’s hesitancy. “It’ll be good for you. Trust me. Not to mention,” she smirked to herself, “Some of my regulars are rather handsome.”

“Ooh!” her mother smiled, eyebrows raised at Sakyia.

“I’m not interested in that.”

“Oh please! A heartbreaker like you? I doubt it,” she rapped her arm and Sakyia smirked. “I remember all the little boys your mother used to tell me about; all of them trying to gain the attention of Tanaka Sakyia and being ignored. You don’t have to marry them, but,” she sneered, “It doesn’t hurt to have some fun.”

“My daughter is not that kind of girl, Hana.”

“I never said she was, but come on, Midori. We used to do the same when we were her age. You didn’t have a proper boyfriend until you met Kenji. But, that’s not important,” she said. “The job is easy and simple. The clients tip well for the service, and they’ll tip twice when they see how pretty you are. You won’t be fighting anyone or be in any sort of danger.” When Sakyia did not appear convinced, she continued, “Look, try it out for a week. I have clients around the district here, so you’ll at least get familiar with the area before you make a decision. How about it?”

Sakyia weighed the pros and cons of this job. It’d include a lot of travel and talking to strangers, going into places of the district she’d yet to explore. Yet, she’d be making her own money, and contributing to her home rather than sweep floors and take calls in a salon for free. This new job will give her something to do, since little Sannoh did not appear to offer much. She looked to her mother, who smiled at her encouragingly. Sakyia felt slightly disappointed. Boring work sounded so nice. No bloody fists. No broken bones or bruised skin. No rings. She’d have only a broom and dustpan; a phone and a computer to write down appointments. With this little bike and parcels, she may run into trouble, which she wished to avoid. But, looking around their new home, they needed the money.

“I’ll give it a shot,” she finally said. “How hard can it really be?”

Hana cheered and smiled widely, “Excellent! Oh, you’re gonna love it! It’ll be an easy gig for you, I promise.”

“You’ll do well,” her mother added, gripping her hand gently.

“I hope so.”

The three women finished their dinner, and then Hana left for the night. Sakyia felt too tired to unpack anything else, so she showered in the small bathroom and crashed onto her new bed. The full mattress squeaked, and felt slightly firm underneath her. It was better than nothing. Her mother took the bed on the other side of the room, and both of them fixed their beds for sleep.

“I think this will be good for us,” her mother said, her voice breaking the silence in the dark room. “This is the new beginning we needed. No debt collectors. No punks. No Jiro. Just you and me and this shabby apartment.”

Sakyia smiled to herself, turning her head to look at her mother a few feet away. “We’ll find a way to make this apartment a home, until we find our own. You’ll buy Sungmi’s salon and have your own business again.”

“And maybe you’ll finally make friends.” She then hesitated, “Possibly even boyfriends.”

“Boyfriends?” she scoffed. “As if.”

“Eh, well, you’re a lot more popular with boys than you’ve ever realized. Jiro kept you so close and isolated, you never noticed the boys. Maybe now that you’re older you’ll become the little heartbreaker your father said you’d be,” she snickered at the last point.

She snorted, pulling the covers to her chin. “He never said that.”

“He did,” she insisted. “He kept saying he’d have to train more to fight off the line of boys that’ll be at our door.” She then said, “Just make sure he’s a nice boy? You know, who comes from a good family, has a job, is kind and gentle with you. A real gentleman.”

“Oh, Ma, can we stop the boyfriend talk, please?”

Midori laughed at her daughter’s groaning, remembering briefly how her husband used to do the same. “Alright, fine. Goodnight, Blossom.”

“Night, Ma.”

****

Her mother busy with setting up the salon and acquainting herself with employees, she’d left Sakyia to her own devices. She ate a quick breakfast of leftovers and washed up. Pulling on her father’s bomber jacket, dark navy and worn in the seams, she tied up half of her hair and went downstairs to find stacks of parcels left on the counter. Hana moved around them, smiling at her.

“Ah good, you’re here,” she said, kissing Sakyia’s cheek. “I got some packages that need to be sent as soon as possible. Don’t worry, I picked out local places so you can get familiar with Sannoh first. That way, if you decide you don’t want the job, my regulars won’t be accustomed to you.”

“Sounds good to me,” she nodded. “What do I do with them? Can that little bike hold all these?”

Hana began explaining the job to her. People normally made calls to have packages picked up or dropped off from one place to another. Sakyia only needed to drop it off, have them sign for it, and she went on to the next place. To pick up orders, she’d have to go to the address on the appointment sheet, and make sure to be there on time since the longer she took, the lower her tip is likely to be. The job sounded easy enough, especially with the bike in the back.

“Here it is,” Hana led her to the courtyard behind the shop, each woman carrying stacks of boxes.

Against a wall leant an aquamarine and white motor scooter. The previous owner painted orange and red flames on the back, and plastered bumper stickers that were later scratched off. Sakyia never rode one before, but it could not be much different from a motorcycle, which she knew how to navigate decently. Attached to the back was a wire cart, which she guessed added extra space for parcels.

“It’s not the fanciest thing in the world,” Hana said, putting her stack carefully in the cart. “But it runs well. If you ever have trouble, there’s a little mechanic shop in town where you can go. Yamato is very good at fixing bikes.”

She recalled Yamato from the previous night. “Hm, noted,” she said, adding hers beside them.

“Here are the keys,” she handed her a small set of keys. “The first place on your list is the Dan Convenience store. The owner is a good friend, but he’s too busy with the store to pick them up. Make sure they get there in one piece.”

Sakyia looked at the clipboard her aunt put on top of the parcels. On it were several names, addresses, and times to be delivered. Her aunt must’ve spent the early morning making phone calls to get them. She supposed she should start right away. Putting on the matching helmet hanging off the handle, she guided the bike around the side of the shop and onto the street. She typed the address into her navigation app, and saw a clear path to the little store. She planted herself firmly on the seat, nerves starting to numb her fingers and toes as she turned on the engine. It hummed to life underneath her, and she pressed the pedal to jolt forward. The first few starts startled her, but once she finally turned onto the street, she got the hang of it. Thankfully, years of maintaining balance helped.

The app took her to a small store a few blocks away. It appeared to be the typical convenience store, with the wide windows displaying special deals or sales. She turned off the bike and removed her helmet. She went over what she’d say as she picked up the first of the big boxes. A simple ‘hello, package for you’ might be a good start. It did not need to be a whole conversation. Though, being the newcomer in town, she might have to actually have a conversation. She’d done fine the other night in the diner. This won’t be any different. Keep things easy. Keep things flowing.

“Welcome!” Two voices said in unison.

Twin girls stood up from the register counter, hands behind their backs and formally bowing their heads when she walked in. She noticed they wore pink and black jackets, and long pink aprons. They were also tall. They almost towered over her.

“Um, good morning,” Sakyia said, “I have some packages for the owner…” she looked at the name on her clipboard, “Dan?”

“Dan’s not the owner,” said the twin with long brown hair.

“His dad is,” said her sister, who had shorter hair in two braids.

“He’s not here right now.”

“You can leave the packages with us.”

“Alright…” she said, but then someone else came up.

“Oh, Sakyia, you’re here.”

It was Dan, one of the Sannoh members, she remembered. Tall with black hair parted to the side, he gave her a smile as he wiped his hands on his apron.

“Morning, Dan,” she said, showing she hadn’t forgotten his name. “I take it by the name, this is your family’s store?”

“Yes, it is,” he nodded, taking the box from her carefully. “My dad’s not here, but I can sign for the packages.”

“Okay, good.”

She handed him the clipboard, and stared around the store. She recalled the empty fridge back home, and considered picking up some of the basics. Sakyia knew she had time in between locations to put the things back home. “Do you sell ready-to-eat meals?” she heard herself ask, peeking the fridges along the wall.

“We do,” he nodded, handing her the clipboard. “We sell lots of things here for a lady on the go,” she noticed his friendly smile, “As well as necessities.”

“Hm, good,” she nodded. “My mom and I moved in yesterday, and neither of us has had time to shop.” She checked her phone for the time. She could do a bit of shopping.

“Oh, so you’re the newcomer,” said the long-haired twin. “Naomi mentioned you. I’m Oshiage-”

“-And I’m Shiba,” said the short-haired one. “She said your mother’s a hairstylist-”

“-And that she’s opening up Sungmi’s salon.”

Did they always do that? Sakyia nodded slowly, “Yeah, she’s working there. She’s really good at what she does. Her salon back home was really popular.”

“Where was, um, home?” Dan asked, hands in his back pockets. “Ms. Kimura mentioned you came from another district.”

“Chikuni Bay,” she answered. “We lived near the warehouse district by the water until we had to move.”

“Gosh, it must’ve been nice living by the water,” he smiled, gazing over her face. Why was he doing that? It unnerved her.

“She’s not interested,” said Shiba, irritably.

“Stop being a creep.”

“I’m not being a creep!” he exclaimed, mouth agape and a blush tinging his cheeks. “I’m only being friendly, that’s all. She’s new and as part of the Sannoh Hoodlum Squad, it’s my duty to make people feel welcome here.”

They rolled their eyes together, unconvinced by his argument. “I think I’ll go, um, get the rest of the boxes-” she began to say, backing away to the doors.

“-No, no, I’ll get them,” Dan insisted. “You can take a look around the shop in the meantime.”

“Alright, thanks.”

She left him to get the packages, while she picked up a basket. Scanning the different aisles, she picked out bread and fruits for the home. She’d been looking at the refrigerated area, examining the different types of ready-to-eat meals on the shelves, when she heard another person enter the store.

“Hey Junko,” the twins said together.

“Hey Twin Towers.”

Sakyia did not really pay much mind to the women who walked into the store. She’d been deciding between a curry meal or a bento box when footsteps approached. The chicken curry and rice sounded more to her mother’s taste. She’d be fine with a bento.

“Hey,” a voice caught her attention. She looked to see two girls dressed in black with long pink and white jackets standing a few feet from her. The one with the short black hair seemed to have spoken. “You’re Ms. Kimura’s niece?”

“I am,” she nodded, putting the two items in her basket. “Who are you?”

“I’m Junko,” she said. “This is Asuka,” she nodded to the girl wearing a long ponytail behind her. ��We’re part of Ichigo Milku.”

“Strawberry milk?”

“It’s our favorite drink,” said Asuka. “It's our gang name.”

Ah, another Sannoh gang. “That’s…cool,” Sakyia said, “I wasn’t aware Sannoh had a girl gang.”

“We’re the only ones,” Junko said proudly. “We take care of the women in Sannoh, and make sure they’re safe.”

“How admirable,” she checked her time again, and saw she was running out. “It was nice meeting you guys, but I gotta check out and then get back on my route.”

“We heard your mom’s opening up Sungmi’s salon,” Junko said. “Is she any good?”

“She’s amazing,” she told them honestly. “She does my hair all the time.” Like with Naomi, she showed them her hair cut. “It’s faded out, but she retouches it for me when she has the time,” she added, in case they thought the dye job was bad. She walked over to the register, putting down her items. It wasn’t much, but enough to get them until they could shop together. “She’s hired nail artists too, if you all are interested in that,” she said, “and all the old stylists that used to work there before Sungmi left.”

“That sounds great!” Asuka beamed, “I’ve been dying to get my nails done!”

“Us too!” the two twins said.

They began scanning her items when she spotted the cupcake display. Vanilla and chocolate cupcakes with different colored frosting and sprinkles lined a small case by the register. They looked good. Sakyia could not remember the last time she ate anything sweet. Jiro often kept her on a strict diet, and prohibited sweets. She knew if he stood next to her, he’d sharply scold her for thinking about it. It made her want one even more.

“-Junko,” Asuka whispered her name and nodded to the door.

Sakyia saw Junko’s hard exterior melt once she looked at the door. She turned to see Cobra walking into the shop, hands in his pockets. Sakyia guessed Junko liked him by how she stared at him with dreamy eyes. It reminded her of the girls she used to know in school. She recalled how they acted around boys they liked, and the stupid things they did to get his attention. Sakyia never had time to care about boys; Jiro took up most of it. Cobra noticed them all in the shop, and his eyes locked with hers for a moment. He was as broody today as he’d been last night. Still such a mystery to her.

“Morning,” she said politely, nodding her head at him.

“Morning, Sakyia.”

He took a spot behind her in line, and she noticed the nervous glances Junko and the other girls gave one another. She turned back to the twins, who finished scanning and bagging her meager selection.

“You’re taking up Koichi’s job then?” Cobra asked her, much to the shock of the other girls.

“I am,” she nodded, fishing for her wallet in her jacket pocket. “It helps out my aunt’s business and gives me a little extra money.”

“I’m glad Hana’s back in business,” he said. “Her service helps a lot of people in Sannoh.”

“And helps me out at the same time,” she said, trying her best to joke. He made her nervous with his stare and his handsome face and his presence. She looked at the dessert display again. “How much are the cupcakes?” she asked the twins.

“216 yen each,” said Shiba.

She sucked her teeth. Her slight against Jiro would have to wait another day. She paid for everything, and stepped aside. Another check of her phone told her she needed to get going before her next appointment. She hated her impulsive decisions. Dan having removed his packages, she had space for her bags.

“I’ll see you all around,” she said. That’s something friendly people say, don’t they?

“See ya, Sakyia!” said Asuka and the twins.

“Bye Sakyia!” Dan popped out from the back with a wide smile. “Come back whenever you want, really!”

“Ugh, you’re so pathetic, Dan,” said one of the twins.

Junko seemed too transfixed on Cobra, who only nodded at Sakyia. She felt his eyes on her still as she left the shop. It bothered her so damn much. Why did he have to stare? It made her hot under the collar, and her cheeks flushed pink. She set her bags down inside securely, then looked to see that she needed to get to her next location soon. She entered the next address on her phone when someone came up beside her.

"Here."

Cobra stood next to her bike, handing her a small bag. Inside, on a plate, sat a vanilla cupcake with baby blue frosting. Sakyia looked between him and the cupcake, a bit confused and stunned.

"Thank you," she said, gingerly taking the bag. "You didn't have to do that. I would've gotten it another time."

"I wanted to," he replied, shrugging.

She straddled her bike and put on her helmet with urgency. The small gesture reminded her of another person she’d known. He liked to give her random gifts as well; he used to brush it off too. Jesse was never one for grandiose gestures of affection even at fourteen. She placed the cupcake bag with the ones in the cart, and looked back at him.

“Why?”

“You looked like you could use it.”

“I could use a lot more things than a cupcake.”

“Still, we can find happiness in the little things too, you know.” Her phone pinged, and he said, “Looks like you have a busy day ahead.”

“Seriously busy,” she said. “My aunt’s orders are super backed up; there’s more waiting at the store. I’m sure it would’ve been worse if your friends hadn’t helped her before.”

“Your family’s business helps a lot of people around here, and Hana’s a good friend of my parents,” he said. “It would’ve been cruel of me to not lend a hand. She also helps keep the balance around here.”

“Balance? What ‘balance’?”

“Between the gangs in SWORD,” he answered. “There are five gangs in Chikuni, and we all use your aunt’s business when we want to deal with one another. That way, nobody walks into each other’s territories without warning first.”

“SWORD? The city’s Chikuni though.”

“It’s the nickname. I thought your aunt told you?”

“She neglected to mention it to me,” she grumbled. “Five gangs? Are they dangerous?”

“They can be, if you’re not careful. But, I’m sure once you tell them who you work for, they’ll lay off you,” he explained. “I’m sure Hana’s already informed the other leaders about you too.”

“Lovely. She warns them, but not me.”

“She probably didn’t want to scare you off the job,” he suggested. “Besides, perhaps she thinks you’re capable of handling it. Koichi was a pretty good fighter too.”

“Fighting?”

“Like I said, ‘five gangs’.” He stepped forward, “I could, you know, come with you? That way, you’ll have some protection.”

“I don’t need it.” She said this quicker than she meant to. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

Her sudden rejection didn’t upset Cobra. He smirked and said, “Yeah, you will be, huh?”

She hated the feeling that smirk gave her. Cobra’s gentle eyes and words made her nervous. Not in the ‘fight-or-flight’ way she’d become so accustomed to either. Her mother used to call it ‘the butterflies’, and she didn’t like them. They made her warm and hopeful, like she’d been as a girl in school.

“See you around,” she said quickly. “Thanks again for the cupcake."

"No problem."

Sakyia started the scooter and went on her way. Chikuni City had five gangs, all controlling different parts of the city, and her aunt’s little delivery business kept them from fighting. Sakyia knew the job sounded a bit too good to be true. She decided she’d ask her aunt about it later, but she’ll keep it from her mother. Her mother worries plenty about everything else; Sakyia won’t pile on any supposed possibilities. She just hoped she did not have to fight. She was done fighting. Sakyia pushed Cobra and the gangs to the back of her mind, then carried on with her day.

She dropped off a few more packages to different locations, meeting her aunt’s customers and people around the town. The gangs aside, the people of Sannoh greeted her with friendly smiles. Mrs. Saito owns an antique shop, and she gave Sakyia a small beckoning cat keychain for good luck. Mr. Ito runs a grocery store, and told her amusing stories about his youth in Sannoh whilst she waited for his signature. People seemed to know all about her parents, and her mother opened the salon. Sakyia did what she could to spread the word herself, hoping it’ll help. She’d gone to the salon for lunch, giving her mother one of the meals she’d bought, and told her about her morning.

“Ah, I remember Mrs. Saito. Your grandmother loved going into her shop. She has a lot of interesting things in there,” she smiled fondly at the memory. She sat across from Sakyia on one of the hair drying chairs, who sat on the barber chair. “I missed this place,” she said, chewing a piece of chicken curry with rice. “I always meant to bring you here one day so you can see where your father and I grew up, but I never got around to it.” She noticed the cupcake Sakyia had sitting with the rest of the groceries. “You bought a sweet treat, huh?” she smiled, “Jiro would’ve scolded you if he was here.”

“It’s why I wanted it, but I didn’t have enough for it.”

“Then how did you get it?”

She slurped some of the chicken broth in her cup, then said, “Junpei.” Her mother hid her grin behind a scoop of rice. “Ugh, it didn’t mean anything. He was only being friendly.”

“There’s a difference between ‘friendly’ and ‘friendly’, she smirked. “Your aunt tells me he’s a very nice boy.”

“Ma…” she said warningly.

“Alright, alright,” she finished off her meal, and dumped it in the trash. “I’ll lay off. But, you can at least try making friends your own age. I know that’s easier said than done, but I…I want you to have a life, Sakyia.”

She knew this. Jiro robbed her of a proper social life and childhood. From thirteen to twenty-five, Sakyia cannot say she had any ‘proper’ friends.

“You know who you should call up one day?” her mother broke into her thoughts. “That boy you used to hang around with when you were younger. What was his name? Skinny boy with black hair? Never wore his shoes the right way?”

“Jesse?”

Sakyia’s stomach rumbled, and she stopped eating her ramen. She remembered Jesse vividly. A lot of teenagers fought in the warehouse pits during her time there. The managers often pitted them against one another to keep things fair, but occasionally she’d fight people bigger than her. Jesse was one of the kids she often fought against. Strong and fast with lots of stamina, it always took several rounds before either of them went down. Jesse never yielded. He either knocked her out or she knocked him out. One night, after a fight, they got to talking in the locker room and clicked. She often met up with him at the warehouse since he lived in Little Asia, and she lived near the bay. He liked her. She didn’t know at the time, but as a woman now, the signs were obvious. He went easy on her in fights; he often tended to her wounds afterwards; he hung around her before and afterwards, and even brought her a flower for her birthday.

“I heard he’s in prison,” she said, remembering the boy who wore his sneakers like sandals. Word spread that he’d been lifted by police and gone to Rasan Prison, where he’s been for a long time. “So, there isn’t any way of ‘calling him’.” Not that she would. It’d been so long ago, she doubted her recalled her at all.

“What a shame,” her mother mused, going back to fixing up the hair station. “He’d liked you a lot.”

Her phone rang in her pocket, and Sakyia sighed. “I have to go, Ma,” she told her, cleaning up her spot and dumping the garbage. “Auntie Hana gave me a long list of drop-offs for today, so I might not be back until later.”

“Be careful, Blossom,” she said, kissing her daughter’s cheek.

They said their farewells, and Sakyia went back on her route. Sannoh didn't seem like a bad place. People were friendly in a way that threw her off at times. She blamed it on the places where she received nothing but grimaces of pain or dirty glares. She briefly remembered Jesse, who'd always smiled at her approach. He did it when he fought her too, teasing and goading her into charging at him. Sannoh might've been different after all.

The sky turned dark by the time she finished delivering packages around the area. She’d driven back towards home when she noticed the gas tank dial. The tiny yellow hand pointed dangerously close to the ‘empty’ symbol. She’ll admit she’d put off getting gas since she wanted to get to her drop offs and pickups on time. Yet, cruising through the streets, she worried she may not make it home on a near empty tank. She remembered passing a gas station on her way southwards, so she searched on her phone for the station and drove in its direction.

‘Hina Gas’ went across the top in bold letters. It appeared a bit run down, but nothing that threw her guard off. Sakyia parked the scooter by a pump, then went inside. ‘The butterflies’ made their return. Cobra sat behind the register, magazine in his lap and his feet propped on a counter. His head poked up when the doorbell jingled throughout the small store.

“Hey,” she heard herself say out loud.

“Hey,” he said. “It’s late. Shouldn’t you be home?”

“Shouldn’t you?”

“I live nearby.”

“So do I.” Why is everything an inquest with this man? “I just needed gas,” she nodded to the pumps outside, “Otherwise I’d get stranded.”

She walked up to the counter, and he stood from his chair. The air remained tense and quiet. They didn’t have to talk. It’s not needed. Yet, the butterflies continued fluttering in her stomach. Cobra put in the gas charge, and she fished through her bag for the cash.

“How was it?” he asked, processing her payment.

“Huh?”

“Your day,” he specified. “How’d it go?”

“Oh, um, it went well. My aunt kept most of the addresses in Sannoh, so at least I can see the rest of the place,” she said, fiddling with the strap of her bag. Her fingernails picked into the polyester strap, dragging over the prints nervously. “It’s actually a nice place. The people I’ve met are nice, at least. Mrs. Saito from the antique store gave me this little cat charm,” she showed it to him, the golden cat hanging from her keychain. “For good luck,” she continued. “Overall, not a bad day. How was yours?” it only felt right to ask, since he did first.

The corner of his mouth twitched at the cat. He handed her back the bills, and said, “It’s been a quiet one, that’s for sure, but not unpleasant.” He hesitated, about to add on to it before stopping himself. “It is, um, you know, getting late though. Sannoh isn’t always as pleasant at night. You really shouldn’t go on your own.”

“I have my scooter. No worries,” she insisted, putting her money away. “I can just ride away if danger comes near me.”

“Still,” he said, looking over her face, “Be careful.”

“I will, thanks. Night.”

“Night.”

She moved to leave when someone else entered the shop. Seeing his black hair hanging over his eyes, dressed in a hoodie and jeans, Noboru leaned on a walking stick as he walked in. He looked different from the young man who’d come to her old house a month and a half ago. His eyes met hers, and he gave a friendly grin.

“Oh, hello, Sakyia,” he said, giving a bow of his head. “I heard you and your mom moved into the neighborhood.” He went over to the counter, giving Cobra a fist pump. “I hope you settled in okay.”

“We did, thanks,” she said. “What happened to your leg? You weren’t injured when we met.”

“You’ve met before?” Cobra asked, looking between them.

“An accident,” he answered Sakyia. “It’s a bit of a complicated story, but I no longer work for the Iemura family.”

Sakyia did not need him to tell her more. He must’ve upset them somehow, and they’d punished him for it. She pitied him. “I’m sorry that happened to you,” she told him. “You and Kawata helped my mother and I a lot. She told me later you’d been the one who suggested the exchange.”

“I thought it’d benefit everyone involved,” he shrugged. “You and your mother could have a new life somewhere else, and Iemura would get their money.”

“And Jiro?” she asked cautiously.

“I don’t know,” he shook his head. “They’re still looking for him, from what I heard.”

Jiro escaped them. She figured he would. He’s too cowardly to own up to his mistakes. It was why he forced Sakyia to do it. “I know this might sound harsh to say, but I hope they do find him,” she said. Knowing Jiro, he’ll crop up somewhere eventually. “He deserves whatever they give him.”

“That is a bit harsh-”

“-I’m sorry, but how do you two know each other?” Cobra asked a second time, a bit louder.

“Sakyia’s mother sold her salon in Chikuni Bay to Kuryu,” he told him before Sakyia could intervene. “I heard she’s managing Sungmi’s salon though,” he looked at Sakyia. “I was just talking to Naomi, and she told me.”

“She is.”

“Why did she sell her salon?” asked Cobra.

“Because we were moving,” Sakyia lied. “She couldn’t manage it from somewhere else, so she sold it to start over.”

Cobra did not believe her. She could tell in the way he slightly raised his eyebrows. “I gotta go,” she said hurriedly. “It’s getting late, and my mom’s waiting. I’ll see you guys around.”

“Night,” Noboru said innocently.

“Night.”

She left the gas station before any more questions came up. Her mother waited for her at home, and she’d been out too long already. She didn't have time for anyone’s prying questions.

Especially not Cobra’s.

#high & low #high and low #H&L #High and low the story of SWORD #cobra x reader #high and low fanfiction #high and low fanfic #hina junpei #junpei hina #iwata takanori

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deeg9 · 2 years ago

Note

Hey D!

Chenford request if you've got time.

Chenford + Chris finds out Lucy and Tim are together ❤️

Hey Anon -

Thanks for this request. I'm a sucker for 'Mr. Steal Your Girl'. Check out my take on this on AO3 --here-- or read it below!

Tim leaned over the center console of his truck and pecked Lucy on the cheek.

“I better go, I don’t want to be late,” Tim said.

They’d been talking in the truck for the last five minutes about a reservation he made. After shift, they were heading to a new seafood restaurant in the marina that Lucy was excited about.

She picked up his travel mug and frowned.

“You should grab some coffee before you head out,” Lucy said, hopping out of the truck. “You need caffeine if you’re training all morning.”

The metro squad was convened in front of the station getting ready to board a bus to the training center.

“No time,” Tim said as he shut the door. They met at the end of the truck bed as a car pulled into the spot next to them.

“I’ve got time,” she grabbed his hand and gave it a light squeeze. “I’ll fill it up and be right back.”

“You don’t have to,” Tim protested but he knew it was futile.

“I want to,” she winked.

“Thanks, babe.”

As he joined his team, he watched her walk into the building, and the shuffle of loafers on the asphalt caught his attention.

He turned to find Chris Sanford hot on his heels.

Before he could get a word out, Chris was spewing venom.

“You’re a walking Meme, you know that?” Chris accused. “You’re Mr. Steal Your Girl.”

A hushed tone fell over the Metro squad as they all stopped talking to listen.

“Seriously?” Tim rolled his eyes. What the hell was a meme? “I did not ‘steal’ anyone. Lucy isn’t a piece of property. She did not belong to you.”

One of the officers on Metro whistled.

“A little privacy, please?” Tim tossed over his shoulder at his team. They held up their hands good-naturedly and moved closer to the bus. Grey, however, had just arrived and stayed within hearing distance.

“Don’t make me sound like the bad guy here,” Chris bit out. “You knew Lucy and I were about to take an important step in our relationship and you pulled some Bradford magic. What did you do? Tell her you’d always loved her?”

“No,” Tim shook his head and then shrugged casually. “I asked her to dinner.”

“While she was my girlfriend?” Chris asked.

“She wasn’t your girlfriend when we went to dinner,” Tim clarified, keeping his tone even.

“You. Asked. Out. My. Girlfriend,” Chris rephrased. “That's a dick move.”

“I asked her out for you too, if you recall,” Tim reminded him with a smug shrug. “You should be thanking me.”

“Tim…” Grey warned.

“You son of a bitch,” Chris muttered as he rushed Tim.

Tim bit back a laugh as he caught Chris’ fist mid air.

Grey stepped over, rubbing his thumb and finger over his eyes.

“Good lord. I have not had enough coffee for this. Do I need to remind you that assaulting a police officer is a crime, ADA Sanford?” Grey chastised, crossing his arms.

Chris’ face went white at the implication.

“I think we can all agree that didn’t count. Right, Sanford?” Tim pat Chris on the shoulder. “Seriously …I didn’t even feel it.”

Chris rolled his eyes.

“You’re an asshole,” Chris said, very matter of fact, the previous venom gone from his tone.

Tim sighed.

“Look. It wasn’t on purpose,” Tim explained calmly. “We never intended to fall in love, but she makes me insanely happy and I won’t apologize for that.”

“I loved her too,” Chris told him.

Tim nodded respectfully.

“And if she had loved you, I would have walked away,” Tim assured him.

Chris appraised him silently.

“I can’t believe I actually believe you when you say that,” Chris said, letting out a breath.

“It’s the truth.”

The door behind them swung open and a beaming Lucy emerged from the building. Her smile faltered when she saw Chris and Tim.

“I’m going to go,” Chris said.

"I'll walk in with you," Grey nodded.

Chris tipped his chin coolly at Lucy as he passed by her. She wished them both a good morning.

“What was that about?” Lucy asked, throwing a concerned look over her shoulder at Chris’ back.

“Just guy stuff,” Tim said with a shake of his head.

He placed his hands on her shoulders and Lucy looked around the parking lot suspiciously. He was usually careful about PDA, especially since they spent so many weeks secretly dating. He brought one hand to her neck and grazed his thumb along her jaw.

“What’s gotten into you?” Lucy whispered with a smile on her face.

“I am just so in love with you,” Tim admitted.

He chuckled blissfully and then bit his bottom lip to keep his smile from completely overtaking his face.

Lucy’s smile grew wider and he suddenly had a hard time remembering why he’d been waiting so long to say this out loud.

“And I love you,” Lucy said and tilted her head to the side.

Wow. He was completely unprepared for how his body responded to those three little words. It wasn’t even the words themselves, necessarily. Even unsaid, he’d known she loved him. She showed him in her actions every day. It was how confident she said it that struck a chord.

“Should we call in sick today?” Tim suggested in a low tone, brushing her hair out of her face.

She slapped him playfully on the chest and pushed the travel mug into his hands... but if she thought he missed the flash of heat in her eyes or the blush on the buds of her cheeks, she was wrong.

“Your boss is standing right there,” she scolded him.

“I know,” he sighed and leaned forward to press a kiss to her forehead.

“But just so you know ... In my head, I’m kissing you passionately right now,” she whispered for only him to hear.

He wanted to groan but held it back.

“Hmmm... Well, in my head, I’m between your legs right now,” he growled against her ear.

“Oh my god,” Lucy laughed and stepped back. She started toward the entrance but then paused and looked over her shoulder.

“Cancel the dinner reservation.” She bit her lip. “We’re staying in tonight.”

A flash of heat filled his belly.

“Can’t wait!” He called after her and she laughed. He watched as she disappeared inside the building.

“Bradford!” His lieutenant shouted. “If you’re done, we’d like to get going.”

He ignored the oohs, aahs, and kissing noises his team made as he jogged over to the bus with a huge smile on his face.

It was perfectly ok with him if they teased him.

None of them knew what it was like to be loved by Lucy Chen.

THE END

P.S. Kudos/Comments on AO3 are always appreciated!

#chenford #chenford fic #ao3 #anon request #the rookie #by deeg9

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athenasparrow · 1 year ago

Note

Part 2/2- interview anon 🫣

Regular smut:

“It should be a crime for someone to be so addicting. Each time I remember the time I licked your sweet juices off of my lips as I hear your soft moans, Lils you have no idea how torturous it was to wait three days to see you again. To be inside you, that’s too long”.

“James, don’t say these things-

“Why? Give a damn good reason as to why I can’t tell you how much I want to be inside you again. I know you want that too”, James said as he walked closer to Lily, as he looked into her green eyes.

James reached up to touch Lily's cheek.

"Give me your hand”, he said as he licked his lips as he saw Lily’s eyes widen, “James-

“Please, Lily.”

She nods and her cheeks flush

With a groan he takes her delicate hand and kisses it, without taking his eyes away from hers, then he slowly brought it down and against the bulge that’s straining inside of his trousers.

"James, this isn't fair"

"I know, but you have no idea what you're doing to me".

Lily moaned, and the sound drove him even more mad.

"You want me too, Lily, I can feel it".

Annnnnd here is the

Extra smut:

“James, love wake up”. Lily said as she began to nibble on her fiancé’s neck. She watched as he pushed his head back into the pillow and bite his bottom lip, “Lily”, he moaned as he tried to get up but notices that his wrists are being retrained. “What the-

She giggled and moved to get his glasses and place them on him, when his eyesight came into focus he saw that his wrists were tied up with two red ribbons. “A simple magic trick, Marlene showed me”, Lily winked at him.

He looked at her and saw that she was only wearing his old Hogwarts jersey, a black lace panty, and a devilish smile, that was a clear indication that she was up to no good.

“Fuck, Lils…. This isn’t fair I need to touch you”, he groaned as he involuntarily shook against his restraints.

“Tsk tsk, oh James, I simply can’t do that”, Lily purred as she grabbed her wand and conjured a ice cube, leaning forward she trailed the ice down his chest, smiling as the ice begins to slowly melt on his warm body.

“Ugh, it’s too bloody cold”, James whined as his body erupted in gooseflesh.

“Don’t worry, love I’ll warm you up pretty soon”, Lily teased before she brought her face closer to his abdomen and began to slowly lick the water droplets off his body. Hearing his moans only fueling the desire within her.

Lily moved the ice cube down to the elastic of his boxers and let it slip underneath, she giggled as she watched him try to lift his hips.

She took her index finger and slipped it inside the waistband of his boxers, looking at him innocently and biting her lower lip.

“FUCK, ohh… f-fuck your so gonna get it when I’m out of these bloody restraints”, James stutter as he pushed his hips up.

Aaaaaannnnnnndddd I’ll leave it there because cliffhangers are the best. Better leave it on a Cliffy rather than a STIFFY…….. Opps sorry James 😉 🥵😳 not really sorry but I don’t know if Tumblr would restrict the second part of the Extra smut snippet

If you don’t mind can I have your thoughts on these? Please be honest

🥺

Oh my gosh anonymous smut in my inbox?!!!!! EEEEK!!!! Also HOT! This is an amazing "interview anon"! What do I think?? I think you should take that smut, finish the story and publish it on AO3 so I can continue reading! THEN you should come join Discord so we can rave to you in person! THAT IS WHAT I THINK!!!!

Tagging some fellow smut lovers and the microfics squad to come read this and encourage you to publish! @annabtg @annasghosts @isahorcrux @kay-elle-cee @charmsandtealeaves @oceanboyblues @uncertainwallflower @ohmygodshesinsane @startanewdream @liiilyevans @mppmaraudergirl @practicecourts @wearingaberetinparis @joyseuphoria

I had this moment where I thought you were @nodirectionhome-ao3 because she joined Discord right after I shared the link so perhaps yes or you're a complete stranger to me 😂

#athena was asked #athena the smut fairy #JOIN JOIN JOIN!!!!#PUBLISH PUBLISH PUBLISH!!#WOOOHOOO!#restraints in first smut scene #yes please #jily fic rec #new jily smut writer!#signal boost #eat the sprinkles #nom nom nom #they will guide the way #illuminated #like you're leaving an airplane #STRAIGHT TO THE JILY DISCORD #MWAHAHAHAHA #😂😂😂

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schrijverr · 1 year ago

Text

I Found Myself a Cheerleader 5

Chapter 5 out of 28

Bumped to the lowest step on the social ladder after his fight with Billy, Steve gets roped in with the cheer team. What starts as a favor to help them out when one member breaks her leg in turn for protection from the brunt of the bullying, sets the universe on a different path.

In this chapter, the school year ends and Steve’s parents come back to town for graduation. The experience is anything but pleasant. And when Billy heckles Steve after the ceremony it turns into a nightmare as he is thrown out of the house after a fight with his father.

On AO3.

Ships: eventual steddie & buckingham

Warnings: child abuse, f-slur, homophobia, hate-crime, internalized homophobia

~~~~~~~~

Chapter 5: The End of the Year

Spring break rolls around and, while Steve still has a bruised nose, which hadn’t been fun to explain to Joyce, who fussed over him when he came to pick up Will. But with spring break also comes the news that the Hagen family is moving out of town.

Tommy is nearing the end of his senior year, but it is looking like he’s going to have to repeat it and his father has gotten better business opportunities elsewhere. They’re moving to a bigger city, so Tommy can go to a private school, because according to his dad it’s because Hawkins High employs imbeciles.

In all honesty, Steve doesn’t care what Tommy’s dad thinks of Hawkins High and its teachers, all he cares about is that they will not be in Hawkins should his parents return.

His parents are not made for Hawkins, Steve has long since learned that. The small business his father inherited grew quickly and is now too big for the respectability of Hawkins. He has more important people to brush elbows with than the high class of a small Indiana town. And his mother has always loved the glamour of Europe more than her son.

The only people they talk to when they are in town are the Hagens. This is because Tommy has been Steve’s friend since kindergarten and contact was thus required. His parents keep it up out of politeness, but they won’t put in the effort of finding their new address.

This all means that they only source that could tell them of Steve’s new hobby has just left town. It feels like a weight has lifted of his shoulders.

He spends most of his spring break allowance in the arcade on the kids and even takes them to a movie, managing to convince Hopper to let El come too.

The cheer squad still practices throughout the break, since competitions are coming up. Afterwards, he takes Lisa and Chrissy out for milkshakes. Lisa is excitedly talking about next year when she’ll be attending Yale. Apparently she is a legacy.

“What about you?” Chrissy asks, when Lisa is done. “Where are you going?”

“Uhm,” Steve pauses, unsure of what to say. He’s been ignoring the steadily growing pile of rejection letters on his desk, imagining the wrath of his father when he returns. “I-” he starts, then lets out a deep sigh. “I don’t think it’s happening for me, honestly. Seems I’m too stupid for college,” he chuckles humorlessly.

It’s quiet for a second. Steve doesn’t look up from where he’s playing with his straw. He doesn’t want to face their pitying faces. He knows that it’s not exactly great.

“Well, I’ll be happy to have my friend if you’re staying,” Chrissy tells him, bumping her shoulder against his.

He finally looks up and she is giving him a soft smile. There isn’t anything pitying in her face and he can manage a smile back. “Yeah, that’s good,” he agrees.

“And college isn’t everything,” Lisa adds.

“Nah, I can probably just work for my father,” Steve agrees, though the idea of having to work for his father for the rest of his life sounds worse than prison,

“See, plenty of silver linings,” Chrissy tells him, before finishing her milkshake and shamelessly sticking her straw in Steve’s drink. She’s been doing much better, which Steve is glad for. Her mother still hangs over her like a shadow, but she tries as best she can when she’s outside of the house.

Steve honestly doesn’t care if he goes to college or not. School has never really been his thing and the thought of it doing it for four more years sounds terrible, but his father is pretty adamant about it being part of his development.

He doesn’t want to imagine how the conversation about him not making it into college will go. Of course they have to be home in order for them to have that conversation, but that’s not the point right now.

The point is that college might not happen for him and he’s both terrified and a bit relieved. He doesn’t want to fight with his father, but he also doesn’t want to leave the kids behind. A part of him is still afraid the Upside Down will come back and if it does he needs to be here to protect them. To keep them safe.

Just thinking about the Upside Down makes him shudder, so he quickly shakes his head and tries to put it out of his mind. El closed the portals, he reminds himself, he should focus on surviving high school first. What are the chances of it coming back? No, he should focus on the now. Focus on staking his claim on his milkshake before Chrissy takes it all and focus on teaming up with Lisa as elders when Chrissy tries to start shit about it.

And so spring break passes them by and changes into the last leg of the school year, the last year of Steve’s high school career.

It’s the busiest Steve has ever been. He flits between classes, cheer practice, study sessions with both Sofia and Lisa and housework. However, all those things to do, keep his brain from the fact that no college accepted him. Not one.

Molly is running all of them into the ground along with coach Miller, but it’s paying off. Steve hasn’t been with the cheer squad for long, but he can feel how good this is turning out.

A moment of awkwardness emerges when it’s the cheerleaders turn to be photographed for the yearbook and Nancy shows up with Jonathan in tow. He hasn’t really spoken with either of them since he broke up with Nancy. It hurt, even if he never loved her like that, he had convinced himself that he had and for her to reject him? To blame him for Barb’s death? That hurt. However, he’s over it, but that doesn’t make it less uncomfortable.

None of them really know what to say to each other and Steve tries to stay in the background as much as he can.

He tried to get out of being in the picture, but Molly wouldn't hear of it. He was planning on skipping it all together, but then Chrissy had pouted: “Come on, it’ll be the only chance for us to be in the yearbook together. It’ll be fun.”

And because Steve has no spine, he is here, sandwiched between Chrissy and Lisa, the three of them smiling broadly.

Nancy wants a few quotes for in the book, but Steve makes sure to be as far away from her as he can. Better not to open that can of worms again and just grow apart naturally. He doesn’t really want to know what she has to say about the new crowd he runs with.

A few weeks later and they’re all at school on an early Saturday morning to go to the last competition of the season. They’ve made it quite far with their routine and Molly claims she can smell victory on the horizon once more.

She has mellowed out a bit in her competitiveness ever since she got her scholarship, but such drive isn’t snuffed out easily and she is nothing if not a perfectionist. So, Steve still finds himself with muscle aches after practice. Sometimes he’ll look back on his basketball days and ever wonder why he thought cheerleading looked easy.

It is a big competition and as they stretch, he spots the purple and white school from his first competition. With them is the boy. He is giving a girl a piggyback ride and talking animatedly with other team members.

“You could go up there and say hi,” Chrissy says, snapping him out of his thoughts as he realizes she caught him staring.

Fear creeps into his veins as his heartbeat quickens. Maybe a bit too quickly to be believable, he asks: “Why would I want to do that?”

Chrissy frowns for second, then lets the expression melt of her face as she shrugs: “I don’t know, I thought maybe some bro solidarity. It’s not like there are many guys walking about.”

Of course, Steve is an idiot, why would she think he would want to talk to the attractive guy otherwise. She doesn’t know. He blushes a bit and looks to his toes, now at a point where he can easily touch them. “Ah, yeah, course. But no, he’s the enemy here.”

He winks at her and Chrissy giggles, shoving him lightly. “You’re such an idiot, Stevie.”

“Why is he an idiot now?” Lisa asks as she sits down with them, handing both of them a juice pouch that coach Miller was handing out.

They take it as Chrissy explains that Steve’s machismo has dubbed the purple and white guy as the enemy, which makes Lisa laugh too. Fuck, he’s going to miss Lisa when she moves away to college in a few months.

Soon after their group is called to perform. They do their cheer, before getting into start position. He has gotten better at this, but there are always jitters right before they start. He used to have this with basketball as well.

Then the music starts and it all melts away in making sure he keep smiling and keeps his eyes on Chrissy as he sends her up into the air.

He catches her smiling face in the middle of a flip and remembers that day when they were practicing in his yard. Remembers Chrissy telling the kids: ‘Stevie makes me fly’. She looks like an angel now, flying through the air.

Before he knows it, it’s over.

They all stand there, breathing heavily, sweat coating their backs and smiles on their faces. They have done their routine and done it well. Now all they have to do is wait for what the judges say. It is crazy, Steve suddenly realizes, his life as cheerleader is over now.

He hasn’t been a cheerleader for long, only a few months. Yet it has become such a big and important part of him, that it feels kind of unreal that it is over now. He gained friends from this, a better school life, more comfort in his own skin. And now it’s done.

By the look of it, he is not the only one, who realizes this. Many of the senior girls on the team are crying. Heather and Molly are practically glued together with how tightly they are holding onto the other.

Lisa is not crying, but she does look emotional as she pulls Chrissy and Steve into a hug, something she rarely does. Steve hugs her back tightly, not letting himself cry as he basks in the closeness and understanding. Chrissy has no such limitations and is openly weeping about how much she’ll miss them and how cheerleading won’t be the same without them.

“I’ll stunt with you whenever you want, Chris,” Steve hears himself promise her. “You just gotta come visit.”

“Deal, so hard. Yes,” Chrissy cries, her hand buried in the back of his shirt.

They don’t win that day, but they come in second. No one is bitter about it, they’re all too busy celebrating what they do have and their history on the team. Even coach Miller isn’t too much on their ass in the bus to behave.

After that win, it is a race against his own brain as he crams for their finals and tries to make it through the last few weeks of high school.

Luckily everyone is. Even Billy is less of a dick, also trying to make it out of this shithole town like all of them want to.

Eddie isn’t around as much either. Steve heard he is getting held back again and has given up on the year, choosing to get high and skip school. Steve is both glad and sad about that fact.

His crush on the boy hasn’t waned in the slightest and he really wants to see those beautiful eyes and dramatic gestures for as long as he can, before he leaves school and he might not see Eddie ever again. However, he is also a bit relieved that he doesn’t have to feel those eyes on his constantly. It makes the hairs on the back of his head stand on edge and he’s anxious enough about the tests alone.

In the end, after all he’s been through in the past few years, the last bit of high school passes like any other person for Steve.

The week before his graduation his parents come back into town. While Steve knows they couldn't care less about him, he also knows that image means everything to them. Not showing up to watch him walk the stage is unthinkable. Steve mostly hopes they won’t stick around to talk to people who could tell them what he’s been up to.

Of course in order for that to happen, he has to live to his graduation, which isn’t looking likely right now.

It’s his own fault too, he forgot to throw out his rejection letters, having kept them on a pile as a form of self-flagellation. However, his father has stumbled upon them and discovered that his son isn’t going to college.

“You are such a disappointment, Steven,” his father hisses at him, the stack a crumbled mess in his hands. “I asked one thing of you to accomplish, just one. And that was to get into college. One of them would have been enough. You can’t even manage that.”

Poison drips of his every word, hitting Steve in his chest. He wants to cry, but he knows doing so will only invite more anger. So he swallows down the lump in his throat and says: “I’m sorry, sir,” knowing that an explanation won’t be welcome.

“Yes, you should be,” his father informs him coldly. “What will the town think, huh? When you’re still walking around here next year. A failure of a son.”

Fuck, if his father only knew what the town thinks of him now. If he only knew what they say about him when they think he can’t hear.

“I’ll do better,” Steve promises in vain, hoping it will quell some of his father’s wrath.

“I don’t think you can,” his father says. It’s so flippantly too, like it is just a fact to be stated and not a stab through Steve’s heart that his father has resigned himself to Steve being a failure.

It’s as if with the statement, resignation takes the place of anger. His father drops the letters to the floor and walks away. He stops in the doorway and turns around. “Your mother and I will watch you graduate, but we’re cutting off your allowance after that. We’ll come back if you prove you can be more than you are now.”

Then he is gone and Steve feels like he can’t breathe. He crumbles to the floor of his bedroom, around him are the scattered rejection letters. It feels as if he is being choked by the stiff clothes his mother had forced him into upon her return, telling him he looked like a slob. His bed next to him is perfectly made, every inch of his room clean.

But it isn’t enough.

It never is enough.

Tears start to fall and he can’t stop them, even if he knows he isn’t supposed to cry. So, he tries to muffle his sobs and hope his parents will keep up the trend of not caring enough about him to come close to hearing it.

Forty minutes later he finds himself in his bathroom, desperately scrubbing his face in an attempt to hide the fact that he cried. He needs to be down for dinner soon and he knows he’ll be in trouble if he doesn’t look presentable. However, the puffiness of his eyes is refusing to disappear and he’s getting water everywhere.

He changes clothes, before he can have a break down about it and goes downstairs. His mother has barely spoken to him since she got here. She gives him a disdainful one over, but doesn’t say anything, instead she huffs and goes back to plating the food.

The first thing she tells him that evening is: “Steven, it’s like you were raised in a barn. The food won’t just disappear. Have some dignity when you eat.”

Privately Steve thinks he might as well been raised in a barn with how much effort they put into his childhood, but he stays quiet and slows his eating pace. There is enough tension in the house that he doesn’t want to do anything that could upset the delicate balance that has been reached.

A few moments later, his mother huffs again. “No need to be dramatic, Steven. I said slow down, not turn it into a play. Behave and eat normally.”

Steve honestly doesn’t know what he’s doing wrong now, but eats a little quicker, trying to do anything to please her. She still doesn’t seem entirely happy – she never does – but it’s enough not to earn a comment again during dinner.

He does the dishes without being asked, which goes unremarked, before fleeing to his room, wishing the week could be over.

The next day he gets dragged to a fancy tailor, where he gets hoisted into suit after suit until his mother seems pleased. His opinion isn’t asked, but he didn’t expect it to. At this point the only way to please his mother is by being her little doll and he honestly just wants to make her happy and get it over with.

After hours of being dressed up his mother is finally happy with how he looks. The suit she picked is incredibly uncomfortable, but Steve is sure he can grit his teeth for a few hours tomorrow and survive his graduation.

His parents have an event to go to after, so they won’t be in town for long. It’s just two more days and then he’ll be blessedly alone again. A part of him wonders when he stopped minding the abandonment.

He drives his own car to graduation, not needing the last minute nitpicking that will make his nerves feel even more flayed. So, he won’t see his parents until after the ceremony. A fact he’s quite glad for as he joins his friends.

Steve isn’t standing close to anyone from the cheer team, instead stuck behind Billy, who is radiating murder vibes. Right now Steve hopes that because Billy will go before him, nothing bad can happen to him as he walks the stage. Though that doesn’t help the anxiety go away.

To distract himself, he looks into the crowd. He doesn’t search for his parents, instead scanning the crowd for red hair, because Chrissy promised she’d come. He hasn’t seen her all week, unable to get out of the house with his parents there. Luckily she understands that, but he still missed her.

She is in the middle somewhere, along with the rest of the cheer team, who aren’t graduating. They cheer for all their team members and most of the others too.

His own name is called and he hurries to the stage, wanting to get this over with as quickly as possible.

Still, he ensures he walks at a dignified pace, knowing his mother’s eagle eyes are on him. He smiles to the crowd, ignoring how the cheers are less than they’d been for Billy. Fortunately, the cheer squad is loudly calling out his name, which evens it out a bit. He prays his father will take a crowd of girls cheering for him as a sign and get off his case about a girlfriend.

And just like that Steve Harrington is a high school graduate.

He can’t believe how well that went. He walked the stage, got his diploma and no one died and nothing exploded. All in all, Steve is a free man and that is all he cares about right now.

Naturally such optimism must be crushed by the universe, because Steve can never fully leave a place unscathed.

He is walking with his parents, who have congratulated him as good parents are supposed to do, when Billy shows up at the other end of the parking. He is surrounded by friends and Steve is pretty sure his dad didn’t show up. It’s clear he’s angry about it, looking for a target to take it out on and Steve is right there.

Steve notices him before his parents and tries to hustle them along, but it doesn’t work. He cringes as Billy calls out: “I can’t believe your parents would want to be seen with you, fag.”

At the words, Steve freezes, feeling his father’s eyes burn into the back of his skull. He swallows thickly and yells back: “I’m not a fag. And it’s not like I see your parents around. What? They don’t want to be seen with you? Curious.”

“How fucking dare you, you fucking pussy,” Billy seethes. “Now you’re talking back? Huh, got daddy to protect you? Does he even know what a queer his son is?”

Oh god, no, Steve thinks, heart beating in his throat. He has to say something, has to stand his ground, or this won’t end well. He spits: “I’m not a fucking queer, Hargrove.”

“Yeah?” Billy laughs, knowing by his posture that he has him cornered. “Tell that to your picture in the year book. At this point I’m surprised they didn’t hoist you into a little skirt. You ruined a lot of wanking material by joining the cheerleaders.”

And there it is, out in the open. No matter Steve does, his father won’t let anyone say such things about him without finding out why. This is it. Life over.

He catches Chrissy’s eyes from the crowd. Her brows are pinched and she looks angry. Angry enough to do something stupid. He can’t let her do something stupid for him. So when their eyes meet, he shakes his head and hopes she’ll listen.

Chrissy deflates and it is the only bit of relief he gets, before his father snatches his yearbook out of his hands and flips it open. Steve is already backing away, before his father can reach the page, hoping he’ll be able to escape on time.

However, he isn’t fast enough. He knows his father has found the page, because rage overtakes his features as he throws the yearbook to the ground. Then, like the boxer he’d been in his youth, his fist flies out and hits Steve in the face.

He stumbles back form the force and the shock. In all these years, his father hasn’t hit him before, not ever. There has always been the threat of violence and a light spanking, but proper hitting? Never. Not once. Not until now.

Before he can recover, his father has grabbed his hair and is dragging him towards their car. Under the watchful gazes of the rest of the school, he is pushed in the backseat. The Harringtons have an image, they cannot let their son behave like that. They showed the public they don’t agree and are now taking him for punishment in private. It isn’t proper to do that on the streets.

Steve looks down in shame, cheeks burning. He chances one glance out of the window to the staring crowd. Most of them look like they agree and they’re glad something is done about it, but right there in the middle is Chrissy, looking horrified and guilty.

At home his father is completely silent, stony and cold. Steve is honestly terrified, his cheek is still throbbing from the hit and he is waiting for the shitshow that is about to come.

He watches as his father paces back and forth in the living room. Until he stops and turns to Steve, ice in his eyes as he demands: “How long has this been going on?”

“Not long. Couple of weeks,” Steve answers, wanting to shrink into himself and disappear. “I swear it was nothing, just something stupid. It was just a joke.”

“A joke?” his father repeats. “Do you know what is a joke? You. A Harrington, running around like some fag. Some dirty queer.”

“I’m not a fag,” Steve lies, hoping to save himself.

“You better not be, boy,” his father says, pushing into his personal space.

“I swear, I’m not,” Steve says again, as if it will make his case stronger. “I was trying to get this girl to like me. They needed someone. I thought it would get me in her good graces.”

His father scans his face, brow stern as he inspects Steve’s face. For a moment, Steve thinks this is the worst it is going to get. Then he’s hit in the face again and goes sprawling onto the floor. His father spits: “Don’t lie to me, boy.”

Tears well up. He has tried his entire life to be perfect for them, to be good enough. And he never was and he never will be. He can’t do anything right. He didn’t even choose this. He doesn’t want this either. He wishes he could settle down with a pretty girl and have a family like everyone wants him to.

He gets kicked in the side by his father, who screams: “You are nothing, but a worthless piece of shit and I don’t want you sullying the family name.”

Steve curls into himself, the uncomfortable suit he’s wearing making it difficult to do so. His father lands another kick and Steve lets out a whimper.

“Richard,” he hears his mother say and his father stops. They both look up at her. She is standing, glass of wine in her hand, looking quite unaffected by the spectacle before her. “All this noise is giving me a headache.”

A headache, Steve thinks shrilly, his world collapsing around him. He has always knows that his mother doesn’t care, but he always thought there would be at least some affection for him. But it seems not and it feels like his ribs are collapsing in his chest.

His father looks back down to Steve. He spits on him, right in his face, and snarls: “No son of mine will be a queer under my roof. You have five minutes to pack your stuff and get out.”

I didn’t even kiss a boy, Steve thinks wildly as he scrambles up to his room, throwing as many of his clothes into a bag and snatching the few mementos he has of the kids and Chrissy.

He stumbles off the stairs and out of the house. His mother has already wandered off again, but his father is standing in the doorway, arms crossed. “We’re having the locks changed, don’t think of coming back until you’re married and have a grandson for us.”

Then the door is slammed in his face.

Steve stands there for a few seconds, just staring up to the house that has been his home for eighteen years now. He’s still in the stupid monkey suit, bag at his feet and bruise on his face. Officially homeless.

It hits him all over again and tears well up. He lets them slide down his cheek and turns away. He doesn’t want anyone seeing him there. He doesn’t want this to be the new talk of the town.

He still has his car keys in his pocket. He saved a bunch of money in there, something he’s glad for now. The car is in his name, so they can’t take it from him. He shoulders his bag and starts walking to the school where he’d left it. Time to start planning what he should do now.

Everyone in Hawkins is at a graduation party, hundreds are held tonight. But Steve doesn’t care for any of them. He is just glad people are too busy to see him walk around.

His ribs ache with every step and he feels humiliated. He hates himself, he hates his parents, he hates Billy and he hates the world that made him so. He just wants to be normal. He just wants his parents to care. He didn’t ask for this.

When he finally gets to the school, his car is the only one in the parking lot. It’s completely covered in shaving cream and toilet paper. On the hood is painted fag mobile. Next to it lies his crumpled yearbook.

He picks it up, the smiling faces of the cheer squad stare up at him accusingly, his own among them as some sort of mockery of when he was still happy and his world hadn’t collapsed yet.

Steve is beyond crying at this point, so he throws his yearbook into the bushes, before staring at his car in defeat. Standing there in the parking lot by himself.

After giving himself a moment, he starts plucking off the toilet paper, before using his suit jacket to wipe away the shaving cream. He hates that suit anyway. It takes him awhile, but it’s mindless work that keep him busy, keeps him distracted.

Only the words on the front of his car remain. They stare at him judgmentally. He knows he should be lucky they didn’t break his windows, but it still doesn’t feel nice. He feels backed into a corner, watched, policed. It makes him feel terrified.

The suit jacket is already ruined and the paint is still drying, so he scrubs until his fingers hurt to get it off. He’s only half successful, but at least the words aren’t legible anymore. He vows to go through a car wash tomorrow, before driving a town over to trade his car. It’s a fancy one, he’s sure he can get a good price for it. Then he can drive something without people knowing it’s his. Without being a target.

But for now this is good enough.

He burns his suit, changing into a polo and some jeans in the back of his car. His radio goes off with Will saying: “Please, Steve, just reply. Jonathan said you got in a fight with your dad. He sounded concerned. Are you okay? Please, Steve, respond. Please.”

His heart aches to reach out. He wants to click that button and lie and tell Will he’s fine. Or maybe tell him he’s not and if he can come over to their house. To sink into the care of Joyce, who has always accepted her two boys, no matter how weird the town thought them to be. He aches to not be alone right now.

However, he doesn’t want the kids to see him like this. He is their strong protector and he doesn’t want them to know he got kicked out. He doesn’t want them to hate him. So, he turns the radio off with a decisive click.

Steve contemplates going over to the pay phone the school has and calling Chrissy. But she doesn’t have her own line and he doesn’t think Mrs. Cunningham will let him come close to her precious daughter if she knew who Stevie really was.

In short, he has no one to turn to.

So, he sits in the driver’s seat of his car and plays one of the tapes Chrissy left there when he drove her around last time. The music is way too upbeat for his melancholic mood, but it makes him smile and he needs that right now.

Once he has gathered himself again, he puts the car in drive and pulls away from the school. He hasn’t decided where he’s going yet, but he needs to move right now.

He finds himself passing the Hawkins sign, leaving the town. He hadn’t even realized where he was until he sees it. For a moment he contemplates driving on. To be the queer that ran in the eyes of his town. To go to a place where no one knows who he is and start again.

But he can’t. He can’t leave Chrissy behind. He can’t leave the kids without any defenses. He can’t leave Max with Billy as her only older brother. He can’t leave Dustin like his father did. He just can’t abandon them.

With reluctance he does a U-turn and drives back. Hawkins isn’t willing to let him go yet. There is something still keeping him there.

Steve thinks about going to Lovers Lake. The nature has always brought him peace and he can use some tranquility right about now. He is already driving in the direction when he realizes he made his favorite hang out place into a make out spot.

There will be dozens of couples in their cars trying to get it on there and equally as many cops looking into said cars to catch them doing it. The last thing he needs is Hopper showing up and asking what he is doing out there.

Maybe he should just keep driving, he thinks, just wander about until the sun comes up.

But he doesn’t want to do that either. He is tired. His bones feel heavy and his entire body aches, all he wants is to sit and stare into nothing. To reflect on all the places he fucked up.

Besides, the cops that aren’t scouring the lakes for teenagers doing the dirty are stopping cars to check if the occupants aren’t drunk. It’s graduation night, they know the kids are partying. It’s what Steve would have imagined himself doing a year ago.

So, there is not really a place to go. Truly a theme of his evening.

He’s about to give up and pull over to the side of the road when he sees a sign for the quarry. Ever since Will’s fake body was found there people have been avoiding it. If there is one place he’ll find some rest tonight, it’s there.

Relief courses through him that he’ll have a place for peace tonight as he starts driving towards the quarry.

Later, he’ll have to figure out a plan for the long term, because he can’t keep living in his car. He has some savings, so he’ll be fine for a few days, after that he probably needs a job. And a place to stay.

But that is a worry for later. Now, he pulls up to the small outcrop overlooking the quarry and gets out of the car. The weather is nice out, summer closing in on Hawkins. It’s quite a lovely evening that Steve would appreciate, were it not for the day that preceded it.

He goes to sit on the roof of his car, looking over the quarry. It’s calm, like he wanted, but he also feels deathly alone, sitting next to the huge chasm all by himself. Without his permission tears start up again and he curls into himself.

It’s not like he wants to be crying. He hates crying. But he can’t stop either. He has always known that his parents don’t care, that they don’t love him, and yet he still kept trying. Sure, he held a whole speech to Chrissy about why she shouldn’t care and he knows that he shouldn’t either. But that’s easier said than done.

Steve still remembers when he was little, when he became obsessed with sports and the classes weren’t as confusing yet. How easy it was to make his father proud. How he still looked cute next to his mother, instead of serving as a reminder that she was getting old. How she would let him sit at her side as she did her makeup and let her do his hair.

A part of him still can’t believe that they would kick him out like that. It’s not like they walked in on him with a boy, they have no proof other than Billy’s word and a picture in the yearbook. That was all it took.

He has suppressed his feelings for other boys for years, planned to ignore it for the rest of his life, so that he could be who they wanted him to be. And that wasn’t enough. He as a person, would never be the son they want.

There is something innately wrong with him and they can pick it up even without seeing him for months. It hangs around him. He can’t hide it.

Steve used to be able to hide it. Used to play the part. King Steve, lady’s man, who always had a girl on his arm. Who was on the basketball team. Who drove the macho car. Who pushed those around him that looked gay.

But he couldn’t keep being King Steve. He couldn't.

In junior year he was offered a choice. To keep being an asshole for the rest of his life, or to be someone he could face in the mirror. Right now, though, he wonders that if he could have looked into the future, if he wouldn't have chosen safety over kindness. If he would have shown up on the door to apologize.

He wonders if he would have been happy if he had. He wonders if he would be at a party right now doing a keg stand with Billy. He wonders if Nancy and Jonathan would have still been alive.

“Fuck,” he curses out loud. He knows he made the right choice. That he likes being friends with the kids, that he likes that he was able to befriend Chrissy and Lisa. That he can allow himself to glance at Eddie from time to time.

“That’s not very proper,” a voice behind him shocks him out of his musing.

Steve whips his head around, not wanting to be caught by surprise if this is another ambush. Instead he finds Eddie, grinning up at him, having appeared as if summoned by his thoughts of him. “What are you doing out here?” he asks.

A/N:

Ngl, this chapter was difficult to write. I am so glad I have never had to go through this and my heart goes out to all of my queer siblings who have. I hope the world treats you more kindly than it has, because you deserve all the care in the world <3

#rr writing #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #buckingham #steve harrington & chrissy cunningham #chrissy cunningham #cheerleader steve harrington au #billy hargrove #OCs #tw: homophobia #tw: hate crime #tw: f slur #tw: child abuse #tw: internalized homophobia #st post season 2

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skye-huntress · 1 year ago

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The Witch from Mercury Season 2 Reaction

Episode 20: “The End of Hope”

Ominous title

Let’s see. Norea is ready to explode, Miorine is freaking out, Guel seems hellbent on taking down Shaddiq, and Grassley Squad is making their move. Shaddiq again seems to be laying much of the blame on Guel, even though this tragedy happened as he was leaving.

Who knew Rouji of all people had mastered the art of interrogation? Or is Martin just that much of a wuss?

Who knew Lilique could get mad?!

So Suletta has finally gone back to class, but now she’s being harassed as well. Now that she is no longer the Holder and no longer Aerial’s pilot, she’s naturally an easier target.

Now Petra is being nice to Suletta. Guess saving her boyfriend scored her some points.

Guel may be learning to be a better person, but he should learn to be smarter.

Shaddiq seems out for blood now

They’ve released a pissed off witch from the basement and she’s fixing to go on a rampage. The ball is in your court, Number 5.

Looks like Chuchu’s Demi-Trainer is out for the count. They don’t have any mobile suits left.

Petra, stop talking! You’re waving so many death flags right now with the things you’re saying! She’s going to die right after I found a reason to like her, isn’t she?

If Shaddiq is openly admitting his crimes on their comms, I doubt he plans on leaving Guel or anyone else alive.

Look, Guel, you need to understand your father was a grade-A a-hole. You could have a lengthy debate over who is a worse person between him and Shaddiq.

Now Lauda knows Guel killed their father. Will either of them live long enough for that to matter?

Not the Greenhouse! Oh, that bitch done it, now!

Now Felsi is in the firing line! What am I saying? Of course, she is. Any pilots with working mobile suits with the guts to be out there is gonna be. Too bad that even if they didn’t have the school’s limiter, they’d still be hopelessly outmatched.

When Secelia decides its time to move the plot along, she delivers. A brand new mobile suit for Chuchu and the timely return of her traitorous mechanic.

Since when did Pompom Head become a thing? That’s the second person to call her that

It’s not like I don’t get Shaddiq. He is a demon of the Benerit Group’s making. I can’t even say with confidence that in his position I wouldn’t have made similar choices. He’s still crossed a line, and got innocents among both Spacians and Earthians killed. He’s also not as clever as he thinks he is, ready to blame Guel for interfering in his plans when he is the one committing crimes.

Did Guel just outsmart Shaddiq and Sabina? And he disabled their suits without killing them. Not only was that impressive, this might be his first real win in the entire show. Unfortunately it came at the cost of Norea going on a rampage but there was a solid chance it could have happened, anyway.

I begrudgingly give points to Number 5 for talking Norea down. Unfortunately, that win is short lived. Serious though, who was the dumbass who thought it was a good idea to fire on them after they stopped rampaging? And if you were going to do that, why only take out one of them when the other as far as they know is equally dangerous?

Back to Suletta, finally. Aaaaaand, yep. About what I expect. Oh , and there’s the title card!

That is such a Suletta thing to do, honestly. She used to do this kind of thing back on Mercury, too, so really, she’s falling back on what she knows. I’m also genuinely surprised that Earth House hasn’t suffered any casualties, though they’re probably going to get blamed for this, too.

#the witch from mercury #g witch #g witch spoilers

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anxso · 1 year ago

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@ygoc-week Day 7 - AU

YU-GI-OH! 5D’S — RAIN ORICHALCUM

Clear Skies is a story that involves multiple timelines and a version of Z-ONE trapped, trying to find a solution to a time loop. This VERY mucH revolves around Rain and Kalin.

One timeline we get to see is a brief snapshot of an attempt where Z-ONE defeats Roman and is able to restore Rain’s memory prior to her awakening in the Satellite, so during the Team Satisfaction era she’s instead a murderer-menace.

Yet stilllll ends up in a relationship anyway and is facing a firing squad for the things she and Kalin have done. He sets off an explosion, and they manage to escape.

It gets cut off there in the main story BUT I honestly was so enamored with this timeline that I wrote out how they ended up warming up to each other. This one-shot is prettttty long, almost 4k words! but I’m happy I get to share it for OC Week! I originally wrote this for the Angstober prompt “Crimes of Passion” because oh, doesn’t that fit them perfectly?

WARNINGS FOR THIS ONE-SHOT: alcohol use, gun violence, a drinking game that gets. hot n heavy. implied/offscreen nsfw (nothing that would be an E rating on AO3, don’t worry~!)

full fic under the cut :3c

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Soft beeps filled the hospital room. Kalin Kessler had fallen asleep on his knees, his hand in Rain Orichalcum’s; she lay comatose on the bed. Z-ONE appeared in the visitation seats in a green flash wearing a blank expression.

“Again. Again,” Z-ONE whispered. “How many times have I been here?”

A swirl of violet flames birthed the figure of a Dark Signer, Ccapac Apu wearing Rain’s skin. Its black robes lined with blue drank in the noonday sunshine. Its drawn hood casted shadows over its dark eyes, but its grin was free and bright. “If it isn’t the worthless machine back again! What are we at now? Should I be celebrating three thousand?”

“When you are snuffed out,” Z-ONE said, “those taunts will vanish with you along with all the anguish you have woven into the universe.”

“Little old me?” It feigned surprise. “But I was happy to eat up one timeline! Here you are creating ever more for me to feast. Tell me, rusty bucket of bolts, do you ever consider how those timelines end up? Ever had one stick in the old brain?”

“What? No. It doesn’t… matter.”

“Oh, but it does. A tree fallen in the forest may go unheard by humanity yet makes sound enough to scatter the birds, and a timeline abandoned by your sorry self continues to spiral until ending up in my wondrous arms. Or are you a depressed solipsist?”

Z-ONE stared. “I go on. It is what I do.”

“The weight of it all must eat you up.” The wicked god hovered over Z-ONE, spittle flying with its words. “The decisions you’ve made and the sheer agony they’ve resulted in. I know you lie to me. They’re lodged in your brain as much as I continue to experience them—every timeline continuing on, every light for me to consume! You should try godhood sometime, but oh, no machine could process it. You would fall to pieces. I suppose it wouldn’t matter, since you’re already a heap of junk!”

Z-ONE’s fists balled. “I am no god. Nor am I a machine. The probability exists. I merely have to find its branch. Your days have been numbered from the start. As for the other branches…”

Z-ONE stood. “A god such as you exists simultaneously on every timeline, and so you will be eradicated everywhere; everywhen.”

“Eradicated!” The wicked god laughed and slapped its knee. “Funny! You aaare funny. You don’t like to talk about them, but I have my favorites! Timelines you’ve screwed up, that is.”

“I’m done talking.” Z-ONE’s bracelet shone emerald. “I defy your ending.”

The wicked god rolled its eyes. “Whatever, whatever, see you next time around.” It cleaned beneath its grimy fingernails and studied Kalin and Rain.

Its smile curled up.

/\/\/\/\/\/

One thousand three hundred and seventy-seven.

Z-ONE tampered with the game of gods by defeating Roman Godwin, possessed by Earthbound Immortal Uru. Uru had snatched Rain Orichalcum’s memories. She was left as a complacent girl with childlike naïvete. A chance run-in with Kalin Kessler netted her an opportunity to join Team Satisfaction and survive in the post-fallout wasteland known as the Satellite, an island used as garbage disposal for the nearby New Domino City.

The Rain Orichalcum who had her memories returned before any such meeting took place, before growing close to humans who showed her kindness and empathy, was a very different person indeed.

Smog intermingled with the gray clouds blanketing the overcast sky. Kalin Kessler strolled the grimy Satellite streets whistling a tune. He kicked a can as he went and periodically glanced up at the rooftops. He passed a pair of stray dogs fighting over a scrap of rotten food and tossed them a fresh granola bar.

The hairs on the back of his neck lifted. Wind swept through the streets, carrying litter and brushing the collar of his Team Satisfaction vest against his cheek. He spun on his heel, his focus locked on the rooftop of the building behind him.

A pale woman with long, black hair and blue eyes glared down at him. Her legs dangled over the building's edge. Kalin said, "Heyo, it's just the girl I'm looking for!"

She thinned her eyes.

"Oh, how I enjoy our long and eventful conversations. You know, they've started calling you the shadow. I don't think it fits so much. What about something more creative, like, Raven!"

She rolled her eyes.

"Not your name, then." He sighed and made a show of slumping sadly. "One of these days, I'll find it out! Eh, I have a more, uh, pressing priority today. You got a hard number on how many Securities you've killed?"

Her head tilted, expression unchanging. She held up both hands and lifted one finger, two fingers, all the way to ten. Then she curled her fingers and shrugged.

"So many you don't know?"

She confirmed with a nod.

"See! That's a problem for us. You, too. They're hiking up their numbers in the Satellite and making it worse for every one of us. It goes pretty counter to what I'm trying to do around here, which is to stay on the low to keep Security out of our hair. S'long as we got a nice, united Satellite, Security's the only fuckheads. Make sense?"

She stared.

"Come on. There's gotta be something I can do to convince you to leave them alone. Anything you want? I'll find it. Anything you wanna do to me? Hell, murder me instead for all I care. The rest of my team can take it from there."

"Your logic is flawed," she said, and he jumped. Words! From her mouth! "Every human is a fuckhead."

He couldn't help it; he laughed. "Ah, you got me there! Hey, you duel? How about a bet?"

"I'll take a bet," she said, "but we'll play my game."

"What game's that?"

She smiled in a very unpleasant way. "Drinking. You pass out first, and you never acknowledge my existence again. I pass out first, and you get your wish. I'll leave the guys in gray alone."

Very many a thought raced through Kalin's mind. If this was her game, she was surely better prepared than him. On the other hand, he had biology on his side considering his size over her. "You got yourself a deal."

She dropped onto the street before him, her boots stirring dust. Her loose-fitting black shirt, one arm missing the fabric, swayed with her stride. He followed her without word and with a wide berth. He'd heard enough stories to know even a perceived slight could end his life.

Yet there he went, following the Satellite's infamous murderer to who-knows-where. If he survived, Yusei and Crow would kill him. Jack would shoot him one of his more judgmental looks.

Perhaps he should rethink this.

Nahh. It was for the good of them all, so he had to. Plus, free drinks. They might end up being straight up poison, buuut-

"Here," she said.

Gray waves splashed up the high, craggy shoreline. Across the inlet, New Domino City caught rays of sunshine. The smog in this part of the Satellite, so close to the factories, blocked out the sun. She stood inside a control building connected to a now-defunct hydropower plant. The steel dam still stood, and trash floated on the disgusting green water behind it.

Kalin followed her inside. She wound down a steel staircase. Their clanging footsteps echoed, testaments to how deep the plant stretched. She stopped three stories down. The emergency generators kept on the lights, and select rations lay scattered on the many control panels. In the corner lay a sleeping bag, an unlit lantern, and scattered bottles.

She struck a match and lit the lantern. He studied the place. A few cockroach corpses rested here and there but nothing serious. He said, "Must stay pretty warm way down here in the winter."

She yanked down a large switch on the wall, and the humming overhead lights shut off. Screens and buttons provided minimal bright blue lighting. Most came from her lantern, a buttery orange glow. "Do you feel colder now?"

"Huh? Not really."

"The electricity here keeps the heat going," she said. "Since I don't need it, well. There it goes."

He kept a straight face, but it wasn't the greatest news to hear. They hadn't reached the snowy part of the year but the chill was enough to wake him up in the middle of the night. He'd worn only his typical red t-shirt, jeans, vest, and boots. His socks had more holes than he could count, so the cold found his feet first. "Not many places still get heat. How'd you find this?"

"I'm not here for small talk." She picked up two glass bottles of clear liquid and dropped into a rotating chair. I took the one beside her. The pair of tall bottles rested between various knobs and dials, and the lantern sat on the floor between us. The upward casting of shadows darkened her eyes and the hollows of his cheeks. She said, "Truth or dare's the game. If you pick truth, you drink."

The thought of what she might dare him to do skyrocketed his pulse. He said, "You should drink first. Y'know, so I'm sure you're not poisoning me."

She rolled her eyes and took a deep swig. "Guess I'm truth first."

"Your name!" he said. Uh. Surely there were better options, and yet.

"Rain," she answered. "Rain Orichalcum."

"Wow," he whispered. "Rain…"

"Don't- say it like that."

"Like what?"

She shook her head. "Your turn. Pick."

"Truth." He smelled the bottle. Fuck was it strong. He took a swig and coughed. Stuff almost came back up as vomit but he hit his fist against his chest and kept it down. The strength of it flooded his sinuses and lingered there. "Ugh, what the hell?"

She was laughing. He was too stunned to speak. She swiftly recovered her composure and swiped the bottle from him. "All the other stuff isn't strong enough."

"So you drink fucking rubbing alcohol?"

"Yes."

His brows shot up, and he studied the stuff with renewed interest. It'd hit him within seconds and he felt the urge to laugh even though nothing had happened. He rubbed his mouth and said, "Uh, your question?"

"What are you trying to do to this island? Conquer it?"

He blinked. "Kind of. I don't know. That doesn't sound like the right word. We're trying to, like- unite! Thaaat's the word. Yeah, so, right now it's split into a whole bunch of territories run by different gangs. They make life hell for anyone who's not in their gang, and lots of times, members of the gangs act like slaves to whoever the gang leader is. We're not like that. We wanna take them down and let everybody be free. We can make the Satellite as good a place to live as the City that way."

"Why do you believe that?" she said.

"Ha! I'm not drunk enough to fall for that. You gotta ask me next time."

"Fine." She drank. "Truth."

"Why do you keep killing people?"

She squinted and cleaned out her ear with a pinkie. "Do fuckheads deserve the lives they've been given if they use it only to abuse others? Take these other gangs, for example. Clearly you have a case of an individual with power who abuses it and takes advantage of those beneath the leader. Why should they continue to exist?"

He snorted. "Yeah, okay, they suck. Why does that mean you get to kill 'em? Like, why do you get to decide that?"

"I answered my question."

"Ugggh. How many in are we?"

"You've had two shots," she said.

"What? No. I'm gonna fall out of the fucking chair! Whatever. I'll take a dare!"

Rain struck a match. A single strip of smoke rose up between them. "Your tongue. Five seconds."

"What the fuck?"

She arched an eyebrow. Psycho. Kalin opened his mouth. The heat started at the tip and slowly moved back inside his mouth, her fingers touching his lips. "One. Two. Three."

He shut his eyes tight against the searing pain. He smelled something burning. She dragged out her vowels: "Fooour…"

He clamped down his teeth, snatching the match and smothering it with his tongue. Her fingers came away wet, and she gaped at them. He grinned with the blackened match as his toothpick. "Five!"

She scowled and took a swig. "Truth."

"So boring!" A corner of his mouth quirked up. "How many shots does it take to get you to pass out?"

"To be determined."

He threw up his hands. The fact it didn't throw off his center of gravity was a good sign insofar. "Lemme ask a real one since you can't answer that. It's only fair." She nodded, so he said, "Why d'you hate people so much?"

A corner of her lip jumped with her snarl. "Because of what they did to me."

Hangups, eh. He considered the bottle. "Meh, do your worst. Dare again."

She giggled. He about fell into the floor hearing it. He deeefinitely had the lead. She said, "Really?"

"Yeah, really! What's the torture gonna be this time?"

She leveled an even stare at him. "Take off your shirt."

He busted out a laugh. Her expression didn't change. He said, "Oh, so I've caught the shadow's eye, huh?"

The chair spun behind Rain as she shot to her feet and gripped a fistful of his shirt. He grinned and held up his empty hands. She dropped him and sniffed. "I hope you freeze to death."

"Mhmm, that's it." He was too far gone to fear her snarl. He tossed off his vest and peeled off his shirt, stretching to leave his broad shoulders. She sat with the chair backwards, her chin resting on its cushioned back. The bottle dangled from her fingers. She kept her eyes locked with his. The cold raised bumps on his skin but the thundering pump of his blood kept him plenty warm. He smiled, saying, "I can tell you're trying sooo hard to keep your eyes up there."

Her expression soured. She downed three massive gulps, finishing the bottle, and tossed it aside. "Truth."

"Do I get three?"

"I'll ssstab you," she said.

Her blinks were getting uneven, too. That with the slurring meant very good things for him. He nabbed the next bottle. "Are you really gonna follow through on our bet?"

She let her arms dangle over the chair, and her cheek pressed against the chair. "Mmm. I would still defend myshelf."

The lantern flickered yet the light was bright in his eyes–electric. "Myshelf?"

"Shut up. You take three. You slowed down too fast for it to be fun."

He swallowed a trio of the nasty stuff. He stumbled and had to find his chair with a probing hand. "That answer works for me. I get a truth now, right?"

"Yeah." She stood up and swayed. A firm hand on the chair kept her upright. "What the hell is with your interest in me? You're always talking to me and wanted my name and- you've heard about me. You know what I've done."

There was a tremble to her that could've come from any number of things. Kalin chalked it up to the alcohol. "Suuure. I've got connections. I know the witnesses. Funny thing about all the stories is how all those kills were for the purpose of protecting a victim. Crazy stuff! There's always someone who was in danger and got away."

"That's not true," she hissed.

"Okay, take your sip and lemme ask you for the truth."

She grit her teeth and growled. "Dare."

"I get mine now? Finally!" He crossed his arms over the back of his chair. "Shirt off."

"What?"

"Come on. You can't act that way when you made me do it."

Her inhale was sharp. Her focus rolled down his bare arms and abdomen. Her frown was a tight little thing as she threw off her black shirt. Loose gauze bound her chest. The lantern light caught on the light hairs surrounding her navel and trailing up her flat stomach to the white wrappings, the topmost loop of which was juuust open enough-

"Stop," she snapped.

"Yeah, yeah. The hell do I do? I think if I have another sip I'll, like, die."

There was also the curve of her hips, how the lantern's flicker played its soft and warm light over her skin disappearing into her waistband-

"Dare," he managed.

"I dare you to claw out your own fucking eyes."

He blinked and stared at his hands. "Shit."

Rain doubled over laughing. She stumbled, hit the floor, and lay on her back still busting a gut. He started in with her. She said, "Dumbass."

"How'd you know the nickname my friends gave me?"

They broke down into a new fit.

"I dare you to drink more," she said.

"Huh? That's gotta be against the rules!"

"Fuck your rules."

"Can't argue with that," he said, and he drank. He couldn't taste it anymore. Probably he was dying or something, but what a way to go. "Your turn."

She pushed up off the floor. "Dare."

The lantern was low and sputtering. He leaned into the dark and said, "Touch me."

Her eyes widened, the reflected spot of orange like a sunburst sky. He laughed and ran his hand through his hair. "No, that was stupid, I-"

But she was approaching him, cautious like a feral animal attracted to proffered food. He stood stock still. She studied him from his ice-blue locks long enough to fall in his face to his warm hazel eyes to his bare chest. Her fingertip pressed onto his sternum and traveled down, tracing the outline of his abs, leaving a hot touch in every trench. He realized he was hearing her breaths, loud and echoing, and he was holding his own without meaning to. She pressed her hand to his stomach, and he gasped, the incredible warmth of her enticing a shiver throughout all of him.

"You know," she whispered, her fingertips glancing up his chest to land on his shoulder, "I think it's your turn."

He could only remain upright and breathe.

"Kalin?" she said.

A shaky exhale left him. He laughed a little, and she squeezed his shoulder. "This is the greatest day of my life."

"Huh?"

"You said my name," he murmured, staring up at the ceiling. "And I've never heard it said better."

She clicked her tongue and turned away. "I can tell I'm drunk because that one kind of worked."

His arm looped around her waist. "How much?"

She shook him off, and he stepped back. She said, "Drink or don't. I'm still gonna win."

He took a swig. His vision went blurry for a few seconds but he managed to blink it away. "Ask away."

She met his eyes and said, "What do you want to do to me?"

His brows lifted and he had absolutely zero control over his stare landing on her chest, on the gauze-wrapped curves swelling and retreating with the rhythm of her breaths. She inched closer to him, licked her lips, and said, "Dare."

He pinched the end of the gauze above her cleavage and waited, the question in his eyes. Her fingers curled around his wrist and the smallest part of him, the still sober bit, expected his bones to snap. But she guided his hand to unwind the binding and free her bare skin. The white strips fell and curled around her feet. He stared at her and she at him, their exhales long and intermingling, the world silent outside the thrumming beats of their hearts.

She snuffed out the light with her bare fingertips and pressed her body to his. She kissed him and he tasted like bonfire smoke. He couldn't think beyond the need to be consumed by her heat like the damn match, left a burnt and useless nothing, and he didn't care. Her dark hair was silk through his fingers and he had to hold her ever closer. They fell onto the sleeping bag. The glow of the LED screens turned her eyes electric blue, and he grasped her face to brush his thumbs beneath them. She kissed him again and her fingers found his waistband.

It's dark outside–a seemingly abrupt state but one that occurred gradually, the sunset a fleeting and dying beauty to behold.

/\/\/\/\/\/

"We can't keep running forever. What do we do?" Kalin slammed his fist into the alley wall, and his knuckles bled. The pouring rain filled the open wounds. "I don't know what the fuck to do!"

Rain sat slumped on the opposite side. The white roots of her hair showed on the crown of her head. The drizzle dripped down her face like stray tears. Blood mixed in the liquid from the cut on her cheek, the graze of a bullet. "The clothes factory?"

"Fucking Security knows about it, and about your power plant. The hideout, too. Shit. That explosion got you away from the firing squad but brought more of those fuckers out of the woodworks. Where do we go?"

"If I turn myself in-"

"Don't give me that shit. We go down, we go down together."

"I wouldn't be anybody without you!" she said. "You have to keep going, even if I-"

He took her hand between his. "You're everything, whether I'm there or not. Let's get going. Hard to hear with the rain, so we gotta stay on the move."

They climbed the rooftops. Flashlights attached to assault rifles cut through the storm. Shouts rang out but the downpour drowned them. Rain and Kalin ran from building to building, offering minimal exposure. Bullets fired. Glass shattered by them. They hit the deck and scrambled outside the back exit.

A horde of Securities awaited them. A pair filtered in from behind and jabbed them forward with their barrels. Rain followed Kalin's lead by holding up her empty hands. The Securities surrounding them were all poised and ready to fire their uncountable weapons.

A voice crackled over their comms. The Security wearing a scarf clicked his radio, saying, "Roger."

All fronts fired at once. Rain screamed but the bullets whizzed past her and tore Kalin apart. The onslaught ceased. She dove to his side and gathered him in her arms but he was gone, gone. She roared and threw out her deck, touching every card. An army of monsters filled the sky. Dragons blasted Securities and blades stabbed clean through bulletproof vests. A panicked Security fired wildly, automatic weapon churning out bullet after bullet. Several Securities fell yet the attack of the enraged monsters did not end.

Scarlet blossomed from Rain's chest. She collapsed in a splash of water. The endless gray sky brought her back to that day so long ago it felt like decades past rather than months.

How love slows time.

Her breaths weakened, and her heartbeat slowed.

It doesn't have to end like this.

Violet blazed from both Rain and Kalin's forearms. The mark of the Giant glowed, and fuchsia flames ate away at their bodies until nothing remained.

----------------------

(reminder I’m just a writer, artist credit in alt text!)

OC week has been so great!!! I’ve loved seeing and reading about all your blorbos <3 (and I’m in a few nice OC spaces if anyone wants in/ to add on discord, anx)

#yugioh oc week 23 #yugioh oc #5ds #yugioh 5ds #darkbondshipping #oneshot #ygo 5ds #mild spice #fade to black #gun violence #alcohol #oc x canon #flushed emoji

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myinky-cloak · 7 months ago

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13 Books

What’s up readers?! How about a little show and tell? Answer these 13 questions, tag 13 lucky readers and if you’re feeling extra bookish add a shelfie! Let’s Go!

Not tagged by @softest-punk but I saw it on their page and decided to get involved.

1) The Last book I read:

Just finished Tana French’s “Broken Harbour”. I LOVE Tana French, particularly her Dublin Murder Squad series. I wasn’t very satisfied with the ending. It required too much suspended disbelief for me. Too many characters descending into madness at the same time very conveniently. But it was interesting to consider how many issues we cause for ourselves by attempting to be someone we think we should be.

2) A book I recommend:

Not to be basic Tumblr bitch but Neil Gaiman’s “The Ocean at The End of The Lane”. The way he can articulate the terrible things that happen in childhood, how we deal with them, how we carry the memories, and the effect they have on us for the rest of our lives left me shaken and breathless. ”You don’t pass or fail at being a person, dear.” I wish I didn’t need this reminder but I do, so thank you, Neil.

Plus, I find it fascinating to see the difference between people who can intimately relate to it and those for whom it is just a story.

3) A book that I couldn’t put down:

Stephen King “The Waste Lands” The third book of The Dark Tower series. A book series that started out so promising and ended with me throwing the final book against the wall in disgust and cursing Mr. King to high heavens. For all the issues the final books in the series had “The Waste Lands” was an absolute masterpiece. I remember reading it on a train to work and nearly missing my spot because I needed to find out what happens next.

4) A book I’ve read twice (or more):

One book?? Right. Stephen King’s “Salem’s Lot”. It absolutely terrified me when I read it as a teenager. I loved the feeling of small town America invaded by the supernatural which he writes so well. Plus, vampires! I have a habit of re-reading it every time I go home, don’t really know why. I probably should get around to reading it in English at some point.

Sometimes I re-read books by accident. I consume so much crime fiction that occasionally I will pick up a book from the library and happily read it with no recollection of the plot only to be told by GoodReads I’ve read it years ago.

5) A book on my TBR:

I am beginning to think this list was made by someone who isn’t a reader. One book? I guess it has to be R.F.Kuang “Babel”. I really want to read it. It's like The Secret History but in Oxford! I know I will enjoy it but I only have it on Kindle. I prefer reading long books in their physical form but the library copy is in hardback so it’s cumbersome to carry around. Thus it stays on my TBR.

First world problems of a bookworm.

6) A book I’ve put down:

Dan Brown “Angels and Demons”. I knew about his reputation when I picked it up, but I wanted something mindless to read and thought it would be fine. Reader, it wasn’t fine. Terrible, terrible writing. I couldn’t deal. Turns out I do have standards even for my trash reads.

7) A book on my wish list:

Stephanie Foo “What My Bones Know: A memoir of healing from complex trauma” I’ve read so many books on trauma and complex trauma both for my degree and for personal understanding. Surprising no one most of them are written by men. I’m very excited to read female perspective on it, plus she talks about generational trauma which is such an incredibly fascinating topic.

8) A favorite book from childhood:

Alexander Dumas “The Three Musketeers”. I was obsessed with this book. OBSESSED. I’ve read it so many times I could recite pages of it. It introduced me to my first problematic fictional crush Athos, starting my love affair with all the sad tortured blorbos which going strong till this day. I named my dog Count de la Fere after him. I wanted to be a musketeer so bad. Still kind of do.

9) A book you would give to a friend:

It does slightly depend on a friend but Amor Towles “A Gentleman in Moscow”. I was so blown away when I read it. I gave copies to my friends. I talked to everyone about it: friends, people on the internet, strangers in bookshops or on public transport (In London! Imagine the horror!) One of my friends refuses to read the last chapter till this day because she does not want the story to end. This is probably my proudest book gifting achievement.

10) A book of poetry or lyrics that you own

The OG problematic bae Lord Byron Selected Works. It’s a second hand school library's copy from 1950’s full of underlinings and scribbled notes. I love seeing evidence of other people engaging with writing and thinking about words.

Such a problematic person. Such a great poet.

11) A nonfiction book you own:

Cindy Crab “Things That Help: Healing our lives through Feminism, Anarchism, Punk & Adventure”. I found this book in the feminist bookshop in Brighton when things weren’t going so great for me for the umptheen time and it was like pouring healing salve on my soul. It’s not a book in a traditional sense but a collection of self-published zines collected into a little tome. It destroyed my very conservative idea of what a book is and how “professional” it should look that I did not realise I held until that moment. Most importantly, it reminded me there are other ways of being in the world that a conventional way of living.

12) What are you currently reading:

Teo van den Broeke “The Closet”. It’s a memoir of a fashion journalist who tells of growing up, coming out and figuring out himself through clothes that were important to him. It’s written in an easy, conversational style. As someone whose wardrobe consists of jeans, leggings and t-shirts I find it so interesting to peek into fashionista’s world.

13) What are you planning on reading next?

Isabella Hammad “Enter Ghost”. It is a book set in Palestine about staging Hamlet and possibly also a queer love story. What more could you want from a book? Cannot wait to start this one!!

#books #bookworm #reading #nobody asked but I'll tell y'all anyway #13 books

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saiilorstars · 2 years ago

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Dare To Forget Me

Ch. 47: The Lesser Gaps

Previous chapters // Montserrat’s masterlist

Fandom: SVU // Pairing: Rafael Barba x OC

Warnings: Due to the nature of the series’ plots, I do have to rate this as ‘mature’ for constant mentions of rape.

Taglist: @ocappreciationtag @arrthurpendragon @anotherunreadblog @maaaaarveeeeel @stareyedplanet @averyhotchner @abzidabzy @hellofutur @foxesandmagic @xovalliegirlxo

[If you’d like to be added to this specific OC’s stories/edits, send me a message!]

Early in the morning is when SVU received their newest case. A pinboard had already gotten started by the time noon rolled by.

"The housekeeper of the victim confirms what the daughters told us before," Olivia was walking the detectives through the case with the pinboard.

"Wait a minute, wait a minute," Sonny said all of a sudden. He was leaning forwards on his chair, nearly looking ready to climb over the table to get to the pinboard. "The victim is Mr. Walter as in Walter Briggs, the writer?"

"Does that have any relevance?" Montserrat arched an eyebrow at him.

"Uh, yeah, Pulitzer Prize, National Book Award…" He went off the imaginary list on his fingers and since he seemed to be going for the long haul, Olivia cut him off.

"Well, he's nearly 80, and his wife — his sixth wife who's 45 — and making him have sex constantly."

"Is that a crime or an old man's dream?" Amanda asked with a pen raised in the air. Her expression was half disbelieving the story Olivia was presenting.

"The daughters say that she wants another child, so if he is incapable of giving consent, then they're right, it's...it's rape."

"Yeah, and the fact that the alleged rapist is his wife is legally irrelevant but, I mean, of all the people...I mean, have you guys read Briggs' book "The Fifth Assailant"?" Sonny waited for anyone to answer him but he was mighty disappointed to see the same blank faces. "The guy is a literary genius!"

Nick seemed to have been working on something and it was at that moment that he finally remembered what it was. "Isn't he the literary genius who threw one of his wives through a plate glass window?"

Sonny's face fell but, to his credit, he did answer honestly. "Yeah, there's actually a scene based on that in the book."

"Nice guy for sure," Montserrat said sarcastically, eyes darting to the pinboard. "Okay, so the complaints are coming from his daughters, right? What's in it for them? The man's rich, isn't he? Do the daughters get a bigger slice of the estate?"

Olivia shrugged. "We don't know but for now we've got an allegation, we have corroborations, so you two—" Her finger made a point towards Sonny then Montserrat, "—go speak with the happy couple."

Montserrat pushed herself up from her chair. "I'm game but as long as I get to go with my partner and not a fanboy," she sent a pointed look in Sonny's way. He rolled his eyes at her in return.

To his heavy annoyance, she had the full support of the rest of the squad.

~ 0 ~

Charmaine Briggs turned out to be a rather pretty redhead with a graceful aura. She welcomed the strange detectives into her home with a polite smile. She led them to her elder husband who was sitting in the study room. Walter Briggs greeted them normally but it wasn't that difficult to tell that sometimes his mind would wander.

"I should say I'm still not quite sure why you're here," Charmaine's voice was nothing but polite but both Montserrat and Sonny detected the subtle edginess underlying her words. She was practically demanding them to explain the reason for their presence in her home.

"It's called a welfare check," Montserrat started explaining. "We do it from time to time, mostly with seniors."

"I'm guessing that would be me, huh?" Walter's light sarcasm was met with mutual smiles from the others. However, Charmaine's was short-lived.

"Oh, dear, did my husband's daughters call you?"

"They did express some concern," Sonny cleared his throat. "They said they weren't allowed to see Mr. Briggs?"

Charmaine didn't look the least bit surprised by the accusations. She very calmly put her tea cup on the coffee table and offered both detectives apologetic smiles. "This is one of those difficult family situations...stepmother, stepdaughters. I'm sure it happens all the time."

"Mhm, I'm sure it does but actually, Mrs. Briggs, would you mind if we...if we spoke separately?" Montserrat rose from her seat with the question. "It's just standard procedure."

Charmaine shook her head. "As a matter of fact, I do mind. Walter and I don't keep secrets from each other, do we, Walter?"

Walter dutifully shook his head as well. "Not really, no. I humor her." He winked but it was unclear who it was meant for — the detectives or his wife?

"So what exactly did you want to talk about?"

Montserrat shrugged. If that's how the woman wanted to play it then so be it. "It's pretty personal. Pertaining to your sex life."

That certainly got Charmaine to stiffen. "And that's a police matter?"

"79 and stiff as a varnished eel," Walter suddenly said. "A varnished eel. My third wife took up with a bartender because I got distracted by my book on the pope. Now, you spend six months in the Vatican, and you'll see what happens to your testicles."

Montserrat was out of ideas about what the man could possibly be talking about. She was even more discouraged from talking when the man winked at her. Of course then she remembered she did in fact carry the fanboy beside him and turned to him with an expectant look.

""Roman Follies". It was a wonderful book, sir. I read it in college," Sonny told the man. "Okay, so Mr. Briggs, you're happy to keep your wife satisfied?"

"Well, of course I am. I mean, just look at her," Walter languidly gestured towards his smiling wife. "Moreover, I'm obliged. It's a man's duty to nature. A million years of evolution, you know. Oh, these feminists, they can preach and screech all they want, but until the day that a man suckles an infant and a woman goes out and hunts, and…" He trailed off only to return with the same sentence over and over. "A woman goes out and hunts, and…"

It was as if the detectives could see the literal lights switched off.

"What?" The man blinked at them. "I'm sorry. What?"

Charmaine lowered his pointing finger with a sigh. "I'm sorry. My husband's very tired, but as you can see, we are fine."

A short moment later, the two detectives were led out of the house.

"She's got the politeness downpacked," Montserrat said as soon as they were free on the street. "But I'm having trouble deciding whether or not she's being honest."

"I know that Briggs is," Sonny said and was soon subjected to a look from his partner.

"Is this coming from Detective Carisi or the fanboy?"

He rolled his eyes. Montserrat laughed as they came to a stop by their car. "Like you're not a fan of anything?" He unlocked the doors for them.

Montserrat swayed her head a few times before uttering a name, "Alicia Markova." She pulled open the passenger door and got inside while Sonny tried working through the mysterious name.

"Okay, what!?" He climbed into the driver's seat eventually if only for Montserrat to see his utterly confused face. "Who's that?"

"A ballerina you idiot," Montserrat laughed. "She was one of the best ballerinas. She performed in places where ballet hadn't even been done before. But you know what, even if I was around her — or any other of my favorite celebrities — I wouldn't let that get in the way of my job."

"I wouldn't," he assured her.

"Okay," Montserrat raised her hands in a surrender motion. "Now drive. We gotta explain this trip to Olivia and then, if we get lucky, Rafael."

Sonny agreed with a nod. The fact that their visit hadn't gone all that good was enough of a conflict. Hearing Rafael say it out loud was another thing neither looked forward to.

"You're kidding me. His daughters are complaining, but he isn't?" The ADA did nothing to hide his distaste even when Olivia did her best beforehand to make the case sound like a real case, which it was (in her mind).

"Yeah, he says he's doing his manly duty by keeping his woman satisfied," Sonny said, awkwardly clearing his throat in the end. He was pretty sure, like the rest of the squad, that this wasn't a clear point case. There were different elements to it and not all of them were good.

Rafael led the group into his office, doing very little (if he was being honest with himself) to find cause for a further investigation. So far, no one had said anything alarming. "So he's consenting to the sexual activity?"

"Him and his varnished eel…"

"Okay, but is he capable of consent? I mean, what's he like?"

"He winked at Montserrat a couple times," Sonny shrugged, missing the way the woman in question threw him a look.

Bemusement sparked in Rafael's eyes. "Really?"

Montserrat knew that teasing voice anywhere and immediately glared at him. "Shut up." Her command did nothing for his widening smile.

"Alright, anything else?" Olivia motioned the two detectives to move onto more important details.

"He quoted from an essay about manly men that he wrote in "Playboy" in 1972, and then just like that—" Sonny snapped his fingers, "—he goes off into ga-ga land. It was sad. The guy was a titan."

"It does seem like we should dig in a little further," Montserrat said. "If the guy goes off into space so often, who's to say that his wife doesn't take advantage?"

"Who's to say that she does at all?" Rafael countered. Montserrat's face fell flat. "I am only asking a question that needs to be thought of as well."

"Alright, well what about this?" Olivia was suddenly waving her phone at him. "Mr. Briggs just went to the hospital. Apparent heart attack. The daughter said that he had a heart condition. If the wife knew and was secretly feeding him those pills…"

"Yeah, that's assault three," Sonny jumped on her trail. "Recklessly causing physical injury to another person, maybe even attempted murder. Am I right, counselor?"

"Seldom," Rafael flatly shot him down. As soon as he saw Montserrat's growing impatience with him, he tried to remedy some of the situation. He didn't need grief about this later. "Unless the daughters can give you proof that the wife knew about the heart condition and was exacerbating it, you've got nothing."

"Alright," Olivia took on the challenge with a tight smile. She made a motion for Sonny and Montserrat to follow her out.

Montserrat was the last one to follow but before she left, Rafael called out slightly quieter, "Don't flirt back with him, okay?" He absolutely loved her reaction that it was almost impossible not to laugh on the spot.

"Funny?" She glared at him. "Have dinner by yourself. Hope that's fun!"

"Oh, Montse," he was left to laugh alone.

~ 0 ~

"Dr. Tedroe?" Olivia stopped a woman passing by them in the hallway.

The doctor's eyes flickered past Olivia to the two detectives flanking her. "Are you here because of the incident?"

"Yes, we're wondering if Mr. Briggs' heart attack could have been caused by his medication."

"I don't know. I never got the chance to take a complete medical history."

"Why not?" Montserrat arched an eyebrow at the doctor.

Tedro seemed just as puzzled for some reason. That never boded well. "I thought that's why you're here. His wife arrived 20 minutes ago with a private ambulance and removed him from the hospital against medical advice. She pulled him off the EKG monitor and was in such a hurry, she took our IV pump with her. The nurses didn't try to stop her because Mr. Briggs needed it to maintain."

A mutual outrage went from the Sergeant to the detectives. Were they hearing right!?

"Can he maintain outside the hospital?" Olivia asked.

"Maybe, maybe not. His wife has put his life in jeopardy."

"And you just let her take him?" The question tumbled out of Sonny's mouth before he knew it. Of course he realized that it wasn't the doctor's fault for this. It was Charmaine's.

"We got the court order!" One of Walter's daughters, Judith, came rushing towards them with her step sister Delilah in toe. "Where's our dad?"

Everyone exchanged glances with each other as they decided who got the lucky job of answering that question. As her duty entailed, Olivia took it.

~ 0 ~

Two visits in the same day, so close to each other, made Rafael feel ever so lucky. It would've been nice if this time 'round they'd brought him some actual trouble he could work with legally...but no. All they were doing right now was following him down the block back to the office.

"This was my lunch break you know," he said, not that anyone heard him. Well, he could see Montserrat smirking from the corner of his eyes. Sometimes, his blood really did boil...but he wouldn't have it any other way.

"We have checked every hospital in Manhattan. There is no sign of Briggs," Olivia was going on.

"But it's not kidnapping," Rafael said for the third time since the conversation started. "She's his wife. She has the right to take him out of the hospital."

"Even against medical advice?"

"Well—"

"Ripping hospital equipment out of the wall?"

"Want me to file a larceny charge on the IV pump?"

"Stop being a smart ass," Montserrat playfully rolled her eyes at him. "You know his daughter's got a court order to visit him? Charmaine's in violation."

"Has she denied them access?"

"They don't know where he is!"

"So no."

"C'mon Councilor, she's endangering her husband's life," Sonny tried his hand next. "The... the doctors made that clear."

"Yeah, plus the rape and assault charges are still under investigation," Olivia reminded.

"Barely…one of them's a stretch," Rafael scoffed. "And the other's a chasm."

At this point, Montserrat had to wonder to what extent his argumentative talents went to be able to shoot down all three of them in one go. She might be a little bit proud...but right now she was a bit irritated.

"This is a sick old man getting dragged across the city," Olivia tried once again.

"Well, we're not social workers!" Rafael exclaimed, quite exasperated. It wasn't like he was purposely taking their case down but in legal terms, there was nothing he could do.

"But we are cops, and we can keep investigating," Olivia said.

"Knock yourselves out."

"We will," Olivia said as a promise. She headed down the opposite direction, leaving her two detectives to follow.

"You're going to be paying for that one later," Montserrat lingered behind for a bit, though she kept sending cautious glances in Olivia's direction in case the Sergeant looked back. "And not by me…"

"Mm," Rafael glanced over his shoulder. "You people are testing me today."

"Oh," Montserrat feigned offence with a hand over her chest. "I will make sure to remember that the next time you want to, I don't know, lay a kiss on…" She tapped a finger over her lips.

Rafael rolled his eyes. As if she could maintain that threat. Without a word of warning, his hand struck forwards and yanked her close to him. He smiled smugly at her wide-eyed face. "We'll see about that."

Montserrat tried pulling away but he had a strong grip around her wrist. "Stop that! Liv could look back!"

"How are our dinner plans coming along, then?"

"Shut up — Rafael, this isn't funny! I'm going to kill you! Let go!"

"I was thinking Japanese again? Maybe Thai?"

"I'll be busy tonight considering I'll be on trial for murdering you!" Montserrat's eyes blazed with absolute anger. "Now let go of me!" He swiftly let her wrist go but to his amusement, she stayed right where she was...which was pretty close to him. "If I didn't like you so much, I'd seriously consider murdering you," she said sharply. His clean grin was more than infuriating. "I have to go," she shook her head.

"Go, go, I'll call you tonight."

"Not if you're single," she jabbed her finger on his chest.

"Right," he laughed.

She hurried off before he got any other ideas. Sometimes, he actually managed to be properly childish.

~ 0 ~

At the end of her shift, Montserrat hauled herself to her therapist's. It was a long overdue appointment that she wouldn't postpone. Dr. Weslin was ready to go as soon as Montserrat arrived and since there was a lot to go through, Montserrat started straight away. There was one specific thing she wanted to talk about after all.

"I have noticed there's more gaps in-between my, uh, moments," she said, just barely keeping the content from overpowering her. It just felt so surreal being able to say that out loud and mean it. There were times where the longest gap was only about a day. Now she could go months. "I feel like I'm finally getting somewhere, you know? I have no idea what that might be but just the fact that I'm aware that I am going somewhere...it's thrilling."

Weslin watched Montserrat carefully, keeping her comments to herself for the time being. She was expecting Montserrat to make a turn after everything.

"There was just one moment I had…"

There it was.

Because in her experience treating Montserrat, Dr. Weslin tended to notice that Montserrat would often start with the best things that happened to her and then she would shift entirely when she had to admit to something that didn't fit with her happy picture.

Montserrat slowed her shifty movements on the couch. Her gaze would no longer stick to Weslin; her eyes would flicker around the room like she usually did during her first visits. "I don't know if it's a sign that I'm somehow getting worse again, but—"

"Montserrat, it's okay, you have the floor to speak," Weslin had to cut her off or else they might never reach the point Montserrat was trying to make.

Montserrat nodded. She was biting her lower lip nervously. "There was a case that we had a few days ago. Two boys raped a girl. I was fine doing my job up until the trial." Weslin was looking directly at her, somehow making her even more nervous. It was ridiculous to feel that way. Weslin never judged her for anything and she had to get that through her head. "The case was nothing I haven't already seen but...there was one new thing." She swallowed hard. "One of the boys — ironically the one who didn't think he did anything wrong — was, um...his name was Daniel."

Weslin raised her head, blinking a few times out of genuine surprise. As soon as she caught herself, she set it aside and motioned Montserrat to continue.

"Of course I should have realized that this would happen at some point but I just didn't and I...I was caught off guard," the detective started picking at her nails without even realizing it. Weslin silently eyed the motion. "When he was up on the stand, testifying that he didn't do anything wrong. It was a whirlwind of emotions, honestly. I was so incredibly satisfied to see the ADA destroy him on the stand…"

Weslin took note of the new rage that filled Montserrat's words, as well as the new force she was using to pick at her nails. She knew that the detective wasn't even aware that she was close to bringing out blood from her skin.

"He had that coming, I knew it, and I felt it. It was a dark satisfaction," Montserrat finally willed herself to meet Weslin's gaze. "Is that bad? To-to feel that type of satisfaction?"

"It's the retribution you think you ought to have," Weslin said, strategically and wisely avoiding a straightforward answer to the question. It had no real answer, but that wouldn't make Montserrat feel any better.

"But that's the thing, I still don't know what the hell I want," Montserrat admitted, heaving a heavy sigh. "I was talking to Rafael about this and-and he told me that he had looked into my file. I went crazy, Dr. Weslin."

"You were upset that he looked?"

"I felt weak in front of him," Montserrat said quietly. "Exposed. He went through the most horrific part of my life. He knows everything — well, almost — and I just couldn't handle that at that moment. I had a sort of anxiety attack. And when he helped calm me, we talked. I admitted that I was sure Daniel ordered the sniper in retaliation for, um, the drive-by shooting incident. Rafael wanted me to do something about it, talk to someone at the precinct, and I freaked. I realized that I was still unsure of what I wanted."

"Entirely?" Weslin challenged.

Montserrat pulled her hands apart from each other, giving her picked-at-skin a decent rest. "Well...maybe? I don't know. I can say that I would like to one day see Daniel pay for what he did to me. I know that I deserve to see my justice but right now I can't see it happening. I don't want it. It completely terrifies me that someone else might find out what happened to me."

Weslin nodded with her. "As I have said before, the road to recovery is a long one and there is no deadline here. But I would like to commend you because it seems like with time, your thoughts about the matter are changing. As always, I'm going to remind you that it's normal to have setbacks. It's normal to feel the exposure and weakness as if it was still that first day. What's important is how you overcome them each time it happens and it seems like you're doing a very good job with that."

Montserrat smiled lightly. "Yeah," she felt a warmth blossoming over her chest knowing that she was saying the truth. She had gotten much better overcoming her moments. Time was, she would shut herself down and stay like that for days...but not anymore.

"There is only one question I'd like to ask, and of course you don't have to answer…" Weslin trailed off until Montserrat gave her the permission to keep going. "We both know that there is still an important fragment of this case that you have not revealed to anyone. That hasn't become a problem to you throughout all these new things, right?"

Montserrat swallowed hard. "Like…?"

"Your relationship, for starters. By the things you've been telling me, it seems to be getting serious."

"Right…"

Weslin lifted an eyebrow at the detective, expecting some type of answer to her question.

"No," Montserrat ultimately said. "I-I don't think I ever will. That's one part that I'm...I'm sure I've done right. I don't say anything not for me, but...for them. I see no logical reason to ever bring that part to light."

~ 0 ~

On her way out of Weslin's office, Montserrat thought to text Rafael just to make sure he knew that he was still paying for the happenings earlier.

'Are you enjoying your dinner alone?' She texted quickly and easily. She waited for the buzz of his response until she got home. She didn't think it odd considering the workload he often had in the nights but still, she decided to give him a quick call. Maybe they could work something out for the next night.

She called twice and there was no answer. She was just coming into her bedroom when her phone vibrated with his text.

'Sorry, can't talk. Grandmother's in the hospital.'

Montserrat nearly crashed into her bed with that text. "What!?" She screeched and quickly texted back.

'What happened to her? Is she alright? Do you need me there?'

The fact that she was basically offering to expose herself to her family never even crossed her mind at that moment.

'Thank you but don't worry. I'll call later, promise. Sleep well.'

How was she supposed to sleep knowing that he wasn't? Her heart ached and suddenly, she didn't care about meeting his family. She should be at his side, helping him...but she couldn't surprise him like that. His mind must already be frantic enough without her adding unnecessary stress. She'd have to wait for his call.

#ocappreciation #fd: svu #svu #rafael barba #svu fics #rafael barba fics #rafael barba imagines #svu imagines #law and order svu #rafael barba x oc #svu ocs #oc: Montserrat Novak #fic: dare to forget me

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