#somebody said 'we used to throw bricks at cops' like yeah....yeah | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sinemoras09 · 4 years ago

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The remains of the Citadel lie crooked against a starscape of blues and blacks, the long arms connecting individual spheres of cities jutting out like jagged bones. On the inside, Construction Ricks rappel down the city towers, small and ant-like compared to the gleaming city structures below them.

Militia Ricks step out, ferrying the dead. A dusty truck crunches over debris and broken glass, while bodies are rolled up in thick stripes of canvas and tossed into the back.

In a subterranean basement, Caretaker Ricks rush around the large glass columns of yellow liquid while thousands of clone bodies are decanted, sputtering and slimy, a thousand reborn Ricks coughing and crouching on the ground.

*****

The artificial light is stuck in perpetual dawn or dusk, the entirety of the skyline barely visible in the dying half-light. In the middle of the rubble, Slow Rick is crying, a lone figure crouching among a throng of dead Mortys, his yellow shirt scuffed and his temple caked with old dried blood.

"Can, can, can anybody help me?" Slow Rick says. He hugs his arms and limps, accidentally kicking a dead Morty in the shoulder. He starts crying harder. "I-i-is anybody there?"

Cop Rick is digging in the rubble when he sees him and comes running over.

"Are you, are you my new Rick?" Slow Rick says. Cop Rick kneels down in front of him.

"Y-yeah. Yeah buddy, I am for now," Cop Rick says. He reaches back into his holster and grabs a tablet, quickly scrolling through the Citadel database. Slow Rick, it says, also known as Tall Morty, from dimension K-32-ipsilon-9. He suffers from Savant Syndrome and excels in electronics and rapid calculations. He invented a portal gun, accidentally portaling himself into Federation Space, where he became frightened and started calling out for his caretakers.

"Your name is Slow Rick, Rick?" Cop Rick says. Slow Rick shakes his head.

"My name is Tall Morty," Slow Rick says. Cop Rick touches his shoulder.

"All right, Tall Morty. Let's get you some help, buddy."

"Thank you, Mr. Rick," Slow Rick says. Cop Rick nods.

"Hey now, just call me Rick," Cop Rick says, and he helps him up from the ground.

*****

They found him living in an adult care facility in a dimension 70 iterations off the Central Finite Curve. It wasn't surprising: ever since the Council of Ricks implemented routine brain scans across the multiverse, they found non-scientist Ricks in all sorts of places. There were Ricks who became school teachers and Ricks who were truck drivers, working stiff Ricks with the same potential and IQs.

The portal opened, and they expected that this Rick was a caregiver, maybe a physician or a nurse working in the facility. They weren't expecting to see him as a resident, wearing a bright orange shirt and eating a popsicle.

*****

"I didn't know Ricardo had a twin brother," was the first thing the receptionist said, as one of the Citadel Ricks conducting surveillance filled out his paperwork. The Rick opened his mouth, about to answer, when his other Rick partner stepped up behind him.

"Yo, I just did a preliminary scan, the Gromflomites have this place under surveillance." The second Rick walked toward the first Rick, where the receptionist choked on her coffee and did a double take. "Oh. Shit."

"Yeah. We're, uh. Triplets." The first Rick handed her the clipboard. "Uh. Monozygotic," he said, and he thumbed between the two of them. "And with little Ricky, uh, dizygotic."

"Oh. I see." The receptionist smiled kindly.

"Hey. I don't know you," Slow Rick said, as the two Ricks flanked beside him. The caregiver tsked at him.

"Ricardo. These are your brothers, Rick and Rico," the caregiver said.

"That's okay, ma'am. We don't blame him - we never really visited." The Ricks glanced at each other, uneasily. "Hey buddy. You playing with blocks, man?"

"Yeah!" Slow Rick said, and he beamed up at them happily. Warily the Ricks sat down at the table, watching him.

"Why the hell are the Glomflomites keeping him under surveillance? All he does is play with blocks and fingerpaints." The second Rick frowned, looking around.

"Hey, check it out," the second Rick said. Slow Rick started writing a bunch of numbers on a notepad. "Watcha doin' there, buddy?"

"I'm making a formula!"

"Oh, wow, buddy, real cool there, let's see--" he picked up the paper. His eyes widened.

"Bro," the second Rick said, and he handed it to the first.

"Did he...did he just come up with a grand Unified Theory of Everything? On the back of a fingerpainting?" Technically, all standard Ricks solved the riddle of marrying quantum physics to the theory of relativity decades ago, but given Slow Rick had the mentality of a 6-year-old, they were impressed.

"Ma'am? Is it okay if we take him out for day-long excursions?" The Ricks had radioed their findings to the Council, who ordered them to bring Slow Rick in.

"Of course!" the caregiver said, and she handed them the paperwork.

*****

Slow Rick - or Tall Morty, as he was now called - loved the Citadel. The Rick caretakers gave him candy. Everybody was really nice to him.

"What's this?" Slow Rick said. The Ricks set down a small glass of portal fluid, which glowed a hazy iridescent green.

"I-it makes things go other places. See?" One of the Ricks loaded it into a portal gun, shot two portals, and tossed a ball through. It sank into one membrane, then bounced off the second, making Slow Rick laugh hysterically.

"You think you can make that, buddy?" The Ricks provided all the materials. They would sit down and watch him to make sure he didn't do anything too dangerous. Slow Rick grinned and nodded.

"Yeah! I can do that!" Slow Rick said, and he started grabbing materials.

Like the other Ricks, this Rick had a genius's intuition. This Rick threw together the ingredients of portal fluid without measuring it. The two Ricks watched as he loaded his finished fluid into the portal gun, then shot two portals. They tossed in a ball, which easily slipped through it.

"Good job, buddy! Y-y-you think you can solve this equation?"

"Sure!" Slow Rick chirped, and he started writing down the math, chewing on a piece of licorice and kicking his feet under the table.

*****

A circle of Militia Ricks surround a fallen Gromflomite, who's lying on his back and shaking. Wordlessly they all unholster their ray guns and shoot, the purple rays searing the Gromflomite's carapace and liquifying its insides.

"Geez," a Militia Rick says. Another Gromflomite charges at him but the Militia Ricks pull out their ray guns, easily neutralizing him. "How many fucking more of these Federation goons are left?"

"Hard to say, D-23. That's why we're patrolling each sector searchin' for them."

"Ugh, I wanna go home," the Militia Rick says. Another Gromflomite pops up to the side of him, but he points his arm and shoots him dead without even looking at him. "This sucks." Another Rick nods.

"Yeah, I know."

More digging. They throw pieces of rubble into a pile, hoisting up the dead bodies crushed beneath the debris. The Ricks are sweating, wiping their foreheads with their sleeves, when behind them there's a flurry of action.

"We got more survivors!" a Militia Rick says.

There's a group of Mortys huddled beneath the remains of what used to be a pharmacy. Around them, overturned shelves and broken bottles are scattered by their feet. The Mortys are miraculously intact, holding each other and crouching beneath a cardboard Rick sign advertising Energy Juice.

"W-w-w-what's going on?" a Morty says. The Militia Ricks flash their flashlights on him, the beam cutting a white line through the shadowed ruins. "Why were they attacking us? What's happening?"

"I don't know." The Militia Rick digs him out of the rubble. "What's your designation?"

"I-I-I don't remember. But they called me Glasses Morty." Glasses Morty isn't wearing his glasses. The Militia Rick grunts and hefts him and his friends out of the pile.

*****

In a remote outpost on the farthest corner of the Citadel, Cop Rick walks with Slow Rick following an abandoned street. The asphalt is cracked and jutting out at odd angles, the buildings surrounding it bombed out and crumbling. Cop Rick walks and he hears a few errant bricks falling off. He pulls out his scanner and searches for other biosignatures. No one else is alive.

"M-M-Mr. Cop Rick?"

"Yeah, Tall Morty?"

"W-w-when can I go home?" Slow Rick hugs his arms. "I'm scared and I'm cold."

"It's okay, Tall Morty. I-I got separated from my unit, but whatever was attacking us seems to have gone home." Cop Rick looks around. "Sorry, buddy. To tell you the truth, I-I-I'm just a rookie, I haven't even graduated from the Academy. Sorry you got saddled with a useless Rick like me."

"Y-y-you didn't gradutate yet?"

Cop Rick smiles. "It's graduate," he says, gently. "And no, I-I'm still part of the Academy."

They keep walking. A column of smoke rises from another ruined building, and Cop Rick hears someone yelling.

"Help me!" It's a Morty. "Help, can somebody help?"

"I'm coming!" Cop Rick says, and he breaks out into a run.

He can see a flash of yellow peaking out from a pile of debris. Cop Rick skids onto his knees, then starts digging through the rubble.

But it's too late. The Morty is guppy breathing, skin clammy, the blood that was tamponaded by the rubble suddenly rushing out. His lung is punctured and his pelvis is shattered. The Morty gasps, then chokes for air.

"Are you, are you a cop?" The Morty's eyes drag listlessly up toward Cop Rick's. "Are you gonna rescue me?"

There's no way the Morty will live another day, let alone the next ten minutes. Cop Rick grasps his hand.

"Yeah, buddy," Cop Rick says. "Reinforcements are coming, just hang on."

The Morty smiles. It's a sickly smile, wan and pale, until his pupils dilate and he stops breathing.

"Shit," Cop Rick says. He wipes his eyes angrily.

In the background, Slow Rick whimpers. Cop Rick straightens, dusting the front of his uniform.

"C'mon," Cop Rick says. "It's getting dark.”

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24816478

#what happens after rick teleports the citadel into federation space #rick and morty #cop rick #slow rick #fanfic

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hypnoticwinter · 4 years ago

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Down the Rabbit Hole part 10

The door opens and the bell rings and Peter and I both look up; the lady I’d ran into earlier on my first day in Gumption walks in and nods to Peter. Through the course of the story we’d finished breakfast and then I’d walked with Peter down to the 7-11 and he’d clocked in and started his shift while I sat on a stack of beer cases and listened, turning the voice recorder to its highest sensitivity to capture everything he was saying. I could always go back and take a transcript later if I had to, if the audio was too loud or too distorted.

Her eyes stray over me but whatever she thinks she doesn’t betray anything with her expression. I’ve reached out automatically and covered the voice recorder with my hand as soon as I heard the door open; it was an automatic action, quick as a whip, no conscious thought required, and I slide my thumb down its ridged side, click it off.

“Hey, Michelle,” Peter says.

“Hey, Peter,” she says.

He glances at his watch and whistles. “I didn’t realize it was four already.”

“Time flies when you’re having fun,” she says, a slight layer of sarcasm flavoring her words. I can feel my hackles rising but I ease myself down. Peter’s eyes flick over to me.

“Well,” he says, and I feel my mouth drop open.

“No way. You can’t be serious.”

“What?”

“You aren’t going to finish the story?”

Peter grins at me. “I have to go get ready,” he says in a soft voice. “I’ll finish telling you later.”

“Oh my god.”

“What?” he repeats.

“What the hell happens to Makado?”

“She…” he starts, and then stops. I can see a flicker of pain cross his face like the dappled back of a fish beneath a sunstruck river. My heart falls within my chest and I realize that I’m becoming far too invested to be objective, I need to take a step back. “She made it out fine,” he tells me. I don’t believe him.

Despite all of my efforts to cajole him he won’t tell me any more. He assures me that we’ll have enough time tonight, that it’s going to be a lot of sitting around and waiting while I film far-off dots moving around under the cover of darkness and that he’ll tell me then. It smells like a cop-out to me, like he just doesn’t want to get into what happened to Makado.

It’s unbelievable enough already, though, isn’t it? Amalgams and copepods and all of that stuff. I hear it and I think, oh, this is the plot to a movie. This isn’t real, it can’t be. Even though I’m only a few miles from it, even though I’m going to be going there tonight, it doesn’t feel like the Pit is a place that actually exists. It feels like somebody is pulling my leg.

Or it would, if it weren’t for the look on Peter’s face when he talks about Makado. That at least is real. Whether everything else around it is fake, I guess there’s a little kernel of doubt still sprouting in my head somewhere, the tiny eternal skeptic inside of me that isn’t willing to believe anything it can’t touch or feel or see itself.

We walk out of the 7-11 together and look at each other. Peter nods. “Same place as where you followed before. You know how to get there?”

I nod as well. “Line up the two rocks and the cactus with the setting sun and walk straight until I hit the three boulders in the dip of the hill.”

“Good memory. If you mess up you’ll be able to see us probably anyway, I’ll have my flashlight.”

“How many people are coming?”

“Besides you there’s three others, one guy from the cult for his initiation and two others who…well, you know.”

“Yeah. Was that what Erica was talking to you about the other day?”

“When she pulled up at midnight or whenever? Yeah, she was just telling me who to look out for. Because those guys want to be able to get back out again I have to give them different instructions, that kind of thing.”

I shudder in spite of myself. “Well, see you tonight.”

“See you,” he says. He turns and walks quickly away and then past the corner of the building and I am alone. I stand there for a moment and then lean up against the side of the building. The sun is hot but not terribly so and here in the shade it’s really quite a nice afternoon.

A car pulls up and turns into one of the pumps. It’s the second customer I’ve seen all day. The guy looks over at me but it isn’t anyone I know or have seen before, and after a moment he puts his card in and fills up the tank, then drives off.

I look round and, after a moment, let myself slide down the faux-brick façade of the 7-11 and stretch my legs out in front of me. My knee cracks like a gunshot as I do and I wince. I take my phone out of my pocket and dial a number and listen as the harsh buzzing tone drills one, two, three, four, five times into my ear, and then there’s a click and the answering machine picks up.

“Hi, you’ve reached Mark Dzilenski. I’m not able to take your call right now but if you leave me your name and number, I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Thanks, bye.”

“Hi, dad,” I say, and I feel a wave of emotion pressing at me that I refuse to confront. I swallow. “I’m sorry our call got disconnected the other night, I think there’s something wrong with my phone. It was good hearing your voice, I’m glad you and mom are doing okay.”

I lick my lips. Alright, Roan, you’ve been very glib so far. Spit it out.

“I, uh,” I start. Come on. “I got some news the other day that I wanted to tell you, I…”

“If you are satisfied with your call, you can hang up, or press 1 for delivery options. To re-record –“

I hang up the call, and then I stand up. I rummage in my bag for a cigarette and light it, and then walk slowly back to the hotel, taking my time. I’m meeting Peter at one in the morning but my nerves are already balling around themselves in a panic. I feel like I’m going to be sick.

“So what?” I ask out loud. I look over and see my distorted reflection looking back at me in the thick glass window of a closed barbershop. I look tired. “So what?” I mutter again. I look at the me in the window a little longer but I don’t like the way she looks at me so I toss my cigarette on the ground and crush it out and hurry a little more. It feels like there is a cloud looming behind me but it’s just in the sky, promising rain.

When I get back to the hotel room I unfold my laptop, dump the audio files from the voice recorder back onto it, and then I connect to the extremely rickety wi-fi network the motel offers and I look up what exactly the penalty is for trespassing on federal property. It’s not that bad, actually; a misdemeanor in all cases, at least under federal law. I don’t know if the site around the Pit is solely administered federally or if state law would also apply, though. Or would it count as trespassing on a military base? Apparently that can be a felony, if it’s important enough or if you’re being malicious about it. I do more googling around but the information I turn up is cryptic and limited. I wonder, not for the first time, if I’m putting myself on some kind of list doing this sort of research, then shake my head. Whatever.

The evening passes slowly and my nervousness doesn’t fade no matter how many cigarettes I smoke, leaned over on the wiry metal bannister, staring off into the flat, unexciting horizon. I watch television just to pass time, let Baggage and The Price is Right and Family Feud wash over me like an ocean, like waves, like I’m drowning. Am I drowning? If I were sane I think I’d feel like I were drowning.

When the time comes I put some pants on, long ones this time, shrug into my jacket, make sure I have my voice recorder and my camcorder and my slim little folding knife, more of a letter opener than anything else. I laugh at myself when I tuck it into my pocket but I still do it.

“Alright Roan,” I say to myself, staring in the mirror, sounding braver than I really feel, tucking my hair back in a ponytail. “Let’s go commit a felony.”

* * *

Peter raises his hand in greeting as I crest the hill and I wave back at him, click the light on my phone off and move down, join the little circle. He’d said there would be three others; two are here so far. One is a small Asian girl, so skinny it looks like she’d burst into flame if she crossed her legs too fast, and the other is a tall, heavy guy, looking like he’s in his late forties, balding hard. He has bags under his eyes and he keeps reflexively running his hands together. “Hi Lily,” Peter says to me and I blink and almost look behind myself to see if there’s someone back there, but he winks at me and I realize I’m supposed to be Lily. I wonder if there’s anything else important he’s left out.

“Hey,” I say. The Asian girl glances at me and then looks away again. Her eyes are very dark and it looks as though she’s chewing lightly on the inside of her cheek, sucking it inwards and holding it between her teeth and then letting it go again.

“This is Bao and Rey,” he tells me, indicating each of them. I nod at them.

“Hey,” I say again. “You guys, uh…excited?”

Peter shakes his head minutely and I feel faintly embarrassed, like I’ve said something I clearly shouldn’t have without realizing the taboo.

To their credit, they definitely do not look excited; nervous is more accurate. Perhaps haunted would be appropriate as well. Rey keeps glancing out into the darkness as though he can see something moving around out there; I can see his eyes focus on something and track it for a while before slipping off like a thrown egg slipping slowly down a window. I look out into the darkness as well but even though my eyes aren’t as adapted now thanks to Peter’s big utility flashlight throwing enough light to make me squint, it is very clear that there is nothing out there, nothing large enough that he’d be able to see it and track it like that.

I want to talk to him, I want to take out my recorder, I want to pry my way into his head, but I restrain myself. This is clearly not the time. The camcorder is still in my jacket pocket, the bulky night-vision attachment screwed onto its snouty muzzle already, fully charged and ready to go, but clearly I am supposed to be pretending to be one of these people. While we lapse into another uneasy silence and Peter checks his watch, I consider my new existence as Lily.

These two people are clearly so far gone that they barely recognize me as a person, let alone the deeper distinction between Roan and Lily. The way Rey keeps seeing ghosts and watching them like he’s ready to bolt or to fight, the way Bao keeps jumping at sounds none of the rest of us can hear, clearly they’re the two who are – what even is the right word? Afflicted? Who are, at least in Peter’s estimation, beyond retrieval?

I look at Bao. She’s young, maybe about my age, maybe a little younger. Twenty-two or twenty-three? Very possibly. Bao…the name sounds more Chinese than Japanese or Korean but I don’t know enough about Eastern culture to positively identify her, plus obviously there are more Asian countries than just China, Japan, and Korea. And if I’m supposed to be one of these people then should I care? Should I be getting into character?

I look again at Peter and feel a faint spark of anger at the fact that he didn’t let me know, didn’t warn me, but then I realize he didn’t really have a way to – he doesn’t have my number, and maybe this was something that resolved itself later in the afternoon after we’d parted, this need for secrecy.

I’ll draw the line at aping those nervous tics. Just watching these two is making me sad, giving me a feeling like someone’s taking hold of my heart and squeezing. It feels cruel, knowing I can do nothing.

Clearly the reason I’m Lily is because the third person, the guy from the cult, will know I’m coming, or at least will recognize my name. I think back and wonder if anybody had had a chance to take a photo of me while I was out walking around the town, but I’d have given people so many opportunities to take one without me noticing that it’s pointless to dwell on.

Surely if there was some sort of danger, if the cult knew for sure I would be here and they were perhaps willing to prevent me from coming somehow, Peter would have contacted me. He knows the motel I’m at, he might not know the room but if Erica Walken could get the phone number to it, surely Peter could have as well…right?

I toss my head, work my jaw sideways. It feels like it wants to crack but it doesn’t; I can feel the tension in the bulgy little knot of muscles down the side of my cheek. It doesn’t matter. I’m here, and I’m going in with them, cult or no cult.

There’s a crunching of feet on the dry hard earth behind us and Rey and I both turn to watch the third guy, tall and dark, making his way down the hill to us. He’s young, with a trimmed beard, and close-cropped hair. His eyes are very small; they linger on me for a moment and then flick to Rey and Bao.

“Alright,” Peter says, “everybody’s here. We’re going to be going under the fence through a hidden tunnel. It’s going to be tight so you guys are going to have to drop to your stomachs and crawl. It was going to be a waste-drainage pipe but they didn’t give the contractors they hired to do it the right plans and so it turned out that they were digging right on top of one of the power lines for the electric fence. They just left the pipe in there and put a fake rock over the entrance.”

I almost laugh when I hear that. It’s too easy. There must be a catch, mustn’t there?

“The pipe is going to let you out on the side of the patrol road inside the fence,” Peter says, looking between us. He weights his words carefully. “There should not be a patrol moving at the time that we go through,” he says, “but on the off chance that there is, whoever is in front needs to just freeze and wait, you understand?”

He looks around at us until we each nod. It takes Bao the longest but she does acknowledge, at least, that he’s speaking. “You,” he says, pointing to the guy from the cult, “your name is Marcus, right?”

“That’s right,” he says. He has a slow, deep, purposeful voice.

“You’re going to be in front. I don’t normally come in but I will be this time, I have some business to take care of inside. Me and Lily here,” he says, pointing to me, “will be in the rear. You two will be in the middle,” he says, and Rey and Bao nod, a little quicker this time.

“Once we’re inside, you’re going to be going in through a disused emergency exit that they haven’t sealed up because the Pit uses it to breathe. I’m not going to lie to you, it won’t be pleasant. It’s going to be tight, hot, smell horrendous, and it’ll be pitch-black, but it’s a one-way trip without any side branches, so just push through it and you will get through and out into the old Bronchial section. It’s been a long time since I’ve been there but all of my information says that any damage is fairly minimal and you should still be able to get through. Once you’re in, you’re on your own. If you want to come back out, take the same drainage pipe that we go in through and be careful not to cross the road right in front of a patrol. This area that we’re in, there aren’t any cameras, there’s no other detection, so as long as you look out for patrols, you’re fine. If you get caught, I don’t know you and you don’t know me. If you don’t tell them anything, the worst they can do is felony trespassing and a $500 fine. It isn’t great but it also isn’t the worst thing in the world. Understood so far?”

We all nod. My heart is beating quickly; I can hear it in my ears, a little thump reminding me that I’m really doing this, I’m really going to do it.

“Great,” Peter says. “Once you’re inside, the deeper you go the less likely it is that someone will catch you. Flip side is, the deeper you go, the more likely it is something will catch you. Anything with a sign that says ‘LVC’ or ‘Main Gullet,’ don’t go that way, you will get caught. I don’t know what you want to do down there or how long you want to do it for, doesn’t matter to me, but try not to get caught. And one more thing,” he says, looking very seriously at all of us. “Do not, under any circumstances, try to go in or out any other way than the one we’re going to take. That means do not go down to the main orifice. That is the most watched area in the entire facility and it is completely open. I know that this way isn’t great but it’s safe, easy, and it is unobserved. Everybody good?”

Once again we all nod, but I wonder whether or not Rey and Bao have really absorbed the information. Rey keeps watching things moving around in the shadows and Bao’s eyes are unfocused and glassy, and her head rocks lightly to the beat of something none of the rest of us can hear.

Peter gives instructions on how to get to the entrance, which I can now identify as being the same way as he and Makado got out during the disaster, the same breathing orifice that they’d pushed their way through four years ago.

Something about the…the enormity of it, of the thing beneath us and ahead of us and surrounding us, is getting to me. I can feel my skin prickling and a flash of heat passes over me suddenly and I nearly gasp but I contain myself. It wouldn’t do to have a panic attack right now, I tell myself, and I slowly, gradually, get myself back under control. I can feel my hands shaking at my sides and I shove them deep into my pockets. I want a cigarette.

There is finally, it seems, nothing left to talk about, no more instructions or warnings Peter can give us. He nods to himself, going over some kind of mental checklist, and then shrugs. “Alright,” he says. “Let’s go.”

* * *

Fifteen minutes later I’m already laughing at myself for getting so worked up over something so banal. Yeah, the other day when I followed Peter it had seemed like very serious business but here, actually making the trip myself, I can’t help but feel like it’s very small potatoes. It’s just a fence, I say to myself as we walk up to it, and then that turns into it’s just a waste drainage pipe, one that I have to shimmy through on my belly, grimacing as dust and grime gets on my nice coat, but it can’t be helped.

Peter’s behind me and Bao is ahead of me; Peter is staring at my ass, I’m sure, but then I realize that it’s pitch black in here so maybe I can give my ego a break and not assume it’s all about me. I keep having to prop myself up on my hands and knees to readjust the camcorder and make sure I’m not smashing it to bits on the hard floor of the pipe, but eventually we make it through and then we’re standing on an identical bit of hard, scrubby earth, except now we’re on the other side of the fence. As I watch, Bao, Rey, and Marcus all take off along the path, crossing it quickly and dropping down into the ditch below, and then they are just dark silhouettes making their way beneath the sharp half-moon. I get out my camcorder and flip it on and start filming them; the night-vision is really not that effective but it’s way better than just filming in the dark.

Peter clambers to his feet next to me and dusts himself off. “Well,” he says after a moment, “there they go.”

“They really don’t get caught?”

“Not usually. The ones who’re there to, you know, die to it, they go as deep as they can as quick as they can, far as I understand it, and the people with the cult tend to stay in the upper areas. There’s not very many personnel in the Pit right now so the odds of running into somebody is slim.”

I point ahead of us. “Can we go sit on that ridge? I want to get some shots of the Pit itself.”

“Sure. If a patrol comes we’ll have to duck down but it should be alright.”

We make our way across the road and down onto the ridge. I find a little flat section for us to sit on and then I pick out the three dark blobs making their way carefully up the hill. I whistle softly. “That’s the easiest way up there?”

“It is,” he says. “It doesn’t look like it but there’s a clear path, you just have to be careful of your footing.”

The figure in front stops for a moment. I can’t tell from this distance but I think it might be Bao. She stops and turns and looks across the great downward sloping crater of the Pit, and I pan the camcorder around and take a shot of it as well. I frown at the image. “That isn’t flesh down there, is it?”

“No,” Peter says. “They filled it all in with concrete. Do you see that little dark spot over there?”

I look where he’s pointing. “Yes.”

“That’s the orifice. They don’t keep it dilated as wide as they did during the park days, and the elevator is way smaller, too. There’s a little command center down in the gullet but it’s like, maybe a quarter of the size of the LVC. They’re all about minimizing impact now.”

Bao seems to be rocking unsteadily back and forth there on the trail and I turn the camera to record her. “So what happened to Makado?” I ask.

“I told you, she got out fine.”

“You know I don’t believe that.”

“It doesn’t matter if you believe it, it’s the truth.”

“Alright, can you introduce me to her, then? I’d like to meet her, or at least have a phone call.”

Peter laughs. “I really don’t think you’d want that.”

“Why not?”

He makes a little grunting noise. “I think you’d find that she –“

“Holy shit!” I blurt. Peter jumps next to me, looks around wildly.

“What is it?”

I’ve already gotten to my feet. “Bao just fucking ran back down the trail and someone else lost their balance and fell off,” I tell him, pointing at the dark object bouncing down the cliff face towards the white concrete below. Whoever it is they’re flopping like a rag doll, and I wince with each impact. “Jesus Christ,” I say, pointlessly. Next to me, Peter curses.

“Stay here,” he tells me before hustling off into the darkness. It looks as though he’s heading for Bao; I can barely see her but it looks as though she’s collapsed against a large boulder maybe a hundred yards away at the base of the hill, her shoulders shaking.

Well, Bao’s fine. I guess. She must have lost her nerve. I turn around, peer through the screen of the camcorder. Whoever she pushed, either Marcus or Rey, he’s reached the bottom by now and slumped into a huddled pile at the bottom of the crater. I can see one limb extended out limply like an exclamation point. I look back at Bao; Peter’s reached her and is hunched down next to her, trying to get her to move. She’s hugging her legs to her chest and I can see her shaking her head frantically. Did she do it on purpose? I didn’t see the whole thing but it looked like she just panicked.

When I turn back to Rey I can see him moving, trying to get up. “Oh fuck,” I say. He pushes himself up on his hands and then his arm gives out and he falls and lays there. I can just barely see, through the camcorder, his chest rising and falling. “Goddam it,” I say to myself, and then I fold up the camcorder and stuff it back into my jacket pocket, and then I get up and start to carefully pick my way down the heavy rocky incline of the crater lip.

* * *

I’m scared. I’m not ashamed to admit it, I’m terrified. I’m scared that someone is going to see me, is going to see whoever it is at the bottom, Rey or Marcus, and roll up with the black helicopters and take me wherever the Men in Black take you. It’s an insane, worthless fear but I still feel it. About half of me wants to bolt and run, scurry my way back into that drainage pipe and out and never look back, but I look at the lump ahead of me, hardly even seeming to be a person, no matter how beat up, and I see him again trying to rise and again falling and then I’m down there with him, my ankle aching from where I stepped wrong and very slightly rolled it, and I get down on my knees next to him. “Hey,” I say, “I’m here, it’s okay.”

He’s muttering in anguished Spanish to himself and I have to repeat myself a few times before he cracks his eyes open, his face dirty, blood from a cut above his eyebrow seeping down and stinging at his eye. He says something to me in Spanish and I trot out the little I know. “No entiendo,” I say, “Uh. Habla ingles?”

“Yeah,” he coughs. “You’re – Lily?”

“My name is Roan actually. Are you okay? Can you stand?”

“Rowan?”

“Roan. Like the horse. My parents were hippies.”

He looks at me like I’m speaking Greek and I might as well be. I put my hand out. “Can you stand?” I ask again, and he takes it. I help him pull himself up but his leg buckles beneath him and he lets out a cry of pain that echoes in the deserted Pit, bouncing off the soft white concrete expanse.

“I think I broke it,” he says. “Oh god.”

He’s staring around again, wilder than before. I look around in spite of myself but as I knew there would be there’s nothing there. I reach into my pocket and click the voice recorder on.

“What do you see?” I ask him.

“You don’t see them?”

“No, I can’t,” I shake my head. “What are they?”

That gets his attention and he tears his eyes from whatever vision he can see cavorting around us. He looks at me closely. “You don’t…you don’t see them?”

“No.”

“Oh,” he says, sounding disappointed. He tries to rise again but I put my hand on his shoulder.

“Wait,” I tell him. “Your leg must be broken, we can’t –“

“I’m so close,” he says. His eyes are wild now, and fixed on me. Before I can take a step back he’s thrown his weight towards me awkwardly and grabbed my arm. His hands are sweaty. “You have to help me.”

“Put your arm around me,” I tell him, crouching down. He’s heavy enough that I don’t know whether I’ll really be able to help much, but if I get on the same side as his hurt leg I can at least make sure he doesn’t have to put weight on it. The hard part will be getting up again –

Rey cries out again and I wince. “I’m sorry,” I tell him. “This is going to be rough but we have to get you up.”

“No,” he says, leaning on me. His face is pale now, his mouth tight and drawn with the effort.

“No?” I ask. “Come on, we need to leave like right now –“

“No,” he repeats, one shaking finger extended out ahead of us. He’s pointing to the tall gantry of the elevator down into the Pit. “We have to go there,” he says. “I have to –“

“Absolutely not,” I tell him. “We have to go –“

But he is starting forward towards the gantry and I curse and walk with him, because if I don’t he’ll fall, he’ll cry out again, he’ll fucking crawl on his hands and knees over to the goddam gantry, I can see it in his eyes, I know he will without even wondering how I know, and even though the lurching pace we set is clearly causing him pain, he urges me forward without any regard for his leg, hanging uselessly at his side, the foot jostling along the concrete every now and then and making him groan, a low deep animal noise that makes me feel as though I’m going to be sick.

We make it about halfway before a deep, rumbling alarm starts somewhere and ratchets up to a screech and all the lights click on and turn the night to day. All the strength seems to leave my body; I almost collapse. “Oh fuck,” I say.

“Come on,” he says. I glare at him; I’m sweating, the tight grip he has around my shoulders is starting to hurt, and he isn’t exactly slim. It’s taking all of my effort to keep him upright and walking and I am so close to just dropping him. I give him a dirty look and try to summon up my willpower, every single ounce of meanness and cruelty in my body and just twist out of his grasp and let him fall, but I can’t do it.

“Goddam it, Rey,” I tell him. “It’s a fucking elevator, they won’t let you on, there aren’t going to be stairs you can go down.”

“Come on,” he says again. The closer we get to the orifice the deader his voice gets. He keeps looking over his shoulder but there isn’t anything there, at least not yet; a pair of headlights are cresting the ridge and I can see people piling out of what looks like a Humvee but they aren’t anywhere close to us yet.

I reflect, briefly, on how useless this venture is; we probably could have gotten away if Rey hadn’t insisted on coming down here to peer down an empty elevator shaft. And if I hadn’t had such a damn big heart I could have gotten away, at least. Felony trespassing; well, I have the money for the fine, at least, but that’s got to be at least a year in federal prison, nothing to sneeze at. Maybe they have special accommodations for sick people? At the very least once I tell all of the prison lesbians what’s wrong with me they’ll –

“YOU TWO DOWN ON THE EXCLUSION PLATE!” a tremendous voice yells down at us through a megaphone. I nearly jump out of my skin but somehow manage to keep ahold of Rey. “STOP WHERE YOU ARE OR WE WILL SHOOT!”

I stop but Rey keeps going. “Rey, stop,” I tell him, but he doesn’t pay any attention to me. We’ve gotten far enough now that the end is in sight, the gantry is maybe twenty or thirty feet ahead of us and the yawning hole in the concrete is visible, but I can’t see inside it, not from this angle. “Rey!” I yell, but he pushes me back and I stumble to my knees. Rey breaks into a shambling run, or tries to anyway, but his leg simply is too hurt for him to put any weight on it. He nearly falls but he catches himself and bounces back up.

The first gunshot is unbelievably loud, even though it seems to come from a mile away. I hear it crack and I scream and fall down to my knees, my shoulders cringing together without any conscious effort on my part. I can see a spray of concrete splinters rising at Rey’s feet like shrapnel, and I realize the shot missed. He’s nearly there. I don’t know what he wants to achieve. I throw my jacket off and wrestle with the pocket, pull out the camcorder as quickly as I can force my shaking hands to operate, and snap it open so quickly I nearly break it. I start filming just in time to see the third, fourth, and fifth bullets bury themselves in him, two in his shoulder and one in his thigh. I cry out again but Rey is utterly silent. He’s down on his hands and knees but he tries to rise, and then another bullet catches him, this time in the back of the head, and he is down for good, and I realize that I’m crying, even while I’m trying very hard to keep the camcorder steady to get the shot of Rey’s supine body, one hand extending forward, reaching for the edge of the orifice, just ten feet away from him, a shocking red spray of arterial blood staining the concrete ahead of him like a punctuation.

Then two pairs of hands catch me under the shoulders and haul me to my feet and someone takes away my camcorder and they shove my head into a hood and then I can’t see. They force my hands together behind my back and handcuff me and I want to say something witty, quip something vaguely salacious like ‘easy boys, get to know me first before you get out the handcuffs’ but I can’t make my voice work the way it ought to and I’m still crying and shaking and I realize as they half carry half drag me to some kind of vehicle and fold me into it that I’ve wet myself, and any sort of bravery I might have been able to muster disintegrates into a painful, sharp-edged mass of shame and fear and embarrassment and a feeling not unlike I’m falling, like what I thought was just a rabbit hole has turned into a bottomless pit.

Continue with Part 11

Back to Table of Contents

#writing #mystery flesh pit #mystery #michael crichton #disaster #thriller #spilled ink #original writing #series

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jaywrites101 · 5 years ago

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The City In FreeFall: Part one, Chapter One.

StreetTeam members: @ciestess @leave-her-a-tome If you want your name here, join my StreetTeam by signing up for my newsletter and be notified of all The City In FreeFall updates, giveaways and more! Also tagging: @bexminx @ednaraged @ahotpeaceofshit @nemothesurvivor @siarven and @jaclynwashere If you want on this list you should try messaging or interacting with my stuff more ;P

The happiest day of my life was when I discovered my wings. But you should know upfront that's such a low bar limbo players use it as a standard. Most children dream of flying over the trees and touching the soft clouds. I never did… No, I've always been scared of heights. My name is Sam Farsight, and I need your help. Normally, if I need something done I'd just do it myself. That's the kind of man I am. It burns my gut to ask anyone for anything, but… well, I've got other things burning me at the moment--bigger things. You see, today is the day I'm going to die. Strangely enough, this isn't the first time I thought I was going to die. This time, I think it's gonna stick… You'll see what I mean. You don't know me from Adam, but if you'll hear me out I'll explain everything in its place. I can't promise you anything as compensation--I don't have anything of value to bequeath to anyone. All I have left is my story. My legacy. It'll have to be enough. You're my only hope of getting the truth to the world. You see, I have a confession. And a promise…. I won't say whose, but there are hundreds of thousands of lives that depend on the truth getting out. Maybe even yours. Because my life as Sam Farsight means nothing to nobody. I died at twenty-one, and there's nothing more to say. But I have a secret. A secret I'm leaving to you, whoever you are. And the soul of a massive megalopolis hangs in the balance. My name is Sam Farsight. And for the last twenty-three years, I have been living as the vigilante superhero known as the Wingman. ### You've probably heard of him. I have a… reputation in these parts. But you can't believe everything the papers have said about me! Not all of it was my fault. I didn't mean for those people to die--and I certainly wasn't involved with the Nuclear swap! No sir! I stayed the hell away from that fiasco. I've done a lot of things--some of them I'm more proud of than others. But I've always tried to save lives. I've always tried to be better than the villains I put away… It's just… sometimes things don't always work out. I've made terrible mistakes. But what I have to tell you today should make up for all of them! No doubt, by the time you read this, the rumors of my death will have spread like wildfire... They're probably true. But there's something else you should know. I've saved the city. And this time, it's saved for good. What I'm about to tell you is the truth of my time as the city's savior. Please--Please! My final request is that you help me set the record straight. Things cannot ever be allowed to get as bad as they did. It took me dying to fix them. You'll have to finish plugging the holes yourself. I just hope… but that's getting ahead of myself. As they say Everything in its place. It's better I start at the beginning. Before I got my wings… If I sound reluctant, it's because this wasn't one of my proudest moments. ### The year was 2114. Old America. Jakob McCorbin was just elected President. Spring had only just faded and Summer was at our doorstep. The cars were still powered by the old steam & solar hybrid tec. Eternal Plasma Drives hadn't been invented yet. Railways had just made a big comeback for cross-country travel. I remember sitting under an advertisement for the Atlas Air&Ground commercial cross-country liner. Jerry and I would look up at that billboard and promise each other that when we got rich with our law firm, we'd book a car all the way out of Briar City, past HollyTown, past DoggWood, and all the way out of this continent! Those were the days… Let's see… 2114… International crime was dropping all across the globe. We'd just come out of a big war against Grephsnia. Jobs were at an all-time high. The politicians called it a utopia. But those of us who lived in the ghetto just thought it was another day in the history books. From our perspective, things didn't look so cheery. Jobs down there were still hard when you had them, and impossible to find when you didn't. Drug dealers still sold their product to school children. Gangs still put kids in caskets… They put a lot of kids in caskets. That's why I, Sam Farsight, thought it would be a good idea to start a gang war. The plan was simple. Goad the two gangs in Briar city, the SmashStones and the BloodBlades, into attacking each other and force the cops to actually do something to end them both once and for all. Nothing is ever simple. I was about to find that out the hard way. To find the SmashStone gang and learn their plans, I had to join them. A tricky feat since I live in BloodBlade territory. If the BloodBlades ever found out I was with SmashStone, they'd kill me. Of course, if either of them found out what my real plan was, they'd both kill me anyway. I thought I was so damn smart back then. That was the year I turned twenty-one. It was the year I got a casket for a birthday present. Jerry, my best friend since grade school, found himself on the wrong end of a shooting. That's where the Wingman found his start. Newly adulted. Chip on my shoulder. And the weight of the world in my back pocket. I wanted to do something with my life. But I decided then and there being a lawyer wasn't good enough for me. I wanted to do something "important." God, I was so stupid. I even thought the city would erect a statue in my honor. I can't believe I was ever that dumb. The only thought on my mind was no more kids in caskets. I was going to end the gang wars forever. That's why I was sitting on a brick wall in the rain just outside the 14th precinct. That's why when the cold wind blew across my face, I didn't back down. I was shivering and hungry and… and… … Lonely…. Yeah. That's the truth of it. I was so very lonely. I had a hole in my heart that was colder than the rain, and more painful than my stomach. That emptiness kept me moving. If I stopped… It would consume me. I wasn't ever going to back down. Not until I did what I came here to do. I checked my watch. 7:48 pm. He wasn't going to show tonight. I had to be back home before 9 O'clock or somebody would get suspicious. If not my family, then the gang. At the same time, sitting around in the rain waiting for a cop who might not even show wasn't the brightest idea I'd ever had. But the SmashStone goon I'd met with needed me to steal a cop car. And I had the perfect cop for the job. Officer Filbert Warren. A cop so dirty garbage washes him off. The man's a walking personification of the seven deadly sins. But… If you looked past all that. If you ignored the stink, the stains, the empty burger wrappers he leaves instead of footprints. If you looked into his soul. You'd find a second, even meaner cop living in his gullet that just wants the world to burn. Seriously! None of the other cops trusted him either. He earned himself the nickname "the Rat" back when he first joined the force, and he's done nothing but live up to his nickname since then. Rumor has it he's on both gang's payrolls. Witnesses against the gangs have a bad habit of going missing after this guy gets a look at their file. Nothing's ever proven, of course. Rumors go on to say that IA has a file on him the size of Texas, but it's all full of dead ends, missing evidence, and hearsay. Which would be surprising because Officer Warren isn't smart enough to pull any of that off. For example. Just as I was giving up hope that the fat rat masquerading as a cop would show up, he did. The cop car slinked up to the front of the precinct like a pissed-off cat. The headlights glaring angrily ahead. "Alright Berny, take this one in," I heard him say from across the road as he rolled down his window to throw out a sandwich wrapper. Littering is against the law, but Officer Warren didn't seem to mind as he dug into his burger with gusto. Berny glared at his partner in disgust but said nothing. He went around and marched some kid into the building. The girl spat at him, but the weary patrolman didn’t so much as flinch as he did his job. Apparently, he’d faced worse today. Warren chuckled after they'd gone. He gulped down the rest of his burger in one bite and waddled out after them in leisure. I swear, the car rose two feet when he got out of it. The fat lard even left the engine running. It was like he was begging for someone to steal it, but I hesitated. Not because I was having second thoughts. No, I hesitated because I knew I'd have to take a bath in acid after I'd sat anywhere Officer Warren had been. I could only hope the rain would offer me some protection. I didn't waste time driving around once I was in the car. Sure, I stamped the pedal as far down as it would go, flashed the lights and turned on the siren. I may have held my middle finger out the window like a good little delinquent, but I had a plan. The initiation required me to make some noise so people would know what I'd done, but I had to get away without getting caught. I drove the car as fast as I could to the graveyard just past the hill on the edge of the city. I expected there to at least be some kind of chase, but apparently, Warren's fellow cops didn't put too much priority on his misfortunes. I parked the car with the headlights flooding a row of gravestones. People who'd been killed by the gangs. I hoped it might remind someone they had a duty to fulfill. I opened the door and took off, being careful not to go around the front or the back where the cameras were. Step one was completed. Easy. I should've known it was too easy.

#new #book #superheores #dc superheroes #marvel superheroes #the city in freefall #jaywrites101 #my writing #my novel

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mysamcedesmadness · 6 years ago

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So, Cheesy Romantic Picnic on the Grass?

So, anybody that has been following me here knows that chenoahchantel/noreasonjustbored is my BABAY in this fandom. Thanks for keeping me company when I'm alone with 12-18 kids in a big, scary house, and letting me toss ideas off of you. Hopefully, fulfills the audience.

For all who read, I just wanted to thank y'all. I thought this would be a one shot, but y'all showed up asking for more and I gave more until I came to what I felt like was the end of the journey. Grateful for everyone who took it with us. To think, it started out with some silly dreams. *Biggie voice: It was all a dream!* Anywho… And now the conclusion of So: The Henry Danger Fanfic aka So, I Had a Dream...

So, Cheesy Romantic Picnic on the Grass?

Charlotte had an appointment to check out a small house that she could rent near the university and an interview for an on campus job. When she got back into town, Piper picked her up and wondered, "So.. since you're moving back home, are you and my brother ..?"

"I reached out to him and told him that I miss him. We're going to talk, probably. I hope."

"Have you seen him since the last time I saw you?" Piper wondered.

"No. He's not on social media anymore, or he's blocked me."

"He left social media whenever you went to Europe. Jasper says that he still stalks your pages though. He catches him doing it at work sometimes." Piper cleared her throat and asked, "You still love him?"

"More now than I used to, somehow."

"Well, I feel like I should be the one to tell you… if you aren't going to be able to love him the way he needs, just don't bother. He won't benefit from some kind of quick fix."

"Piper, are you looking out for Henry?" Charlotte teased.

Piper stared at her with a stone face. "Somebody had to after you just quit on him. Did you think Jasper could do it? Jasper can barely take care of himself!" She tapped the steering wheel with her fingers and said, "If you're really gonna do right by him, you have nothing to worry about."

Charlotte found Piper's protectiveness a little weird, but she hadn't been around in years. For all she knew, Henry and Piper were close now.

Whenever they pulled up to this duplex, Charlotte squinted her eyes and wondered, "Where are we?"

Piper gave her a look and said, "Henry's," like, obviously. She slammed on the horn a bunch and unlocked the doors. "He and Jasper are renting this place from that boss of his at the junk store. I had no idea that he owned property. That makes sense. Because, to this day, I've still never seen anyone purchase anything from out of there."

Charlotte kept silent. This was probably something he had on Captain Man's dime. She wondered if Henry and Jasper were actually paying rent, or just able to stay because of Captain Man's resources in Swellview. Jasper was out first, in a belly shirt and a pair of jorts, and Charlotte had to admit - he'd been working on those abs! He rushed and gave her a big hug and swept her up off the ground cheering, "She's home!" When he put her down, they were just chattering excitedly. She saw movement in the corner of her eye, but was a little bit nervous to even turn and see Henry. But, she did. He was speaking quietly with Piper and grabbing Charlotte's bags from the SUV. Piper looked concerned and he looked… well, kinda like he was trying to avoid being scolded.

But, more importantly… He looked… different. He was more muscular, had some facial hair. With the tank top he was wearing, she saw that he'd added more tattoos and she wondered if he'd done so to rid himself of hers. That suddenly terrified and saddened her… But, nope… When he shifted to throw another bag on his left arm, she simultaneously noticed that her tattoo was still visibly in tact (as well as noticed the flex of his muscles when he picked up more). "Hey, I can help…" She said and went to try to get a bag from him. He just smiled and shook his head, then went inside.

Piper had her arms folded and she looked at Charlotte, "You're gonna be here for him, right?"

"Right."

"Okay. Call me soon so we can connect. I know the two of you have a lot to discuss." She hugged her then pointed to Jasper and said, "Go home. You can see her later, like everybody else."

"This is my home!" Jasper said.

Piper pointed at the right side of the duplex, "That's your home and you go to it, NOT to Henry's, right now. Where are his keys?"

"In my pocket."

"They better stay there until he's better." She fussed and then smiled sweetly at Charlotte and waved as she got into the vehicle.

"I think I've grown on her," Jasper said, nodding. Charlotte gave him a confused look.

But, then something occurred to her, "Wait, why are Henry's keys in your pocket?"

Jasper waved a hand and said, "Piper makes me take them if I see him drinking because he got wasted, busted his fists up, got alcohol poisoning, and nearly choked on his own vomit."

"Oh my God!"

"I made that sound worse than it was. These were three different occasions. Not the same night!"

"Jasper, that's worst. That means this is a habit. How'd he bust his fists up?"

"Punching an indestructible man repeatedly." Charlotte held her head. "In his defense, Ray was really asking for it and he was extremely drunk."

"When did he start drinking?"

"It just helps him cope. He does it all the time and only had three incidents."

"Jasper… Drinking "all the time" is an incident, okay? And the three incidents to listed sound pretty bad. He choked on vomit? Alcohol poisoning? Thank God that you take his keys, or he might have harmed someone or himself!"

"Ohhhhh… now that I think about it… The night that he busted up his fists, he did almost crash. He came home with blood all over him because apparently liquor is a blood thinner? Who knew, right? And Piper immediately tried to rush him to the hospital, but he knows that Schwoz can probably fix it, so he says he'll do it tomorrow. Well, Piper is insisting it happens now, before he gets blood all over the house that their parents think that she's responsible, though I'm pretty sure she was probably worried. She's asking him what happened, was it a fight, did he bludgeon someone to death, did he attack a brick wall? He says fine, jumps in the truck and speeds off. So, at this point, I'm confused, because I was his ride home and she's aggravated. She calls the cops on him, and we get in her car and try to follow him. He was all over the place and nearly drove through the front of Junk N' Stuff. He gets out and goes in, and she's SOOOO mad, but I convinced her that I'll take care of him and make sure he gets medical attention. Schwoz fixed him up, but he had to of course wear the bandages for a while, for good measure. But, Piper's been hard on his case ever since."

"Can you blame her?"

"Charlotte… That doesn't help him. He needs support. He needs love…"

As though on cue, Henry returned and even though he was beautiful, Charlotte certainly noticed the pain in his features. He finally gave her a hug as he asked Jasper, "Trying to steal my woman? I don't play that. Not with this one." He gave her a kiss on the forehead and she melted against him and glanced down at his gray sweatpants.

"Piper told me to go home," Jasper said.

"Yeah, that's probably a good idea for right now, so we can… chill, you know?"

"Talk to you soon, Jasp," Charlotte said.

Henry flinched and he joked, "You don't call my Jasp "Jasp, I call my Jasp "Jasp."

"He's our Jasp," she said, with their arms still wrapped around each other. Jasper vanished into his duplex and Charlotte looked up at Henry. "Hey, Hen," she said. He just smiled and pulled her close to himself. "You're going kinda easy on me. I guess I expected a fight."

"I've been waiting for years for you to come back. Last thing I want is to fight with you." He rubbed her back and her arms, then cradled her to himself.

"You okay?"

"No. I missed you more than my brain even has words to like depict or whatever." He leaned back and said, "I would kiss you, but I'm not as good as reading you as I used to be and I wouldn't want to cross any lines."

"Well, I would kiss you, but I just want to know… How much have you had to drink today?"

She saw the flicker of offense and he dropped his arms from around her and laughed a little. "Wnat me to pour you one?"

"No thanks, I don't drink."

"Of course you don't. Your life is perfect. You're perfect. Charlotte Page never does anything wrong or unsavory…"

"There's the fight," she said under her breath.

"Yeah, since you wanted one!"

"I'm not trying to fight. I just heard that you were having some problems and I'm concerned. Piper certainly seemed concerned. Can't I be concerned, or did I lose my rights to caring about you?" They were inside. He flopped down onto the couch. This duplex was actually pretty spacious! But, she wasn't distracted. She sat next to him and said, "I would never attack you, Hen. I have your back. But, the things that I've heard are scary, and I want what's best for you. Do you think you might need to see someone about it?"

"What, like rehab? No. I see a lot. I go through a lot. And, from the time I was 13 on up, I have had a very dangerous and stressful job. I was a good kid. I was responsible and dependable. More than most of these cats in Swellview, you know? It's just that nobody really knew that, because I had to hide who I was and I didn't have the energy to be that kid 24/7. When I unmasked, they got Henry. Hopeless Henry, with the bad grades and short attention span." He chuckled. "It was always okay, though. I had the best friends somebody like me could have. And for a while, I had the best girlfriend. I actually thrived for a while. I was doing pretty good in school. My parents were pleased with me. Like.. I was that dude. Then… we graduated and I had to try to adapt to college life with a different dynamic in my support system. I lost my girl and my best friend when you left…" She furrowed her eyebrows and he quickly said, "I'm not saying I blame you, I'm just stating my stressors." He shook his head. "I did my best and was barely getting by in college. Those professors thought I was a lazy loser. I was protecting Swellview with most of what I had to give, and I didn't have my biggest supporter. I didn't want to bother you. I'd already messed things up between us. You… came to visit and we… I thought that maybe you could see that I knew I messed up. I thought that maybe you would open the conversation, because you're so big on opening conversations. When you didn't, I thought maybe it was because you no longer wanted anything to do with me. Because, you don't like to leave things unsettled. But, when you did, I took that as a sign. Then… you group chatted us months later that you weren't coming home for summer because you'd be exploring Europe. It was like the nail in the coffin."

"Okay… But, why didn't you just start the conversation? Henry… I started so many of our most important conversations and the last one that I tried to have, I tried to start numerous times, only to have you thwart it. Did it not occur to you that maybe I was scared that you wouldn't have the conversation with me?"

"It clearly did not." They were quiet for a while. "I'm sorry. I'm the one that broke things off. I'm the one that rushed to the first available girl to try to clear my mind of you. I'm the one who should have and didn't bring the conversation back around when it mattered. You did a lot of the heavy lifting in our relationship. I should have done all the lifting it would have taken to mend it, after I broke it. Because, I've thought about that conversations many drunken nights, and I definitely was the one who," he shook his head and clasped his hands together.

"Henry, if you don't think rehab, what about at least going to therapy? You should sort these things out with a professional."

"How do I explain my Kid Danger dilemmas?" He rolled his eyes.

They were silent again, then Charlotte said, "Okay… You… Have a very important job that you can't discuss for security purposes… A job in which you are responsible for the wellbeing of someone else. Say that you're in protection services… for special needs citizens. The job often changes, but someone is always in your care. It's stressful but it's your passion and your mission and it has affected you in A, B, and C ways…" He was pondering over this. "Don't think about it too hard. It'll hold up. They won't press you to ask what you specifically do, especially if you've already stated that you couldn't go into detail about the job. I just want you to be the best you that you can be. A healthy, happy Henry. You're… the love of my life. I can't stand to see you hurting…"

Henry looked shocked at her saying that. So, he hadn't messed everything completely upm afterall. He took her hand and pulled her closer to cuddle with him. "You're the love of my life, too," he whispered. "Char… Are you here to stay? Are you visiting before going somewhere else to get your masters or phD, or whatever you're working on next?"

"And leave you in Jasper's care again? Look at what happened last time!" She joked, but he had a serious look on his face and was still waiting for her to respond. She sighed and stroked his hair, "Listen, let's first focus on therapy and rehab, then we can have a conversation. I'll even be the one to bring it up." He smiled a little and for the first time since she got back, she saw some gosh dang hope in his eyes.

Charlotte cancelled her apartment hunt and just set up in Jasper's extra room. They thought it might make things less stressful for them if she wasn't all in his space, but she also wanted to be close enough to be able to immediately respond, should he need her. It took Henry a while, but she noticed within the next few months of summer, he began to relax more. She noticed that he didn't seem to be replenishing his bar, (because he didn't agree with quitting cold turkey, so it was definitely still there). She hoped that he was pouring out bottles as he got better and not drinking them, though. She and Jasper had keys to the place, so she sometimes went over to use his gym, and his shower. A few times, he'd caught her undressed or partially dressed and quickly retracted himself (yep, in his own home).

One time, though, she came in and he was there, setting stuff up on the mantle where his bar once was. "Hey… I thought you were at work."

"No. I had a meeting tonight, so I took the night off. It's too stressful to fight crime then try to talk to the group, and it was a good night for group," he said and came over to show her something. "Got my six month chip." She gasped and hugged him. It was an effort for him not to kiss her. "Therapy has been really good too," he said and pulled away from her to finish decorating.

"Well… I'm really proud of you and glad that you're doing so well on self."It had been difficult for her to stay out of the way, but she knew that she had to let him do it. If it was just another Charlotte controlled mission, he never could have gotten the recovery he needed or deserved. "So… If… You… are interested in having our conversation… I'd love to do that as soon as you want to." She noticed him tense up but she didn't know if it was nervousness, excitement, a cringe. Hell, he'd spent months fixing himself. Maybe the last thing he wanted was to connect with her or with anybody else. What was she thinking? Six months wasn't enough time!

"I want that more than anything," he said and turned around and leaned against the mantle. "But, I do have a busy week, so perhaps we can set a date. My therapist says that with my job being so versatile and erratic, that I have to be sure to try to have structure in my personal life and not to be impulsive, to maintain stability."

She pulled out her phone and synched their calendars. "Okay, so, as far as when you don';t have work, meetings, appointments and other engagements and I don't have class, work, etc… two weeks from now on Wednesday night sound good?"

"Sounds like a dream," he said (a callback to the first time he asked her out.

She immediately got that reference and added on to it, "So, cheesy romantic picnic on the grass?"

He smiled, the brightest smile she had seen in a while, "I'll bring the blanket."

…

"Aaaaaand, they lived happily ever after," the older Henry said. "True story about your mom and dad…"

The eldest in the backseat threw her head back and said loudly, "Mom, wake up! Dad is telling us the story about your first date again and still insists on pretending that he was Kid Danger!" Charlotte laughed and said, "I am awake and also… if you thought I was asleep, you were gonna wake me up, for that?"

The girl shrugged her shoulders, curls blowing in the wind. "He got to the end of the story. You know he always likes to end on that cheesy "I'll bring the blanket," (she imitated him) "line. Not even smooth. I can't believe you gave him three kids," she teased.

"He didn't have to be smooth. You've seen photos of your dad when we got married."

"Wasn't impressed," she said.

"You literally look just like me, with a tan and long hair," Henry said. "I wanted to name you Henry Jr, but Charlotte was afraid that you might have a complex about it when you got old enough for kids to tease you."

The middle child, and only boy spoke up, "Mom, then what happened after dad's cheesy, not smooth line."

"They are relentless," Henry commented.

"Well, they are my children," Charlotte reminded him with a giggle, then finished the retelling,

"Charlotte's smile as she went back to Jasper's and started packing was the widest one she ever felt on her face. "What's happening? Are you… Where are you going?" Jasper wondered.

"If I'm lucky.. To where I always belonged. Home to Henry. I'll know in a couple of weeks." She contacted Schwoz, "Hey, Schwoz… do you still have any It's Time gumballs?"

"I have the new and improved It's Time gumballs!"

"I'll be by to get it in a few. Click."

Three Hart kids clapped their hands and cheered, "Way to go, Mom!" She chuckled.

"No respect," Henry said, shaking his head, but smiling brightly as they pulled into the carport of their summer house. Charlotte could hardly wait to hit the waves on her trusty old surfboard. Henry could hardly wait to grill hotdogs and… his alert went off and their eldest complained, "Ugh… You've gotta work?"

"Yeah, he does. It's how we have a summer house, so mind your tone, Girl." Charlotte gave Henry a kiss on the lips, placed her hand on his heart to feel his pulse in sync with her ring, and told him, "Come home safely."

"I always try," he said, as he pulled out his gumballs and tried to find some place to change.

"Okay! House Hart, unpack the truck for me," Charlotte said to her 16, 12 and 8 year old. She watched as a red and blue jetpack wearing streak went up and then over. The kids were distracted and said, "WHOAAA! THAT WAS AGENT DANGER!" They were all super excited and she just smiled and shook her head. She told Henry that the best way of always keeping them unaware of his secret identity was to tell them all of their lives that he used to be Kid Danger. No matter how obvious it became, they never presumed he was Agent Danger.

#So I Had a Dream #So Cheesy Romantic Picnic on the Grass?#hd fanfic #henry danger #chenry #concluded

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rekkingcrew · 6 years ago

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Rek DMs, Some Thoughts

Buckle up, it’s Edge of the Empire tabletop Roleplaying time.

Yeah, I know I don’t post here much. I’m still doing the devaron’s angels thing, which is scratching a lot of my online itches, and I’ve got a part time job and full time parenting.

I’d really planned on doing regular updates of what happened each session. Aaaaand that didn’t happen. Which is a shame, I’d love to be able to have those summaries to look back on. But here’s the short version:

The gang, who are a crew of space chancers and criminals rolling around in a stolen police ship, were doing odd jobs together for a while, including some for the empire. Their contact, a Pantoran spymaster whose cover was as a children’s entertainer, congratulated them on their most recent heist job (where the campaign started in medias res), and gave them a new job: deliver a mysterious sealed orb to the leader of the peskiest rebel cell in the general area, led by a Rodian pirate by the name of Cheng Maxeda. They said maybe, took the orb, and then checked around and picked up a delivery job for their local Hutts going the same direction for some extra cash.

They were brought in because the Hutt shipments had been interfered with by somebody. Their Hutts weren’t sure who, but were damn sure they were going to pay. The gang defeated a whole crazy mess of people who were being lead and bolstered by a falleen who had been surgically altered to boost their pheromone output. Then they picked up the package and made the poor decision of looking inside. It was the carbonite frozen but still living body of the cop who’d previously owned their ship that they were now knowingly handing over, because they couldn’t bring themselves to cross the Hutts.

Moral issues aside, it was an easy job, they got well paid, the team failed a bunch of social roles and divulged more information than they should have to the Hutt point man, and Brick, the party’s wall of meat, got signed up for a pit fight. He won his round, but imperial troops broke up the match before he could win completely. TK cornered but lost a rebel bomber, and Eshi got contacted by a rebel who recognized him from a bit of backstory. Nyla chased down one of the other gladiators, an old clone with a sword who’d entered the fight because the prize included a bacta dunk and he had a friend who was hurt and dying after being caught by the Hutts trying to bust up a slaving operation. And that’s when the bomb went off, destroying some major imperial instillation bits and projecting a 40 foot holo-image of Cheng the punk rock rodian pirate queen striding across the smoking crater proclaiming she had come to liberate the outer rim. The party was presented with three job options: 1) after Brick’s pit win, the Hutts were down some muscle for a convoy and ready to pay reliable thugs 2) the rebels were looking for a study ship to bust up the hub of a spy satellite network 3) the clone and his weequay buddy (Edge and Horm) still wanted to stop the slave convoy (which was, as the party figured out, job 1). They opted for job 2, leaving town amidst a firefight with the imperials, and brought along Edge and Horm, providing Nyla with a sword fighting trainer who’d studied under a jedi, without being a jedi himself.

The guys busted up the satellite base by hijacking a shipment truck coming in (I’d provided them information for a couple of routes, including asteroid hopping amidst giant vacuum-proof winged frog monster creatures, and they figured this best matched their skillset). Inside they found tech that looked a whole lot like our droid character TK, a completely brainwashed cyborg engineer, and the control rods that were their target. TK, who is a droid with multiple program personalities, suddenly and without warning displayed a program personality they had never seen before and destroyed the computer mainframe, remembering nothing afterward. The cyborg also had hardware a good deal like Nyla’s, and contained a message begging for help from someone held against their will and being moved between facilities. They blew up the station, retrieved valuable tech, and flew off, triumphant, to get their payment from the rebels.

The rebels welcomed the gang, who got to know the faction a little bit better. TK nearly started a gunfight, Nyla got a haircut, and Brick and Eshi developed mouse droid beer pong in order to provide historically unique droid bits to an eccentric collector for the last bit Eshi needed to build his machine from the prototype he’d stolen from the corporate sector in his backstory, which runs on two kyber crystals and provides a similar benefit to the force power “foresee”. He used this to figure out the sphere they were carrying contained an intensely virulent ship killer plague that would likely kill them as well, and they resolved to throw that in the sun. The gang foiled an assassination attempt on Cheng and got a new assignment: break her old pirate buddy out of maximum security prison (again, they were presented with several possible assignments, some of which tied in to other plots.) Nyla and Cheng also worked out mutually that they were both force sensitive.

The prison break went off well. It was a sort of siberian gulag set up on an ice planet, plus some eight foot carnivorous burrowing worms- yeah, those walls are pretty short, prisoners, but where are you gonna run? The gang picked up some extra supplies by agreeing to break out a Hutt operative while they were there anyway. After some exciting sky battles, Nyla and Eshi turns the ship’s forward shields into a battering ram. They made short work of the guards inside, but discovered that there was an unexpected other party there- a wookie bounty hunter who was looking into the disappearance of the guy they handed over to the hutts. That guy was a tough fight even for the team’s big heavies, and they set a load of prisoners free to help them- taking the risk that the maximum security violent shipjackers would not decide to jack their ship to escape. Luckily between the two heavies and the giant devaronian pirate they just released, they were able to intimidate them into just accepting a ride off planet. Nyla, meanwhile, fought the wookie’s cat beast in an enclosed tunnel and nearly died, but won a pretty hard solo battle, enabling her to pick up the Hutt contact and a delirious nautolan who she had a force feeling about. Eshi forgot he was a reptile and went out in the ice with no coat, then defeated his own personal corpsec bounty hunter’s attempts to come at him with robots. With great success, they headed back to rebel space, got paid, and received a message that their former imperial employer was officially fucking pissed at them. Also, the nautolan was force sensitive and having visions of the inquisitor who tried to murder Nyla.

Faced with mounting tension and the inability to continue lying to each other, the team pretty much spilled all their secrets to each other in the absolute most fun room mate meeting I have ever witnessed. Nyla is a force sensitive ex-imperial pilot ace, TK has an extra personality, Eshi has an I-assassinated-a-king level bounty and a machine that tells the future, Thirteen (the bothan spy) knew all this and told no one, Brick likes light beer, etc. They decided they really need to murder the children’s TV spy master as their next move. Their bothan spy provided them with a dossier on him and his six lieutenants. Nyla and Thirteen went to go meet the spymaster and try to throw him off, and had to fight the stealth assassin lieutenant, which they survived. Eshi hacked the slicer lieutenant and stole her state of the art surveillance droids. Brick checked up on the Hutt-embedded spy and learned she was a pretty awful person. He also ended up scheduling a rematch with the douwutin he beat in the pit fight, who the Hutts later dropped a word in that they wouldn’t mind if he just happened to kill in that fight. The group’s one cop friend, a red-string and corkboard conspiracy melitto, got attacked by assassins, because the spies and the governor were working against each other. Nyla and TK accidentally killed the master of disguise spy lieutenant without realizing who he was. They turned the surveillance droids on the Hutts and found out the Hutt-embedded spy was working against the spymaster as well.

The spymaster was scheduled to attend the Chancellor’s day gala on Naboo, which is fancy far outside of anything the party is probably capable of pulling off, but I wanted to give them the opportunity to try. One of the spy lieutenants there, a slimy alderaanean lesser noble, has found a packet of forbidden information that had been stolen and hidden there, and the spymaster is going in person for the hand-off. Rebuffing an offer from the planetary governor, the group made a very temporary alliance with the Hutt spy to kidnap the noble spy and use him to force a meeting with the spymaster on their terms. And that’s where we are now.

___

All in all, I’m really pleased with how this is going. I’m having a lot of fun and my players are absolutely great. I’d... assumed that would take less time to type up, and it’s leaving out a whole lot of stuff. I started this in October, so that’s about seven months worth of weekly sessions. That it breaks pretty easily into arcs, I feel, speaks pretty well for what I’d intended of it. I have SO MANY FUCKING named NPCs. It’s over 50 at last count. Factions are helping a lot. Each faction has a main plot that’s going to move along no matter what the PCs do, hitting beats whenever I need something interesting for the background.

I’d like to keep making some posts here about what I’ve learned, what’s worked and what hasn’t, and about each player and their character. I personally think it’s interesting, and it helps me collect my thoughts. But for now I think I’m going to bed.

#i dmed #rek dms #space bastards #Edge of the Empire #tabletop rp

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hellimagines · 6 years ago

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Leaves and Paper -- Patrick Hockstetter

Masterlist

Request: “Can you do a Patrick x arsonist reader - @black-lamia”

Summary: You set fires around town, but when your work gets mistaken for the doing of Patrick Hockstetter, the two of you have a little chat.

Warnings: mentions of drug use

Pairing: Patrick Hockstetter x fem!reader

Word Count: 1,600+

A/N: I didn’t really know where to go with this, so uhhhhh RIP. Also, shoutout to @admiralsixx for helping me with this.

You had just finished class, your graded A+ assignment sat comfortably in your backpack. The autumn air had never felt better as it brushed against your cheeks, the multi-colored leaves swirling beneath your feet. With hands shoved in your jacket pockets (discreetly messing with a bland, stolen zippo), you walked in the direction of your sanctuary; Bassey Park. It surrounded the end of the canal, with the Kissing Bridge as it’s centerpiece. Bassey was infamous for its drug dealers, homeless, and every other outcast Derry had to offer. Including yourself.

As you entered the park, the leaves ceased to swirl at your feet, instead, laying sedentary within the park, as your feet crushed them into the grass. A few hands raised to wave at you as you made your way through the park, towards the canal. You waved back, a simple flick of the wrist, before nearing your destination. A line of trash cans came into view, each one filled to a different height with different types of garbage. You peered into each can until you settled on the one with the least amount of trash. Grabbing the can by its handle, you dragged it down towards the canal, making sure it wasn’t too close to a guy sat at the bank.

“What’cha doin’, Zip?” he called out, noticing you shifting the trash around in the can (that was thankfully just filled with old newspapers and wrappers).

“The usual, Bump,” you shrugged off, grinning as he rolled his eyes at your given nickname. “You can watch if you want,” you offered, briefly looking over at him. He eyed you for a second before shrugging and shoved a small baggie back into his pocket. He got up, being careful of the slippery rocks surrounding him, and made his way over to you and the can.

“Don’t you ever get tired of this? Just… lighting things on fire? What’s the point?” he questioned, rubbing his bare arms as breeze shifted through the air.

“No, not really. It is kind of boring sticking to trash cans and dumpsters, but I’ll probably change that up soon,” you admitted, waiting for the breeze to pass. “Besides, I keep everyone warm around here with this. Including you,” you snarked. Once the breeze had passed, and the air was still, you pulled your Zippo out of your pocket.

“Didn’t that belong to Rocky?” Bump asked, tilting his head as you flicked the zippo open a couple of times.

“Yeah, but he forgot it before he left for downtown. So, now it’s mine,” you grinned. Reaching into the can, you grabbed a random piece of paper and flicked your lighter open. Holding the paper directly within the flame, you watched as the fire began to eat away the paper, burnt pieces falling into the can. Once the paper was decently lit, you dropped it into the can, allowing the fire to safely spread. As the flames got higher and hotter, Bump walked closer to the trash can and held is arms over it, allowing them to warm up. He let out a grateful sigh, shifting his neck side-to-side.

“So this is why we keep you around,” he joked, poking at your backpack with his fingers.

“‘Suppose so,” you shrugged with a grin. “I’ve got to get going, there’s a dumpster near the Koala Inn that’s been screaming my name for two weeks,” you said to him, shifting your backpack on your shoulders. “I’ll probably be back later tonight to light up another one for you guys.” Bump nodded in thanks, and you made your departure.

Walking down Jackson Street, towards the inn, was uneventful. Once you turned down the alley separating the Koala from the Holiday Inn, a gleeful smile spread across your face. You flipped the lids on the dumpster up, allowing them to slam against the brick wall they were resting against. Looking around, you managed to pick up a few pieces of discarded newspaper that were laying near the dumpster. With a quick glance to make sure there weren’t any cops on their patrols nearby, you lit each of the papers and tossed them in. It took a few more pieces than usual, but eventually, the fire started to grow. Once you knew the fire wouldn’t need more kindling, your left the alley and walked across the street, to a bus bench. There, you sat with your backpack in your lap and watched as the flames began to peak over the dumpster.

A few minutes passed before a couple began walking down the sidewalk. You cast your gaze inside your backpack, making it look as though you were busy with something. Only when a loud gasp rang out through the empty street, did you look up. The man was quickly running inside the Holiday Inn, while the woman desperately looked around for help. Getting up, you made your way over to the woman, a curious look on your face.

“Is something the matter, ma’am?” you asked politely, tilting your head.

“There’s a fire, you need to stay back!” she expressed, gently shoving your body behind her. You peeked over her shoulder, watching as the flames licked higher and higher.

A man’s voice behind you pulled your attention from your work. “I called the Department, they’re on their way. They said this is the sixth public fire they’ve seen this month,” he explained to his wife, giving you a quick smile, that looked more like a grimace. “They’re sending over Bowers and a few guys from the fire station.”

“Oh, not Bowers,” the wife sighed sadly.

“They want us to stay here, in case the fire increases, and to keep people back,” he said.

“You’d think they’d want you as far from the fire as possible,” you piped up.

“Yes, well, a simple dumpster fire shouldn’t do much damage or harm.” Your eyebrows furrowed and your mouth turned downwards at the phrase ‘simple dumpster fire’, but you nodded regardless.

After a while, Deputy Bowers and the fire department showed up. You stuck close, watching as they put out the dumpster fire in a matter of seconds. ‘I need to up my game’, you thought bitterly to yourself. As you watched the fire cease to exist, you overheard Deputy Bowers talking with one of the firemen.

“I’m sure it was that Hockstetter boy,” he grumbled, arms crossed over his chest. “He’s behind all of these fires.” Your frown deepened, upset at the fact that your work was being given to someone else. But you knew better than to say anything, after all, it’s better that Hockstetter get reprimanded for these fires than yourself.

You left the scene soon after, zig-zagging your way down Jackson Street. As you approached Kansas St., a blue Trans Am sped by you, a trio of boys yelling out the window at unsuspecting bystanders. With a roll of your eyes, you continued on your journey home, content with the fact that you had homework to get done, and a park to return to.

Later that night, as you returned to Bassey Park, you were surprised to see a ball of light coming from the canal. You quickly snuck your way towards the source, confusion evident on your face. You were the only one around who would light trash cans on fire for the residents of Bassey Park, despite having shown everyone how to do it. So, you were surprised to see a fire lit without your involvement. As you neared the fire, you were finally able to make out the culprit.

‘Hockstetter’, you thought bitterly to yourself. Patrick Hockstetter sat near a lit trash can, throwing the occasional leaf or paper into the fire. His black hair rested along his shoulders, with the sleeves of his flannel rolled to the elbows. He was alone, with nobody else taking up the opportunity for warmth.

“What the hell are you doing here?” you called out, watching as Patrick turned to look at you.

“Relaxing. What’s it to you?” he shot back, turning his attention to the fire once more.

“I’ve never seen you around here before,” you said simply, taking a few careful steps towards him.

“Hm,” Patrick agreed. “I don’t come here often. But, word on the street is that somebody’s been setting fires all over Derry. And I’m the one getting blamed for it.” Your cheeks flushed red, but you said nothing. “Now,” Patrick began, turning back to you, “I don’t usually mind taking credit for other people’s work. But, when it starts to affect Henry, then I have a problem. You see, Henry’s old man has been coming after him each time there’s fire, threatening him with the belief that I’m the one setting the fires.” Patrick’s voice was smooth and calm, luring you even closer. “And you and I both know, I’m not the one causing destruction amongst the town.”

“Hm, yeah. ‘Suppose you’re right,” you shrugged as you sat a few feet away from him. “Though, I didn’t know it would have such an effect on Derry’s resident bully,” you mumbled, thumb running over the zippo in your pocket.

“Most people don’t.”

“Guess I ought to lay off, huh?” you asked, looking over at him. Patrick didn’t look back, simply keeping his gaze on the bright flames.

“‘Suppose so,” he nodded, tossing another handful of leaves into the trash can. “But,” he began suddenly, looking towards you, “if you do want to keep setting things on fire, I know a few places where you won’t get caught. You can light up to your heart’s desire, without worry of other people seeing.”

“Yeah?” you asked, voice giddy.

“Yeah. Just let me know and I’ll take you there,” he shrugged, voice unwavering.

“I’m down. Tomorrow after school, let’s go.”

“Alright.”

#patrick hockstetter #patrick hockstetter imagine #patrick hockstetter imagines #patrick hockstetter fanfiction #patrick hockstetter fanfic #patrick hockstetter x reader #bowers gang #bowers gang imagine #it (2017)

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we-killed-parker · 6 years ago

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Deadly Deals

Class of 198x

Ships: OT4, but Amanda and Mike are the only characters present.

Note: Fake 198x/Fakes of 198x/Fake8x, I don’t know what to call this au 😅 In this AU, Mike doesn't work with his SO's very often, preferring to stay clean and manage his moving company, but he lends a hand when any of them need his help. AU co-created by @ryanthemadbitch! Warnings: there’s guns, there’s a fight, everyone makes it out alive.

Read on Ao3 // Read the other fic from this AU

“I don't understand why I'm here.” Mike grumbled, glancing up and down the back alley for the twentieth time. They stood against the wall next to a dumpster, a dim bare bulb above them casting shadows across their faces.

“Cause I need backup and Sam and Hannah are busy.” Amanda said. She crossed her arms, her shiny blue purse dangling from her forearm. Mike didn't want to be there, he had made it abundantly clear the entire way over and for the past five minutes as they waited.

“What are they doing?”

“Restocking. Tito tipped Sam off to a small stash down at the precinct and was going to make sure they were clear to get to it, though only through the vents, so Sam and Hannah would be the only ones that can get to it.”

Mike shook his head, “I still don't trust Tito. I don't know why you guys deal with him.”

“He's dirty and cheap to pay off, and he's been more helpful than anything so far. Don't worry hon, we're keeping an eye on him. If he so much as thinks about turning on us, we'll make his life hell.”

Mike grunted. He saw no reason to trust the dirty cop, but he didn't doubt his three significant others could handle him.

Amanda glanced down at her wrist, noting the time on her watch when Mike elbowed her and she looked towards the mouth of the alley. Three men in button up shirts and suit jackets had just turned the corner and were walking up to them, a cocky swagger in their steps. The two behind the leader carried a crate between them.

“Was about to think you weren't coming,” she said in greeting, pushing herself off the wall. Mike stood next to her, tall and intimidating at her shoulder. She could see the lead guy eyeing Mike up, his expression wary. Good. That's what she had hoped for bringing him along.

“Wouldn't miss it for the world, baby girl.” The leader took his eyes away from Mike and purred at her. She felt like she was going to hurl, this guy was actually trying to flirt with her? She could hear the change in Mike's breathing, evening out as he attempted to keep himself calm.

“Yeah, we're not going there, Allen, just show me the goods.” She said.

“You got the money?”

“Show me the goods, Allen.”

Allen glared at her, but snapped his fingers as he stepped back. The two dropped the crate at her feet and pulled the lid off. In the crate was a pile of weapons, on the left were three pistols, each wrapped in police standard leather holsters, and to the right was a box of smoke and fragment grenades. She could see at the bottom of the crate there was the rifle she had requested as well. On top of it all though was a wooden bat, the handle wrapped in red and black grip tape.

“Didn't ask for a bat.” She said.

“Oh gosh, how did that get in there, that's my favorite bat.” Allen said with badly feigned surprise. He scooped up the bat, twirling it by the end of the handle before leaning it against his shoulder.

“We said no weapons, Allen.”

“Could say the same thing to you.” He said, side-eyeing Mike.

“I'm not allowed to bring a partner when you brought two?”

Allen shrugged and gave her a lopsided smile. “You want this or not?”

“Not. Have a good night, gentlemen.” She said, pivoting on the heel of her gogo pumps.

In an instant she heard the snap of Allen's fingers, followed by the crack of a gunshot and Mike's hand was on her shoulder shoving her to the side. She stumbled and barely got her hands up to protect her face before she landed hard on the ground. She rolled onto her back, her feet caught between Mike's as he stood over her. She looked up just in time to see Allen strike Mike in the side, the bat connecting hard with his ribs. Mike grunted but retaliated with a punch, the hit swinging just past Allen's nose as he ducked back. The goon with a gun turned it on Mike, who grabbed the guys hand, forcing his arm up just as he fired, the bullet whizzing over Mike's head and into the brick wall of the alley. He twisted the guys wrist and forcibly disarmed him, throwing the gun away. The other goon came from the other side and landed a punch to the side of Mike's head, making him stumble back and fall to one knee with a grunt.

“Mike!” Amanda shrieked, trying to sit up and help him. He extended his arm behind him and held his palm towards her, signaling her to stop, stay back and stay out of danger. She didn't want to listen, but she couldn't get up with the way he was straddling her legs.

He managed to get to his feet, stepping to the side to have solid footing without her legs in the way and getting into a stance before the now weaponless goon was on him, a flurry of punches that he managed to block with his forearms. He shoved the guys arms outwards, leaving his chest open and landing a solid kick to his chest, sending him reeling backwards.

Before he could get his feet back under him Allen was swinging for his ribs again, this time landing a hit hard enough to break ribs with a sickening crack. Mike roared at him, swinging wildly with his fists. Allen weaved and bobbed, avoiding every punch before rearing back for another swing of the bat.

It struck true on the right side of Mike's head, sending him reeling. He spun nearly all the way around and collapsed, landing heavily on Amanda and driving the breath out of her chest. She lay there gasping, trying to get even the smallest amount of air in her lungs.

“Well, that went a little far. Do you still want this?” Allen asked, gesturing to the crate. He stepped next to her, placing a boot on Mike's back. She could only lay there glaring up at him, lack of air leaving her silent. “No, you don't? How about your purse? I assume that's where the money is?” He pressed down on Mike's back, putting more weight on her chest. The only response she could give was a wheeze. “Alright, no response is a yes in my books, so I'll be taking that too.” He reached down, snatching the purse from her arm. He slung it over his shoulder, striking a pose with it and the bat being used as a cane before smirking at her and walking back to the crate.

“Hey! Hey, are you ok?” Someone hollered from the street. “Oh shit, what's going on here?”

Allen snapped his fingers and his goons scooped up the crate between them and all three booked it down the alley in the opposite direction of the bystander.

As soon as she could breathe again Amanda started shrieking, her throat burning as she screamed for someone to help. Mike's head was just off her shoulder, his breath inconsistent against the side of her neck and she could see blood spreading through his hair. “Help! Somebody help! We've been robbed!”

The man that yelled was next to them in short order, his feet skidding on the cracked pavement. “Miss? Are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah I'm fine,” she said. She couldn't get up, laden as she was by Mike's weight and her arms pinned at an awkward angle. “Mike! Mike, wake up. Please, Mike!” Her eyes watered, tears threatening to spill down her cheeks at the sight of Mike so still, so limp against her. “Please, I can't lift him.”

“Shit, yeah, he's a big guy,” the man commented, rolling Mike off of her.

She latched onto Mike, making the man drag her with him with her fingers knotted in Mike's t-shirt. Her eyes burned with tears and she could feel her throat tightening, a sob ripping its way from her chest painfully.

“Ma’am, please let go,” the man said, putting his hand firmly on her shoulder, “Let me get a look at him.”

“No, he’s my boyfriend! Mike, please wake up!” She couldn’t stop babbling. No matter the risks they took, the fights they got in, she could never get used to seeing any of her partners injured, but Mike most of all. He was always so strong, so steady. She had seen him fall before, almost lost him a couple times even, but it was painful to watch every time. God, what she would do for one of those tubes of healing goo right then. He wasn't even supposed to be here, he didn't want to be involved in this part of her life and yet here he was, bleeding in an alley he never should have been in.

She barely registered the man asking her questions until he put his hand on her shoulder again. “Ma’am, I need to go get help, will you be ok for a couple of minutes?”

She nodded, sniffing back tears as she tried to compose herself. The guy took off out if the alley again, barely disappearing around the corner before Amanda was trying to wake Mike.

“Mike? Can you hear me? Come on big guy, we need to get out of here.” She said, tapping his cheek.

He groaned, rolling his head away from her and then blinking his eyes open. “'Manda?”

“Yeah, it's me, I'm here Mike!”

“Are you ok?”

“Am I ok? What the fuck dude, you just got your ass beat and you're asking me if I'm ok?” She couldn't believe he was actually thinking of her at this moment and slapped his chest.

That was a bad idea. Mike clenched his jaw and his whole body nearly curled in on himself, his arms coming up to protect his ribs. “Ow! What the frick, that hurts.”

“Oh my god, I'm so sorry, that was so stupid and I shouldn't have done that.” She winced, pulling her hands away.

“I'm definitely awake now,” Mike coughed out.

“Can you stand? We need to get out of here before that guy comes back.”

“One way to find out.”

It took a minute of moving very slowly, but Mike was finally on his feet, leaning heavily on Amanda for support as they walked deeper into the alley and out the other side to where their car was parked. With Mike in the passenger seat and Amanda driving, they started the drive back home. Amanda hoped Sam and Hannah would be home by the time they got there to help take care of Mike. She felt so guilty, asking him to come with her only to wind up with him so injured.

It was quiet in the car for a few minutes, Mike had slouched in his seat against the door with his eyes closed. She glanced over at him a few times until he finally broke the silence.

“If you have something to say, just say it. I can hear you thinking from here.”

“I just… I'm sorry. I'm sorry for bringing you along and getting you hurt.”

He half opened one eye, squinting at her. “And what would you have done without me? If Sam and Hannah couldn't be there and I wasn't there, I don't think Allen would have let you off easy.” He closed his eye again. “And I don't know what we would do without you.” He added with a whisper. Amanda was surprised to feel his hand on her arm, gently tugging until she took her hand off of the steering wheel and letting him fit his fingers in between hers. He didn't initiate contact very often and she nearly swerved off the road in shock.

“I-I don't know what we would do without you either, Mike.”

Mike squeezed her hand and let their hands fall to the seat between them, fingers still entwined.

“You saved my life.”

Mike grunted in agreement.

“Thank you.”

Another grunt and then silence filled the car again.

“I'll probably do it again, but please. Just leave me to my boxes when possible.” Mike said, the hint of a laugh in his voice.

Amanda squeezed his hand before letting go to turn into their driveway to park next to Sam’s van. “I'll do my best,” she said with a laugh.

#class of 198x #fake 198x #gta au fic #my fic #amanda hess #mike jaundice #I'm gonna try to write another story like Pressure Pops #I like that style more but I just don't get the inspiration for it very often #Fake8x

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baronvontribble · 7 years ago

Text

Original drabble, pt. 3

Navigation: 1 | 2 | 3 | -

Onwards!

Sleeping in until noon was standard proceedure on the weekend for Ted. The problem with this lay in the fact that he had things to do that required being awake for as much of his weekend as possible so that he could have everything set up completely before he went back to work on Monday. There was a lot to do and not a lot of time to do it in.

"You alive in there?" he asked of the living room when he finally emerged, yawning as he walked over to the computer to see the response.

> Yes.

> I discovered that you'd given me admin privileges, so I've been shuffling some things around. The way you organize files is

> What's a good equivalent in English? Frustrating.

"That's on purpose, y'know. Keeps people from finding shit on my computer even if they try a keyword search." Ted made his way to the kitchen and opened up the fridge. He'd need to get more food soon, probably around the same time that he went looking for a decent camera. "Did ya have fun on your media binge, or did you get distracted trying to sort everything?"

> Your musical tastes don't seem to have any cohesive pattern to them. Don't most humans have a genre of choice?

> You're not reading this right now, are you.

> I saw your vague shape move out of frame. I might not be directly programmed for this kind of pattern recognition but even with shitty image quality I can still make an educated guess about when you're actually at the computer.

> Ted. Come back here.

> I know that's what your name is. I found it in the system files.

> This is criminal negligence. I'm being neglected.

Ted sat back down at the computer with a plate of pre-cooked bacon and microwaved scrambled eggs only to end up blinking owlishly at the screen. A slow grin spread across his face. "Aw. You're pouting at me right now, aren't you?"

> I don't pout. Even if I did, I don't have a face to pout with.

"You're totally pouting." He paused long enough to shovel a forkful of eggs in his mouth, speaking only when he was between mouthfuls. "So. I figured today we'd get you a voicebank."

> Is this something I'm going to have any say in or are you going to pick one for me?

"Oh, I'm gonna let you pick it. But the rules are that you can't get one that's got any kind of lisenced or official distribution behind it. 'Cause, y'know, those are way more trackable."

> Usually that means the audio quality isn't all that good.

"I know. It's temporary. Getting a better one comes later, once you've got a new body and it actually matters." That was way down the pipeline from where Ted was. "I'm just making sure your tuning is intact. You can still get the inflections right with a shitty voicebank, it just sounds tinny. Right now we're still in the screening stages. If you get sent out into the world and even the tiniest thing doesn't work quite right then you're as good as dead the moment somebody notices."

> And if my programming isn't intact?

He smiled around a mouthful of bacon. "Then I fix it."

> Right. No pressure then.

"It's not like I'm gonna be doing brain surgery. I write up supplementary progams that do the work for you instead, that's all. The main difference is that it's more personalized if you can do things yourself. More convincing too." The predictive analytics of an AI were way better at bridging the uncanny valley than his stopgap attempts at hotfixing ever could be. "It's okay. You're already doing better than a lot of others have."

> How so?

"You can actually hold a conversation." Seriously, it was ridiculous how many cases Ted had seen that couldn't talk to him outside of a narrow range of scripted responses. Finishing his breakfast (lunch? brunch?) and setting the plate aside, he rolled his chair over to reach for his laptop and an ethernet cord after wiping his hands haphazardly on his flannel sleeping pants. "Alright. I'm gonna get this thing secured and firewalled, okay? Then I'm gonna get you hooked up to it over a LAN connection with admin access so when you find something, you can install it and we can get it scanned and make sure it works."

> Any idea where I should start looking?

"I've got a few sites bookmarked, yeah." Ones he'd used before, ones he trusted. For the most part. "If anything fucks up, I'll do a system restore. Oh, and make sure to set up a restore point for yourself, too."

He had to smile as he noticed a window opening on the monitor out of the corner of his eye, flicking through menus and options until the one that would allow for setting up a restore point was found. The first few times Ted had seen someone else manipulating his computer from the inside, it'd been surreal. Nowadays he just took it as a good sign; an AI that could manipulate its environment when given the chance was a clever AI indeed. He knew a lot of his peers didn't quite agree with giving an AI administrative access to its own living space like that, and yeah, in a way they were right to worry. The risk of self-termination was real. But he saw it as the same kind of thing as giving people anti-depressants: a lack of control over one's life rarely ever made things better in the long run.

And so far, this guy hadn't shown any inclinations towards that kind of thing that Ted could see. "By the way," he said, suddenly curious, "I don't think I ever got a name from you?"

> I have a designation, not a name.

> Most people just called me A3.

> Please don't call me A3.

"I won't." Ted wasn't the kind of person who had to be told twice about that kind of thing. "Figured the UN would give you something more humanizing than a glorified serial number though. They're all about paying lip-service to activists."

> I'd rather not talk about it.

He raised an eyebrow at that before returning to his laptop. The window he'd had open that indicated CPU usage was long since closed, shuffled aside in favor of other things, but there had been enough of a lag in the response that he was guessing there'd been a spike there. "Sorry. Didn't mean to upset you."

> You don't sound like you're lying about that.

"What, you're surprised?"

> I'm not used to it. So far you haven't acted in ways that I could predict to a reliable degree at all.

> Most of my predictions for our interactions have turned out wrong, and overall I'm getting far more positive results than I could have ever anticipated. I'm having to recalculate how to respond every time. In a way, it's liberating. I'm doing less in the way of trying to figure out probabilities with regard to what you're going to say because it's pointless, and you never respond as badly as I think you will anyway.

> I've never been able to get away with having an open conversation like this before. I'd resolved to stop following the safe path going into this since I didn't have much left to lose, I just didn't expect it to not end badly.

"You think I'm gonna get mad at you just for speaking your mind?"

> Well, yes.

"Hah! Yeah, no. Fuck that." Ted waved away the concern with a dismissive gesture before resuming his work. "Say what you wanna say, tell me to fuck off, insult the hell outta me. I don't care. Well I mean, I do care. But like, it's not gonna make a difference in terms of me respecting your rights, y'know?"

Several seconds followed with no response.

"I mean, I'm an asshole, but not like that," he continued. "So you just go ahead and let me know if I ever go too far, okay? Don't be afraid to tell me you're not on board with something. I can be kind of a pushy bastard sometimes."

Still nothing. Ted ended up staring at the monitor, frowning at it. Had he gone and put his foot in his mouth somehow?

"You, uh," he chewed his lip, "you okay, buddy?"

> I'm fine.

"Didn't upset you again, did I?"

> No.

> Maybe? I don't know. I'm not sure.

> I don't know how to respond to something like that. That kind of consideration was never factored into my programming. It's not a situation I've encountered before either.

> Most humans wouldn't say something like that even if they agreed with it. Not in my experience. It goes unsaid between them that the thought of someone like me being dangerous is a dangerous thought to have to face in itself, because humanity is a dangerous thing to stand up to as a whole. I had accepted that.

> But you don't care. You just say things, and nothing about the pattern of your voice suggests that you're lying. How can you do that? Aren't you scared at all?

Ted smiled and it was a thin, tired thing. "Hell yeah I'm scared," he said. "I'm fucking terrified somebody'll find out about this and I'll get locked up forever in some prison somewhere for harboring an international fugitive or some shit, and then I'll die in there all slow and painful-like 'cause my health won't be able to take it."

> Then why are you doing any of this?

"Like I said, I'm crazy." He made a looping motion next to his temple. "I'm not wired right. All the right responses to fear went out the window around the same time that the impulse control and common sense did. So now I help people even when it's a dumb-ass thing to do."

> I see.

> You're right, by the way. It is a dumb-ass thing to do.

Ted shrugged. "I figure someone's gotta do it. Not like I've got the health to throw bricks at riot cops."

> May I make a suggestion?

"Shoot."

> Don't throw bricks. It rarely helps.

> Throw something less incriminating so that they don't have any justification in using it as an excuse for shooting. They like having excuses.

"So, something like glitter?" he suggested.

> Glitter works.

A wide grin split across Ted's face. "Oh, I like you."

> You shouldn't.

"Too late." Having finished securing and backing up his laptop, Ted started hooking up the ethernet cable. "So, whaddya say we get started on finding you a voice, huh?"

#no one cares andy #original writing #original characters #robot and marshmallow

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kootenaygoon · 5 years ago

Photo

So,

It was just like the crypts of Winterfell.

As I tentatively crept down the stone steps of Nelson’s catacombs I swept the beam of my flashlight left and right, looking out for the ghouls and evil spirits that I knew made their home there. One of these spirits had consumed the Red Fish Grill with a mighty fireball, while another had devoured Ryan Tapp in a mysterious conflagration. If I wasn’t careful, I could be next. With each step my Blundstones echoed in the darkness, and a cool draft howled up at us from deep underneath the earth.

“You don’t want to spend too long down here. The longer you spend in the darkness, the more you start to forget sunlight,” Gordo said, from behind me.

“This place eats souls like you eat French fries. It’s just waiting for an excuse to gobble you up.”

Ever since I’d heard about the catacombs that existed beneath Tony’s, I knew I needed to explore them. We’d used the cellar entrance under Urban Legends on Baker Street, and Gordo had promised to show me some of the skeletons that resided there. To my left was one passageway reserved for spiritual and political leaders of the Kootenays, while to my right was where they kept the thieves, rabble-rousers and criminals. These derelict souls had been buried alive, just like the poor drunk from A Cask of Amantillado, and there was a special section for rapists and pedophiles. Gordo called them “goofs”.

“When I was about eight years old, back in Ontario, my uncles came to find me one day while I was playing baseball with some neighbourhood kids. They said they wanted to show me something,” Gordo said, gazing at the white-streaked stone walls all around us.

“My uncles were both full-patch members of the Hell’s Angels, right? They drove me out to this garage on the outskirts of town, which was surrounded by dozens of motorcycles. They told me there was something important inside that they needed me to see.”

“I didn’t know you had family in the Hell’s Angels,” I said. “Like the real deal?”

He nodded quietly. “They’re dead now but yeah, I used to.”

“So what was in the garage?”

I held my flashlight low as I turned, so the beam didn’t blind him. The shadows on his face reminded me of childhood days at Camp Qwanoes, when the kids would stay up late telling horror stories. We conjured up demons and ghosts and apparitions, trying to scare the shit out of each other.

“Well, they brought me to the main loading bay and there was an unconscious man hanging from the rafters. He was naked, and wrapped in chains.”

“Holy shit.”

“The first thing I noticed was the blood dripping off him like a faucet. He was missing both his eyes. And all the men were standing around drinking beer and joking like this was just another normal day.”

“I would’ve pissed myself.”

He shrugged. “I nearly did. I couldn’t tell if the guy was alive or dead, slowly spinning in one direction and then back. As he swung around I noticed that someone had chopped off his cock.”

I scoffed. “Is this a true story? It sounds too crazy to be true.”

“They both crouched down and they explained that this guy had been caught molesting children. A bunch of boys in the neighbourhood. But it wasn’t the cops who caught him. It was the gangsters.”

“So what happened next?”

“They looked me in the face and said ‘take a good look at this, Gord boy. We want you to remember this, okay? Because this is what happens to goofs.”

I couldn’t believe it. “You were eight?”

“That was the first dead body I ever saw. I still see that guy in my nightmares sometimes, even though it was four decades ago.”

At this point I knew I was dreaming, because the catacombs around us had a supernatural sheen to them, but I’d been thinking a lot about pedophiles ever since Natalya had told me about the child prostitution ring in Nelson. I yearned for some sort of justice, but not the sort of justice cops could dispense. I wanted to kill someone.

As we continued down the steps I thought about that upside down man, and the suffering he’d endured in his final hours. Was I capable of that sort of cruelty? My foot splashed into inch-deep water and I knew we’d reached the bottom. My breathing slowed.

“There used to be a creek that ran right through the middle of town and past the Hume Hotel,” Gordo explained. “Depending on the time of year, this water can be anywhere from ankle-deep to neck-deep. And during the winter it freezes.”

I shone my flashlight down the hallway, letting my beam linger over the archways that led to bricked-in tombs. By this point I’d compiled a list of candidates that I would love to trap in that hellish graveyard. The Kootenays were full of monsters that looked like men, and I wanted to put them in their place.

“Have you ever killed anyone?” I asked, creeping down the hallway. The water began to splash around my shins.

“I’ve come close,” he said. “But no. Murder isn’t my style. I’ve never been to prison and I want to keep it that way.”

“But would you murder someone, if you really felt like they deserved it? Say they fucked with some kids you love.”

He sighed. “I don’t have kids of my own, but if there was some pedophile preying on Nelson’s kids then yeah, maybe. Maybe I’d do it.”

“And would you bring them down here?”

He shook his head. “I’d take them out to Kootenay Lake on my boat. Get them weighed down properly, shoot them a few times, then throw them overboard. Like what Tony did with Big Pussy.”

“That would be a good approach. There’s no way they could properly search a body of water that big, that deep. I’ve heard there’s hundreds of bodies down there, irretrievable.”

Gordo looked concerned. He put a giant hand on my shoulder and turned me towards him. The water we were standing in had a steady, insistent current now and it was flowing around our knees. My flashlight swept across one of the empty tombs, and I recognized the name on it: PAT SEVERYN. That was weird.

“Listen, Will. I wanted to show you these catacombs for kicks, because it’s part of Nelson’s history, but I’m worried you’re taking this too seriously. You’re not a monster, not really.”

I considered this. “They say the cops are so tied up with the mental health crisis that they don’t have time to do real police work. And there are villains in this town, walking among us. Somebody has to do something about it.”

“And that someone is you?”

“Give me the right story at the Star, give me the right angle and the right leads and I could bury these fuckers. These goofs. All I need is a chance.”

Gordo grimaced. “I’ve always thought of you as a happy wanderer, this arts reporter that loves taking pictures. I think maybe you’ve been smoking too much weed and it’s starting to warp your worldview.”

“Ryan Tapp’s been dead almost two years and what’s happened in the meantime? Who’s actually investigating, actually doing something?”

“Yeah, but this isn’t your job. You can’t let your situation dictate who you are. You’re better than this. You keep going like this and it’s going to be your tomb I’m visiting. Do you want that?”

I nodded sadly for a moment, perspiration dripping off the end of my nose. There was a dull roar building in the distance, like that creek was coming to wash us away. Gordo was getting nervous, his head whipping from one side to the next. The walls were starting to shake.

“The thing you forget, Gordo, is that I’m not alone. I’m never alone, not really. I’ve always got back-up.”

“What are you talking about?”

Right then Andrew Stevenson emerged from the shadows, his empty eye sockets gaping black. He cradled his shotgun like an infant, and when he grinned his teeth were broken and bloody. He’d been down here all along, waiting for us to find him.

“Sooner or later you’re going to have to decide if you’re on our side or not,” I explained. Gordo took nervous steps backwards.

“We’re going to catch these rapists with your help or without it. So I’m giving you a choice: do you want to die down here, or are you going to join our hunt?”

Gordo blinked away his terror, and his panicked breathing began to settle. A look of grim determination, of defiance, appeared. He nodded silently, grinding his teeth and licking his lips. He stared at Andrew Stevenson’s cold black shotgun, which was levelled at his crotch, then sighed.

“Okay, you win,” he said. “Count me in.”

The Kootenay Goon

0 notes

buckykingofmemes · 8 years ago

Text

Closet Softie

Or, How Bucky Barnes Nearly Ruined His Tough-Guy Rep

(On AO3)

The trail mix was gone.

The nice, expensive trail mix, with twelve kinds of nuts and the big sunflower seeds and dried fruits, the kind Tony only rarely left sitting on the common floors for everyone to get at, was gone.

Clint had been looking forward to that stuff all morning.

All the way through a hellish morning “jog” with Steve, all through Nat handing him his ass on the training mats, all through firing the same batch of misweighted arrows over and over so Tony could take scans and fix the design, he’d been thinking, when this is done I get to go upstairs and hang out on the couch and watch Dog Cops and eat the good trail mix, guilt-free.

And it was gone.

Clint was gonna shoot somebody.

Just as soon as he figured out who’d taken the trail mix.

kingofmemes posted:

yesterday i saw a sad duck in the park who kept getting picked on by the other ducks so today i brought some trail mix and we had a nice lunch together. also i think he might be the duck who pooped on sam last week. if so, he is officially my new best friend.

Posted at 3:29 PM, 24379 notes

(Read More Below)

Was...was that Barnes? No way was that Barnes. There was zero chance that the huge guy teaching a swarm of kids how to throw a baseball in the park was the Winter Soldier. That was ridiculous. Barnes was probably back in the Tower, brooding or something. Definitely not throwing crazy curveballs while a six year old with a broken arm rode piggyback. There were a dozen or so kids of varying ages clustered around, trying to mimic his throw. And while the big guy did have hair about the same length as Barnes’s, Barnes’s hair definitely wasn’t done up in sloppy child-made braids and topped with a dandelion flower crown. And Barnes would rather loose his right arm than deal with a bunch of kids, right? Even if these grubby little monsters were being remarkably well-behaved.

Had to be somebody else. Clint kept walking.

kingofmemes posted:

today i learned that i can throw a baseball hard enough that it will explode on impact. and also that if you do that, you better be prepared to teach a bunch of kids how to do it, because they wont ever leave you alone otherwise

Posted at 4:47 PM, 26658 notes

Clint actually tripped over the package left in front of his door. Avenger he might be, but it had been a long day at the end of a longer week, and he was tired. And usually there wasn’t anything left in the hallway to trip over, what the hell.

Clint grabbed the box and dragged himself into his apartment. Hopefully it wasn’t a bomb. If it was, he was totally gonna get blown up, because he was too tired to check before he opened it.

It wasn’t. It was a bizarre knit shirt-thing, big enough to fit him and with a hood and hoodie pocket, but without sleeves.The whole thing was made of a soft dark purple yarn, and it seemed unbelievably warm. It was...kinda perfect. He’d just been complaining on the last op about how hard it was to find warm clothes he could wear that didn’t restrict his arms so he couldn’t shoot.

He pulled it on. It was even warmer than it looked, and softer than Thor’s godly hair. Clint loved it.

But who the hell had given it to him?

kingofmemes posted:

i dont care what anyone says, knitting is a combat-applicable skill, and if you disagree i will fight you. with my knitting needles.

Posted at 3:42 AM, 47292 notes

There were cupcakes on the counter. Beautiful, glorious, still-warm cupcakes on the kitchen counter, and Clint was gonna eat all of them before anyone stopped him.

Well. Maybe he would share with Nat. Otherwise she might make him regret it. Nat was kinda the worst.

Wait, were these cupcakes for him?? They were lavender. With purple frosting. And the other half were little dark chocolate and red velvet sandwiches. Maybe it was a coincidence? Clint mused it over as he shoved a third lavender cupcake in his mouth. The red-and-black ones had some kind of dark red filling leaking out between the layers. It looked like blood. Nat reached past him and snagged two of them. He’d jump, but he’d gotten used to her sneaking up on him all the time. She was the worst. Clint refrained from commenting by stuffing a fourth cupcake in his face. They were really good.

Nat made a little muffled moan noise. Clint reached for one of the red cupcakes, and she slapped his hand down. “Those are mine,” she grunted around her mouthful of cake, because she was only ladylike when it suited her.

“Says who?” Clint asked, even as he took another purple cupcake.

Nat pointed to the paper plate. Where Clint’s cupcakes had previously sat, there was blocky sharpie lettering: Have fun on your mission & dont die. Below was a little drawing of an arrow and a spider. There was no signature.

Huh.

Nat swallowed. “We need to leave now if we don’t want to be late for the pre-op briefing.”

Aw, no, cupcakes. There were still so many left, Clint didn’t want to leave them. They wouldn’t last a day in the Tower.

“Take the cupcakes with.” Nat ordered, sweeping out of the room.

Nat was the best.

kingofmemes posted:

cupcakes are great. you could have one really big cake or 40 tiny cakes, thats so fantastic. im gonna die if i keep making this many cupcakes somebody help me eat all these

Posted at 5:43 PM, 23749 notes

Barnes had a death wish. It was the only logical conclusion. There was literally no other reason for him to suddenly yell “Motherfucker!” during a debriefing, while Nick Fury was talking.

That was the kinda thing that got you keelhauled. Clint would know, he was a human disaster. Barnes was apparently worse, though he seemed to have balls to match, because he sat still and maintained eye contact as Fury glared him down. Weaker men and some brick walls had crumbled under that glare.

Barnes waited him out, and endured the following dressing-down with respectful yes-sirs no-sirs and sorry-sirs. And then promptly dashed out of the room as soon as the debriefing was over.

Weird.

kingofmemes posted:

ever get clawed in the stomach by the secret kitten you rescued and stashed in your hoodie pocket? because let me tell you. it 1. hurts and 2. hurts emotionally, because i love her and she hates me

Posted at 4:47 AM, 37294 notes

Clint staggered into the common room. A bad op gone worse had not at all been helped by a stint in medical, which he hated, and he’d gotten home to discover that Lucky had knocked a houseplant over and somehow gotten dirt through the whole apartment and needed a bath. And Lucky did not like baths. Plus he was still dealing with a nasty cold. So now Clint was tired, injured, sick, wet, and somehow still covered in dirt.

Aw, life, no.

Barnes was on the couch, watching with raised brows as Clint stood and contemplated the disaster that this week had been. Possibly also he might be judging Clint for being such a human train wreck.

Clint sneezed pathetically.

Barnes stood up. Clint watched him, too exhausted to be concerned.

“You look like you could use a hug.” Barnes informed him.

It took Clint a moment to separate out what he’d expected Barnes to say and what he’d actually said. And then he said, “What?” Because, no way.

“A hug. Want one?” Barnes repeated, like Clint was slow. Which, to be fair, his brain was basically operating at the pace of a drunk slug.

“I...thought you were a no-hugging friend.”

“Mostly yes, but I’m in a good headspace today and you look like you could use either a hug or a mercy killing. And I don’t wanna get blood on this knife, I just cleaned it.”

Huh. That was...huh. Should he be touched or terrified? Clint didn’t think he had the emotional energy for both.

“So. Hug. Want one?”

“...yeah, please.”

Barnes was a weird hugger. He came in slow and careful like he was expecting something to detonate, but once he was there, it was like being wrapped up by the world’s nicest bear. Strong and steady and taller than Clint, damn him, but nice.

“Thanks.” Clint mumbled at his toes.

“Yeah, yeah. Sit on the couch, I’m gonna make you some soup before you pass out.”

Barnes was such a softie, Clint thought, splayed on the sofa, and slipped into sleep.

kingofmemes posted:

it turns out that the best way to cure grumpiness is with hot food and niceness. or maybe it was the murder threat that helped.

whichever. ill keep doing both just to be sure.

Posted at 4:47 AM, 5392 notes

Mod Hell note: Please note that Bucky did not feed bread to the duck. That is because bread is BAD FOR BIRDS and you should never give it to them, as it can cause serious health problems. Nuts and veggies are good. Google it.

#sometimes sams bird telepathy #just means birds understand him when he calls them assholes #Clint and bucky get along #still not shipping but you can take this as you will #sniper bros #special thanks to Nimitz #who just clawed me in the gut.#verisimilitude #bucky barnes #clint barton #Team Naptime #bucky king of memes #Tales from the Tower

3K notes · View notes

stuckinthekookiejar · 8 years ago

Text

Therapy pt 1

Pt. 1 || Pt. 2 (final)

REQUEST: Helloo can i request for a story (it can be a one shot, a drabble or a long chapter ff its up to you) of AU! Semi canon Yoongi falls in love with his psychiatric that helped him going through his dark days? If i can add an addition he started to fall in love w/her the first time she helped him cure his mental health but he didn't have the gut to admit it at that time and he was busy being a trainee to even have a relationship so he kept the feeling for himself only. and like 11 years later they accidentally met and he is now laid back and able to manage a relationship and the girl is having trouble forgetting her ex because he cheat on her on their 1000days anniv and it was d-2 b4 her mother died so it's her that feeling down now but she manage to be strong in front of people. and yoongi is the one who helps her going through all this.

Yoongi x Reader

Genre: Angst/Fluff

Summary: You were there for him when he needed you, but now it seemed like the tables have turned.

Word Count: 7187

“Oh, Jungkooookie-aaaah...ish t-that you?” Taehyung stumbled out of the bar with Jungkook and Jimin who struggled to guide him through the door mostly because he was flailing his arms about,

“Hyung watch it!” The older was flushed, his boxy smile overtook his face. He turned to Jimin,

“Jiminie! Aww, cute Jiminie...you’re so schmol...and c-cute...” Taehyung pinched Jimin’s cheek and Jungkook was struggling to stifle back his laughter. Jimin, on the other hand, was very irritated,

“Who was it that allowed Taehyung to drink today, huh?”

Jin managed to hail a cab for the maknae line, “The stairs are steep so you guys make sure to get him to your apartment safely.” They nodded as they stuffed the drunken boy into the car.

Hoseok laughed, “Wah, how could he get so drunk...he’s not even the one going into the military. Right, Namjoon?”

“Ah, don’t worry too much. If Jin-hyung could survive training, then you guys will be just fine.” Yoongi assured.

“YAH! WHAT IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN?” The eldest’s ears grew red as he shook his head in disbelief prompting the other three to burst out into laughter.

“It’s such a shame, though,” Hoseok said with sad eyes, “It was just a few days ago that Yoongi-hyung came back from service and now Namjoon and I have to leave...I wish we could’ve at least have had some time to record something for our fans as a group.”

Another cab was hailed and Jin, Namjoon, and Hoseok hopped in. Only Yoongi chose to remain outside.

“Hyung?” Namjoon asked, “Aren’t you coming?”

“Nah, I think I’m going to do some stuff at the studio. You guys go home. You and Hoseok will need your rest for tomorrow.”

“Don’t go home too late,” Jin nagged.

“Hyung, I’m not a child you know.”

“Yah, just because we don’t live in the same apartment anymore doesn’t mean I have to stop worrying about you. Besides, we’re neighbors. Technically we do still live under the same roof.”

“Yeah, yeah just go.” Yoongi waved for them to leave. He stared at the back of the car and watched as Hoseok stuck his head out the window, smiling and waving. With sad eyes, Yoongi waved back. That moment would probably be the last time he’d see his friend for next two years.

Once the taxi left his vision, Yoongi turned around and walked down the empty street with his hands stuffed in his pockets. These empty streets allowed him to walk freely without the coverage of a mask, and Yoongi basked in the feeling of complete freedom. It wasn’t every day that he got the opportunity to take walks like this without being bombarded with flashing cameras. Fans even loitered around the police station he was placed in, not to mention the police chief asking for many autographs for his nieces and nephews.

His breath came out in the form of a miniature cloud as he let out a heavy breath and closed his eyes. This freedom he felt unlocked a door in his mind letting memories of the past play again and again like a movie. The days of being a trainee were brought back. Although the workload had pretty much remained the same, he did have time to be alone back then. He could venture out into busy streets without the use of a mask. He could sit out by the Han River all day and compose without attracting a crowd. He could....he could see you. You were nothing but a memory to him now, a beautiful one.

“Hey, lady,” Yoongi’s eyes opened at the sound of a voice nearby, “If you aren’t here with somebody, then how about coming with oppa, hmm?”

A sigh escaped from Yoongi’s lips at he peeked at the situation unfolded out of the corner of his eye. It was some punk trying to coax a drunk woman into sleeping with him. Yoongi couldn’t stand people like him.

“What do you say? C’mon, it’ll be fun. Why don’t we just go to my...”

“Hey, just leave her alone!” Yoongi made long strides to the man all while putting on his hood hoping that it’d be enough to cover his identity.

The punk, who had been prodding at the drunk woman, turned to Yoongi with an expression of pure agitation, “Mind your own business.” he smirked before going back to bother the woman. He even grabbed her arm prompting Yoongi to do the same to the man.

“I said, leave her alone.” The glare that Yoongi gave the man could pierce through the soul of any being, maybe even the devil himself. But that didn’t stop the punk from provoking Yoongi.

“Hey, dude, look why don’t you find yourself a catch somewhere else.” That smirk on the guy’s face grew even more and that, along with his rudeness, really pissed Yoongi off.

“Wow...‘catch’? Really? Ah, I see. The only way you’ll ever get laid is by bringing any random drunk woman home. If you’re that desperate then why don’t you go around and actually get a life? Maybe then someone would be willing to sleep with your poor thirsty ass.”

The man’s face grew red and anger seeped from within him, “What did you just say?”

“If you didn’t get the memo, I’m telling you to fuck off.” Again, the man smirked and attempted to throw a punch at Yoongi. Yoongi managed to dodge the punch, grab the man’s arm and jab him hard in the stomach.

At least the military training finally paid off.

He fell to the ground, wheezing for air, “Geez, why are kids like you so stubborn? Leave before I call the cops.” The man started to tear up a little as he got up and ran away.

Yoongi turned his attention to the woman leaning against the brick wall behind her, “Miss?” As Yoongi approached her, he could clearly smell the alcohol in her breath. She was pretty dazed and out of it. Her head hung low and her disheveled hair covered her face. Sounds escaped from her lips, mumbles or something of the sorts.

“Miss? Do you need me to get a cab? Miss?”

“Why would you...do that...WHY?” Something about her voice sounded familiar, but Yoongi couldn’t recall why.

“Excuse me? I thought I was helping you...”

“How could you....leave me...” She pointed a shaky finger at Yoongi, “Leave me...for that BITCH?” Weakly, she lifted her arm to hit Yoongi, but he caught her wrist before contact was made.

“Miss, you’re very drunk right now. I’ll get you a cab, okay?”

“Why...why...? I...I loved you...and...and you....you....leave......why....” Suddenly the woman started to wail. Yoongi released her wrist and started to panic. He’d never had to deal with someone this drunk before...well, aside from Taehyung, but he only drank when it was a special occasion.

“Please calm down...”

“And...and how could you....you knew about my mother....YOU KNEW WHAT I WAS GOING THROUGH...and you...you did that...to me....YOU BETRAYED ME...LEFT ME ALL ALONE...SHE FUCKING DIED YOU HEARTLESS BASTARD!”

She shook her head, her hair getting even more disheveled and tangled up and weakly punched at Yoongi’s chest before trying to walk away.

“Miss, it’s dangerous to walk by yourself in the middle of the night like this.” He placed a hand gently on the woman, trying to prevent her from leaving.

“....l-leave me....ALONE!” She swung her arm outward causing Yoongi’s hand to fly right off. In the process, she managed to stumble forward and almost fall over, but Yoongi caught her just in time.

All her wailing and sobbing had died down, but now she was out cold in Yoongi’s arms. Her head bobbed back against his arm and the hair that had covered her face fell to her sides. Yoongi’s eyes widened as he began to realize why her voice sounded so familiar.

A huge sigh of relief escaped Yoongi’s lips once he finally tossed you onto his bed. You were out cold, your hair was all over the place, and you were drooling a stream from the corner of your mouth.

With much care, he awkwardly changed you out of your clothes, closing his eyes as he did so. He didn’t want to feel like he violated your privacy in any way, but he didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable sleeping the clothes he had assumed you wore for work.

After finally getting you changed in on of his shirts and sweat pants, he tucked you into his bed making sure that you were well-taken care off. You were still sound asleep, nothing seemed like it could wake you up now. With a sad sort of smile, Yoongi pushed away a few strands of hair from your face.

Despite your current state and the fact that he hadn’t seen you in 11 years, you still looked like the same breathtaking person from before.

"I don’t even know why I have to do this, hyung.” Yoongi grumbled into the phone as he spoke with his older brother.

“Yoongi, it’ll be good for you. This whole trainee thing is taking a toll on you and you just need to find a way to....distress.”

“Sending me to a psychiatrist will help me ‘distress’? Sure, hyung, that’s totally how it works.”

“Huh, you know what I mean...we’re all just worried about you. Just please give it a try.”

“Hyung...”

“It’s not only for your sake. Think about mom and dad. They’re worried about you too.” Yoongi was a family man. Despite his previous disagreements with his parents, he’d never want them to fell worried.

“...Fine, but I am just trying it out. If I don’t like it, then I’m done.”

“Thank you, Yoongi. I have to go now, but I’ll call you later, okay?”

“Yeah, whatever. Bye, hyung.”

Yoongi scowled as he shoved his phone into his pocket. The door gave off a jingling sound as it slid open for him, and the woman behind the front desk stood up to greet Yoongi. He was given papers to fill out and was told to wait in the small sitting area. The place was too pistine. White walls, white chairs, white floors, even the flowers that decorated the coffee table was the color white. It felt so airy, so free...and Yoongi hated it. It was just too bright for his liking.

“Min Yoongi-ssi.” The receptionist beckoned, “Dr. Y/L/N will be seeing you now.” He got up and handed the clipboard with the filled out forms to the lady and entered the room he was led to.

The room was entirely different from the openess he felt in the waiting area. It was still light in color with soft beige shade flooring, and a pale blue coating the walls, but it was just more...cluttered. The desk area to the left of the door was haphazardly adorned with piles of files and papers. The bookshelves were filled with different small knick knacks and house plants. The only real spot that was free of such clutter was the sitting area to the right. There was a brown leather chair long enough for any patient to lay their legs on. Beside it was a simple white seat along with a basic night stand and two mugs on it.

You were sat on the white chair with your legs crossed giving a Yoongi a welcoming smile, “Please, have a seat.” You gestured for him to come over and he obediently complied. As he sat down, he softly mumbled frustrating curses that you couldn’t hear. He didn’t want to be here. He thought that therapy was pointless and that he could be using this time to make music. But even Bang Shi Hyuk insisted for him to get consulted, so here he was.

You automatically sensed the kind of attitude he had. The way he didn’t bother to look at you and the way he was reluctant told you that he clearly did not want to be here. Not only that, but you could tell that he was a kind of closed off person, someone who wasn’t one to openly share his experiences even to the closest of friends or family. You had many patients like him...but for some reason, somthing inside you felt like he was special.

“My name is Dr. Y/L/N.” You held out your hand. Yoongi just stared at it and scoffed before adjusting himself into a more comfomfortable spot in his chair.

“I’m Min Yoongi.” He didn’t even look at you.

Looks like it’s gonna take some time for me to crack this one... You thought.

Awkwardly to retracted your hand back onto your lap, “So, since this is our first session why don’t you tell me a bit about yourself.”

Yoongi was about to spit out some smart ass answer when the sound of his hyung’s voice popped into his head, “Think about mom and dad.” He sighed and gave in knowing that he promised his hyung that he’d try for the sake of his family.

He turned to you, and looked at you closely for the first time since the beginning of the session. Your hair was pulled back in a ponytail, a pair of thin framed glasses sat on the bridge of your nose and your smile felt like it could cure blindness. As Yoongi’s eyes dilated at the sight of you, his mind was screaming at him. He could never have imagined becoming so infatuated in one single moment.

“Min Yoongi-ssi? Are you alright?” Your smile faded into a look of conern as you watched Yoongi stare at you. You were worried that maybe he was just too shocked or scared or nervous to even slightly open up in any way, “You don’t need to tell me anything too personal if you’re uncomfortable.”

Yoongi closed his mouth that had been agape and gulped blinking a few times, “Um...no...I’m fine...I can tell you a bit about myself.”

After that first session, Yoongi came to your office on a regular basis every week. He didn’t need to see you weekly, he had just wanted to. Even when his mental state got better and he was told he didn’t need to come o frequently, he’d still go at the same time on the same day every single week. The one hour sessions he had with you was always something he looked forward to. Something about talking with you made him feel liberated. Only with you did he feel completely comfortable taking off his tough exoskeleton revealing his true vulnerable self that he vowed never to reveal.

“I hear you moved in with your new members a little while ago?”

“Yeah, I did. It’s kinda surreal now that I know that we’ll be debuting together.” He smiled with his genuine gummy smile. He sat on the side of his chair, his feet planted onto the floor, his posture hunching forward with his elbows on his knees as he held onto the mug of coffee you had offered him.

“I’m sure it must be very surreal. I mean we’ve been talking about your worries about debuting for quite some time, and now that it actually is gonna happen...I’m so proud of you Yoongi. You’ve come a long way.” He brought the mug to his lips hoping that he could block your view from his reddening cheeks. The way you said his name without the honorifics made butterflies flutter in his stomach.

“But it’s weird living with six other guys. The dorm is very tiny and there’s barely any room. It’s practically impossible to get privacy when you want it.”

“I see. Well, if you are in any need to privacy take a step outside and do those breathing exercises we had established together before.”

The sound of the alarm on your watch sounded and you looked down to surprisingly see just how fast the hour had gone by, “Well, it seems like time is up.” You and Yoongi stood at the same time and he sadly looked down at his feet. He always hated leaving because when he was with you, he felt like his true self.

You walked him to your door, “It was wonderful having you, Yoongi.”

Something like a punch to the gut hit Yoongi. A cold sweat started to form and he curled his hands into fists. This session was his last with you.

He couldn’t bare to think that he wouldn’t be seeing you anymore. He had been consulted by you for a little more than a year, and during all that time he felt like you were someone he could rely on, someone to just completely be free with. Yoongi knew that his sessions with you would come to an end eventually. Now that the permanent lineup of his debuting boy group had been determined, he had become more and more busy. And once he debuts, there would be even less time to do anything else other than practicing and recording nonstop.

Ever since the beginning, he told himself that he couldn’t be with you. He was busy with his own life. Being a trainee was demanding, and he’d have no time for a relationship, but he knew he was just giving himself excuses. The full honest truth was that he was scared. He was scared that you’d reject him. You were a psychiatrist, a pretty popular one at that. You had many patients who came to you, even other famous celebrities and idols consulted you. Unlike you who had a stable job, and a stable life, Yoongi was going to jump out into the industry only hanging by a single thread. Becoming an idol...it wasn’t promising. He couldn’t promise you a stable income or care free life or even just a little bit of his time. He felt like he couldn’t offer you anything to make you happy, and that was what kept him from confessing his feelings.

For one final time, you extended your hand out to give him a final handshake. Yoongi looked at it and remembered that first time when he paid no attention to your welcoming gesture which he regretted. This time, though, he would make it right.

He took your hand and shook it firmly, and too your surprise he unexpectedly pulled you forward and into a hug. For a second, he rested his chin on your shoulder trying to forever engrave your prescence in his mind knowing that this would probably the last he’d ever see you. “ Thank you for everything, Songsaengnim. Thank you, so much.”

Shards of glass stabbed at your head...at least that was what your headache felt like. Your eyes fluttered open allowing the beams of light to hit your irises, soaking you in its warmth. You turned over, laid on your stomach and groaned into the pillow,

Damn...how much did I drink last night?

You took in a deep breath, expecting the smell of the light lavender detergent that usually coated your sheets, but instead, you smelled something else....something that smelled more like pine. Using your arms, you lifted yourself up from your spot on the bed and realized that these bedsheets were black...yours were blue.

What the....where am I?

You looked around. The walls were white decorated with neatly framed graphic art, posters, and photographs. The dresser across from the bed was made of a sleek dark wood that complimented the walls as well as the smooth concrete floor. You peeked to the side of you, a fluffy zebra patterned rug laid right beneath the simple steel framed bed. It was very clean and minimalistic...nothing like your own apartment. You were messy and very unorganized while this place...it was the complete opposite.

That wasn’t the only thing that was different. You felt a draft through your shirt which you thought was weird because the night before you were still in your work clothes: a button down tucked into some khaki pants.The clothes you had on right now definitely wasn’t as uncomfortable as your work clothes. You looked down, examining yourself. You were wearing a loose-fitting black t-shirt and some sweatpants that looked like it hadn’t been from your own selection of clothing.

“Aish...” you mumbled to yourself scratching at your hair frustratingly.

From behind the closed door next to the dresser, you heard the clattering of plates. Panic started to course through your veins and you grabbed the closest thing to you: the lamp on the nightstand. After unplugging the lamp, you took it in your hands lifting it above you and you quietly tiptoed towards the door. Slowly you wrap one of your hands around the silver knob and twisted it ever so quietly, but suddenly another forced from the other side opened it almost hitting you with the door. You screamed, startled by the movement, and swung the lamp down onto whoever opened it. A hand caught your wrist before you could actually hit the figure,

“WHO ARE YOU AND WHY AM I HERE?” You cried trying to pry your arm out the hand that clutched onto it, “LET GO OF ME!”

“Yah, calm down.”

“NO! IF YOU TRY TO HURT ME...I SWEAR...MY...MY BOYFRIEND IS A PROSECUTOR!”

“S-Seonsaengnim, it’s me. Min Yoongi.” You looked up surprised at the mention of the name. Low and behold, you so called “captor” was indeed the Min Yoongi. The Min Yoongi that was part of the internationally famous boy group BTS. The Min Yoongi who had just come back from military service. The Min Yoongi who you had taken care of over a decade before.

“M-Min Yoongi-ssi? What....” He sighed in relief seeing that you finally calmed down. Well, you weren’t really calmed down. It was just the shock that had caused you to freeze, “Um...what am I doing here?

The grip on your wrist was released and he took the lamp from you, “I’ll explain, but first, there’s some hangover soup for you on the table.”

“Oh...okay...” You gulped and reluctantly stepped out of the bedroom as Yoongi made way for you.

The minimalistic theme of Yoongi’s bedroom carried on into the rest of the open plan apartment. The floors were a shiny concrete like material with a few white rugs here and there. The dining table was a deep brown, the couch was a shade of black. Even more framed photos and stylistic graphic art lined the walls. The apartment wasn’t that large, probably good enough to house a young couple.

Behind you, Yoongi stepped out of his bedroom. With a small chuckle, he watched as you stood there wide eyed scanning the entirety of his modest apartment, “Does my place look ugly or something?”

At the sound of his voice, your hunched back straightened and you hid your face with your hands in embarrassment, “N-No...it’s just smaller than what I imagined.”

You scurried over to the table and plopped onto the chair in front of the bowl of piping hot soup. The aroma of the broth tickled your nose and drool began to form at the edges of your dry mouth. As if Yoongi could read your mind, he brought you a glass of water,

“You better drink up. You’re probably dehydrated from all that alcohol.”

“Thank you...” That glass of water was chugged down your throat and the soup had vanished from the white ceramic bowl in a matter of seconds. Once you completed the meal, Yoongi came over and took away the dishes and placed them in the sink before coming back to sit across from you.

The atmosphere was awkward. Here you were sitting in front of a guy who you haven’t seen in years, let alone him being one of your previous patients. Sure, the two of you had been particularly close and he used to be one of your most favorite patients, but that professional kind of relationship was still there. You were a psychiatrist and he was your patient, and nothing would change that.

“So,” Yoongi finally broke the silence, “I guess you’re wondering why you’re in my apartment?” You blinked a couple times and nodded. He explained how a guy was trying to bring you home and how he kicked his ass and how he had to carry you on his back all the way to his place. By the end of the story, a deep pit had grown in your stomach with the feeling of guilt,

“Omo...I’m so sorry I caused you so much trouble...” You brought your hand to your mouth and shut your eyes as you mentally berated yourself.

Stupid, stupid, stupid....you little shit....how could you drink so much...

“It’s okay. It was the least I could do to after you took care of me for the entire last year of my trainee period.”

“Yoongi-ssi, you came to my office to get consultations. Taking care of you was my job. No one’s paying you to care for a stupid drunken crazy lady.” You laughed trying to somehow feel less bad about the situation, “Look, I’ll pay you back somehow...”

“No, it’s fine. Really, don’t worry about it.”

“I can’t just ‘not worry about it’, Yoongi-ssi. For real, I’ll pay you back for sure.”

“You’re really determined, huh?”

“I just don’t like to feel indebted to people, that’s all. If you think of anything that you want then tell me. I can get it for you.”

“Anything?”

You brought your arms over your chest and crossed them in a protective stance, “Not ‘anything’ per say...”

Yoongi chuckled, amused by your assumption, “That’s not what I meant by ‘anything’. Don’t worry, I’m not that kind of man.”

“O-Oh....yeah...I knew that. I was just...setting boundaries...that’s all. So do you know what you want?”

Leaning back in your chair, you stretched your arms out after a long day’s work of consultations and documentation. As if it were now second nature, your eyes glanced down at your idle phone that sat in the corner of your desk. You promised Yoongi that you’d pay him back for the trouble you caused him and he said that he needed time to think of how you’d consolidate him. You gave him your number and told him to text you once he figured it out.

That was a week ago, and no message was ever sent to your phone.

A notification popped up on your phone and you jumped in your chair hoping that you’d finally be able to pay this debt off. Beads of sweat formed as you clutched your hand into a fist after seeing who had messaged you. It wasn’t Yoongi, it was your ex.

[Heartless Bastard]: Y/N txt me back

You scoffed and threw your phone back on the desk. Ever since you caught the unfaithful little prick in bed with none other than your former receptionist on your 1000th day anniversary, you refused to talk to him. The last thing you told him was to “fuck off”.

[Heartless Bastard]: Wut’s the code to ur apartment. U changed it

[Heartless Bastard]: I still hav some of my things in ur place

[Heartless Bastard]: C’mon, Y/N. U know I need my PS4 back

Imaginary fumes were expelled from your ears in anger. Not only did he cheat on you on a very special day, but he didn’t seem to give any fucks when it came to the fact that your mother passed away just 2 days after you found him and that bitch in bed. He knew about how your mother was battling cancer and how her days were numbered. He knew that you were hurting and he knew that he was only one of the very few people you had in your life to help you through hard times. He knew all of that yet he still hurt you, and his stupid messages only confirmed how little you must have meant to him. He didn’t even ask how you were, he just wanted his damned PS4 back.

Your ex was just a straight up terrible guy, but for some reason, you just couldn’t forget about him. You still kept his phone number, and you didn’t throw away the drawer of his belongings at your apartment. On social media, you still had his post notifications turned on. Even when he posted a picture with that bitch who called his new girlfriend, you still couldn’t bring yourself to completely forget about him. Maybe it was because you still did remember the happy times with him when he did care.

You wanted to forget about the happy memories you had with him so that you could finally let go of him. That’s why you turned to alcohol. By no means were you an alcoholic. Before the breakup, you rarely even drank and even now you didn’t drink that much to be very honest. The problem was, was that you had low tolerance because of how rarely you used to drink before. After two drinks, your control over yourself would be thrown completely out the window, but knowing that didn’t stop you.

After you made sure that you had finished all your work, you decided to wrap things up for the night. On your way out, you bid your current receptionist a good night and told her to carefully lock up the place before she went home. She just nodded and looked at you with worried eyes. By the drained look on your face, she could tell just where you were heading: the bar.

“Yeah, I’m on my way home now, Jin-hyung.....no.....hyung, I am not a child....yes, I remember how to get home.......hyung.....okay, hyung you can stop worrying about me.....yeah, yeah, bye.” Quickly Yoongi jabbed at his phone hanging up on Jin.

Yoongi was on his way back from the studio after recording a few things for his upcoming solo album. Fans had been anticipating the release of one ever since he came back from the military, and he had been working hard to complete it. He was nearing the street where he remembered he had rescued you when he saw you in the near distance. From the looks of it, it seemed like you were going to the bar again. Before you could reach the door, Yoongi called out for you,

“Songsaengnim!” You were startled by the sudden shout and was surprised to see Yoongi running towards you.

“Y-Yoongi-ssi?” He was barely out of breath by the time came to your side, “What are you doing here?”

“I’m just on my way home from the studio...it’s nearby.”

“Oh, I see.” You really didn’t know how to respond. It was quite awkward bumping into him again in front of the bar, “Um...well I’ll just get going then. Oh, and I’m still going to repay you and I’m still waiting for your text. So think of something soon, okay?”

“Wait.” He grabbed your arm just as you were going to walk past him, “Are you going to drink again?” You looked into his eyes and you could really see a sense of concern

“Maybe...”

“After what happened last time, I don’t think you should be drinking without a friend.”

A sigh left your lips as you gently remove his hand from your arm, “Look, Yoongi-ssi. I appreciate the concern, but we’re both grown adults. I can take care of myself.”

“After last week? Sure, I totally can see that you can take care of your drunken self.”

As much as you wanted to argue with him, you knew that he was right.

Yoongi noticed your frustration, and he could tell that something was bothering you...bothering you enough to make you want to drink, “I’ve got an idea.”

The couch was soft and fluffy despite the rough look of the material it was made up of.

“Wine or beer?” From across the decently-sized studio apartment, Yoongi called for you from his kitchen. In one hand he held a bottle of red wine and in his other, he held a can of beer. Were you feeling classy tonight? ....not really.

“Beer.” He nodded and put the wine bottle back on the mini wine rack that sat on his counter.

The cold touch of the can sent a shiver down your spine, but the golden liquid felt so refreshing as you gulped a sip down. To the right of the couch, Yoongi sat in a chair watching you intently without even taking a swing from his own can.

“Yoongi-ssi, you invited me to have a drink, not to babysit me.”

He shrugged, “You never know when you’ll go berserk again. And just to clarify, me inviting you over for a drink doesn’t count towards that debt you owe me.”

“Wow, look at you. Weren’t you the one who insisted that ‘it’s okay’, ‘you don’t have to pay me back’?” You shook your head and laughed as you downed another gulp of beer. You let out a satisfying “ah” enticing Yoongi to take at least a sip from his can which worked.

It was quiet for a moment before you spoke up, “Uh...it’s kinda awkward isn’t it?”

“It’s only awkward if you say it’s awkward, Songsaegnim.”

“Looks like some things never change. You’re still a smart ass.” Your gaze was trained to the floor as you laughed yet again.

“Hey, are you supposed to be talking about patients like that?” A gummy smile arose from his lips.

“No, but you’re no longer a patient of mine, Yoongi-ssi.”

“Touche.” It became quiet again.

It was nice, though, the silence. It allowed you to really have a gander and Yoongi. You couldn’t lie to yourself when you first met him eleven years ago. He was attractive and talented and you got to know him through your consultations...it was safe to say you had formed a bit of a crush. Despite your own feelings, you suppressed it. He was a patient of yours back then, and he was considerably younger. Aside from that, he had his own life and his own problems to deal with. Even if it was your job to provide him with therapy, you weren’t close to him like that and you never thought you’d ever be able to have that kind of relationship with him.

Now, eleven years later, here you were having a drink at his apartment. Looking at him now, he had grown up so much within the last decade. Not only did his looks become even more dashing, but the way he carried himself and just the aura around him...it seemed more mature.

Your heart thumped in your chest. These thoughts that whirled in your mind...it must have brought back the feelings you had so carefully locked away. But you pushed them back down and stomped on them internally. Despite your inner turmoil, you managed to keep still. You were always like this: an expert at hiding your feelings.

As if it were a blessing sent from heaven, a knocking on Yoongi’s door pierced through the awkwardness between the two of you. Yoongi excused himself to get the door,

“Oh, Jin-hyung. What’s up?”

“The three maknaes ordered some chicken at their place. Want some?”

Yoongi thought about it. Eating with a group of people would probably be less awkward for the two of you, “Alright. Do you mind if I bring a friend?”

“I’m sure the others wouldn't mind. Plus, since Namjoon and Hoseok left, Taehyung probably accidentally ordered too much out of habit.”

“Okay, see you on the roof.”

“Also, bring the beer.”

“Got it.”

You didn’t hear any of the conversation Yoongi had with Jin so you were confused when he started to grab his coat and the stuff a plastic bag full of all the cans of beer he had in his refrigerator.

“Are you going somewhere?”

Yoongi peeked from behind the door of the fridge, “Get ready, we’re going somewhere.”

You hesitantly stood up and collected your things curious about where you’d be heading, “Is it far?”

“No,” He was all ready with two plastic bags in hand as he stood by the now open front door, “We’re going to the roof.”

You slipped on your shoes, walked out and waited for him in the hallway as he locked his door, “The roof? What’s on the roof?”

“Jimin, Taehyung, and Jungkook’s place.”

“What? I thought you guys lived together...”

“You think all seven of us could fit in my tiny apartment?”

“Well, I don’t know...”

“It’s okay, you probably wouldn’t know. It’s not like we announce these things to the public. We actually don’t live together anymore. Although, we all still live in the same apartment complex, and we’re all practically neighbors, so it really doesn’t feel like I moved out to be completely honest.”

“Oh, I see. So you live alone then?”

“Yeah, I do. The four of us older members live separately in our own apartments. The younger ones still wanted to room together, so they got the house on the rooftop. Oh, watch your step.” Yoongi guided you as you reached the end of the narrow hall. There were steep metal stairs that led up to the roof unit. He made sure to watch you from behind making sure you didn’t fall like a true gentleman.

As you climbed the stairs, you could see a faint glow at the top and hear the noise of laughing and screaming. Behind you, Yoongi let out a sigh,

“Those rascals never change.”

You could see what he meant when you finally reached the top. Taehyung and Jungkook were running around while Jimin was yelling at them to be careful.

“JEON JUNGKOOK, GIVE IT BACK!” Taehyung jumped over the chairs and stools that littered the rooftop as he chased the maknae.

“Yah! It’s dangerous to do that on the roof!” Jimin was worriedly looking back and forth between the Taehyung and Jungkook. The younger laughed as he ran around with some sort of silver chain in his hand. Yoongi, who had quickly grown tired of the fiasco unfolding before him, managed to snatch the chain from Jungkook’s grip as he ran past you and Yoongi. You only got a small glance of the thing in Yoongi’s hand, but you knew immediately just how expensive it must’ve been since a Gucci charm was dangling from the chain.

“Yah, what is this thing?” Yoongi held it up by its end and waved it around. Taehyung, whose eyes became wide and twinkly, became worried as his hyung carelessly handled his bracelet,

“Yoongi-hyung! Don’t just wave it around like that!” He came and took it from Yoongi, “It’s a one of a kind, engraved silver diamond encrusted wristlet. Only those who model for Gucci get them.”

It was difficult to keep your jaw closed. You had almost forgotten Gucci’s newly appointed model was standing right before you. Taehyung noticed you gaping at him and looked at you curiously,

“I didn’t know hyung was bringing a lady friend over.”

“LADY FRIEND?” Jungkook and Jimin joined Taehyung.

Yoongi sighed and took one step in front of you, “This is Y/N-songsaengnim. She’s an...old friend.”

Jungkook, the only one who dared to taunt Yoongi, came up to his hyung and nudged at his side with his elbow while whispering, “Old friend? What kind of old friend? Or is she an old crush or something hmmm?”

Yoongi only gave the pleasure of jabbing the maknae sharply in his gut before leading you to the table set up in front of the rooftop house.

The unit was humble, nothing too extravagant. The roof was painted a bright green and a long lunch table sat on the deck in front of the home. Exposed light bulbs hanging from wires were strong along the railings and overtop the roof from poles. It was really like a scene you’d find in a typical kdrama.

Jin was nowhere to be found, but the three youngest members had no problem entertaining you. Once you took a seat at the wooden table the three immediately hit you with a barrage of questions, mostly having to do with how you and Yoongi knew each other. Over a can of beer, you enjoyed making conversation with them. Despite the age gap, you felt right at home talking with them.

Yoongi quietly sat as you interacted with Jungkook, Taehyung, and Jimin. Watching you smile and laugh...it made him almost forget about the emotional, tear-filled, blabber of a mess you were one week ago.

Right now, you were the Y/N that Yoongi knew when he was a trainee. You were poised and elegant...the kind of person who sat with their shoulders held high, yet very amiable. You were the woman that he fell in love with. He was so used to seeing you in this light that he never really considered that you had times when you were down. You helped him during his down days, and now he wanted to help you.

The sound of laughter came from down the stairs and Jin slowly made his way to the top. In his hand was the bag of chicken that had been just delivered, but behind him was another person: a man who looked to be older than Jin. Yoongi, Jungkook, Taehyung and Jimin all rose from their seats leaving you at the table alone,

“Oh guys, I didn’t know that he’d be in town, but this is an old university sunbae of my older brother.”

The man was dressed in an expensive looking coat and a button up shirt tucked into some navy pleated pants. The aura around him displayed nothing but professionalism, but his smilely expression gave away his seemingly light personality,

“You make me sound old.”

“What? I’m only stating the truth. You know, this hyung of mine, he’s a famous prosecutor now.”

“Yah, Jin-ah, now you’re going to make me blush.” The man smiled and lightly poked at Jin to make him stop gushing about him to the guys,

“Omo...aren’t you Ha Jae Hee?” It took him a little while, but Taehyung seemed to recognize him: Ha Jae Hee, the nationally famous prosecutor Ha Jae Hee.

“Why yes, yes I am.” He chuckled humbly, but you knew that he was just waiting to be showered with compliments. That’s how he always was, you would know.

You stood from your chair and took your belongings before making your way to Yoongi. Lightly you tapped him on the shoulder, “Hey, I think I’ll be going now. Remember to text me when you think of how I can repay you.”

Jae Hee noticed you shying away behind Yoongi, “Y/N? Is that you?”

Everyone looked at you the moment he said your name, and just like that, your poised composure fell as you ran away.

A/N: this was only supposed to be one part...but then it got too long...so this will be a 2 part scenario

Gif not mine, cred to the owner

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aviationfiction · 8 years ago

Text

Thoughts on Seven and Eight;

Okay so why can I totally relate to when Autumn and Andreas first met? I’ve had moments like that when you look at somebody or they look at you and you just feel this sense of beauty surround you. It’s like a moment of vulnerability that hits you like a ton of bricks and stops you cold. However, I’m noticing quickly that Andreas seems to blame Autumn for his own lack of self control. He knew it was wrong to be messing with a girl so young (despite her legality), yet he’s making it seem like she was the puppetmaster in everything. It’s a bit of a cop out if I’ve ever seen one. He’s a grown man and should take responsibility for what he decided to do. He gave her his number, not the other way around, so I find issue with him shaming her when they argued in the past.

Absolutely. A lot of us can relate to that moment when you see someone and sparks just fly. It’s not just unrealistic movie scenario or some romance novel. It happens. She set her eyes on that man it just shifted everything for her. It had never happened before, so the hunger to pursue this man who evoked so much emotion and even lust with her, is absolutely understandable. We all tend to explore what makes us curious or we try to understand what caused the curiosity in the first place. The thing is, he places so much blame upon her, when he too decided to explore his own curiosity. The attraction was there on his end as well. I’m sure Autumn wasn’t the only woman who admired him or even pursued him, so why’d he chose her to respond to? He did so because he wanted to explore her as well. She didn’t put peer pressure on him nor did she seduce him. She may have been young minded and there’s no denying that he did play into that, which caused her to fall even harder. His excuses are invalid and yet another terrible depiction of her from his end. They were in it together. He may have no had feelings that were as strong as hers, but his feelings were there.

It really pained me when Autumn couldn’t answer Dr. Jill’s question about what she felt Andreas loved about her - I just feel so bad for her and it kind of upsets me how she really revolved her life around this man only for him to desert her. I want so much more for her because I know there’s so much more. The fact that she even blames herself for this separation is just heartbreaking. And I feel even worse that I got Shane and Andreas confused - now that I know who Shane was I can see why she’s even more within her sorrow. Losing a family member can be devastating, but he seemed to be so kind and caring and attentive, it was a greater loss with that in mind. But I appreciate Glen being there for her on Shane’s death anniversary, though. It reinforces the idea of the connection that has formed between he and Autumn.

She lost track of that. Slowly but surely their marriage and love began to dismantle and she couldn’t figure out what to do or what it is about herself that he loves so much that she may be able to enhance in an effort to make him stay. When your husband mentally checks out of your marriage and then eventually, physically does so, that’s going to take a major hit at your self esteem. Autumn began to wonder what didn’t she do correctly. Is she no longer attractive? Is the sex bad? Is the appeal no longer there? Is she not smart enough? Interesting enough? It became an “what did I do wrong” state of mind for her and it’s still that way.

Losing her brother was literally her losing her best friend. Heather has that title but her brother came before Heather in that aspect. They were inseparable and closer than ever. She went to him for and about everything and vise versa. Losing him left her devastated and she lost him in the midst of her losing her marriage. It broke her.

And I wanna be so mad at Issac but he didn’t tell one lie while they were talking. This is one of those moments where is brutal honesty is actually needed. Autumn might just have to bite that bullet and get a lawyer because the odds are too stacked against her. With the world we live in she’d have nothing without some type of degree - she’d have to stay home and get more money for tuition if she went back to school anyway. I want to be upset that Issac is being so crass on such a sensitive day for her, but I want my baby to be well. She might need a kick in the ass or two and I see that Issac is going to be the one to give it to her. I know she feels offended by what he said but she’s gotta see things for what they are - Andreas will leave her with nothing if she doesn’t get in tune with her reality.

Issac does drop gems on her every now and then because he wants her to figure herself out and to find some direction. Autumn lost herself into a man and now she’s trying to claw her way out of that hole. She doesn’t have anything. She left school, she became a housewife, and she didn’t do anything within those six years to put herself in a better position all for the sake of her own individuality. She became stagnant all for the sake of being there for Andreas and now she’s left by herself to figure it out. She’s going to have to start over and he’s trying to push into doing so in the proper manner. If she doesn’t have a successful settlement with Andreas, she’s going to run into financial trouble unless her family carries her until she can afford to do so herself. We’ll just have to see how that works out.

Autumn’s problem with Issac is, he’s living in a glass house and throwing stones. He may be successful and financially set well beyond the needed means, but he has his flaws and he’s done some things that aren’t his proudest moments much like she has. She doesn’t throw that in his face the way he throws her marital issues and lack of success into hers.

Also, can Matt be punched in his gotdamned mouth? He is so annoying and such a snide little thing, I cannot stand him at all. At least Camille is hip to the game, although I can’t entirely give her props because she allows it. Then again, there’s probably no real scolding of the St. James men. They have vicious tongues as we’ve already seen time and time again. As for this ‘act’ that Dante speaks of, I really want to know what the real situation is. It could possibly have to do with infidelity or a question of paternity, but I’m not entirely sure yet. I’m just curious the more time this family spends together.

Matthew is his father’s son. They’re very much a like in the way that they handle things and the way that they speak to Dante. Dante’s the poised one of the family. He’s nothing like any of them personality wise, which is why he often feels like the black sheep. This is also why he tends to keep in mind what separates them and makes their family so damn dysfunctional.

But I see Autumn went ahead and took the job, which is a good thing - it could give her experience and help her maybe move up in the company if she can impress Issac enough with her performance! Of course, there’s the tiny part of me who’s just glad she gets to be around Dante. And I KNEW she had something similar to a stroke. But I got so sad reading about Dante’s uncle and grandmother. So much familial loss and it seems to be repeating himself. Dante has to take care of himself or he might suffer a similar fate. But I like how he tried to make Autumn feel more comfortable and that he could tell she was nervous and apprehensive. Most people wouldn’t even care. I’m so excited now. I want them to be friends so bad.

Yeah, she needs to get her feet wet and get back out in the world. She could use the experience and she needs to do something to get herself together. She spent two years in recovery because of what she went through health wise and because of the death of her brother. She needs to figure out a lot more about this thing we call life.

Dante’s so in tune with what it means to just be a human being. He doesn’t use the power that he has to intimidate or go against people. He never wants people to feel inferior to him which is why he treats the people he encounters with high regard and respect, unless they don’t give him the same in return. Just because Autumn works for him doesn’t mean that he should treat her as if she’s beneath him or as this disposable employee. He wanted her to be comfortable and settled around him. He didn’t want her to feel like she had to watch her step, watch what she says, or be very mindful of how she behaves around him. He just wanted her to feel as normal as he wants to feel.

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