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dibsonhoodie · 1 year

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Fly Off The Handle

Rating | Mature

Jeff the Killer x Reader

Warnings | Violence

Word Count | 2,612

Chapter two – Motel 6

Your story is on the news in the next few days. Murderer attacks helpless Portland resident. It doesn't mention how you fought for your life, or how the killer somehow disappeared out of a fifth story window. They don't mention that it was the same killer from the island, even if there was no evidence proving so. But you knew, you had a feeling that it was true. Someone had been following you then, and managed to follow you home without being caught. He got into your apartment and nobody knew, not your neighbors and not the front desk in the lobby. Nobody had seen him- has seen him.

With such violent memories surrounding your apartment, you make the choice to immediately move out. You weren't sure where you could go, or how you would pay for another apartment in the city when you spent the last of your savings breaking the lease. What mattered first was finding a bed. You had enough for a hotel and you had plenty of friends and family that would offer you a place to rest. Staying with familiar faces was tempting, but you knew the safety of remaining alone far outweighed that familiarity, outweighed the safety of your loved ones.

The motel 6 is cheap and stale when you arrive. The air is warm in the building but dry and the scratchy carpet crunches under your feet. You didn't bring much with you. A suitcase of clothes, work equipment and toiletries were the basic necessities. It was also the most you could carry with you and move comfortably. One suitcase, one backpack and your shoulder bag. You made sure important documents were in a manila folder somewhere in your suitcase and made the smart decision to leave with the mace you used before.

Although the hallway to the room was yellowing and almost decaying, the room itself was quite nice. It was about as much as you'd expect for seventy dollars a night, but it was comfortable. The hardwood floors made you take in a fresh breath of air. It didn't smell like animals or bodily fluids and checking under the comforter, you see no stains or bugs. Under the bed was blocked off by wooden boards. Beside the bed was an AC unit, just beneath a window that overlooked the dimly lit parking lot. Across the room sat a desk which you haphazardly threw your bags down on, minus the suitcase which sits in front of the mirror that was actually a small closet.

After checking for cameras, more bugs and anything else you felt necessary, you decide to unpack your things. You weren't sure how long you'd be staying but you had the room booked for a week for now, possibly longer if you couldn't find a new apartment. You placed folded bottoms, socks and underwear in the drawers under the TV stand. The closet behind your suitcase had a few hangars–not to mention the ones you grabbed yourself. You only hang up your work clothes and decide to fold the rest of your shirts and jackets and slide them into the second drawer. It felt more comfortable as you put everything away but it also felt more permanent.

The thought sends a bolt of grief through you. In one night you have lived through a traumatic event that would affect you for the rest of your life. In one night you were now without a home and safe space. Your apartment was your safe space, somewhere you could relax and decompress after a day full of meetings and errands. But now all it did was bring back those memories and the unending paranoia. Not that the paranoia hadn't followed you to the motel. In a moment of rest, you allow yourself to cry. You hadn't since the break-in. But it felt good to get it out, to heartbrokenly sob into a pillow that smelled of old detergent.

You cried throughout the night. You fell asleep, were cursed with nightmares, woke up, and wept into your hands until you fell asleep again. The cycle continued, but eventually your alarms began to blare at you from across the room where your phone was plugged into the wall. The vibrations felt a lot more sinister against the dark wood of the desk. It causes you to hesitate getting out of bed. The alarm turns itself off finally after growing to a crescendo. You know if you don't get up now while it's quiet, the alarm will come to life again after five minutes pass.

You slide out of bed slowly, almost fall onto the floor with how exhausted and sore your body is. The injuries still haven't healed and felt worse than ever. You hoped they wouldn't get infected. Another notch on the list of shitty things happening in your life right now. It takes you a full minute to make it just across the room and when you pick up your phone you realize you're 30 minutes late to clock in and had slept through previous alarms. You were exhausted so it was no wonder, but the harsh strike of anxiety still rests in your chest.

Setting up your equipment, you immediately write an email to your supervisor explaining your situation and apologize for being late. She responds almost as if she was waiting for you to send the email. Luckily she understood and told you to take the next few days or weeks off. You couldn't do that though, not after breaking the lease and being forced to live in a motel for however long. You tried to be positive, tell yourself you would find somewhere soon and continue to live a happy life once the man is caught. But there was always the possibility that things could go wrong and you'd lose your life as it was now. With the anxiety set in, you clock in and get to work.

You barely get anything done. The most you do is wiggle your mouse from time to time just to make it seem like you were working. And even then, that felt like too much. Burnt out and tired, you choose to take your break early. You check the time and your heart stops; it was already three. You'd been working for so long and didn't even realize it. Where had all that time gone? Taking a gulp of air, you shakily clock off for lunch and turn your computer off. It was about time you ate something you thought as your stomach growled angrily. The chair creaks as you stand, and you stare into the reflection of yourself on the black of the screen.

Your heart drops into your stomach when you see that you're not alone. Behind you there's a dark shape of white and black, head down and long hair covering their face. But you'd recognise this person anywhere, could remember his face clearly even when it was hidden like this. You continue to stare, shaking in fear, until he moves. He lifts his head to stare at you and laughs, the cheek to cheek smile sending a chill down your spine and tears to blur your eyes. You couldn't look away, too terrified to move. But he just continues to laugh into your ears, throws his head back and holds his stomach.

You weren't sure how long it had been eerily quiet, or how long you let yourself close your eyes for. But when they finally opened, it was dark outside and the killer was gone. There was nothing with you in the dimly lit motel room, nobody behind you on your computer screen. You were safe for now and allowed yourself to cry in relief. You were still alive, breathing and feeling. And you were going insane. Not bothering to send any emails to work, you slowly crawl onto the bed to the right of you and curl into a ball. The image of the killer behind you was all in your head. There was nobody there.

When you finally calmed down enough to comprehend what had happened, you scoffed at yourself. What was originally the murderer was actually a jacket hanging up on the closet. It was denim with a white hood and sleeves. It had to have been what you saw, what you imagined was that psycho who tried to kill you. But that didn't explain the laughing you heard. It was sharp and pierced your ears like bullets. There was no mistaking neither the cruel tone nor the way it seemed to mock you. He was mocking you.

You tossed and turned throughout the night. It wasn't that you couldn't sleep, but rather you felt like you shouldn't. Like something bad would happen once you closed your eyes. You left the lights on throughout the night and made sure the curtains were tightly closed. Mirrors were covered both in the main room and the bathroom. You did everything you could to stay safe like this, but despite everything you still wouldn't allow yourself to rest. It was a perfectly reasonable trauma response, but it worried you.

Would things be like this forever? The unending paranoia, the anxiety controlling your actions, living in a fucking motel? No, you told yourself time and time again. Things would get better. They'd catch the killer and you'd be safe again. He wasn't stalking you if he was running from authorities, but the episode earlier made you think otherwise. You couldn't get it out of your head that he'd been here in the room with you. He'd gotten in somehow, stood behind and watched as you worked for God knows how long, and then what–left? Without killing you? He mocked your terror and left just like that. It was harder and harder to believe the more you thought about it, and luckily it quelled those anxieties building up.

You slept soundly at the end of the night, not even noticing when the soft slide of the window rose just above the hum of the AC unit. Gentle footsteps walked across the floor, carefully straying to the sides of furniture where the floor was settled. The footsteps hesitate when the floor cracks with a groan, but you don't wake up. The cast of a shadow over your body doesn't wake you either, nor does the pale white hand that held a pillow above your head. You rolled to the side just as the man pushed the pillow downwards.

The harsh movement wakes you up immediately. You shoot up out of bed, tripping over the long legs of your sleep pants and fall loudly to the floor. You can't see anything from the angle on the floor, but you know instinctively that you are not alone. It wasn't just your own harsh breathing picking up and as your eyes adjusted to the darkness, you knew exactly who the other body was.

The same man stands before you, pillow raised and a psychotic smile painting his pale white face. He lunges without hesitation, but you do hesitate and he takes that split second to get you on your back. You're frozen in fear at this point, contemplating every action in your life that led up to this point. The man covers your face with a pillow and that's when you begin to scream. You thrash beneath the fabric and kick your legs, pushing with your arms and gripping any surface for leverage. Your fingers eventually find their way to the man's face.

With the pillow still smothering you, you get your thumbs into his eyes and push. He tries to lean his head backwards but with the weight he has on your face with the pillow, he either lets you free or accepts the pain. It seemed the latter as you continued to push your fingers into his eyes and struggle with your legs underneath him. He screams and finally throws his head back, grabbing your left hand and ripping it so fast away from his eye that you feel your shoulder pop painfully.

His hips lift above yours and you take the rare chance to wiggle yourself onto your stomach. Arching your back upwards, you throw the man off of you and he falls to his side. The pillow is haphazardly thrown beside you as he scrambles to find purchase, one hand still covering his eyes. This time you don't hesitate and crawl away around the corner of the bed. The window is open, the screen missing and you spot the telltale signs of a break in with the muddy footprints on the windowsill and AC unit. He'd slipped on it coming in if the streak marks on the carpet were anything to go by.

"Get away from me!" You scream. He's finally found his ground and lunges at you again, but this time you're prepared. You grab the phone from the desk and slam it into his face hard. He stumbles back and shouts in surprise or pain, you couldn't decide. Once again you weren't given a chance to speak when he reached for you. You step back in time and are pressed against the wood desk with no escape as he corners you in.

No thinking, no second chances. Your eyes narrow as you scan the room in the split second it takes for the man to produce a knife from his hoodie pocket. The blade startles you, but it's not off brand for this psycho. Leveraging yourself against the edge of the desk, you jump and kick your legs out in front of you. The contact makes the killer fall onto his ass, but he grabs at your ankle before you can run. You fall to the ground and manage to slip onto your back and push away the hand holding the knife.

"Come on, pretty thing. Don't you think you'd look better with a smile?" You struggle against the hand but it's really no use. He was too strong compared to you. Evading his earlier attacks were all just pure luck and instinct. The adrenaline was slowly fading and you were tempted to give up, but all you could imagine was the heartbroken faces of your friends and family. You couldn't give up for their sake, so you chose to fight back. The man grins wider, his scars stretching across a pale white face. He thinks he's won, you realize.

Using this to your advantage, you scream and turn your head away. He grabs your hair and pulls your head up painfully, straining your neck. The knife is pressed against your cheek now, but you still had a will to live. You let the blade slice into your cheek until his arm is right beside your mouth. That's when you lunge up, biting down. Hard. He screams when you feel flesh tear through the hoodie he wears. Blood seeps into your mouth even through the fabric and you want to gag, but you choose instead to bite down harder until the man pulls away with another cry of pain.

The hallway is empty when you reach it. The dim lights flicker and create an eerie atmosphere, and you run down the hall as fast as possible to the front desk. Unfortunately, there's nobody there, but there's nobody behind you either. You run around the counter and praise the gods that the phone sitting in the corner works. The police were on their way, and you still saw nobody emerged from the hall or the front doors. After the quick call, you crouch to the floor and crawl under the desk until emergency services find you shaking and bleeding.

#creepypasta #jeff the killer #jtk #jeff the killer x reader #x reader #creepypasta x reader #foth #creepypasta fan fiction #phobos can write

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agendergreenwitch · 2 years

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My best friend, who I am in love with, is going to jail in five days. We kissed on October 13th. One month and 6 days. Today I got him to memorize the first 3-5 digits of my phone number. I am going to take him to get a haircut on Tuesday. I wake up early and cry, I cry throughout work, I cry when I get home. I can talk to people for a little while and then, if I am comfortable with them, I cry. I can’t help but spill over my edges. There’s too much going on not to express it, have someone bear witness to how heavy it is.

I wrote him letters and got him coffee and worried about him 24/7. He was withdrawn today and yesterday, but especially today. I worried if it was about me and everyone assured me it wasn’t. W relieved me of guilt for having feelings (”..yes, he has this situation, but you’re a human being with feelings”). E encouraged me to stay strong for him while he was still around at work, and then allow grief to rule our lives for a little bit when it wouldn’t affect him. P looked at me with sad eyes, and I could barely look him in the eyes for fear he’d absorb most of what I felt. C knew I was losing it and joked around with me throughout the day. J said, “M wouldn’t have been able to keep it together if it wasn’t for you. You have been nothing but supportive, and I told him to be grateful that he has you. Even if he doesn’t have the support at home, he has had you putting 110% in to supporting him. We all look forward to you coming to work, work would suck without you too.”

F and I texted about it all day yesterday. He was out sick this week, which destroyed me on everyone’s behalf. I have been fantasizing about falling apart in his arms. Is that the same thing as fantasizing about falling apart sexually in his arms? A different climax of vulnerability, two pinnacles, two crests of two different waves. I’ve fantasized about grieving loudly with my work family. Does that share any territory with fantasizing about group sex? Group release? I feel the breath of creation in the wake of this destruction, as I tell you I’m not going anywhere.

But tonight, I notice I’m not on your social media anymore. I pray to Jesus that you’re safe. I fantasize about praying to Jesus with F for you. My nose is going to bleed from how hard and how often I’ve been crying. Everyone knows I’m on the edge.

every night i dream of holding you. i dream of holding your head in my hands, of kissing your face, i dream of sharing a bed with your body for years. i dream of having you and you having me. you are so handsome, i loved kissing you and feeling you push up against me.

if you are pulling an edward on me and withdrawing so that i forget about you, you haven’t learned me quite yet. you are my best friend now and that means you are a holy object. i worship at your feet, my love for you has no bounds.

i will pray to you every day. i will pray to god for you every single night. i will write you a letter every single day. i will look at a picture of you at work every day. i will write all of the good things about you, in case you forget.

you are kind. you are soft and expressive. you are forgiving and relaxed. you are chill and funny. you are sweet and trusting. you are strong and self-disciplined. you are independent and passionate. you are smart. you are intuitive, probably psychic. you are handsome. you are understanding andpositive. you are radiant. you are committed, devoted, loyal. you are deeply feeling and delicate.

i feel like i’m going to die without you by my side. i will buy time and commit to you in spirit every day. i will tell you this before you leave.

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my-imogenie-fan · 3 years

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literaila · 4 years

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sweet sweet relief

spencer reid x reader

request: do a Reidxreader where the reader is hotch’s younger sibling? They’d be new to the bau and hotch is over protective and reluctant to let them do anything. Due to their young age they get super close to Reid, maybe fluffy or angsty? Thank you!

Warning: angsty (kinda), BAU stuff...

The first time Y/N had met the team they could barely tell the two of them were related.

They were nothing alike.

It wasn't even just outside appearances, they were different, in character, in shape, in every form possible.

Aaron Hotchner was calm and quiet, he was known to be stern and sophisticated, he worked actively to stay in control. He was cautious and careful. He was the epitome of undisturbed.

Y/N Hotchner was not.

She was feisty and stubborn, and she would rather argue with someone than submit to them, and she was lively and sarcastic and known to be impatient.

There were barely any similarities between the two.

But they were both smart, and they both had a mindset for justice, both believe that everyone deserves a chance to prove themselves, that everyone had a right to feel safe in their world. They both believed that by removing just a little bit of the darkness within the world, just a little bit, it would make everything brighter.

But besides that, they were two completely different people.

It was a surprise to everyone that they were related.

That two people so completely different could share the same DNA.

So when Y/N walked into the conference room, a little later than Hotch had requested, all of his team members shared confused glances at the smirk Hotch had on his face, at the almost-hug he had given this girl.

She looked far too young to be his girlfriend.

Hotch turned around to 6 pairs of confused eyes, 6 people with questions, 6 people who looked very very intimidating to Y/N.

She’d heard all about Aaron's team, she’d heard about the lovely technical analysis, the eldest profiler who had a kick for jokes, she’d heard about Derek, the strongest member of the team, she’d heard about Emily and her history in crime, JJ who’d been the top in her class, and the genius who was only 3 years older than her.

She’d heard about all of them.

That didn't mean she was any less nervous to meet them.

And with the way they were looking at her like they already wished she was gone, her nerves shot through her body.

She couldn't help but turn to her brother, her eyes cast downward, and hope that he knew she needed help. Hoped that he knew her just enough to know when she was nervous.

“This is Agent Y/N Hotch. Strauss assigned her as a new addition to our team.”

There was more collective confusion around the room.

“Hotch?” Morgan asked, Y/N looked up at him, to see him frowning at her, she wondered why he cared that much, wondered why he was bothered by her, why he looked like he could tell exactly what she was thinking.

“Yes.” she answered back quickly, and sternly, like she was telling him as a favor, “Aaron is my brother.”

There was a gasp from across the room.

A blonde woman, with bizarre earrings and questionable clothes, walked over to Y/N, a wide smile on her face as she looked at Hotch with hopeful eyes.

“Sister?” she asked, almost like she was being given a gift Y/N thought.

Hotch only nodded.

Her smile got wider.

She embraced Y/N, pulling her into a quick hug like they’d known each other forever. Y/N felt some nerves escape her at the hug, at least one person didn't hate her already.

“Hotch didn't tell me he had a sister, it makes sense though, you’re so pretty.” She pulled back to smile at Y/N, she had bright energy, one that reminded Y/N of a friend back home, her smile was contagious.

“Y/N, this is Penelope Garica, the technical analyst I told you about.”

“It's lovely to meet you.” Y/N said laughing, as Penelope pulled her into another hug, she already had a special place in her heart for the blonde.

“You have a sister?” Derek asked, and Y/N looked over Penelope’s shoulder to see his face much more relaxed, less threatening, she immediately placed him as the man Aaron had told her about, the strong one.

“Yes, I do. I never told anyone for security reasons, and there's never been a need to bring it up.” Hotch looked at his little sister with pride, he was glad she was there, glad he was going to get to spend some more time with her, glad she had made it so far so early in her career.

“Plus, he didn't want to brag.” Y/N teased, making eye contact with Derek as a way to say she didn't mean any harm, as a way to let him know she wasn't going to be a problem.

He smiled at her. She smiled back.

“I’m Derek Morgan.”

After that, three other people came up to her, with warm smiles, all introducing themselves, JJ who seemed warm and paternal. Emily, who looked to Y/N like a rebel at heart, she smiled a little extra at that. And Rossi, who immediately told her she was a part of the family, “Any family member of Aaron’s is a family member of ours.”

It felt strange to be accepted by all of them so quickly, strange to feel so comfortable so quickly.

And then she was introduced to Spencer.

It took her heart a moment to force her to move.

She’d heard about Spencer, the man who was closest to her age, the smartest man Aaron had said he’d ever met, the Doctor with three PhDs.

He was utterly attractive.

Nerves shot up and down her body, reminding her of the fear she had prepared herself for, though this time it was a different type of fear.

She had not prepared for soft brown eyes and messy hair.

She had not prepared for him to be anything like he was.

Fuck.

He was exactly her type.

She shyly smiled at him, and he waved, just waved, unlike the handshakes she had gotten from everyone else, something in her mind was telling her not to question it.

With a blush on her cheeks she looked away, she looked away and reminded herself that she was there to work, that her boss was her brother, that even if she did immediately want to know everything about the doctor only ten feet away from her, that this was work.

She stayed silent for a couple of moments.

Her brother announced it was time to get started on the case.

***

It had taken a couple of weeks to get used to the job.

Aaron had warned her as much.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he’d asked as soon as she’d announced she was moving out to Virginia, moving to work with the FBI. Y/N had taken it as judgment, she thought he didn't think she could do the job, didn't think she was strong enough, didn't think she was mature enough to handle the BAU.

She’d immediately run to her own defense, “I’ve been sure for almost 3 years Aaron.”

“No, Y/N, I didn't mean it like that. It's just… this job takes a toll on a person. Are you sure you want to do it?”

There hadn't been a doubt in her mind, had not been a moment of hesitation, a moment of wondering if she was really strong enough, if she really dared to do what her brother did every day, there was never a question of if she thought she could do it.

It hadn't even taken her a moment to answer yes.

But, this time, Aaron had been right.

Seeing dead bodies, learning about different methods of insanity, diving into the mind of people who were sadistic, not saving everyone. It was all heartbreaking.

And exhausting.

Y/N was starting to understand what her brother had meant, what he was thinking of when he said it took a toll on people, she was starting to wonder how he dealt with it, how he went every day being the boss and not breaking down while dealing with what they dealt with.

She was starting to wonder how they all dealt with it.

Most days, none of them seemed bothered, none of them seemed to mind any of it. She tried to remind herself that they had all been doing it a lot longer than she had, that they had seen everything a million times, that they had gone through the worst things she could imagine. It didn't help her feel any better.

She wasn't going to quit though, she could feel it in her blood, in her heart, that she was doing the right thing. That this is what she was meant to do, that no matter how many people died, no matter how many terrible people there were, she was saving someone's life.

And she was good at it.

She kept her head held high and tried not to show any hesitancy.

The night right after the case, one that had been particularly different from the others she’d seen, she felt practically dead on her feet. She wondered if she’d have to get used to the constant sleep deprivation.

It was late that night when she overheard Spencer talking to JJ, who looked about five seconds away from becoming the next unsub.

Y/N laughed behind them and wondered what he was talking about.

In the 6 weeks she’d been there she’d gotten close to most of them, she’d learned about their lives, about the way they worked best, she learned how smart they all were, how amazed she was by them. But she hadn't gotten the chance to speak that might to Spencer.

Maybe she didn't want to.

Maybe she didn't want to feel herself slip under the coworker crush that she was familiar with, maybe she didn't want to learn about him, things about him that she would think about constantly, maybe she didn't want to get close to him in fear that someone might notice how taken back she was by him, maybe she didn't want her brother- and her boss -to find out about the crush she had on him.

Maybe.

Maybe all she wished for was some relief from the overwhelming feelings she felt for him.

She was thinking about him, thinking about ways to accidentally eavesdrop on the two of them without looking suspicious, when JJ noticed her.

“Oh hey, Y/N” JJ looked exactly how Y/N felt. Her eyes were practically closed.

Y/N pretended not to notice the way Spencer looked away from her.

“Hey,” she said quietly, giving a little wave as she walked to the elevator doors. Home. That's where she wanted to be.

“Spencer was just inviting me to a movie he recorded at his apartment that he was going to watch-” JJ said, as Spencer tried to interrupt her, she just gave him a stern look when he tried. “-but I need to get home to Henry, so maybe you could go with him instead?”

There was a gleam in her eyes and a smirk on her mouth, if Spencer and Y/N both weren't so obvious they would’ve known what she was doing.

The team had been trying to set them up for a month.

Y/N just stared confused, nerves running up and down her spine reminding her to breathe. She suddenly felt wide awake.

Spencer just looked conflicted.

‘Um- yeah” he cleared his throat, running his hands over his hair and down to his neck “yeah- you could come... Yeah.” he said, moving to glare at JJ for a moment, JJ who was smiling wide, knowing that Spencer would never take back the invitation- especially not for a pretty girl.

“Oh.” Y/N jumped in surprise, her heart was beating faster at the prospect of going with Spencer, and while she knew that he had not technically invited her, she still felt her body practically shout with excitement. “Yeah, of course, I’d love to.” she stopped for a moment trying to collect herself, trying not to look as surprised as she felt, “if it's alright with you.”

They all stood there in the elevator, listening to the quiet hum of the machinery, two of them looking awkwardly at the ground, both of them full of nerves, one of them smiling between the two of them.

As the elevator finally came to a stop Spencer spoke up again.

“Yeah, if you want I could- you could just- follow me… if you want.”

Y/N nodded quickly, not used to Spencer talking to her directly.

JJ smiled just a little bit wider, just a little, and waved them both goodbye, turning around before saying “I’ll let you both deal with that.”.

She couldn't wait to tell Penelope.

And then there were two.

Two, very socially inept, nervous, people.

***

Spencer's apartment was just as Y/N had expected it to be, it was small and warm, and there were a million lamps all around the space. It was filled to the brim with bookshelves, at least 5 of them all around the room making it look smaller than it was. In the corner of the room there was a small couch and a tv, Y/N could see books spread all over the coffee table, and multiple mugs sitting around the room.

It felt like his home.

Y/N adored it.

Though Spencer looked around nervously, his eyes uncomfortably noticing all of the things he’d forgotten to pick up, all the books he’d left out.

“So um- this is it.”

Y/N giggled a little at that.

Her car ride over there had been filled with doubts and insecurities, she had noticed how distant Spencer had been with her, how little effort he had made to get to know her. Out of all of her new friends he was the least welcoming.

She still felt drawn to him. She still felt like she needed to get to know him.

It was the craziest feeling.

On her way over she had decided she would get to know him, just so she could count herself as a friend, just so she could start looking past him, start looking at everyone else instead of constantly being focused on him.

“Okay. Do you have popcorn?” Y/N said breaking the silence they had been surrounded in.

It earned Y/N her first smile.

She was amazed.

She wanted to keep making him smile.

Spencer gestured for her to follow him to the kitchen while he put a bag of something- which she assumed was popcorn as she had asked -in the microwave. It felt just a little bit more comfortable now, almost like they weren't going to have the worst time together.

“So uh- how are you um-” Spencer cleared his throat, clearly out of his bounds. “How are you enjoying the BAU? I knew that- um- when I first started I was really nervous.”

Y/N felt a bit darker at his words. Did she tell him how she really felt, about the doubts she’d been having? Or did she lie through her teeth? Lie to the man who had given her his first smile, lie to the man who had invited her over?

Turns out she didn't have to answer that question, as Spencer answered it for her like he did most questions.

“Oh no. Did I- um… Did I say something wrong? I’m sorry I didn't mean-”

“What?” she said quickly “No you didn't say anything wrong…”

Spencer stared at her, waiting for her to continue, he felt like she had more to say.

“It's just I… I don't know I’m just not-” she threw her hands up and sighed, surprised by her own reaction, she didn't want to throw all of her problems at Spencer, especially when it was their first time even having a full conversation out of work.

“Is there something wrong?” he said quietly, trying to read her body language to gauge her reaction.

“I just-” she sighed again and put her head in her hands. “I can't explain.”

Spencer nodded. He just stared at her a little bit longer, he had read somewhere that if you leave silence between conversations, most of the time the question would be answered all on its own.

After a couple of seconds waiting he could clearly see this wasn't the case with Y/N.

“Okay. What if I ask questions… and you answer?”

Y/N looked up, “like an interrogation?”

Spencer smiled a little bit and nodded, he was glad she seemed open to the idea.

“Okay.”.

They spent the night like that, Spencer had learned all about Y/N just through asking questions.

The movie was forgotten.

Y/N had come clean about her worries, about her hesitations with their job, Spencer had practically pulled the truth out of her after seeing past all the empty answers she gave his questions.

It was infuriating how much he could read her.

Eventually, they had switched, and Y/N had asked the questions for a little while.

She had learned about Spencer's mom, had learned about his love for all things sweet, had learned about his favorite books, and had learned a lot more about practically everything than she ever had in school.

It was almost addicting.

They switched back and forth for hours, eventually moving to the couch, asking each other questions and laughing.

It was almost two in the morning.

Earlier Y/N had felt like she was going to fall asleep standing.

Now she felt wide awake.

She thought about how the morning would turn out, how much they both needed sleep, and eventually said, “I should probably go.”

The smile Spencer was wearing fell just a fraction of an inch, and Y/N immediately felt terrible.

“I think we both need some sleep.,” she said, trying to communicate that she didn't actually want to go, but she definitely didn't want to fall asleep at her desk the next day.

Spencer walked to the door and smiled.

He smiled.

She wondered how hard it was going to be to stay away from him now.

***

“Aaron she was going to die!”

“Y/N, you can't throw yourself into situations like that.”

A year later she had no doubts about her job.

No hesitations.

Nothing but the need to save as many victims as possible.

Cases in Virginia were always the most stressful, with Strauss breathing down their necks, the media wanting to know everything about the FBI that was located in the state.

They all hated it.

They much preferred to go out of state, somewhere with none of their families, none of their problems constantly chasing them down. It was always so much calmer when they weren't home.

Always so much easier.

And maybe running directly into danger wasn't the best way to relieve stress.

Y/N knew that.

But she also knew how scared that girl must have felt, she knew how deadly the gun in the unsubs hand was, and she knew that it was her job, not just as an FBI agent, but also as a person, to do something. To do anything to save a little girl's life.

She wasn't going to stop to think about her own life in a moment like that.

She had rushed into the house, rushed into the place where so many other little girls had died, rushed into the place with a man almost three times her size, a man who was holding a gun. She wasn't going to risk that little girl's life.

And she was fine, and that little girl was alive.

To her, that was worth more than a million praises from anyone.

It wasn't enough for Hotch though.

The minute they had gotten back to the office, the second Y/N had tried to sit down at her desk, the minute she had tried to say anything to Spencer, that was the minute Hotch pulled her away, furious, into his office.

She already knew she was in trouble.

He had sat her down, he had repeated exactly what he had said when she arrived at the unsubs house, alone, he repeated his exact orders to her, repeated the orders that she had deliberately disobeyed.

“Aaron. She needed my help!”

“Y/N you can't risk your life! And you definitely can't ignore a direct order.”

Both of them had scowls on their faces, and at that moment they looked exactly like siblings, looked so similar it was hard to tell them apart.

The rest of the team was sitting in their desks, listening to them fight, pretending to be filling out late reports, but mostly listening to the two siblings fighting.

Garcia was standing outside the door, waiting for something to happen. She didn't want anything bad to happen to her best friend. She didn't want them to fight at all.

Spencer nervously looked from the door to his desk over and over, waiting for one of them to walk out, waiting for the yelling to continue. He knew that his girlfriend was probably freaking out internally, trying to control her anger as she had to do many times with her brother. He knew that what she needed right now wasn't a reprimand, what she needed was reassurance. He had no idea how he could get that to her.

“Aaron. I am good at my job. I got her out of there. Safely.” Y/N said sternly, refusing to back down, even for a moment, refusing to admit that what she did was reckless, refusing to admit her life meant anything more than that little girl.

“But at what cost Y/N? What if you had gotten hurt-”

“I didn't.”

“Or died? What would that mean for us?” He asked, looking at her, his eyes hard and unmoving.

Their stubbornness was always something they had shared.

“Aaron. I knew what I was doing. I had to save her.”

“It was reckless Y/N.”

“Maybe it was. Maybe, it was. But I’m fine, she's fine, we’re all fine.” she reassured him by gesturing to the door, why didn't he understand that she couldn't not go in there?

“I can't have you acting like that. I can't have you not listening to my orders.”

“Is that what this is about? Me disobeying you?” Y/N asked in shock, shock because it almost felt like he was trying to control her, trying to show her that he was still older than her. “Because news flash Aaron, I’m not some little kid you’re in charge of anymore.”

“I’m your boss.”

“I had to do it!” she said finally.

“It was stupid. It was stupid and reckless, and I have no idea what you were thinking.” His words were final and stern. His face was angry, and he was clenching his fists. It looked like he wanted to say more but Y/N wasn't going to let him. She wasn't going to let him call her names, and treat her like she wasn't an adult.

Y/N was done, she was done trying to be calm, done trying to keep all her feelings hidden deep in her chest, done trying to pretend she didn't want to throw something at him, she was done.

“I’m not a little girl Aaron!” she yelled at him, walking away. “I can take care of myself, and I know what I’m doing. Maybe that's not good enough for you, but it's good enough for me.”

And she threw open the door, too angry to care about Penelope who was standing shocked in front of her. She rushed to her desk and started throwing things in her bag, mumbling under her breath.

“Y/N?” Someone said from behind her.

She sighed.

“What Spence?” she said quietly, feeling like giving up.

“Are you alright?” he asked, grabbing her arm and trying to get her to look at him. If she looked at him he would know how she was actually feeling, without having to guess.

She looked up and studied his eyes.

“He's being ridiculous!” she whisper-yelled looking back down at her desk. “I did the right thing and I’m fine. He's just mad because I didn't listen.”

Spencer watched her for a few moments.

“Maybe he's right,” he said quietly, his eyes looking worried and surprised, surprised because he hadn't meant to say the words out loud.

Y/N’s head snapped up. Her eyes looked deadly.

“What?” she said quietly, more quietly than she had been in the past 10 minutes.

“Y/N I just think that-”

She cut him off. “No Spencer. You’re supposed to take my side. You’re supposed to have my back. Jesus-” she said sadly grabbing her bag from her desk and throwing it over her shoulder. “You’re my boyfriend and you’re supposed to support me.”

“Y/N I do I just-”

He couldn't get anything else out.

“You’re supposed to support me,” she said desperately, giving him one last look, one filled with anger and doubt and sadness, and all the feelings she had no idea how to express, she gave him one last look and

She walked out the door.

***

Driving was a helpful coping mechanism.

Driving helped Y/N ease her mind. Helped her think things through.

She knew she shouldn't have yelled at Aaron and Spencer like that, she knew she had overreacted. And she knew that to some degree they were right.

She hated how protective both of them were.

She loved how protective both of them were.

It was a difficult car ride, she was doubting herself, doubting her instincts, doubting her efficiency as an agent, doubting if her brother and boyfriend believed in her.

She knew she overreacted.

But Aarons words had hurt, he had insulted her, and even if he’d had reason to, it still hurt her feelings.

Spencer was a different story. She’d automatically assumed he would agree with her, would agree that the little girl's life was worth more than any risk, would agree that Hotch was being harsh.

She’d forgotten how angry he could get when she ran right into danger.

She was driving and her palms were sweaty, and her stomach was being attacked by anxiety, and she had no idea how to talk to either of them.

All she knew was that she had to.

She had to get over her feelings, she had to think about them.

So she drove back. Slowly. As slow as she could go, but she drove back.

When she parked her car she felt like turning around, she felt like a little kid again about to go tattle on her brother to her mom, felt like she was the victim and the abuser all at once, and felt an overwhelming amount of emotions fill her to the core.

She walked inside. It took her a moment to remember how to get back to her desk.

It was irresponsible for her to leave in the first place.

When she walked through the doors of the BAU you noticed Spencer's absent desk, she noticed her other coworkers staring at her, their eyes a bit hopeful. She looked at them confused.

“Reid went to the bathroom. Don't worry pretty girl, he didn't leave.” Morgan said, reading the question in her eyes, watching her exhale in relief.

She smiled at him and walked towards Hotch's office.

She had been gone almost 2 hours, and technically she knew that everyone could have leftover half an hour ago, but she also knew all of them, and she knew how late they’d stay.

She knocked on her brother's door, regret pooling at her stomach, air filling her head.

There was a quiet “come in” from the other side.

She peeked inside his office, saw him scribbling on a piece of paper, and as soon as he looked up Y/N felt a million times smaller. She always felt smaller when she was in trouble. Though when she looked at her brother's eyes all she could see was relief.

“I’m glad you’re back,” he said, looking back down at his papers, clearing his throat, clearly a sign that she could come in.

So she did.

She walked over to his desk and sat in one of his empty chairs. She watched him write for a minute, thinking of something to say, thinking about all the times she’d had to apologize to him in the past.

“Aaron.”

“Hmm?” he said looking up at her again.

“I’m-” she paused, paused, and took a deep breath. He deserved an apology. “I’m sorry.”

She saw his jaw twitch, saw a flicker in his eyes, saw a drastic change in posture.

“I know,” he said.

She sighed in relief. She knew he wasn't mad anymore.

“I know I overreacted. I know it was stupid what I did. I won't do it again, I just- I just had to do something. That's all.” She hoped that was a good enough explanation, hoped it would make him forgive her, hoped her mistake could cost her in the future. She looked down at her hands, not wanting to see his reaction. She hated apologizing.

“It wasn't stupid,” Hotch said, putting his pen down. She looked up at him slowly.

“What?”

“It wasn't stupid. I’m sorry I said that. I understand what you had to do.”

More relief, making its way up her feet, and into her stomach, relief filling her chest with cool air, seizing the fire of anxiety in her chest. Sweet, sweet relief.

“But that doesn't mean you can ignore my orders” He added, and Y/N felt herself smile. He was teasing her, she saw a glimpse of the brother she used to- still -idolized.

“Sir, yes sir,” she whispered, moving to stand up. She had another person to apologize to. As she walked away her brother spoke again,

“Y/N?” she nodded, looking back at him. “Don't be too hard on him,” he said gesturing outside, where Spencer was back at his desk, staring at the bag on top of Y/N’s.

She smiled at him and looked over at her brother. “I won't.”

She almost walked away again “Aaron, you should go home.” he looked back up at her “go say hi to my nephew for me. “

And with that, she walked out the door, walked away too fast to see him smile at her.

The relief was invading her brain, making her next decisions for her.

She would have to thank it later.

She walked out the door and over to Spencer's desk, Spencer who looked surprised she was actually there.

She grabbed his arm and pulled him up.

“Hey-”

She kept pulling him, moving both of them into an empty storage room, while the rest of the team laughed at her antics.

As soon as she made it into the small space with him, as soon as he looked down into her eyes, his face entirely a question, her nerves entirely seized.

“I’m sorry.”

Spencer frowned at her. He frowned and opened his mouth in a silent question.

“I’m sorry for overreacting. I shouldn't have taken out my anger on you. It was unfair.” She said, searching his eyes for forgiveness.

They didn't fight often, barely fought at all, but every time they had she had always found the answer to her problem in his eyes. His eyes seemed to know everything.

She wondered if they knew how much she loved him.

“No, Y/N I should’ ve-”

She pulled him into a kiss, resting her hands in his hair as he moved his to her cheeks, as she held her apart as she kissed him, her lips an entirely different apology of their own.

Sweet sweet relief.

When she pulled back, just enough to see his face, she watched him sigh in bliss, watched the tiny smile on his face, watched his eyes open with amazement.

She wondered when she had last kissed him like that.

It seemed like too long.

She pulled him back in, giving him small pecks on his lips, and then his cheek, and then his neck. Smiling at the way he giggled when she tickled him with her hair.

“Y/N?” he said after a moment, his voice warm.

She looked back up at him to smile, to smile and peck his lips once more as an answer.

“I think I’d like you to take out your anger on me just a little bit-”

She cut him off with a kiss.

Sweet sweet relief.

my masterlist here.

#spencer reid smut #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds rp #criminal minds headcanons #emily prentiss x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch x reader #mgg #mgg x reader #mgg blurb

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scriptmedic · 4 years

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COVID

Or, How to Abandon Pants & Save the World at the Same Time

Hey all. Seems like it’s getting tough out there.

Seems like shit is getting really real, really fast.

I’m here in New York, doing ICU transfers for one of the hospital systems, and I can’t lie to you... it’s bad.

We’re storing bodies in refrigerated trailers because the morgues are full.

The City is reopening potter’s fields and digging mass graves.

Hundreds of people a day are dying. Soon, thousands.

Mostly older. Some previously-healthy adults. Mercifully, not many kids.

It’s real, and it’s bad.

But I promise you, the world is not ending.

And I also promise you this post will end with HOPE, even if it’s hard to read.

But I want to talk about something... a misconception I’ve been seeing over and over again.

We are NOT the “Front Line.”

I keep hearing the term “front line responders” used for our nurses... doctors... PAs...

Bullshit.

We’re the LAST line.

We’re the failsafe. The oh-shit, I can’t-fix-this-any-other-way line.

We’re the everything else has gone wrong line.

The FIRST line of defense against COVID is YOU.

You, sitting at home, wondering how the world will ever get back to normal.

You, hoping that your job will still be there in a week, a month, a year.

You, resisting the urge to walk the dog again because you’re bored.

YOU are the ones who are going to make the difference in how many people live, and how many die.

Not us. Not your health professionals.

YOU.

How You Can Stay Safe & Save the World

I want to talk about something .... RISK.

A lot of people I know are pretty risk-tolerant. We’re young, we’re healthy, and if we DO get COVID, it will likely just seem like a cough, or even like... ...nothing.

Here’s the problem.

There are a LOT of people testing positive (in countries doing mass testing, i.e. not here) who had NO IDEA they were infected.

It’s called being an Asymptomatic Carrier.

So even if you literally do not care if you get COVID...

Even if you feel completely fine...

ACT LIKE YOU HAVE IT ANYWAY. Act like ANYONE you come into contact with could die if your breath touches their skin, their mouth, their nose.

Act like everyone you meet is your granny, or your mom, who’s sick. Someone you love.

It’s not about YOUR health, it’s about EVERYONE’S health.

I’ve put together a few guidelines to help you stay safe AND save the world.

I’m about 6 feet tall... ...so remember to keep a distance of 1 (one) Scripty apart from each other. NO EXCEPTIONS (unless you’re fluid-bonded with someone).

Wear a mask in public, even if you have to make it yourself. No, this does not mean you can violate social distancing! REMEMBER -- KEEP ONE SCRIPTY APART, MINIMUM! Yes, I know masks are direly hard to come by. Yes, I know they’re uncomfortable. Yes, I know they make it hard to breathe. I am literally wearing TWO OF THEM at the same time, between 40-60 hours per week. WEAR ONE ANYWAY. Not on your chin... Not hanging off of one ear... Over your nose AND your mouth. .

If you can’t find a mask, DO NOT cough out of your facehole. The correct direction to cough is due elbow. Then make sure you SCRUB dat bendy boi. .

Scrub dem grippy bois Hand wash for 20 seconds. Make sure you’re getting between your fingers, under your nails, and around your wrists. Sing Happy Birthday to yourself. Just like the Mars Rover did. .

STAY. THE FUCK. HOME. I know you miss normal life. Time with your friends. Visiting your family. I miss it too. I would LOVE to spend time in a park, to go hiking again, to go back to my GYM, to just... live my freaking life. There are SO many people I’m craving hugs from. But here’s the truth. THE MORE YOU STAY HOME NOW, THE SOONER THINGS CAN GET BACK TO NORMAL. I CANNOT stress this enough. Staying home is saving lives. Period. Full stop. I don’t know the last time I saved a life with no pants on, but you can. Right now. TAKE OFF YOUR PANTS AND STAY HOME AND YOU WILL SAVE LIVES I PROMISE. (it’s okay to save lives with pants on tho. your roof, your rules.)

I promised you this post would end with HOPE.

Here’s the thing...

Yes, a lot of people are going to die.

Yes, a LOT of people are going to be out of a job in the short term.

Yes, this really is THAT BAD. .

AND.

Everything in Nature has a niche. Something it’s better at than anything else.

Dogs? Dogs are the best on the planet at loving people. (That’s the #1 reason we bred them from wolves -- because they loved us.)

But humans do ONE THING way, WAY above and beyond ANY of our competition.

WE ADAPT.

We are the adaptivist motherfucking species on Planet Earth.

We live in more environments than any other warm-blooded species I know of.

We got cold... so we figured out how to make fire.

We got hot... so we learned to harvest ice, and then to MAKE ice, and then to make air conditioners.

Our food was going bad... so we made iceboxes, and then refrigerators, and then takeout (because we got too lazy to cook).

The point is, we ADAPT.

We adapted to the influenza pandemic in 1918, twenty years before we ever saw a virus under a microscope.

We adapted to smallpox... and then fucking eradicated it. Smallpox literally no longer exists because we decided we’d had enough of it.

We CAN and we ARE and we WILL adapt to COVID, too.

Smart motherfuckers are making vaccines.

Recovering patients are donating antibodies to help save lives while the smart motherfuckers get their shit in gear.

And y’all are STEPPING the FUCK UP.

My heart is overloaded with love and appreciation.

For grocery store workers. Supply chain workers. Truckers. Food service workers.

For all the people who can’t stay home.

I nearly cried saying thank-you to a barista about an hour ago because a cup of coffee was enough to make me feel human.

You’re busy praising us in the health care trenches, but the truth is, we owe our ability to live our lives right now to you.

To the guy busting his ass in a restaurant for less than minimum wage.

To the girl making round after round of deliveries even though she’s tired AF.

To the people who are keeping us going.

And most especially, to those who might have the hardest job of all...

...the people who are staying the fuck home.

I love each and every one of you.

And it’s gonna be tough. It’s gonna be tough for a WHILE. (This is a marathon, not a sprint.)

But we will get through this together.

You... me... everyone.

So, so, SO much fucking love,

xoxo, Aunt Scripty

#COVID #COVID-19

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pigeon-princess · 4 years

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TYBALT MONTAGUE’S BACKSTORY

It’s been a long time coming but here is the compiled backstory of my DnD Half-Orc Bard/Fighter Tybalt, tracing his life up until he joined the adventuring party known as The Tresspassers. I’ve also included drawings by me and other party members below the cut!

(CW: SEXUAL ASSALT, RAPE) A small portion of Tybalt’s backstory contains some traumatic events, however they are not described in detail.

There is a collection of Islands off the coast of the continent of Iona, known by many as The Isles of Thiva. The culture of the islands is very Medditeranean, Italian and Greek inspired, so as you travel through you’d likely be seeing beautiful cliffside cities, lush wineries and lively street culture.

For people living in Thiva, Orc pirates from across the seas are a serious problem, especially for certain villages on the Eastern coast. When an Orc raid passes through a city there is always a wave of destruction from the pirates, resulting pillaging, raping and murder thoughout.

For the few women who survive their traumatic assault, only a handful of them are strong enough to survive and give birth to Half-Orc children. Because of this, Half-Orcs in Thiva are often looked down upon and shunned, almost as if they are a walking reminder of the trauma that the Isles have suffered.

TYBALTS EARLY YEARS

Tybalt was one of these children. His mother was an Elven woman called Marina, from a small fishing village called Alta Maria. At the time of the Orc raid she had a husband and two, young half elven children called Mercutio and Benvolio. After surviving the attack, everyone thought she had gone mad for wanting to keep the child, but she was determined to love the baby despite the slander her husband threw at her. For her, the child was her own and one she wanted to protect them at any cost. Young Tybalt barely ever left his mothers side for the first 6 years of his life, his older brothers never wanted to play with him and his mothers husband couldn’t stand the sight of him. Despite all this he was happy by his mothers side.

Marina - Tybalts Elven mother (Art by @lulii999)

Marina’s Drawings - A young Tybalt finds a crab, Mercutio, Benvolio and baby Tybalt nap together, A grown up Mercutio and a grown up Benvolio (Art by @lulii999)

When Tybalt was around 6 years of age, his older brothers who are now 10 and 12 years old, invited him to play with them for the first time. He excitedly followed them to the docks where they managed to trap him in a fishing net and throw him onto a small fishing boat. Unable to escape the rope, the ship left port leaving Tybalt alone, trapped and afraid. He managed to survive the two day journey and the fishing boat arrived in the port of the capital city, Santiados. When the boat made port, Tybalt made a run for it. He was lost and confused, but managed to survive by stealing food, avoiding the other Half-Orc kids that lived on the streets and sleeping in a barrel at night. Unable to find a way back home, and at this point thinking that perhaps his family didn’t want him anymore, Tybalt stayed living on the streets for 6 years.

ON THE STREETS

During his time on the streets, when Tybalt was around 10 years old, he got into an altercation with an older Half-Orc boy who was picking on him. In a rage Tybalt pushed the teenager away from him, causing the boy to slip and stumble down a flight of stairs, cracking his head. When the other Half-Orcs saw that Tybalt had killed this kid, he became infamous and reveared among the Half-Orc street gangs. All Tybalt wanted to do was stay out of it.

A NEW FAMILY

At the age of 12 Tybalt decided to break into one of the larger merchant estates in the capital, thinking that he’d be able to steal a good amount of things from within. While rummaging through the mansion’s pantry, he was discovered by the family's 10 year old son, Romeo Montague, a human boy with bright blue eyes and blonde hair.

Tybalt threatened that he was going to hurt the kid if he came any closer, and instead Romeo suggested that if he is looking for food he should take the biscuits that they have at the back of the pantry. Tybalt hesitantly went further into the pantry to grab the biscuits, giving Romeo enough time to push the doors closed and lock him inside. Romeo immediately ran upstairs and called his parents to come down and see the kid in the pantry, his parents definitely thought he was making up some kind of imaginary friend until they heard angry yelling from behind the doors in the kitchen.

Eventually the couple, Lorenzo and Helena Montague, sat Tybalt down and asked him about himself and why he was stealing from their pantry. With a bit of probing he told them that he lived on the streets and almost against his will Tybalt was given a bedroom to stay in and one day turned into a week. Before long Tybalt had a new family.

Lorenzo and Helena Montague (Art by me)

Teenage Romeo Montague (Art by me)

Growing up with his first ever friend, Romeo and Tybalt would get up to so many things together. They would spend their time pulling pranks, running away from lessons and throwing their tabaxi friend Antonio (Against his will) off the balcony to see him land on his feet (The tabaxi friend’s full name is Antonio Banderas).

During their teenage years, Tybalt realised that his feelings for Romeo were beyond friendship and he developed a very deep, long standing crush for his best friend. He’d write poems and songs about his angst, about how much he loved him and how he was always chasing girls and never looked at him that way.

Adult Romeo Montague and Antonio Banderas (Art by @lulii999)

A TERRIBLE STORM

By the time Tybalt was 21 and Romeo was 19, Romeo had started working for the family business in the merchant trade and Tybalt worked full time as his personal bodyguard and right hand man. Things took a turn for the worse when they sailed out to a business meeting with a man called Lord Magnus Kraus, an extremely well known merchant sailor in charge of an armada of sailors known as the Magdolina.

As Magnus controls a large portion of the trade routes between certain ports, it was vital that Romeo secure this business deal in order for the Montagues to open up further trade. During the times negotiations seemed to be going poorly, Tybalt was starting to be very wary of the way that Magnus was looking at Romeo. It was like he was some kind of creature in an exhibit, and in a way that was extremely sinister and sexual. As Romeo appeared to be completely oblivious to this Tybalt confronted Magnus alone and threatened him.

Magnus was curious about Tybalt, and offered a deal, if Tybalt agreed to sleep with him, he would agree to the trade deal and he wouldn’t lay a hand on Romeo. Tybalt was stuck in an awful situation, he knew that if he refused Romeo could be in danger and the trade deal would completely fall apart. Magnus Kraus is an extremely powerful man and one bad word from him could run their whole business into the ground. He agreed, and the next night he showed up at Magnus’s quarters.

That night Magnus sexually assaulted him and treated him more like a beast than a person, using ropes to restrain him and whips to beat him with. Calling him awful things and breaking him both physically and mentally. There was terrible thunder and lightning that night, and from this day on Tybalt has a fear of storms as it always reminds him of Magnus. When Tybalt thought it was over, Magnus ordered him to come again tomorrow night or the deal was off.

Terrified, beaten and bruised, Tybalt did just that and the ordeal continued every night for the next week. He even lied to Romeo that he was going to do extra work for the Magdolina so Magnus could get Tybalt alone on his ship for another 2 weeks. When all of this was done Tybalt returned back to the Montagues and swore he’d never tell a soul what he’d been through. The new trade routes were going extremely well and his parents were over the moon at Romeo and Tybalt's successful trip.

It was shortly after this that Romeo met a beautiful red haired woman called Juliet Capulet, and Tybalt watched the love of his life fall head over heels in love with someone else. Juliet was extremely smart and insightful, early on she could see how Tybalt felt for Romeo. She tried to confront him about it to say she wasn’t sorry for loving Romeo but was sorry about how it was affecting Tybalts feelings, but he continued to deny anything of the sort.

A few years later Romeo and Juliet announced their engagement and asked Tybalt to be their best man. On the night before the wedding, Tybalt couldn’t bear to ruin their day with his own heartbroken feelings. Without saying goodbye or even leaving a note, Tybalt fled Santiados and sailed away to Estredios across the sea.

A SAILOR AT HEART

Heartbroken, and lost, he spent all of his savings on food, alcohol and plent of company. When he was properly broke he hopped on a boat and started working on the open ocean as a sailor.

During his time is Estredios and at sea, Tybalt did what he knew best to escape his heartbreak. He flirted and slept with people to his heart’s content over the next 2 years, learning not to get too close with people to keep his heart safe. He made a few good sailor friends who managed to pull him out of his darkest times and allowed him to enjoy his time on the seas. His memories of his time on the ocean are some of his favourite, although it was tough work at times Tybalt felt truly at peace when he was aboard a ship.

Wanting to explore beyond the sea, his escapades eventually lead him to arrive at the docks of Finras, a port town on the coast of the continent of Iona. And it was there in a tavern where he picked up a job to help find a dwarven woman’s missing father, and that’s where his adventure with the party began…..

Thank you so much for reading Tybalt’s backstory! I’ve been playing this dnd character for over a year now and he means so much to me. If you have any further questions feel free to send me an ask! I’d love to answer them.

#dnd #Dungeons and Dragons #dnd character #d&d #dungeons & dragons #dnd character backstory #backstory #dnd backstory #Tybalt Montague #Tybalt #my art #pigeon princess

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moral-turpitudes · 4 years

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Silver Linings: Part 4

Masterlist | Rules | Peaky Prompts

A/N: Gif is not peaky related but it damn sure made my heart break.

Trigger Warnings: Angst, Arguing, **Slight Smut,** (Explicit/18+ Content: if you’re a minor plz skip the italicized portion).

Word Count: 1,914

Characters: Michael Gray x Alfie’s Adopted Daughter!Reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | *Part 4* | Part 5

It was a bleak afternoon when they both found out what Thomas and Alfie had planned. Three weeks after Michael got out of the hospital, Alfie had told Thomas about some business in New York, tipping Thomas off on where to send him if need be, seeing as he had a sneaking suspicion about his blinder cousin. It turned out that during his healing, Michael had been confronted by Luca Changretta, the infamous mafia leader from the states. Who had ties to the Italians who also were a pain in both families sides, knowing if they didn’t act fast, both their families could be at risk. But what Thomas didn’t know was that Polly decided on a plan, ultimately getting Michael to side with her to protect her, undermining Thomas in the process. After all, she was his mother and what else could he do? He couldn’t betray his mum by giving Thomas a heads up. And so when Thomas finally got wind of everything, he agreed one night when Michael and Y/N were out that it would be best to send him to New York where he could manage the more legitimate business, taking the target off of Y/N’s back while showing Michael the consequences of betraying the family. Thomas and Alfie had many a screaming match over the two, knowing they would be hurting them in the process, but whatever Thomas wanted, he got.

That afternoon, Michael had gotten home to a tension filled household where they held a short family meeting.

“What’s all this?” He asked, his lungs still aching as he stood there.

“You’re moving to New York tomorrow. We have a ticket for you and the time to board for America. You’ll be taking care of the legitimate business there.” Polly said, a sad look in her eyes.

“Like hell I’m going. Give me a reason why I should go? I have a life here.” He said, clenching his fists.

“You can’t betray us from all the way over there. And it’ll save Y/N.” Thomas said snidely, lighting his cigarette.

“I’m not going, I’m not leaving her. She has no part in this anyway. They can’t hurt her.” He said, doubt creeping into his mind.

“Anyone who’s associated with us is in danger now. Maybe you should’ve thought about that before you fell for Alfie fucking Solomons’ daughter.” Thomas said.

“I don’t care whose daughter she is. You can’t do this.” He said angrily.

“I can and I will. You better get going. You have an early start tomorrow.” He said, looking at Polly’s pained face as she hugged her son goodbye. The door slamming loudly behind him as he took off towards Y/N’s apartment.

As he ran, his lungs burned and ached with every breath, the rain coming down furiously as he made his way there. His mind racing almost as fast as his heart as he tried to figure out what to do.

With a loud knock, Michael slumped against the doorframe, waiting for the woman he loved to answer. His tears mixing with the rain drops as he watched them fall to the cold ground.

“My god....Michael what are you doing here you’re-“ She started to say before he kissed her. The kiss wasn’t as tender as before. It was more rushed, and panicked like it was the last time he’d ever feel her lips on his. She took hold of his jacket and slowly guided him back into the house, Michael moving her to the wall and shutting the door with a shaky breath. Without talking he kissed her again, desperately, them both gasping for air as he moved down to her neck, sucking small bruises onto her skin.

“Michael...wait.” She said taking his face in her hands and looking into his eyes. She saw his eyes brimmed red as tears fell down his face, his hair dripping wet as he stood there.

“They’re making me move to America, Y/N.” He said, looking down at the ground.

“What? Who’s making you? Why?” She said her own eyes filling with tears.

“Your father. And my family. They said it was to keep you safe. The mafia is still after us and so he’ll be after you too. I uh, I guess I betrayed Tom so he’s sending me off. Wants me to take care of the business over in New York.” He said, shivering.

“Christ you’re freezing. Did you run here?” She asked taking off his coat and leading him to her bathroom where she started a warm shower.

“Yeah...” he said, the scars on his chest visible as she undid his shirt. She gently ran her fingers over them as tears ran down her face.

“They can’t do this...I won’t let them.” She said, not knowing how she’d even stop her father, let alone Thomas.

“They’ve already set it up. I have to.” He said.

Without thinking she kissed him frantically, her nerves frazzled and stomach in knots as she grasped at his shirt. He didn’t resist as he let her pull it off, his lips leaving hers for a moment as he undid his belt. Pulling her close as she undid the rest of his clothes, him doing the same, reaching for the ties on her dress she loved to wear.

**Slight Smut/18+/Explicit Content: If you’re a minor please scroll to the non-italicized portion, thank you).**

“I’ll go with you.” She said between kisses, both of them mutually admiring each other as they stepped into the shower.

“I can’t let you. You have a life here, hell you have everything here.” He said.

“No...I don’t. I don’t have a life here if it’s not with you.” She said, hugging him close as she rested her head on his bare chest.

He didn’t say anything as he held her close, kissing the top of her head as the hot water fell on their skin. With a light touch, Y/N reached up and kissed him, knowing in her heart he had to go no matter what.

Michael deepened the kiss as they caressed each other, moving ever-so-carefully so they wouldn’t fall.

“Are you warm?” She asked, wanting to continue but not wanting to hurt him more by fucking in a shower of all places.

He nodded and smirked as he pulled her closer, her heart melting at the fact she’d probably never see him smile again.

“Let’s take this somewhere else, I don’t want you hurting more.” She said drying them off. As she finished wringing her hair, Michael threw his towel over her head, picking her up as a giggle escaped her lips as he led them to her bedroom.

Their hearts hurt as they continued, moans escaping Y/N’s lips as his trailed down her body. Michael taking in every last part of her as he furthered his movements well into the night, making sure he didn’t hurt her. Although, nothing hurt worse than leaving the one he felt he truly loved.

Later as they laid there tangled in each other’s embrace, Y/N had about a thousand questions running through her mind. All of her plans seemingly too wild to ever work. She could move out, and risk wasting all the money she’d put in this place. Or she could stay here and hope he’d come back, writing letters back and forth until then. Or he could stay and live with her, defying both families orders and putting them both at risk.

Either way, since she was associated with the dashing young blinder, she knew she’d be in danger no matter where he went, and so she made up her mind, feeling that even though she knew him for a short time, she felt in her bones that they had something special.

“You’re thinking about something, what is it?” He asked, his fingers tracing over her curves.

“I’m thinking about what I’m going to do.” She said, looking up at him.

“I have to go, I can’t change it now.” He said, sighing.

“I know. But I just have one question.” She said, her heart racing.

“Can you see a future? With me?” She asked, her stomach in knots as he thought about his answer.

“Yeah...I wouldn’t have ran here if I didn’t. Why’d you ask?” He said, a sullen look on his face.

“Just wondering. I wouldn’t want you to forget me in New York. You know I could probably still get us new tickets.” She said.

“That won’t work love. It’ll only make things worse. The less you have to do with me the better, at least you being here could mean you’re safe. If you went to New York you’d have no protection except me.” He said. The truth of it all hurt more than anything, but deep down she knew he was right.

She shook her head and smiled a painful smile, her heart sinking as the daylight crept through the window, knowing their time was running out. She knew her plan wouldn’t work, and if it did, it would probably end with them 6 feet under.

“I love you, Y/N.” He said after a long moment of silence, looking into her eyes as his heart raced at the sudden declaration. Hoping she’d say the same, so at least he could leave knowing he’d have her to come back to, if she’d wait for him.

Tears fell down her cheeks as she pulled him in for a kiss, the world stopping for just a moment.

“I love you too, Michael.” She said, leaning into him as he held her in his arms. The birds singing their songs outside as the rest of the world woke up, meanwhile they had barely slept a wink.

“Will you write to me?” She asked, getting up from the bed reluctantly as she put on a nightgown and robe.

“Of course.” He said, putting his clothes on and walking up behind her. Wrapping his arms securely around her waist and resting his head on her shoulder.

“Will you wait for me?” He asked, his heart dropping as he realized the odds of someone actually waiting up for someone no matter how long they were gone.

“Of course.” She said, knowing he could meet any other woman and go off with her, knowing she’d never be able to come close to them.

“What’s wrong love?” He asked, seeing her sullen expression as she turned around.

“I’m just worried the distance will tear us apart. You could have any girl out there but ya chose me.” She said, crossing her arms.

“I chose you because you’re nice, you’re smart, you’re beautiful, you’re so many things Y/N. I’ll write you every week alright? And you know I’ll be a phone call away.” He said kissing her forehead as they heard the horn beeping, knowing it was Thomas and the rest of them there to pick him up.

She nodded as he caressed her face with his palm. The scars still there from weeks past. He kissed her for one last time and enveloped her in a long hug before Thomas knocked at the door.

“I have to go, love. I’ll call you when I get there, and every day after that. Wait for me.” He said, letting go of her hand and walking out the door with his lone suitcase, taking one last glance at her before getting into the car.

Y/N stood on her doorstep in the frigid morning air, waving goodbye to him as tears streamed down her face, not yet realizing the hardest part of her life was about to begin.

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagines #peaky blinders fanfic #katiesfics #michael gray x female!reader #michael gray x reader #michael gray x y/n #michael gray #alfie solomons #Alfie Solomons x adoptive daughter!reader

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descendantofthesparrow · 3 years

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Interlude - Rewrite POYW - Part 6 - new buildings and snowball fights

-Six months later(February 2017)-

Diego stood in front of a work in progress building that was supposedly being turned into a shelter for vks that needed a warm place to stay and regular meals that they couldn't get on their own. His eyes drifted to the yet-to-be-hanged sign next to the open door where workers inside built the kitchens and bathrooms.

‘Carlos’ House - A safe place for lost kids - Auradon department of the isle’

Around a month ago King Ben and his councilor; Evie, had announced an on-Isle shelter for anyone that needed it, with two sections of the building, one for adults and one for minors. Fully furnished with fresh food, a handful of bedrooms that could house up to 10 people, multiple bathrooms, two full kitchens, and two snack kitchens, and isle hired guards and caretakers that would be screened and recruited by Harriet's crew.

Some of the building was finished so several homeless or starving VK’s had already moved into the empty rooms. Some of Harriet's crew had taken charge of guarding the building, keeping an eye on the Auradon workers to keep the younger kids safe while also keeping anyone dangerous out.

Diego felt a hint of pride looking at the sign, his little cousin, someone many thought would never amount to anything more than a slave for his mother, was now in Auradon, inventing and creating in Auradon and establishing a shelter for his fellow vks still on the isle.

Diego brushed his thumb over the walkie talkie in his hand, Carlos has sent it to him with one of the workers, something about Diego being an ear on the inside to keep track of things the isle needed and to help spread any news about more vks coming off the isle at some point.

Diego pocketed the device and turned on his heel, walking back to his apartment through the market, eyes drifting over the new posters detailing the upcoming -yet to be scheduled- VK day, where six VKs would be chosen and head to Auradon. It was a good year from now, the so-called CPS that would be ‘in charge’ of the new vks would apparently take the longest and both that and the Auradon shelter had been required for Ben to get the council to approve the new transfer plan.

Diego pushed open the gate to his apartment building and hurried inside, night was falling and even after everything king Ben had implemented onto the isle it still wasn’t safe to be out at this time. Diego walked into his apartment and locked the door behind him, tossing his keys and the walkie-talkie onto his couch.

He sighed and walked into his room, flopping against his bed and buried his face in his pillows. Just two days ago, the rotten four, as they used to be called on the isle before they left, had visited the isle to see how everything was going. And he had seen Carlos, no longer the short and scarily skinny tween, but an almost fully grown young man. Carlos had only been in Auradon for just a little more than a year but he was thriving, he was stronger, taller, and much more confident than he was before.

And Diego couldn’t help but be a little proud. When Carlos had seen Diego, he had rushed over, whispering to him as if it was a secret he was about to tell.

‘when the applications are sent here, fill one out, you’ll be my pick’ Diego pushed down the smile on his lips at the memory, it was nice to know that Carlos hadn’t forgotten him.

So maybe in a year, he would be joining Carlos in Auradon, both finally away from Carlos’ insane mother.

Evie overlooked the file that Yen Sid had pulled out for the young daughter of Dr.Facilier, Celia. Dizzy had requested from all of them that Celia be one of the next off, saying that she had promised her friend that she would get Celia off the isle as soon as she could.

And Evie had told Dizzy she would do her best. But unfortunately, it would be up to the council for Celia to be approved, and Evie hoped that Celia wouldn't try to be smart on her application. But again, the applications wouldn’t be sent for a good two years from now, so Auradon and the isle had a long time to wait until they could celebrate ‘vk day’ which was Doug's idea, he had said that the vks still on the isle deserved a day for themselves for waiting so long, and the vks in Auradon agreed, eight months was too long for Harriet and the others, two and a half was overdoing it.

It just sucked that Ben had no choice but to go with the council's requests, and it would be 2019 at least before they got the next round off. It was only thanks to Ben and (y/n) that the vks still on the isle knew that they in Auradon weren't abandoning them.

There was a new shelter being built in the name of Carlos’ for any kids or adults that needed a warm place to sleep, it also served as a place to keep track of the kids that took and turned in applications when the time came. Dizzy, around a week ago, had brought up the idea of possibly letting the older adults apply for Auradon as well, as some of them were long since reformed before the isle. (y/n) had said that Dizzy meant her aunt Anastasia, and told them about the baker and the alternate timeline sequels of Cinderella’s stories.

Which had confused the hell outta them but…considering (y/n) was from a world where they were all characters and had actors, they couldn’t argue with her about it.

Evie sighed and set down Celia's file, standing and stretching to get the tightness out of her muscles from sitting at the table for so long. She grabbed her jacket and shrugged it on, it was mid-February in Auradon so while the deep winter had passed it was still snowing and cold as hell outside.

Evie walked out of her room and made her way outside, smiling as she saw Dizzy, the Smee twins, Sammy, CJ, Harriet, and the rest of the vks (other than Gil) along with Doug, Ben, and (y/n) all having a snowball fight, (y/n) in Harry's arms as he lifted her out of the way of a snowball from Jay.

“Evie, heads up!” Evie squealed and ducked as a snowball soared past just where her head was a moment ago, CJ wincing as Carlos and Mal glared at her “Sorry! I was aiming for Harry!”

“I’m over here yeh lame-ass!” Harry cackled, dodging another snowball from Jay and grabbing your hand to bolt to the next snow fort Dizzy and CJ had made before the battle had started.

Evie laughed as she stood up and ran towards Mal and Ben, pulling Mal in front of her as a snowball from Harriet came speeding towards her “E!” Mal squeaked, wiping her shoulder and chest of the snow and turning towards Evie “No fair! No using your teammates as shields!” Evie laughed and stuck out her tongue, crouching down to scoop up snow.

“vks don’t fight fair M~! you said it yourself!” Evie then screamed as Mal squished a snowball into the side of her head, her blue hair trimmed with white “Hey!!”

“Payback!” Mal cackled, spinning on her heel and dodging another ball from Harriet then sending one back, pouting as Harriet just stepped to the side and the ball hit Sammy in the face. “oh come on-GAH!” (y/n) chucked a ball straight at Mal and hit her in the face, sending Mal to the ground. The snow flurried around Mal, almost creating a blanket on her from the thick frost. “really?”

Ben held in his laugh and lifted Mal out of the snow, holding her into his side as he dived behind another snow fort. “Ben” Mal faked a weak cough, holding her hand out towards Ben “you must…avenge my death…Bleh” Mal ‘died’ and slumped against Ben, closing her eyes and sticking her tongue out the corner of her mouth.

“Nooooo” Ben dramatically yelled out, a smile on his face as he let Mal slip off his chest. He stood, a snowball in each hand “revenge!” Jay cackled as Ben was immediately pummeled by several snowballs from the other side of the battlefield, (y/n) catching herself on Harry as Ben flopped back into the snow “treason! You’ve killed the king!”

“False! Dizzy is king now! She threw the last ball that hit you!” Harry cackled, lifting Dizzy by her armpits and holding the giggling teen in the air “all hail king Dizzy!”

Evie covered her mouth to stop the loud ‘guffaw’ from bursting, leaning on Carlos to prevent herself from falling “all hail king Dizzy!” Jay and Carlos echoed, throwing their hands forward and mock bowing at Dizzy, who was still giggling in Harry's grip.

“Fore!” Jay looked to the side and yelped, a snowball slamming directly into his face and he fell back into the snow “I said fore!” Gil laughed, Jane at his side giggling behind her periwinkle snow mittens.

“there yeh are!” Harry yelled, setting Dizzy down and gesturing for Gil to join the side of the pirates “come on, we need’a tank!”

“don’t you have (y/n)?” Jane laughed, sitting down on a bench nearby as Gil jogged over to Harry and quickly made a large snowball. Gil and Harry looked at each other at Jane's mention of you, then looked to (y/n), who was in the middle of hurling another snowball at the opposite team. They shrugged and Gil continued to make a large snowball

“(y/n)’s tha’ sharpshooter, Gil’s the tank” Harry grinned, cackling as Gil launched the foot wide snowball at the other side, completely decimating the small fort CJ had made and knocking her to the ground. “yeah!!!”

“Ow!” CJ groaned, shaking the snow off and crawling out of the battlefield “im done! Count me out!” she flopped into the snow a few feet away and took a few deep breaths as Gil launched another snowball at Carlos, knocking him to the ground.

“Dodgeball rules! You get hit you’re out, loser team makes hot chocolate for everyone!” Harriet called out, giving a sharp grin as everyone yelled in agreement.

Snowballs flew everywhere, Jane curling in on herself squealing as a few stragglers landed near her “not playing, not playing!”

“Jane!” Gil laughed, running toward her and picking her up bridal style, and running back to the battlefield, setting her behind the fort (y/n) and Harriet had reinforced “stay, I'll protect you” Jane giggled and swooned as Gil stood back up and launched a mid-sized snowball at Jay, hitting Jay square in the chest and getting him out. “got ya!”

“Not fair! You have (y/n) and Gil on your side!” Jay complained, Mal popped up, her eyes glowing green as several snowballs floated next to her. Jay laughed and grinned, running off to the bench where CJ and Ben sat. “ooooh! Yall are goin down!”

Mal threw her hand forward, the snowballs aiming for you but they hit the snow fort instead as you flipped behind it “Dang it! AH!” Dizzy chucked a snowball right at Mal and hit her in the face, marking the fae out “DANGNABIT!”

“Ha!” Dizzy cheered, throwing her hands into the sky, squealing as Evie sent back a snowball at Dizzy “Evieee!”

“Dizzyyy!” Evie mocked, a sharp grin on her lips as she tossed two more snowballs at Dizzy, the first missing and the second hitting Dizzy in the back “Gotcha~!”

Dizzy pouted and joined Mal, Jay, CJ, and Ben at the bench, cheering on her team as the fight continued. Now it was Evie, Carlos, Doug, and Sammy, vs Harry, (y/n), Gil, the twins, and Harriet.

It was all too easy.

Within moments Evie and the boys were pummeled by snowballs, all screaming in ‘pain’ as they fell into the snow. The twins rushed over to the other side, throwing their last few balls into their ‘dead’ brother's stomach. Sammy coughed at the impact and sat up, pulling the two into his chest and rolling around, cackling as the twins squealed with laughter.

“We win! Ya’ll gotta make the hot chocolate now!” (y/n) laughed out in victory, Harry pulling her into his side with a grin, hiding it in her hair.

Ben sighed and gestured back inside the dorms “come on, there's a closed patio with a fire pit, we can make smores too!” the twins and Dizzy gasped at that and rushed inside, Dizzy pulling Evie as the twins pulled their brother and Harriet with them.

Soon all 16 teens were inside the closed patio, the firepit roaring as Harry helped the twins roast their marshmallows, their whipped cream-covered hot chocolates still steaming on their seats behind them.

“I can't believe at one point we outnumbered you and we still lost!” Mal grumbled, taking a layer off her toasted marshmallow and eating it, putting the treat back over the fire to let it toast again.

“that’s what happens when you have both (y/n) and Gil on the same side, (y/n) throws ninety-five miles per hour and Gil throws meteors, it was their game as soon as they picked their side” Ben laughed, handing Mal a hot chocolate in her glittery green and purple mug and sitting down next to her, sipping from his gold and blue mug.

“Then next time have Harry on your team to make sure you also have (y/n) and Gil” CJ snickered, leaning into Harriet's side as she chewed on her freshly made smore, gram cracker crumbs on the corners of her mouth.

(y/n) let out a small snort, leaning back in her seat and lifting her feet, setting them on Harry's shoulder as he helped Skipper set his marshmallow onto the gram cracker. “Maybe, who knows, I might play the other team next time~” Harry turned to look at (y/n), giving her a look “What? Don’t look at me like that? Just because I love you don't mean I won't kick your ass in a snowball fight” Harry rolled his eyes with a fond smile and pushed (y/n)s boots off his shoulder, ignoring the pout (y/n) was aiming at the back of his head.

“well, I’d say today was a good day” Ben sighed, sipping at his coco again and smiling as the group agreed with him, Harry standing from helping the twins and sitting next to (y/n), (y/n) slipping under his arm and laying her head on his chest.

Ben let out a content sigh and leaned back against his seat, closing his eyes and letting his head hit the headrest. Getting more vks to Auradon was going to take almost two years from now but for now, knowing the recent six and the original six were enjoying their life free from the isle was enough.

He couldn’t wait to share it with all the vks in the future.

-end of part 6-

part 6~!!! forgot today was Saturday but its only 630pm for me so i still posted on time, but yeah! Diego! Carlos! snowball fights! cuteness!!! its all getting wrapped up and loose ends are (hopefully) being tied!!! hope yall enjoyed reading! part 7 next saturday!

@queer-cosette @sephiralorange @lunanight2012

@daughter-of-the-stars11 @musicarose @random-thoughts-003

@remembered-license @rintheemolion @verboetoperee

@imtryingthisout @thecaptainsgingersnap @jatp-rules-my-life

#Descendents #descendants #disney descendants #harry hook #harry hook descendants #harry hook x reader #harry hook imagine #interlude #rewrite #part of your world #shuffle playlist #finale

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gxngsoflondon · 4 years

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As The World Caves In - Part 4/? (Sean Wallace x Reader)

A/N: I’m so sorry this took so long to post, it’s been a craaaaaazy week. Hope you guys enjoy!

Part 3 // My Masterlist

Part 4: No More Mrs Polite

Marian Wallace has finally stopped crying.

She is still clutching your face.

Finn had crushed you in an embrace at first and now all he can do is stare at the miracle before him.

See, you look alot like your mother.

He called Ed, the Dumali’s are on their way.

Billy doesn’t quite know how to react. He is perched on the arm of a small couch, staring at you too. He is trying to remember everything he can about his childhood best friend. He’d cried himself to sleep for a year after you were reported dead.

Sean Wallace is the only person in the room that isn’t looking at you. He’s staring out of a window, swirling the whiskey in his glass.

“Y/N,” he says, without turning around to face you “Exactly how many men have you just killed?”

*8 Hours Earlier*

You never liked being alone in the apartment. It wasn’t often that Johnny wasn’t home, but when your fiance was away on business you struggled to sleep at night.

Like he was away on business now.

You’d given up on trying to sleep by 3am,16 years later and the nightmares are just as real, the horror just as fresh. So you sit cross legged on your sofa, tucked under a small blanket, mindlessly flicking through television channels as you wait for the sun to come up.

And that’s when you see it.

Through the cracks in your curtains you see a bright beam of headlights, too bright to simply be one car.

It’s the door slams that catch your attention.

There are never usually cars around here at this time of night.

You the mute the TV and make your way to the window. You aren’t worried, more so curious, but the years of training have made you paranoid, and you make especially sure you can’t be seen.

There are three black vehicles in the street bellow. Two men emerge from the back of each car and greet each other with curt nods. The tallest man with greying hair checks his watch, then looks up at a window on the eighth floor, the only one with light at this hour in the early morning. He is in charge here. The cars disappear, drawn back to the hum of the city. Nobody must know they have arrived.

The men don’t speak a word to each other. The tall man signals with his hand and they all sweep towards the lobby of the apartment complex, feet moving in unison, silencers on their guns.

The tall man was warned you would be difficult, that you will not be like his other targets. They have already failed once, they will kill you this time.

The tallest man was also warned you will do everything in your power to kill them too.

You know they are here for you.

You know they want you dead.

You are calm.

This is how you survive; by staying calm and remaining rational.You are prepared. You know you can’t run away, if they’ve found you once they’ll find you again. You cannot outweigh your opponent in strength, all but one of the 6 men stalking towards you clear 6 feet, stocky and muscular. No, you can’t fight them, you will have to outsmart them.

You are already two steps ahead.

Because you’ve spent the last 16 years trying to track down who murdered your family and they’ve just delivered themselves to you wrapped in ribbon.

You check your phone. You had set up cameras as soon as you moved in. Johnny had never laughed so hard, after all “you were safe now”, “nobody knew you existed”. You flicked between the camera’s. One man stayed outside, two in the lobby, the other three continuing up the stairwell to you.

“Who’s laughing now Johnny, who’s laughing now”

You unmute the TV and get into position.

“You didn’t try and call for help?” Marian asks “Not even- what was he called?”

“Johnny,” Billy says. Like the rest of the Wallace family, he was hanging on your every word.

Marian nods.

“Yes,” she says “Him”

You shrug.

“I wasn’t scared.”

There wasn’t much anybody could say to that. So they didn’t.

“Well you better bloody continue lassie,” Finn says finally.

Sean Wallace finally sits down next to his brother. His eyes are locked on yours, and you’re both smirking.

The first three men find your apartment and the door is already open. There are no lights on anymore, just a flickering TV screen, nothing but static playing on it. They sweep the first few rooms and find nothing. They know better than to assume you’re not here. They spread out, each searching a separate room now.

This is their first mistake.

The tall man with the greying hair checks your bedroom, he moves silently. You aren’t under the bed, you aren’t behind the curtain. He almost leaves the room. Surely you won’t be in the wardrobe, he knows you’re smart remember, you won’t be in the most cliched hiding spot.

He checks anyway. Better to be safe than sorry.

The wardrobe is dark, and he struggles to see into it.

So he takes a step further inside.

This is his last mistake.

You sink a knife into his thigh before he can see the arm punching from the shadows.

It’s relatively simple after that. You wrestle him for the gun. He lands a few punches on your face but he knows you struck something major in his leg. He falls to the ground. You shoot him point blank.

The other two men are in the kitchen. Your back is against the wall in the hallway. Your heart thuds loudly in your chest. You watch them but they can’t see you. You’re trying to get a good look at their faces. One of them, the shortest, wears a black balaclava covering all of his head. He’s the one that must’ve seen you. You hear him reload his gun. He doesn’t have time to fire it. He’s been shot before he can find the trigger.

Bullets rip into the wall behind you and you dive behind your couch. You’re panting heavily. The other intruder ducks also, behind a kitchen island. He doesn’t stay there for long.

He empties round and round into the couch. There is no gunfire in return. Slowly, the man stands up, tiptoeing his way towards the living room where he’s seen you duck for cover. He reaches the couch. He is ready to shoot.

But you aren’t there.

He spins on his heels, confused.

And you bring a frying pan down so hard on his skull that he falls immediately to the ground. You plunge a knife into his chest for good measure.

You are walking into the lift in a dead man’s clothes. You check the camera’s on your phone, the other men are still there. You tuck your hair back as you slip the balaclava over your head as the doors to the lobby open.

It takes them a second too long to realise you aren’t one of them.

And by then you’ve emptied your gun of its bullets.

“Fuck!”

You are crouched over the last man you shot. You slap his face a couple of times but he’s dead, no doubt about it. You wanted him alive. You want to know who sent him.

But it’s slightly too late for that now.

It takes you about an hour to drag the bodies in the lobby up to your apartment. It’s as you’re piling the bodies up you here the buzzing of a phone. You find it in one of their pockets.

Is it done?

It’s the only new message. The contact isn’t saved but the number wasn’t concealed. You should’ve written the number down. Used it to track down exactly who was doing this.

All you type back in reply is:

Yes.

But you didn’t write the number down. You didn’t have to. See, this was a number you knew. A number you knew very well.

The Wallace’s take a couple of seconds to process this information. Killing isn’t knew to them. They’ll send a team out to clean up the ‘mess’ in your apartment as soon as the hugs and reminiscing and reunions are over. Billy looks impressed, but they others, they look worried.

“Here’s what’s bothering me,”

It’s Sean Wallace. He’s finished the whiskey and set the glass down on a coffee table.

“Mum, Dad, you’ve all been looking for her for years”

“Yes,” Marian nods. And it’s true. For years they grasped onto the hope that at least one of you were still alive. They funded countless searches, spent thousands of pounds and hours on finding any remaining Andersons.

But they never did.

You made sure that nobody would know you were alive. All but one person knew you were alive.

Sean opens his mouth to finish his sentence, but Finn beats him to it.

“So how did they find her before we did?”

Sean nods. This is what had been playing on his mind. Who could’ve possibly known who you were, but perhaps more importantly, where you were.

That ‘one person’ sold you out.

“Ah well,” you say, letting out a cold laugh, before flashing a ring at them “For that you can thank my darling fiance,”

Sean’s eyebrows knit together in confusion

“Johnny?” Billy says, just like he had done to prompt his mother earlier.

You frown but can’t help yourself from mimicking the words of the Wallace mother. Malice coats your voice.

“Yes” you say, “Him.”

Taglist: @newyorkstateofmind @lovemissyhoneybee @swiftyhowlz @rubycuffley (let me know if you want to be tagged so that you never miss a part!!)

#sean wallace #sean wallace imagine #sean wallace x reader #sean wallace fic #gangs of london #gangs of london imagine #gangs of london fanfic #gangs of london fic #joe cole #joe cole imagine

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maddestzoomer · 4 years

Text

beautiful sunrises

request from anon - Hi! Can I please request a oneshot Robin x fem! reader where robin loves sunrises and the reader doesn't? And maybe like, could you make it so Robin comes out to the reader as having a crush on her? Just something crazy soft. Thanks!

summary - robin wakes the reader up so the two of them can experience a beautiful sunrise together. in doing so, the two of them have a needed conversation.

warnings - there’s some slight referenced homophobia and some slight cursing, but other than that, this is just a super soft story!

word count - 1.5k

a.n. - i really enjoyed writing this story, and i hope whoever requested this enjoys reading it! let me know your thoughts on this story, if you have any :)

Robin had always loved sunrises. That's nice, but you loved to sleep. Plus, to you, they looked the same every day anyways.

The two of you had shared a room in an uncomfortably small apartment. You have the bed, and Robin has a shitty-blow up mattress- for now, at least. Your grandmother owned the apartment, and allowed for you the two of you to live there.

She had a house of her own to stay in; one you had always found fascinatingly beautiful thanks to its Victorian style and dark color scheme.

Robin had recently been kicked out of her mother's home for reasons she absolutely refused to say- causing her to show up at your door one night with puffy eyes, a red nose, and a bag of clothes. You, of course, immediately welcomed her with open arms.

The two of you had only lived together for a week so far, and if you're being completely honest with yourself, you loved having her around. She could cook, she had an amazing taste in tunes, and she somehow enjoyed cleaning. Not only that, but she never failed to make you smile.

The only problem was those goddamn sunrises.

"C'mon, Y/N, it's beautiful out!" Robin said, pulling back the dark curtains that kept your room comfortably safe from the brightness outside. "I promise, it's totally worth looking at."

You softly groaned in response, turning over slowly.

Even though your head ached from whatever stupid thing you'd done the night before, even though your blankets were the softest things you'd ever felt over your eyes, you looked up from your comfortable mountain of pillows and out of the window she held open for you.

"C'monnnn, get up, Sleeping Beauty." Robin said with a beautifully bright smile. The fact anyone could manage to be so beautiful this early in the morning simply astounded you.

Playfully, you roll your eyes. Robin had picked up the habit of calling you 'Sleeping Beauty', a nickname you surprisingly didn't hate. In fact, the first time she called you Sleeping Beauty, a soft blush dusted your cheeks and your stomach twisted in knots.

"I made coffee with cinnamon, just the way you like." She said, now closing the curtain. "Come drink a cup outside with me."

You sighed deeply, throwing your blanket from your body before swinging your legs over the side of your bed. Yawning, you rub your eyes.

"What time is it even anyway?" You question, standing up. Your feet were greeted with cold wooden floors, flooring that never failed to send a shiver up your spine.

"6:02." Robin replied, running a hand through her hair. If you had it your way, you'd get another solid three hours before even contemplating getting up. But there was something special about Robin, something that made you want to get up and just be with her.

"You're not gonna regret this." She said with a smile before leaving the room, likely to go slip on some shoes.

Once alone, you stretched and threw on a Hawkins High sweater-shirt, then slipping on a pair of black flip-flops.

You walked from your room, each step being announced by your flip-flop making a soft smacking sound on your heel.

There Robin stood, two cups of coffee in her hand and a small smirk pulling at her lips.

You smiled a small moment, running a hand through your locks. "You never fail to amaze." You said as you took your cup from her. Robin could make an absolutely amazing cup of coffee, and she knew it.

"Why, thank you." Robin chirped, opening the door for the two of you to walk out of.

Thankfully, your apartment was settled on the first floor, which meant you didn't have to walk up and down stairs every day to get home.

Robin led the way, heading towards the back door.

There's something so strange about the fact you now have Robin living with you. Just a week ago, the summer was gearing up to be hot, boring, and lonely.

Now, while it may still be hot, it definitely won't be boring or lonely. And you were thankful for that- even if you didn't know how to express it.

Soon, the two of you walk outside, being greeted with a warm breeze that hugged your skin and messed your hair.

You took a seat on the stairs, Robin joining next to you.

The both of you remained silent as you gazed up at the sky.

It truly was stunning. Vibrantly pink and orange clouds were visible, with a beautiful fluffiness you almost couldn't comprehend. The sun itself was only just beginning to make an appearence from behind the clouds, allowing for hazy rays of pure shine to jet out in seemingly random pockets of beauty.

The air was sweet now with the smell of lilacs and grass, making lovlieness swirl around in your lungs and mind.

Robin, however, wasn't looking at the sunrise. She couldn't help from staring at you- at the way your eyes were glossed over with vibrant pinks and oranges, at the way your lips parted slightly in awe of what was before you, at the way your hair was an absolutely gorgeous mess.- and you noticed this.

Looking to her with a small smile, you raise an eyebrow. "I thought the whole reason we came out here was to watch the sun rise."

"Yeah..." But I'm watching something even more beautiful than any sunrise I've ever seen before, Robin thought. "But I just like seeing your reaction. It's cute." She said. Fuck- was adding the word 'cute' too much? Fuck.

Softly, you blush, looking away and down to your cup of coffee. Cute. A simple word, one you never paid much mind to. You had been called cute before. In fact, you used to dislike the word 'cute' because of how childish it sounded. But now- due to it falling from her lips- it couldn't help from buzzing around your in mind.

"Umm... Y/N?" Robin softly asked. She noticed the blush on your cheeks, and felt the need to say something. She looked to the sky, seeing more soft pastel pinks and oranges than before. Already, she felt a lump growing in her throat.

"Hmm?" You softly hummed, looking over to her. Her change of tone was somewhat concerning. It felt like the tone people took up when they had something bad to say.

"I uhh... I wanted to tell you why my mom kicked me out." She said. She still wouldn't look at you, which made anxiety begin to brew in the pit of your stomach. Why wouldn't she look at you? Why was her voice in that tone? Why was her freckled skin growing pale?

"Oh? Alright." You said with a small smile. "But umm, Rob, you don't have to. Like- not unless you're absolutely sure you want to."

Your words of comfort drew a small, unsure smile to Robin's lips. Would you hate her after this? Fuck...

"Well, Y/N..." She took a deep breath in, one that made her chest dramatically rise and fall. "I was writing a letter for someone really special to me that just spoke about how much I like them and how beautiful and smart and funny I think they are-" She said quietly, cutting herself off from rambling. She could feel her pulse pumping under her skin- in the back of her throat.

You tried your best not to frown, not to express the million questions you had swarming around your brain. Who was this someone? You weren't jealous- no. You weren't about to even let yourself think you were jealous... But still, envy found a way to grown tight vines around your mind.

Robin's jaw clenched as her gaze dropped from the sky and to the uncut flowing grass below. "My mom found the letter and..." She wet her lips "and she made me tell her who it was about." She murmured softly. Her grip on her mug was growing considerably tighter.

She went silent for a few moments.

"It was about you, Y/N." She finally choked out. "I-It was about you."

You frowned in confusion, along with a bit of shock. "Me?" You repeated. Maybe you're just misunderstanding what she's saying-

Robin brought her dark blue eyes to your own and nodded. "I like you. I like you a lot." She said softly. Her insides were squirming. God- what was the expression you had on your face? Horror? Disgust? Hatred?

A smile pulled to your lips, one that absolutely radiant- one that took Robin's breath away for a moment. There wasn't anything except for absolute joy and... maybe even love in your eyes.

Taking her hand into your own, you gave it a gentle squeeze.

"I like you too, Robin."

#robin x reader #robin buckley x reader #robin x fem!reader #robin buckley x you #stranger things #my writing #my concept #thanks for the request!#maya hawke #maya hawke x reader

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writingwithadinosaur · 4 years

Text

“Alibi” - Oneshot

My Masterlist - Here

My Tag List - Here

Malcolm Bright x Reader, Gil Arroyo x Daughter!Reader

Word Count: 2,000-ish

Key: Y/N = Your Name, H/C = Your Hair Color, E/C = Your Eye Color

Warnings: Mentions of murder, cursing. Large chunks of text in italics mean that it is a flashback.

Summary: After your boss is murdered, you are brought in as a suspect. In order to prove your innocence, you have to reveal a secret to your father.

Author’s Note: This was one of those ideas that hit me like a train right as I was about to go to bed, so I scribbled as much as I could down and tried to make sense of it the next day.

We’re also gonna pretend that Gil and Jessica aren’t a thing cause then that would make this story a bit awkward.

This is not beta read, so let me know if there are any mistakes!

If you would like to be tagged in any of my future pieces, check out my tag list above and let me know! And as always, feedback is greatly appreciated!

- DreaSaurusREX

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So, (Y/N), got any news for me?” Your boss, Mr.Naruski asked from his desk chair, casually weaving a pen in between his fingers. It was lunchtime and you had gotten salads from the meditarrian place that he liked.

“Well, Simon wanted to move his meeting with you to Friday, but there would be no way to do that unless we add another 4 hours to the day. Oh! And Mrs.Krewnshe asked me if--”

“(Y/N), sweetheart! We are on our lunch break! Which means I don’t want any news with my clients unless it's urgent. I meant news in the world of the best secretary in New York!”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes a little bit and smile. Mr.Naruski was a true blessing when it came to employers. He owned his own architecture business in New York and somehow wasn’t a complete asshat like some of your previous bosses. He and his wife were incredibly caring and truly understood that you had to be a human in order to work with other humans. The respect you got here was well worth the daily commute!

“Well, if you really want to know... My boyfriend set up a nice, and very last minute, date for us tonight.” You couldn’t hide the true smile that spread across your lips. Mr.Naruski leaned forward and raised an eyebrow.

“Oh? And where is this ‘nice’ date happening, if I might ask?”

“I’m not sure. He wouldn’t tell me. All he said was to be ready by 6 because we have reservations for 6:45. But I have a feeling it’s that new modern industrial place that I was telling you about. He knows I love to walk past it and appreciate the details. While I don’t think I’ve ever said out loud that I like it or would like to go inside, he has a great ability to read me.”

Your smile grew a little more as your eyes drifted slightly down, thinking about all the times your boyfriend picked up on the smaller details in the past. He was good with surprises. Mr.Naruski watched how this interaction brought out your best side. The two of you finished your lunches and got back to work.

Your boss had one more meeting this afternoon. It was with a company called Jetlan Inc. From the small bit of conversation you heard as Mr.Naruski escorted his guests out, it was a successful meeting. He turned back to you once the door was closed and let out a relieved sigh.

“I take it everything went well?”

“As well as I could. They are going to take tonight to mull it over and then give us a call tomorrow. So expect Samuel to call at some point.”

You wrote down a little reminder to yourself on a sticky note “May get call from Jetlan Inc.” and placed it near your desk’s phone. You went back to typing out the schedule for next week when Mr.Naruski tapped a finger on your desk.

“How about you leave early today, (Y/N)?”

“Are you sure, sir? I can stay and help with the final prep for tomorrow’s deal if you want. I should also probably finish this schedule.”

“I think I can handle that on my own. And you can add your final touches tomorrow. You,” He stood up and walked around your desk and held out his hands. You put your hands in his and he helped you up before grabbing your coat from the coat rack. “Have a date to get ready for.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. It was almost unbelievable to have a boss that really cared about your personal life as much as your professional one like he did. You just slipped on your coat and grabbed your purse, knowing that when Naruski made up his mind, it was set. He opened the door for you and put a hand on your arm.

“He told me to ‘love with my whole heart, but be smart enough to know when to use my brain instead.’ I think it was his way of saying ‘Be safe and have fun.’”

A small but sad smile worked its way onto your face at the thought of him being so supportive. You felt a wave of tears coming, so you finished up your story to try to stop them from falling.

“After that, I thanked him again, and I left to go back to my apartment and get ready. The next time I saw Mr.Naruski was the next morning, behind the crime scene tape blocking my office, dead.”

You couldn’t believe that just 24 hours ago, you were happily talking to your boss about your date. And now he was dead. Murdered in his own office, two hours after you had left. You were being questioned at the NYPD by none other than JT Tarmel, Dani Powell, Malcolm Bright, and your father, Gil Arroyo.

No one spoke, they were taking in all of the details of your alibi. It felt like forever before Malcolm broke the silence.

“Are there security cameras in your office?”

“Yes. There is one in the main office where my desk is positioned, one in Mr.Naruski’s office, and one in the hallway outside our door.”

“Great. We can check those. They’ll show (Y/N) leaving and should have a timestamp on them that we can check.

The team did their own little nods, still thinking about your alibi. They wanted to trust you, but they needed to think of every possible thing that could have happened, or if they could find any evidence to the real killer.

“Who did you go on a date with?” Dani was sitting about 6 feet to your right, a bottle of water in her hands as she leaned forward, elbows on the table.

“I don’t see how my dating life is relevant to my boss being murdered in his office.”

Lies. You knew why she was asking. It was a major part of your alibi and it’s the only other way that they could concretely cross you off of the suspect list. JT jumped in to try to diffuse the situation, none of them aware of how much you didn’t want to share.

“It's just another way that we can confirm your alibi, (Y/N).”

You could see Gil adjusting his stance as he leaned against the wall to your left. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at your father, already feeling his intense stare boring into you.

The room was silent, but the anxiety in your chest made it feel like the room was half of its real size. You kept your posture as straight as you could while you focused on your hands that were unconsciously fidgeting on top of the table.

“Tell us the kid’s name, (Y/N).”

“Why can’t you just check the cameras like Malcolm said? That’ll show when I left at around 4:30 yesterday afternoon and when I came back today for my shift but saw the tape instead! You could even check my apartment’s security cameras!”

“Woah! We will, (Y/N). We just want to be able to cover our asses and yours.” JT tried again to calm you down, everyone know seeing how uncomfortable the idea of sharing the details of your date made you.

Your leg started to shake under the table, that was your cue that your anxiety was getting bad. You lock eyes with Malcolm. He sees how much you’re struggling and just gives you a short nod. You knew what he was trying to say, but you really didn’t want to agree. Malcolm then took a deep breath, trying to get you to do the same. You looked down and tried to take a deep breath in.

“Why can’t you just answer the question, (Y/N)?!” Gil didn’t yell, but you could hear the annoyance in his voice. It was the final hit that broke the last of your defenses.

“Because it's Malcolm, alright?!”

Even you were a bit shocked at the slight frustration and exasperation in your voice. As everyone let that fact settle in their brains, you closed your eyes and took a couple deep breaths, trying to accept the fact that it was out in the open now. Malcolm made his way behind you and put a comforting hand on your shoulder, lightly rubbing this thumb to try and soothe you. You opened your eyes and stared at the center of the table, your hands now clasped together.

“Last night I left work early to go get ready for a date with Malcolm Bright. He took me to that nicer place off of 47th that has the grey brick exterior with the iron corner details. We went there to catch a break from our lives because it's been so hectic lately and we haven’t had much time to just sit and enjoy each other’s company.”

Our reservation was for 6:45 under Malcolm’s name. You can check with the manager there, go into their electronic reservation system, and see that we checked in and everything. Or Malcolm may have some sort of confirmation email. Now do I need to go into detail about what we ordered or what cocktail I was drinking, or am I good?”

You slowly looked up to meet your father’s eyes. You expected something upset in his eyes, but instead, they were very professional. He looked from you to Malcolm, who in turn nodded, confirming your story. Gil audibly inhaled through his nose and exhaled through his nose and he rubbed a hand down his face.

“No. You’re good, kid.”

You look back to your hands and close your eyes, focusing on your breathing. You weren’t hyperventilating, but you definitely felt a weight in your chest.

Dani and JT looked at each other, unaware of what to do in this situation. Malcolm looked from you back to Gil, his face slightly pleading. Gil quickly tilted his head towards the door, a small sigh of relief coming from Malcolm as he moved his hand to your arm and leaned down to quietly talk in your ear.

“C’mon, (Y/N). Let’s get some air or something to drink, okay?”

You nodded and stood up as Malcolm grabbed your coat from the rack near the door. You took yours and slung it over your arm as Malcolm opened the door for you. Before you could leave, Gil spoke up.

“I will be seeing the two of you in my office in an hour though. We need to have a chat.”

You just nod and leave already knowing what this “chat” is going to be about. Malcolm was reaching for his coat when Gil’s voice resonated again.

“Malcolm, take care of her. Go to that shop around the corner. They have those little pastries she likes. And make sure your both are back here soon. We’re not done with this.”

“Will do.” Malcolm nodded and quickly left and caught up with you, walking you safely out of the NYPD.

With that, there was still a semi-awkward air in the meeting room. Dani quietly fiddled with her water bottle and let out a “Well…”

“Heh! Yeah. That was somethi--”

Before JT could get further, Gil pointed at him and sternly said “Don’t.” JT just raises his hands in defense and backs off. Dani couldn’t help but smirk a bit at the sight of JT getting called out.

“So where do we go from here?” Dani calmly asked the room.

“We need to get the security footage from the office building and (Y/N)’s apartment complex. Get in contact with the restaurant owner and see if we can check their reservation system, if not, ask Malcolm if he has any email from their reservation.”

“On it.” JT confirmed as he left the room to head to his desk and start working. Gil leaned on the table, thinking for a moment. “What do we know about this Jetlan Inc.?

~~~~~~~~~~~~ Tags: @malindacath @shadowfoxey @whovianayesha @melconnor2007 @ashenfallsof @geeksareunique @all-by-myself98 @sj-thefan

#malcolm bright imagine #malcolm bright x reader #malcolm whitly fic #malcolm whitly x reader #malcolm bright fic #prodigal son fanfic #prodigal son fandom #gil arroyo imagine #gil arroyo x reader #Father!Gil Arroyo x reader #gil arroyo fic #Gil Arroyo Fanfic #gil arroyo x daughtet!reader

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ibeatfor · 3 years

Text

evolution

3/24/21

I live by the mountains

And it wasn't even by design. It just so happened that this small little place within my budget was by the foothills of the Angeles National Forest.

It was not even a year ago when a picture of me and my then husband J was immortalized in the local newspaper as we stood arm in arm watching the fire fighting being conducted on the fire raging in our "backyard".

I remember seeing the flames atop the mountains and within a hair's breadth, witnessing in awe and horror as it raced down the spine of the mountain. I think subconsciously I knew we weren't in any real danger as it hadn't crossed the street but I think I must've tugged on Inyo's leash to get him further away from the fire, as if the few inches would've made a difference. It's human instinct to withdraw from a perceived threat. His resistance pulled me out of my head and back to reality. We were (relatively) safe, why not check it out along with the bystanders and news crew that had already begun to gather? It's also human instinct to observe -it's why we inevitably rubberneck despite swearing we won't be the one to hold up traffic like that car in front of us. So we went to check it out with the crowd, 6 feet apart of course. Arm slung across each other, mine around his waist and his casually over my shoulder, we stood there watching helicopter after helicopter dump water on the patches of flames. It was this image that the photographer captured. I recall the mountains looking beat up, barren and forlorn after the fire was put out. The black scars from the ordeal showing up starkly against the blue skies made me feel bad for my beloved mountains, how they must have suffered.

Never could I imagine that months later I would be standing in the same spot alone. This time, it would just be my own two arms clasped about my small heaving self, as if to futilely hold back the overwhelming grief, feeling much the same way I imagined my mountains to look back then-beaten up and scarred.

---

So now, some more months later, as I'm out on my daily walk, I'm struck dumb by the patches of greenery that's peeping up from the mountain face. They're scattered and patchy, awkward like a teenager who isn't sure how much space to take up, but they're green and they're there nonetheless. They grow bravely and defiantly, the scars of their ordeal scabbed over by slow growth. Fundamentally I know they didn't just spring up overnight, they've been budding since the fire was put out but it still catches me by surprise. I know this but I can't help but feel taken aback because as often as I've walked this loop, I never noticed it until recently.

I flinch as I reread my past journal entries, notably the one on January 12th. Not because it’s embarrassingly raw (it is) but because it wasn't too long ago that that memory, was my reality. While I may still instinctually recoil from the memory, I can see that I've kept pace with my mountains. They've been the metronome beating steadily in the background and living by them (by lucky happenstance), I didn't realize they were also keeping me on beat, outwardly reflecting our progress in a gradual, delightful blooming of life and healing, healing and life.

When I see the dare-to-be hopeful patches of greenery bathed in the early evening sunlight, it's human, or rather, Theresa instincts to turn my face towards the warmth of the sun, to soak in its life endowing light myself.

---

3/1/21

Red cross, ActiveSGV let- I paused in the midst of compiling my mental to do list. It felt like a lifetime ago when it was all I could do to perform the bare functions of existence. Did I get out of bed before noon? Yes? Good. Did I get out of bed without breaking down? Yes? Now that was a win. Those were hard days. And while I can get out of bed before noon and without crying more reliably now, it wasn’t so long ago that I can look back without flinching at the difficulty of the memory. The possibility of relapsing, of going back to that place, is always there. But when you feel like your life as you’ve known it is being upended, you count even the small victories. I process my observation of my mid-thought with wonder. The idea that I now tentatively have enough emotional and mental bandwidth to even consider doing something else aside from making it through the day without breaking down sends a small thrill down my spine. Now that was the win of the month!

2/19/21

We’re creatures of habits. So when it’s a habit you’ve known for years, it’s disorientating to shake things up. This past weekend was my first road trip with R and it was enjoyable, despite my initial dread over embarking on a long journey on a Friday of a long weekend (the irony hasn’t escaped me). While it was a great first road trip together, it was also…kind of weird. Even broaching the idea of taking the trip in the first place and then planning it felt strange. I didn’t know how to navigate through these uncharted waters because I’m so used to road tripping with J. We expected to adventure on long weekends because we had established that expectations years ago. It never crossed my mind that we wouldn’t go somewhere on a long weekend.

So while I enjoyed every moment of my first road trip with R, I admit J was on my mind more often than I’d like. It was as if I was leading little Theresa forward by the hand but she kept glancing back at the past, reminiscing on how I used to do x, y, and z with J. The contrast between then and now often induced feelings of loss, longing, and heightened the sense that something was amiss, like I was going against the natural order of things. From past experience, I knew that there was only one place these devious thoughts will lead me to if I left them unchecked. So before we went down that rabbit hole, I’d give her hand as much of a reassuring squeeze as I can muster and doggedly plod on with her in tow -partially because there’s nothing else to be done at this point but mostly because I want to move forward. I can’t say with much degree of certainty that things will be better ahead, but I’d like to (have to) believe they will be.

Initially I tried to convince her not to look back and to keep her eyes always ahead and when that failed, I tried bargaining with her to not look back as often. Eventually, I relented. I allowed myself to look back as often as I needed to and that offered some relief, I was able to free myself from the guilt and the need to always keep my eyes forward.

Learning grace is part of fighting the good fight and that weekend was a prime learning opportunity. I allowed myself to look back and gave myself permission to feel everything -the discomfort from what feels like a physical wrenching of myself out of a comfortable habit and familiarity, the longing for the familiarity, the excitement of the newness, and hell, the plain strangeness of the newness. I’m learning there is space and that it’s okay to hold contradictory feelings. After all, when I’m not an Olympic medalists in mental gymnastics, I’m really a plant with more complicated emotions.

---

1/12/21

Sadness accompanies me everywhere. She trails me.

The death of a dream is always heartbreaking.

Some times I gasp aloud from the pain.

It's not your heart that aches, not for me at least. The pain is a dull, slowly pulsing pain that's nestled right underneath my heart.

I stay in the house until I can't and then I walk, heading north, until I can't. On 1/12/21, I make it as far as the northern grass patch before I have to sit down.

The sun sets as quickly, the sky flares up as quickly as I'm overcome by the pain

I wonder if I appear drunk, crunching leaves and walking until I double over.

Idk who I'm glancing around for but at this point I wouldn't mind a hug from just about anyone.

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1/1/2021

Rustle, click, thud

I settle in the car with a rustle of clothing and plug in my phone to charge with a smart click. As the phone snaps onto the magnetic phone holder with a light thud, that’s when it usually starts. At night in cold Ole Faithful the rustle, click, thud are the sounds of my thoughts preparing to play themselves out, like the din of middle school orchestra students warming up to play. I used to dread it in the beginning, the thud signaled the arrival of unbearable sadness. Unbearable sadness was like a sharpshooter that always hit the swollen sac of sadness nestled in the hollow behind my breastbone dead on every time. The burst sac would release a mixture of pain that would flood throughout my body to the tips of all my extremities, reaching every nook and cranny. Oftentimes, I’d barely make it down the street before I’d outwardly uttered an unbidden sob and hunch over the wheel in what felt like physical pain, clutching it with all my might, the tears streaming down my face.

But now that the sadness is a little older, and maybe my tears haven softened up its heart, unbearable sadness is now just sadness and sadness stands outside the passenger door waiting patiently -but ever so ominously- for me to invite it inside. I know better than to keep it waiting so it is with slight resignation that I nod my permission and it settles in and buckles up, a faithful companion on my ride home from my nighttime forays. When I come from my mom’s house which is noisy on quiet days, being alone in Ole Faithful with my silent companion makes the silence even louder.

Rustle, click, thud. Tonight, I feel out my thoughts as they parade themselves individually to me and slowly realize that they don’t all elicit as strong of a reaction as they have before. It’s as if my reaction was ammunition and as I became less volatile, the sadness, in turn, became less violent and all consuming -it just sits there. I ease Ole Faithful onto the road and begin my journey home. While I used to dread sadness’s presence, now we sit in companionable silence. I know it’ll be around for the ride for a while.

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my-imogenie-fan · 3 years

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Hallow Eve

Hello Everyone! Working on my brews for Halloween, almost done. What are my flavors? Royal cherry 🍒 brew made with cherries of course and bat wings. Blueberry punch made with blueberries and lizard tail. Orange brew made with oranges, walnuts, hazelnuts and green ants. Tangy pomegranate with plumped earthworms. Some secret ingredients used:Candy corn, gummy worms, Butterfinger candy crunch…

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wickedmilo · 3 years

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ASK ME ANYTHING | MILO & HARSH

PLACE: Harsh’s apartment TIMING: A couple of months before ‘Sweet Summer Child’ SUMMARY: Milo begrudgingly accepts the fact that if you don’t know, sometimes you just have to ask WRITING PARTNER: @notsoharsh CONTENT WARNINGS: Mentions of overdosing, needles, and drug abuse

Milo stared down at his notebook, his hasty, and cluttered handwriting making it difficult to spot any spelling mistakes or inconsistencies. Not that it would matter, really. He had no plan on actually letting Harsh see his work. But it felt important to appear at least semi-composed. He was already making himself vulnerable, embarrassing himself by showing his blatant lack of understanding. He knew Harsh would be kind, and patient. The man had yet to show any sign of regretting his decision to take him in, something that was both a comfort, and a concern. It was forever looming over his head, the thought of the older vampire growing bored of playing mentor. But he knew he couldn’t live in fear. Either it would happen, or it wouldn’t, and right now, what was important was his distinct, and disorienting lack of knowledge. Hopefully, by the end of the night, he wouldn’t feel so lost, or confused. He might finally get some answers.

People had been helping him, Harsh in particular had made him feel safe, and secure in a way he could never have anticipated. But there was so much to learn, and it was very rare for information to come up organically. He was learning, that much was undeniable, but the pacing was slow, and eventually he had come to decide the best course of action would be writing a list. A list of everything he felt he had missed, everything that wasn’t about to come up in conversation, every question that hit him at 6 in the morning, every worry, every passing query, every fact that Rio wouldn’t know. Harsh would be there for him, in the same way he had been there for him since the moment they first crossed paths with each other. So he saw no harm in presenting him with said list, of asking him outright in a bid to know more.

The overwhelming scent of human food told him he would find Harsh cooking in the kitchen. It was something he did an awful lot considering he wasn’t able to enjoy the food, but the sound of somebody cooking, the smells, and routine that came with seeing his roommate busy over a stovetop, was something he genuinely enjoyed. It made the apartment feel more like home. Slipping out of his bedroom, and making his way into the hall, his socked feet were soft, and quiet against the apartment’s hardwood flooring. When he finally arrived at the kitchen, he hovered in the doorway so that he could watch for a moment before making his presence known. No doubt Harsh was fully aware he had an audience, he was very good at staying vigilant, but he pretended otherwise so it felt polite to announce himself. “So…” He started, trying to ignore the sudden spark of anxiety that ignited within his chest. It was an unhealthy product of his academic upbringing, but he hated not knowing. If he needed to know the answer to a question he had always been encouraged to search for it himself, which made it very easy to pretend he had automatically known the answer. This was different. Harsh was him searching for information, only to get it, he first needed to admit that he didn’t have it. Something that didn’t come naturally to him. “What’s on the menu tonight?” He asked, leaning against the door jam, offering an affectionate smile.

There was something strangely comforting about having a roommate again. No, comforting wasn’t quite the word. Settling, balancing maybe. Harsh didn’t care to get hung up on the particulars. He knew what he was like when left on his own too long, had been there too many times. He got reckless, he got sloppy. Even before he had turned, before he had thrown his soul away, he had been impulsive. It was worse now. Though he had learned from two hundred years of mistakes, there were still times he slipped, fell into old, bad behaviors. It was so easy. Instant gratification. That was the name of the soulless game and it was one he had played for two centuries. He liked to think he played it well, but there had been close calls and plenty of them. Now though, there was someone else to worry about. A couple of someones, if he was honest with himself now. He had friends, people who gave a shit. And he wanted to give one too. It was weird, the feelings scraping up the hollow where his soul should be. Wanting one wasn’t the same as having it, not by a long shot, but he had been pretending for a while. Fake it till you make it, the words had served him pretty damn well so far. What was a bit more?

Harsh didn’t take his eyes off the sizzling pan in front of him as Milo made his way down the hall. The kid was learning. Stealth wasn’t part of the vampire package, but it was necessary to know to make it out there. Still, Harsh hadn’t made it this far without knowing when someone was sneaking up on him, when he was being watched. But he kept his eyes on the food before him. Neither of them needed to eat, but it was a habit he had never quite managed to shake. He remembered it vaguely how much he had liked to cook when he was alive. Though the tastes had faded off his tongue, the fun hadn’t. He grinned as he flipped the vegetables, tossing and catching in the searing pan. Glancing over his shoulder at Milo’s question, he grinned. “Stir fry, I found this new recipe I wanted to try. Extra spicy, careful around the garlic though, makes your fangs pop out if you get a big bite.”

Grabbing two dishes from the cupboard, he plated up the food smoothly and slid one across the counter to Milo. The apartment wasn’t huge, but it was big enough to suit their purposes and had a landlord who didn’t look too closely at references. The kitchen was separated from the living room only by a half wall sort of island, a bar stool on either side. Harsh sank onto his after grabbing a mug of blood out of the microwave. “You want a cup?” he asked. “There’s more in the fridge. Should last us a couple weeks.”

Milo eyed the vegetables as Harsh flipped them, looking back up at the man in time to catch his easy grin. It was so obvious he enjoyed cooking, though he had never thought to ask why before. Was it something he used to do a lot when he was human? Maybe he had been a chef in some past forgotten life. “Wait- you put garlic in there?” He asked, moving forward to peer into the pan, his notebook still clutched to his chest. “That’s really a thing? Like, vampires and garlic?” He couldn’t hide his skepticism though he definitely wasn’t about to demand any kind of proof. He figured that was one question he would be able to tick off of his list. Leaning against the kitchen counter as Harsh moved to ready two plates, he couldn’t help the way his expression brightened at the prospect of blood. He had always been self-indulgent. If something made him feel good, or he enjoyed it, then he wanted more. He wasn’t in the business of denying himself simple pleasures, and thanks to his new life, blood happened to be one of them.

He had kept note of his roommate’s eating habits, he knew vampires only really needed a moderate amount every couple of weeks if they wanted to get by without descending into bloodlust. But much to the detriment of Harsh’s supply, he had been drinking far more than he needed to. Why not? If Harsh was happy to let him then he saw no reason to hold back. “Sure!” He enthused, picking up his plate of food and setting it down opposite Harsh so that it would be ready for him when he got back. Leaving his notebook beside it, he moved to pull a blood bag out of the fridge. Using a pair of scissors from the cutlery drawer to cut open the plastic, he looked back over to his company as he began to empty the blood into a mug. “Did you have a good day- I mean, night at work?” He absentmindedly corrected himself, still not used to the shift in scheduling. “Anything interesting happen?”

“Oh yeah, a whole bunch. I know it’s weird.” Harsh shot Milo a grin as he drew closer, glancing at the notebook. Huh, he was actually trying to do homework on this whole vampire thing. That was probably smart. “It is… sort of. It doesn’t hurt us or anything, but it makes it pretty hard to pretend to be human. Try a clove and see what happens,” he said, passing one over. “I just eat them like popcorn sometimes. They actually taste like something. I go a little crazy seasoning things sometimes.” As much as he swore by the perks of being undead, he couldn’t really deny that not being able to taste things properly was sort of a pain. After two hundred years, he was used to it, but playing around in the kitchen, trying to find something that would cut through the dullness never quite got old.

The blood wasn’t going as far as it used to, but that was to be expected. Sharing with a roommate, and a newbie at that, was going to make things a little tighter than usual. Oh well. If they started running low on blood bags, Harsh could just go eat a couple joggers. He slid onto a stool at the counter, popping a large forkful of food into his mouth. Decent, but he could do better. “Well, Dr. Gnick killed three people in surgery today and made his interns talk to their families, so that was kind of a shit show. They seriously need to take that guy’s medical license away. If you ever want a watch though, let me know, he loses his in patients all the time. They’re nice ones too. What about you, man? Finding stuff to do around here?”

“Everything about this situation is weird.” Milo countered, throwing the empty blood bag into the bin before putting his mug in the microwave. Setting the timer in the way he had been taught to, the drink should be body temperature by the time the alarm eventually sounded. Just the fact that he knew how long to microwave blood for inarguably supported his statement. That was not normal information to retain. Turning around to lean back against the counter behind him, listening to the quiet hum of the appliance, he wrinkled his nose at the thought of eating garlic cloves like popcorn. He knew as he tried to imagine doing so he was remembering the overpowering taste that came with being human, but it was still a difficult habit to understand. Hesitantly reaching out to take the clove offered to him, he held it up to his eye level, analysing it quietly before deciding he had nothing to lose. Popping it into his mouth, it definitely wasn’t an unpleasant sensation, and Harsh was right about being able to taste… something. But it was only a matter of seconds before he could feel his fangs protruding. They made him feel clumsy, and awkward as he continued to chew. After forcing himself to swallow, he reached up to prod at them with the tip of his finger, raising his eyebrows at his roommate. “So that’s what happens?” He asked. “It doesn’t hurt us but it stops us from looking human?”

It was kind of depressing to think something as mundane as an ingredient could reveal what he was now, draw this monster out of him against his will, but he tried not to dwell on that fact, focusing instead on the microwave as it beeped to alert him that his drink was ready. Once he was comfortably hugging the mug to his chest, he settled into the chair opposite his friend, a quiet laugh escaping him at what he sincerely hoped was a joke. “No he did not.” He countered, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “Though honestly, shit like that would probably go unnoticed in a place like this.” If doctors could steal blood bags, and he could forge his father’s prescriptions, then people weren’t exactly being vigilant. “I can’t say I’m in the market for a watch,” he admitted. “But I’ll take one if it’s got a gruesome backstory.” Faltering at the question of how he was spending his time, he realised it was the perfect way to change the subject of their conversation. Move it over from lighthearted small talk to something heavier, and more difficult to discuss. Chewing on his bottom lip for a moment, his fangs sharp and uncomfortable against the skin there, he pulled his notebook back towards himself. “Actually…” He tapped his fingers absentmindedly against the page facing upwards. “I spent today coming up with a list of questions.” Offering Harsh a sheepish grin, he watched him carefully for any sign of judgement. “If- if you don’t mind me asking, I mean- I guess his is probably the last thing you want to do after work.”

“Eh, after you’ve been doing it a while, it doesn’t seem that off.” Harsh hardly even thought about it anymore. Drinking blood was just one of those things, like showering or brushing his teeth. But then, he did have about two hundred years to get used to it. He snagged a couple cloves of garlic for himself, not so much as blinking when his fangs jutted out. It took a moment’s focus to get them back in place. Though he didn’t need to. Not like Milo was going to care about it. “Pretty much. So if you’re ever hanging around humans, just make sure you skip the garlic bread.” Garlic usually didn’t prove to be too much of a problem, though Harsh had encountered a couple humans over the years who had tried to slip him some, just to force the fangs out, to prove what they were already certain of. “It would be worse if we could still taste things. I would miss Italian food way more if it still tasted like something. If there’s any kind of food you miss though, I can try to make it. I like playing around with recipes, see what I need to do to make it actually have flavor.”

Harsh laughed, one shoulder rising in a shrug. “Is pulling a watch out of a dead guy’s guts gruesome enough? I swear, the stuff you find in bodies at the hospital is wild.” He had a small collection of things that had been found by the unlucky doctors dealing with the patients who didn’t make it. Maybe it was stealing, but he was pretty sure that no one wanted any of it back. “Questions?” Harsh blinked, caught a little off guard. He shouldn’t have been though. It made sense. When he had first turned, he had probably driven Eleanor crazy with all his questions. “I don’t mind. Better you ask me than try to find vampire forums online, people always make up the weirdest shit. So go for it, kid. Ask me anything.” Hell, this would probably be a better way to spend the night than just watching whatever mindless crap was on TV.

Milo could understand that. Even though on occasion he still caught himself doing something and was inevitably struck by just how strange that something was, his more vampiric habits were slowly becoming second nature. How long until he did things without thinking? Without remembering a time where he didn’t need to? Taking a sip from his mug, washing away the taste of the garlic, he watched Harsh as he retracted his own fangs. It wasn’t the first time he had seen him do it, but now felt like a very good time to ask him how it was possible. “How do you do that? Make them disappear?” He offered a sheepish grin, hiding behind his mug to avoid acknowledging his embarrassment. Maybe no matter what he did, he was going to feel ridiculous for asking so many questions. Maybe he should simply embrace that fact. “Noted.” He laughed quietly at the mention of garlic bread. He wasn’t sure there were many humans he needed to worry about eating around, so it wasn’t very much of a concern. Still, he was willing to take any advice he could get his hands on. “Italian food is your favourite? What was Italian food even like… two hundred years ago? How old are you again?” Making a mental note to think back on any food he missed that Harsh might be able to recreate, he wrinkled his nose at the mention of objects being found in dead bodies. Of course he had ended up with a roommate who liked to collect said items.

“I actually don’t want to know, I’ve changed my mind.” He teased. “I can’t believe you have a collection. Have any ghosts followed you home demanding their shit back?” He was only half joking, he definitely wouldn’t be surprised if the answer ended up being yes. Feeling a little more confident in himself now that the conversation was flowing easily, he nodded, grateful for no longer being able to blush. “Oh, jeez. Thanks for the heads up. I’ll, uh… I’ll stay away from the internet.” Offering his company a genuine smile, he took one more sip of his drink before begrudgingly setting it down. This was going to require his full attention, he couldn’t afford to get distracted. Pulling his notebook towards himself, he let out a huff of breath. Why was it this hard? It shouldn’t be this hard. Especially when Harsh made him feel so comfortable. “Okay, so you know I wrote a list… I’m just going to- I’ll start with the first question.” It was only going to complicate things if he jumbled them, so he swallowed his nerves, steeling himself to rip off the bandaid. “So… why can’t we sleep?” It was something that had been bothering him an awful lot, as of late. He could almost sleep, achieve something that passed the time and felt similar to losing consciousness. But it wasn’t the same. He missed the comfort, and the warmth. He missed the dreaming. “It’s like I can, but I can’t- if you know what I mean. I don’t get it…”

That was a decent question actually. Harsh hesitated, trying to think about it. There was so much that was just automatic now. He had spent so long learning to blend in, how to make himself seem more human, it was something he barely thought about. “You have to kind of relax your mouth. Think un-bloody thoughts. Just let them sink back in. It’s… kind of an instinct thing when they pop out sometimes, y’know? So you have to train yourself to just let them slip back in when you don’t need them. It’ll get easier with time.” At least, that was the hope. If Milo couldn’t figure it out, well… that was going to be a problem for later. He considered the question for a moment, shrugging. “I don’t know if it was my favorite. It depended where you went. I travelled a lot before I turned, everywhere had their own special dish. I’m 262… wait, I might be 263 actually. I sorta stopped keeping track of birthdays a while ago. They seem less special after the hundred year mark.” The date hardly mattered. If he really sat down and thought about it, he could probably remember, but there didn’t seem to be much of a point. It was easier to keep track of the years ticking by.

“Hey, it’s not like I just keep them for the hell of it. Loose watches and rings sell for a lot if you know who wants to buy.” It wasn’t something Harsh technically needed to do, the hospital job paid well enough and he had a decent amount saved. Still, a little extra spending money never hurt. Watching Milo’s posture shift, Harsh sat up a little straighter. So the kid was serious about this. Good, that was good. The more he knew, the better he would handle things out in the world. Huh, that was actually a pretty good question. Harsh rubbed at his chin. “Yeah, I know what you mean. The short answer is that we just don’t need to. I… think when we turn, things in our brain kind of shift a little bit. You don’t need that deep sleep to recharge anymore, so we just… don’t. It’s weird. It’s one of those things that gets easier over time. I think another part of it is… well, humans are kind of wired to sleep at night, but that’s the only time we can really go out and do anything, so we need to be awake for it. If you really miss sleeping… I know a couple people who might be able to help with that.” It wasn’t a guarantee, but hell he had seen spellcasters do a lot more than just put someone to sleep.

Milo glanced down at the blood in his mug, it was tempting him even as they spoke. Maybe thinking ‘un-bloody’ thoughts would need to wait for another time. “Hm, you keep saying that.” He pointed out. Though he had no doubt the words were true, sometimes he felt too impatient to wait for things to become easier with time. Why couldn’t they become easier now? Falling silent again, genuinely intrigued by the answer to his question, he couldn’t imagine how different travelling was back when Harsh had been human. Did he use a horse and cart like in the movies? Or ships, maybe? What other modes of transport were there? A quiet laugh escaping him, he did his best to avoid dwelling on his roommate’s age. It was fun to joke about every now and then, but the reality of it was terrifying. He had gone from feeling certain he probably wouldn’t reach the age of fifty, to knowing he might very well live to see his two hundredth birthday. What were you supposed to do with that information? How were you supposed to come to terms with that? “I guess fitting more than a hundred candles on a cake is pretty impossible anyway.” He teased.

His smile growing as he realised Harsh sold the items he took from the morgue, he wasn’t sure whether that was more or less reassuring. It could definitely be considered economical. Watching as his company sat up a little straighter, he felt another wave of gratitude wash over him. He didn’t need to be taking this so seriously, but apparently he understood how important it was. How desperate he was just to understand. His smile faltered as Harsh began to explain the way their bodies worked, but it didn’t take away from his appreciation. He wanted to say he wasn’t disappointed, that he had inevitably drawn the same conclusion. But he was disappointed. He was never going to have the feeling of waking up next to somebody again. He was never going to be able to drift off in the morning knowing he didn’t need to be up for anything. It was an opportunity to escape reality, to just enjoy being comfortable, and it had been taken from him. Stolen like so many other things. “You- you do?” He asked, unable to hide the sudden spark of hope he felt ignite within his chest. “Like actually sleep? Because I already know from experience I can still drink myself into oblivion.” Taking a quick sip from his mug before picking up his pen and crossing out question number one, he tapped the top of it against his notepad, already thinking over question number two. “Okay…” He continued, making it clear he was moving on. “So how can we be killed? There has to be more than one way, right? And we can get injured, so if we get injured enough, can that be fatal... or is it only if we’re injured by wood?”

“Ah, yeah, sorry. I don’t mean to be a broken record. It’s just… you’re still pretty new to all this, man. You’ve gotta give yourself a break. There’s no rush, y’know? You’ve got a couple hundred years to figure shit out if you play your cards right.” It felt lame to say, but Harsh knew he had been repeating himself. That didn’t make it less true. There were so many things that he had just stumbled onto as time went on, things that just became natural the longer he spent as a thing that went bump in the night. Honestly, some of Milo’s questions kinda threw him. He hadn’t thought about his fangs in such a long time. They were just part of him. It was like asking about how his tongue moved when he was eating something. It just… did it. But that wasn’t a helpful answer. With a laugh, he nodded. “I tried to put a hundred on a cake once. It wasn’t really worth the joke, the whole thing got all waxy and gross. It’s easier to just get those number shaped candles, cheaper too.” The thing about birthdays is that you needed people to celebrate them with. Harsh didn’t always have those. But… maybe he should look into it. There were people in White Crest, his friends, they might like that kind of thing. It was weird to think about.

“Yeah, I do.” Harsh sort of did. It was… maybe a weird ask, but that was probably something Nell could whip up, or maybe he could track down someone a little shadier and ask. It wasn’t as though he had never dreamed as a vampire, though the few times he had, something magic had definitely been at work. So it was possible… probably. He had never actually figured out what it had been that caused all that dream sharing stuff, but it hadn’t been all that important. At least not for him. “Actual, real sleep. It… might get a little weird, magic can do that, but I think it would be more like what you want.” Magic always had its risks. He wasn’t anything close to a spellcaster and he knew that much. Onto the more intense questions then. That was a pretty smart ask though. “There’s a couple ways,” he said, nodding, “stake through the heart is the most popular. You probably know about the sun thing, if you stay out too long, it’s bad news. We’re also shockingly flammable, so I would avoid campfires and arson. And getting your head cut off, but I’m pretty sure that kills most things. Most other things we can heal from, and we heal fast, but you don’t want to get too reliant on that. Bullets and knives still hurt like hell, and if you haven’t had blood in a while, you heal slower.” Harsh didn’t exactly have the scars to prove it, but he could remember more than a few times where he had gotten a little too cocky and paid the price.

Milo smiled at Harsh, silently assuring him he didn’t need to apologise. Especially not for trying to comfort him, even if he did use the same lines on occasion. He was right, although the reminder of his new lifespan still made him nervous. He had time to figure things out, time to become comfortable with what he was, and the strange world he had been thrown into. He was already feeling far better than he had when Harsh first crossed his path, and that was largely due to his help. In a few more months he might even be happy, there really was no way to know. “Hm, but those number candles aren’t anywhere near as dramatic.” He pointed out. “Isn’t a hundred kind of a flex?” Wrinkling his nose at the thought of biting into icing only to realise it was actually wax, he couldn’t deny the inconvenience. But then, did vampires even eat cake? Making a mental note as the conversation shifted back to sleep, he didn’t want to forget. He longed to know who these people were, who he could go to and ask for some spell or potion that might allow him to replicate sleep. But that wasn’t what he was here to discuss. There were more important questions demanding his attention. “I can handle weird.” He assured his roommate, although he had a feeling there might be a lot of evidence to prove otherwise. Until recently he had been a mess, and they both knew it. Only with Harsh’s support had he been able to brush himself off, and hesitantly begin to deal with the loss of his human life.

Pushing away the thought, he focused on his mug of blood, nearly half empty now as it sat on the table in front of him. He picked it up, taking another sip before it was able to get cold. Nodding to show that he was listening to what was being said, he considered the new information. He was more than familiar with people trying to force a stake through his heart, but the mention of fire surprised him. “Wait- we’re flammable?” He asked, his mouth open slightly as he stared in indignant disbelief. “What, so every time I pull out my lighter I could literally fucking die?” As far as he was concerned, he would much rather take the inconvenience of wax on a cake over being scared of the candles. “You’re saying smoking can still kill me…” He added, pouting petulantly as he began to realise how frustrating navigating his smoking habit was going to be. “Shit.” Finishing what was left of his drink, he undeniably did feel better after putting his mug down again. Blood, like so many other substances in his life, was proving to be a wonderful aid when it came to avoiding his problems. “Okay, so…” Letting out a huff of breath, he turned his attention back to his notebook, scanning the questions he had written there, searching for the next one on the list. “You said if I haven’t had blood in a while then I heal slower? How much blood do I need to survive? And what happens to me if I don’t drink it?”

It was a pretty big adjustment, going from expecting to croak in fifty years to knowing there might be hundreds to go. Harsh had been pretty thrown when he had realized just how much time he had. Sure there was that distant deadline, four hundred years, but even that wasn’t an end. It was… a change, but one he wasn’t really eager to think about. Even though he was getting closer to that than he was to a normal human lifespan. Still, not his main problem right now. “Kinda, yeah. I definitely made a pretty big deal of it when I hit triple digits. But the second century seems a little more meh, y’know?” Though maybe that was just him. By the time he had started getting close to two hundred, everything had started to seem… less than it used to be. The hollow inside had started to grow, nothing ever filling it. Nothing lasted, nothing mattered. Huh, were souls a thing on Milo’s list? Harsh was half tempted to ask. Nah, probably better not to touch that unless the kid brought it up. “Alright, I can ask. Do you--have you messed with anything magic before? We can’t do it, at least I’m pretty sure we can’t. But there’s kind of… a lot of it just going off around here.” Milo was from the area, he had to have noticed some things weren’t quite normal in town. How anyone didn’t know that White Crest was a supernatural hot spot was beyond him. Denial was a hell of a drug.

With a little laugh, Harsh nodded. “Yeah. I mean, you’re probably not going to go up in flames if you drop your smokes on you, but… you might just want to be a little more careful with them. Just in case.” He had seen a few vamps catch fire before, it wasn’t pretty. Still, it didn’t usually happen by accident… usually. There had been a few idiots here and there who had landed themselves in rough shape. “It’s possible,” he said, shrugging and shooting Milo a sympathetic smile. “Just be careful and you shouldn’t have a problem… but I might stay away from bonfires if I were you.” Ah, blood, of course. It always came back around to that. Harsh hardly thought about it now. But the questions were good ones. “Yeah, and it’s not just healing. If I go too long without blood, I start getting antsy, it gets harder to focus on anything except for when I’m getting that next blood bag.” He fought down a slight shudder as he spoke. It had been ages since the last time he had gone too long without a drink, but the times he’d stretched his supply a little too thin always stuck in the back of his mind. “It depends. You’re still new, so… I wouldn’t go more than a week without a pint of blood. Once you adjust more, you can probably stretch it to two weeks, maybe three, but it starts getting risky around then. If you don’t get any… for me, I start feeling a lot less like a person. It gets to where it’s all you can think about. And, if it gets really bad, you might kind of lose yourself until you get another drink, and at that point, you’ll probably do anything you have to to get it.”

“Hm, the second century…” Milo echoed, amused by the absurdity of the statement. He could only imagine being that old, but one day he wouldn’t need to. One day it would be him reaching the triple digits. “Have I- no.” He answered, caught off guard by the unexpected question. “I mean, I don’t even know anybody who can do magic… I don’t think I do, anyway.” It was still strange to consider how many people from his life had been living in a secret, supernatural world. If he was being entirely honest he probably did know a witch or two. They just hadn’t told him about what they could do. “Why? Is it like, dangerous or something? Are you going to tell me it’s more trouble than it’s worth?” He almost dreaded the words, not because he would heed any advice Harsh had to offer, but because it would be another element of his life that came with risks, strings attached, people worrying over his safety, and growing restless when he refused to listen to them. He already had enough of that without turning to magic as a sleeping aid. “Yeah, no shit.” He added. “Ever since I died this place seems to get weirder by the fucking day…” He missed the days of blissful ignorance, the days where he could leave the house without worrying whether a Slayer might be waiting at the end of the street to stake him. Picking up his mug again, he sighed, clutching it to his chest as he listened to his roommate.

“If I did careful then I wouldn’t be a vampire.” He pointed out. Though they both knew he would be careful knowing the risk fire now posed to him. Not as careful as any sane person, but given his record any level of vigilance was commendable on his part. Paying closer attention as the conversation moved back to blood, he finished what was left of his drink, carefully savouring the taste of it. “I guess I kind of know that feeling…” He admitted, thinking back on every time he had ever been forced to go without his pills, or his cigarettes, or abstain from drinking alcohol. It was never an enjoyable experience. “I, uh… don’t think stretching is for me.” He realised as he said the words that maybe sometimes stretching would be his only option. Blood wasn’t exactly easy to source in an ethical manner. Without Harsh’s connection to the hospital, he didn’t know where his supply might be coming from. He wouldn’t let himself dwell on the thought. Swallowing as his company began to tell him about the risks of not eating properly, he lowered his gaze, tapping his fingers against the ceramic in his hands. He already knew what it felt like to lose himself, he never wanted to suffer through that again. “Like when you wake up… after you die...” He asked, his voice barely louder than a whisper. Would Harsh even be able to remember waking up? It had happened to him so long ago.

Forcing down the memories of his first, and only attack, he stared at his notebook, at the questions still written there demanding to be vocalised. “You mentioned healing…” He murmured, determined to change the subject, although he knew his next question was going to be a difficult question to ask. Harsh was more than aware of the fact that he liked to indulge, the man had even walked with him to pick up on the night they crossed paths with each other, but he still worried he could end up facing judgement, or the specific brand of sympathetic concern that still managed to set his teeth on edge. “This is hypothetical,” he started, knowing his lie would be obvious but feeling the need to insist upon it all the same. “But with the whole… the healing faster than humans thing, do you think I could still use, y’know- intravenously?” Glancing down at the marks on his arms, scars from long ago that were apparently going to forever blemish his skin, he forced himself to press on. “I guess I can’t OD anymore, right? Is that something I still need to worry about?”

That sort of made sense. Most people didn’t believe in magic until they saw it right in front of them, and sometimes that wasn’t even enough to do it. Harsh shifted his weight from foot to foot, a slight frown on his face. The question here was just how much to tell Milo. “More like it’s just literally not a thing we can do. Something about undeath and magic just doesn’t seem to mix. I don’t really know much more than that, honestly. I’ve heard people kind of lose their mojo if they turn like us. They’ll try to do a spell and just, nothing. I tried to mess with some a while back and never got anywhere.” He kept his tone light, casual, hoping Milo wouldn’t ask just what he had been trying to do. There were a dozen things he could make up, a few that weren’t even that far from the truth. “It’s also dangerous as shit if you don’t know what you’re doing. I won’t tell you not to mess with magic or spellcasters, I’m not the boss of you, but that stuff can go wrong and it’s not pretty when it does.” It was only just now getting weirder for him? Well, maybe that made sense. Milo had sort of been thrust into the thick of it.

With a soft laugh, Harsh nodded, holding up his hands. “Fair enough.” He couldn’t really argue with Milo on that one. Careful and becoming undead didn’t exactly go hand in hand. He nodded. “That’s probably better honestly. What really gets people in trouble is when they think they can make it on just a sip of blood every month. You’ll be a lot better off if you stay regular with it, especially if you’re not always drinking human blood.” He was still going to have to teach Milo how to hunt. It wasn’t exactly necessary at the moment, but two vamps meant a few more blood bags needed to go missing every month. Harsh had gotten good at keeping a low profile over the years. Milo though was still new, and new vamps weren’t exactly predictable. With a grimace, he nodded again. “Just like that. It’s… rough. People do a lot of things they regret if they go hungry for too long. I’d try just to not let it get to that point.” Easier said than done, honestly.

Ah, that. Now that was a bit of a hazy area. Harsh smoked and drank here and there, but he had never dabbled much in stronger stuff. It had never really appealed to him. A blood addiction was enough as far as he was concerned. But it was still worth asking. “Right, so… I’m not exactly an expert on that. But I think you could. You’re probably going to have to jab a little harder and you might need a stronger dose than before if you want to feel something.” He paused, letting his thoughts drift back for a moment. Though he had never messed around with anything beyond a few pot brownies, he had met a couple vamps over the years who hadn’t been able to leave their old vices behind. “I did have a few buddies a while back, they said they could still get what they needed if they fed from a human who just used. I don’t know if you’d want to do that, but… it’s an option, I guess. It sounds kind of risky to me though.” Drugs and drinking straight from a human sounded like a combination that was bound to end in disaster, but hell, Harsh had never tried it himself so what did he know. “I don’t think you need to worry too much about OD’ing now. I’d be more worried about someone thinking you OD’ed and sending you to the hospital. It’s really hard to explain waking up in a morgue.”

Milo made a mental note to avoid magic when he could, although toying with it didn’t necessarily interest him. He was looking for a way to replicate sleep, if that wasn’t possible he wasn’t sure staying away from potions, and spells would be difficult. Part of him was curious to know why, and how Harsh had been involved in spellcasting, it was becoming increasingly clear he was speaking from experience, but the older vampire was always so open when he wanted to be. If he wasn’t volunteering the information there was definitely a reason. He was under his roof, drinking his blood, picking his brain for answers to his never ending list of questions. The very least he could do was respect his privacy. “I’m not about to try and learn, don’t worry.” He insisted, hoping to alleviate some of his company’s concern. He had far too much going on to invite more chaos into his life, especially for something as simple as a good day of sleep. Smiling at the sound of Harsh’ laughter, he enjoyed the fact that the conversation felt casual, and calm. Any embarrassment, or vulnerability was fading away, replaced by a familiar sense of comfort. It was a reminder that he was safe in Harsh’s company, a reminder that for some unknown reason, the man wanted him to be okay.

“Is it good for you?” He asked, unable to help himself. He had never once considered the nutritional value of his diet, what his new body needed from it now. “To drink both?” He thought back to his nights spent on the edges of town, chasing aimlessly after every animal moronic enough to cross his path. Sometimes he got lucky, sometimes he actually managed to catch something, but the animals were usually weak or injured. He knew he wouldn’t stand a chance against a healthy creature, one determined to escape him. The blood couldn’t compare to human blood, but it had still tasted decent, and more importantly, it had kept him sane. Would he ever have to go back to that? Should he never have left it behind? Chewing on his bottom lip, fighting to keep his expression neutral, he didn’t want to talk about his own experience with losing control. He wasn’t ready to discuss that with anyone, not even Harsh. So he stayed silent, nodding quietly in response. It was only as Harsh moved on to his next question that he finally looked back up to catch his eye again.

A stronger dose. He wasn’t exactly against the notion, although he could hear his wallet adamantly protesting the news. He really should start thinking about going back to his job, but that part of his human life felt so out of reach, impossible to even consider. Not yet. Not now. Not after everything. “You did?” He asked, immediately desperate to know more. There were people out there who understood what he was worried about, who knew everything he needed to know if he wanted to continue supporting his habits. Where were they? How could he find them? Just as quickly as a sense of hope washed over him, it was replaced by a chill that seemed to shoot up the length of his spine. He couldn’t remember very much of his death, but his hazy memories were enough to make his friend’s words sound uncomfortably familiar. So he could give somebody drugs, and get high through drinking their blood? Apparently that particular strategy ended with people bleeding out on the floor of abandoned buildings. He suppressed a shudder, trying not to think too hard on the subject. He didn’t know that was why he died, and until he did he was determined to forget the details of his death, forget the trauma that he couldn’t seem to shake. “Yeah…” He murmured, reaching up absentmindedly to press his fingers against the base of his throat. “It does…” Forcing a smile again at the mention of waking up in a morgue, he had seen enough tv shows frame the situation as a joke to be able to glean some humour from the warning. Lowering his hand, he leaned forward to pull his notebook closer towards himself, scanning the list, surprised to realise he was nearing the end of it. “Okay,” he said, brushing off the previous questions, ready to be replaced. “How do you make somebody a vampire? What do you have to do for them to, you know… change? Obviously I’m not asking because I want to... I just… I can’t remember what happened to me. I want to know what was done to me.”

It was sort of a relief that Milo didn’t ask. Because if he did, Harsh would tell him. Maybe he should anyway. Was there anything about souls on that vampire question sheet? He almost wanted to sneak a peek at it. It wasn’t exactly… uncommon knowledge, but he had run into plenty of vamps over the years who had never even thought about their soul, let alone getting rid of it. He gave Milo a little smile. “Probably better that way. There’s plenty of witches hanging around town if you need some magic done anyway. It’s actually pretty cool if you watch someone who knows what they’re doing.” Cool and terrifying. Even when a spell was going right there was a chance it could go south at any second. Harsh sort of liked that rush… and he wouldn’t be that surprised if Milo did too.

“Yeah, a while back. I can try looking them up if you want.” The offer was one Harsh might not be able to cash in on. It had been ages, and those buddies weren’t really the type to have a consistent phone number or address… if they were even still around at all. “You might be able to find some people who know more about that down at this club called Teeth. You heard of it?” It probably wasn’t the sort of place he should send Milo to alone. He didn’t go there much himself, but he could chaperone now and then. God that was a weird idea, being the responsible one. When the hell did that happen? He was going to have to go out and make some dumb choices after this. Being responsible felt off. He had been trying to fake it, force it, for years. The fact that it was just kind of… happening now was weird. Unnerving.

Oh… now that was a question. Harsh let his fingers drum on the counter for a second. “Yeah, I get you.” It was understandable, wanting to get a grip on what had happened to him. “It’s not that complicated… mostly. You have to drain someone till they’re almost dead then get them to drink your blood and they should turn.” He paused, lips pulling into a grimace. “But you’ve got to be careful with it. Sometimes people turn, but… they don’t end up like us. Have you heard of spawn before? They’re… still vampires technically, but they’re not people anymore, not like we are. Some vampires make spawn on purpose, but it’s pretty messed up.” He should know, he’d done it a few times for shits and giggles. It had never turned out as funny as he had thought it would.

Milo resisted the urge to let out a huff of breath, of course White Crest was filled with witches. It seemed as though you could roll a dice on supernatural creatures and run into one the second you opened your door. “It sounds pretty cool.” He admitted. “But I can’t think of any reason why I might need magic… apart from the whole sleeping thing.” And maybe he should hold off on that for now. If magic could come with complications, didn’t his life have enough of those already? Humming softly as he considered the offer, he shot Harsh a sheepish grin. He was grateful he wasn’t being judged, or even reprimanded for his blatant intentions, but he hadn’t been expecting such a genuine level of support. “You’ve already done so much for me… I mean, only if it isn’t too much trouble?” Teeth. He felt sure he would remember visiting any place with such a distinctive name. “Uh… no,” he said, hoping to prompt a further explanation. There weren’t many establishments in White Crest he hadn’t frequented at least once before. And now he was incredibly curious to know more.

Feeling the atmosphere shift, becoming more serious as Harsh considered his latest question, he watched his fingers as they drummed against the surface of the table, the noise was quiet but incredibly distracting. Hearing the words, feeling them wash over him as his brain began to process what they meant, he had to swallow the bitter taste in his mouth. “I… drank somebody’s blood?” He asked, repressing a shudder. Drinking blood now was part of his every day routine, but he had been human then. Had he willingly taken it, or had his attacker forced it upon him? “Spawn?” He nodded, a frown creasing his brow as he looked back down at his list. The question ‘What does Spawn mean?’ jumping out at him in his clumsy, familiar handwriting. “Someone mentioned them to me once… but I didn’t know what they meant.” Feeling his stomach jolt as he realised he could have become the something other Harsh was talking about, he wondered what his chances had been. Whether he should be considering himself lucky for waking up as a vampire. “How do you make them? Is it the same… process?” He asked. If they could be created intentionally then surely there was a technique. “How do you know what somebody is going to become?”

“You never know. It’s pretty helpful if you lose something.” Harsh wasn’t about to list off his big reason for needing magic. But he should. Milo should know. He should tell him the truth. No… there was no reason to scare the kid. And it wasn’t like he owed him that information. Souls were personal. If Milo found out about them, Harsh could tell him then. Why was he even so hung up on it? It wasn’t like it mattered. He was faking it perfectly fucking well. No reason to go and throw all that away. “It’s no problem, kid. I don’t get out enough anyway.” Probably better to have someone around for Milo’s first big vamp outing. There were a lot of bad influences out there. Harsh should know. He used to be one of the worst. Plus, if Milo went on some kind of drug fuelled blood bender, that would just make things more difficult for everyone. “We can hit it up this weekend if you want, see if it’s your scene.”

Huh, so Milo really didn’t remember any of it. That was… rough. Harsh could still remember his. Well, parts of it at least. He hadn’t been alone. Eleanor had held his hand as the world went dark around him and been there when he woke up desperate to feed. Poor kid didn’t have any of that. “Yeah, that’s… kind of how it works,” he said, with a little wince. So he had at least heard of spawn, that was better than nothing. “Spawn give us a bad name. They’re the ones slayers should be dealing with.” He nodded, arms crossing over his chest. “Same process. I… don’t know exactly. I’ve always thought of it as an intent sort of thing. I know it can be done on purpose.” No need to tell Milo he knew at least partially from experience. “When you turn someone… it’s kind of this whole… thing. Siring someone isn’t something most people do lightly. I guess I’ve always thought of it as kind of a willpower and focus sort of thing. When you sire someone, you have to mean it, you have to want it. And if that’s not strong enough… it can go wrong. It gets easier to turn someone else properly the longer you’ve been at it. I’ve known some people who just turned who try to bring their family along for the undead ride and… it doesn’t usually go well.”

“I don’t have all that much to lose these days.” Milo admitted, thinking about the meagre collection of belongings he had managed to salvage from his friend’s house. He should probably go home, he still needed clothes, his laptop, and maybe there were even a few comic books he couldn’t live without. But the task felt so daunting. Watching Harsh, noticing the shadow of an emotion he couldn’t quite place, he wondered whether the older vampire had ever lost anything. Maybe one day he would ask him. “I, uh…” He shifted uncomfortably, thinking about how ready he was to walk into a room full of vampires. His killer could be there and he might never even know. “Maybe… I’m still getting used to going out again, period. It’s a- it’s a weird adjustment.” He offered a smile, letting his roommate know he was incredibly grateful for the offer. For everything. He wasn’t sure where he would be without the man sitting opposite him, who worked in a hospital, and liked to cook human food just for the fun of it. He cared about him, in an altogether unexpected way. He had been saved by Harsh. It was undeniable at this point.

“From the way it sounds they don’t mean to give us a bad name.” He pointed out, feeling a strange pang of sympathy for the monsters being described. It was a horrifying thought, becoming twisted, and warped in a way that forced you to lose who you were forever. At least he was still Milo, at least he could cling to the things that made him exactly who he was. “So… the person who did this to me, they wanted me to become a vampire. They cared enough for this-” He gestured vaguely to his neck, wrinkling his nose as he remembered the scars there. “To be successful, just not enough to stick around, I guess…” Letting out a huff of breath, he tried not to look affected, finally picking up his fork and taking a mouthful of his stir fry, if anything just for something to do. Glancing up again at the mention of people turning family, he couldn’t imagine that thought ever even crossing his mind. Maybe because he refused to acknowledge the way his future stretched out before him. Maybe because he didn’t want to admit the fact that one day his parents would no longer be there for him. Everything about the idea felt wrong, somehow. Dooming your family simply because you yourself had been doomed. He was never going to be that person. “M’kay…” He hurried to swallow, turning his attention back to the notebook, to the final question written at the edge of the page. “The last question is probably dumb but… you know the whole sunlight thing? What does happen if we stay out in the sun? When I first… y’know, I was in the sun for a while and I started to feel... I can’t explain it, I just knew I had to find some shade. Do we just get ill, and weak, or is it something more than that?”

A weird adjustment period was putting it pretty mildly. Even more than a hundred years later, Harsh remembered the shift being rough. He returned Milo’s smile easily. Milo was a good kid. He didn’t ask for any of this shit, not like Harsh did. The fact that he had been left high and dry to figure it all out on his own… even without a soul, it rubbed Harsh the wrong way. At his very worst, he had still stuck around to make sure the vamps he sired knew what was up. It was just the thing to do. “Don’t worry if it takes you a while. It’s better to be safe than sorry with… everything. But you’ve got time now, man, you don’t have to rush it.” That was a pretty big perk of the whole undeath thing. Milo had at least a couple centuries before him if he wanted them… and if he was careful. But that was always a pretty big if with new vampires. If Harsh was smart, he wouldn’t get attached, wouldn’t get invested. Harsh had never really considered himself particularly bright.

“They don’t,” Harsh said, sighing. “They don’t mean to do anything but feed. It’s not their fault really… spawn can’t really think like we can. Everything gets stripped away except that hunger.” It was pretty bleak if he actually thought about it. Usually, he didn’t. That was easy, not dwelling, not thinking. But Milo wasn’t like him. Milo still had his soul, he still felt for people. Now that was an interesting question. Did whoever turned Milo actually care? What were they after? Why him? Harsh nodded slowly. “They meant for this to happen. Whoever it was, whatever reason they had… they wanted you to be this way.” Probably. Harsh had heard of plenty of people accidentally creating spawn. But he had never heard of someone accidentally siring someone if they meant them to go the other way. Sunlight, that was another good question, even if it had Harsh fighting down a wince. “You don’t want to test it, trust me. If you stay out too long, you start to burn. Remember how we’re flammable? Think of the sun like the biggest lighter out there. It just takes a while to get the fire going.”

“Yeah…” Milo agreed, despite feeling as though maybe he was taking too long. Had Harsh been this shaken up when he first became a vampire? How long did it take him to stop feeling nervous, and scared? But he did have time, an awful lot of time, and somebody willing to be patient with him. Maybe it was better this way. Maybe, for the first time in his life, he was being forced to process change in a healthy manner. “Thank you…” He added, struck by a sudden sense of gratitude. “I mean, I know I say that enough for the phrase to lose all meaning but I do still mean it.” Taking another mouthful of stir fry, chewing it for longer this time to see if he could bring out any more flavour, he used his fork to push the food around his plate, listening as Harsh began to elaborate on Spawn. The subject made him uncomfortable for so many reasons. Because it made him anxious knowing he could have become one, because it upset him to know other people were suffering, because there was no way to save them, or teach them how to live again. It was over. It was a fate worse than death.

Letting out a quiet huff of breath, he hesitantly glanced back up at his friend. They meant for this to happen. It was one thing to draw a conclusion himself, another thing entirely for Harsh to tell him he was right. There was no room for doubt, his roommate was speaking the truth. But that only left him with more questions, questions he might never find answers to. “Yeah, well… fuck him, right?” He muttered, wishing he could say the words and miraculously let go of his trauma. Even though speaking them did offer him a degree of satisfaction, it was never going to be quite that easy. Raising his eyebrows as Harsh seemed to wince at the mention of sunlight, he was so relieved for the distraction that he found himself resisting the urge to laugh. It wouldn’t exactly be appropriate until he understood the context, until he knew what Harsh had been through to warrant such a reaction. But a vampire being so averse to sunlight that he didn’t even like somebody mentioning the sun was amusing. He couldn’t pretend otherwise. “Right,” he nodded, a smile tugging at his lips. “Like an ant under a magnifying glass, jeez…” Repressing a shudder, he made the conscious decision not to dwell on the information. He could truly consider everything he had learned in the morning, when he was curling up in bed, alone, and safe underneath his comforter. Now he only wanted to enjoy an evening with Harsh, his roommate, his friend… his mentor? It was true, he wasn’t sure where he would be without him. But he did know, all things considered, that he was more than content with where he had ended up.

#drug abuse tw #drug use tw #medical blood tw #drug manipulation tw #overdose tw #needles tw #milo and harsh #c:harsh

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procrastinatorimagines · 4 years

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hellooo, can i have imagine with Angus MacGyver?

Gala + Tension + Bombs

The fundraiser was a lot more glamorous than Matty had let on and the food, as Jack had said repeatedly through a full mouth, was delicious. It really was, there was caviar, shrimp and a whole array of hors d'oeuvres that made your mouth water, though you wished the portions were a little bigger. You weaved in between the guests on the arm of your date for the evening, Angus MacGyver, who was currently sporting a very flattering white suit. Not that you’d tell him the ‘flattering’ part - you’d actually told him that white was the worst colour to get stains out of. He may have joked that your floor length red dress was appropriate for hiding blood stains then, but that was the added bonus of the colour you were going for anyway.

A waiter came by with champagne flutes and Mac grabbed two for the both of you as you positioned yourself close to the dance floor, within ear shot of your targets - a couple of American arms traffickers posing as dignitaries, Conrad and Charlene Elmore. Both the man and the woman looked intimiating, their features were nearly as sharp as their outfits as they conversed with foreign nationals. The traffickers had decided that the best place to arrange a sell for their arms was at a fundraiser specifically designed to raise aid for those affected by the destruction their weapons, and those like it, caused.

You, Mac and Jack were tasked with tailing the sellers, while Riley and Bozer monitored from the van, checking incoming communications for when the buyers would arrive and seeing if they could trace the weapons themselves. Matty’s intel told the Phoenix that they were making their trade in untraceable diamonds, but you did not know what the buyers looked like, or when they were meeting the sellers at the fundraiser.

“Okay, keep your eyes peeled, it’s been over an hour since Mr and Mrs Terrorist arrived, they could be making their sell at any moment.” Matty’s voice sounded in your ear over coms.

“Do you really think they’d make the trade right here Matty? I don’t exactly see any weapons of mass destruction on hand.” Jack replied, clearly still eating. Mac rolled his eyes.

“That isn’t how these guys work. Our intel says that they have drop sites located near where they make their sales. Diamonds go to them, and if they check out, a key and location go to the buyer. This way if the authorities ever did catch on to where the weapons were, the sellers would be long gone.” Mac explained, offering you his hand for a dance as your targets made their way to the floor.

“it’s smart really, it’s how they’ve avoided being caught for so long. We only got this intel because the CIA got one of their buyers to flip.” You continued, eyes not leaving your targets as you and Mac danced, a little too closely for comfort in the dress you were wearing. The middle of an op was no time to think about your crush on Mac, you scolded yourself as the music changed to a slow dance. Mac’s hands went to your waist, mimicking what the rest of the crowd were doing as yours went to his shoulders. You noted Jack’s pointed glace in your direction as the two of you danced, especially as the couple next to you went in for a kiss, causing Mac’s cheeks to go a little pink and avoid eye contact.

Okay so maybe there’d been a moment on the last op when you’d kissed him to maintain your cover at a night club when you’d snuck into the back room to plant a bug. Maybe. Mac had been a little uncomfortable with you ever since and you weren’t entirely sure what that meant. But as the music continued to play you found yourself being drawn closer and closer to him until your arms were more around his neck than his shoulders. Mac was pulling you closer too, until you were an inch apart. Then the song ended.

He cleared his throat and took a step back, maybe a little too quickly as he noticed Jack grinning behind you both. The sellers finished their dance too, and started heading off the dance floor in the direction of a shorter, balding man who had appeared at the side of the stage, glass of whiskey in hand and what appeared to be a monacle on his face.

“That might be our buyer.” Mac stated and you nodded, signaling to Jack who had already seen where you were looking.

“I’ll see if I can get a bit closer,” Jack said, “Riley, tell me when these camera glasses thingys get a read on Mr Bond Villian over there.” Jack pushed the fake glasses up his nose and wiped his hands on his trousers, moving closer to where a waiter was standing with a tray of champagne.

“Don’t get too close,” Riley said over comms, “we don’t need him getting suspicious, just a little further... yep I got it.” Jack took a sip of his champagne and turned away from the three suspects again. You and Mac approached the tables near where Jack had been standing.

“One of them will probably go for the exit closes the stage, it takes them out down the side of the building towards the kitchen,” you explained.

“Intel says the sellers never stay to the end of the events they attend so my money is on the couple taking that exit,” Bozer replied, “we’ll see them if they do.” Bozer and Riley’s van, designed to look like a meat delivery truck, was positioned just outside the kitchen’s in the staff car park.

“Okay, if they leave, follow them at a distance. Jack, meet up with Riley and Bozer outback once Riley has an ID on our mystery buyer. Mac, Y/N, you’ll take it from there, let’s see exactly what this guy is paying for and make sure it never gets out onto the streets.” Matty ordered just as Riley got a hit on facial rec.

“Okay, this guy is called Horatio, believe it or not, Horatio Delatorre, interpol has him as one of the richest and most dangerous global arms traders; it looks like our local traffickers are expanding their market.” Riley relayed the information and you and Mac shared an uneasy look.

“If we take him down, we take a key player off the board.” Matty said.

“Let’s not lose him then.” Mac said grimly, as a velvet pouches was exchanged between the targets. “Diamonds for the key and location I’d guessing” he noted, “they’re about to be on the move.” Jack was already out the other side door, he’d be rendevousing with the others any second, which was good because the Elmore’s were making their exit stage left and Delatorre was heading back to mingle with the rest of the guests.

“Okay, Jack, Riley, Boze, you’re about to have company. It looks like Delatorre is going to hang around for a little white so we’ll meet back up at the exfil point once we have the weapon and Delatorre in custody.” The Elmore’s were officially out the building and you and Mac were left with the final target.

A few hors d'oeuvres, mindless chit chat and two awkward dances later, and Delatorre was heading for the front exit. You and Mac followed at a safe distance, getting your car from the chauffeur as Delatorre’s and his driver cruised down the street.

Mac hopped in the drivers seat as you climbed into the passengers side, swapping into flats and pulling your gun out of an array of handheld weapons from a draw in an underseat compartment. “Remind me how Bozer got Matty to let him use Phoenix money to recreate a Bond car.” You joked, appreciating the leg slit in your dress as you attached a fully stocked thigh holster. It was only when you noticed Mac clenching his jaw that you realised putting your bare leg up on the dashboard might have been a little much, quickly lowering it as he took a left turn, slowing down and switching off the lights as the buyer pulled into a shipping yard.

“We should go on foot from here,” he said, making you glad you’d brought spare shoes, your feet had not appreciated 6 flights of stairs and a fight with two highly trained mercenaries a few weeks prior, your heels still hadn’t fully recovered.

You and Mac approached cautiously as Delatorre got out, appearing to be counting the containers until he stopped at a battered looking red one with the number 7 on the front. It was a far cry away from the glitz and glam the traffickers were known for, but you guessed that was the point.

Delatorre’s driver was waiting by the car, his gun clearly visible in his hand. You noted another in his belt, but besides him you couldn’t see any other men. You almost thought this was going to be easy when a black SUV’s pulled up, 7 armed men piling out as you and Mac shared an uneasy look; thankfully they had come from the other direction, and hadn’t see your car parked up behind the welcome sign. “I still like our odds,” you offered and Mac smirked, that smile quickly falling, however, when the container open and you saw the weapons inside. “Are they what I think they are?” You whispered. The profanity that came out of Mac’s mouth answering your question for you.

“That, is a lot of thermobaric bombs. If any one of them were to get out, the destruction would be...” Mac didn’t need to finish, you may not have been a science genius like him, but you knew your weaponry.

You looked past the men to the water. “They’re getting them out on a boat,” you guessed.

“Y/N’s right,” Matty cut in, “we have an registered ship approaching the dock, if those weapons make it to sea we could lose them. Hurry.”

“No pressure then,” Mac mumbled. You could see the cogs in his head working away in that way only Mac’s mind did. He looked around and saw a few empty canisters lying on top of what appeared to be pile of scrap metal all to be taken out for the trash.

“Let me guess, one man’s trash-” You started.

“Is another man’s treasure?” Mac grinned at you as he moved. “Always. These gas canisters are mostly empty, but if there’s enough left I should be able to cause a distraction.” He explained.

“Long enough for me to kick some ass?” You presumed and Mac nodded. “I can get behind that plan.”

“This guy’s so good he’s gotten complacent, I doubt he’s expecting anyone to stop him, let alone a beautiful woman in a dress.” Mac said as he worked, seemingly unaware of the actual words he said until he noticed you looking at him, eye brow raised with an amused look on your face. “I mean not that... not that you’re not... I just meant... Ah ha!” Mac was saved by the hiss of the canister, a fact he looked very thankful for. “Okay, when you see the signal go down and do your thing.”

“What’s the signal?” You asked as Mac picked up his device.

“You’ll see.” He said, disappearing around the side of the containers, angling closer to where the men were starting to pack the bombs into trolleys to take to the ship. You rolled your eyes; it was going to be an explosion wasn’t it? Whenever Mac said that it was always followed by a loud... Bang!

The sound of, you guessed it, an explosion sounded to your left, along with a brilliant flash of light that sent the guards scrambling to protect their boss, leaving the right open for you to slip down. By the time you were spotted you were close enough to pull the gun out of his hand, smashing it across his head. He crumbled to the floor as you pulled the ammunition cartridge out the bottom, tossing it aside and rolling around the back of the SUV as shots sounded. Half in your direction, half in the direction Mac was. You pulled out your own gun from your thigh holster and fired back, making sure not to fire too close to the giant container of bombs to your right, or the ones on the trolley near your left. Now that would end badly.

A few went down and the remaining focused their attention on you, closing in on your position. Thankfully, that gave Mac enough time to come up behind them, taking out one, and allowing you to take advantage of the confusion to disarm and incapacitate the last two while Delatorre ran for his car.

“That could have been worse,” you stated, barely even glancing away from Mac as you fired your last bullet at Delatorre, clipping him in the thigh and sending him to the ground inches from the drivers side door of his car. He wasn’t going anywhere. And neither were the bombs. “All in all I’d say-”

Mac’s lips crashing into yours stopped your words, and any coherent thought you had in your head, in their tracks. He pulled away quickly and you blinked at him in shock. “Mac-”

“Sorry,” he cut you off, moving his hand when he realised it was on your waist, “I just had to do that, I’ve been thinking about it since the last op but seeing you kick ass in that dress...” He trailed off and you smiled at the embarassed look on his face, more glad than you’d expected that he hadn’t been awkward with you for the opposite reason. You grabbed him by his tie and pulled him back in for another kiss, but this time it was interuppted by Delatorre groaning and attempting to crawl towards his car.

“Right, terrorist, bombs, mission,” you listed a little breathlessly.

“Continue this later?” Mac offered.

“Definitely.” You winked at him, reloading your gun and getting Matty back on comms, looking to where the ship was now docked, probably full of more hired guns.

Yeah, you were going to need back up, but at least you had something to look forward to later.

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