#blasting meth

[jonnycumlatelys-blog]

We

[monkeec]

gay men playing after slamming meth

[usagii-bun]

someone to protect — b. Reynolds [part 1]

𝗌𝗒𝗇𝗈𝗉𝗌𝗂𝗌 彡 you only came to the grocery store for bread. you didn’t expect to run into the man who once broke into your apartment, stole your tv, and fled through your window with second-degree ramen burns. and you definitely didn’t expect that same man—now shaggy, awkward, and uncomfortably familiar—to be dragged into your life again by a booming russian in a red tracksuit who insists on borscht and redemption dinners.

𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 彡attempt at comedy, mentions of past drug addiction (meth use and overdose), violence, language, and mature content in future chapters (including trauma-related themes and emotional intimacy). Please read with care !

if you prefer to read it on wattpad 🔗

word count: 6.1k

enjoy !

The grocery store’s air-conditioning blasted cold enough to raise goosebumps on your arms, a sharp contrast to the muggy New York summer outside. You shivered, rubbing your forearms as you grabbed a basket and drifted through the isles. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, a bright, sterile hum that matched the strained pulse in your temple. You needed to focus. Just stick to the list. Get in, get out.

First on the list: bread. You turned down the bakery aisle, weaving through a pair of kids wrestling over a trolley like it was a prized race car. You wondered, just briefly, if one of them might suddenly turn into a super-soldier and crash into the shelves. You caught yourself. That paranoia had been creeping up ever since that day, and you had to admit it was exhausting.

Two months. Two months since the floor beneath your desk had cracked open like a jaw, spilling glass and drywall onto the street below. Two months since you had stumbled through the smoke and the alarms, clutching your laptop and half-eaten sandwich, your brain caught in a vicious loop of your worst memory, replaying over and over like a scratched CD.

You gripped the handle of your basket tighter, nails digging into the cheap plastic. You’d made it out just in time to watch a helicopter tilt sideways into the third floor, shattering the windows of the office you’d been sitting in minutes earlier. You remembered the heat, the blinding white flash of the rotors slicing through glass and steel, the rush of air that had nearly pulled you back into the chaos. You hadn’t been able to process it then, and you weren’t sure you could now.

You drew in a slow, steady breath, blinking back to the present as you grabbed a loaf of sourdough. Focus. You had more pressing problems than intrusive memories. Like rent. Or the fact that your employer had declared bankruptcy two days after the incident, leaving you and the rest of your department with nothing but a final, pitying group email about “unprecedented circumstances.” You scoffed, shoving the bread into your basket a bit too hard.

Moving into the canned goods aisle, you scanned the shelves for soup, your eyes lingering on the discount labels. You were still trying to convince yourself that this whole unemployment thing would be a short-term inconvenience, but your bank account said otherwise. You hadn’t even had the energy to look for a new job yet. The idea of sitting in another sterile, glass-panelled office, tapping away at spreadsheets while waiting for the next disaster to strike, felt like a cruel joke.

You turned the corner, debating the merits of tomato versus chicken noodle, when you nearly crashed into a broad chest that felt as solid as a concrete pillar. You jerked back, your basket swinging dangerously close to clipping your own hip and looked up.

The man you’d almost barrelled into towered over you, his shaggy, overgrown hair brushing the collar of his thick, grey cardigan. It hung loose on his frame, sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms, revealing surprisingly defined, sinewy muscles that stretched the wool in a way that suggested he was used to lifting more than just grocery bags. His eyes, a stormy mix of grey and blue, blinked down at you with a hint of surprise, like he hadn’t expected to be standing here either.

“Oh,” he said, his voice soft and unsure, like someone who rarely spoke first. His hand reached out instinctively as if to steady you, fingers hovering just a breath away from your shoulder before he hesitated, withdrawing his arm like it might burn him.

You blinked up at him, something niggling at the back of your mind. He looked… familiar. Not just in the ‘guy you pass on the street every day’ kind of way, but in a way that prickled at the edges of an old, half-forgotten memory. You stared at his face, the scruffy jawline, the faint scar along his cheekbone, the haunted, cautious eyes that flicked away the second they met yours.

You knew this face.

You knew his face.

Your pulse stuttered.

Then it hit you. The flicker of a greasy hoodie pulled tight around a gaunt, desperate face, a figure silhouetted in the light of your open fridge, a whispered, frantic apology cut off by a steaming cup of ramen splattering across a narrow, bony back.

“Oh my god,” you said, your voice coming out more breathless than you intended.

His eyes widened, a deer-in-headlights kind of terror flashing across his face.

“It’s you.”

“Uh…” He took a half-step back, one hand coming up to rub awkwardly at the back of his neck. “It’s… me?”

“Yeah, you.” You jabbed a finger into his chest, immediately regretting it as your finger hit something disturbingly solid beneath the wool. You winced, pulling your hand back quickly, masking the sharp sting with a tight scowl. “You’re the one who broke into my apartment and stole my TV a few years back!”

The silence that followed was thick enough to choke on. He blinked once, twice, then seemed to shrink a little into his cardigan, eyes flicking to the side as if he might find an escape route between the rows of chicken noodle and tomato soup.

“Oh. Oh.” He grimaced, his ears turning an impressive shade of pink. “Uh, yeah. I’m… I’m really sorry about that.” He stammered, rubbing his arm awkwardly. “I-I told you I’d replace it.”

You scoffed as you remembered his desperate face twisted with pain from the hot noodles that was thrown at his back, his words barely coming out coherent. “Yeah, well, that’s hard to believe from the guy who bolted out my window with a 43-inch flatscreen and a bad case of ramen burns.”

He flinched, a guilty look crossing his face as he glanced down at his shoes. “Yeah… I deserved that.” You were about to snap back, something cutting and cathartic, when a booming, heavily accented voice echoed down the aisle.

“Bob! There you are my friend!”

You turned, just in time to see a massive, bear-like figure stomping toward you, arms outstretched like he was about to crush the both of you in a bone-cracking bear hug.

Bob turned a little, his head dropping like a guilty puppy. “Oh no…”

The mountain of a man, dressed in a bright red tracksuit and sporting a bushy beard, clapped a meaty hand down on Bob’s shoulder, nearly sending him to his knees. “I have been looking for you everywhere! What are you doing here, hiding among the soup cans like a little mouse?”

You blinked, your mind struggling to keep up. You do know now that the man who stole your TV is named Bob, such a peculiar name.

Alexei’s grip on Bob’s shoulder tightened, his thick fingers nearly disappearing into the oversized grey cardigan, and for a moment, you almost felt a little sorry for the guy. Almost. The big Russian’s bearded face split into a grin, his eyes twinkling like he’d just found an old friend in the canned soup aisle.

“Ah, Bob! Did you find the canned corn ?” he boomed, his deep, accented voice carrying down the aisle and probably into the frozen foods section.

You took a small, instinctive step back, watching as Bob visibly shrank beneath the older man’s enthusiastic grasp.  Alexei’s gaze shifted to you, his eyes narrowing with a sudden, almost childlike excitement. Without warning, he released Bob’s shoulder, reaching into his shopping basket as he brought it up, the box crinkling slightly in his massive hand.

“Look, look!” He leaned in towards you, jabbing a thick finger at the front of the box. “You recognize this?”

You blinked, leaning in despite yourself. The box was a generic-looking brand, the kind that’s always on sale but no one actually buys unless they’re desperate or trying to save a few dollars. The front featured a group of people, posing – Alexei’s finger pointing at a specific man.

You glanced at the person he was pointing at on the box, then back at him. Then back at the box. Then at Bob, who had gone a peculiar shade of pink beneath his scruffy, overgrown hair, his eyes fixed on the tiled floor like he wished he could disappear into it.

The Red Guardian’s grin only grew wider as he watched your confused expression, his finger tapping insistently on the printed image.

“See? See? You recognize, yes?” He straightened, puffing out his chest as if to match the image on the box. You blinked again, torn between second-hand embarrassment and a bizarre kind of awe. “Uh… yeah.” You muttered out, fingers awkwardly playing with the handle of your shopping basket.

His eyes sparkled, clearly thrilled by the recognition. “Yes, yes! You know me!” throwing his hands up causing you and Bob to flinch at the sudden burst of movement.

You tilted your head, watching as he posed with one fist on his hip, the cereal box still clutched in his other hand like it was the Olympic torch. “Red… something?”

He leaned in closer, his beard twitching with anticipation, like a giant, overeager bear.

“Red… Guardian?” you finished, half-question, half-statement.

He slammed the box down onto the edge of the nearest shelf, the impact making the metal rattle and the box to tremble. “Yes! Red Guardian!” he roared, clearly pleased with himself. You took a step back, fingers tightening around your grocery basket. This guy had the energy of a particularly loud uncle at a family barbecue, the kind that smacks you on the back hard enough to make you lose your breath.

“And you?” He pointed at you now, his massive hand blocking out half your vision. “You, what is your name?”

You hesitated, glancing at Bob, who was now staring resolutely at the floor tiles, his shoulders hunched like a child expecting a scolding. You felt a strange, uncomfortable twist in your gut, that same old unease from the ramen incident years ago prickling at the back of your mind.

“It’s, uh…” You cleared your throat, feeling oddly exposed under the Red Guardian’s intense, expectant stare. You croaked out your name, this also catching Bob’s attention, the both of you making eye contact but he quickly broke it off when you glared at him.

Alexei beamed your name out loud, rolling the name around in his mouth like a fine wine. “Beautiful name! Strong name!” He clapped his hands together, the sound echoing down the aisle, his gaze now falling on Bob

“And how do you know our Bob here?” he asks, the grin on his face not disappearing.

Your eyes slid back to Bob, who was now shuffling his feet, his hair falling into his eyes as he fidgeted with the fraying edge of his cardigan sleeve. You squinted at him, a sudden flash of irritation tightening your jaw. Right. You remembered exactly how you knew this guy.

“Oh, Bob here,” you said, making sure to put a lot of emphasis on his name long with letting a hint of your old anger creep into your tone, “stole my TV a few years back.” You scoffed out, you did not have a TV for a good few months and you was just a struggling college student.

Red Guardian’s smile froze, his thick eyebrows climbing towards his hairline. His gaze snapped to Bob, who winced, his ears turning an even deeper shade of red.

“Bob,” Red Guardian said slowly, his thick, bushy eyebrows knitting together in a mock expression of fatherly disappointment. He leaned in, his voice dropping to a loud, exaggerated whisper that still echoed down the aisle. “You did this?”

Bob flinched, his head jerking up as he stammered, “I-I, uh, I told her I’d replace it!” He shot you a panicked, pleading look, his hands wringing the hem of his cardigan like a guilty child caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms over your chest. “Oh, yeah. Right before you dove out my window with my flatscreen under your arm!” you pointed your index finger towards him in an excusing manner watching as he flinched at his, your brows furrow at this…he seemed like someone who is always on edge.

Red Guardian made a deep, disapproving sound in his throat, his head shaking slowly as he clapped a heavy hand down on Bob’s shoulder once again, making the man visibly wince.

“Tsk, tsk, Bob. This is no good.” He turned back to you, his eyes sparkling with a kind of mischievous, paternal glee. “He must make this right, yes? Repay his debt. Prove he is a good man! And no longer bad chicken Bob!” he exclaims out loud, your even more confused now.

‘Chicken Bob?’

Before you could protest, the Red Guardian’s grip tightened on Bob’s shoulder, his other hand sweeping towards you in a grand, magnanimous gesture. “Bob, you must invite this fine woman to dinner. Show her that you are reformed, yes?”

“W-wait, what?” Bob’s eyes shot wide, his face blanching beneath his scruffy beard.

“Yes, yes!” Red Guardian barrelled on, clearly delighted with his own idea. “You will come to dinner with us, yes?” He turned to you, his eyes bright, his grin nearly splitting his face in two. “It will be great honour to have such a strong, brave woman in our home. We make great borscht! Very delicious!”

You opened your mouth to object, to point out that you still had half a grocery list to get through, not to mention a few years of lingering resentment towards the man who had once made off with your only decent piece of electronics, but the Red Guardian’s booming voice cut you off.

“Come, come! Do not worry about groceries. I will make you borscht. Bob will show you he is a good man. Yes, Bob?”

Bob made a small, strangled sound, his eyes flicking between you and the Red Guardian like a trapped animal.

“Uh… y-yeah?” he managed, his voice so small it was almost swallowed by the grocery store’s humming lights.

Before you could fully process what was happening, the Red Guardian was already steering you and Bob towards the exit, the cereal box abandoned on the shelf behind you, his booming voice echoing through the aisles.

“Come, come, we will have great feast! You will see, Bob is very good man now!”

You shot Bob a sharp, exasperated look as you stumbled along beside them, your brain still scrambling to catch up. How the hell had this become your life?

⊹

The walk to the  Watch Tower – the tower that now housed the ‘new’ avengers - was mercifully short, though it felt longer than it was with the Red Guardian practically booming with every step, his heavy boots clapping against the pavement like a small parade. The morning air was crisp, the sun cutting through the towering glass and steel around you, casting long, sharp shadows across the cracked pavement. You managed to get your groceries- Alexei insisting to pay for them as you clutched the bag tighter, the contents rustling softly against your leg as you tried to keep pace with the oversized man beside you.

Every few steps, you felt Bob’s presence behind you, shuffling quietly, his cardigan sleeves pulled down over his hands like a nervous schoolboy. You caught a glimpse of his reflection in the glossy glass doors as they reached the base of the tower, his dark eyes flicking up to meet yours for a fraction of a second before darting away again.

He still looked like a ghost of a man, all messy, unkempt hair and slouched shoulders, you almost felt bad for him, but the memory of your missing TV kept you firmly on the side of irritated.

Alexei, however, was in a world of his own, practically vibrating with energy as he slapped his massive palm against the sleek, polished metal of the tower’s entrance, his voice echoing off the glass.

“Come, come! We are home now!” He gestured grandly for you to enter, his broad, calloused hand sweeping towards the sliding glass doors.

You hesitated, glancing up at the towering structure. The sleek, reflective surface stretched up into the cloudless sky, the sunlight catching on the edges of a large A near the top. You swallowed, feeling a flicker of nervousness and nostalgia – you had been here before, long ago – work purposes, memories you just wanted to tuck away.

Before you could fully process the absurdity of the situation, the Red Guardian had already marched through the doors, his heavy boots clanking against the marble floors inside, leaving you and Bob to awkwardly shuffle in behind him.

The lobby was cavernous, the high ceilings stretching upwards like a cathedral, glass and steel arching around you in a way that felt both futuristic and oppressive. Soft, ambient music hummed through hidden speakers, the faint, sterile scent of air conditioning tingling in your nose. You glanced over at Bob, who was still staring at his shoes, his long, bony fingers twisting into the frayed edges of his cardigan sleeves.

You shifted your grocery bag to your other hand, your fingers starting to ache from the weight. Alexei was already jabbing at the elevator button with one thick, impatient finger, muttering something in rapid Russian under his breath as he waited for the doors to open.

With a soft ding, the elevator slid open, its brushed steel doors parting like the jaws of some enormous, metallic beast.  Alexei stepped inside without hesitation, gesturing for you and Bob to follow.

You stepped in, feeling the air turn colder as the doors slid shut behind you. The soft, mechanical whirr of the elevator filled the silence as Alexei punched in the floor number, his massive knuckles practically dwarfing the tiny, glowing buttons.

For a moment, the only sounds were the gentle hum of the elevator and the faint rustle of your grocery bag as you adjusted it against your hip. You glanced sideways at Bob, who was staring intently at the corner of the elevator, his face a study in nervous concentration.

You tightened your grip on the bag, the plastic cutting into your fingers as you felt a fresh wave of irritation bubble up. How the hell had this guy gone from petty TV thief to… whatever the hell this was? You eyed him again, trying to reconcile the image of the jittery, scrawny man beside you with the half-forgotten memory of him scrambling out your window, your flatscreen clutched awkwardly in his arms.

The Red Guardian’s deep, rumbling voice cut through the silence like a hammer on glass. “Ah, Yelena will be so happy to meet you! Maybe you and her can be friends, yes? She needs more friends” He gave you a broad, toothy grin, his beard twitching as he chuckled to himself. “And you, Bob, you should also make more friends. You are too quiet, like a little ghost.”

Bob made a small, strangled sound, his eyes flicking up to meet yours for the briefest of moments before darting away again. You scowled, your fingers tightening around the grocery bag handle.

You shifted awkwardly, your eyes darting around the room as the uncomfortable silence stretched on. You felt Bob’s presence beside you, his hand twitching slightly as if he wanted to shove his hands into his pockets but was too nervous to move.

The elevator ride felt long- longer then you remembered. Finally, you shot him a sharp, sideways glance, Alexei was humming something in Russian lost in his own world as you lowered your voice to a harsh whisper. “How the hell did you end up here?”

Bob’s eyes widened, his head jerking up like a startled deer. He opened his mouth to respond, but the words seemed to catch in his throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he stammered, “I-I… it’s a long story.”

You narrowed your eyes, feeling the weight of the forgotten ramen incident settling heavily in your chest. “I did not know the b-vengers also took on petty thieves”  you muttered, your grip tightening on your grocery bag.

Bob’s head tilted slightly, the harsh white light casting faint shadows across the sharp lines of his face. Your words stung like a bandit aid being ripped, his hair hung loose around his shoulders, a little too long, a little too messy, and his jaw tightened at your words. He tried his best to block memories of his past, breaking into peoples homes- stealing their valuables- all in order to buy meth – to get high.

“It’s… complicated,” he mumbled, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, his gaze flicking down to his scuffed boots.

You huffed, eyes narrowing further. “Complicated? You broke into my apartment and stole my TV. That’s not complicated, that’s just petty crime.”

Before Bob could sputter out a response, the elevator gave a soft chime and the doors slid open, revealing the sprawling lounge of the Avengers Tower. The space was sleek and modern, polished floors reflecting the city lights streaming in from the tall glass windows. Low, comfortable couches were scattered around, and a massive screen dominated one wall, currently flashing muted news headlines.

A lady with short blonde hair spots the three of you her sharp, curious eyes immediately locked onto the three of you as she crossed the room, her genie pig clutched in one hand, its tiny paws scrabbling against her fingers. She cocked her head, blonde hair falling over one shoulder as she sized you up, her expression unreadable before she turned to look towards Bob and Alexei.

“You do know you need to inform me first before you go anywhere with Bob, dad ?” she asked her voice laced with annoyance as Alexei gives her a sheepish grin.

“The boy needed the fresh air; thought grocery shopping will help him out.” He states, Bob just nervously standing next to him – Yelena gives the two a small smile – her dad was with Bob, she should not worry that much but at the same time her father has a blabber mouth and says things a bit too quickly before he thinks- which could trigger Bob.

Her gave now falls back on you as you were standing awkwardly through that little conversation, the urge to just run out, to disappear was becoming greater as her eyes locked with yours- stern.

“Dad,” she said, her tone clipped, her gaze still not leaving you. “You know you can’t just bring strangers in here.” Alexei’s face brightened, as if this was exactly the response he’d been hoping for. He clasped his large hands together, making the genie pig in Yelena’s grip flinch.

“Relax, Yelena. Bob here needs to make up for a mistake,” he said, clapping a massive hand down on Bob’s shoulder, making him flinch slightly. “And I thought, what better way than a dinner? A little easier on the champ.” He gave Bob a hearty shake, his bicep bulging as he grinned before he says he needs to prepare dinner in an excited tone, rushing to what you assume is the kitchen.

Yelena’s eyes narrowed further, her suspicion deepening as she looked from you and then to the clearly mortified Bob, who was steadily turning a deep shade of pink.

“What did he do?” she asked, eyes locking onto you, clearly expecting some explanation for this odd little reunion.

You didn’t miss the way Bob’s shoulders tightened, his jaw clenching as if bracing for impact. For a second, you considered letting him squirm a little longer, but the memory of your old, second-hand TV, the one you’d scrimped and saved for, flashed through your mind.

“He stole my TV a few years back,” you said, keeping your tone as casual as you could, but not quite managing to keep the bite out of your voice.

Yelena did not seem phased by what you had said as if its something of the normal as she turns towards him. ‘Did he steal her TV too ? is this a normal ? why are these ‘avengers’ so casual with a petty thief ?’ you thought, you must wanted to go home now.

“Bob,” she said, her voice soft and calm as if she switched off her scary demeanour to calm and soft one- just for him, just for Bob.

“You stole a TV?”

Bob shifted uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand, his face a deep, blotchy red. He muttered something under his breath, eyes firmly fixed on the floor, his broad shoulders almost curling in on themselves.

“Wow,” Yelena said, leaning back, clearly enjoying this. “You really are full of surprises, Bob”

Bob’s head dropped lower, and you could practically feel the waves of embarrassment radiating off him.

“ It was when I was on meth!” he quickly justifies, your eyes widen slightly at this new found information, that actually explains a lot. “I-I needed cash so I used to steal stuf-f” he stammered out his eyes now locking with yours, a guilty expression on his face but his eyes were soft and sincere “and I’m really sorry I stole your TV, I did not want to but the voic-” “Okay Bob, that’s enough you don’t need to explain yourself anymore, what has been done in the past is in the past, you don’t have to worry, right?” Yelena had caught him off, her gaze now hard on you, trying to intimidate you into saying right- you looked at her as she wrapped a hand around his wrist- not in a forceful manner but in a way to comfort him ? then you looked at him, his eyes seemed distant, he seemed to be drifting – something was not right as you gazed back to Yelena, her gaze still cold and hard on you as if telling you to go along with her.

You took a deep breath in; a small smile stretches on your face. “Right, the past in the past” you said as sweet as you could , Yelena letting out a breath she did not even know she was holding, Bob’s eyes flickering towards you, a slight shine to them.

What is wrong with him ?

“After all, to be here with the new avengers means you have done something super good” you said, you tried not to sound sarcastic, but Bob seemed to be like a deer caught in headlights, his mind slightly spiralling.

‘You are only here so that you don’t become a threat to others’ a voice, no- its voiced whispered in his ear – his breath hitching, eyes turning glassy. Yelena noticed this quickly, a hand wrapping around his shoulder.

“Why don’t we go and sit down ? huh ? Bob? Lets go have a seat, you can pet Cucumber!” she says all of this out quickly as she lead Bob to the couch, your gaze followed them, next to the couch was a guinea pig – ginger and white, it was lazily seated on a mini pillow before being gently grabbed by Yelena- the guinea pig let out a small ‘pip’ before it was placed in Bob’s hands.

“Here pet Cucumber – think happy thoughts!” Yelena says, you just watched all of this happen awkwardly with your grocery bag making your fingers red, why the hell was this woman babying this grown ass man ? was the first thought that came to mind – Yelena’s gaze snapped towards you, her head cocking towards the couch.

“Sit.” Her voice was stern, this caused you to gulp as you made your way almost tripping on the rug towards the couch. ‘God, did I do something wrong?’ you really wanted to go home now, your heart was beating fast.

You sink into the far end of the couch, the soft cushions sagging beneath you as the worn fabric creaks under your weight. Your grocery bags rustle as you set them down beside you, the thin plastic crinkling sharply in the quiet room. Bob hesitates for a moment, his gaze flicking to you, then quickly away, before his gaze falls back on cucumber – who was happily sat on his lap. His knees bend stiffly, his limbs too long for the small space, and the fabric of his oversized cardigan bunches awkwardly around his wrists, the sleeves slipping down to cover his knuckles as he gently brushes his thumb on the animal.

For a moment, he just stares at his fingers, his thumbs rubbing slow, nervous rhythm on Cucumbers head, his shoulders hunched as if he’s trying to make himself smaller. You catch a faint tremble in his hands, the slight, uneven twitch of his fingers - it’s a small thing, barely noticeable unless you’re paying attention, but you catch it – the subtle, constant fidgeting, the way his breath hitches slightly whenever you glance his way.

Yelena sighs a breath of relief as if she had just stopped a bomb from exploding - she perches herself on the armrest, her arm stretching along the back of the couch, fingers absentmindedly scratching at a threadbare patch in the upholstery. The tiny guinea pig in Bob’s lap, sniffs at the air, its tiny pink nose twitching as it detects the faint, salty scent of your groceries.

Yelena tilts her head, her sharp green eyes flicking between you and Bob, catching the tension that crackles faintly in the air. Her gaze now falling on the paperwork that was scattered on the desk, a groan escaping past her lips “I thought Bucky was going to handle this” she sighs out annoyedly – it was mission reports that Valentina wanted back. Yelena thumbed through them, she knew her dad would want to do it but she don’t really trust him because he will say he is going to do it but ends up doing something else, Ava does not want to do them by choice, Walker – well he will straight up say no, and Bucky offers to do it but is also busy with his congress stuff and her? Well, it’s just tedious.  

Yelena’s accent thick but her tone light, as if she’s trying to ease the awkwardness settling around you, “we really should get a personal assistant. Valentina keeps dumping more and more crap on us.” She mutters more so to herself, feeling a headache forming while she stares at the cluttered coffee table, where stacks of mission reports and loose paperwork spill over the edges, threatening to slide onto the floor. One particularly crumpled page still bears the faint outline of tiny teeth marks – Cucumber’s latest snack, no doubt.

You heard what she had said, the need for a personal assistant, maybe you could just add your little two cents as you let out a soft, bitter chuckle, your fingers curling tightly around the thin plastic handles of your grocery bags. “A personal assistant, huh?” you murmur, leaning back into the couch, trying to find a comfortable spot among the lumpy cushions. You catch Bob’s shoulders tensing slightly, his head ducking lower.

“Well,” you continue, tilting your head slightly, a crooked smile pulling at your lips as you glance at Bob, trying to break the awkward tension “I could assist you with that.” You pause, letting the words hang in the air for a moment before adding, “And maybe Bob can help me get the job, you know, as a favour. Since he did steal my TV.” You still did not want to let go of the whole TV stealing incident, this seemed to irk Yelena now.

“I don’t think we would need a girl plucked from the grocery store to be our personal assistant, especially one still hung up on a stolen TV from years ago.” She states, her voice clipped, each word a precise cut. “ Besides, I highly doubt you have the …mindset for such fields”

You raise an eyebrow, leaning back a little “Depends on the field” you reply, tone light but your eyes sharp, catching the subtle shift in Yelena’s posture. “You’d be surprised what some of us pick up along the way”

Bob’s head snaps up, his eyes wide and startled, his mouth opens and closes wordlessly, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he struggles to find his voice. For a moment, he looks like a cornered animal, his dark eyes flicking nervously between you and Yelena, his fingers twisting together with renewed urgency.

Before Yelena could respond – her eyes held suspicion, Alexei bursts through the kitchen doors – the smell of food, seeping through as he grins widely.

“The dinner is ready!”

The late afternoon sun spilled through the tall, glass walls of the penthouse, casting long, slanting beams across the polished marble floors. The city below pulsed with life, a distant hum of engines and faint, echoing car horns rising from the streets, muffled by the thick, soundproof glass. The air inside was cooler, tinged with the faint, lingering scent of ozone from the tower’s advanced air filtration system.

Mel leaned against the glass railing, a sleek, black tablet balanced on her forearm, the screen flickering with a steady stream of security alerts. Valentina stood beside her, one hand wrapped around a steaming cup of dark coffee, her expression sharp and slightly irritated, her eyes locked on the swirling security feed.

“Please tell me it’s not another one of Alexei’s weird karaoke nights,” Valentina muttered, her voice low, the edges of her words sharpened by a hint of annoyance. “Last time, it was that poor Pizza guy, and I still don’t know how he ended up in a Spider-Man onesie, belting out ‘You’ve Got a Friend in Me’ at three in the morning.”

Mel smiled slightly, tilting the tablet slightly to catch the glint of the overhead lights. “No, nothing like that. But… well, we might have a situation. Look at this.” She tapped the screen, the security footage flickering as the camera angles shifted, closing in on the lounge below.

Valentina’s eyes narrowed as she took in the scene – Yelena’s wary posture, Bob’s hunched shoulders, and you, perched awkwardly at the end of the couch, your fingers still curled tightly around the crinkling plastic handles of your grocery bag, the faint sheen of sweat dotting your hairline despite the cool, climate-controlled air.

Valentina watched the security camera, a scoff leaving past her lips at Yelena complain about simple paperwork and you talking about being their personal assistant.  Your face away from the camera, your hair obscuring your face.

“why does Alexei bring random civilians to the tower? Gosh, Mel please add that I need to give them a warning on that – especially to that Red Guardian” she could feel a headache forming, ever since she announced the bunch of morally grey ‘heroes’ as the new avengers, her days of peace had been short – needing to cater to every single one of their demands.

She was just about to tell Mel, that she did not want to see anymore until your face came into view - Valentina’s eyes narrowed, her head tilting slightly as she took in the scene, her pulse quickening, a faint, instinctive prickle of suspicion tightening the muscles along the back of her neck.

“Wait,” she said, her voice low, her fingers tightening around the edge of her coffee mug. “Zoom in on the girl. Let me see her face.”

Mel hesitated, then swiped a finger across the screen, the pixels tightening around your face, capturing the faint crease between your brows, the annoyed twist of your lips, the dark, smudged shadows beneath your eyes.

Valentina’s breath hitched, her sharp eyes locking onto your face, the faintest flicker of recognition sparking in her gaze.

“Run facial recognition,” she snapped, her tone low, the sharp, edge creeping back into her voice.

The screen flickered, the system processing the command, the dull, mechanical hum of the tablet filling the brief, breathless silence. Then, with a soft chime, the results flashed across the glass, lines of text scrolling rapidly, the bright red banner of a classified file pulsing at the top with your picture on the left-hand side.

NAME: [Your Name]

ROLE: Strategic Planner, Stark Industries

PROJECT: [REDACTED] - Experimental Weapon Development (Scrapped)

STATUS: Resigned, Position Vacated

Valentina’s eyes crinkled at the corners, a slow, dangerous smile spreading across her lips, her fingers curling around the edge of the tablet.

“Well, well,” she murmured, her eyes still locked on your face, frozen in a moment of nervous laughter beside Yelena.

 “Maybe the New Avengers do need a personal assistant after all.”

Author’s note

I’m so sorry if this feels rusheddd, I just wanted to get my ideas out uahajw but but I’m excited – reader is slightly a beech but but she will redeem herself!! I promise hehe

Please do leave a like, comment, reblog - would very much appreciate

Also if you would like to be added to the tag list comment below !!

[keferon]

Please don’t stop w the combat icon headcanons if you ever get more inspiration! Me and the four other combaticom fans are crying

Omg haha okay. Just for you my fellow four combaticons fans:) More headcanons, Mecha au again.

Brawl is pretty good at cooking but he often does stupid shit like accidentally putting a metal spoon in a microwave.

Vortex will put metal spoons in the microwave on purpose. He can eat literally anything. Can maybe cook a glass of water.

The only three things Swindle can cook are eggs, cereal and meth.

Onslaught can cook but he grew up being poor so his usual meals are fucking. Rice with some salt and butter. Or bread with salt. He generally just puts some salt on things and calls it a meal.

Blast Off is amazing at cooking. 10/10. Ratatouille OST.

Vortex can and will steal other people's food. Except for Onslaught's and Swindle's. He will reach for Onslaught's food and do a ',:| face. Usually after that Onslaught just gives him a little piece.

Swindle's food is strictly forbidden by the law of "Brawl said so." Brawl in general will break your spine if you mess with Swindle's food. He's worried that Swindle is too small and needs to eat more.

Blast Off and Vortex share a bunk bed. Vortex has the top and drops all kinds of stuff/trash on Blast Off's head. Blast Off kicks him through the mattress all the time as revenge.

Blast Off's mecha has this big ass gun on it's shoulders. The gun was actually stolen from Quintessons and then connected to his mech as an experiment. The thing is very hard to handle but does A LOT of damage basically one-shoting 80% of monsters.

Vortex bites people as a form of both hate and love. Brawl bites Vortex back because he's chaotic like that. Blast Off loudly claims that biting is gross but will fucking bite you if his hands are full.

Onslaught often stares at Blast Off when no one can see. He thinks Blast Off is kinda nice to look at. Just. For no reason..

Brawl and Swindle give everyone nicknames. Like. Tex for Vortex, Blasters or Off (or secret third Offy) for Blast Off. Ons for Onslaught.

Onslaught often has nightmares but he wakes up quietly. Vortex also has nightmares but he is loud and will scream and shake and curse in his sleep. Usually that will wake up Blast Off who is then kicks the "roof" of the bunk bed to wake up Vortex.

Vortex started smoking bc it somewhat helped him to calm after the experiments.

Blast Off started smoking after Vortex died.

[theliliesofthevalleies]

I saw this comedy set on TikTok and thought this was perfect for Tim

Tim hasn’t slept in days working on a drug case rambling about stupid bags.

Bruce walking by: what’s going on?

Dick eating popcorn with Dami: this case is about to make Timmy crack.

Tim slamming his coffee mug down: humans don’t know anything about irony!

Bruce: oh. I’m sorry chum anything I can to help?

Tim: February 2020 two men were pulled over by GCPD for speeding on the interstate. Upon inspection of the car officers found a quote “tan bag” with the words quote “bag full of drugs” printed on the outside.

Bruce: right

Tim: now having been trained in the art of law enforcement the officer made an educated assessment that perhaps. This tan bag may not be trying to be ironic and instead actually had drugs in it.

Dick: I can see the logic.

Tim: upon inspection of the bag the officer found that his theory was correct because inside the bag was 70 grams of meth, 1.36 kilograms of GHB, a gram of cocaine, 15 MDMA tablets, 3.6 grams of fentanyl. Thereby rendering the outside of the bag n understatement because that bag was full of EVERY drug!

Dami: wow.. talk about the understatement of the year.

Tim: when asked if it was common to come across a bag labeled “bag full of drugs” he was quoted as saying “yeah I’d say that’s rare.”

Dick: so clearly not a public speaker..

Tim: Tuesday July 20th 2024. GCPD pullover a woman just inside of Gotham. And upon inspection of her vehicle found a quote “tan bag” with the words quote “bag of drugs” printed on the outside in her purse. Upon removal of said “bag of drugs” the officer found that it was as advertised unironically containing 3.25 grams of cocaine, 1.75 grams of crack, 1 gram of meth, 1.5 pills of hydromorphone, 2 amphetamines, and 4.5 alprazolams! Again the lettering on the bag a distortion regardless of how technically accurate it is because this bag HAD ALL THE FUCKING DRUGS IN IT!

Bruce: language chum.

Tim: Tuesday October 8th 2024! Blüdhaven police located a stolen car. Inside the found a fully loaded firearm, cash, and a quote “tan bag” labeled quote “definitely not a bag full of drugs” law enforcement no doubt taking pointers from GCPD checked the contents of the bag quote “definitely not a bag full of drugs” and found that it was in fact full of drugs! 79 tabs of fentanyl! 230 grams of meth and 3 fake pills of oxycodone! Which if it was just that would have rendered the front an accurate description and thus a level of situational irony that would have been achieved that would have made Oscar Wilde blast his pants!

Jason being summoned at the mention of Oscar Wilde: what would make Oscar Wilde blast his pants?

Dick: shh he’s not done.

Tim: back in Gotham. January 19th 2025!

Dami: oh. Recent.

Tim: a woman was arrested at a traffic stop. The K-9 unit took an interest in a bunch of bags in the back of the car. When asked if they could search the car the woman said “yeah. There shouldn’t be anything illegal in there.”

Jason: oh. Not smart..

Tim: when the GCPD searched the car they found a quote “tan tote bag” with the words quote “definitely not a bag full of drugs” printed on the front. And upon inspection of the bag, despite her earlier assurance and the bags, law enforcement discovered that there was in fact FUCKING DRUGS IN THE BAG!

Bruce: language!

Tim: meth and Narcan if you’re keeping score! Enough to get the women re-arrested for felony possession with an intent to manufacture and deliver! And I say re-arrested because she had been arrested for the same charges 10! DAYS! EARLIER!

Dami: oh.

Tim pinching the bridge of his nose: which means a woman charged with having drugs was out on bond got caught with drugs again. In a bag that was labeled “definitely not a bag of drugs” which by the way is available online for purchase at lookhuman.com for $18.99 which is a deal considering how much money it’s gonna cost if ya get arrested with a bag full of drugs!

Jason: oh it’s a lot.

Tim: now! Humans. Here’s the news. Irony is not dead it’s everywhere the problem is it seems that no one knows exactly what it is. Is it ironic to have a bag full of drugs labeled “full of drugs”? Is it ironic to have a bag with “definitely not full of drugs” printed on the front and then fill it comically chuffed with a Costco amount of fucking drugs?

Bruce giving up: language…

Tim with eyes twitching: humans I ask you! Is it ironic do you think to have 3 of those stories start with in Gotham and end with “bag full of drugs”?! Because you saw it coming from the beginning?! Or is it the Blüdhaven story that’s ironic because you heard a bag in Blüdhaven labeled “definitely not full of drugs” and figured it wouldn’t be?! It’d be some bottled microbrews and high end cheeses and to find out that bag you thought was full of Blüdhaven artisanal turned out to be fucking jackpot crack and fools-oxy?!

Bruce: okay. I think it’s time for bed.

Tim literally losing his mind: is it ironic that I’m coming in hot when I said I wouldn’t because every day has been a fire hose of historical events coming out of all ends of the media and I didn’t want to give you a panic attack and now I’m having a panic attack because I’m so goddamned on edge all the time because January 2025 came in tweaking in a flaming geo metro wearing a bag labeled “definitely not full of drugs” printed on the front!

Everyone trying to get Tim to calm down while he continues ranting loudly.

Dick: we should really watch him closer..

Tim: and is that news?! Is that irony?! And what should I be panicking about?!

Dami: agreed. Drake needs more sleep.

Bruce pinching the bridge of his nose: who keeps giving him coffee?

More loud ranting can be heard in the background.

[isolate-ignore-ibuprofen]

 ｡𖦹°‧the outsiders—character analyses and hcs in modern day

best viewed in dark modeᝰ.ᐟ

rundown: just general character analyses of the greasers and maybe the socs. the hcs will be modern day and in the 1960s. hcs a mix of movie, book, and both—each one will be categorized for it.

┏━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┓

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ — book

𝟏𝟏:𝟏𝟏 — movie

𐙚⋆°. — both/general

☆  — modern day

★ — 1960s/whenever the book was set in

┗━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┛⠀⠀⠀⠀

tldr: the top base and indicators at the first of the symbol will be combined. if there is no indicator, it is an applicable to anytime headcanon.

𐙚 𓏵𓏵𓏵 𐙚

★ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ dally sneaks, not really, the door’s always open there, into the curtis household to use their mom’s hair curler for his hair. speaking of his hair, i’m pretty sure it’s to the equivalent of deep fried. he bleaches it regularly but misses his roots so it sticks out. 𐙚⋆°. he also used to call ponyboy “little curtis” when he was younger.  ★ 𐙚⋆°. ponyboy still has trauma from being drowned in the fountain. he doesn’t go anywhere near water anymore. not like he knew how to swim in the first place. he likes the countryside more after that. well, not really. it reminds him of the church. two deaths, two places.  𐙚⋆°. ponyboy has never fully healed from his concussion. he still runs into things, forgets a lot, and struggles with his basic motor skills. it’s gotten slightly better over the years with the help around him. but it remains there. he has a bunch of scars from his fuck ups. ☆𐙚⋆°. cherry it would 100% listen to lana del ray. she is THE nyc girlie. she’d be addicted to pinterest too. 

☆ 𐙚⋆°. rip dallas winston, you would’ve loved blasting eminem in your headphones and even more pissing people off when they try to ask you something and you ignore it multiple times to then finally respond with “huh?”

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ i’m sorry, but cherry would kind of hate two bit. two bit’s an alcoholic, just like bob, but also a sweet person, just like bob. two bit’s alcoholism doesn’t affect him the same way bob does. still, cherry wouldn’t like him. she’d tolerate two bit. but she’d continue to hold her hate against the vice. 

★ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ ponyboy once had a dream of an out of body experience where 7th graders were reading his life story. he saw truly what god was until he woke up. he told soda about the dream, he always tells soda about his dreams, and soda just shrugged him off. pony always had wild dreams anyway.

𐙚⋆°. marcia kept waiting for the call from two-bit. she waited for a few days until she heard what had happened w all the greasers. she still waits for the him.

𐙚⋆°. two bit kept looking for the piece of paper with marcia’s phone number. he gave up, because he knew he could ask cherry anyway. he didn’t keep her waiting anymore. 

★ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ lets be honest, guys, ponyboy definitely has acne. like, he’s fourteen. his genes better be blessed if he doesn’t. run that back, he’d wash his face with dish soap and have clear, perfect skin. i’m pretty sure they didn’t have anything to deal with that kinda skin care back then. i mean, canonically, the curtis brothers are the only ones to be considered attractive in the whole group of greasers. maybe pony’s just a hater. 

☆ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ ponyboy would get absolutely DEVOURED if he was in modern day school. not to mention how much of a hater he fucking is based on first impressions. he can’t even come up with good comebacks. don’t even use the time period as an excuse. ponyboy watched as two bit dropped the killer line of “then pity the back seat” on the socs. what did pony say when the socs insulted him? “white trash with mustangs and madras.” it’s over for him if he used that on a middle schooler nowadays. he’s getting butchered into minced fucking meat. he’d use youtube insults but get bullied even more. 

☆ 𐙚⋆°. dallas would go actually crazy with all the modern drugs. lean, coke, ecstasy, green, pot, blunts, meth. he would have his own dealer that he would lowk fall in love with because that’s all he has. the drugs aren’t his salvation. his dealer is. (omfgg waittt fic idea???)

☆ 𝟏𝟏:𝟏𝟏 dally went through the canon event of buzzing his hair off like every other teenage boy. i hc that he had long hair but got a buzz cut then grew it back to his current style. 

𐙚⋆°. at the dx, steve and soda split up the work during their shifts. steve handles cars, soda the register. soda doesn’t know shit about cars, and steve doesn’t know how to even count money.

☆ 𝟏𝟏:𝟏𝟏 steve hates the cars movies because he thinks they’re inaccurate to actual cars. but he still watches them because lightning mcqueen reminds him of soda. two bit once pointed out steve is like mater. he got pissed off as hell. he’s not that ugly.

☆ 𝟏𝟏:𝟏𝟏 steve and soda unironically flirt with each other. like they are the exact type of boys during middle school who slap each others’ asses and say some shit like “good boy” or “good girl.” it’s only excusable whenever soda does it because he’s hot.  don’t get me wrong, they’re straight. but what they do is some of the gayest shit ever. it’s not even zesty. it is and looks genuine. they kiss the homies goodnight.

☆ 𐙚⋆°. dally watches fight club religiously. he likes heathers too - steve showed him it - but he won’t admit it. 

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ dally really wanted to die. he really wanted to commit suicide after johnny’s death. and when he hit the ground, he was glad. ponyboy knew it too. honestly, that was the better outcome compared to the movie. dally would’ve cared as much for pony just as he did for johnny if time gave it to him. but he forgot about that. he was blinded by grief and was put out of his misery. it was better. dally didn’t die seeing what else he could’ve lived for in front of him, even if he did start to genuinely care for pony. and pony didn’t have the knowledge of dally dying before realizing he could still live with him as the reason.

𝟏𝟏:𝟏𝟏 dally messed up when he died. in his last moments, he saw pony. he saw why he should’ve went on. he saw what he had to live for. johnny was dead. was dying just like him going to fix anything? he knew it wouldn’t. he knew the whole thing was a mistake. in his last moments, he wished he could’ve reverse all he did. he died wishing he was alive. he wished he could’ve said sorry to ponyboy at least for dying. 

𐙚⋆°. it was kind of ironic, wasn’t it? johnny spent his last few moments writing to ponyboy hoping to make dally’s life better. as if he was going to be alive to be able to hear it. it was for the better that johnny died without knowing how much dally truly loved and cared for him, so much to the point his death drove him to insanity.

☆ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ pony blasted “like him” by tyler the creator after realizing the resemblance to dally in their hair after bleaching it. he keeps his blonde hair cause it’s one of the only physical things reminding him of dally and johnny.

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ steve is the most realistic brother to pony. he doesn’t let him do anything, doesn’t let him tag a long. that’s what a true brother does. pony and steve’s relationship is purely one sided from pony. he only hates him because he isn’t as lenient as his brothers are. take it as this, darry and soda let pony do mostly whatever he wants, which is what they do, because he grows up faster that way. but steve cares for pony in a brotherly way because steve doesn’t want him to end up like his father, and steve doesn’t want to end up like him either. he pushes him away because that’s the way he was taught. he pushes him away because that’s the only way he knows how to show he cares.

𐙚⋆°. johnny’s only jean jacket is steve’s old jacket. 

☆ 𝟏𝟏:𝟏𝟏 soda would try to get up an onlyfans when he got older to try to get more money to support the family. like brother, like brother or whatever they say. popping it out like his stripper older brother/j

𝟏𝟏:𝟏𝟏 dallas says he hates kids but somehow they kinda gravitate towards him. he doesn’t actually hate them, he’s just trying to keep up that cover. dallas has the energy of the cool uncle and rodrick heffley but nicer combined. he tolerates, more like protects, them because he reminds him of the childhood he never had.

𐙚⋆°. johnny did track with pony. trust me, that kid can RUN.

𐙚⋆°. two bit quotes/references obscure media around the gang, and he looks around to see if anyone got it before he just laughs it off.

☆ 𝟏𝟏:𝟏𝟏 two bit would watch tawog.

𐙚⋆°. darry wears a necklace that holds his parents’ rings after they died under his shirt that he wears 24/7. that necklace is never off him. it’s his reminder to be the best mother and father he can be to pony and soda. 

☆ 𐙚⋆°. ponyboy and johnny had the sickest handshake together. they’d also be the type of mfs you’d see practicing dap ups to get that loud ass sound that reverberating in the school hallways. and sometimes they just randomly dap up and you hear that heavenly clap. pause.

☆ 𐙚⋆°. dally teaches gang signs that he picked up from those sagging fake ass gangsters at school to little kids. 

☆ 𐙚⋆°. they all recorded a ‘we listen and we don’t judge” vid and throughout the whole thing, darry would be have his arms crossed and give whoever was talking the NASTIEST side eye. some of the loudest judging w that. 

☆ 𐙚⋆°. same concept, they did the same thing with a hmo cake. steve and soda put each other on the cake. two bit had the most down bad hmos, like genuinely peculiar hmos like mama coco, ifyky. dally is the guy just putting conventionally attractive women. ponyboy and johnny weren’t contributing but they were definitely judging hard and gossiping about their weird hmos. 

𐙚⋆°. ponyboy went from liking sunsets to sunrises. sunsets were the last glimpse of gold before it went black, childhood becoming adulthood. he liked them because he was finally growing up, finally leaving his childhood behind. it was easier and for the best to grow up anyway. but after johnny’s death, he liked sunrises a little bit more. sunrises are the dawn, the start of gold. it’s unrealistic. pony knows he can’t stay a kid forever. sunrises are an escape. he still favors sunsets, and he wishes he could really show dally a sunset. he was on the brink of becoming an adult, and maybe a sunset would’ve showed him that last glimpse of gold, of childhood that would keep him going. sunrise or sunset, pony tries to stay golden, no matter what.

𐙚 𓏵𓏵𓏵 𐙚

  "૮₍ •⤙•˶|✉️ ᴮᵉᵉᵖ..! ᵒⁿᵉ ᵐᵉˢˢᵃᵍᵉˎˊ˗

╰┈➤

╭──── · · ୨୧ · · ────╮

damn, this took WAY too long to post. i was going on and off with it. some of it kinda feels ooc, but idgaf. should i make the dally x reader fic or nah??? i honestly wanna write a dally x male reader oneshot,, anywayyyyy might make a part two.

╰──── · · ୨୧ · · ────╯

₊‧ʚ・︵︵ ₊˚๑ ᕱᕱ ꒱✦ ₊ ︵︵・₊﹆ɞ‧₊ creds to

@roseraris for the divider

@icons80s for the header

tyyy.˳˳✧.⋅ॱ   

[septemberlikeastorm]

i wonder about, & worry for, the customers who came into the apothecary while qimir/the stranger was playing shopkeeper. we know he can mix drinks & poisons, but what about ordinary medicines?

did somebody ask for cough syrup & he gave them gasoline mixed with mountain dew baja blast? did somebody ask for Space Viagra & he served them asbestos with a dash of crystal meth & freshly ground himalayan sea salt?

[bvrntwithwater]

If I Lived In A Trailer Park I'd Smoke Meth All Day And Blast Arghoslent From A Stolen Subwoofer

[offender42085]

Post 1415

"Who stole my beer?..."

Chad Carkeek Jackson, Montana inmate 3026312, born 1997, incarceration intake October 2019 at age 23, released to parole March 2023

Assault with a Weapon

In February 2019, a Bozeman Montana man pleaded guilty to shooting a man in the legs after being kicked out of a party in June 2018.

Chad Jackson appeared before the Gallatin County District Judge and pleaded guilty to felony assault with a weapon.

Jackson said he knowingly used a firearm to cause an injury.

Hunter Cruz, the second man arrested in connection with the shooting, pleaded guilty to felony obstructing justice in December 2018.

Jackson and Cruz were arrested in Rexburg, Idaho, the day after a shooting at a home in Bozeman that injured 19-year-old Connor Webster.

The charges stem from a party at a friend’s house on Accola Drive on June 10, 2018, according to charging documents.

The documents said Taylor Davine kicked Jackson out of his party after Jackson got angry and accused Davine of stealing beer he brought to the party.

After leaving the party, the documents said, a witness reported Jackson continued to complain about his stolen beer and repeatedly said he was going to go back to Davine’s house and shoot Davine or Webster. The documents said the witness thought Jackson was joking because he was drunk and “merely venting his frustration.”

Webster told police he was asleep at Davine’s house when he awoke to a gun blast and felt excruciating pain in his leg, documents said. He said he didn’t see who shot him.

Davine took Webster to the emergency room, documents said, where Webster underwent surgery for his injuries.

Documents said investigators searched the house and found one spent .223-caliber rifle casing near the recliner where Webster had been shot. They also found an unused .223-caliber cartridge nearby.

Witnesses reported that Jackson owned an AR-15 style rifle with the same caliber and color ammunition as was found at the scene, documents said.

Shortly after 2 a.m., on June 11, documents said, the Rexburg Police Department arrested Jackson and Cruz after they stopped for gas. Idaho police charged them with additional counts of felony meth possession and misdemeanor charges for possession of marijuana and drug paraphernalia. Those charges were dropped and Jackson and Cruz were returned to Montana.

5y

[artiststarme]

Things never really went to plan for one poor Eddie Munson. His fate was sealed from his very first breath, his life would be a tragedy. And so, the universe set out to make him suffer.

It was like all the cards in his life were stacked against Eddie. He was born to a Bonnie and Clyde type of couple with Bonnie running away from the commitment of a family as soon as she could. Dick Munson was all too betrayed by the abandonment of his partner in come and set to destroy everything he had left. He cut ties with his brother, turned to a bottle, and drowned the sounds of his son’s screams out with meth and benzos. It was only a matter of time before he was arrested from a robbery gone bad with enough drugs to keep him behind bars for life.

Poor Eddie was sent to live with the uncle he hardly remembered. He was thrown into a loving trailer in a town full of hate. The kids at school ostracized him the moment they laid eyes on him, his bruised eyes and shaven head spoke all too lowly of his character. If he were lucky, he’d only get a few jaunts and swirlies but if he weren’t, he’d arrive home with another black eye or limp to hide from Wayne.

High school wasn’t much better. Just like middle school, the kids and teachers alike hated him. He blew off school and started selling drugs underneath people’s noses to help Wayne with the bills that were drowning them. He did make some friends, other loners that craved friendship and togetherness they’d never received anywhere else.

It turned out that he was gay. He knew as soon as he saw Steve Harrington’s shirt come off in the locker room and knew he was fucked. He was already the outsider no one liked, it made sense that something else would come up to make him even more different than everyone else in the suffocating small town. The worst part wasn’t the fact that people might find out. It was the part where no one he would ever have a crush on would ever like him back, least of all Steve Harrington whom had girls falling at his feet and guys wishing to be him.

As if it couldn’t get any worse, his skipping school held him back and made him even more of a loser than before. Eddie truly felt like the dumb-as-shit trailer trashed that everyone always told him he was. So he stopped trying completely. He fell into a persona adopted from his favorite artists, focused on his music and DnD, and tried to finally enjoy his life.

Then he saw hell on earth in the form of Chrissy Cunningham’s twisted body hovering in midair and fracturing with horrific snaps. He ran like the coward the universe had trained him to be and made himself the prime suspect in doing so. Eddie knew that there was no possible way to go back to how things were before. As fucked up as his life had been, he’d still miss his early morning coffees with Wayne and campaigns with the guys. As soon as the cops found him, he would be as dead as Chrissy.

So, he followed the kids out of fear. He felt like he was living in some sort of fucked up lucid dream. His long-reigning crush was there shirtless in his battle vest, Nancy Wheeler was there with fucking guns (plural), Robin the band geek was handling explosives, and the redhead that lived across the street from him was hanging on the edge of life fully dependent on a Walkman blasting shitty pop music. What the fuck, how was any of this real? He didn’t fully believe it until he felt the pain accompanying the bat bites and heard Dustin’s cries begging him to stay awake. It was only then that he realized the universe had royally fucked him over once again.

He knew with his luck, or lack of it, that he wouldn’t be waking up from this nightmare. His eyes slid shut for the last time and all Eddie could think was at least things would be better now than they ever were before.

When his eyes finally did open to a hospital room filled to the brim with his uncle and new friends, a tear dropped from his eye and his chest lightened. From then on, he knew everything would be so much better.

It seemed the universe had decided to call a truce and abandon the tragedy that had plagued young Eddie Munson. From then on, he wouldn’t have fate darkening his days. With the Party at his side, Steve Harrington’s hand in his, and his uncle’s Garfield mug on the hospital side table, Eddie Munson’s life began anew.

[bougiebutchbinch]

https://www.tumblr.com/bougiebutchbinch/781722927274098688/optimus-has-starscream-laying-on-top-of-him-his

Welp, on the bright side the one of the creators says energon tastes like strong sprite. Before you melt at least it would taste like sprite. Unless Megs is already on the snorting unicron’s blood then it might taste a bit different

this is how I want to go out tbh. Blasted in the face with robot cum that tastes like a hot cocktail of sprite and meth

[bullet-prooflove]

Taken!Series Part Six: Family - Angel Reyes x Reader

Tagging: @crazy4chickennuggets @kmc1989 @withakindheartx @wakeama @witches-unruly-heart @keyweegirlie @trhett21 @annetje @infinity-mars @emily2003alzaga @danzer8705 @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @thatonesexycancerian @expir3dl0v3  @appreciatelove @the-wandering-lunatic @weiwei0210 @anime-weeb-4-life @multifandomloversworld @harperdoodle @cheyrenee @fanfic-n-tabulous @stressed-chas @daydreaming-belle @est1887 @prettyinpunk85 @adaydreamaway08 @thanossexual @briefpersonenemy @creativitybeware @crimeshowjunkie @librarian1002 @mortal--soul @buddinglinguist @spookyboogyuniverse @spaghettificationandpretzels @nu1freakshow @thebaileybugle @legally-a-bastard @bonsaijoons @sclitvdes @justreblogginfics

Taken!Series:

Part One: Mother - Tragedy strikes when Angel leaves you and Valeria alone for the evening.

Part Two: Bleeding Out - Angel returns home to discover what happened at the house.

Part Three: Touch & Go - Angel discovers where Valeria was taken.

Part Four: Meth Mountain - Angel retreives Valeria.

Part Five: Perfect - Angel reveals what he was really doing the night you were shot.

When you come home, it’s to Felipe’s house.

To a bedroom that’s been redecorated, to a space that’s tailored to help with your recovery.

You’ve been in Angel’s old room before. It used to be a blast from the past, basketball stuff littering the shelves, old, chequered sheets on the single bed in the corner, pictures of motorcycles and scantly clad women on the walls.

That’s changed now. There’s a double bed with crisp white sheets with pretty little plants embroidered into it, a swing cradle for Valeria is situated along side of it. The shelves hold all of your items from home. The various terrariums, the pressed rose in a frame from your Nana. Your clothes are hung up in a gorgeous dark wood wardrobe that had been hidden underneath Angel’s half naked lady posters.

The truth is you can’t go back to the house you were injured in, and neither can Angel. The memories are too raw, too vivid so instead you return to Felipe’s. A place where you can rest and recover with the help you need and the proximity to your daughter. You need to be close to her in the aftermath, the same way that Angel does.

Right now, you’re sitting on the edge of the bed, rocking the cradle lightly as Valeria kicks her legs and puts her hands to her mouth. Those dark eyes of hers stare up at the mobile that Felipe had crafted for her, brightly coloured zoo animals that ensnare her attention. You feel settled right now, at peace. For the first time in a long time everything is right where it’s supposed to be.

Felipe clears his throat from the doorway, you tilt your head up with a small smile before your attention turns back to the baby.

“She doesn’t have a care in the world.” You say softly.

Felipe sits down beside of you, the bed dipping as his shoulder bumps against yours. He chucks his finger underneath Valeria’s chin, and the baby tries to grab at it.

“I never said thank you.” You say quietly. “For setting us up here. I know it can’t be easy having us in your personal space...”

Felipe shakes his head, cutting you off.

 “It’s good to have other people around the house again.” He says, his voice gruffer than usual as he takes over the rocking. “Especially this little one.”

There’s silence between the two of you for a moment as you both watch Valeria. She’s getting tired now, her motions slowing as she turns her head.

You hear Angel’s footsteps trapsing up the hallway before he ducks into the room. He’s wearing a grey wifebeater and basketball shorts that are covered in flecks of paint. There’s a streak of green across his cheek, you can see the same colour marring his fingertips.

“Pops, you said you were getting more paint for the nursery.” He says, before he sees the two of you sitting alongside the crib. A smile crosses his features as he steps inside the room, grabbing the rag from his back pocket and using it to clean his hands.

“EZ’s old room can wait a minute.” Felipe says, continuing to rock the cradle as the baby’s eyelids start to flutter closed. “I want to spend a little time with my family.”

Love Angel? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[iwannascreameurekaa]

incorrect aftg quotes

(reused quotes from my incorrect pjo quotes btw. very ooc obviously this is for fun)

Nicky: "Does he (Neil) have a speech impediment?"

Kevin: "he has a brain impediment."

Andrew, on his meds: "chat, what do we think?"

The empty room:

Andrew, on his meds: "chat, y'all are sure quiet tonight."

Renee: "Remember to always be whimsical"

Jean: "Red and blue duo. You know what that means!"

Jeremy: "Fire boy and water girl"

Jean, at the same time: "One of us is gonna die"

Aaron: *hit in the face with a Reese's pieces* "I DONT WANT YOUR ALLERGY MEDICINE!"

Andrew: "All candy isn't created equal."

Matt: *pointing to Allison's chapstick* "Bros the Lipstick Liberator. The Lipbalm Basher."

Neil: "Imagine you get to the pearly gates and it's just a bahms lullaby playing. Haunting you." 

Jeremy: "Are you cooked"

Jean, still not understanding brainrot: "Well I'm certainly not cooking"

Neil's inner thoughts: "I am the passenger princess 😄😌"

Jeremy, sleep talking: "Can I get a hair tie for his body"

Jeremy: "hashtag letsnotnakedarnold"

(Arnold is a gator. Pretend Arnold is barkbark)

Nicky, to a car that was tailing him:"If you're gonna ride my ass at least pull my hair!"

Andrew: "Don't make enemies if you're allergic to peanut butter"

Abby: "That's why they invented sinus medicine so we could BREATH! And these stupid meth addicts took it away from us!"

Dan: "Like a gilde(d) like a gang"

Cat, to Jean: "Time for sleep!! *pause* oh wait I forgot you can't sleep the city needs you!" 

Nicky: AARON!! HII!!

Aaron:...I wish I had a prosthetic leg so I could take it off and throw it at you

Nicky: what 🧍‍♂️

Abby: "Here's your Benadryl, it appears Andrew has ripped up a piece of the flooring so if you go to the bathroom just be careful not to stub your toe."

Neil: "I am not a dog"

Kevin: "Yes you are"

Andrew: "I bet on loosing dogs"

Nicky: "Is it possible to have an autistic dog"

*nickys Taylor swift music blasting while they're watching exy games*

Neil: "is Nicky able to turn down his music or"

Kevin: "Nicky turn down Taylor swift

Nicky: "you're not a swiftie!!" *music immediately turns off*

*lightning strikes*

Andrew, to Neil: "Looks like the gods are telling you no" 

Wymack, to the foxes: "You know how to use the microwave, I'm not worried about your happiness"

Neil: "I live for chaos."

Kevin to Neil: "One day you're gonna get struck by lightning."

Jean: "I'm not a pillow"

Jeremy: "Debatable"

Nicky: "My screenshots want me shot dead with how many I keep hidden like a dragon hoarding treasure in its cave"

Nicky, gesturing to Neil's clothes: "It looks like a table cloth"

Neil: "YOU look like a table cloth"

Wymack: "If the principal thinks you need psychological help, I'm not going to question it."

Kevin: *weird hand movements* "allegedly"

Neil: "Look at that BOX!"

Andrew: "We're not stealing a cardboard box from McDonald's"

Neil: "We could"

Andrew: "You wanna know where liars go? Neil's house." 

Betsy: "We have an office pet... something is in the ceiling"

Matt: "who's the most powerful Norse god?"

Seth, with full confidence: "ZEUS!"

[altosys]

random tpc headcanons

-spheer has a treenut allergy. idk, they just look like they would lol -ajaceare has a love-hate relationship with the harry potter franchise. like you bet your ass she'd know every single fact about it. -pentellow is pansexual. pantellow. -circubit cut his hair in his corrupted form. -iris is convinced via pentellow's cooking that al dente pasta is undercooked -pyrare would own a van if he had any type of vehicle -cubic would blast eminem in their headspace. just to piss cube off. -once circubit unmasks (if he even does mask at all) he becomes the most autistic motherfucker you'll ever meet. like once you accidentally bring up his spinterest there's no going back -circubit has chromesthesia (i once brought this up to brittany - the tpc creator brittany, not my headmate brittany - she probably saw it as a request so it might not end up as canon. oh well) -pentellow would abso-fucking-lutely be voiced by athena karkanis. ok maybe its because her nickname is a baking item, or because of her general personality, but yeah. (ok maybe she reminds me of sheree, so what) -ajaceare owns a bunch of potted plants. not just any potted plants, though. the specific gay ones. like the ones that lesbian witch cat-owners have. so in other words ajaceare is the epitome of lesbian. -dub has never tried tiger tiger ice cream (the orange and licorice one) and refuses to try it solely because "what kind of ice cream is orange" -cyanide has probably spent at least $150 from dub's bank account on claire's stuff. and 85% of it is pusheen merch. -iris grew up with watching salad fingers and jacksepticeye. -purpex is an esfp. -cintagon is autistic. idk they just dont seem allistic to me -pentellow's favourite total drama island character would be lindsay. -circubit's favourite total drama island character is chris mclean; he probably said "alright campers, todays challenge is..." every 3 seconds in his tdi phase. -cyanide enjoys murder drones -dub has tried to use corruption to make his hair fluffier -cube and cubic are literally just yin-yang from inanimate insanity. (aight brittany, where's the episode where the two find a vending machine and cubic wants dr fizz but cube wants water-) -circubit listens to lostwave -pyrare once caught barracuda and dub trying to make meth in his kitchen (it failed miserably, if pyrare wasnt there the house would've burned down) -circusic hates eminem; circubit knows all the lyrics to the real slim shady, without me, stan, lose yourself, and a shit ton of other classics. -if the tpc universe had plurality as a known concept, "corruption-genic" would be one of the most researched pages on their pluralpedia. -dub dies a little inside every time someone makes a mitosis joke about his eyes -you could easily lose ajaceare in a hot topic. like next thing you know she's on the top rack of the goth dress-shirts looking down like a fucking bat -circubit has spent an hour in spencer's just browsing, wondering "would i actually look good in this or do i think it just looks good on its own". he has also been to the back just for shits n' giggles. -ajaceare would only go to spencer's for the lava lamps and mystic stuff -iris' favourite lego ninjago character is kai -cube has never seen inanimate insanity, for some fucking reason -cyanide can play river flows in you on piano -cyanide's singing range is mezzo-soprano to soprano; her voice would be similar to vocaloid sonika -pyrare's favourite vocaloids are kaito and yowane haku -cubic recommended that cube should listen to otone peke, saying they were "the best vocaloid fr fr" -pentellow watches ouran highschool host club

[galaxywarp]

my brain is trying to tell me that maybe this time would actually be different. Maybe I could just smoke a LITTLE meth and have a blast for like a week and then stop again. Maybe we could work out like a “once every couple of months” plan. Maybe I can control it this time.

My brain is always trying to tell me this stuff. What worries me rn is that I’m actually listening to him a little bit.

[patchwork-crow-writes]

Favourite example of the Isekai genre (since it's apparently a thing now I guess) has got to be Eternal Sonata - a game where you play as Frederic Francois Chopin as he lays dying in Paris, and you explore a world that is apparently located entirely in his subconscious, where everything's named after musical terms and instruments, a megalomaniac ruler's trying to get his entire kingdom hooked on fantasy-crystal meth, and you beat the crap out of enemies with a conductor's baton. There are also several interludes where we learn about Chopin's life and music, while several notable examples of his compositions play in the background. Also a character takes ten minutes to die in an agonizing scene where she has vivid flashbacks to events that happened LITERALLY FIVE MINUTES AGO. A space dragon blasts a hole in the fabric of reality which leads to the honest-to-goodness AFTERLIFE, where people who died from aforementioned fantasy-crystal-meth overdose end up going. Needless to say the soundtrack is gorgeous, but the plot somehow winds up making even less sense than Chrono Cross. Which to people who have played that game... yeah, you know what that means.

This game came out in 2007, by the way.