#tw: strong violence
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dalvs-wife · 3 months ago
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all i'm saying is that one of them probably had to carry clover's body to that coffin in the castle
edit: read the first tag, thank you
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itz-pandora · 6 months ago
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[PREVIOUS]
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Indestructible characters breaking, my beloved
Give me the "indestructible" character needing medical attention! *cough* MurderBot *cough* They're so unused to pain that when they finally do take a hit that's powerful enough to make them stagger, the whole world tilts on it's damned axis. And of course that leads to further damage, because they're not able to give 100% to the fight. Their reflexes are slower, their endurance draining as steadily as the blood leaking from their body. They should be able to run faster than this, should be able to carry heavier loads, should have steadier aim. They shouldn't be out of breath - shouldn't be sweating - shouldn't feel like their heart was about to collapse in on itself.
And then - then their team rallies. Their vulnerable, soft friends that need to wear stronger armor - armor that makes them slower than they already are. Suddenly gravity is less of a challenge, and they realize (too slowly) that it's because a teammate is on either side of them, helping them remain upright. It doesn't matter how much they demand to know why they're out from cover. No matter how furiously they order their team to fall back, it's as if their orders fall on deaf ears. Either with strength in numbers or sheer luck, the team manages to fend off whatever enemy they were facing long enough to retreat.
Where the indestructible character could have easily carried one of them alone, it takes two teammates just to help them limp to safety. But their feet are too heavy and their head is too light. One of their legs isn't working right and there's a strange tightness in their chest. Something sharp keeps biting into their back and the fabric of their undershirt clings to their skin in too many places. Maybe they stumble, or outright collapse. A third teammate steps in to help carry them. Even then, they need to take turns. By the time they reach relative safety, their healthy complexion has gone ashen.
And it's so, so foreign to be the one at the center of attention. The medic(s) had never worked on them before. They had never had so many hands on them at once, not like this - and certainly not out of concern or urgency. Hands patting their face, stripping armor away, checking their pulse and applying pressure. Their cheeks were damp with a saltiness they could only associate with sweat or blood - certainly not tears. And they still couldn't catch their breath.
All at once, sensation comes crashing into their awareness. And it hurts - it hurts. They grit their teeth against the roar of pain that rises within their chest, but it escapes anyway. More hands clamber to grab ahold of them, only just managing to keep them still. But the pain is still there. Blinding. Nauseating. So powerful that they don't even register the tearful pleas to open their eyes, to 'look at me,' to breathe, to stay awake, to just hold on a little longer. Look at me. Look at me!
This was wrong. They shouldn't be the one being cared for. They shouldn't be surrounded by a blur of familiar faces. They didn't need protecting. They shouldn't be at the center of this guarded circle - shouldn't be guarded by small, vulnerable people. They did the caring. They provided strength when it was needed. They protected. They guarded. They... they had failed.
Give me an indestructible character that, when they break, they shatter.
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crookedkryptonitebeliever · 10 months ago
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Best and Worst of Both worlds (part 9)
Tw: monty being a fuckin creep, vomiting, the girls are fightingggg, so blood and violence, yves being a dick and elitist, using the word queer in a derogatory manner
DAMN i was expecting the votes to be like to go to the uni cause Yves is hottest choice rn
anyways if u guys read the original series where Monty was from, u would know he's like a sub but his behavior depends on the reader, he's actually a switch
tanks for reading, pls send in anon asks, reblog or comments i love 2 hear yalls thoughts and it keeps me going PLSPLSPLS I AM DESPERATEEE
Part 10
The mall it is. You've been visiting the university too much to escape your home and to take your dreaded exams, despite having air conditioning, you're going to feel miserable there. You barely have friends in the university aside from Yves. A change of scenery would be nice, to note down the things you wanted for yourself.
You tried to decide how you feel about Yves. The urge to run away from him and hide is there, but it's not as strong anymore. Because he already saw it all. The mold, your room, your tears, your puke... you can't possibly embarrass yourself again to that degree, right? The worst should be over.
And, he did say it himself; he is interested in you too. So... it should be safe to proceed with this weird relationship. You think. He's already doing way more than what a lover typically does, let alone someone who you barely went on a first date with.
You shouldn't be afraid of bumping into him. He's not going to bite your head off, you hope.
And speak of the devil, you received a text from him.
"(Name), this is Yves. I hope you slept well. Please reply to me as soon as you wake up."
You bit the inside of your cheek, you held onto your bag tightly as the bus drove over a hump.
It's not like he could see that you read it. You don't know what he is going to say next, once you respond.
But it's rude to just leave him hanging like that. He's probably going to find out you're ignoring him anyways.
Might as well text him back. You told him that you're now awake. He must be a fast typer because you received a message a few seconds later.
"Good afternoon, how are you feeling?"
You replied that you're feeling fine.
"I assume you are currently resting at home?"
You don't know if you should lie. But then he could easily find out the truth by asking your housemates. So you let out a defeated sigh and told him the half-truth. You said no. That was it, you didn't elaborate further.
"Where are you? Did you at least apply sunscreen?"
You replied that you're now getting off the bus. You're going to text him back later. After that, you put your phone into your pocket.
You walked away from the bus stand and looked at the billboards littered all over the area. It takes a six-minute walk to get to the Mall, maybe a bit longer because your usual path is blocked by a construction job. The workers gave the pedestrians an alternative pathway to travel.
As you start walking, you wonder why was the bus stop never built directly in front of its entrance. It's such a nuisance to get there if you don't own a car.
You frown because the sun is beating against your head, you're among a group of people being funneled into this other path and you're starting to overheat. You remembered Yves packed a UV ray-blocking umbrella, so you went ahead and took it out. You opened it and shielded yourself from the rays, sighing in relief as you felt coolness instantly wash over you.
You were minding your own business and fighting your own inner demons until suddenly a large hand clamped itself onto your shoulder. You let out a surprised yelp and a jolt at the unexpected contact, this cannot be Yves's because it's too calloused and careless, mildly hurting you in the process.
"Joe?"
Who?
You turned whipped your head to the back and saw the person who paid for your poisoned meal. He took your umbrella off your hands, making you hiss at the sun.
"It really is you!" His eyes lit up and the corners of his mouth curled up into a wide, happy grin. "How ya' been? I didn't see you yesterday. Where were ya?"
You eyed him up and down, he's in uniform.
"I'm on my break right now." His hand guided your back. "C'mon, let me treat you lunch."
You said that you had food poisoning from the place you ate with him. And you asked what he meant by "Didn't see you yesterday".
His jaw dropped in shock at your words.
"It really sucks to hear that, so that's why you look a lil' too thin today. I guess you're just not used to their cookin'. I was fine and dandy." You and him seem to move along with the crowd aimlessly.
You repeated your question about what he meant by not seeing you yesterday.
"I came by your school 'cause I got you some Chinese. I couldn't find ya' and no one seems to know who the hell was I talkin' about. Why didn't ya' call me? I was waitin' all night for your voice."
Luckily you gave him the fake name of "Joe M." on your first meeting with him. But it's not like he would have gotten any information on you anyway, you're invisible in your university. Unless he happened to come across Yves, which you doubt he will divulge him about you.
You just said 'oh'.
"Hope you're feelin' better though. Hey, I know a great place to get some hearty chicken soup. It's gotta be good for your belly, it sure helped me when I'm sick as a dog." You took notice of his deepening southern accent.
You're starting to feel uncomfortable around this man, he's wrapping his arm around your shoulder like he's your boyfriend.
You said that you were full, you had something to eat earlier.
"Aw shucks. That's fine, I'll just hang out with you till my break's over." He ruffled your hair affectionately, laughing as you tried to smoothen it out.
You don't like him. Who does he think he is? You're barely even acquaintances with him. But you think it's safer to play along until you find an opportunity to escape, there is no way you could fight off a 6'5 man who lifts steel pillars for a living.
"You got any plans this weekend? I wanna take you out to have fun, you must've spent all your time studyin', and that's good! Education is important. But you gotta loosen up a little 'cause life is short!" Montgomery is either oblivious to or disregards your uncomfortable body language.
You said you made plans already. He momentarily looked dejected, but he reverted back to his cheerful self when he thought of something.
"What about next week? I heard there is a festival goin' on by the pier. There's going to be a Ferris wheel, cotton candy, funnel cakes--"
You decided to rip the bandaid off and straight up tell him that you're not interested in pursuing a relationship with him. Since there were witnesses, you wriggled out of his hold and waited to see what he would do to you. Hoping that he would just respectfully leave you alone but expecting to be angrily punched right in front of everyone.
He was stunned, speechless for a moment until there was a strange glimmer in his eyes that was concealed by his shaggy, brown hair.
"...You're playing hard to get."
A horrified, incredulous look crossed your face. Absolutely not! What makes him think of you that way? You took a couple steps backward as he tried to get closer.
"I see how it is, sweetheart. You want me to chase you, don't ya'?" He playfully pinched both of your cheeks. You wince, struggling to pull his hands off.
You genuinely do not understand why he has this impression of you. As anyone would do, you vehemently denied it.
"Aww, look at you. Red-faced and all." He giggled, grabbing you by the wrist and pulling you away from the main foot traffic so he could toy with you in private. "If you weren't into me, you would have left me to die that night. I may not be the richest or the most handsome..." his smile faltered when it came to the topic of his looks. "...but I know you saw something in me! I'm gonna make sure you don't regret saving me!" You're already regretting being born.
You called him crazy, anyone would have helped him! You're no one special, he teasingly rolled his eyes.
"Yeah, keep telling yourself that, beautiful. Anything to help you sleep at night."
You were adamant that you're not interested and you already have a boyfriend! But this doesn't seem to faze him, he just bent down to your level and placed his hands behind his back.
"Oh yeah? Where is he then? Get outta here, you don't have one. At least, not yet." He winked at you.
Yeah. He is impossible to reason with.
You argued that you do. In fact, he is right behind Montgomery!
He's definitely not believing you, but he turns around anyway to see... no one, as expected.
"I don't see him, do you-- huh?" He was momentarily dumbfounded when all there was in front of him was air.
You managed to blend in with the crowd and successfully entered the mall. You ran into the nearest retail store and hid behind one of the shelves. Everyone was too busy shopping to care what someone shaking like a leaf was doing crouching in the baby and maternal department.
Your hand trembled as you pulled your phone out to see Yves sent you another text.
"Take care. Send me a text message as soon as possible. I will give you a call fifteen minutes later if I do not hear from you by then."
It's been 12 minutes since he sent that text. The next reasonable course of action is to seek comfort and safety from Yves. You thought Montgomery was unhinged and delusional, he thinks you're his just because you saved him that night. You cared as much as everyone else, no one wanted to see another person die if they could help it! But he took it as some ultimate love confession for him.
Then you realize that you should have run as soon as you first rejected him. You hit yourself on the head, he must have thought all the attention you gave him trying to explain yourself was a green light for him to go forward!
You called yourself stupid for not catching this earlier. There's not much you could do now except tell Yves you don't feel safe.
You texted Yves your exact location, even down to the aisle and section. Your texts are a series of panic-induced typos begging him to pick you up because you're scared.
"I will be there in 15 minutes. Is it safe for me to call you?"
You disregarded that text and just dialed his number.
"(name)?" It was so good to hear his smooth, calm voice. Your blood pressure momentarily dropped but rose back again after remembering why you called him in the first place.
You frantically explained what had happened, even your first meeting with Montgomery and the takeaway that gave you food poisoning. Spilling everything even though you didn't mean to, but you're just scared and trapped in a store. You felt upset that he had the umbrella, you apologized and-
"Raise your hand above your head for me, please." He cut you off. You did exactly what he asked, now distracted from your ranting.
"Inhale, following my count." He counted up to four.
"Hold." He counted to seven.
"Exhale." You breathed out for eight seconds. He repeated the cycle a few more times until he could tell you calmed down. Montgomery wouldn't find you from where you're hiding.
"Very good." He praised. "You may put your hand down."
You forgot about that, so you quickly retract your arm to your side.
"I will stay on the line with you until I arrive. Do you understand, (name)?" You gulped and said a shaky yes.
"Stay where you are. You're safe there." He continued. Yves sounded so confident in his answers that you can't help but trust him fully.
You wished you had friends. You wouldn't need to solely rely on him if you did.
"What did you think of the breakfast I made for you?" He asked, in a tone and cadence as if he was casually chatting up with his partner about their day. But you can tell he's speeding through the highways by the intense humming of his car engine.
You said that it's nice. You thanked him for taking care of you.
"I'm happy you enjoyed it. I will be making chicken soup for you tonight, did you apply sunscreen before leaving the house?"
You paused for a while, trying to remember what you did. You eventually tell him no.
"It is important for you to protect your skin. Remember to do so next ti--"
The call suddenly dropped. Your heart started beating wildly again, what happened? You pulled your phone away from your ear and looked at the screen.
You let out a visceral scream that caught everyone's attention, your phone battery is dead.
Seeing that you caused a scene, you flee the store out of embarrassment, forgetting about Yves telling you your original spot is the safest place for you to be in. Now with no means of contacting your savior and being out in the open like this, your brain starts to short-circuit. You begin running aimlessly in no particular direction.
All this stress and explosive physical exertion on you right after a bout of illness is making you queasy again.
But you kept going, just... roaming around while periodically looking over your shoulders. Customers and staff alike were staring at you, thinking that you were suffering from some sort of inner turmoil or drug abuse issues. However, they knew better than to intercept.
However, you focused too much on your back, and not too much on the front.
You slammed into a sturdy pillar, lost your balance, and fell back onto your rear.
"Whoa! You alright?" Except that pillar can speak. And it was the last person you want to see right now. Concern riddled his face as he crouched down to help you up. "This is fun and all, but you gotta watch where you're goin-"
At that moment, your stomach decided to empty itself onto Montgomery's chest. He grimaced as you continued to spew and release more vomit from your mouth.
--
Yves knows where you are. He knew your phone battery died, Yves is just mildly annoyed he didn't catch the fact that one of your room outlets was faulty. It so happened to be the one you used to charge your phone.
Yves pushed the door of the mall's clinic open, glaring daggers at Montgomery as he spotted him waiting on the bench, covered in your puke; noting his filthy fingers wrapping the handle of your bag. He was taken aback by this sudden hostility from an apparent stranger, he looked at Yves confused, what did he ever do to him? Was he offended that he happened to be covered in someone else's throw-up? What a stuck-up bitch!
Yves took his wallet out of his handbag and walked up to the receptionist. He shared a few hushed words with her and spared a couple of unkind glances for Montgomery. The woman behind the counter had both eyebrows raised momentarily before she nodded and picked up a phone. While speaking to someone unknown on the other side of the line, she accepted Yves's credit card.
Soon after, she handed him a clipboard and a pen. He had to sign something before receiving a receipt.
Montgomery looked him up and down with equal animosity, his eyes trailing behind Yves as he took the seat opposite of him.
The dark-haired male elegantly crossed his legs and rested his hands on his knee. Now a blank expression took over his beautiful face. Montgomery took note of his feminine demeanor including his usage of makeup. He somehow deluded himself that he was better than Yves even though he was hunched over, resting his forearms on his thighs while spreading his legs.
Montgomery tried to look away and ignore this stranger. But he couldn't, because Yves was burning holes through his head with his constant stare.
This really ruffled Montgomery's feathers. He's clearly trying to start something.
"What the hell is your problem?"
All eyes landed on Montgomery. Young or old, they're now invested in this sudden outburst.
"What do you mean?" Replied Yves calmly as he tilted his head to the side to feign ignorance.
"You're lookin' at me like you wanted to fight!" Montgomery finally sat up straight while accusing Yves. Meanwhile, the graceful man placed a hand on his chest to express disbelief.
"I do not understand this explosive reaction from you, I have done nothing wrong." Yves's long eyelashes fluttered as he blinked, already winning the hearts of the public. It ticked Montgomery off so bad. For some reason, this androgynous person is making him angrier than usual. Maybe it's because Yves's old money aura reminded him of every city girl and boy who fucked him over emotionally, socially, financially, or physically.
It was quite unusual, Montgomery would usually just not engage with these citizens. But today, Yves is exceptionally infuriating while doing the least. He even smelled the same as those rich bastards, they all must be using the same cologne.
A mere five minutes had elapsed since they first met, yet Montgomery despised him with every fiber of his being.
Yves knows his own effect on the construction worker.
"Don't play with me! You had that stupid look on your face, what have I done to you, huh!?" He rose from his seat.
A ghost of a smile graced Yves's otherwise serious face. That simpleton took the bait.
"Please calm down. You're causing a scene out of nothing." Yves continued provoking him. Mothers began to leave the room with their children, and other patients quietly changed their seats to be further away from the two men.
"Why you-" Something distracted him from his rage.
Yves turned his head and saw you slowly dragging yourself out of the hallway, carrying a prescription slip in one hand and cradling your stomach in the other. You look pale and exhausted as you limp towards the waiting room.
"Joe!" Montgomery called out for you. "Are you alright? What did ya' doctor say?"
You were spooked, you froze in your tracks. Not noticing that Yves is a few steps away from you.
"Dear." You snapped your neck to the source of the quiet but assuring voice. Yves is now standing tall, his arms open for you to run into.
And so, you did. You buried your face in his chest, refusing to see the other man. Yves had a pleased smile as he picked your prescription script from your hands, he slid it into his handbag. Right after, he wrapped his arms around you.
The room was eerily quiet. Everyone was holding their breaths, wondering what was going to happen.
You felt Yves stroke your hair. But you couldn't see or hear anything. So you lift your head a little to see what was going on, he rested his palm on your shoulder.
Montgomery has his eyes open so wide staring at your boyfriend. His mouth is open but soundless. The veins on his forehead and arm were throbbing while he trembled uncontrollably.
"Do you know him, my love? He seems dangerous. You know you shouldn't mingle around men like him, they're usually raised by dysfunctional families- sometimes, they don't even have one." Yves asked you, soft enough for no one else to hear, but loud enough that his pathetic excuse of a rival absorbed every word. This was the last straw for Montgomery.
Finally, he dropped your bag to the ground before launching himself against Yves. Your boyfriend pushed you out of harm's way as he allowed himself to get tackled by the unstable male.
Yves closed his eyes as he took a devastating punch to the face, he was flung to the side from the force and it left a reddish mark on his once pristine face.
"Fuck you! The fuck you mean that's 'your love', you don't mean shit to them!" Montgomery yelled in Yves's ear, and a struggle ensued between them.
Screams and shouts filled the clinic, and the patients present all ran out of the room. Those who stayed tried to film the tussle. Some doctors and customers poked their heads out of the consultation rooms to see what the commotion was all about.
Whereas you grabbed your bag and went outside, securing your safety behind the tempered glass walls.
"You think you better than me?! I'll teach you a fucking lesson to be humble!" Montgomery swung at him again, but Yves dodged in time and utilized his long, slender legs to trip him. Now that he has gotten what he wanted out of this scenario, Yves allows himself to defend his own body.
He got up fairly quickly and tried to land another punch, but Yves grabbed his wrist on time and used minimal force to twist his arm against his back. Montgomery cried out in pain as his limb was contorted to an unnatural position. Being an opportunist, Yves took his chance to strike his broken rib using the side of his hand.
This made Montgomery's legs buckle on itself. You silently cheered for Yves as he subdued the creep on the cold hard tiles.
He pressed a heel against his chest, right behind on fractured bone. So Montgomery was powerless against him.
Yves reached for his handbag and pulled his phone out. He dialed emergency services and reported Montgomery as being aggressive, being a danger to the general public.
"Bullcrap! Fuck you asshole! I will kill you!" Screeched the man currently being stepped on and humiliated in front of his object of obsession. Unfortunately for him, the operator heard his threat towards Yves, increasing your boyfriend's credibility.
He tried to grab his leg, but Yves only drove his sharp heel deeper into his ribs, knocking the air out of him and making stars appear in his vision.
At the same time, the mall security arrives with their batons.
They took over from there, it took more than ten of them to try and get Montgomery under control. He was like a bull seeing red, only goal was to try and disfigure the pretty boy's face as much as possible.
He was forcefully expelled from the premises while kicking, howling, and straining. You saw the tears of anguish in his eyes as he cussed everyone out for treating him as subhuman, he wished horrible fates on all who witnessed but stood by. He was shouting incoherently about having everything stolen from him by the rich, he had one thing good going on but a billionaire had to come along and take you away from him.
He vowed to take what was rightfully his and punish the bad, especially Yves who he referred to as "That fucking queer freak".
Eventually, though, his yelling became inaudible as he got further and further away. The others returned to their day, dispersing as nothing else interesting was going on.
You walked up to Yves, who is now gently dabbing his bleeding nostrils with a folded piece of tissue. He smiled at you, caressing your cheek with his thumb.
"Well done." He praised. Disposing of the soiled napkin into a trashcan nearby.
You said you didn't contribute to anything good. In fact, you're the one who caused all this.
"Don't think too lowly of yourself." He picked up a hairbrush from his bag and started fixing your hair. You looked at his face.
The patch around his nose and under his left eye is already starting to bruise, swelling to a degree that he can only see out of his right. Red dripped down his chin and onto the floor, splattering into many dots.
You look around and see the broken pot, flipped chair, and scattered magazines.
You shudder, asking Yves if you could go home.
"Not yet, (name). The police should be here soon, they have to take my statement." He invited you into his arms, and you snuggled into him as his blood dripped onto you too.
"I packed you something to eat." He softly pried you off him. Reaching for his handbag once again, he retrieved a square container before handing it to you.
You opened it to see a sandwich. It's intentionally bland to accommodate your current weak stomach. As if on cue, your belly growled. However, Yves stopped you from devouring it.
"Always sanitize your hands before eating." He squeezed a good amount of hand sanitizer on your palms. Yves only handed the meal back to you after he was satisfied with your application.
You sit on a chair as you take bites off it. Yves sat next to you too, this time he was tidying his luscious black hair with the same brush and compact mirror.
You continued munching on as you heard distant sirens growing louder.
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violetmuses · 1 month ago
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Tandem - Multifandom Crossover ❤️‍🩹
Title: Tandem - Multifandom Crossover ❤️‍🩹
Fandoms: “Rebel Ridge” + “Bad Boys” 
Characters: Terry Richmond + Armando Aretas
Love Interest: Female Reader 
Main Storyline: When Terry Richmond arrives in Miami, who knows what could happen next?
Tandem Masterlist
@peaxhygirl @superstar-t20 @adoresmiles @klssngss @deja-r @hyper-trash-panda @amethyst-loves-bucky @planetblaque @sweettea-and-honeybutter @lovedlover @xjjawsomex @readingisahobby @kindofaintrovert @nelo0wesker @gg-trini @cloveroctobers @maliagurl @nobodygetsza @twinklestarslight @yassbishimvintage @sweetiepie4190 @persethegawd @mangoes03 🏷
=====
2024
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Relocating to Miami, veteran Terry Richmond wanted to start life all over again after escaping the rural and dangerous town of Shelby Springs. 
Upon entry, the new apartment offered more than enough space. Justice grounded some peace, but even with his cousin avenged, time still burned. 
After taking this much-needed shower to clear emotions, Richmond dumped the weathered backpack and organized his very few items. 
Learning the brand-new area, Terry signaled that elevator and chimed down. Modern decor prolonged this lobby as sunlight illuminated. 
Just before Richmond headed outside, one different man entered the building. 
Detective Mike Lowrey of the Miami Police Department would introduce himself to staff members. 
“Someone will move here, but we'll handle everything.” Lowrey took charge. 
Red and blue overcasts crossed that Florida skyline. Even sirens wailed. 
What the hell? Terry thought. 
Just when Richmond planned to ask questions, the entrance opened. 
Officials escorted this handcuffed man right into the complex and Richmond's nerves heightened with each passing moment. 
“Yo, what's going on? You good, man?” Terry almost gritted his teeth. 
This guy named Armando Aretas wouldn't respond at first. 
Wearing this Bud Light shirt, Aretas chose one trucker hat that veiled his brown eyes. Jeans covered both legs and boots stepped along. 
“It's fine, we got it.” Lowrey noticed Richmond's concern and tried to settle this problem down. 
“What in the world?” Several people offered questions as well. 
Yet when police unfastened Armando's handcuffs, voices shared relief in all directions. 
“Come with us.” Lowrey gestured to Richmond and led Aretas near the elevator. 
“Yes, Sir.” No matter what, Terry offered respect as all three individuals moved upstairs. 
________
“It's a long story, but Armando is my son.” Lowrey stood in the hall with Richmond once Aretas settled his own apartment. 
“Why bring out that police motorcade?” Terry squinted. 
“Like I said, it's a long story. Just know that he works for the department now.” Lowrey explained. 
“Aight.” Terry cleared his throat. “If he's not in trouble, I'll feel better honestly. Thank you.” 
“You're welcome.” Detective Lowrey excused himself from Richmond and returned to Armando's space.
Time would explain what happens now. 
*****
Armando woke up as sunlight greeted the bedroom windows. Gaining this furnished apartment, he organized essentials yesterday. 
Packing his new laptop bag, Aretas left to “explore.” 
Reaching the hallway, Armando pinged this elevator and noticed that someone joined. 
“Terry.” Richmond ended up clipping his name first. 
“Armando.” Aretas wouldn't make eye contact, but followed Terry's lead with introductions. 
“You good?” Terry repeated his genuine question from yesterday. 
“Yeah. Thanks.” Armando accepted Terry's kindness. 
Heading outside, both men walked in silence as vibrant lanes of South Beach lined up. 
Cheerful voices beamed and upbeat music played out loud from vehicles while Terry acknowledged surroundings. 
“Found a coffee shop.” Richmond pointed near one storefront and welcomed Armando past its threshold. 
“Good catch.” Aretas moved. 
_____
“Morning. Could I have some black coffee and a muffin, please?” This muscular man stepped toward the counter and greeted you. His bright eyes nearly prompted your heart to rattle. 
“Got it. Anything else?” You grinned while counting his order. 
“No, Ma'am.” Terry almost smiled not long after paying up.  
“Can I have a name for the order?” You set out markers. 
“Terry.” Richmond quickly stated his own first name
“Thank you. Just wait for a second.” You prepared everything. 
Stepping out of the line, Terry gave room for  different customers, but noticed Armando using his laptop from this window seat. 
“You want something?” Terry leaned inward this time around. 
“I'll get up in a second. Appreciate it.” Aretas noticed Richmond's words again. 
“Terry?”  As expected, you called Richmond's name. 
��Be right back.” Terry reached the main counter again. 
“Here you go.” You handed out his order and smiled once more. 
“Thank you.” Terry almost grinned before sitting back down. 
______
Armando stepped up next and Terry observed everything. 
Once you rang more items and called Aretas, Armando gathered his regular coffee and took one scone, not even messing up his device. 
“Not bad.” Aretas said. “I'll have to leave soon, but thanks for helping.” 
“No problem.” Terry nodded, but looked elsewhere as this Porsche rolled near the curb. 
“Gotta go.” Taking coffee, Armando stepped outdoors and joined the passenger seat of Mike Lowrey's classic ride. 
______
Staying behind at the coffee shop, Terry observed how you handled customers and clocked out that afternoon, leaving this place just in time for lunch. 
“Excuse me?” Richmond stood from that window seat and questioned you. 
“Yes?” You welcomed him outside as this bench waited near the storefront. 
“I'm new here, so thank you for the coffee.”  Terry stepped forward and shook hands.
“Of course.” You smiled. 
“Something happened at my apartment complex yesterday. This guy moved in, but officers showed up and…” Richmond trailed off when you cleared your throat. 
“Armando Aretas…” You nearly whispered. “The police are quiet for different reasons now, but look up his name whenever you can. Most of that information is public.” 
“I will. Thank you.” Terry stood and began to walk away, but you spoke up once more. 
“See you tomorrow?” You wanted to know if Terry would come back. 
“Yeah, I don't mind. Take care.” Terry nodded and bid farewell, leaving your side. 
******
Buying his own laptop, Richmond planned to learn information. 
Nothing could've prepared him for upcoming details, though. 
What the fuck?! 
Realization tunneled this search. Soon enough, Terry's heart raced and dropped all at once. 
Aretas launched havoc on several counts and attacked officials from the Miami precinct four years ago. 
Richmond even found one vital news report from the large-scale case: 
“Famed Miami Detective Mike Lowrey was shot one evening. The video quickly surfaced online and went viral in a matter of hours. Footage first appeared on the darknet and soon spread to mainstream social media platforms. Authorities believed that the shooter uploaded this video himself.”
Damn! Terry slammed his laptop, fed up beyond words. 
No matter what, Armando's crimes remained true with permanent ink. 
*****
Another morning brightened, yet Terry's mind clouded again. 
When Armando's main door opened, Richmond almost flinched while unarmed. 
“Hey, hey, Woah! You good, T?” Armando lifted his empty hands. 
“The barista warned me and I did some research last night. Y'all left out too much.” Richmond turned frustrated without yelling. “Nobody told me about your case.”
“Dammit!” Aretas paced back and forth, quietly upset. “I can explain what happened, all right?”
“Go ahead.” Terry arched his brow. “I got plenty of time on my hands.”
_______
Sitting with Terry in private, Armando started talking first. 
“After leaving the military, I joined the family cartel. My mother planned everything and hoped that I wouldn't spare Lowrey.” Aretas grounded his truth. 
“What happened to your mother?” Terry settled the question. 
She's dead.“ Armando never hesitated with that phrase. 
“Damn, man.” Richmond attempted. “The case is harsh, but I'm sorry.”
“Honestly, there was nothing good about our situation.” Armando declined. “She lied to so many people.” 
“You learned the truth now, right?” Richmond attempted. 
“Yeah, but you know what? I really don't wanna talk about this anymore.”  Mentally exhausted, Aretas stopped debating and glanced toward his new watch.
“Fair enough. You're right, so let's get out of here.” Apologizing, Terry stood from the bench and followed Armando to this new spot. 
*****
“Hi, Terry. Good morning.” You've smiled and already learned his order as Richmond faced the register. 
“Morning. Thank you for giving the update with Armando. We've talked.” Richmond quietly acknowledged how he checked details last night. 
“Of course. We can't risk more issues if people haven't learned that case because Armando just got back.” You nearly whispered the response like code 
“You know a lot about this one.” Terry glanced around. 
“I used to work as an informant.” Still facing Terry now, you offered black coffee and handed over this muffin again. 
Wow. Richmond noted. 
_____
“Hey.” Slightly accented English rasped near your direction when Armando stepped forward. 
“I'm not a snitch.” There's no joyful greeting this time around. “We've lost too many people and I just want everyone else to be safe.” 
“I know.” Aretas completely understood your point. 
“Listen, I'm not afraid.” You arched one brow while ringing up his regular coffee with another scone. 
“I searched your name, too. Why give up the police department for a coffee shop?” Aretas moved ten steps ahead and had learned all about your skills. 
“You.” Your genuinely pleasant voice darkened for the first time. “Once the case guaranteed prison, I quit.”
“Thought you weren't scared?” Armando slyly chuckled and departed the line, waiting for his order. 
____
“Armando?” When you called his name, the area nearly silenced and almost everyone held their breath. Even Terry closed one fist to veil his mouth. 
“Ooh!” Everyone observed as you traded the items. Within seconds, Armando stepped back and didn't face drama. 
When Aretas sat back down, Terry almost smirked. 
“Why the face?” Armando clipped. 
“She hasn't kicked you out.” Richmond pointed near the register as you kept working. 
“Whatever.” Aretas casted both eyes toward that ceiling. 
______
Armando exited that local coffee shop as Mike Lowrey's classic Porsche rolled out again. Before long,  Richmond sat with privacy this time. 
When you began to leave for lunch once more, Terry still noticed your presence. 
“Don't worry.” Terry laughed and opened the front door for you. ‘I'm not hard-headed like Armando.” 
“Very funny.” You walked toward Florida sunlight and joined the storefront bench as usual. “Any plans today?”
“No, Ma'am. Still figuring out my apartment complex.” Richmond glanced toward you. 
“You'll learn.” Now, your gentle voice encouraged him. “Living somewhere new is a process.”
“I understand.” Terry nodded. 
“Oh, shit! Sorry, but I gotta go.” Your phone buzzed seconds later. 
“No problem. See you.” Saying goodbye, Terry watched you almost jog around the block for some odd reason. 
What now? Richmond thought. 
*****
Once you entered this restaurant, confetti popped upwards. 
“Happy birthday!” Members of the AMMO squad cheered after standing from this large table. 
“I thought you needed something! This is my lunch break.” You hugged weapons expert Kelly and tech genius Dorn laughed for a moment. 
“We've already cleared the schedule with your manager.” Captain Rita Secada welcomed your spot from that table. “Take this weekend off.”
“Thank you, Rita. Everything looks great!” You smiled toward the platters and would share each meal with friends. 
Just before indulging, you realized that Detective Marcus Burnett, Mike Lowrey's longtime partner and best friend, peeked around one corner. 
“Where's my niece? Happy birthday, girl!” Marcus shuffled footsteps into the private room. 
“Thank you, Marcus!” You opened both arms to hug Burnett and still observed his recovered heart. 
Not long ago, Marcus collapsed during Mike Lowrey's wedding. 
Lowrey fell in love with Christine, an experienced physical therapist. She also help .ed Mike heal with his shooting recovery that took place years back. 
“Doesn't matter if you've left the team. You're still important, Rook.” Marcus shortened one of your nicknames. 
“I appreciate it. How's everyone?” You acknowledged Burnett's family. 
“Everybody's fine. Megan just gave birth to a baby girl.” Smiling, Marcus counted his second grandchild. 
“Aw! Congratulations, Grandpa.” You laughed while messing with Marcus. Even Kelly almost giggled. 
“Pop-Pop.” Marcus corrected the title and arched his brow toward you. 
“You're still old!” You joked right back and everyone cackled. 
_______
“Happy birthday to you!” Servers pushed the cake forward as everyone sang along. 
Grateful, you blew out candles and prepared your sweet tooth, sitting beside Kelly and Rita. 
“Oh, damn! You cut the cake already?” Detective Mike Lowrey showed up with his wife Christine. 
“Might bring this party to the house, Rook. Now we're crammed in here!” Marcus chuckled. 
“Stop it, Marcus! Let's get some cake and go from there.” Mike jokes with his best friend. 
Even you hugged Christine, sharing dessert with everyone as sunset arrived. 
There was no better feeling here. 
******
Armando returned to this apartment and showered after trading used car keys from Mike at the precinct. 
Lowrey had just picked up his wife Christine to celebrate your birthday elsewhere. 
“Going back home with everybody if you wanna visit.” Mike called. “We can't stay at this restaurant all night.” 
“I don't think she likes me.” Aretas knew better than to interrupt your surprise. 
“Even you and I need to work on things, but I'm trying all right?” Lowrey still attempted. “Come over. It'd be good.” 
“I know. See you later.” Armando hung up, prepared to deal with the occasion. 
****
“Don't argue tonight.” Marcus warned both  you and Armando. 
“Hey, be careful. Now you're instigating.” Lowrey cautioned Burnett. 
“Hold up, I brought wine.” Settling down Mike and Marcus, Aretas carefully held two bottles. 
“Thank you.” Mike welcomed Armando inside and you found Christine again, heading to the backyard. 
______
“Still mad at me?” Armando offered the question while sharing cake with you. 
“No.” You shook your head. “Only cautious.”
“That's fair.” Aretas nodded in return as music played. 
“In all seriousness, how are you doing?” You wanted to help Armando regardless. 
“Better. Things are pretty quiet.” Aretas offered his vague response. 
“Started messing with Terry yet?” You laughed about one regular from the coffee shop. Terry Richmond even became Armando's neighbor.
“No, but can I ask you something?” Aretas leaned back in his chair. 
“Yeah?” You silently waited for Armando's next move. 
“You want him?” Armando clipped the unexpected idea. 
“What are you talking about?” You squinted. “We just met.” 
“Y'all smile almost every day now.” Aretas pulled his observations with Terry. Even coffee transactions looked more joyful. 
“It's none of your business, but you sound jealous.” You nearly laughed. 
“C'mere.” Throwing out trash for both of you, Armando started flirting. 
“Yes?” You stand from the table and trailed Aretas, intrigued. 
“Stop ignoring me.” His slightly accented English nearly whispered to reveal this truth. “It actually hurts my feelings.”
“Did I hurt your feelings or bruise that ego?” You corrected his phrase this time. “Get it together, okay? You're not the big bad wolf anymore.” 
Taking your words, Armando became outright silent as you walked away and started dancing with everyone else that night. 
*****
The next morning, you wake up after somehow choosing this living room floor. 
In some corner, this air mattress waited nearby and even one of Armando's wine bottles looked empty. 
What happened last night? Your now pounding mind buzzed questions. 
When Kelly emerged from the kitchen, you took random sunglasses to dodge brightness. 
“Where's everybody?” You stood up and joined K, greeted by many choices to eat. 
“Mike and Christine are running errands, Rita left, and Dorn took my car to the auto shop.” Kelly pinpointed almost everyone. 
Before you'd question Armando's spot, footsteps moved toward the living room. 
“You're wearing my sunglasses.” Aretas chuckled and gestured by your face. 
As you gaped while embarrassed, Kelly covered her mouth in shock. 
______
“What happened last night?” You offered the question between Armando and Kelly. 
“Lots of drinking and dancing.” Kelly just smiled towards you. “We all crashed down here when Mike and Christine went upstairs.” 
“How much did I drink?” You absolutely cringed right now. 
“You finished that wine bottle with Armando and danced together.” Kelly took a moment and drank water. 
“Dancing?” You then furrowed your brow near Aretas. 
“Yeah, it was fun.” Armando nearly smiled, but caught himself. 
“I definitely have some videos. Hold on.” Kelly seemed more and more humored. 
“Oh, no!” You removed the sunglasses, but still veiled your face this time. 
Just when Kelly began scrolling, Armando's phone started ringing.  
“Hello?” Both you and Kelly stopped messing around when Aretas picked up the call. 
“Dude, it's Terry. We need help, man!” Terry Richmond somehow contacted Armando. 
“What happened? I'm listening.” Aretas put Richmond on speakerphone to hear every detail. 
“The coffee shop's manager is dead.” Terry exposed that truth loud and clear. 
*****
As sirens wailed throughout and emergency lights flashed beyond direction, yellow tape met that coffee shop when law enforcement intervened. 
For the first time since quitting, you prepped one of the uniform jackets and dodged guidelines to help. Sitting back would never become an option. 
“Estimated time of death?” You questioned experts after joining that crime scene. 
“Last night around 10:00 PM.” One professional spoke up this time. 
“Quick kill. Discreet enough to avoid some outward panic.” Mike observed, requesting for you to bring Terry Richmond for questions. “Get Terry, Rook.”
“All right.” You turned away from that body bag while the forensics team moved along. 
______
“Explain what happened, T.” Drifting back to the police station, you joined Armando while Terry occupied this interrogation room.  
“Uh, everything seemed normal. Walked by the coffee shop and picked up my order as usual, but when I left that restroom to go home, there was spotting on the floor.” Terry leveled his response right now as bright eyes focused. 
Spotting? Fuck! You realized. Blood. 
“Where did you find that spotting?” You offered more questions for Richmond while Armando typed. “Did you see anything in the restroom?” 
“No, Ma'am.” Terry cleared his throat. “There's an employee door and office space located directly across from restrooms.”
Bingo! Of course you memorized the layout this year and pictured each area. 
“Who found that body?” You offered that chance just in case. 
“I found your manager sitting dead in his office chair.” Richmond's deep tone answered. 
Despite remaining composed, your heart still dropped. 
______
“We'll block this area until further notice. Who knows what else happened?” Returning to the crime scene, Lowrey took charge again. 
“Looks like another homicide case.” Marcus Burnett cringed. 
“Nope.” Lowrey declined. “Our squad just confiscated plenty of drugs, too.” 
“What the hell?” Burnett still can't believe what's going on. 
“Rook, bring Terry along.” Lowrey asked you to invite Richmond near everyone else as a precaution. 
Here we go. 
*******
Once this team confirmed an investigation, Mike, Marcus and Rita returned home before kicking off the police department's brand-new game plan. 
You bring Terry around as expected and gathered remaining members of the AMMO squad. 
“Sorry for the last-minute rush. We can't take any chances if you stay near that crime scene.” You explained this plan as Terry entered your house. 
“Don't worry. I get it.” Terry nodded, glancing around. 
“Make yourself at home. Kelly and Dorn would crash here all the time.” You welcomed Richmond. 
“Thank you.” Terry nodded and gathered his backpack, scoping the residence just in case.  
______
While Kelly and Dorn occupied one of the guest rooms, Terry showered upstairs. 
Down by that kitchen, you've set up this Bluetooth speaker and quietly played music while cooking for everyone. If only circumstances improved. 
“Hey.” Slightly accented English caught your attention and you carefully turned around. 
“Almost done making dinner. Did you need something?” You asked. 
“Where's your outlet? I just need to charge my phone. ” Aretas lifted his cell. 
“Check underneath my kitchen counter.” You gestured for a moment and finished cooking as Armando walked over. 
“Thanks.” Armando plugged the phone and washed his hands, setting the table with five plates or matching silverware like second nature.  
When that kitchen table looked ready this evening, you'd texted the group chat and everyone started heading downstairs without fail. 
“Smells good in here.” Terry almost smiled over some good news. 
“Thank you, T.” You still expressed gratitude right now. 
“You're welcome.” Terry's bright eyes almost glinted once more. 
Kelly and Dorn sat together, but Armando observed when Terry found this spot near you. 
“Let's not mention the case. How's everyone feeling?” Dorn spoke up next. 
“Never respond. We'll end up with therapy cards…Ow!” When Armando faced Terry, you stepped on his foot under the table. 
“Don't be rude.” You say.
“That hurt.” Aretas clenched his words near you and Terry sipped water to avoid laughing. 
“Get some ice or stop complaining.” You're just trying to eat and Armando frustrated nerves once more. 
“Damn!” Even Terry chuckled while Kelly and Dorn almost looked on. 
“What's so funny?” Armando clipped venom toward Richmond this time. 
“Chill…” Terry warned. “Regardless of the case, you're getting uptight now.”
At that moment, Armando stopped talking and excused himself from this table, choosing to finish his meal outside near the patio. 
Ditching your meal, you followed his path and closed the sliding door. 
______
“What the hell?” Your voice started debating. “You can't keep doing this shit!”
“Go back inside and leave me alone.” Ignoring his plate now, Aretas locked eye contact with you. 
“Don't tell me what to do in my own house!” This nearly raging tone gritted anger. “I brought y'all here for safety reasons.” 
“Why even do it?” Armando kept going. “We can take care of ourselves and you're not a babysitter.” 
“I won't leave anyone behind, not even you, Armando.” No matter what happened next, your words shared this vow. 
“Thanks.” Heading back, Aretas found his spot at the table and tried to feel better. 
******
“Everything okay?” Terry checked on both of you when Kelly and Dorn planned to sleep. 
“We're good. See you in the morning.” Armando nodded and would shower late before resting himself. 
“Aight, see you tomorrow.” Richmond dapped up Aretas for the evening, but stayed downstairs with you. 
Glancing over your shoulder, smiled for their moment of kindness. 
_____
“Don't worry. I'll straighten things up. It's the least that I can do. Terry wanted to help out as you'd reorganize the kitchen. 
“We'll work together. Deal?” You compromised instead. 
“Deal.” Terry cleared different places as you cleaned up. “So how long did you stay with the police? Y'all have pictures everywhere.” 
“About seven years.” You've signaled the dishwasher. “AMMO wasn't even founded yet when I joined that precinct.” 
“Impressive.” Terry almost whistled before fanning out this new trash bag for the garbage. 
“Thank you.” You smiled and described the origin of your nickname: Rookie. “Mike and Marcus call me Rook because of my age. It's not an academy thing.”
“You know enough information and can't feel outdated here.” Terry washed his hands before sitting down in the living room once you both finished responsibilities. 
“Yeah. It's sad, but let's just say that older CIs aren't discreet anymore.” You joined Terry. “No comfort means no details.” 
“How did you find Big Dawg?” Almost laughing, Richmond vaguely referenced Armando. 
“Someone called with an anonymous tip that night.” You explained. “We locked down coordinates and found a bloodbath sprawled out near the Miami Harbor.” 
Shit! Richmond shook his head. 
“How rough?” Terry went on. 
“No survivors: shootings, stabbings, money toppled over that dock. It was one of the scariest things I've ever seen.” You remembered the problem, but never crossed Aretas until now. 
Before Terry asked further questions, you both looked up to see Armando heading back downstairs. 
Fuck. You thought. 
Fresh out of the shower, Aretas wore this tank top with loose pants, heading back to the kitchen. 
“What are you doing?” Changing the subject, you leave this couch and watch Armando get a snack. 
“Can't sleep?” You laughed. 
“Isn't it obvious?” Aretas casted both eyes toward that ceiling and found one bowl, dumping popcorn. 
“Grouch.” Chiding Armando, you gathered more snacks to share with Terry as well. “What's wrong this time?”
“Nothing.” Aretas declined. 
“Hey, don't start that shit again. “She's just checking on you, all right?” As his deep voice returned, Terry defended you while correcting Armando. 
“Stay out of it because I wasn't even talking to you.” Aretas clipped right back. 
“Be grateful that she didn't throw us to the wolves now.” Richmond nearly sized up Aretas while talking about your home. “What the hell is wrong with you, man?” 
“Stop taking charge.” Armando backed off and gestured around. 
“What are you talking about?” Terry squinted, puzzled. 
“You moved here and everybody thinks you're special, but I can't even spend five minutes alone with her.” Armando expressed himself. “Maybe we'd have a better relationship if you'd back off.” 
“Not my problem.” Terry lifted both hands, sitting beside you once more. 
“What do you want?” You crossed both arms and looked toward Armando. 
“Don't ask me that.” His voice noticed you even more as Armando took the popcorn and headed right back upstairs. 
“What?” Frustrated, you squinted near Terry by this point. 
“It's better for everybody if you talk to him. Good night.” Arching his brow, Richmond leaves you as well. 
______
When you finally planned to sleep in your own bedroom, someone knocked. 
You opened this door to see Armando standing in the hall.
“Hey. I'm sorry for irritating you…” Your voice trailed off when Aretas stepped closer. 
“I'm sorry.” His brown eyes locked your presence when Armando sniffled quietly. “I just…”
“Yeah?” You tried to listen because his voice still mattered. 
“Nothing changes what I did, but y'all still ganging up on me doesn't help, either.” Aretas expressed more feelings. “I might as well go back to prison.” 
“Maybe if you weren't so quick to hide from everyone, things would be different.” You offered another perspective. “I just wanna solve this case and go back to normal.”
“I know. It's not easy for me, but I'll try. Get some rest, okay?” Struggling this time, Armando stepped back and you could sleep without interruptions. 
******
By morning, everyone settled around the kitchen together when you finished cooking breakfast. 
“Pass the hot sauce, baby girl?” Terry slipped that nickname by you while looking for one condiment. 
“Here, T.” You didn't even correct him and exchanged the bottle, picking up silverware to eat again. 
“Thank you.” Terry nodded and spiced eggs for his meal, moving on. 
Dorn and Kelly froze in unison here, surprised beyond words. 
“Espero que te quemes la lengua.” Using his native language of Spanish, Armando wanted Richmond's tongue to burn. 
“What was that?” Terry caught on. 
“Doesn't matter.” Aretas stood from the table and noticed Richmond once more. “Help us solve the case or leave.”
“Back up. Gettin’ tired of your attitude.” Of course Terry wouldn't fight, yet patience grew thin. 
“Guys…” Dorn wanted to settle this problem for  everyone, but Kelly stopped him. 
Terry sat back down and still warned Armando. “I thought you wanted another chance here.”
“Stop assuming shit. You have no idea what's going on with me.” Aretas defended himself again. 
Out of nowhere, your phone rings, breaking silence and moving tension elsewhere. 
Putting the call on speaker for everyone, you know better this time. 
“Hello, who is this?” You leveled this question for so many reasons. 
“Hola, Mami. Que tal?” One familiar chuckle reached your phone when Armando's old goon Zway Rodriguez picked up. 
“What did you do?!” After reaching his breaking point, Aretas snapped upon realization, held back by Terry and Dorn when hearing Zway's voice. 
“Just keep me out of prison and I'll explain everything. Otherwise…” Zway requested his own terms. 
“What?!” Armando's rage only worsened, but Terry and Dorn still wouldn't let go of Aretas. 
“Be careful, man. I'd hate for this special girl to be the next target.” Zway dropped that call, bringing everyone into this chaotic frenzy. 
******
“Are you saying that Zway killed this coffee shop manager?” As you stayed home, Mike Lowrey and Marcus Burnett gathered AMMO members near the department. 
“We'll find out soon enough.” Dorn tracked information to find puzzle pieces for the case. 
“Compromised again?” Mike questioned protocol once more. 
“No, but if we don't listen to Rodriguez, she'll be dead.” Dorn grounded the truth with your safety and planned to lock that case. 
“Be careful while you plan Zway's interrogation, all right?” Marcus and Mike also warned Captain Rita Secada. “We can't even put Armando in the same building.” 
“Fair enough. Go ahead and deal with Rodriguez yourselves.” Rita stepped out of the precinct. 
________
“Listen, be grateful. Armando would've kicked your ass, Zway.” Marcus Burnett paced back and forth while questioning Rodriguez. 
“No, Marcus. If it wasn't for us, Zway would be dead at the morgue tonight.” Mike folded both arms and stood in one corner. 
“Keep me out of prison.” Zway dared to speak this time. 
“First of all, don't fuck around. Did you kill the coffee shop manager or not?” Mike Lowrey squinted. 
“Yeah.” Zway dropped his bored response without showing emotions. 
“Why?” Mike prompted immediate eye contact, keeping composure. 
“It's all revenge.” Zway continued. “I even planted drugs y'all found at the coffee shop.”
“Revenge for what?” Mike questioned. 
“When Armando shot me near that helicopter four years ago, I fell into water, but survived.” Zway revealed. “Keep me away from prison unless you want problems.” 
Glancing toward one another, Mike Lowrey and Marcus Burnett left the interrogation room. 
_______
“It's official, y'all. Zway just confessed to everything.” Marcus exposed the truth. 
“Is it possible to keep him out of prison?” Dorn looked concerned. 
“No. We need a different plan.” Marcus shook his head. 
“We've got no other choice, then.” Lowrey darkened his voice. 
“What the hell are we supposed to do?” Marcus worried. 
“Somebody needs to kill Zway.” Lowrey couldn't turn back this time. 
_______
While staying home as a precaution, you find Terry and Armando in the living room. 
“Hi.” You spoke up. 
“Hey.” Both protective men faced your direction as sympathy reached their eyes. 
“Thank you for looking out.” You've expressed so much more gratitude. 
The doorbell prompted all three of you to glance forward, but Terry checked your RING Camera first. 
“It's Lowrey and Burnett.” Terry pinpointed your friends. 
“Let them in, T.” You offered permission, but Armando stood up anyway, ready for the next plan. 
“Before we start talking about this shit, c'mere, Rook.” Lowrey opened both arms to hug you. 
And for the first time since handling Zway's call, your eyes began to well up. Even Marcus wouldn't pass jokes. 
“What's the plan?” Your kind voice lowered without hesitation. 
“Somebody needs to kill Zway, but Armando can't do it or he'll go right back to prison.” Mike revealed this truth. 
There's no other choice. You've realized the possible outcome. 
“All right, then.” Enough was enough. “Bring the squad together and back me up. Whatever happens, I'm not going down without a fight.”
______
By nightfall, members of the AMMO squad returned to your home and prepared this attack from different corners. 
“Watch the house, Terry.” You offered brief yet vital instructions. “That's all we need from you.” 
“Yes, Ma'am. Be careful.” Armed himself, Richmond focused as you rolled out with everyone and silently waited for more. 
******
“Have Armando take henchmen, Mike!” Marcus yelled out loud while steering another motorcycle and neon lights painted streets. "Don't let him catch Zway!” 
“This is a battlefield, Marcus!” Lowrey moved among blaring engines. “No more rules. I am not responsible for Armando tonight.” 
“What about his redemption, Mike?” Marcus still attempted to be logical. 
“If Rook dies, Armando's second chance won't even matter.” Lowrey gritted his teeth over your chance to live. “Let's go!” 
______
Zway Rodriguez punched speed without fail as racing motorcycles caught up. 
Glancing past his shoulder, Zway quickly realized that someone lifted their firearm while still directing the motorcycle. 
No! Only one person crossed missions through anger four years ago. 
Armando returned. 
“It's Aretas, move faster!” Zway attempted to warn other goons. 
While Zway prepared to dodge Armando, he didn't even notice that your motorcycle joined this fight. 
“Here's payback.” You pulled this trigger and immediately spiraled Zway's route, dashing to escape between shadows. 
“Zway's dead!” Armando turned near you without removing his helmet. 
“Follow back to my house! We gotta check on Terry.” You would return home as expected. 
******
No targets, only silence. 
Terry Richmond heightened awareness while keeping watch in your home. Even distant sounds located for the neighborhood matter at this point. 
When engines revved out loud to line up vehicles this evening, Terry knew that signal. 
The AMMO squad returned. 
“Open the door, T!” You hurried to run inside with everyone else. 
“C'mon!” Terry almost pulled the doorknob this time. 
Kelly and Dorn entered first, no longer hiding in that surveillance van. 
Mike and Marcus pulled through next as Rita stepped up before long. 
When you and Armando reached this house, pain nearly dampened Terry's face. 
Regardless of the plan, it's still a miracle that you're alive. 
Just when this group would settle with relief, lights shut down as the home turned pitch-black. 
“Stay armed and keep watch here! No friendly fire.” Terry warned you and the AMMO squad. 
Within seconds, glasses shattered from rear living room windows as bullets rattled, searching for carnage. 
“Look out!” You screamed, trying to defend yourself while every moment prompted chaos. 
Yet when lights returned for the living room, everyone else glanced around, realizing that Armando and Terry no longer battled here.
“Be careful while searching for them. We gotta move!” Lowrey stepped over countless bodies while instructing all of you. 
Where did y'all go?! Your thoughts rushed as panic heightened even more. 
______
“No corras!” Rasping Spanish once more, Aretas warned enemies not to run. Seconds later, vengeful bullets sparked through lethal fire. 
“I hear Armando's voice in the garage.” Kelly finally noticed echos. “Go, go, go!” 
Scoring the garage, you found absolute carnage here. Even Terry moved forward and disarmed other goons.
“Listen! Either deal with me or I'm throwing you to him. It's your choice.” Richmond still warned targets about Aretas. 
As bullets raced, fear struck combatants every single time. 
“Give me your weapons and leave.” Terry gritted without hesitation. 
While still fighting others, everything slowed down when this bullet pierced time. 
You fell back and toppled against the hard floor right now. 
“Dammit, she's hit. Armando!” Terry barked through shock. 
As blood spilled with each passing moment, you wince despite the guard of your own vest. 
Footsteps rushed to your aid as you still recognized Kelly and Dorn. 
“Call paramedics!” Dorn hurried. 
Rita, Mike and Marcus kept fighting elsewhere in the house, not realizing your injury yet. 
“T….” You struggled, grimacing without assistance. 
“We'll handle this, all right?” Terry still planned to help right now. “Keep your eyes open.” 
Soon enough, Footfalls dashed to reveal Armando's presence. 
“Move!” Slightly accented English pulled more feelings when Aretas shoved Richmond out of his way. “What the fuck happened?!
Entering the garage themselves, Mike, Marcus and Rita stood flabbergasted on sight. 
“Aw, shit!” Mike grilled everyone over your accident. “She's losing too much blood past the vest. Where's medical?!” 
“I already called for help!” Dorn shouted with an explanation. 
“Well, medics better hurry up and reach that bullet!” Marcus exposed his anger. “My niece is dying.” 
Just when you trembled near deadly pain, sirens wailed outside once more. 
******
While beeping sounded, fluorescent lights almost blinded your vision as you woke up in the hospital. 
“Hey, Rook.” Detective Mike Lowrey joined your bedside this morning. 
“H-Hi...” As you struggled talking, exhaustion replaced that cheerful voice. 
“Just take it easy.” Mike cautioned. When you sat up, different wires aided. 
“Terry and Armando?” You looked for Richmond and Aretas. 
“You got it. I'll get 'em right now.” Mike pointed between you and the door. 
_____
“She's awake, c'mon.” Crossing the lobby, Mike updated Terry and Armando as you wished.  
“Made it. How are you doing?” Before long, Terry knocked first and held flowers, showing this rare yet great smile. 
“Tired.” You attempted.
“Better than nothing. You're still here.” Terry joined the bedside chair and sat down. 
“What happened?” You couldn't help asking questions despite everything. 
“We barely reached the hospital and experts took out your bullet during surgery.” Richmond never lied. 
“Thank you.” Your pained voice expressed gratitude once more. 
“You're welcome.” Terry said. “Have you eaten yet?” 
“I can't stomach anything. Maybe later.” Even your throat seems uncomfortable. 
“Okay.” Richmond took notice. Let me know and we'll help out.” 
Knocks resumed and Armando stepped in, no longer wearing tactical gear. 
“Hey, sorry.” Aretas walked closer. “I got some water for you and the vending machine held up.”
“Thanks.” You tried. 
“We just found out that you'll be discharged soon.” Armando revealed. 
“How soon?” You questioned. 
“Tonight or tomorrow.” Armando nodded.
“Thank you.” It's a habit just to repeat that kind phrase. 
Even while you smiled through fatigue, your mood  brightened again. 
*****
Given permission to leave that hospital, you could finally return home, but wouldn't handle work until further notice. There's no other choice this time. 
Headlines soon revealed that the coffee shop became defunct. This establishment pulled too much drama following Zway's dark investigation. 
During your recovery, even Armando helped on a regular basis and only slept from his downtown apartment when working at the police station. 
Sooner than later, Mike Lowrey and Marcus  Burnett had planned another special cookout for the department. Friends still invited you today. 
Planning to leave with Armando, you both signaled the group chat first. 
“Where's Terry?” Moving near that driveway, you haven't heard from Richmond yet. 
“I don't know.” Armando finished packing this car as you joined the passenger seat. “He might've gone to the park early or something.”
Just before Aretas would drive, another vehicle pulled up. 
Richmond turned down the driver's seat window of this brand-new SUV.  
“What are y'all waiting for? Let's go!” Chuckling through joy, Terry guided your route toward the public park. 
This happy ending could shine at last. 
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irlangelsdiary · 2 months ago
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just a shoutout to any survivors <3
i see you.
i hear you.
i know its hard
i know some days are more difficult then others
but i also know you are strong, and brave.
i know you are going to get through this
i know you are going to heal
i know it will take one day at a time
but i know you will heal
we will heal
we will live without our trauma ruining us, we will love ourselves, empower ourselves and laugh and heal and one day it wont hurt as much.
one day.
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ravenzeppeli · 6 months ago
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Trapped |Yandere Johnny x Reader Angst|
Warning: strong language, physical abuse, verbal abuse, threats, stalking, uncomfortable scenes discussed, yandere relationship. MA
     "I told you not to talk to the likes of Diego Brando!" Snapped your boyfriend, Johnny Joestar, his turquoise eyes glaring daggers at you. "Remember when I told you to avoid him and every man that isn't Gyro or I?! Do you remember Y/N?!" The glare that he shot towards you was one filled with hate, no love resting behind his eyes.
Continung to berate you, he raised his voice, "Get the fuck over here now! Don't use me not being able to walk as an excuse to stay away from me!" His patience was running thin, entire body stiff to the core as you stared at him, terrified to move. "Are you fucking deaf!?"
      You always stayed far away from him when he was angry, back pressed against the harshly cold hotel wall, body visibly shaking. His loud voice filled the small hotel room, causing fear to bubble up inside of you. You couldn't stand being yelled at by him.. why was he so jealous? Never would you dare to cheat on him. The conversation with Diego was nothing more than you asking him questions about his past. What was so terrible about that? A simple, harmless conversation?
You shook your head once, keeping your eyes on him as you kept your back firmly against the wall. Your legs were too scared to move; no, they wouldn't move because they knew that he was going to hurt you. Fuck Gyro, you know that he was the reason that Johnny knew about your little conversation. Your hunch was correct - when Johnny wasn't stalking you and watching your every move Gyro was, not giving you even a single second of privacy. If you knew that your freedom and privacy were going to be taken away then you would have stayed single.
Not even in the bathroom did you get privacy, forced to keep the door open as you do your private business. Closing doors were forbidden, Johnny felt as if he should be able to see all parts of you, including your most private parts. You despised him so much for that, always watching, wearing a little smirk on his face at your discomfort and humiliation.
"I am going to beat the shit out of you if you don't bring your fucking ass over here and stand in front of me! Get over here now!" He screamed, snatching his blue hat off of his head, revealing messy chestnut blonde hair. "We've been together five goddamn months, you know what does and doesn't get you beat!"
       If Gyro were here, he would have already dragged you over to him, leaving once Johnny had his hands securely wrapped around your wrist, light beads of sweat forming on his forehead as he waited for Gyro to leave, only being able to hit and scream at you when he had you alone. He hid the truth, hitting you in places that were hidden beneath your clothes, giving you harsh glances when no one was looking to indicate that when he had you alone you were going to regret displeasing him. This relationship was pure hell, pure hell that you were forced to endure because you couldn't leave him. You've tried, him or Gyro always seemed to find you within hours.
    You forced yourself to find the strength to move, slowly stalking over to him with no anticipation in your step. You saw the light beads of sweat forming on his forehead, his hands resting on his lap, balling into fists so tight that you could see the white of his knuckles. You stood directly in front of him, eyes wide with fear as he stared you down. The silence made you nervous, goose flesh forming on your arms, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up.
True fear wasn't a monster hiding in your closet with plans of scaring you, fear was a crazed man being so obsessed with you that he controlled and stalked every little part of your life, more then ready to attack when you stepped out of the perfect little line that he created for you to stay behind. Why wouldn't he just allow you to be yourself? You wanted to go out and feel the sun on your skin. You wanted to make friends and laugh with others. Ever since meeting Johnny, you're only allowed to do things while he is present, and he would rather have you locked away and hidden from the world. So badly, did you want to leave. You wanted to be free.
        "If you're so scared of me, then why don't you listen to me?! Talking to Diego was unacceptable, and you know that! You are beautiful, Y/N, so beautiful that guys will want to steal you away from me!" He raised his hand behind you, placing two sharp smacks on your bottom, leaving a dark red handprint and a harsh string behind. You flinched but stayed in front of him, hands hanging limply by your side.
"You're stupid for what you've done, so stupid! You know better!" His contiuned, palm smacking away at your upper thighs, three harsh smacks going on each thigh. "Don't you know better?! Or do I have to bear your ass and beat you with a riding crop!?"
       Tears filled your eyes, your body flinching at each painful smack, your clothes providing some protection, but you still felt every harsh blow. "I do know better, I'm sorry, Johnny! I promise that I won't do it again, I'll just stay by you at all times!" You begged him, knowing exactly what he wanted from you. So, in order to spare yourself a beating, you would beg. "Please don't use the riding crop on me, I'll be good! Please give me one more chance!" You resisted the urge to rub your stinging bottom and thighs, knowing that would only anger him.
       "If you ever do this again, I promise that I'll put you in the hospital! Don't you ever fucking test me again, I am not a man that will tolerate you walking all over me! You are my girlfriend, my property and you will listen to me!" He wiped the sweat off of his forehead with the back of his hand. "You almost got fucking killed, you know that? Do you want to be my wife or do you want to be buried six feet underground? Those are your only two choices."
      "I want to be your wife. Nothing more and nothing else, I was put on this earth to be your wife," you told him, feeling as if you were reading lines off of a script. You made your tone sound believable, knowing that even though you didn't want him, you knew that you had to still be with him. You could learn to love him.. that's what you tell yourself so you can fall asleep at night, the thought of being with a crazy man that could snap and kill you at any time for any possible reason still on your mind, ticking away at your sanity.
       "That's what I thought.. only I can love you. Only I can make you happy and give you what you need," Johnny said, raising his hand to caress your cheek, his face instantly softening once you said the words that he wanted to hear. "Now that we are happy again, come lay on the bed. I am tired, it's time we go to bed."
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meeks-just-wants-to-scroll · 9 months ago
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I knew Micah wasn’t a great guy but I was a fool to think he had any redeeming traits.
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in-love-with-writing-whump · 10 months ago
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TW: Implied Abuse, Strong Language
Caretaker couldn’t find Whumpee anywhere. They'd been searching the seedy part of the city— this is where they lived?— all night after they had stormed out after an argument, and still nothing. Caretaker didn't like this place, all grimy and full of faces that smiled with too many fangs to be human. The bars clamored with the worst type of clientele, and though their coat did little to protect from the cold, and the warmth enticed them, they ignored it.
They heard some murmuring from a small crowd, and their stomach turned to lead. They pawed their way through the crowd, glaring up at the jostling gossipers. They parted through the sea of people, finally able to see.
Whumpee laid there, still dressed in the less-than-winter-appropriate outfit from earlier, blood matted into their hair, skin all scraped up and bruised. One of their eyes appeared swollen shut, blood dripping from their split lip as they trembled in their unconscious state.
Caretaker shoved the people around them back. "Get the fuck out of here! Don't you have places to be?!"
The crowd grumbled but dispersed upon seeing Caretaker's gun. They crouched before Whumpee, cautious not to touch them. They didn’t want to scare them, instead letting Whumpee see their hands.
"Whumpee?"
They let out what sounded like a whimper, eyelids fluttering but never fully opening. Caretaker had a million questions, but sighed, pinching the bridge of their nose. They already knew have the answers, and besides, they weren't going to get much out of them like this anyway.
Caretaker stood up, shrugging off their coat, thankful for the thick top they had on underneath. They laid it over Whumpee, holding back a cry at how small they looked like that. They weren't supposed to be small.
"Whumpee, I'm going to pick you up now. I'm going to bring you home, alright?"
Their face scrunched up, voice too hoarse. "Whumper... No, please..."
Caretaker knelt back down, eyes burning as Whumpee's arm flailed, not hitting anything, just revealing more bruises and cigarette burns.
"I'm here now, Whumpee. Whumper won't hurt you while I'm here. I'm right here."
They gingerly scooped Whumpee up into their arms, wincing at how hollow they felt, like a strong breeze would blow them away. Whumpee's face nestled into Caretaker's shoulder, and as Caretaker carried them back home— their real home— they let that act as the smallest insurance that they might be okay.
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kankuroplease · 9 months ago
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Couples game: Kisame/Sakura!
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Lies, other KisaSaku shippers get it.
People love to bring up Sakura being violent ignoring the other parts of her character that aren’t poorly done comic relief so I’m like, why not lean into that thinking process, take out the comedy in it, give her some more muscle, and pair her with the sharkman from the “bloody mist”. It’s a fun au, especially because I like AUs where Sakura leaves Konoha 🦈🌸
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wouldntyou-liketoknow · 4 months ago
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A Couple Nights Later...
(Disclaimer: three of the characters in this story belong to me. You can find more information about Penn here. For more information about Caliban, go here. For more information about Azalea, go here. Illinois belongs to the Markiplier Cinematic Universe. The same thing goes for Murdock...but if you'd like to see my personal headcanons on him, go here. Ness belongs to the creators of the FNAF movie; I've got some headcanons on him too, which can be found here.)
(Also, for more information on the mob Murdock, Caliban, and Azalea work for, go here.)
(This is yet another gift from me to @insane4fandoms. Just a little something in return for them remembering my fanmade egos in their lovely drawings. Please give them a follow and boost their art! You won't regret it!)
(One more thing: this story is an epilogue to my latest work. You can find that story here; it has some clarifying details...)
(Trigger Warnings: implied murder/death, implied violence, descriptions of illegal business, implied cannibalism, cravings/hunger pangs, mentions of knives/blades, mentions of poisoning, mentions of blood, eating/drinking, anxiety/paranoia, implied past trauma, strong language. Please let me know if I missed anything.)
The sun was setting again, as it tended to do. The remaining light shone between the trunks of a nearby copse of trees, casting long shadows to stretch over the road. 
That was what made Penn question if he and Illinois had left one desert only to end up in another: the trees. That is, he knew logically that this county was in one of the dryer parts of the States, and any trees growing here had more than likely been planted by the locals. Once Illinois drove to a less populated part of town, there wouldn't be much in the fields besides sagebrush. 
But right here, right now, all the trees and hills were a huge change from the cacti and rock spires. 
It was refreshing. 
It reminded him that he and his companion were closer to their respective homes than before.
It reminded him that they were at least a thousand miles away from that cavern. 
(As for the horrific thing they’d found in said cavern. . .well, the duo had stopped at two more hotels by now, and Penn thankfully hadn’t seen any maladjusted figures looming outside the windows in either of them. The combination of a threat and a promise was still fresh in his mind, yet part of him was somehow sure that it’d be a long time before that monster made good on it.)
Just one more day, Penn thought as he shifted in the passenger seat. Just one more stop at one more hotel, and then we’ll be back sometime tomorrow.
The Warden hung from the rearview mirror, silent and creepy as ever. While Illinois’ personal rituals included hanging it on the doorknob of whatever bedroom he slept in for the night, he usually moved it to his breast pocket the next day. Ever since that one terrifying night, however, he’d made sure to keep it in the open, as to let its protective juju slowly but surely cleanse the surreal dread from his and his friend’s minds. 
Penn wasn’t quite sure how, but that strategy seemed to be working. 
He reached up and gingerly poked the little totem, making it sway to and fro. Illinois glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, then took one hand off the steering wheel and poked it himself. The odd game of makeshift tetherball only lasted a moment, but it still brought a smile to both the adventurer and paleontologist’s faces.
As the jeep descended a small hill, its passengers were treated to the sight of a fork in the road, the section of grass between the two pathways adorned by a large blue sign.
The top-half silently announced NEXT REST AREA—20 MILES in bold, white letters. The bottom-half, meanwhile, displayed a row of universal symbols: a gas pump, ATM, WiFi, a bed, a plate with cutlery on either side. . .and an arrow.
“Right on cue,” Illinois remarked, the wheel spinning in his grasp as he edged in the pointed direction.
___
The car’s headlights caught a pair of raccoons up ahead, waddling on their hind-legs and fidgeting with their weird little hands as they sniffed at a lumpy mound of. . .something that sat right on the seam between asphalt and grass. 
Murdock tapped at the center of the steering wheel; the horn’s blare was short and quick, but it still made Azalea flinch in the passenger seat. Just behind her, Caliban did the same, instinctually grabbing Snare and holding him to his chest. The raccoons each let out a startled squeal as they scampered off into the nearby trees, their striped tails swaying back and forth.
Azalea stared after them before raising an eyebrow at her accomplice. “What was that for?”
“Yeah, they weren’t even in the way,” Caliban chimed in, his crimson leather jacket sliding against the similar material of his seat. 
There was actually a fourth passenger here, but only in a technical sense, considering he’d been crammed into a hidden compartment in the trunk. And while that probably would’ve led to a chorus of dull thumps and muffled shouts, he wasn’t really capable of complaining. 
Or moving. 
Or breathing.
Murdock lifted his chin, glancing at the backseat as he shrugged. “Well, if we make a pit-stop, I thought I might as well scare off the competition for you, Cal.” 
Caliban tilted his head, unable to stop the confusion from creeping onto his features. It only lasted a few seconds before the hitman eased on the brake pedal, ever-so-slightly slowing down as the car drew closer to the rancid pile that the raccoons had been examining. 
“Well, that’s very thoughtful of you, ‘Doc,” Caliban replied, now understanding as he rolled his eyes, lips quirking into a sarcastic smile. “But I think I’ll pass.” 
“I thought you were hungry?” Murdock hummed as he picked up speed yet again. 
Caliban nodded. "That’s right. Hungry, not desperate.”
Murdock huffed a laugh, black-tinted glasses shuddering on his face. “Said the cannibal.”
“Exactly! I eat people, not roadkill or garbage.”
“Eh, not so sure about that last part. You’ve helped me get rid of some real scumbags before. Besides, you follow your feeding schedule like some kind of religion.”
Caliban paused. “. . .Okay, that’s fair. But the point still stands! If I’m gonna eat anything, it at least has to be somewhat fresh.”
He then leaned forward, resting one hand on the back of the driver-seat, still focusing on the rearview mirror; if he looked closely enough, he could make out his companion’s dark brown eyes behind his shades. He could make out the way they glinted with morbid humor and a challenging air. 
Caliban made sure to return the unconventional vibes tenfold. Joking with Murdock could be a gamble sometimes, but that was what made the dynamic between the two of them fun.
“I mean, that stuff might’ve been part of a person at one point,” Murdock mentioned. “It’s not like we got a good look at it, but I could turn around—”
“Alright, that’s enough,” Azalea interjected, reaching over to flick him on the side of the head.
Caliban snickered, flashing a big grin his sister’s way. Azalea smiled right back, firmly ignoring the offended hitman noises.
The snickers and grin died down, however, as his stomach started churning with a hollow ache.
The presence of a fresh corpse stowed away further behind him didn’t do many favors. But then, that target was off limits. Yeah, his organs could still be harvested to make a nice little profit on the Black Market, but they’d already been tainted enough to effect the prices. (He’d been given a hefty dose of batracotoxin courtesy of Azalea. Not that Caliban was blaming her; poison was her personal signature. She’d just been doing her job, just like he and Murdock had been a little while ago.) 
That wasn’t quite what annoyed him, though. 
What annoyed him was the fact that the target had been working with a crony when the trio had tracked him down to the dilapidated lakehouse he’d apparently been using as a hideout. 
The aforementioned crony had looked very healthy (read: appetizing) and had screamed and struggled in such an exciting way when Caliban and Murdock corned him on the pier, taking turns stabbing and slicing to interrogate him.
The smell of blood had been so heavy and rich in the air.
The red splatters had looked so dark and deep.
The adrenaline-high had been awesome, as was the anticipation of eventually getting to eat a very well-earned meal. . .and then some LAZY BASTARD OF AN ALLIGATOR had decided to JUST LUNGE UP from the water, clamp its jaws around the crony’s neck, and dive back down again in LESS THAN THREE SECONDS! 
Because APPARENTLY, when you’re a creature that nature has given so many deadly gifts for HUNTING YOUR OWN DAMN FOOD that you barely even had to evolve since prehistoric times, you STILL find it easier to STEAL from hard-working contract-killers who are just trying to earn their keep and get some fresh air. 
Caliban sighed through his nose, leaning back and propping his elbow up to rest his cheek against his hand. Snare, like a good little emotionally-tuned boy, wasted no time craning his neck to nudge at his owner’s face. With a smile that was softer than before, Caliban gently scratched his pet’s ears.
Now, he did have some well-preserved, perfectly edible human remains at home, hidden in that huge chest freezer in the corner of his abandoned-subway-tunnel-office-den. But he, his sister, and their mutual companion still had a ways to go before they returned to the Cove Port Inlets. 
This certainly wasn’t the first time his cravings had acted up, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last, either. This wasn’t even the worst instance; the emptiness wasn’t wracked with gnawing and pinching sensations for flavor (pun vERY MUCH INTENDED) just yet. It would get to that point if left unchecked for another hour or so, but that wasn’t going to happen. 
Things like beef, chicken, pork, or fish may not have been as savory as Caliban’s addiction, but they were good enough. So long as he got a bite to eat in general, he’d be fine. Sure, part of his mind wouldn’t know peace until he cooked up some pieces of human-person, but his stomach wouldn’t twist and growl and beg. Not for a while, at least.
Gravel ground beneath the tires. Bright, artificial light streamed in through the windows.
“‘Sparky’s,’” Azalea announced, reading off the sign that stood tall before a tidy little building that carried the exact same aesthetic of all roadside diners in the known world. “Looks nice enough. Have you been here before?”
Murdock nodded as he maneuvered into a space on the very edge of the parking lot. “A few times to test the waters, yeah. There’s no cameras anywhere outside the entrance, and even if there were, not many people stop here at hours like this.” 
Caliban made sure to crack both of the backseat windows open before the engine stopped rumbling. He then tugged his black hoodie off over his head, leaving its sleeves tucked into those of his jacket. He draped the clothing-combo over the vacant seat beside him. Snare promptly scurried over, flopping down and curling up on the makeshift nest. 
Caliban chuckled, reaching over to pet the hare’s fur one more time before heaving the car’s door open and stepping out.
Azalea stood at his side soon after, fidgeting in place, clearly still full of energy from the kill. The two of them shared another grin; it helped keep the awkwardness at bay as they waited on their accomplice. 
Varying shades of red weren’t part of The Pentas Family’s signature just because of the flower it’d been named after. Red was a very convenient color. Wear it to a kill and no-one would be any the wiser (especially not if you combined it with black). 
Murdock was aware of this, almost always wearing his currant-colored turtleneck and ebony overcoat when working on gruesome assignments. And yet he still remained in the car for another minute or two, elbows knocking against the ceiling and window as he took off both articles. 
He then leaned over the center console to pop the glove compartment open and fished out a bundle of dark fabric adorned by a pattern of gray leaves and orange petals. 
Once he finally emerged into the cool nighttime air, the hitman looked almost nothing like himself. 
His tinted glasses were gone too, replaced by a headband that was wider and stretchier than the cherry-tinted one Azalea was wearing. It mainly kept Murdock’s nearly shoulder-length raven hair back, but the white-as-snow material gave it an ambiguously medical look. Murdock pulled one side of it down in order to cover his right eye. 
Or, to cover the misalignment of his right eye. The way it was turned to the right as though he was looking as something sideways.
It wasn’t like his right eye was infected; it wasn’t even useless. It could still blink and see. . .it just couldn’t move around in its socket like the left one. Sure, it was a bit jarring to look at, but not too jarring in the grand scheme of things. 
Still, it was very understandable for Murdock to always keep it hidden. And that wasn’t even due to how needlessly judgemental other people could be.
No, his eye had been damaged in his former life (due to a near-death paragliding incident that he proudly enthralled any newcomers to the mob with), before he’d discovered his skill and passion for killing. All the pain that had apparently come with it...
It’d been a type of rebirth for him. There was no questioning the significance. 
(Although Murdock hadn’t appreciated Caliban’s thoughts on the matter. Which was just another way of saying that Murdock didn’t appreciate comedy. Not even the eloquent, well-thought-out masterpieces of wordplay.)
“. . .Damn,” Caliban had murmured, thoughtfully drumming his nails on mahogany. “I know people just throw words like ‘legendary’ around for almost anything these days, but that. . .that story really does feel like a mash-up of Neil Gaiman, Monty Python, and a sugar-bombed nine-year-old.”
“An inspiration to everyone, me.” Murdock had grinned, the definition of cocky as he leaned back in his chair and folded his arms behind his head. “Anyone can survive Death Gulch if they WANT to. If they want to BADLY ENOUGH.”
“Words to live by,” Caliban agreed, his eyes shifting about. 
The Pentas Family’s base was a lot like the dens he and his sister now worked out of. Hidden underground, once part of the subway-tunnel-system that had died quite a while ago. It was bigger than the other dens down here, able to fit more furniture along the walls, like the table in the corner that he and his accomplice were sitting at. 
But just like all the other dens, the base came with relative darkness and a slight chill in the air. 
The darkness and that chill. . .they were part of his and Azalea’s lives now, as fundamental as oxygen. 
They now made their way with blood and blades and screams and secrets, and that was more than fulfilling enough after all the things they’d gone through together. 
And it was all thanks to Murdock. (Yes, The Boss had obviously contributed, but meeting the hitman who sat across from him had been the thing to really put the change into motion.)
Caliban had licked his lips, his smile stretching wider to reveal his teeth. To reveal the new silver one that glinted more than the rest. “I guess that really must’ve. . .shifted your view on things, huh?”
Murdock froze, which was the green light for Caliban to start giggling. His shoulders slumped. Even with his shades on, it was very obvious that he was now questioning some of the choices he’d made to get to this point. 
Murdock heaved a long-suffering sigh. “There’s something very wrong with you.”
“Pot-Kettle-Black, ‘Doc!” Caliban, whose giggles had quickly transitioned to cackles, replied. “C’mon, that was a good one! You can’t deny that!”
“I can, and I will,” Murdock retorted, getting dangerously close to tipping his chair over. . .
Azalea pulled the glass door open, eliciting that well-known whoosh. Caliban felt a rush of cool air as he followed his sister into the diner, Murdock right behind him. A little bell suspended above the threshold let out a chipper jingle. 
The walls followed a simple wood-panel design, though the powder blue paintjob on the windowpanes gave it a little more personality. Cushy leather booths were lined up here and there; a small pendant lamp hung over each table, some flickering more than others.
A coffee-bar stood across the building, separating the main dining area from an aluminum door that had to lead to the kitchen. 
True to Murdock’s word, the joint was pretty empty. A muffled chorus of clinks, footsteps, and running water that leaked through the kitchen door was the only sign that anyone else might be here. 
Along with the voice that called, “Sit wherever you like! I’ll be out in a just a sec!”
Murdock pursed his lips and shrugged. Following standard protocol, the three contract-killers claimed a spot that was closest to the entrance.
The kitchen door swung open and a man came strolling out, dressed in a white button-down with sections on the collar and sleeves that matched the dark blue apron tied around his waist. He held a bundle of laminated menus the same way a stereotypical schoolgirl would hold her textbooks, a tired-yet-genuine smile on his face.
As the waiter came to hover in front of the table, Caliban got a clear look at the little nametag pinned to his breast-pocket: NESS.
“Welcome, welcome!” Ness greeted, setting the menus down before his customers. “What can I get for you—maybe some coffee to start off?”
“Oh yes, please,” Azalea replied, her brother and Murdock murmuring in agreement. 
Ness nodded, quick to retrieve a steaming pot from the bar-counter, as well as a trio of mugs and a bowl full of sugar packets and creamer cups. 
Once the fresh brew was poured, the trio was given a few minutes of quality time with the menu. After that, Ness returned, fishing a notepad and pencil adorned by a tiny rubber chicken-head topper from a pocket in his apron. “So, what else would you guys like tonight?”
Being a hitman meant having experience some odd emotions. Such as the instinct to keep yourself and your business hidden clashing against the desire for attention or recognition. It was a matter of (very relative) sensibility and twisted pride. And Murdock was a prime example of that.
“Oh, well—y’know, I. . .I think, m-maybe. . .maybe I could. . .” Murdock stammered, fidgeting in his seat as though he was about to pass out right then and there. “Um. . .ah. . .w-what do you recommend? If you—if you don’t. . .mind me asking.”
Even after all the time he’d spent working with Murdock, it still took some effort for Caliban to not snort at the sight. Yeah, the social-anxiety-incarnate-facade had never failed yet, but Murdock always laid it on thick. He tossed a subtle knowing glance at Azalea, who was carefully biting down her own chuckle. 
Ness, meanwhile, stayed focused. His smile softened as he pointed out certain things on the menu and explained. He was patient and polite, nodding along and not seeming to mind all the verbal vomit he was being doused in before Murdock’s mask finally made a decision. He then moved on to take Azalea’s order with not a finger out of place. 
As he watched all this, Caliban realized that he liked Ness’ spirit, even if he didn’t really know him. The food service industry was infamous for how its workers were treated by customers and higher-ups alike (with Aftertaste being one of few exceptions, of course. Azalea was living proof that even a professional murderer could have a bit more compassion than the average Joe, and that was equal parts impressive and depressing). 
If you knew what to look for and how to look for it, you could see the exhaustion and stress behind Ness’ friendly demeanor. . .and yet, that demeanor wasn’t at all fake.
Ness truly seemed to be doing his best, determined to earn his keep and survive, while still maintaining some positivity. It was refreshing to see that type of energy.
Not only that: Ness was clearly the observant type. Perhaps (hopefully) not enough to cause any problems for the trio or their work right now. . .but enough to see the rising hunger Caliban specifically attempted to hide while in public.
“Did your lunch get away from you?” Ness asked, the playful tone of his voice somehow mixing very well with the slight concern in his eyes as he wrote down the order for a rare steak. 
Caliban laughed, offering a combination of nod and shrug. “Something like that. . .”
One part of him was all-too happy to make his typical jokes, the actual meanings of certain phrases slyly hidden under a veil of casual innocence. (The way Murdock’s facade got close to twitching as he side-eyed him was also amusing.)
Another part had to focus on reminding himself that this guy was a waiter, and any waiter who wasn’t used to seeing hungry people probably had a few issues to work on. He had absolutely no way of knowing about his true eating habits.
With that, Ness vanished into the kitchen once more, calling “Order In!” to whoever else was back there, his words hanging in the air as the aluminum door swung to and fro. 
The shy simper on Murdock’s face warped into a more typical sardonic grin. He put a hand to his chest and leaned forward in a tiny little bow. 
Caliban clicked his tongue, grinning back as he offered a slow applause. “Bravo.”
Azalea waited a few seconds before joining in. “Encor, encor.”
The grin fell from Murdock’s features as he corrected his posture and pouted. “Hey, say what you will about my act, but at least it’s convincing. Not quite as obvious as your pun-addiction.” He kept his voice low as he pointed an accusatory finger in Caliban’s direction. 
“Oh, c’mon. It’s not as bad as you always make it out to be; let Cal can have his fun,” Azalea argued, nudging at her brother’s arm with her elbow. 
Caliban nodded enthusiastically. “Besides, that one doesn't count. I only make things obvious when they need to be obvious.”
“. . .When?” Murdock asked, his brow furrowed as a concoction of blankness and aggravation flashed in his left eye. “When do things ever need to be obvious?”
“When it’s already too late,” Caliban chortled, deciding to be wild and add some extra sugar to his coffee.
“You of all people should know,” Azalea agreed.
Murdock was in the middle of an overexaggerated sigh. . .only to flinch and put his facade back on when the bell above the entrance interjected.
___
“It’s them,” Penn declared in a hushed tone, struggling to keep his head down and his eyes fixed on the table. 
Illinois hummed and squinted at him, a spoon in his hand softly clinking as he stirred creamer into his coffee. “What are you talking about?” 
Penn shuffled in his seat and pursed his lips, nodding past his companion. 
The adventurer turned his head, tossing a glance over his shoulder at three other patrons who sat at another booth on the opposite side of the diner. The only other people here aside from the waiter who he'd half-chatted-half-flirted with five or so minutes ago.
“Those guys?” Illinois murmured as he returned his focus to the paleontologist across from him. “Do you know any of them?”
Penn nodded. “Not the one with the white-band-thing wrapped around his head, but the other two. . .”
The other two indeed. They sat side-by-side:  a lanky man in a dark blue button-down and a truly petite women wearing white with a cherry-red headband. They both boasted fair skin and chocolate-colored eyes to match their hair. 
That was what really caught Penn’s attention.
Those two looked distinctly related. . .like siblings. . .or cousins. 
Cousins.
Cousins, cousins, cousins, a voice in Penn’s head chanted, getting a bit louder each time, competing with flashing images of that ever-shifting monster. . .of that ungodly amount of teeth, of what the monster had said about those teeth. . .
“It’s. Them,” Penn repeated, quieter yet harsher than before, willing his eyes to give off the same vibe as concrete in order to somehow beam that particular recent memory into Illinois’ head. 
Apparently his efforts were successful, as Illinois’ eyes widened from under the brim of his hat.
“Are you sure?” Illinois inquired, leaning ever-so-slightly forward. 
For a few seconds, Penn’s mouth merely opened and closed with no words coming out. Was he sure? Or could this be some weird cosmic coincidence? (Of course, Penn’s deeper instincts already knew the answer, but some of his nerves were now on fire, and the smoke obscured that just a bit.)
There was one guaranteed way to find out.
Subconsciously weaving his red neckerchief about his fingers, Penn gazed around the diner before zeroing in on the kitchen door. He watched it, listened to the muffled chorus of sizzles and hisses and pops and other trademark noises of cooking for what almost felt like an hour.
Until the wait—uh, Ness glided back out, this time deftly balancing a platter of food on one hand. 
That was where Penn finally moved. 
He shuffled out of the booth and headed over to an empty doorway near the far-side of the coffee counter with a sign proclaiming RESTROOMS hanging just above it.
He walked right past the table Ness was now delivering meals to; right past those three other customers. Penn let his eyes briefly wander over them as he traipsed by.
In a way, it was truly fascinating just how much you could see and feel in under a minute. (And it was equally embarrassing that whenever you knew that you had to be subtle or casual about something, you inevitably ended up trying too hard.)
Two pairs of eyes flicked over in Penn’s direction, one after the other. 
Memories from his childhood flashed in that millisecond of darkness as he blinked. Those images blurred in his peripheral vision as he got further away from that table, almost like they were trying to physically get out of his head and connect themselves to what he was seeing like puzzle pieces. They lingered in his reflection as he ducked into the restroom and hovered over the sink. 
He’d seen them both pause. 
He’d seen both their eyes widen. 
He’d seen that same spark of what could only be recognition etch its way across both their faces.
Both he and the sibling duo had just barely been teenagers the last time he saw them, and somehow. . .
Penn sighed, taking a long moment to splash some cold water on his face before trudging back out. He felt his cousins’ eyes on him as he passed by yet again.
“Yeah, I’m sure,” he announced in a small voice as he sat back down.
Cal and Aza, his mind whispered, dredging up names from years and years ago. They’re here. They can see me, and they know I can see them. 
Illinois offered a slow nod, chewing his lip as his eyes wandered over to the window by the table. “Well. . .” Sooner or later, a bit of expectancy mixed into the contemplation in his features. “Are you gonna go talk to them?” 
Penn blinked. “‘Talk to them?’”
“I didn’t think there’d be an echo in here,” Illinois chided. 
If there was one thing to know about Illinois, it was that he had a knack for taking things in stride when they probably shouldn’t be taken in stride. It was usually his best quality, though sometimes it could also be his worst. 
Penn wasn’t quite sure which of those categories this scenario fell into. 
“I can’t just do that.” Penn argued.
“Why not?” Illinois wondered. 
“Don’t you remember what that thing said? How he worded it?” Penn couldn’t help but shudder.
All of those godforesaken eyes and fangs. . .
Illinois’ brow furrowed with a combination of empathy and exasperation. “Yeah, I do. I heard it all, and I know how awful it sounded. But like I said before: since you don’t know what he meant by all that, then you need to find out.”
Penn couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. “You really think I can just ‘find out’ everything I need to know about such a cryptic message right now? In a place like this?” He spread his arms to gestures at anything and everything around them.
Somehow, the diner’s atmosphere remained quiet and normal. For the most part.
“. . .The Walmart incident really did a number on you, huh?” Illinois asked, though the question seemed a bit more aimed at himself than his companion. “I didn’t say you had to learn everything right now. Hell, I know that you probably won’t be able to. I’m just saying that you might not get an opportunity like this again. So. . .why not at least try to give it a shot?”
Any words that might’ve been forming died a quick death on Penn’s tongue. He shifted in his seat, suddenly compelled to stare at tiny imperfections in the table’s surface. 
Illinois sighed. “Look, whatever’s apparently going on is your business. That means you deserve to choose however you may or may not get some information or closure. I’m just trying to help.”
Oddly perfect timing worked in mysterious ways, as the statement had barely left Illinois’ mouth when the universe saw it fit to have Ness reappear and drop off ordered meals (eggs benedict for the paleontologist, biscuits and gravy for the adventurer).
With that, the duo tucked in. It’d been a long day, and it was unbelievable just how much being trapped in a car could really take out of you.
There was much less conversation than usual, but that wasn’t too much of a problem.
Though Illinois hardly ever missed a chance to talk someone’s ears off, he still knew when to keept quiet. So, he fished one of the many old novels he’d collected in his career (specifically The Egyptian Book of the Dead) out of his satchel, reading and reminiscing while he ate.
Penn, meanwhile, couldn’t stop glancing past his friend and at his cousins. 
On one hand, he knew it probably looked weird at best and maybe a little creepy at worst. 
On the other hand, while both Caliban and Azalea’s focus was fluctuating between their entrees and their companion, whose HMS Self Confidence seemed destined to keep hitting iceberg after iceberg. . .they were both glancing at him in that same quick-but-not-quick-enough-thus-painfully-awkward way.
They both shifted in place, whispered to one another. Just a moment ago, they’d acted with a confidence that Penn had never seen before, only for said confidence to evaporate when they realized who he was. 
Caliban had filled in nicely. He looked to be at a healthy weight now, but Penn couldn’t avoid recalling just how skinny he’d been in his youth. (Now, Penn knew he had no room to talk, because he’d had quite a metabolism as a child, but. . .well, people usually didn’t stay so thin after they had their first growth spurt, like the kid he’d seen at just a couple family reunions.)
Out of all the differences between then and now, the biggest one was a small scar that dragged over the skin on the left side of his upper lip. Each time Caliban opened his mouth to take in a bite of food or speak words that just couldn’t be made out thanks to the relative distance, Penn caught a glimpse of something silvery in his mouth, right below aforementioned scar. 
Azalea had been downright tiny as a child, despite the fact that she was a year older than both her brother and her cousin. Right now, her skin was practically glowing. Quite the departure from how pale she'd been back then, which had made the rings under her eyes stick out like a pair of sore thumbs.
And that, Penn realized, was something that had stayed. 
Neither of the siblings’ eyes looked sunken perse. . .but the skin beneath each pair of sockets still boasted hollows. 
The eyes themselves were a different kettle of fish. 
For Caliban, a vague hunger was still present, going deeper and darker. 
For Azalea, vigilance remained, now much sharper and more cunning. 
But there was. . .something else in both of them. 
Penn couldn’t tell what it was exactly. But somehow, he knew that it was very, very wrong. 
He took a break from his dinner to scrub at his own eyes, not hearing the footsteps until he re-opened them and saw the latter sauntering up to his and Illinois’ table.
___
“E-everything was great, thank you!” Murdock’s mask offered what had to be the sixteenth nervous smile tonight as he paid his portion of dinner. Aforementioned smile trembled on his face as he continued, “. . .Gareic would’ve loved it! Probably as much as he loved fireworks. . . ah, w-well, I don’t know for sure. I’ll never—I’ll never really know. . .”
Murdock then hunched his shoulders, forehead suddenly an inch from the table, putting on a truly Grammy-worthy act of fighting back tears. 
A cocktail of sympathy and confusion swirled about Ness’ features. He merely nodded, giving an appreciative look to Caliban and Azalea in turn. 
The siblings nodded right back in that classic Don’t Worry, We’ve Got This fashion. 
And as the waiter retreated once more, the trio made their way back outside, a rather hefty tip left in their wake. 
The shaking and choked sobs up and disappeared from Murdock’s body as he trekked over to his car, quietly celebrating a successful evening of making someone believe that he really was just another poor sap who probably wouldn't survive a public speaking class. 
While Caliban and Azalea would’ve given more sarcastic commentary on the matter, they found themselves having to concentrate on not looking over their shoulders. 
“. . .Why did you do that?” Caliban finally asked, referring to the way his sister had eventually gone over to strike up a conversation with their cousin. The way she’d acted all surprised to see Penn, given him a quick hug, introduced herself to his friend, the works. 
The way she’d ended up giving Penn one of her business cards for Aftertaste. . .
“I should be asking why you didn’t follow along with it. I had to make excuses about you being tired from a wild day. . .well, I mean, I guess I can cut you some slack for that part,” Azalea replied. 
Though that did get a chuckle out of Caliban, it was still laced with a bit of anxiety.
Azalea winced, giving him an apologetic glance before she continued. “I was setting up a gameplan.” 
“You saw that look in his eyes.” Caliban sucked his teeth. “We both did.”
Azalea fidgeted with her sleeves. “It’s been years upon years. It’s impossible for him to actually know about our work.” 
“Right, right. It’s just—” Caliban sighed, running a hair through his hair. “Something obviously happened. I don’t know how it could relate to us, but. . .” He trailed off as something cold traced along his ribcage. 
Azalea reached up to place a comforting hand on her brother’s shoulder. “Hey, we’ve gotten through much bigger things. I know how this feels right now, but it won’t be so bad later on. I promise.” She hesitated for a few long seconds, then added, “. . . It’s not like he ever tried to make things worse back then.”
Caliban gazed down at her and nodded. She was correct; she was taking initiative like she had so many times years before. She wouldn’t have to handle things alone. 
And Penn. . .well, Penn had been a good egg as a kid. Chances were he was still smart and reasonable today. 
Azalea nodded back. “What I did bought us some time to go over our stories. To come up with something convincing enough. So, once he accepts my little invitation and stops by for a visit—” 
“—we’ll be ready to put him at ease and keep him off any scent,” Caliban finished.  
Headlights beamed to life as Murdock took his place behind the wheel. 
Azalea didn’t call shotgun, but she didn’t really need to, She already had earlier that day, and Caliban, who knew his car etiquette, slithered over to the backseat without any fuss. 
Snare stirred, letting out a tiny yawn and stretching before clambering into his owner’s lap, curiously sniffing at the to-go box in said owner’s hand. 
As Murdock eased the car out of Sparky’s parking lot and back onto the main road, something in Caliban’s brain decided now was the time for him to start staring at those glowing windows. He glimpsed his sister looking in the same direction. 
Penn and his friend were still there.
It only took a moment or two before the restaurant became a small blur in the distance, but Caliban's instincts told him that his cousin could still feel his and Azalea’s eyes. . .
@sammys-magical-au @insane4fandoms @b-is-in-the-closet @im-a-weird0 @lexusinsannus @sunny011387 @x-hotrose-x
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oathed-milk · 1 year ago
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Doing my obligatory post so I don’t break A) hallowed Rule from previous, now-defunct (imo) hellsite, and B) get apparently shot on sight by the tenants of new hellsite
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crym94 · 7 months ago
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"Cicatrice poi la luce Brucia e ti si addice Tutto ha un gioco, tutto è vuoto Tutti dentro al fuoco"
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mus1ca1 · 1 year ago
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(september 2023) tfw you're trying to impress your new fancy gf but get ambushed on the way to your date 🙄 smh
i do think rusty can defend himself and in a fight easily take on multiple trains from the gang at once, but when it comes to greaseball he's just . . . too scared to really fight back.
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your-daily-snl · 6 months ago
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youtube
Critter Control, starring two exterminators (Brooks Wheelan, Edward Norton) who are called into a corporate meeting room to deal with some pests.
Original Air Date: 2013
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ravenzeppeli · 7 months ago
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🩸Twisted Fate |Yandere Ghiaccio x Reader Angst|
Warning: strong/violent language, threats, kidnapping, murder [random men], physical abuse, dark thoughts [thoughts of - noncon, abuse, torture], verbal abuse, torture [broken bones, choking, beating]. Extremely dark - MA.
Comission
Ghiaccio's POV
Ghiaccio could clearly remember the day that you vanished away from him eight years ago, your entire family, as well as you moving away. For years, he's tried to track you down, searching for you, for any signs of your existence so he could return you back to himself. You belonged to him, and one day, he felt as if you would return to him.
As the years passed, he started to lose hope, his mafia affiliations being no help in tracking you down either. How could someone just up and vanish? The pain of losing you was hard for him, his sadness turning into a permanent, icy rage that he could no longer control. How dare you just up and leave him after he promised to marry you once the two of you turned 18. You've wasted so much of his life with you, and now he's going to be all alone forever. All alone because you fucking left him.
Months had finally passed since he'd last continued his long search for you. Despite him thinking of you every single day, he tried his best to distract himself heavily with work. At night when he got home he would pull out an old picture of you, staring at it until his eyes were fucking blurry and watering. You were permanently burned into the back of his mind. All he was left with was one single fucking picture of you as a reminder of what he lost forever. A reminder of a perfect love that he thought that he lost forever.
As a folder with your picture appeared on the mission table, Ghiaccio's heart nearly jumped out of his chest as he snatched up the folder. Instead of lying to his capo Risotto he explained who you were and how much you meant to him, how you were his high school sweetheart that he lost once the two of you hit adulthood due to you vanishing. Lying to his capo was something that he never did, Risotto was understanding when it came to his men. He was a great captain and someone he trusted deeply.
The man who placed a hit on your head was a random male, a male having no ties to the mafia, but it seemed that you had ties to a completely different mafia organization, a new organization that was trying to rise above the rulings of Passione. The group was small, only five men and you in total, and he planned to fucking kill all five of those bastards. In fact, Risotto gave him permission to kill not only those five men but the man who placed a hit on you as well. As fate would have it, you would be returning to him after all. He would be allowed to keep you. To have you as his again.
Risotto made it clear to Ghiaccio that he would have to complete this on his own, and that if he messed up he may just lose his life, but it was a risk that he was willing to take. It was a risk that he was always willing to take, especially now, considering the stakes were so high. The stakes of you being all his again, rather you fucking liked it or not. You didn't have a choice. You belonged to him, and he would make sure that you would never leave his side again.
It only took him one day to take out the pathetic hitman team that you were a part of. Smaller mafia families always disgust him, and the fact that his beautiful beloved was a part of that? It pissed him off, and it pissed him off even more when he realized that you actively were living 30 minutes away from him. Right under his nose.. for years you've been fucking right here, right under his fucking nose, purposefully avoiding him. How dare you. Why would you not want to be with him?
Tracking you down now that you had no protection wasn't hard. In fact, it seemed as if you were waiting for him. He entered a cheap apartment complex, the dim lights flickering as he pushed into the apartment complex where you lived. One of your fucking teammates ratted out where you were in exchange for his own life. After the man disclosed your location, Ghiaccio blew his fucking cock off with three quick shots, watched him bleed out, enjoying every second of it. That's how he killed all five of your teammates as well as the man that placed a hit on you, feeling enraged with the fact that those men were around you while he was stuck without you for the past eight years.
Sitting right on a worn-out dark leather couch was you, your head raising slowly, body immediately going stiff once you saw him. You looked so much older, so much more beautiful than he remembered.. that pissed him off, his hands balling into fists as he slammed your apartment door shut as he stepped in, locking it with a swift motion.
The tension was so thick that it could be cut with a knife, a knife that he wanted to slice across your soft skin as punishment for leaving him. Your soft, beautiful flesh.. he wanted to fucking tear into you for leaving him. He wanted to beat you bloody, bruise up your pretty little face and break your nose. He wanted to make sweet love to you, filling your cunt with his seed. So many things.. he wanted to do so many beautiful things to you.
"You fucking cunt," Ghiaccio growled, his heart skipping a rapid beat as he approached you. With no hesitation, he pulled out his gun, pointing it straight at you. "Eight fucking years.. I've been waiting eight long years to see you again. Where the fuck did you go!?" He pressed the barrel of the gun to your forehead as you raised your head to look up at him. You couldn't fucking run away from him now, he would blow your goddamn brains out if you tried anything stupid. Or he would crack your head open with the gun, whichever he was feeling.
A tad bit of fear washed over your cute little face, your eyes slightly widening as he pressed the barrel of the gun deeper into your forehead, forcing you to look up at him further. "Ghiaccio," you whispered, venom dripping from your voice. How dare you not speak to him with love. "I didn't want to marry you so I left. We were graduating in a week so I panicked and left, I left you a note behind." The disrespect.. he couldn't believe the disrespect that he had endured for so long.
A dry laugh escaped his lips as he dropped the gun from your forehead, a small circle imprint being on the center of your forehead due to how hard he pressed the gun against your forehead. His free hand balled into a tight fist, crashing into the side of your head with force, your body limply falling to the side. "NO!" He screamed, rage filling his body. "Your shitty note only said bye and nothing else, you dumb cunt!"
Anger completely took over his body in this moment as he climbed on top of you, his fist raising, crashing into the side of your face, making a low pop sound, a pained cry escaping your lips. "Cry, fucking cry you unloyal whore! I know you let those men fuck you, they said you didn't but I know they're lying! You're mine, you're fucking mine!" He raised his body slighly, his fist raising again.
A sharp sting across Ghiaccio's cheek caused him to freeze up, his glasses flying off of his face, making a light thump sound as they hit the ground. In the past, when he beat you up, you would cry and beg for mercy. Never did you hit him back in the past. These eight years have changed you. They've made you unclean. He didn't like the feeling of not having control over you. He expected to slip into immediate control.
"Fuck you," you spat up at him, your blood coating his face. "I hate you, I never loved you!" Tears were rolling down your face, that causing a grin to appear on his lips, despite your words and you slapping him, your tears meant that he was breaking you again. What he was about to do to you, he would take much joy in it. He would enjoy this so fucking much, because as beautiful as you are, as much as he wanted to marry and impregnate you, you needed to be hurt. If he hurt you badly, he would just fix you up. It was fine, he could fix you up and buy you things later on once he finished destroying you mentally as he did oh so long ago.
Your entire face was bloody, blood pouring from the side of your head, your entire left side of your face sporting a large purple bruise that had blood seeping from a small cut the middle of the large bruise. Your bottom lip was slightly rolled out, swollen with little bite marks from where you bit down on your lip. You must have done that to muffle your pain. How fucking pathetic.
He grabbed the hand that dared to slap him, bending three of your fingers back until he heard three snaps. "Dumb cunt, think I care about your love!?" He snapped, low sobs escaping your mouth, your body finally trembling beneath him as he held up your hand, your three broken fingers starting to swell and turn purple. "I will rip your fucking fingers off and shove them down your throat if you ever slap me again! Now apologize before your entire arm gets broken, you brainless bitch!"
"S-sorry," you gasped out, his other hand quickly wrapping around your throat, beginning to squeeze.
Killing you would be so easy, so easily he could squeeze your fragile little throat until your body went limp. He could leave you here to rot, leave your body in this dump of a place for the rats to pick at you. No.. he's waited this long. He's waited for you to come home with him and marry him. You belonged with him, he couldn't just end your life. Ending your life would mean that you would be gone forever. He wanted to kiss and fuck you, he wanted you to be his property again.
He continued to squeeze, watching the life slowly drain from your eyes as you weakly wiggled beneath him. "Come back with me or die." His hand squeezed harder as your mouth muttered 'die', his other hand raising, beginning to repeatedly punch you in your stomach, not using his full strength so that you could still answer him. "Come back with me! Marry me! I'll beat you to death, I'll strip you naked and beat you for weeks until you die! I know how to keep someone alive for a long time, I've tortured countless men to death!"
Pained moans escaped your lips, your tears mixing with your blood, staining your neck red. "Fine!" You cried out, blood spilling from your mouth. "S-stop, I'll do it!"
He let go of your throat, leaving a dark bruise behind, the blood that coated your neck caked onto the side of his hand. He didn't mind. After all, you deserved this beating. You deserved to have your throat fucking slit for leaving him those many years ago, but he would push that from his mind. After all, he loved you. He didn't want to kill you, he only wanted to beat you so that you would love him and be submissive. He would beat all of the ignorance out of you, beating his love into you.
"I love you baby," he muttered, his throat sore from all of the yelling that he's done all day. He's yelled more today than he's ever has in his entire life, and that was saying a lot. "I've searched for you these past years, I'm so happy that you'll be returning to me." He let himself lean down, his body leaning over you as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling your limp body into a tight hug. "My sweet girl, did you think I wouldn't find you? It was fate, we are meant to be!" That folder showed up for a reason. Fate wanted you to be his. The universe had brought you back into his arms, and he was so grateful.
"P-please," you sobbed, but he didn't know why you were sobbing. Shouldn't you be happy that he found you again? "I don't wa -"
"I don't give a fuck!" He snapped, raising his hand, roughly smacking the back of your head. "Now hug me back. I'm your fiancé now, and soon I'll be your husband. You'll be beaten and fucked until you are perfect."
Weaky, your arms wrapped around him, sobs escaping your mouth as you clung to him. You said nothing, and he liked that you weren't saying anything. You just needed to shut the fuck up and accept his anger. You being submissive and kind will get you treats, fighting back and being mouthy would get your teeth knocked down your throat. Either way, he would get what he wanted. All he wanted was you, he found you beautiful with or without a fucked up face and missing teeth. The choice was up to you.
"Good girl," he muttered, sitting up as he pulled you into his lap, placing a kiss on your forehead. "I'm so glad to finally have you back. Isn't fate perfect?" He got no reply, a satisfied hum escaping your lips as your head weakly rested on his chest, your low sobs providing him with comfort, a smile appearing on his lips as he listened to you sob and shake in his arms. He was so happy to have you back, so relieved. Relieved because now you were his again, and he wouldn't ever let you slip away from his grasp again.
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