#stupid bitch in the other lane was swerving into my lane and instead of me hitting her i hit the mountain wall

[coocoobananaz]

Not sure if anyone has added this but i'm gonna list some emergency items that i keep in my car for situations like a blown tired or really anything under the sun

(mind you i travel a whole lot so some of these might not be necessary for most people)

• flashlight (keep the batteries out of it so they don't corrode or just drain)*

•gloves (something very durable, if yiu have to deal with glass or metal shards you do not need cuts or blisters)*

•multi-tool*

•knife (for your own protection and for any cutting that's needed)*

•jumper cables*

•hand towel*

•road flares (especially if you are like me and are out in the middle of nowhere a lot)

•tire gauge*

•mini fire extinguisher

•first aid kit (if you take any medication, pack some extras in there too!)*

•tow rope

i put stars* next to stuff that i think you should definitely keep in your care for emergencies. this isn't an extensive list and i'm pretty sure im missing a few things that i carry with me but ya. again most of this is just cause i travel and need to be prepared

some of these might be obvious for some of you but let me tell ya. i know for sure that half my friends probably dont even have a flashlight or first aid in there cars

in the same spirit as those posts reminding you to drink some water and take your meds:

if you have a car, when’s the last time you checked your spare tire? because i know at least two people who’ve recently discovered that they couldn’t actually access their spare because they’d misplaced the necessary tool or some other thing. check your spare tire!! make sure you’ll be able to use it when you need it!!!

[writerofblocks]

*sneaks this in* Bridget/Troy - things you said with no space between us (or) things you didn’t say at all

This was. From a long ass time ago. BUT ITS FINISHED NOW SO IM POSTING IT.

Sleepless in Stilwater

“Three.”

“Hmm?”

Troy held up three fingers. “That’s the third time you’ve yawned in as many minutes. And I’d be okay with that if you weren’t, you know, doin’ seventy on a forty-five mile an hour highway.”

Bridget broke eye contact with the road long enough to give him a sidelong glare that would wither a lesser man. “I’m not the only one doing their best Fast and the Furious impression out there,” she irritably shot back. A sports car rushed past them with an ear splitting squeal that made Troy jump, and she gestured at it. “See?”

Troy sunk back into the leather seat of the [insert car model here], returning her glare with one of his own. “That’s not the point and you know it. The point is I’d rather not end up a red smear on the pavement because my wheel man fell asleep at the goddamn wheel.”

“Oh, is that all I-” Her mouth cracked open into another face-splitting yawn; she barely managed to hide it behind her hand. “-all I am to you? Your wheel man?”

“Four. And don’t give me that crap, you’re the one that called dibs on driving.”

“I only called dibs cause you drive like a grandma on a broken scooter.”

“You mean I drive the speed limit.”

Bridget ignored him. “Besides,” she said, swerving around a semi-truck sharp enough to make him grab at the handle above the passenger window, “I’ve got places to be after this. Julius called me about a-” she let out another yawn. “-about a storage place, said the Rollerz keep their best wheels there.”

A smirk crossed Troy’s face. He waited until Bridget’s attention was on him before he held up five fingers and wiggled them. It was worth it to see the way her eyebrows dropped into a sharp V before she jabbed a finger in his direction. “Don’t you fucking say it.”

“Don’t need to say anything.”

The one finger swiftly flipped upward into giving him the bird as she returned her attention to the highway. “You’re lucky I don’t throw you out on the highway this second,” she growled, though a smile playing at the corners of her lips undercut the hostile tone.

Troy chuckled, then settled back in his seat enough to look out the car window. Stilwater was a shithole on a good day, but the oranges, purples, and blues of sunset colored the world into something more palpable to take in. Light bounced off the towering buildings of Downtown, harsh edges and cold, reflective glass softening under the gentle touch of twilight. But you could only watch buildings whiz by for so long. His gaze, as it so often did in these rare quiet moments, returned to her.

As much as he bitched about it, there was one thing he didn’t mind about Bridget being the go-to driver. It allowed him time to just… take her in. Look openly, without other people seeing and giving him crap for being lovestruck. Without her giving him crap for being lovestruck, because even after the months they’ve been together she still shied away from open affection more often than not. She cuts the sentiment with a joke, or by teasing him, or some combination of both. He doesn’t mind it- he wonders sometimes if he’s a glutton for punishment, given his career path and choice of romantic partner, but he doesn’t mind being so. Not with her around.

So he looks at her. The way her eyelids keep fluttering slightly, only for her to stubbornly hold them back open. The dark circles he’d think were black eyes if they weren’t only on her lower eyelids. She’s tapping her fingers on the steering wheel, jiggling the leg not in charge of the pedals. Any motion to tell her body it isn’t time to sleep yet. He’d make a joke about looking in a mirror if seeing it didn’t bother him so much.

That was the downside of being undercover. You got real good at seeing things people tried to hide. He had to say something. He opened his mouth, and...

“For real, though. You look like shit. Have you slept at all?”

And of course something stupid came out. Miracle of miracles, she scoffed instead of chucking him onto the highway. “Bold move to question my sleeping habits. How many used coffee mugs are on your desk again?”

Troy chose to ignore her words. “Look man, just-” He sighed, running a hand down his face. “-go home. Take a shower or something. Get some food. You need a break, Bridge.”

Bridget’s face was impassive, staring straight forward as she shifted the car into the express lane. “Can’t. Julius-”

Enough of this. “Did he tell you to do it tonight?” he asked, cutting her off before she could restate whatever bullshit task Julius had given her to do on top of everything else he’d piled on her. For fuck’s sake, sometimes it felt like she was carrying the whole gang by herself in between the tasks Julius sent down the pipeline and the duties she’d taken on herself to perform.

The glare she gave him could melt permafrost. “No.”

“Then do it tomorrow when you’re fresh.”

“I’m fresh enough,” she bit out. “You’re worrying way too much-”

The words burst from his chest before he could vet them. “I’m worrying the right goddamned amount for someone watching a person he cares about take way more shit on than she needs to.”

Bridget’s eyes went wide, whatever she’d been about to say dying in her open mouth.

Troy ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know if this is some macho attempt to prove yourself or some shit, but you don’t have to do this. Slow down. Take care of yourself. Just- please.”

She was quiet for several minutes, eyes locked on the road as she slowed to match the speed of traffic. He’d almost given up on getting a response before she spoke again. “I won’t go to the storage place tonight. It’s-” She swallowed. “It’s late. Rollerz’ll be getting the cars out for races by now, there’s bound to be way more hanging around than during the day.”

He knows those justifications. Her saying he’s right without saying it directly. When she spoke again, her voice was careful. “Got anything else going on later?”

Manila folders scattered across a coffee table, a rapidly growing pile of cigarette stubs as he figures out the best way to ruin his friend’s lives-

“Nothing that can’t wait.”

When Bridget had first joined the Saints, Troy had thought her unreadable. It was easier now to read her once he knew what to look for. Her rubbing her thumb against the side of her index finger- something self soothing. Bouncing her leg- buying time to think. The lift of her head to look at him directly- she was searching him, weighing his reaction. “Feel like staying over?”

Always. “If you want me to.”

The tension in Bridget’s shoulders dissipated, and she gave him a small smile. “Of course I do, that’s why I asked,” she replied, punching him in the arm. “Dumbass.”

===

Rain tapped an improv jazz rhythm on the glass of Bridget’s bedroom window, and Troy couldn’t sleep. Blame the cigarettes, the coffee, the crippling anxiety and paranoia. The cause ultimately didn’t matter, the effect was the digital clock on Bridget’s bedside table hit 2AM and he was no closer to falling asleep than he was when he originally lay down. Bridget, though. Bridget had been asleep the moment her head touched the pillow. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel a moment of satisfying vindication.

He rolled over, resting a hand on her arm.

It was strange to see Bridget asleep. If Bridget was awake, she was moving- tapping her foot, shifting from side to side. She bounced her heels if a meeting went too long, rattling the table until he placed a hand on her thigh to get her to stop (among… other reasons). If she chose to talk, she talked with her whole body, her hands dancing in the air. Even when she was seated and still, a part of her still seemed to tremble with energy, anticipation and eagerness. Not now, though. Now she laid there, the rise and fall of her chest the only motion. Light drifted through the cracks in the blinds from the streetlight outside her window, resting softly on the freckles on her cheeks.

His hand traveled down her arm, into the dip of her waist, over the swell of her hip bone. Bridget wasn’t a paper-thin waif by any stretch of the imagination, but without the bulk of her sweatshirt to fill out her usual silhouette, she looked… smaller. More vulnerable. Which was ridiculous, he’d seen what she could do with a gun- hell, forget a gun, he’d seen the havoc she created with her fists alone- but somehow. Somehow that veneer was stripped away in the hazy orange light of a half-dead lamppost bulb, and the only thing left was a tired twenty-one year old who needed a hell of a lot more sleep than she was getting.

Christ. She really was twenty-one, wasn’t she? The face she wore around the other Saints made her seem older than that. It was all harsh angles and stony silences, only a twitch of a smile or a slight furrow in her brow betraying the emotions running electric through her veins. The uncertainty there at the beginning had long since suffocated under a rap sheet he hated to tally up in his head. It was a thing with no remorse, and little room for mercy.

And yet that face was forgotten in her sleep. The ever present tension slackened, releasing that hardened shell and letting it fall away in favor of something softer. She denied the existence of that softness, but he knew. He was allowed to know, he realized, warmth settling in his chest at the thought. Of all people, she’d offered that gift to him.

And it’s a gift you’ll lose soon.

The thought cut a sharp line through the haze, frozen against the warmth of the moment. Troy stilled, his hand resting on her waist. Somewhere in between the light on her cheeks and the slow, steady rise and fall of her chest, he’d forgotten what would be waiting for them. That as much as he tried to dodge and delay, the day Chief Monroe decided it was time to pull the plug on the Saints was coming sooner than later- and Bridget, ambitious and unknowing, was only hastening that end.

His sigh was frayed, thin and trailing off into nothing. This relationship was never going to last forever. He’d known that going in, had willingly condemned them both to heartbreak, but it hadn’t mattered then. That future had drowned in the affection in her gaze. The warmth of her laughter. The spark of her lips on his. But now…

Troy cupped Bridget’s cheek, pressing his forehead gently against hers as he closed his eyes. “I’m gonna miss you,” he whispered. He had to say it, just once. Even if she didn’t hear it- since she would never hear it- it needed to escape before it withered under his held tongue. It needed to exist, just for a moment, all his regrets pouring into that simple, weighted phrase.

At some point she’d wake up, either through him gently shaking her or her own merit. Either way she’d grouch at him for not waking her up sooner, blinking blearily at him in a hopelessly endearing way she’d punch him for if he ever mentioned it. She’d whip the covers off of both of them, laughing when he protests. Showers would follow, breakfast of some sort, and time would continue to march forward to that inevitable, heartbreaking point.

But that was a future they didn’t have to face yet. For now, they could stay like this- curling into each other, breath to breath and at peace.

For now, he’d save her a rude awakening.

[achtung-attitude]

“One more time!” he shouts after climbing out from softened to solid ground, “I know I can get her if we try one more time!”

“That won’t be necessary,” Trish replies, climbing out after him. The ground reverts to its original state. Her hair is a mess after flying through the air.

“What do you mean not necessary?! We can catch her if you use that trampoline move again!”

“That method of pursuit is far too risky. A single miscalculation will result in us becoming pancakes on the sidewalk. Besides--”

“So what the hell else can we do?!” he shouts, grinding his teeth. He advances on her, looming over her, getting in her face. “How else are we going to reach her?! Are we just gonna stand here like idiots while one of your fans dies?!!”

Trish’s eyes narrow. Her eyes spring wide open again when SPICE GIRL spontaneously materializes and hovers over Kilo. It prods his chest with one finger and stares him down. “YOU WERE TOLD TO HAVE FAITH. ARE YOU SO FULL OF SUSPICION AND HATE YOU ARE WITHOUT REASON?”

“Wha?...” Kilo mutters, bewildered but still on guard.

“WE KNOW YOU. WE HAVE KNOWN MEN LIKE YOU BEFORE. THOSE WHO HAVE MADE AN ENEMY OF THE WHOLE WORLD. BELIEVING IN NOTHING, BELIEVED IN BY NOBODY. A CLOSED-OFF SOUL, RIPE SOIL FOR CULTIVATING EVIL. JUST LIKE FATHER.”

“SPICE GIRL, enough!” Trish yells, “you’ve said too much!”

Her Stand goes silent, before receding back into Trish’s essence. Kilo stands his ground, but a chill runs up his spine nonetheless. That was not bluster, he is sure. He does not know what the Stand meant, but he senses there was no lie in it all the same. There is anger in Trish’s eyes. Hatred. Fear and pain and regret, like baubles of light floating in a green pool. She sighs.

“Mi scusa. My Stand can be rather outspoken… Your doubt in me... is not unfounded. You haven’t known me longer than half an hour. But I ask you to trust me now and believe when I say I will do everything in my power to save Shizuka. But how can either of us do anything for her if we are too damaged to even help ourselves?

“That’s why we must change tack. Rather than catching up to her, we must learn where the Stand is taking her. And now we have a trail of follow.”

Declaring this, she raises her left hand. Tied around her index finger, what appears to be an ultra thin thread of gold waves about in the warm evening wind. Kilo follows the path of it, and sees it leads up into the sky. In the night sky, he cannot pick Shizuka out anymore, but he realizes that the thread must lead right to her.

“This is living hair,” Trish declares, “the move earlier wasn’t intended to catch Shizuka, but for this. I softened this hair and its cuticle. It will stretch endlessly, no matter how far she flies. With this, we can know exactly where she is going.”

“... Like Theseus in the Labyrinth. Finding his way with a golden thread…” Kilo murmurs, backing off at last.

Trish smiles at him, producing a comb seemingly out of nowhere to brush her hair back into place. “Have you faith now, Kilo Staples?”

                                                       ---

“Let go of me you rejected Muppet freak!” Shizuka yells. She struggles and kicks in NYT’s grip, which so far has proven to be unbreakable. It is cold up there, and difficult to breath. The wind whip her hair into her face and bring tears to her eyes. It carries her by her arms, its claws cold and metallic, its joint creaking audibly. “SUNAVA BITCH!!!” she shouts, swinging like a acrobat to deliver a kick to the Stand’s forehead, but only for her foot to phase through.

“It’s not letting go…! Regular Stand rules still apply… It can touch me, but I can’t damage it in return…!”

She lets her foot swing back down, and looks up, to see the moon. As far up as they are, she can make it out, even against the glare of the streetlights below. ACHTUNG BABY reaches out and takes hold of the light rays streaming down from it. “See how you like this!” Shizuka shouts, as Achtung Baby delivers a fist cracking into NYT’s face, followed by a flash of light.

The grip on her right arm is released, and she begins to grin in triumph. But then NYT’s right hand blurs and she feels a stinging pain in her neck. Coughing, she looks down and see one of the Stand’s syringe fingers sticking into her neck. The fluid press injects some dark pinkish fluid into her veins.

Instantly, drowsiness like a wave crashes over her brain and her vision goes blurry and dark. “Aghh… Son of a… bitchhh…! Whadidyudoo…?!” Her speech slurring, she soon goes limp. NYT resumes its grip on both arms and continues to carry her away.

                                                      ---

“Did you a favor, dumbass,” sneers Cone at his laptop screen. “What were you even trying to do, stupid piece of bait? Don’t you know what’d happen even if you could get loose?” He raises his hand, then lowers it, waving it side to side. “Wheeeeeeeew, KERSPLAT!!” he exclaims, slapping his open palm on the dusty ground, then laughing grimly.

“Ok, enough of that. Back to the main problem. Trish and this blackie. How do I get him away from her? How dare he get his stink all over her like that?” Grumbling to himself, he opens a tab on his laptop, keeping the footage of NYT in the corner of the screen. He pulls up a road map of Los Angeles.

After a moment of studying the map, he makes his decision, and picks up a remote controller, slightly heavier than a regular one but with the same shape as a standard video game controller. “Follow the drone, NEED YOU TONIGHT. Follow this path,” he mutters at his screen, manipulating the joysticks.

                                                       ---

Finding a vehicle proved even easier than expected for Kilo and Trish, as they simply approach a parked motorcycle. Soon enough, Kilo gets to work hotwiring it.

“Is a motorcycle a good idea? Couldn’t we find a car?” Trish asks as Kilo gets the engine started.

“This your first time in LA, lady? Traffic can be a nightmare, even at this time of night. No, what we need is something more…”

“Maneuverable?”

“Right.” At that moment, Kilo revs up the engine as he gets on. “Now that’s what I’m talking about…”

“I didn’t know you had such a unique skillset, Mr. Staples,” she notes as he revs up the vehicles.

“Well, Miss Una, I grew up in Compton. This shit is what we had instead of Nintendo.”

With her arms wrapped around his waist, Kilo speeds off. They thunder down the semi-populated streets, swerving between lanes, at times running up onto the sidewalk and terrifying pedestrians. Around Trish’s right index finger is tied the yellow hair that leads them to Shizuka. She reacts suddenly. “They’re turning! Left! They’re losing altitude!”

“Got it,” Kilo says, peeling into the next lane. He brakes, tires screaming, then turns again, drifting back onto the sidewalk. Glancing for a moment at his surroundings, he barely avoids ramming into a woman clad in blue, stepping out of a building with with white marble steps. The motorcycle screech to a halt and swerves around to avoid her. Kilo casts a glance at the hapless woman he nearly hit, and notices for the first time her silver badge, and that her navy-blue clothes are, of course, a uniform. “Shit,” he mutters, as he revs up and speeds away from the building that is obviously a police station.

“D-d… Dispatch…” the cop stammers, coming to her senses, before rushing to a nearby squad car and shouting into the radio, “Dispatch, come in. This is Muñoz at Santa Monica Pier Substation! There’s- there’s a 23103 in progress. Suspects are a… African American male and Caucasian female, they’re driving on the sidewalk!”

“Copy that, Santa Monica,” says the metallic voice from the other end of the radio, “back-up is en-route.”

The LAPD work quickly. Within five minutes of the call going out, two squad cars are already on Kilo and Trish’s tail. “For fuck’s sake!” Kilo complains.

“Oh it’s two squad cars!” Trish chides, “Who hasn’t been chased by the police at least once in their-  There it is…!”

Kilo sees it, his eyes fixed forward. NEED YOU TONIGHT, directly in front of them and matching their speed, dangling the limp Shizuka in front of it. It swerves into a dark alley, and Kilo swerves after it, leaning close to the asphalt . They burn through the alley, disturbing the homeless people there. Once back on the main road, NYT remains where it is, tantalizingly close yet just out of reach.

“Damn thing’s taunting us…” Kilo grumbles, “To hell with it, I’m gonna grab her!” He sits up, releasing the handlebars. SATURN BARZ hands appear in their place.

“What? Kilo no, listen to me!” Trish says, “It’s trying to goad you, make you slip up!”

“I can’t just leave her when she’s right in front of me!”

“You can! You have to!” Trish points at the misshapen thing. “It’s fast, and it must have impressive range, but it hasn’t attempted to attack us! It must be a long range type with no combat ability. Our best chance of saving Shizuka is if we find the user and put him down!”

“What if it decides to drop her before we get to him?!”

“If the user was going to do that, they would have already! The key here is to remain calm. If you lose your cool, then it’s all over. For the both of you.”

Kilo glances back at her, then back to Shizuka, still clutched in NYT’s hands. “Damn...” he mutters, resigned. No sooner has he said that NYT does suddenly ascend, revealing a bright orange hot-rod speeding towards them.

Kilo shouts in surprise, and barely notices Trish releasing her grip around his waist. She rises to her feet on the back of the seat and leapfrogs over Kilo. SPICE GIRL rains down blows on the hood of the approaching car, turning it soft as gelatin. The motorcycle squishes into it, front wheel first, then flips forward over it. It lands on the other side, both the bike and Kilo rattled, but safe and sound.

“Oughh, you motherfuckers…” groans the guy, a young man wearing shades at night, who steps out of the car, “What the fuck did you do to my car?!!” Glaring furiously, his eyes ultimately find Kilo, and his eyes narrow in anger. “Kilo Staples…?! Oh, you bastard, you’re a fuckin’ dead man--!!

SPICE GIRL cuts him short with a slap to the face that knocks him straight out. “I think I’ll drive now,” Trish says, sauntering to the bike as if nothing has happened.

“Ok,” says Kilo, wide-eyed and dazed.

Swinging onto the seat of the bike, Trish asks, “That man said your name. Do you know him?”

“Wha? Oh, I don’t know. I might’ve kicked his ass a while ago.”

Trish chuckles wryly at this, and drives away as the sirens approach. As they speed away, the driver comes to, and immediately pulls out his cellphone. “Y-yo, it’s me, it’s Darrell…! Listen I need y’all to… No no shut up, listen to me! I need y’all to come the fuck down here, right now! Kilo Staples just wrecked my fuckin’ ride that’s what! … I don’t know what they did to it, but… Just come down here, man. Bring everybody, everybody!! Bring Kilo Staples to me!”

END OF CHAPTER 15

[whatifexo]

A JJP Series: Today - JB (Preview)

(They say to love like there’s no tomorrow...)

The crash happens while you’re attempting to merge lanes.

You swear you made sure to look, not once but thrice, gauging the blurred lights on your side mirror and passing in front of the car that had seemed far away enough. You could say it was because of the rain. You could say that the pressure overcame you, that you were racing against the passing time that refused to wait for you.

A minute ago, you’d been accelerating without fear of the wet roads, pleading that you make it in time for your first internship. A minute later, you’re hearing the screech of metal and your body is being jolted forward. You don’t realize your car has lost control until you feel the wheels under you skidding sideways to a stop, just missing the guard rail, your life quite literally flashing before your eyes in an instant.

You find your hands shaking when you glance up at yourself through the crooked rearview mirror.

Except for your flushed cheeks, there are no signs of injury. No blood. All limbs intact.

The storm of honking behind you brings you back to your senses.  

“Are you fucking crazy?”

The driver of the other car is knocking on your window.

Drenched in rain, he has his phone pressed against his ear, probably calling for the police. Instead of worry, anger lines his face like the crack of thunderbolt.

His rude shouting somehow dissolves your fear and aggravates you instead, while a part of you also admits that you’re mostly at fault. But your swelled up pride wins out over admitting those faults. The idea of losing even such a trivial and obvious battle as this one is utterly humiliating and embarrassing for you.

Especially since you just made a rookie mistake by trying to rush to work.

At least you’re willing to admit that you’re about to do something incredibly stupid.

Instead of rolling down the window and apologizing profusely or trading insurance information like what you’re generally supposed to do after a crash, you unbuckle your seatbelt and step out into the rain.  

The guy is in mid-sentence on his phone--something about giving directions and reporting a crash caused by ‘a dumb bitch’--when you slam your door closed and look up at him with blazing eyes.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware that the idea of courtesy died with the beginning of your very existence.” you shout over the roar of the storm, the cars whizzing by, and the driver’s angry conversation over the line.

He stops yelling into his phone for a moment, jaw dropping open at your brazenness. You can see that he’s pissed, absolutely insulted, and you can already tell what kind of response he has in store for you.

“What did you just say to me?”

He steps forward with a threatening glare, puncturing your personal bubble until your back hits the side of your car. From up close, you can tell how young he is. The sharp angles on his face create an illusion of older age. You know better than to be fooled, because a proper adult wouldn’t choose to wear ripped jeans on a rainy day or drive at sixty miles per hour in a forty zone. A proper adult wouldn’t stand in the rain long enough just to fight a reckless girl and get their clothes soaked.

You’re aware of all this, yet you’re still fanning the flames.

“It’s shitty enough that I’m late for my internship. But to get hit by a self-absorbed asshole? I must’ve murdered a whole town in my past life.”

“Are you kidding?” the guy scoffs, pounding his hand against your car. “I think you’re forgetting who fucking swerved into my lane without even thinking about it!”

“If you care to know, I checked three full times and saw a clear road!”

“Well damn then, let me call an eye doctor for your blind ass while I’m at it!”

“My ‘blind ass’ happened to keep your speeding ass in check!”

“Fuck me, you’re one to talk!”

“I may have lost a very important job opportunity because of you!”

“And because of you, my boss is going to slit my throat once he finds out that I wrecked his company’s car!”

You’re close to throwing fists by the time the police and ambulance arrive. You only break apart when an officer threatens to arrest the both of you if you don’t stop disturbing the peace, which makes no sense to you as the thunderous sky and building traffic are nowhere close to peaceful. But you’ve done enough damage here. At least you allow yourself to get examined by the paramedics.

On the other hand, the driver that had hit you is preoccupied with inspecting his car, running his fingers over the dent on his hood somberly as if he’d just lost a precious member of his family. Obviously, he has more concern for his vehicle than an actual person.

“Insolent prick.” you mutter under your breath when he later joins you in the back of the towing truck.

“I heard that.” he hisses back, the driver next to you shifting uncomfortably at your exchange of hostilities.

It takes hours to settle your dispute and walk away as calmly as you can with your car totaled and many dollars to spend. You contact your internship with dread in your chest, your mouth going dry when the famous reporter, Mark Tuan, answers the phone in an effortlessly smooth tone.

You explain your situation to the best of your abilities, stuttering an account of the day’s horrific events.

Mark generously offers to cover your medical expenses as soon as he hears the word, ‘accident,’ insisting that the company is also partly at fault for calling you in at such a short notice. You politely decline. You won’t know what to do with yourself if you ever allowed someone like Mark to pay for your mistakes. You tell him that you won’t take it to heart if he chooses to fire you.

“Oh, no. Absolutely not. I’m still more than happy to offer you the spot, Ms. ________.” Mark’s hospitality is so off the charts that you almost wish he had been the one who’d hit you instead.

At least you might’ve reacted a little differently if the other driver hadn’t been so rude. Not that it matters now. You’ve lost your car, yes, but your internship is intact and you’re one step closer to your dreams. You refuse to let one boy ruin this for you.

It isn’t too late. After all, you hadn’t even bothered to learn his name.

~~~

See the Light Gazette is a surprisingly humble building that fits a cozy team of 30. Mark Tuan himself greets you in the narrow hallways, leading you through a short tour of the newsrooms that has your head spinning as busybodies fly past you in full speed, many with paper or cellphones and tablets in hand.

“Sorry for the madness,” Mark says after he’s stopped for the fifth time in the middle of the hall. “We’re nearing a major deadline so everyone is in panic mode.”

“Does this happen often?” you peek around the corner of the break room curiously where a man with fluffy, golden bleached hair is lying face down on the floor.

He shows no signs of movement. He might be dead for all you know.

“Youngjae, please.” Mark groans, as if this kind of scene happens so frequently he’s long gotten used to it. “Now is not the time.”

It takes a short moment, but the body eventually stirs. At last, a sign of life.

“Is that salvation I’m hearing?” Youngjae’s muffled voice responds eagerly. He springs back up to his feet with his hair standing wildly from static, eyes scrunching at you in confusion and then widening in delight when he recognizes the tag around your neck.

He stretches out a hand with a grin.

“Nice to finally meet you, intern. I’m Choi Youngjae. Features editor. Kinda dying. You can find me in the break room napping most of the time.”

“Um, a pleasure,” you glance down at his outstretched hand and then to his electrified hair.  “I think I’ll pass on that handshake.”

Mark bursts out into a short laugh.

“The girl’s got spunk. I like her already. Are you sure Jaebum recommended her?”

“Oh my god,” Youngjae dramatically cups his hands together and presses them to his mouth. “Did you just say ‘spunk?’ I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“Youngjae…”

You stop listening when Mark launches into a lengthy lecture. His gentle nagging simply flies by your head. Professionalism. Respect in the workplace. Timely coffee breaks. Forbidding naps in the break room. Etcetera. The two have moved on to discussing the gazette, but your thoughts linger with the name that Mark had previously mentioned and glossed over.

Jaebum.

You frown. You’re somehow familiar with the name but can’t match a face to it. Well, you amend that it’s more of remembering the right person. Jaebum is a common name, after all. You’ve known several Jaebums in your life. One was a mischievous classmate in elementary school. Another was a previous neighbor who smoked half of his lungs away on his front porch every morning. And finally, the most recent one you can remember was your supposed date to prom. Apparently, he’d only asked you out as a dare. He was rewarded fifty bucks for getting you to say yes.

Long story short, you’ve had quite a dark history with boys named Jaebum. You’re certain that every Jaebum you run into will curse your life in one way or another. And even if you’re in the building of your dreams surrounded by people who you look up to, this fourth Jaebum is bound to cross paths with you too.

It’s only a matter of when.

~~~            

Turns out, you don’t have to wait too long to find out.

Jaebum of See the Light Gazette makes his appearance in the middle of your lunch break. You’ve shoved half your sandwich down your throat, counting down the few minutes until you’re expected to return to your desk and continue with filing recently edited papers. You’re so focused on devouring your lunch as quickly as possible that you don’t notice someone approaching your table.

“Oh, you must be the other intern. I’ve got a few ads that recently came in and I could use-“

You recognize each other almost simultaneously, though you’re a little quicker to identify his face.

You actually witness his expression morph from a distant, polite friendliness to pure shock and horrification. Likewise, your face must show a similar type of reaction. You remember clearly now. The brief flash of his license in the rain, being handed to the police. The name imprinted on it. Im Jaebum.

Suspended in a stifling silence, you merely stare at each other for a long while.

“What the hell?” you question out loud just as Jaebum exclaims, “You’re the one who wrecked my car!”

Everyone in the cafeteria stops and turns in your direction.

It takes every ounce of effort to control your emotions, forcing your expression to turn complacent. Casual.

“Sit.” you hiss at Jaebum, ignoring the soft, curious murmurs of the reporters around you.

Jaebum has flushed scarlet, head dipping down in shame before he slowly slides into the seat across from you. Some of the reporters resume eating. Others continue to eye the both of you with interest. You’ve become a show. An embarrassment. All thanks to this jackass in front of you.

And yet….

---

GUYSSSSSSSS. I’m 1000 years late for this concept, I know, but I can’t pick a better time than to finally start writing for got7 amidst their October comeback jdshjkashkdjlashj. This is a snippet of something I’ve been working on in between my classes and my crazy working hours, but I’m loving every second of writing it. I hope you enjoy the teaser for now. I’ve also left out some key things for the purpose of no spoilers, so stay tuned. Teehee. Anyway. Please forgive the crazy format of my blog rn, I’m changing things around and redoing my masterlist because I’ve started writing for a second group. My babies :3

[inadequeer]

title: Hang Me Up to Dry

relationships: jayroy

summary: When Jason happens to be state side training with another teacher Talia set up, he runs into someone from a past life.

a/n: Set during lost days. I wanted to write Jason helping Roy get clean instead of Dinah and Hal

[on ao3]

      Star City was a shithole, but in a different way than Gotham was a shithole. Star City was where you went to make it big, and where you died of an overdose in swimming pool fifteen years later. A sprawling southern California city and the center of the nation’s film and television industry. Where Gotham had endless families of organized crime and psychopaths in masks, Star City just had crime, plain and simple. Gang bangers and Pushes ruled the city while the rich movie stars snorted cocaine in their beach homes and pretended the world didn’t exist outside of Star Hills.

        The air reeked of pollution and sweat, and something left sitting out in the sun for too long. You couldn’t throw a rock without hitting a homeless person or an aspiring actor. Jason didn’t know if he would burn Gotham or Star City down first if he had the chance, at least Star City had beaches so you could at least pretend it was pretty Gotham didn't even have that. He was only here on business, he never would have set foot in the hole otherwise, learning how to make poisons and toxins from a cruel Chinese woman who doubled as a heroin supplier. (Another pointless errand from Talia.)

        He was sprawling out on the couch watching some Spanish soap opera that he had gotten invested into while he waited for Soo to return, when he caught the tail-end of a conversation between two thugs who ran the streets for Soo, selling her product. In other words— scumbag drug dealers. They were both Mexican like him, one with a close shaved head and a tacky goatee, and the other was decked out in gang tattoos, including a tasteful teardrop inked onto his cheekbone.

“If we're short again this month, she’s going to kill us.”

“Relax. We just need to find Harper. He’s gotta be itching for his fix by now.”

“Haven’t seen him in a while. Maybe he finally ate it.”

“I hope not. He's a piece of shit, but he’s a regular.”

They whispered to each other in hushed Spanish— as if they thought because he was from Gotham he couldn’t understand them. The chatter was nothing interesting, but the name caught Jason’s attention. It was a name from a past life, a lazy grin, messy red hair, memories fleeting behind his eyes like a forgotten song. A person, he’d actually remembered a person, that almost never happened.

“Hola,” He greeted, stormy eyes bright and intense as he stood up and gave the two gangsters a casual grin. “Who’s Harper?” He asked in Spanish. They gave each other uneasy looks, unsure of what to do when cornered by an eighteen-year-old who looked ready to snap either of their necks.

“He’s just some white trash junkie. He’s a regular, but he hasn’t been seen for a while.” Jason cracked his knuckles and tried not to think about it, a mysterious someone slumped over a table, blood running down their nose with the needle still in the other hand.

“Can’t be a good business practice to off your regulars, but I guess that can’t be helped when you’re dealing drugs.” He mused to himself. After a month of working with Soo, it was clear that heroin was the deadliest thing she created. “What’s he look like? This Harper guy.”

“Like every other junkie living on the street. Why do you care kid?”

Jason whipped out his gun from the waistband of his pants and pointed it evenly at the first man’s chest without ever looking away. “Just answer the fucking question before I get mad.” He growled, finger tapping the trigger lightly. The one with the goatee responded by pulling out his gun, and snarling something at Jason. But the tattooed one just gave Jay a funny look.

“Hey hey— Whoa. Easy ese.” The tattooed guy said, raising both hands in the universal sign of ‘Don’t Shoot.’ “His name is Roy Harper I think, pasty, gangly sonovabitch with long red hair and usually wearing some stupid trucker hat.”

“I hear he’s a mutant.”

“Used to be one of those fucking superhero types, I heard, but now look at him. No better than the rest of us.” He scoffed, but Jason had stopped listening. Words weren’t his strong suit but Roy, that sounded right. So he had known… one of those hero types? How the hell? Had he really been in deep enough shit as a kid to get mixed up with capes?

Talia had told him not to go looking for his past. And she was right, it didn’t matter anymore, his past was just a distraction. But the opportunity was right there. What if this Roy had been his friend? And now he was hooked on some bad stuff. These guys said he was a regular, and if anyone knew what that looked like it was the sellers. Jason mulled this information over, chewing on the inside of his cheek thoughtfully before he finally made a decision. He slid his gun back into his waistband and gave the two of them a cheeky salute, tapping two fingers to his temple and then extending the hand towards them.

“Well, that’s all I need to know. Thanks a million you guys.”

        Jason had learned (remembered?) a long time ago that if you wanted to find a junkie the best place to look was Chinatown, so that was his first stop. He wasn’t sure what was really driving him to find Roy, god knows he had more important things on his plate than some barely remembered junkie, but Jason had so few shreds of his old life left to him. No matter who he is, this Roy deserved better than dying alone in the gutter.

Anger boiled inside of him, as he swerved through lanes of Star City traffic in his motorcycle.

        Just like home he thought bitterly pulling the hood of his sweatshirt up. Every big city in the world had their ‘bad parts of town’ and they were all pretty much the same, and no matter how hard he had tried he had never escaped — not really. He had made sure to park in the more touristy area because he wasn’t a complete dumbass and he didn’t want his bike stolen. From there he looked for the shadier areas, back alleys and rundown shops and the like. If you knew what to look for picking a drug dealer in a crowded street no problem. He watched a hooded man make a sale, palming off cash for a packet of white powder before he approached.

“You sellin’ smack?” He asked in a hushed voice, making a show of looking paranoid, and glancing around.

“Aren’t you a little young for H kid?” Great, a drug dealer with a conscience. Not where he expected a morality lecture.

“Who cares?” He snapped, crossing his arms. “If you’re too high and mighty to sell to a “kid” like me I’ll just go find someone else.”

“Hey, slow down it’s not like that. You have the money?” Jason reached into his pocket, then to his other and winced.

“Shit.”

“Sorry kid, you don’t have the cash you’re shit out of luck.”

“Please man! I just gotta find a buddy of mine, you know a guy named Roy Harper? He owes me big time, once I find him I’ll be able to pay the rest. Maybe you could float me until then?”

“No way in hell mijo, but if you want to get that money you’re owed be my guest. I know Harper and there’s a loft just south of here— old brick building where he and a couple’a other junkies go to shoot up. You go get your money and I’ll be right here.” Jason looked pained, ran a hand across his brow, where he didn’t even have to pretend to be sweating since it was hot as hell outside.

“Fine. Fuck you man.” He snapped, stalking off in the direction he had been pointed. The act dropped but his scowl didn’t. Shit. What the hell was he getting into. He shouldn’t care about some random ass junkie he didn’t even know anymore. So why did he anyway? Maybe he wanted to be the good guy for once. Maybe because he knew what it was like to die alone.

        Either way he didn’t stop, not until he was in front of the boarded-up brick building and forcing the door open. There was probably a secret entrance people used, but when you had super strength you don’t need a secret entrance. The smell of garbage, mold, and piss hit him and he groaned out loud. Yep, just like home, he thought as he pulled his shirt up over his nose, and flicked on the flashlight on his phone. He had stayed in places like this, he remembered that now. Jason had suspected he was from the street for a while now and this was only confirming it. Honestly he wasn’t surprised; how could anyone forget a smell like that, how it clung to you wherever you went, filling your senses and suffocating you.

Jason picked his way through the building carefully. From what he could tell it was an old department store, leaking pipes drooping from the ceiling and half assembled mannequins watching him with their painted on eyes and Jason didn’t care for that shit at all. The dealer had said they shot up in the loft, so finding the first floor empty wasn’t surprising. He moved towards the stairs, his gaze sweeping across the empty room with what some might call paranoia. He just wasn’t a fan of dolls, mannequins, or bugs and could you blame him? No.

        He was staring at a large black blob on one of the mannequins naked bodies trying to determine if it was a gargantuan cockroach or not when he stumbled on a disembodied mannequin head with a loud crash as he swore and grabbed the closest thing next to him. Which was a portion of the rotted wooden staircase, which he easily tore off as he fell.

“Fuck! Fuck shit son of a piss fucking bitch—“ He seethed, throwing the ruined wood to ground and jumping to his feet. Well if anyone thought they were alone in this building they sure as hell didn’t anymore. He was immensely grateful that no one had been there to see that as he brushed himself off and tried to calm down. “Okay, there was my heart attack of the day. Let’s not do this again.” He muttered to himself, shaking his head. He climbed the stairs, scanned the second floor before continuing upward. The building had five stories, and when he did finally get to the top floor he knew this was the right place. Tables were set up set up and littered with old Chinese food boxes and other garbage, with a couple of lamps scattered about, connected to long orange power strips that ran around the whole room. There was a shitty couch pushed up against the wall. It was clearly the place the dealer had been talking about, but it was empty, and judging by the smell of that take out, no one had been back here in days

“Damnit.” He hissed, climbing out onto the fire escape, unable to bear the smell any longer. The sun had set by now but it was still hot, street lights lighting up the city just as well as the sun. He took a moment to clear his head and think about where else he could look, probably the shelters, ask some other junkies if they knew Roy. When he stepped off the metal and landed in the road below he heard a low groan from behind a pile of trash and a couple of garbage cans.

“Unnnn…” Jason kicked the cans out of the way and the person who had been hiding behind it flinched backwards. Jason got a look at him from the light thrown down the alley by a passing car. He was scrawny, and dressed in a shitty tank top and tucker hat, with long red hair and green tattoos decorating his biceps.

“Roy.” He breathed out. Holy shit. Just seeing the guy’s face was bringing a burst of memories, if only scraps. Roy’s grin, his jawline when it was shaved, his laugh, Jason’s pulse racing at the sight of his arms…

Oh, god, oh god. Roy had been. His crush. Well, that answered the question of if dying had made him gay.

"Please tell me you're here to kill me,” present Roy moaned. This Roy was hardly recognizable from the snapshots remembered. Apparently he wasn’t the only one who had been to hell in these last few years.

“Nope. Sorry.” He reached out a hand to help Roy up, but he smacked it away.

“Fuck.” Roy swore vehemently, “If you’re not going to kill me then get me some goddamn drugs.” He whispered, his voice hoarse, his chapped lips cracking and bleeding. “Please, please please please. Common man, I’m dying here. I’ll do anything.” Jason grit his teeth and this time just fucking grabbed Roy.

“Not gonna do that either. Come on.”

“Get off me man! Let me go!” Roy snarled.

“I’m trying to save your life asshole!” Jason yelled back, shaking Roy violently, and sending him cross eyed.

“Fuck, oh fuck. Ouch it hurts, it hurts it hurts!” He sobbed, gripping his stomach and falling to his  knees in pain. As he pulled Roy up once more another car drove past, once again casting it’s headlights down the alley and illuminating the them. Roy went pale and stumbled backwards.

“You’re—!!” He choked out, staring up at Jason in shock. “You’re supposed to be dead. No this isn't real, you’re dead.” He insisted to himself. Jason didn’t argue with him on that front, he was clearly going through withdrawal and right now Jason’s priority was to get him off the street. He picked Roy up easily, the guy was thin as a rail and even without super strength Jason probably still would have been able to lift him like he weighed nothing.

“Jason…? Jason I’m sorry.” Roy was babbling, clinging to the fabric of Jason’s sweatshirt desperately and he chewed on the inside of his cheek. This was a bad idea. If Roy ended up telling everyone he was alive that would really throw a wrench in things. Roy probably knew other mask types  and that was a group he did not want up in his business.

“I don’t know who Jason is man, my name is Peter Reyes.” The lie felt wrong on his lips but it’s what he had to do. Better to let the world think he was still dead.

“Oh…”

“I think you’re going through withdrawal. How do you feel?”

“Cold, Shit— Ahn my gut is on fire.” He grimaced, and Jason nodded. All symptoms of heroin withdrawal.

“Alright, I’m gonna get you some place safe. Hold tight buddy.” He adjusted Roy on his shoulder, hoping the man wouldn’t throw up on his hoodie and walked south until he found a shitty motel. He helped Roy lean against the outside of the front desk and gave him a stern look.

“Wait here okay. I’m gonna get us a room.” Roy didn’t answer, instead he doubled over in pain his shoulders shuddering as tremors ran through his body.

The woman at the front desk didn’t even blink as she handed Jason the room key, and Jason figured she had seen a hell of lot weirder things. He dragged Roy up to room and to the bathroom, helping him kneel over to toilet as he began to wretch, holding his greasy hair out of his face.

Deja-vu made his head spin, the feeling like he’d been in this exact same situation before and when he looked down it wasn’t Roy puking into the shitty hotel toilet it was… some woman, with messy hair dyed bright red and smeared makeup. She looked like she had been crying, and looking at her made Jason feel angry and sad at the same time. She had the same track marks up her arms that Roy did, and the look she gave Jason was a complicated mix of pity and disgust.

“Drink some water.” Jason grunted, his brain snapping back to the present, to the man before him. “You need to stay hydrated.”

“Thanks…” Roy said wearily, taking the water bottle Jason pushed into his hands. He took a few slow sips, his hands still shaking before he asked “Do I know you? You said you’re not Ja— who I thought you were so who are you? I don’t know any Peter Reyes. Did Angel send you? Because you can tell him to go fuck himself.”

“Don’t know any angel. I’m just a guy who wants to help.”

“Yeah sure, and I'm Superman. What were you doing snooping around in that place anyway?” Even going through withdrawal he was still observant as hell. Jason had a feeling that Roy was a hell of a lot smarter than he let on.

“None of your business."

“Right, whatever guess I’m in no position to argue. So why are you doing this? I assume you’re trying to help me and you’re not actually a deranged psycho killer who brought me here to rape and murder me and then leave my disfigured body in the bathtub, because right now this whole situation kind of reads like a Criminal Minds episode.” Jason snorted at that and shook his head.

“Nah, you’re not worth the trouble.”

“Wow, fuckin’ rude.” Roy’s laugh was thin but genuine and he pushed himself up a little so he was leaning against the sink. “But seriously, what do you want?”

“Nothing.”

“I saw, fuh-fuck shit… I saw you jump out of that building. You a mutant?” He grunted gratefully when Jason brought over the comforter from off the bed and let him wrap himself in it. “You know about me? You gotta… That’s- that’s why you came. You want me to build you somethin’.” So he had a tech mutation or something? Jason was lucky that he had recognized Roy’s name, the fact that he couldn’t remember the details of his mutation— or if he was a mutant wasn’t surprising.

“No. That’s not it.”

“Then what is it. Why the fuck are you doing this?”

“Maybe I was hoping that you’d, y’know… Fall in love with me.” Jason wasn’t sure why he said it, and the second he did he felt like a fucking idiot, but he smiled boyishly and owned it. Roy laughed out loud when he said it and Jason liked that laugh.

“Oh yeah, that is such bullshit.” He said, grinning as he wiped his runny nose and scratched his face. “Trust me kid you don’t want me to fall in love with you. My ex-wife can tell you that much.”

Jason just shrugged in response, sitting down in front of Roy on the hard tile floor with a sigh.

“Can I ask you something?”

Roy raised a curious eyebrow but shrugged. “Sure.”

“Who’s— Who was Jason? The person you thought I was…” There was something in Roy’s eyes that he couldn’t place— grief maybe. Over some street rat kid like him?

“He was a kid I knew…” Roy looked up at the ceiling for a moment, shifting restlessly. “He was a good kid, he was smart, god he was so smart, and he was funny and brave, like crazy brave, like run into a burning house and save the puppy brave… and he died when he was fifteen.” Jason swallowed hard and looked down at his hands. “I used to be one of those superheroes you know, running around in a mask and shit— I know right, funny huh. I knew it was dangerous but none of that had ever seemed real until he… He saved my ass when we were kids, this one time in Pasadena he pushed me out of the way of some gunfire and ended up getting his dumb ass shot.”

Jason’s side tingled, his body remembering the sensation of a bullet passing through it. “He never let me hear the end of it, always making jabs at me reminding me how I owed him my life and how he got shot for me and shit but I never got to thank him, not genuinely you know? That eats at me every day. I think if he ever saw me now, and how I ended up he would kick my ass. ‘I saved your life for this? So you could become some piece of shit junkie?!’  but he showed us all what it really meant to be a hero. To wear the mask.” Roy shook his head to himself and Jason was shocked into silence. Was that really how he was remembered? As a hero? The thought left him shook to his very core and suddenly he couldn’t stand to hear about it anymore. He had to get away. He pushed himself up so violently it startled Roy.

“You don’t know that… Maybe he wasn’t as great as you think.” He said through his clenched jaw, his fists curled into a tight ball before he crossed the small distance to the hotel room door and slammed it behind him. He scrubbed angrily at his face, rubbing his eyes until he saw stars behind his eyelids. Then he pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and lit up, taking a long drag and letting it burn to the filter before he even considered going back inside that room. He smoked a second cigarette before he did, slower this time his hands no longer shaking.

This was a mistake. Coming to this city was a mistake, looking for Roy was a mistake. Fuck even just leaving Talia’s protection was a mistake. He would take being a blood bag for fucking Ra’s over this feeling. It felt like it was eating him inside out, hollowing him and filling the hole with molten rock. He wanted to throw up, he wanted to start a fight, he wanted to run. He smoked another cigarette instead.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck!! He ground the cigarette out on the wall of the motel with venom (the stucco was already disgusting, another black mark wouldn’t make a difference) before he came back inside. The smell of cigarette smoke drifting in with him, clinging to his clothes and making Roy sit up straighter, his fingers itching at his arms idly.

“You good?”

“Yeah. Just needed a smoke.”

“Got one for me?”

“My last one, sorry.” It was a deadass lie and Roy knew it, but he didn’t push the issue. “I’m gonna order pizza. What do you want?”

“Pineapple, anchovies with mushroom.”

“You’re disgusting. No, fuck you we’re getting meat lovers.” The ghost of a smile played on Roy’s lips and he shrugged.

“Whatever you say bossman.”