#Bus Stop Relocation

[sentientcave]

Retirement Party

Price has retired from Military life, and he's not handling the change well. But on the one year anniversary of him hanging it up, his boys bring him something special to help keep him busy. You.

Chapter Two - An Understanding

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Contains: No Y/N (Reader is an OC), Kidnapping, Forcible relocation, Generally creepy behaviour, Alcohol mention, Smoking mention (Tobacco), I guess this might count as human trafficking?, Dubcon everything because Reader is terrified (non-sexual), plus-sized reader, fem/afab reader, There is something fucking wrong with these guys for real, More reader details given, but we're still pretty vague about it. Even though it is hard for me. No promises for future chapters though.

~3.8k - MDNI - Dark fic! Please mind the content warning above

The captain looks at you for a long moment, dark blue eyes wide with surprise as he takes you in. You have to admit that he’s handsome, dark brown hair and well-groomed facial hair (muttonchops, no less) flecked with silver, and a nice nose that skews to the large side. It gives him a friendly, approachable demeanour, despite the weight of his stare. His heavy attention shifts from you to the other three, and his expression turns serious. “Lads,” he says, his voice a rumble that you can feel through your own body. “Please tell me this isn’t what it looks like.”

“Weeeel. It might be,” Johnny says apprehensively. “But I did my research, sir. She’ll be perfect for ye, ye’ll see.”

“She’s a good girl,” Ghost adds. “Sweet as can be. Won’t be any trouble for you.”

“Already moved her in and everything.” Gaz gestures around the room, looking rather too proud of their work.

The captain nods slowly, taking in the new additions to the space. “So you did. And did this pretty little thing agree to having her life upended, or did you lads just decide for her?” His arms shift around you, and you feel almost protected, oddly enough, even though by the size of him, he’s just as dangerous as the others. Probably even more dangerous, the way they defer to him, standing in a line like cadets, eager for his approval.

“Not… Not exactly,” Gaz admits. “I mean, we didn’t ask. But this’ll be better for her. She was living in a real rat hole before. Tiny little apartment in a shite neighbourhood. Was only a matter of time before something bad happened. We’re just looking out for her.”

Johnny shuffles his feet. “Dealt with a few neds while I was doin’ reconnaissance, even. Poor lass coulda been in real trouble if I hadna been there. Bawbag employers would ask her to stay past the last bus to watch the bairns an’ no’ even offer her a ride or ta pay fer a cab.”

“It wasn’t that far a walk,” you protest, glaring at Johnny. As if it’s any of his business. “And they did offer to drive me, I just wasn’t— It doesn’t matter! You had no right—”

The captain shushes you, and your words wither on your tongue, your cheeks turning hot under his stern blue gaze. He cups your jaw and turns your head to face him again, the rough pad of his thumb stroking your cheek gently. “Sweetheart, you and I will talk in a moment. Soap’s right about that not bein’ safe, and you know it.”

Your stomach flutters nervously. He gives you a little smile, and his crow’s feet deepen, the lines fanning out further. There’s a moment where you’re tempted to smile back, but his legs shift under you, and you wince sympathetically instead. “Sorry, I should get off of you,” you say quickly. “I’m heavy.”

“I won’t stop you if you’d like to sit somewhere else,” he says, that cheeky smile deepening more. "But you’re not heavy, and I'd like it if you stayed put."

"Told ye he'd like her," Johnny whispers, loud enough that it shatters the isolated pocket of reality that, for a moment, housed only you and the captain. "Hasna even introduced himself an' he's flirtin' like mad."

"Soap!" Gaz hisses back. "Shut up."

Ghost scruffs them both. "Let's finish getting dinner on. Give 'em a minute to talk."

Johnny grins at you and gives you two thumbs up as he circles around to the kitchen, as if you’d actually been a willing participant in all of this.

"I'm John, by the way," the captain says, calling your attention back to him. He drops his hand and settles it on your knee, his fingers curling around the joint. "You alright, doll?"

A loaded question. "Well. Not really."

"You're keepin' it together real nicely, all considered. Wouldn't blame you if you were hissin' and scratching."

"I'm not much of a fighter," you admit. "And even if I was, I don't think it would do me much good."

John chuckles, squeezing your knee lightly. He's gentle, but there's power in those hands, the kind that comes from years of hard work. There's scars all over it, from his the tips of his calloused fingers up to the leather band of his watch, etched in evidence of violence. If there are scars further up his arms, their hidden by the buffalo plaid flannel. "No, it probably wouldn't."

"Are you going to let me go home?" you ask.

He sighs. "The thing is, doll, the boys have put me in an awkward spot here. If I let you go on home, you're going to get them in trouble, and I don't want to see that happen."

"I promise, I won't say anything, I just--"

He shushes you again, and you shut your mouth, biting your lip. "Let me finish, sweetheart. You're being so good right now because you're scared. But that's not gonna last, is it? And worse, it sounds like you don't really have much to go back to."

"I'll find a new job. I always do."

"With another family who doesn't appreciate the work you put in? That doesn't make you feel safe?" His fingertips toy with the edge of your skirt absently, but his eyes are on your face, studying your reaction with rapt attention. This is how a rabbit must feel, pinned under the stare of a grizzly bear, frozen in place and hoping that no claws come down on top of it. "I can read between the lines, doll. That man you were workin' for made you feel so uncomfortable that you'd rather walk through a bad neighbourhood at night than get into a car with him alone."

You can't dispute it, although you're surprised he can glean so much information from half an outburst. "It wasn't like that-- He wasn't that bad."

John hums. "You're tellin' me you've had worse?"

A dozen jobs with a dozen managers or coworkers that took your silence as permission to stand too close, or put their hands on you flash across your mind. Mr. Kinsey was just the latest of many. You know that the thought is displayed on your face, from the way his eyebrows pinch together just slightly, not angrily, but concerned. You try to deflect with a little laugh. "Oh, well. I suppose I have. But hasn't everyone?"

"Soap had a bad lieutenant once and locked the man in his own car when he was just a private. Just because you have a bad boss doesn't mean you have to take it." He looks at you so seriously as he speaks, his fingers dancing distracting circles against the top of your knee, rough fingertips catching on the nylons just slightly. The heat from the arm curled around your waist bleeds through the fabric of your dress, his hand twitching slightly, like all he wants to do is take a handful of soft flesh. “You should speak up when you’re not comfortable, doll. You just need some practice standin’ up for yourself, don’t you?”

If a statement could have teeth, this one would, and you’re not sure if agreeing or disagreeing will have him closing his jaws around you. He’s probably right, you do need to do a better job of standing up for yourself. But you’re certain that he doesn’t want you to start by standing up to him, or his three attack dogs either. “I’ll work on it,” you say meekly. You test his commitment to the statement by gently picking his hand off of your knee, although there’s nowhere to really put it either.

“We’ll work on it,” he agrees, lacing your fingers together. When he rests your now-entwined hands, it’s a little further up your thigh. “You want a drink, darlin’?”

“Oh, um, no thank you.” You wouldn’t mind another tea, but you don’t think that’s what you’re being offered.

The scrutiny he puts you under is intense, like he’s determined to figure out what every microscopic shift in your expression might mean. “You sure, doll? You gotta ask if you want somethin’, or you won’t get it.”

“I would like a tea. But I can make it, I don’t want to be trouble.”

“Nonsense. Lads?” he tips his head back slightly.

“On it, sir,” Gaz replies cheerfully.

Ghost leans over the back of the couch to hand John a tumbler. Whiskey or scotch, by the sharp smell that hits you. John pulls his hand away from yours to accept the glass. “Thank you, Simon,” he says pleasantly. "Good lad."

“S’your party, sir. An’ you’re busy, ain’t you?” Ghost rests his hands on the back of the couch and studies the pair of you, dark eyes gleaming with pride. The man has the demeanour of a cat that’s brought in a helpless little bunny to his master, while it’s still alive and struggling.

“Gettin’ to know our pretty guest.” John smiles at you over the rim of his glass as he takes a sip. “She’s a sweet girl.”

“Isn’t she just?”

“Could I, um, sit over there?” you ask, glancing at the chair. Somehow John had managed to distract you from the idea of moving for a while, but you were still eager to get a little space from him, especially with Ghost looming over both of you.

“Of course, sweetheart,” John’s arm loosens, and you quickly get up and move to the chair.

You almost feel cold, without the heat that radiates off of his body. His attention feels weightier now too, or maybe it’s just that his body isn’t shielding the stares from Johnny, Gaz and Ghost, and you’re subjected to all four of them watching you, like you’re either fascinating or delicious (or both). You cross your arms over your chest and shrink into yourself as much as possible, eyes wide.

"Here's yer tea, hen. And may I just say, ye've go' a fantastic rack from this angle." Johnny hands you the mug and sits on the arm of the chair, leaning over you. "Weel. Ye've go' a nice rack from any angle. Nice arse too. Captain's lucky I like him so much, or I'd've gone for you myself."

You breathe in steam, wrinkling your nose slightly. It doesn't smell quite right. "Did you put something in this?"

"Aye. Finger of whiskey. Ye look all stiff and peaky still. Need a pick me up, don't ya?"

You look at him reproachfully. He sighs and plucks the tea from your hands and takes a big sip. "There's nothin' else in there, if that's what yer askin', ye suspicious wee daftie. A little whiskey ne'er hurt no one." He hands the mug back to you, smile crooked, doing his best to be charming, but he's too intense, too fervent, to be anything but unsettling.

“Got Johnny checkin’ everythin’ for poison, do you?” Ghost asks, chuckling. “Can’t say I blame you.” He nudges John with the back of his hand. “She’s smart, worth keepin’ an eye on that. Know’s ‘ow to ‘old ‘er tongue, but she’s listenin’ and payin’ attention.”

“Of course she is! Wouldna choose a lass withoot a brain in her head. Wouldna be worth the captain’s time. Weel, maybe worth a wee bit of time.” He winks down at you. “But no’ wife material, ye ken. Chose her because she’s delightful, no’ just ‘cause she’s bonnie.”

The few times you’d spoken to Johnny before you’d thought that he was so nice. Laughing and joking with you in the pick up line while you waited for the children you were respectively responsible, greeting his niece and nephew with big smiles. And Finn and Rory were always so excited to see him, you’d chalked him up as harmless. Clearly you hadn’t been paying enough attention then, too focused on the Kinsey kids and your job, maybe. You hadn’t noticed that he was appraising you like a piece of livestock, judging your value like you’d been put up to auction.

The whisky-fortified tea is a bit on the strong side, but you take a few sips anyway. Getting drunk would be unwise, but you’re so tense that your whole body is starting to ache, and that’s not doing you any good either.

“Dinner’s ready,” Gaz announces, untying his kiss the cook apron and setting it on the counter. “Hope you’re hungry. Soap made a cake earlier too.”

John raises an eyebrow. “You can bake?” he asks, surprised.

“Aye, picked it up while I was gettin’ rehabbed for the big fuck-off hole in my head,” he replies airily. “Was goin’ mental putterin’ around Kirsty’s waitin’ for the bairns to get out of school, so Ah picked it up. Isnae so hard. Just chemistry, aye?”

“He did make a big mess,” Gaz says. “Had to wash about fifty dishes before I could get started on dinner.”

“Everyone’s a fuckin’ critic,” Johnny complains. “See if I bake ye a cake for yer birthday, Garrick. Ye’ll be sorry then.”

“Oh no, how will I survive?” Gaz clutches his chest like he’s deeply wounded by the statement, laughing. “I have two mums, I’m still pretty much guaranteed a cake.”

“Always braggin’ abou’ that. Thinks he’s more evolved than the rest of us just because his da’s a woman.” He hovers next to you as you get up, and sticks close as you walk over to the table. You don’t choose a seat, in case there’s an order to things you’re not aware of.

“Pretty sure the whole point is that he dun’t ‘ave a dad,” Ghost says. “Now sit down, mutt. Yer not sittin’ next to the bird. You’re botherin’ ‘er.” He points at a chair, and Johnny sighs and slinks into it.

“Here, sweetheart,” John says, putting his big hand on your back to guide you the last few steps and directing you to a seat. He slides the chair in for you too, masquerading as a gentleman, and sits next to you.

Gaz settles in on your other side, all smiles. “Feeling better?”

They keep asking you how you are, as if the answer is going to change. Like all you need to adjust to the reality of being kidnapped and relocated to some stranger’s house in the country is a little time. Like you’re going to be just fine, if you just get a few more minutes to adjust. “Not really.”

"Ah, don't worry, doll. Captain's gonna be real good to you. You'll get there soon enough. Probably'll feel better once you've had a proper meal."

At least they don't try to make you talk much at the table. They fall into easy conversation between them, and let you eat roasted chicken and potatoes and carrots with some kind of sweet and mildly spicy glaze. Ghost pulls the mask down to eat, so you're able to watch when he goes slightly pink from what barely qualifies as spice. Gaz gives you a little side-long glance, and you almost laugh. There's some solidarity to be had, even in a situation like this one, something funny about how a little more spice could probably straight up kill the other three men at the table. Maybe that would be the key to you freedom: Murdering John by feeding him something full of chilies.

Admittedly, you do feel begrudgingly more charitable towards them after eating. You could maybe blame it on the tea too, which, against your better judgment, you do end up finishing.

John stops you from helping clean up when you stand automatically and try to stack Gaz's empty plate with your own. "No, sweetheart. C’mere." He guides you to the door and out into the chilly evening air. You wish that Ghost had let you put on a sweater over your summery dress, but he had been so keen to show you off, and you’d been too scared to insist. You curl your arms around yourself for warmth, and keep quiet, watching as John trims and lights a cigar, looking out into the darkness beyond the porch.

Fear has morphed from pressing terror to something that gnaws at you from the pit of your stomach. You could try to run for it, but you’d probably roll your ankle wearing the stupid red heels, and you have no real idea where you are, or how far you are from someone who could help you. Outrunning John would be a feat anyway. He’s older than you, but he’s in better shape, nearly perfect shape, broad and strong, that long military career not yet forgotten.

There’s a bench by the door, so you sit down to take the heels off. You’re not used to wearing them, it’s so rare that you have anywhere to go that calls for spicier footwear than your comfortable, worn in trainers.

“Here.” John slides his flannel shirt off and drapes it over your shoulders, and kneels down in front of you, cigar clamped in his mouth, pulling your heels off for you. Smoke curls around you for a moment, thin and blue in the scant light, before a breeze carries it away. He leans on his one leg and studies you, but he doesn’t stand. “You’re beautiful, you know that?”

You put your arms through the sleeves of the flannel, humming noncommittally. You know you’re pretty enough, by most standards, but you feel like his interest— And the interest of the other three— is disproportionate, too intense.

“I’d like you to stay a while, doll,” he continues. “I won’t force you, I’m not that kind of man, but I’d have a hard time letting you go back to living paycheck to paycheck in a bad nieghbourhood, workin’ for creeps that don’t know how to keep their hands to themselves. You deserve better than that.” It’s as though he doesn’t even hear his own words though, or imagines himself better, because he absently runs his hands over your calf, squeezing the tense muscle gently.

“I have to work,” you protest, biting back a moan. You didn’t need to encourage him, even if you weren’t quite brave enough (or willing) to stop him. “I have student loans, and I send money to my lola in Vigan. I can’t afford to just disappear off the face of the earth.”

He nods thoughtfully. “How much?”

"Three hundred pounds a month to Lola. I know it might not seem like a lot, but it goes a lot further there."

"And the student loans?"

"Sixteen thousand. Not that much, I worked through my degree, and I inherited a bit of money from my parents. But I still have to--"

"I'll pay for both. You'll stay until you find a good job, and a safer apartment." He says it like it's a final edict, no room for argument.

You pull your leg out of his grip, tucking both further back under the bench. "No, John, I don't want to owe you either--"

"You won't. My boys kidnapped you and disrupted your whole life. I'd pay a lot more if it keeps you from going to the police over it. Least I can do is make sure you're better off when you do leave here, hm?"

You bite your lip. Starting over with a clean slate is tempting, but you're not sure you can trust John. He seems so earnest, blue eyes clear and guileless, but he can't be much better than the other three. Unless he was just holding their leashes tight as their captain, and had to let them loose when he retired.

"Can I think about it?" you ask.

"Of course." He puts his hand on your knee to steady himself as he leans across to ash the cigar in the ashtray that sits on a little table next to the bench. "But I think you'll say yes. You're a smart girl, hm?"

You're tempted to say no, just to test weather or not he's being honest about not forcing you to stay, but there's a niggling worry in the back of your mind that the veneer of civility will evaporate if you push him on it. He's nice enough now. And maybe that niceness isn't a show, maybe he has no darker side, maybe it's all just paranoia on your part. Perhaps the worst thing about him is his predilection to protect his "boys", even though all three are clearly insane.

Military is like that, isn’t it? The whole brotherhood thing? Maybe fighting for your life beside someone changes how you see them forever.

“How long did you all serve together?” you ask. “Johnny mentioned that he was SAS before— I asked about the scar once.” You tap the side of your head, the same spot where Johnny has a nasty bullet scar.

“Long time. Hand-picked Gaz and Soap for my taskforce about ten years back. Simon and I served together longer. He’s a captain now, even if the lads still call him LT. They’re both lieutenants, and Gaz’ll be a captain himself before long. Probably would’ve been already if he’d transferred out of the 141.” He gets up with a grunt and settles onto the bench beside you. “Don’t think Simon’s long for it. He’s only still in because he wants to keep an eye on Soap. Man’s a bloody romantic. Live together or die together.”

“I didn’t realize that they were together at all.”

“The way Soap’s been droolin’ all over you, I’m not surprised.” He puffs on his cigar thoughtfully. “But Simon’s just like that, as far as I can tell. The world’s divided into three categories. Enemies, his people, and everyone else. Enemies ‘n’ everyone else can’t touch what’s his, but he’s never given a damn about Soap sleepin’ with Gaz, or me.”

“I’m not his people.”

John looks at you and shakes his head. “Course you are, doll. You’re one of our people now. They might’ve gotten a bit overzealous, bringing you here the way they did, but those lads would do anything you asked of ‘em now.”

A bit overzealous. You laugh, but the sound comes out bitter.

"Relax, doll. I know you're determined to hate them, but they're good lads. Their hearts are in the right place." He pets a big hand over your head and rests it on the back of your neck, warmth seeping into your bones, relieving some of the ache from all the tension of the day. John has a way of soothing that terrified little animal in your chest that would otherwise threaten to kick it’s way free from your ribs and flee into the dark trees. “Lookin’ out for me, in their own way. Lookin’ out for you too. If your situation was a better one, they wouldn’t’ve plucked you out of it like that.”

There’s hope in his eyes when you look up at him, hope that you’ll forgive and forget, that you’ll come around to some kind of understanding in time. His thumb brushes a sensitive spot behind your ear, sending an awful, irrefutable thrill through you.

You’re worried that he might be right.

My favourite John Price to write is the sneakiest, most charming, manipulative bastard on the planet. I definitely take a lot of inspiration from 391780 's portrayal of him. The Rear Window and Neighborly have been forefront in my mind while working on this (Largely because I think my John would have taken a similar approach if the lads hadn't jumped the gun. The Rear Window is dark, so be warned! Early writes delicious dark fics, but that may not be everyone's cup of tea, so mind the tags.)

Image Credits: Banner

Dividers: 1 - 2 - 3 by @/Cafekitsune

[heartybubs]

yoo!! hope it's fine to request here 🙏🏻

first off, how r u doing?? hope everything's fine!!<3

I wanted (if possible) to ask 4 either hcs or a one shot for stiles stilinski, picturing a reader who's scott's younger sister :)

maybe she has lived with rafael for a while and just came back in beacon hills?

HOPE IT'S NOT TOO COMPLICATED HELP

have a great day and tysm anyway !!

hc: best friends sister

teen wolf [ stiles stilinski x mccall reader ]

warnings: mentions of anxiety and su!c. attempt (motel california)

a/n.: first of all, tysm for your request, very happy to finally deliver!! decided to go with a hc set around the events of the best episode in s3a (so it gets kinda dark for a moment ig). i didn’t really focus on the fact she just moved back, but if you want something like that lmk! got a little carried away, but hope you like it <3

my masterlist

✧༺♡༻∞

when your and scott’s parents initially split up, you obviously stay with melissa. in middle school, you decide to move to your (now sober) father to rebuild your relationship with him until high school. scott genuinely despises him at that time (still does lowkey), but you had always been daddy’s little girl when you were a toddler

you’re barely a year younger than scott, but he LOVES being the big brother (you don’t really mind)

stiles was never a stranger to you, he’d obviously been in your life as long as he had been in scott’s, but after you left, you didn’t really make an effort stay in touch with each other. you were definitely his first crush tho before his obsession with lydia started

when you move back, you almost don’t recognize stiles, who’s WAY finer than you had remembered. the moment he sees you, it’s almost like he couldn’t care less about lydia martin. he probably stares at you, open mouth and all (super embarrassing, but you blush HARD)

scott would love to keep you out of his supernatural business, but quickly realizes that simply won’t be possible.. especially when stiles and you start hanging out a lot.. he’s oblivious for a while, not even considering that there could be something going on between his best friend and his baby sister until isaac asks him about it… he’d never stand in your way tho <3

stiles and you are even more oblivious than scott tbh, spending multiple days (and nights) in a row with each other; working on his case board, studying, watching his favourite star wars movies (while cuddled up)…

this probably goes on for like a year? until the guys go on a lacrosse trip to motel california to which lydia, allison and you follow them. that’s the night you realize you love him.

something between stiles and you changes after derek’s (supposed) death. the way you comfort each other feels different and new, but never scary. you try your hardest to be there for scott, who’s crumbling under his insane guilt, but whenever he goes to sleep, you text stiles and he comes over right away

every. single. night.

losing derek, who you’d always gotten along with, and seeing your brother like that doesn’t pass you lightly. you can’t really put your feelings into words, but you don’t have to because stiles gets it. he gets you.

and everytime you let him in, you two don’t speak until you’re in your room where you just melt into his chest. he wastes no time to wrap his arms around you and holds you tightly until he relocates you both from the middle of the room to your bed

“c’mon, n/n, let’s go to bed, alright?”, and he’s always SO soft with you. if you’re crying, he’s wiping your tears right away because he knows he wouldn’t last ten seconds without bursting into tears himself

after a short stop at a gas station where allison has to sew up your brother, who’s basically dying (fun!), you girls join the team on the bus. you’re obviously seated next to stiles, falling victim to his unserious yap-attacks (he’s just glad you look relaxed and have that pretty smile of yours back on your face, even if you’re rolling your eyes at him non-stop)

you obviously don’t share a room at the motel, but you spend the entire night with him, especially after the werewolves start going a little crazy… and when you see your brother standing in the parking lot, drenched in gasoline with tears running down his face, you freeze in fear. terrified to lose the most important person in your life, not knowing what to do.

stiles is holding onto your shoulders for dear life. you can feel him shaking behind you, he has to be at least as scared as you, but he doesn’t waste anytime. he places a soft kiss to the top of your head before moving you behind him and carefully stepping into the gasoline puddle to his best friend

you’re scared shitless, not being able to breathe or listen to any of the words he’s speaking to scott. you’re spiraling into an anxiety attack, tears are pouring down your cheeks. everything happens so quickly and before you know it, lydia saves the two most important people boys in your life from going up in flames

that’s when you realize

you don’t move. you just watch as allison helps lydia, scott and stiles back up. you don’t have to move tho, because stiles is already coming your way and when he stops right in front of you, he grabs your face with both his hands and presses his lips onto yours

you spend the rest of the night on the team bus, stiles cuddled into your side. you leave the kiss undiscussed until you’re back home in beacon hills and find yourself spending another evening in stiles’ room

you’re both quiet, still shaken up from the events of last night, but in the comfort of your silence, you find the courage to kiss him again. and that’s basically what you do for the rest of the night until you fall asleep in his arms

[iced-nct]

Greedy NJM

Pairing: CFO Na Jaemin x F Reader Word Count: 4.5k Warnings: Suggestive, occasional swear, jealous Jaemin Synopsis: Jaemin knew the second you walked into his office to interview for a sales role that he needed to hire you. Incredibly well spoken and driven, you reminded him a lot of himself in some ways. Except he didn’t want you for a sales position. Oh no. He wanted you as his personal assistant. Promptly after meeting with you, he let go of his current assistant to hire you for it instead. If Jaemin is going to be stuck at his desk for ten hours a day, he’ll be damned if he doesn’t have a pretty thing to stare at just outside his door. Maybe you’ll be able to tame the infamous office playboy. 

a/n: just casually dipping in to drop a 4.5k Jaemin Apply Within fic that I have been working on for like years lmfao. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy! I promise I'm going to be more active with my fics again!!!

Jaemin’s secretary blinked slowly at him, as if to process what she had just heard. “You are… firing me? Did I do something?” 

“No, I just needed a change of scenery! And I’m not firing you, I am just relocating you to a different department” He chirped in response, his voice cheerful though his eyes were dark and expression firm.

Jaemin turned his back to her to head into his corner office, “oh. One more thing.” He turned, one palm pressed firmly against the door frame as he leaned back. “I need all your things moved by tonight. My new secretary starts tomorrow morning” He winked before slamming his door closed.

-

Today could not have been off to a worse start. First there was the hole in your favorite pair of stockings, then your coffee machine decided to have a meltdown, and finally you had missed the bus that would allow you extra time to grab coffee on the way to the office. As far as first day’s go, this was not your best. Having to settle for a pair of plain sheer black tights to wear under your skirt and ordering a taxi, knowing full well the extra money was well worth having time to grab a cup of coffee. You hurried out the door, laptop bag and purse in hand, just hoping as you hustled into the back of the cab that the day wouldn’t get any worse.

The line at the coffee shop was surprisingly not horrendous, it only took about 10 minutes before you were holding your iced coffee and making your way through the entrance to Neo Dream. Jaemin’s office was on the 20th floor, you remembered this from your interview. As you moved to get off on your floor a solid chest made contact with your cup, spilling coffee all down the front of yourself and the stark white dress shirt in front of you. 

“I am so sorry! I was in such a rush, I should have paid better attention” You rambled, hoping that this stranger wouldn’t chew you out for such an accident.

“Miss Y/n?” You looked up to see Jaemin smiling down at you. “First day jitters?” He asked, a playful tone in his voice.

Your cheeks flushed with heat, “I am very sorry Mr. Na. I will clean this up right away” 

“Don’t bother, I will call the janitorial staff to clean up. We should get started with your tour, after we get changed” He tilted his head, indicating for you to follow.

The view from Jaemin’s office was stunning to say the least, the sun was almost up now but you could imagine the sunrises and sunsets that could be viewed from these windows.

“Yes, the view is lovely isn’t it?” You turned to find Jaemin, a sliver of his chest just barely exposed to you as he buttoned up a black dress shirt. “I apologize, I seem to have run out of women’s blouses, but I do have a knit sweater that may work” he jested while handing you a gray wool sweater. 

It was clearly men’s, but this would have to make do for today. Just as you were about to slip the sweater on over your stained blouse a hand stopped you. 

“If we don’t send these off to the drycleaners, the stain will set and ruin your shirt. I can’t have that, and I don’t want you to either. Just wear the sweater and I’ll send your shirt off with mine” His smile was charming, almost knee weakening. 

“Oh okay… but is there somewhere else for me to change?” Your head tilted in question.

Jaemin’s eyes widened with realization “Yes, oh gosh I’m sorry, I will turn around. You let me know when you’re decent”

You turned your back to him and began unbuttoning the shirt. Unbeknownst to you, Jaemin could make out the reflection of your chest in the window beside him. Not much could be seen, but the way the black lace of your bra held you had him wishing you allowed him to watch. Just as Jaemin’s dress pants started to get a little too tight for his liking, you cleared your throat, snapping him back from his thoughts.

“Thank you for the sweater! What should I get started with today?” You asked, whilst handing over your stained shirt. 

“You can get started on unpacking your desk and setting yourself up. I have some afternoon meetings that I will be in today, so I doubt we will see eachother very much. Just answer the phone if it rings and book in meetings for this week” You nodded at the instructions and headed out, closing the door behind you.

You paused to lean on it, breathing slowly as the picture of that small sliver of Jaemin’s defined chest floated around in your head. In the office behind you, your boss sat down at his desk, taking all the effort in the world to not call you back in to help him deal with the situation beneath his desk right now.

-

Days had turned into weeks, and though nothing of note had happened after that first eventful morning. You had settled in wonderfully, making friends with people on the finance floor, accompanying Jaemin to the occasional meeting to take notes for him when he didn’t feel like it, and canceling meetings he had with Mark just because it was funny to watch them squabble. There was lots of extra chatter throughout the office as everyone buzzed with excitement for the first annual company gala. A newer finance colleague had asked you to the gala a few days ago, and you had gladly accepted, assuming that it was a friendly gesture from one newbie to another. Excitement filled your chest as you thought about how much fun it would be to attend this company gala. The excitement was cut short however, when the door to Jaemin’s office swung open. Your boss stood there staring daggers at you, dread rushed in as you mentally went through every file you placed on his desk today, every meeting you had booked. What could you have possibly done wrong?

“Y/n. Come in here please.” Jaemin’s voice was deadly cold as he strode back towards his desk.

You slinked in, he gestured for you to close the door. “Did I do something wrong?” You asked, hesitating to turn around to face him.

“Have a seat, we’ll talk about it” He nodded to the chair in front of his desk for you to sit.

Despite sitting, the load on your shoulders felt ten times heavier under Jaemin’s stare. He slid a small pink envelope across the desk to you, your name scrawled in ink on the front. 

“What is this?” He tapped the envelope with his middle finger.

“I’m not sure, I haven’t seen that before” You answered, and truthfully you hadn’t seen it before.

“It was in the files you brought me this morning, just tucked between some reports. Imagine my surprise when I opened it and found out my trusted secretary is having an office romance with one of my junior finance employees” the smile that hung on Jaemin’s lips did not reach his eyes. 

Your eyes widened “office romance? No no you’ve misunderstood. He just asked me to the gala last week, that's all. I have no idea what the letter is and I- wait. You opened it?” 

The smile faded as he processed your words. Oh Jaemin would not have his secretary on the arm of anyone other than him, and he would make sure of that. Despite the other women around the office, who Jaemin had been making his way through, you managed to get under his skin in all the right ways.

“Sorry, I thought you knew” He started, propping his head up on his hands “secretaries are required to escort their managers to the gala. Mark’s rules” Jaemin grinned lazily.

“Oh! So I’ll still be working, right?” you thought about all the extra things you would need to prepare in this case, starting with a much bigger clutch to keep all Jaemin’s business cards in.

Jaemin smirked, “That’s correct Y/n. You have to be by my side all night. Make sure you let me know the color of your dress so I can plan my tie accordingly”

You nodded, your boss’ phone began to ring echoing throughout his large office. “I’ll bring you a swatch tomorrow morning” You spoke softly as you stood to leave the room.

Jaemin only nodded in response before picking up the phone “Mark!! How goes it over in-” His sentence cut off as the door shut behind you.

“What an odd day” you pondered while sifting through the hundreds of emails in your inbox. Mark had taken the liberty to have Haechan set up all Jaemin’s emails to duplicate so you had copies of important things as well. Unfortunately this also meant you got to see all the emails that lovestruck employees sent him without knowing you could see the confessions as well. After deleting what must have been the 20th email love note, you came across a thread that caught your eye. The email was from another female employee, detailing things she and Jaemin had done the previous night. From the sounds of it, you weren’t the only one engaging in an alleged “office romance”. There were quite a few more like that email, all talking about how they loved it when Jaemin did that “thing”. You weren’t sure what the “thing” was, but from the way he had these ladies begging for him via email correspondence you couldn’t help but be curious. It didn’t help that some had described certain acts in such detail, it was only natural that your head drifted away from work causing you to think about Jaemin’s head between your-

The thought was cut short by a loud thud from the elevator. Upon inspection you could see the finance junior who asked you to the gala had dropped a box of their belongings on the floor. The security guard who was with them helped gather their belongings back into the supply box before giving them a reassuring pat on the shoulder. You thought about going over to ask what happened, but a ping from your inbox beat you to it. ‘I WAS WRONGLY FIRED BY NA JAEMIN” was the subject line, there was no body to the email. Just that one subject line that left chills down your spine. You glanced to your boss’ door then back to your computer screen, the email was sent to everyone on the finance floor. It wasn’t long before chatter began amongst your colleagues on the floor. Everyone was curious to know about their former colleague scorned, making incredibly obvious passes by the now barren desk that once housed the junior finance employee. Jaemin seemed unbothered by the office bustle, opting to send you a teams chat asking for you to accompany him out of the office for his suit fitting for the gala. 

-

The interior of the store was full of mannequins decked out in name brand clothing that had your bank account near tears. Though you were only here to keep an eye on Jaemin’s emails and schedule for the day, he kept asking for your input on the suits he chose. The swatch you had at home would have to wait for another day, though he assured you it would be no hassle to have a tie ordered into the office in the correct color. 

“Well? Does this make me seem intimidating enough?” He turned his head over his shoulder to ask you. 

There was simply no denying the fact that Jaemin WORE the clothes, they did not wear him. He looked stunning in everything, so much so that you kept catching your mind slipping off to imagine the things he could do in the dressing room. Your eyes must’ve lingered for too long without speaking, as Jaemin chuffed a laugh. 

“I’m so sorry, yes it looks great!” you smile warmly at him, just as another ping comes through on his work phone. An email from Mark asking about the firing of the finance colleague and why he is now receiving multiple emails from the distressed former employee.

Jaemin cocks his head, one brow raised in question “Something the matter?”

You lock the phone quickly and look up at where he stands on the pedestal for his fitting. “Just Mark asking about an employee who was fired earlier, apparently he is now receiving emails stating that he was wrongfully terminated.” You stare, waiting for a reaction from him that never comes. 

“Ah yes, he was fraternizing with other employees. Can’t have my department become a cesspool now, can I?” His answer is cold as ice, his face revealing no indication of what he is thinking.

You can’t help but laugh at his reference, as if he hadn’t been sleeping with multiple employees from different departments. “What seems to be so funny, Y/n?” 

“Oh, nothing. Just your cesspool reference was funny” You roll your eyes, not expecting him to continue prodding. But he does just that.

“And why, pray tell, is it funny? Is my finance department a joke to you?” His eyes narrow, the shop steward who was pinning the suit even stops momentarily to give you a glance.

You need a moment to collect your thoughts. To try and decide just where you should begin with this. “You know Haechan set up my email so that I get duplicates of all the emails sent to you, right?” 

Jaemin nods thoughtfully, before his eyes widen in realization. “You get all my emails?” 

You bob your head “every single one of them. Mark insisted it was set up that way so you can never say you just missed a meeting invite in your swaths of emails.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes closed in frustration. “Y/n, what have you been seeing?” his foot tapping against the stained wood of the pedestal.

“Just the usual. Multiple emails from Mark about meetings, Renjun sending gala updates, Haechan providing timelines for software updates, Jeno sending memes that he has made instead of marketing campaigns, Jisung sending you meeting schedules with investors for the week, Chenle sending selfies mostly.” You shrug, pleased with your answer. 

“That’s it? Nothing else?” His tone is tense and his eyes are fixed on you, gluing you to the spot on the bench.

“Finance employees sending you updated reports too. Oh! And just the casual love confession, or excruciatingly detailed emails from your lovers” You smirk at him.

“I see.” Jaemin steps down, shooing the shop steward away as he strides towards you, “and tell me, Y/n. Do you read all of those excruciatingly detailed emails?” He leans down slightly, your faces mere inches apart.

You wet your lips, noticing Jaemin’s eyes flick down to your mouth before coming back up to meet your gaze. “Yes.”

He straightens back to his full height, now towering over where you sat. “Interesting indeed” he mutters before turning back to the shop employee to continue with his fitting.

-

The next morning you had a large iced americano sitting on the edge of your desk for your boss, along with the fabric swatch. It was odd, seldom did you beat Jaemin to the office. But today you felt extra jittery, especially after how hot his eyes had felt on you yesterday during his fitting. In fact, it was a shock that you managed to get a few hours of sleep. You had tossed and turned all night, thoughts of Jaemin taking you in the dressing room after your conversation had taken your mind hostage. A few times throughout the night you had awoken in a cold sweat, finally deciding to just get up at 5am instead of trying to get a few more hours of rest. That was how you ended up at your desk at 6:30, a large cup of tea clutched in your hands as you sifted through more meeting invites and emails. 

“Good morning Y/n. You’re awfully early.” Jaemin smiled warmly, a glint of something else shone in his eyes.

You gestured lazily to the cup of coffee on the edge of your desk “That’s for you, the swatch too”

His smile dropped as he stared at the coffee and the swatch “your dress is red?”

“Yes” you nodded before adding “I hope that’s alright”

“That will be just fine, I just so happen to have a tie that I think is the same color.” Jaemin fixed a tight smile before heading into his office and closing the door.

A few hours later a gorgeous intern from accounting came by, stopping at your desk “I have an appointment with Mr. Na” She smiled.

“Sure, just a moment” you returned her smile while getting up to knock on your boss’ door. 

“Send her in.” Jaemin said through the thick oak door before you could even let him know his one o’clock was here. 

-

She left an hour later, hair messier than it was when she arrived and her stockings had noticeable runs down both legs. All you could do was cock a brow as she breezed past with her blush stained cheeks. ‘I’m sure I’ll get an email about that later’ you thought, mentally rolling your eyes. Moments later your boss appeared at his door, fixing his tie nonchalantly. 

“Y/n, take the rest of the day off before the gala tonight. I’ll pick you up at 7 tonight, alright?” His voice was cold and detached, much like it had been at the store.

“Sure, thank you. I will see you then” It was no use putting up a fight. And it was certainly no use to ask him what had been on the tip of your tongue since yesterday. All you wanted was to know why that employee had been fired, and if their claim had any merit.

-

True to his word, Jaemin arrived at 7 on the dot. A swanky black car pulled up outside, the driver meeting you by the door for you to get in. After the door was shut you noticed Jaemin’s eyes fixated on you, suddenly the tight red dress you opted for felt all too revealing. 

He licked his lips slowly before speaking “I get the feeling there’s something you want to ask me, Y/n?”

“Why did you fire that employee that asked me out and gave me that letter?” You asked, Jaemin just stared at you in shock, clearly not expecting that to be the question.

“I- well. He had falsified a few reports so I was going to let him go anyway, but…” He trailed off, turning to look out the window instead of at you. “I thought you were going to ask about the escort from earlier” 

You nearly choked on your own breath “Escort? I thought she was from accounting!”

Jaemin hung his head in defeat “I know, I know. I’m sorry. I was never good at processing things. Instead of thinking though the issue I jumped straight to numbness, and I apologize” 

You simply could not believe your ears, you had figured that’s what was going on. But somehow it still took you by surprise. “Wait, why are you telling me all this?” you couldn’t help but ask.

“When I interviewed you for that sales role, I had such bad thoughts. I decided to tell you I needed an assistant instead. But I had one already. I fired her to give you the role. I just wanted that pretty little ass outside my office. I wanted to rub it in everyone’s faces that I had the hottest secretary. But then you got that letter, and I noticed you starting to get a little too much attention than I liked. And I didn’t expect to like you this much and-” He rambled on before stopping abruptly to look at you. 

Tears welled in your eyes, threatening to fall “two people lost their jobs because of me?” Your voice felt raw.

“Technically only one, the other guy was getting fired for fraud anyway. It was just a coincidence. And I didn’t fire my former secretary, I relocated her to another department. That was poor phrasing on my end” Jaemin reached for your hands, you foolishly let him hold on.

This was an enormous pill to swallow. “So let me get this straight.” You squeezed Jaemin’s hands. “You removed your secretary, hired me because you think I’m hot, got jealous when I was getting attention, forced me to be your date for this gala, and then hired an escort to take out your frustrations instead of just coming clean and talking to me?”

“That’s about it, yeah” Jaemin nodded enthusiastically.

“I quit.” You pulled your hands back to your lap.

Jaemin’s smile fell, his eyes showing the panic he was feeling. “No, no you can’t quit. Who’s going to read my emails to me and copy down all the meeting notes that I don’t feel like doing?”

You shrugged “I’m not sure, Jaemin. I just know it won’t be me.” 

The timing was lovely as the car had pulled up to the venue, the driver was already opening the door to help you out. Jaemin clutched your hand desperately. “Please, Y/n. Please just give me the night to make things right.”

You brushed him off “I will accompany you tonight, but tomorrow morning I will be packing my things. I’m sorry”

Jaemin led the way into the gala, his shoulders slumped in defeat. To anyone else, you were sure he looked angry, but you knew the truth. The first hour of the gala was spent greeting fellow colleagues and investors. You stopped to chat with Renjun, praising him for how incredible the party turned out, to which he agreed with a small smile and flushed cheeks. 

“He’s into the party planner he hired” Jaemin leaned down to whisper in your ear.

The sudden closeness took you by surprise, but you couldn’t help but slightly lean back into his chest. The countless champagne flutes did not help the situation, no matter how much you wanted to not be around Jaemin right now, your other desires had taken over. Jaemin’s hand was placed firmly on your hip, holding you in place. 

“I think it’s time we get you home sweetheart” He spoke softly, looking around to find the nearest exit.

You could only nod, agreeing that it was in fact time to head home. Jaemin kept his grip on your hip as he escorted you through the crowds of people, stopping only once to whisper something to Mark before continuing to the exit. Just as it had been when you arrived, Jaemin’s car and driver were stationed out front. The car door was already open for you two to get in, he helped you into the car and you slumped against him.

-

Sun had streamed in through the large windows of your bedroom bright and early. You cursed yourself for not remembering to shut the curtains before getting into bed last night. Wait, you didn’t have curtains, or the luxurious silk bedding, or a king sized bed. Realization hit you, Jaemin must’ve taken you home. But when you looked over to the other side of the bed you found it still untouched. You were thankfully still in your dress from last night.

After gathering up some courage and taking the Advil that was conveniently left on the nightstand you took off down the hallway of the apartment. On the couch you found your boss, drinking a cup of coffee while leisurely flipping through reports.

“Good morning sleepy girl” He cooed at you.

You squinted back at him “lest you not forget, I quit last night. And you upset me.”

“I recall. I also recall you chirping at me in the car that you wanted me to bring you here and ‘do the things from the emails’ to you” He chuckled, blush crept across your cheeks. 

“I am very sorry. I will head out now.” You started towards the door.

“Y/n. Wait.” Jaemin rose from his place on the sofa, his long strides reaching you quickly. “Now that it’s not a conflict of interest, I was wondering if you would allow me to take you on a date?”

You stared at him, dumbfounded. “A date? Jaemin, you only hired me because you thought I was hot! I’m so pissed off at you! I thought I had merit, I thought I was good at my job!” You were stopped short by Jaemin’s lips on yours.

The kiss seemed to have surprised you both. Both of you stood in shock, just staring at each other. 

“You are” His voice was soft.

“I am what?” Your brows furrowed.

“Good at your job. Mark requested we send you off to another department that needs a manager. I said no, because I need you to keep me organized. I have never made it to so many meetings!” He grinned at you, placing his hands on your shoulders.

“Could I move to a different department to be a manager?” Your head tilted in question.

Jaemin breathed a sigh of relief “Yes, you absolutely can. I can always bring back my old secretary in your place”

“Then I will.” You beamed happily.

“You will what? Move departments?” Jaemin’s hands squeezed your shoulders in anticipation.

“Well yes obviously.” you rolled your eyes. “But also, I’ll let you take me out.”

Jaemin pulled you into another kiss, this one much less abrupt than the last. His lips were soft against yours, and his hands worked their way down your body. Your fingers combed through his hair, stopping occasionally to tug slightly. 

“Oh we have to stop. I still think about your first day when you had to change in my office.” He confessed.

You smirked at him, “That’s alright. I think about it too.”

“I’ll have the driver take you home and I’ll pick you up tonight. Wear something red again. It looks stunning on you.” He kissed you one last time before sending you off.

-

The next week was a do over of your first day, but this time as a manager for partner relations. But instead of taking an Uber, you arrived with the CFO in his personal car. 

“I’ll see you after work sweetheart. Let me know if I need to fire anyone for you” Jaemin winked before placing a kiss on your lips before exiting the elevator onto the finance floor. 

“Ugh, you are so lucky” another employee in the office wined before exiting at the next stop.

The doors closed, leaving you alone in the elevator. The biggest grin plastered across your face as you thought aloud “Yeah, I am pretty lucky, aren’t I?”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Blind Offer 1

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon, manipulation, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: After a leak causes you to evacuate your apartment, your landlord offers a vacant unit that's too good to be true. (short!plus!reader)

Character: Steve Rogers, additional characters to come

Note: Loooooook. I was gonna restrain myself but this all just got outta hand. This is one of my Corrupt-A-Wish requests but I won't reveal which one right away because it'll be part of the plot!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me &lt;3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you like I love turning intended one shots into series. Take care. 💖

You keep your slippers just away from the edge of the puddle. The sheet of water extends almost completely across the kitchen. You hug yourself, still slightly groggy from your early and rude awakening. The washing you put in last night hadn’t finished and instead the sudsy mess had leaked out around the door.

There’s a sigh and a clank as your landlord pulls his arm out of the machine. Your sopping laundry is in a bucket by his feet. His shirt is visibly wet from his struggle to stem the steady flow dripping from the brim of the washer door. You worry you may have overloaded the compact stacking unit.

“I’m sorry, Steve,” you say as you sway guiltily.

“Don’t be,” he puts his hands on his hips and blows out. A golden strand dangles down his forehead, “it’s not you. My own fault. I thought these things might hold out for a while…”

“Oh?”

“Not the first time I’ve had to fight the beast but it worked. I should be sorry, I should’ve just replaced it.”

“Well, uh, what are you gonna do now?” You look at the wet tile, the scent of laundry detergent thick in the air as the water creeps closer to your slippers.

“Uh, yeah, well, obviously you can’t stay here.”

“I can’t?” You raise your head, running your hand up the front of your robe and clutching the fluffy fabric.

“No, bylaws say you need to evacuate until I can get a new unit in here. And clean up. Leak like this can leave mildew and mold,” he combs his large hand over his head, “I feel bad enough, I couldn’t let you live in this.”

“Okay… um, I have to work in a couple hours–”

“Oh, geez. Well, er, maybe just pack up a few things and I can take you over to the new place? You can always come back to grab more if you need.”

“I guess…” you chew your lip. His blue eyes fixate on the gesture so you stop. “How far is it?”

“Not very, about twenty minutes east by car.”

“East?” You utter dully, “that’s a bit far. I work up near the metro area.”

“There’s some bus stops that way but I could give you a lift tod–” There’s a sudden gush and he looks back to the machine, a bubble of water flowing up over the brim. He shuts the door, stemming much of it. “You won’t even be able to cook in here,” he says, “look, bylaws say I have to relocate you. I have a property free which means I don’t have to splurge for a hotel. If you prefer somewhere closer, then it’s on you.”

You frown. He’s not the worst landlord you’ve had but he definitely talks like one. He’s only really worried about his liability. Yet, most others wouldn’t have even brought up that clause and left you to wallow in this puddle of dirty laundry water. You shrug, hopefully the other place isn’t too bad.

“Right, uh, I guess I’ll go get dressed,” you relent.

“Great,” he says with blatant exasperation, turning back to face the trembling washer, his voice deflating to a hoarse rasp, “goddamn.”

You hesitate as you stare at his back. The gray fabric of his jersey henley strains across his shoulder blades as the back of his forearms clench, veins pulsing out. He rolls his head on his neck and heaves out again. 

You turn on your foot and slowly pad out of the kitchen. You hear his sole squeak subtly but refuse to glance back again. You can’t help but feel that it’s all your fault. You’re sure he’s too nice to say so. Or too distracted by the chaos you’ve caused.

🖤

The new apartment isn’t an apartment at all. It’s a walkup townhouse with a sleek black and white exterior. The neighbourhood is far out of your range but you won’t complain. You suspect Steve is already aware of the deferential.

“Wow, this place is really nice,” you say as he holds the door for you. You step inside and take in the space; a narrow staircase to the next floor, black frames around grayscale photography, and minimalist decor in the form of a standing geometric floor vase and a coat rack with bent arms. 

You stop to take your shoes off on the mat as Steve squeezes in behind you and shuts the door. You trip away from him, surprised by the friction of his body against yours. You’ve always been overly aware of yourself and how much room you take up. Your size makes it hard to not feel crowded, still the close brush rattles you.

He swirls the keys around a finger and stills them in his fist. He looks around emphatically and waves a hand.

“Well, this is it. It’s my only vacant property at the moment, so, it’ll have to do. Fully furnished, at least.”

“It’s great,” you assure him as you step further in, your duffel hanging heavy from one arm, “wow, it’s…”

“A lot bigger than your place. Yeah. New development. Invested at ground floor. You’ll be the first tenant, at least for the time being.”

“Ah, right,” you go to the narrow bench of black acrylic and place your bag atop it. “I’ll try not to mess it up.”

“Didn’t mean it like that.”

“Uh, yeah, but obviously it’s above my paygrade,” you scoff, “I appreciate it and sorry again.”

“Don’t worry about it. Really. Dropping a couple hundred on a new washer woulda saved us both trouble. I only got one person to blame,” he holds out his hand, “you don’t need a tour, do ya?” He offers the keys and you step up to take them, “I’ll be back around noon to get you to work but I got running around to do.”

“Um, I should be able to figure it out–”

“Oh, wait,” he puts a finger up, “the door code. Just in case. Also, you’ll wanna override the security system when you get in.” He turns and points to the sleek black box mounted beside the door, “I got it on my phone but you’ll just need to pop it open and put in the number.” He slides out his phone, “I’ll just text it before I forget.”

“Right,” you nod as you clutch the keys tight, “got it. I think I can manage.”

“Anyway, you got my number, you need anything, you know how to reach me,” he checks his watch, “noon,” he repeats as he points at you, “I’ll be back.”

He spins and opens the door, swiftly stepping through before swinging it shut behind him. You’re left slightly stunned and don’t move right away. You cross the floor and twist the latch of the door, a cautious habit likely unnecessary in this neighbourhood.

You turn back to your new abode and let your eyes rove. Wow. All this just for you. You wonder how much one of these places go for. Your monthly pay probably wouldn’t even cover a single week.

You shuffle forward, uncertain, expecting for Steve to come back through and tell you it’s all a mistake. 

You peer around at the immaculate decor. Each piece is perfectly set and carefully curated. The long leather sectional and the matching square backed armchairs before the artificial fireplace in the wall. A low coffee table on a rug patterned in black and white, a touch of red in the throw pillows and the curtains.

Then the kitchen, white, pure marble, and pale silver appliances. The tile is marked by subtle dove grey diamonds, and a table sits against the wall with two chairs. You go back into the hallway and down towards the front of the stairs. You peek up at the top as you pass the small half-bath embedded on the other side.

Upstairs, you find two bedrooms, a full bath, and what appears to be a study, along with several spacious closets. It’s truly a dream. Who knew a broken washer could get you a stay in heaven.

Well, you should get settled in. Enjoy it while it lasts.

🖤

As promised, Steve shows up just before noon. You have your uniform on but feel less than ready to go. The abrupt awakening, the displacement, and the typical dread of the overcrowded box store. Your job is less than glamorous and the townhouse underlines that even more as you bid it a reluctant goodbye.

Steve’s car is sleek and red and overpriced. You don’t know much about cars but you can just tell. The interior is squeaky and so clean you’re sure it must be right off the lot. That new car smell fills your nose and threatens to inspire a migraine.

You put your purse in your lap and buckle up as he turns down the volume on the stereo. You recognise the song, surprised by his taste. He didn’t seem the angsty type. As far from grungy as you can imagine.

“Smashing Pumpkins?” You comment.

“You don’t like them?”

“Don’t mind em,” you shrug, “just figured you were more into… I don’t know, just not them.”

“When I’m not unclogging toilets or changing smoke alarms, I actually do have fun,” he scoffs.

“Oh, I didn’t mean–”

“Kidding,” he assures you as he pulls away from the curb.

You watch the townhouses pass by as he slowly rolls down the street. It’s eerie. There are no other cars lined up in the spots parallel to the pavement. In fact, you don’t see anyone else around. Not through windows, not coming or going, no one so much as walking down the cul-de-sac. It is oddly isolated from the suburbs all around.

“Not like I have great music taste, I’m a disco junkie,” you try to laugh off the tension.

“Fun,” he muses dully.

You don’t respond. You’re on your phone checking Uber prices for the way back. Eek. You pull up the bus routes for the area; at least two transfers to get there. Shit.

“So…” Steve begins, “who you chatting with? Telling them about your tight-ass landlord or what?”

“Uh, no,” you put your phone down and black the screen, “I was just… tryna figure out how I’m getting home. Sorry. Did you say something?”

“Nothing important,” he assures, “what time are you done?”

“Nine, closing,” you explain, “it’s fine, there’s buses. I’ll just have to remember not to go to my usual stop.”

“I can come get you,” he offers.

“That’s… that’s fine. You don’t have to. You’ve already done enough–”

“Really, I don’t have much else going on. Besides the washer but my buddy’s taking care of that for me. I’ll be available.”

“If you don’t mind, but really, I’m gonna have to learn the route. Actually, when do you think I’ll be back at my apartment?”

“Couple of days at best. After we left, the water got into the motor of the dryer– to spare you the whole spiel, the dryer needs to be replaced too. And the floor might need to come up, water’s done a number on the laminate–”

“Oh,” you grimace, “I… that sounds bad.”

“Nothing that can’t be fixed. Look, I know it’s probably not ideal for you to be all the way out here. I’ll keep you updated,” he speaks with one hand as his other remains on the wheel.

“Oh, no, I appreciate all your help. It’s just…” you cross your ankles and nervously wiggle your foot, “I’m just anxious.”

He hums and a thoughtful silence rises between you. He turns a corner and clears his throat, “about the apartment or work?”

“What?”

“What are you anxious about?” He asks.

“Oh, uh, yeah, uh, work, sure. Work always makes me anxious. Lots of angry customers and we’re headed into that season, you know?”

“Makes sense,” he nods, moving his hand low on the wheel as he sits back and steers lazily with the clogged flow of the city traffic.

“And the apartment,” you admit, “I’m not the best with change.”

“Yeah, I get that,” he agrees, “I’m a bit of stickler. I like order, you know? Everything has its place. Everyone has their role.”

You mull his words. It’s a strange way of putting it but you get it. You find your life erratic this time of year, when your schedule goes from predictable to hectic and fluid. Everyone wants to switch shifts and all the managers are trying to fill the schedule with as few bodies as possible.

“I mean…” he breaks the lull, “you know, I keep a pretty strict schedule with myself. Try to. You never know when you’ll get a call at 5am.”

You suck in air and look at him from the corner of your eye. His allusion isn’t subtle. The pit sinks further in your stomach. You don’t need one more person disappointed in you, not when you’re about to face Gwen the manager and her omnipotent clipboard.

“Yeah, uh,” you bend your arm and rub your neck, “sorry…”

“You apologise a lot,” he interrupts, “I’m not mad.”

“I know, I just feel bad,” you move your thumb to chew it.

He glances over at you before quickly refocusing on the road. He laughs, a hollow, gristly chuckle, “trust me, if I was mad, you would know.”

You blink. What? You’re not sure what he means. Is he joking? Maybe it’s that he’s such a nice guy that the change would be unmistakable or maybe he’s being sarcastic and you’re too stupid to pick up on it. Either way, you just want this car ride to be over.

“Right,” you eke out, “I’ll, erm, be sure to stay on your good side then.”

He slides his hand around the wheel to the top, squeezing until the leather squeaks. He shifts in his seat and exhales, “girl like you, I can’t imagine you being too much of a handful.”

His remark sticks in your ears. Again, you’re confounded by him. You can't read his tone as it's quickly washed away by the sudden blare of music as he cranks up the volume.

“This is a good one,” he calls over the music, “I’m sure you know it.”

Despite all my rage, I am still just a rat in a cage Despite all my rage, I am still just a rat in a cage Someone will say, "What is lost can never be saved" Despite all my rage, I am still just a rat in a cage

Now I'm naked Nothing but an animal But can you fake it For just one more show?

The creaky tones of Billy Corgan’s lilt surrounds you as Steve bobs his head. The swirl of noise and the shadow of tension mingle and suffocate you. You’re starting to look forward to work.

[cloakedsparrow]

Tim & Ace Join the Bat Family Early AU #1

This is one of those AUs where Jason (pre-death or Jason!Lives AU) emotionally adopts Tim shortly after meeting him, but wherein the Drakes are not relocated to Bristol. They live in an expensive intercity apartment in Gotham. Perhaps it's in one of the last remaining wealthy areas approaching Park Row, or the Upper East Side, or it's in Robbinsville.

Wherever Tim lives is close enough that Jason used to see him around town and was concerned about him but had too much going on himself to try to help before Bruce adopted him. When Jason sees Tim now, he decides to figure out what this lonely child's deal is and find a way to help him. Maybe he first sees him again as Robin, out too late because he was taking photos in the park or a W&W campaign he's been playing at the local game shop ran late. Then later, he sees him as Jason at the library, skate-park, park, or a diner. Maybe they attend the same school somehow.

In any case, he decides this kid is on his own way too much, nice apartment or no.

After laying out the foundation to reel in his new baby brother build a friendship upon, Jason uses the distance between their places to his advantage. The intercity buses run practically all night, but there's a fairly early final bus at the Bristol stop. Alfred and Janet would never permit for Tim to ride his bike or skateboard all the way across the R. Kane Memorial Bridge and into Park Row to catch a nighttime bus home. So Jason just has to make sure Tim misses that final bus and then insist he spend the night.

After a couple successes, he also starts suggesting activities for multiple days where it wouldn't make any sense for Tim to head all the way back to an empty apartment and then return to Wayne Manor the next day. So naturally, he should just sleep over.

Jason also buys a spare school uniform in Tim's size to keep at the Manor. Then a couple pairs of jeans and some t-shirt and hoodies. Then there's a small pack of socks, some briefs, and sneakers. Then some 'spare' W&W manuals and detective novels. Basically, Jason turns the spare room that shares a bathroom with his bedroom into Tim's room under everyone's nose (except for Alfred, most likely, but we all know he's a enabler in this).

Dick absolutely notices that he practically has a new baby brother now whenever he comes to spend time with his little brother, but he just rolls with it. Jason has obviously decided they're keeping the kid and that's good enough for him. He checks in with his little bro to make sure they don't need to extract Tim from a bad situation asap and once he realizes there isn't an immediate danger, he just jumps in wherever Jason leaves an opening.

Despite Jason's efforts to be subtle, Bruce notices all this. He initially reaches the conclusion that Jason is lonely and so brings home Ace (dealer's choice which breed and background). Jason (and Tim) loves the dog, but naturally he still works on keeping his little brother dear friend safe at the Manor. Bruce also starts spending more time at home (actually home, not the Cave or his home office) to be with Jason more. This results in Bruce seeing Tim more and then he finally figures out what Jason (and possibly Dick and Alfred) have been up to.

At first, Bruce wants to talk Jason out of trying to adopt this child who has living, wealthy parents. Then he starts to notice the signs of neglect (and perhaps Jack's temper/selfishness) and can't help but join the cause.

Either Janet agrees to let Tim stay with the Waynes while she and Jack are out of town (which is often) and he does so until she dies (then Bruce goes for full custody), or Janet dies early and things take a turn for the worse with Jack, so Bruce goes for custody. (or this could tie in with my 'Alfred is Tim's biological granfather AU' idea and Alfred takes custody of Tim).

Jason doesn't understand at first why Tim seems so reluctant to stay overnight (but seems delighted to visit during the day). After all is said and done, Tim will inform him that he knows he's Robin and hadn't wanted to keep him from patrol just because he missed a bus or had a long commute from his parents' apartment. Tim never worried about Jason or the others figuring out that he knew their identities; he also thought Jason was lonely and a little pushy. He just enjoyed his company and quickly came to love him enough to be cool with all that.

[ozzgin]

hey beaut, can i request a yan ben drowned ticci toby nd ej with a chavvy reader from england ? like first impressions and their dynamic,, thank yuuu xxx

What a quirky request, haha. Very unexpected. I’ll let you know that I’m not too familiar with this stereotype, but I’ve seen a fair amount of social media examples, so hopefully it’s at least a little bit authentic.

Yandere! Creepypasta x Chav! Reader

Featuring Ticci-Toby, Ben Drowned and Eyeless Jack with a British chav reader that wins their hearts.

Ticci-Toby

He wouldn’t call it downright stalking, but Ticci-Toby has been observing you for a while now. Sometimes from afar, sometimes from a closer distance (such as your bedroom window), but his presence has always been concealed nonetheless. After thorough consideration he decides to approach you. You’re standing at the bus stop in your squeaky puffer jacket when you notice the pale stranger in unusual garments. You nervously chew on your gum and clutch your bag before finally speaking up. “What’re you staring at, luv?” His eyes immediately light up. Did you… did you just call him love?

Needles to say he’s over the moon. Only later does it occur to you that he doesn’t seem to grasp common slang, nor metaphorical talks for that matter. He takes things quite literally and you have to consider your wording before opening your mouth. That doesn’t stop you, however, from having a response ready at all times. That’s what Ticci-Toby really likes about you, you’re always there to ground him. It’s your raspy, mildly annoyed voice that snaps him out of his terrible paranoid episodes. He’s come to cherish the awakening “Are you mental, mate?”

He finds hanging out with you very comforting. In fact, both of you have started this little ritual of him draining his chatty moods while you sit in front of a mirror and do your makeup, interjecting every now and then with a little feedback. He gets to empty his brain of all the erratic thoughts and simultaneously admire your appearance. You’re perfect. For him, particularly.

Ben Drowned

Once again you’re woken up by the loud static in the living room. You drag your legs over to the TV with a knackered groan and slap the remote. Your ex partner had forgotten their video game at your place and ever since you’ve been getting outlandish messages and images stuck on the screen. Who would even play this? Did the game somehow mess up with your TV? This time it won’t turn off despite your attempts. The screen is frozen and you can make out a faded, pixelated text plastered in the corner: “It’s lonely here. Would you join me?”

Ben is fascinated by you and has been so ever since he’s been brought to this place. The forgotten video game was not unintentional: Ben had a fair amount of amusement from haunting your partner, and in a moment of despair they hoped relocating this cursed item would put the focus on someone else, like you. Although you’re rather oblivious to his scare tactics. This time is no different, but now he’s no longer interested in terrorizing you. Quite the opposite. How would you respond to his flustered confessions?

Being with Ben is a surreal experience, given that he can switch between the physical and digital realm with ease. He enjoys teasing you and lately he’s been cheeky in different ways, such as engaging in playful banter regarding your style and accent. It’s all in good fun and you do enjoy his humor. Though you wish he’d skip the riddles that only confuse you most of the time, or the sudden disappearances.

Eyeless Jack

Despite your repeated promises to yourself that you won’t go overboard with drinking ever again, here you are blacked out after a particularly lively party. To your defense, you didn’t expect to be woken up by some bizarre creature, and similarly it seems the man didn’t anticipate you’d be shaken out of your intoxicated state. You can see the glistening of a sharp tool in his hand and instantly sober up.

Both of you are stuck, contemplating the next move. Should Jack just kill you now? If he’s fast enough, you won’t have time to scream for too long. Then again, he does take pride in his silent surgical extractions. A messy fight would just go against his purpose. Your nostrils expand as they begin to accommodate to his presence. You sniff loudly a few times and gag involuntarily. Something stinks. “It’s you. You smell so shabby!” you exclaim and abruptly get up, reaching for your handbag that had been abandoned next to your bed earlier. You aggressively rustle its contents until you finally pull out a Victoria’s Secret perfume bottle. Satisfied, you begin spraying around the hooded man. He can only stare at you, speechless. “I cannot!” you keep repeating in disbelief.

Jack had snuck into your apartment hoping to leave with a fresh kidney and instead ended up perfumed and insulted by a drunken character. It’s this shameless unpredictability that has gotten him hopelessly interested in you. He loves to see your reactions and finds you greatly entertaining. On your end, you find him a proper, quirky lad, although a bit of a nutter. You’re also getting better at tolerating his intense odor that reminds you of black pudding. On one occasion Jack has offered to share his grisly nightly hunts with you, but you casually refused because you’ve got to stay snatched.

[genderqueerdykes]

It bothers me that there's seemingly nothing for us that can't just relocate out there. My suffering doesn't compare to others in far more dangerous countries to be queer in... but its still present and I'm fearing that the rest of queer community is letting us in danger drown. Want to be happy/unbitter for those that made it out, because I know its not all just privilege. Some genuinely had to give up everything to leave. I can't move out of Florida. I lack the funds and ability to drive. There's no longer a bus stop in my town and my bike battery will last me 20 miles at best in this cold spell rn. And if I want to leave the country? Autism alone bars me from citizenship in some... Not everyone can flee because of funds/disability/desire to protect their local queer community and I wish there was more consciousness of that. You're one of the few that I've seen put a light on that, and I appreciate it. Community can not abandon its southern queers. Especially now of all times. (sorry if this comes off as word salad, been out of it most of the day due to bad news in my state involving trans stuff)

it's tough because it's not an easy thing to do by any means, but especially while poor, disabled, a person of color, and so on

ive relocated a lot through my adult life for personal reasons and there are definitely some places that were better than others. it does suck that a lot of states are open to trans people who need to relocate for safety, but then don't provide them the means to. it's hard to find any kind of support network once you do relocate, unless you know someone who lives there already

it bugs me though that people think that queer people HAVE to evacuate the south and other notoriously homophobic areas of the country. i come from appalachia. if it weren't for the humidity i'd probably be living there now. there were a lot of queer people there. bisexuals, lesbians, transfems, gays, drag queens, enbies, genderqueers and so on. people who refused to move elsewhere and instead found ways to connect with one another despite being in small rural towns that weren't the most queer friendly

people who threaten to take off and abandon their community are selfish in my eyes, unless they are under too much of a threat to stay there, for example. if it's way too dangerous i understand. but if it's just one of those things where people threaten to move to make a point it becomes rather petty and unhelpful. i wish you the best of luck. stay safe, you shouldn't have to uproot your entire life because of things you can't control

[gothamgothic]

Living near supers/heroes as a meta

(CW: Unreality, In-character RP) I wanted to share some tips and tricks that I have picked up from experience and talking with other metas about moving/relocating from city to city. I hope that this list is helpful for those who are just going out on their own for the first time. Stay safe everyone!

---

For metas, establish yourself a routine. Something that your neighbors grow accustomed to, check your mail the same time every day, go to the bus stop the same time. Stick to the routine to the best of your ability.

Why? Metas are statistically more likely to be targeted by goons, rogues, etc. when out and about. If you go missing, you want people to be able to tell. This is also a fantastic tip for young women living alone.

Try to keep up to date on the local rogues and their hench-people, and keep as far away from them as possible. Even a single meeting may make it look to heroes, to civilians, etc. that you are working for that group.

I have found it far easier to keep a form of ID on you as a meta, even if you do not drive, than to argue with random security guards about the fact that "no, I am not a new rogue, I am here to buy pants." Do not HAND them your ID.

--- Keep in mind where it is you plan to move. What sort of threats are there? Is it a smaller town? What is the local meta population like?

If the city has statistics about their meta population, that either means that they are actively going door-to-door asking for this information, they have some local organization of metas sharing this information, or they are partaking in some less than ideal practices. Being a meta is considered medical information in many places.

I also suggest going to the pages of notable political figures in the area you plan to move, find their stances on metas if you can. The more vocal ones tend to be even MORE vocal on social media.

If your city is large enough, it may have a help hotline for metas, to my knowledge there are only a couple cities that do as of now, but others seem to be following suit.

And finally: If your local heroes make public appearances, and you have the opportunity to, introduce yourself! I know the Flash was DELIGHTED when he met me when I was a kid. I have the photo framed. Letting the local heroes know you exist is an amazing experience for anyone.

If you have anything else you would like to add, I ENCOURAGE it!

EDIT: Added the unreality tag after seeing others tag it and realize that it would be beneficial.

[ohwolfling]

Unless you are sending a private plane and offering your home, stop telling Floridians or anyone else to pay attention or to evacuate etc. The vocal minority who talk about these hurricane and storms like they're nothing do it as a coping mechanism because the south has so little fucking control over how we're treated and what happens to us. Why don't you use that energy to speak to the motherfuckers still planning on going to their Tampa trip or actively whining inside fucking Disney World?

And where would Florida evacuate to? Popular evacuation spots for people who CAN EVEN BEGIN to afford it would be the Carolinas and Georgia. Guess what? Those are under fucking water where they aren't coast line because climate change and overdevelopment are so goddamn bad that a hurricane climbed the fucking Appalachian mountains. Currently there are trucks driving around projecting how dangerous this storm will be from speakers because so many people are still without power or cell signal from Helene. They can't even turn on the news to hear about this. What do you think this is?

The state government revels in death and suffering in these places often times (Gov Ron DeSantis is refusing to speak to the Biden administration about hurricane relief for what Helene did to Florida in fact) and offerings no recourse. The alleged "shuttles" and evacuation routes are just bus stops. They're just fucking bus stops on the already over crowded road.

It is SO CLEAR that your feigned concern is just another flavor of insisting that southern people and poor people (AND GOD ARE THERE A LOT WHO FIT BOTH) are big, dumb idiots who don't heed the warning before an act of God. Your chatter is USELESS. It's less than useless. It's downright harmful because it adds to the idea that we're all a bunch of goofs and we deserve ruin.

Milton is changing FAST and freaking out meteorologists and storm chasers because none of our weather models or measures of this kinda thing are designed for a Gulf of Mexico that is changing temperature at this rate. This is climate change. This is what is being DONE TO US by a capitalistic death cult that has slammed the door and turned the key and trapped all or us inside with it. Nation wide, yes, but also globally. Of course the south is feeling it first. We feel EVERYTHING first and every time y'all act like it's a moral failing on our part and clap when we suffer and die and then claim our mistrust of the government and of outsiders on both the left and the right must be because we're paranoid, inherently evil goons.

At a certain point, you have to accept that some people would rather die at home. Some people see how fucked they are and they'd rather die at home. Being away from Appalachia during all this is killing me. I'm breaking into pieces. Because I'm not just FROM there, I'm OF there, and I hate that I ever had to leave to try and prove I mattered and to pretend that the extreme poverty I was born into was something I could escape through college or relocating or a job, to try and swallow the lie that my family was poor and southern and cursed because they just didn't play the game.

Really and truly FUCK Y'ALL who say NOTHING and turn away from tragedy in the south- the lack of give a fuck about Helene right now on the "you HAVE to renlog this" self righteousness pestering website is DISGUSTING and shows so clearly what you are- except when you can chastise and give a fucking lecture and feel smart. FUCK YOU. This death cult we're in WILL get you too.

[dcoraclestan]

Untitled Batfam/Squid Game cross over fan fic

Summary: a sad fan fic where the batfam are in a squid games-esc game playing dodgeball and it comes down to Jason and Tim as the last players on each side but Tim is too scared to say anything so it’s up to Jason to decide whether his team lives or dies and I gave the surviving Robin crippling survivors guilt as they refuse to open their eyes and witness their brother dead on the floor.

Background info: This is chapter 3 of a WIP a few people asked me to post. Basically Bat fam in a squid games situation were forced to split up into two to play dodgeball. They didn’t get to choose the teams and they get one minute to strategize before the game started. The transparent wall kills anyone who crosses it. All of which is explained in chapter one that I haven’t written yet lol. Not important but the teams are Alfred, Tim, Stephanie, Damian, Roxy Rocket, Harley Quinn, Deathstroke, Penguin, and Two Face. The others are Bruce, Selina, Jason, Tiffany, Lucius, Kate, Riddler, Killer Croc, and Scarecrow. If there are any grammar mistakes, just know I’m illiterate. Enjoy!

Ever since they broke off into teams, Alfred had not taken his eyes off Bruce. And while Bruce had done an excellent job at hiding his grief for Dick and Luke, Alfred knew better. Bruce may have been putting on a Batman exterior, but his eyes held the same look as the recently orphaned eight year old latching onto his petticoat, unsure of how to answer Officer Gordon’s questions about his parents’ murder.

Unsure.

Seeing his younger master unsure was what terrified him the most. If it wasn’t for the transparent wall having split the court, Alfred would have been over with his adopted son helping him plan, but instead he was standing with his grandkids attempting to figure out what to do while those that terrorized their nightmares were trying to convince them to win instead of throwing the game.

“Oh please! Like they aren’t over there talking the same shit!” Penguin squawked. “They’re going to kill us all the second they get and be thrilled we’re dead!”

Stephanie clinched her hands, “we need to delay the game! As long as possible at least!”

Roxy laughed, “I’m with this one. Make it exciting!”

“Don’t be stupid,” Deathstroke snapped.

“Aw come on, Willy,” Harley pouted. “Don’t be mean. The poor girl just wants her fake family to rescue them! There’s no chance they will in time, but these hero types always have a hope in them that’s hard to shake.”

“Quinn,” Damian ordered, “please stop talking. We have less than a minute to plan.”

“Planning our own deaths,” Mad Hatter shot. “You hero types never pass up an opportunity to sacrifice yourselves for the greater good. No, we gotta throw all of them in the front lines and make sure they get out fast.”

“You want to throw the three most physically fit members of our team under the bus?” Deathstroke pointed out sarcastically. “Great idea.”

“Fuck you!” Stephanie snapped, raising a fist. “You had no problem pushing Dick down! If it wasn’t for you, he’d be alive!”

Deathstroke rolled his eye. “I told you, I slipped.”

Stephanie threw the first punch which lead to a loud argument of people holding each other back, screaming over each other, and otherwise preforming a mockery of teamwork. Alfred almost joined the fray before turning and noticing Tim was not in the circle. He was standing close to the barrier and staring ahead at the other team.

Alfred approached him, wincing from his now relocated shoulder. “Master Drake, is everything okay?”

Tim shook his head vaguely. “We’re going to die. All of us here. We’re all going to die.”

Alfred’s heart sunk into his stomach, but he kept a gentle expression. “Why do you say that?”

Tim gestured to Bruce in their much more cooperative group huddle. “Batman doesn’t know what to do. I’ve been watching him, Alfred. He hasn’t said a word in their meeting. He also hasn’t let any of us move far away from him. He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. He’s trying to spend what little time he has left with us. I’ve seen him be less protective when Darksied nearly wiped all of humanity, but… he’s completely given up now.”

The lump in Alfred’s throat grew bigger. He placed his good hand on his shoulder and felt Tim shaking under his palm. “That doesn’t mean there’s no hope, Master Timothy.”

Tim shook his head. “Alfred, don’t try to pretend. We both know we’re not making it out of this school alive.”

Alfred didn’t know what to say as he secretly agreed. Fortunately, the whistle blew so he never had to come up with the words. “Planning period over. The game is about to begin. I repeat. Planning period over. The game is about to begin.”

Everyone got into a vague position to start. All of the inmates were at the front with the bat family further away from the center. Five balls dropped from the ceiling as a new ten minute timer started ticking down. The villains all ran for the balls and started throwing. Alfred and Lucius were not nearly young or healthy enough, and unsurprisingly were benched quickly. All the vigilantes were moving on instinct and muscle memory rather than a desire to live. Each time a ball got caught, someone else was called back in, but that was the only time the bat family spoke. Other than that, they were dodging as best as they could. The only two who were having any resemblance of fun was Harley Quinn and Roxy Rocket who couldn’t help but taunt and jeer at every person who got out. Once both were knocked out by a well aimed throw from Kate, the court was silent because of rule #3. It was obvious those on the bench wanted to say something, but none of them were willing to be shot just to make fun of someone being hit.

Reguardless of where they stood morally, both teams were all were nervous to be playing. All kept subconsciously glancing to Batman every few seconds for a way to get out of the situation entirely. Unfortunately, Batman was not playing the game. No matter how hard he tried, Bruce was the one on the court. Bruce found it impossible to ignore their glances at him for answers.

Similar to red light/green light, after each person was eliminated a whistle blew from no where and their name was called, except this time it wasn’t followed by a gunshot. That didn’t mean Bruce’s heart rate didn’t go up with each blow of the whistle. He kept seeing Dick’s face blown apart by a sniper rifle at too close range, hearing Luke’s chest ripped open by the same gun and Tiffany screaming in fear. Even Clayface and Bane perishing in an equally hideous display crossed his mind. He didn’t want anyone else to die, not even the Arkham inmates. It was senseless violence. All of it. Even then, as Two Face hurled a ball at Riddler’s bad leg with the intention of hurting him more, there wasn’t a reason for it.

Bruce kept trying to rationalize the scene. He was playing dodgeball in an elementary school with his family and enemies. That was the extent he could go. When he managed to get a ball in his hands, all he could think to do was roll it on the ground so no one got out. It was completely pointless. If that timer hit 0 everyone would be dead. Someone was going to have to decide who lives.

Bruce only became aware of his movements when he allowed himself to be hit by a disbelieving Tim who stood alone on the opposite side. Bruce didn't say anything and selfishly walked back to the stands. The ball that bounced off Bruce had rolled back to Tim’s side of the court, hitting his shoe.

“I-I thought he was gonna catch it,” Tim stuttered to the sole member of the other team.

Jason laughed humorlessly. “Bats not sacrificing himself for the greater good? You’re kidding yourself.”

Tim unsteadily picked up the ball at his feet, an unwilling passenger in his own body. He held the ball in his hand shaking violently but felt as though it was ten feet away. He could hear the countdown on the timer. He only had 42 seconds left on the clock. It wasn’t enough time. Less than a minute for half of his family to live. But which half? How does he choose? How could he? He was a teenager, a kid really. One side had more people, more members of his family. But he couldn’t let Damian, Alfred, or Steph die. But if he did let himself live with the others, the rogues had already declared their promise to kill them the moment Batman was dead. The inmates had a numbers advantage on them. They could easily overpower an elderly injured man and three kids who wouldn’t be able to defend themselves without Batman’s help. Tim felt everyone staring at him wanting to shout out their opinions and what he should do. He almost wished they could as it might have blocked out the sound of his beating heart.

“Jay… I can’t do this,” Tim whimpered, shaking where he stood.

Jason searched his mind for a sarcastic comment to shoot back at his brother to make him laugh, but he couldn’t come up with anything. “Tim… man, it’s gonna be alright,” Jason consoled.

“I… I can’t do it. I can’t. We’re all gonna die and it’s gonna be my fault but I can’t choose…”

“Don’t then,” Jason blurted out trying to give him some solace. “Throw it easy. I’ll either catch it or not. It won’t be your fault then, just mine.”

Tim shook his head, “no. We…. Jay it makes more sense for your side to live. Sacrificing yourself I get, but… the only way you have any chance to get out is Bruce and Lucius. We’re just kids over here, and they’re gonna kill us the second Bruce die-“ he stopped himself from finishing his sentence, having to take a deep breath to keep himself from completely breaking down. “But… I don’t want Damian to not grow up. I don’t want Steph to not see Cass again, I don’t want… I don’t want to-“ It was all he could say before sobbing.

“Tim,” Jason’s voice cracked. “There’s not enough time left…” Jason didn’t even realize he was talking, his lips moved without thinking. “E-either way one of us is dead. You don’t even have to choose anything! All of the balls are in your…are in your court, so no matter what… it’s me who has to decide…”

The gravity of it caught up to Jason in that moment. It really was up to him no matter what. Tim could throw whatever he wanted, but he had to either fight for his life or die for his brothers’. Tim was right. Unfortunately, there were more rational adults with more skills on his side. If there was any chance of getting out before the games ended it was with Lucius and Tiffany’s tech skills to override the locks, Selina’s stealth to steal a weapon, Kate’s martial arts skill, and Bruce’s planning. But that would mean…

Jason looked up and saw Steph smiling comfortingly and tears streaming down her face, Alfred standing dignified with Damian uncharacteristically vulnerable leaning up against his leg, refusing to look at the court. Tim was hugging the ball to his chest tightly, the only thing he could do at the moment, trying his best to keep from crying.

The clock was ticking down, now at ten seconds. Jason had to make up his mind quickly. He found Bruce’s eyes and quietly asked what to do. Bruce looked away and down at his hand in his lap clutching onto his wife’s. A small gesture that told Jason what he would do if the roles were reversed.

Jason turned to Tim and gave him a single nod. He had made his decision. Tim threw the ball up in the air and time seemed to freeze. All eyes were on the second Robin, watching his every moment. They saw his feet move to become more center with the ball, directly in its path.

There was the sound of the ball making impact. Jason closed his eyes and waited, the familiar feeling creeping up in him that death was about to come. Jason hated that the last image Tim would ever have of him would be of him shaking and terrified, but no matter what he did he could not manage to muster up a smile onto his face.

“It’s gonna be okay-“

BANG

BANG

BANG

BANG

BANG

BANG

BANG

BANG

BANG

No final words were granted. No goodbyes were given. One by one, the sound of bodies dropping to the floor echoed in the tiny gym. The former Robin’s eyes had shut tight with the first gun shot, not wanting to see his brother mutilated before him. He could feel his brother’s brain matter coating his hands and the blood soaking into his shirt but as long as his eyes were shut, everything was fine. As long as his eyes were closed his family was alive. As long as he didn’t look, almost all of his siblings were still standing.

He didn’t cry as he stood there. He couldn’t if he tried as his grip of reality started to pull away from him. This was his nightmare, his absolute nightmare. The former Robin couldn’t think of a worse scenario for him to be in. It was just up to him and his brother to choose the fates of his family. There was no way this was happening. Kidnapping almost his whole family to play children’s games to the death?! That’s completely insane. It may have been Gotham but-

Scarecrow.

It had to of been. He had to be under the influence of fear toxin. There’s no other way. It was the only thing that made any sense. It was all of his worst fears wrapped up into one. A high dose of fear toxin.

“This isn’t real,” he said out loud. “This isn’t real. This isn’t happening. This isn’t real. This isn’t real. This isn’t real.” He repeated this over and over and over again, each time somehow shutting his eyes tighter and tighter, refusing to open them. He knew this couldn’t have been true, the timeline of events was too coherent to be a hallucination, but he could manifest it into being fake if he tried hard enough. He could make it true. He could make it so his brothers were alive. If he just repeated this, it would-

“It’s going to be alright,” a man’s voice said, clasping a firm hand on his shoulder. “You’re going to be alright.”

Jason snapped out of his trance to see the rubber ball still in his hands. There was the clear sign of skull and brain coating the outside of it, the last remainder he had of Tim. The transparent do-not-cross wall was already dividing the court, but Jason could not bring himself to look through it and instead stared down at the ball in his hand.

“I-I caught it…” Jason stated, holding it up to Bruce beside him. “I caught it.”

Bruce nodded, jaw tensed, swallowing a lump in his throat. “It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.”

Jason looked right through Bruce. “I caught it…” he breathed out and lowered his arms. “I caught it…”

Bruce didn’t say anything, but instead wrapped his arms around his son and pulled him in tight. Jason did not hug him back. He didn’t seem to have noticed at all that he had moved. The ball in his hands was the only thing grounding him to reality as it was a fact that he caught the ball. He saved Bruce, Selena, Tiffany, Kate, and Lucius.

He caught the ball.

“I caught it,” Jason was still repeating over and over as Bruce gripped him tighter. “I caught it.”

“Thank God you did!” Ed Nigma scoffed, limping down the stands. “I was worried you were about to do something stupid.”

Jason didn’t hear him. His chin was resting on his adopted dad’s shoulder. The ball was pressing in under Bruce’s ribcage but similar to the last living Robin, he didn’t notice anything other than Jason’s grip on this world slipping away as he kept stating how he saved his life. Bruce was already numb from the moment he turned around and saw his oldest son had been shot in the head. His daughter, father, and other two sons shared the same fate.

Jason still hadn’t cried nor stopped repeating himself. It might have been better if he did either. Bruce didn’t know what to do or how best to comfort him. It was Bruce’s fault he was like this. Bruce purposefully tagged himself out, not so Tim would have a chance, but so he didn’t have to make the final decision.

“I… I caught the ball,” Jason finally differed slightly from his script. “I caught the ball.”

“It’s going to be okay, Jason,” Bruce comforted. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Bruce wished his voice wasn’t so monotone. It might have helped if he has some emotion, angry or sad, or anything. But Bruce pushed down all of his pain, all of his feelings. He didn’t allow himself to grieve, not yet. Not only was it unproductive, but he knew once he started crying he would never be able to stop. He had to focus on what he had, and all he had was four people outside this game presumably trying to break them out, a wife who he loved deeply, his one living cousin, one of his oldest friends and his loyal daughter, and one surviving son right in front of him who was unable to cope with the decision he made and would haunt him forever.

“You did nothing wrong,” Bruce repeated. “It’s going to be okay. You did nothing wrong.”

Bruce didn’t know how long they stood there repeating themselves over and over, each one not interrupting the other.

Eventually, a gentle hand was placed on Bruce’s back. “Sweetheart,” Selina consoled, “we should probably go before they kick us out.”

Bruce did not make a conscious effort to let go of Jason, but he found himself walking towards the gym door all the same, one arm wrapped around his son to guide him.

Jason was still clutching the rubber ball in his hand when the voice announcement came on overhead. “No taking game items outside of the playing field. I repeat. No taking game items outside the playing field.”

Selina unwrapped herself from Bruce’s side, stopping Bruce from taking a step out the door. “Jason,” Selina cautioned gently.

Jason looked through her and held up the rubber ball just like he did minutes earlier to Bruce. “I caught it.”

Selina smiled as warmly as she could. “I know. I know you did. We have to leave it behind now. Is that alright?”

Jason’s eyes went to the ball where a fragment of Tim’s skull was practically glued to it with now dried blood. “I…caught the ball…”

Selina reached out carefully and placed her hands as best as she could so she didn’t touch any gore on it. “I’m going to take this from you. Can I do that?”

Jason watched his own hands unwrap themselves from the ball and have it settle in Selina’s hands.

“Thank you, Jason,” Selina thanked before going back to the stands and gently placing it down on the bleachers so it didn’t make a sound.

“Y-yeah…” Jason mumbled, still holding his hands out as though nothing had been taken from him.

Bruce rubbed Jason’s arm for comfort and continued walking down the hallway once Selina was next to him again. The only sound down the hallway was Jason’s mutters of catching a ball getting quieter and quieter.

“B-B-Bruce?” Jason asked as they neared the corridor to the kindergarten classroom.

“Yes?” Bruce responded.

“I…I think I’m done,” Jason admitted. “Yeah, I don’t want to play any more games. I’m gonna… I just want to go home.”

Bruce stopped in the hallway and turned to be in front of him with Selina stopping a step behind Bruce. Bruce suddenly did not see a 19 year old Jason Todd standing in front of him, but rather the 12 year old Boy Wonder who just wanted to do good in the world. He didn’t know what else to do other than kneeling down to his knee and grabbing Jason’s arms. Bruce couldn’t think of what to say, but somehow the words came out of him. “You made a hard choice back there, Jay. No one would deny that. There was no right or wrong decision, only one that-.”

“They probably felt how I did…” Jason muttered.

Bruce felt his heart shatter as Jason’s eyes finally focused on him. “I…I made them watch the clock tick down to their deaths. They didn’t deserve that.” Bruce froze, finally understanding what Jason had been trying to tell him. He watched as Jason’s eyes shifted away from reality once more and stared off into the abyss. “I caught the ball…” Jason began repeating again.

The first tear fell out of Bruce’s eyes without him knowing. They were silently streaming down his face, knowing for a fact that this was his fault. He left the decision up to Jason. This was Bruce’s doing. And he would have to live with that for the rest of his life.

[hils79]

Hils Watches Thamepo - Ep 10

I don't think you're one to talk, dude

I love how obsessed they are with Thame's sex life to the point of throwing a party because he lost his virginity

I love that Nano is the number one shipper in their house. He probably has a ton of Dylan/Jun fic posted online.

Also, can I just say, after poking around on YouTube yesterday I am so impressed with Lego's acting. He's so tiny and cute in this, and then he's out there doing incredibly romantic ballroom dancing and nailing it. Like it made such an impact on me I immediately made some gifs. I was going to say he should be in a drama and then I remembered this is a drama.

I knew it. I bet this is about Pepper and Gam though.

There we go. Come on Baifern, you need to let your bias be happy. I really hate the whole 'idols can't date because it'll ruin the illusion that I might have a chance with them'. Come on, these are grown men.

Like I know idol fandom is like this, but I really hate it.

FFS loving your fans and loving your significant other are two different kinds of love. Okay, I need to stop getting mad about this 😅

He's such a good, sweet boy

Oh no. She leaked the photos of Pepper and Gam to cover up the photos of Thame and Po

Ouch

You can't fire him because Thame fell in love with him. It's not his fault!

This is a pretty brutal look at the entertainment industry tbh. Thame is an asset so the company will throw other people under the bus to protect him and their investment in him

Oh! He hasn't been fired, just relocated

I love that the fan account going on hiatus is a huge deal

I love Baifern but I really hope Po yells at her

Like I'm not saying she can't be upset, even if I think it's stupid, but shutting down the fansite affects more than just her. What about the fans who don't mind that Pepper is dating someone? What about the impact on the group.

Oh no is this the message we're sending?

Oh they're turning it back on them. That's good.

Yes! exactly!

Like I can kind of understand a 14 year old being upset that her fantasy is being ruined by real life but come on Baifern is an adult with a responsible job. Like I appreciate she's there to give a perspective of the fan side of things but she's in a bathroom crying because her bias has a girlfriend.

I'm really glad they're including her and talking about the impact this will have on her instead of just focusing on the group

Aww yay I'm glad she's actively helping them too

Nano subtly reaching to hold his hand under the table 😭

Aww, wait, no. Was this her plan? I mean I don't entirely blame her because I would not want to be on the receiving end of the amount of abuse she's been getting but damn.

She is correct

THEY'RE ALL HOLDING HANDS UNDER THE TABLE 😭😭😭

Now he's in full work mode even though he's heartbroken and I'm sobbing. Also, a big fuck you to all the fans who were visibly sighing in relief and smiling when he said he'd broken up with his girlfriend.

Aww, no, she lied about wanting to protect herself. She was protecting him. THIS IS EVEN WORSE.

So what? Idols lie to their fans all the time. That's what fanservice is. Also, you kind of have lie to for your own mental health. I don't for one minute think that the idols I follow are completely honest with us about everything. We see the version of them that they want us to see.

This is genuinely heartbreaking. Remember when I thought this was a cute fluffy drama?

[strawbeerossi]

Friends Like You

Pairing: Gender Neutral!Reader x Spencer Reid

Description: After your father relocated to Las Vegas, Nevada, you meet a new face at the school bus stop.

Content/Warnings: Some minor angst with Spencer’s past, bullying mention, some minor violence mentions, Spencer being a little awkward and sweet baby.

Word Count: 1.1K

Navigation || Masterlist || Request

New mini series?? Let me know what y’all think!

AN: This should go without saying that it’s an AU where Spencer goes to high school at the appropriate age and not as a preteen! I thought it would be absolutely adorable. I hope you guys like it!

Spencer Reid never saw a day of peace in his life since he was a child. His father was a piece of shit who abandoned him as a child for his own selfish reasons, leaving a child with the burden of caring for his schizophrenic mother.

While he absolutely loved his mother and would do absolutely anything for her, a child shouldn’t have to be tasked with being a parent. While his friends were outside playing, he was sitting with his mother in bed while listening to her read an assortment of novels and other literature. 

High school was no easier than his early childhood. On top of caring for Diana, he spent most of his time fighting for his life within those hallways. The popular crowd, his peers, even certain teachers contributed to the anguish. There was no winning for him. 

It was a Thursday morning when he was standing at the bus stop, his satchel draped around his slender frame. He had a backpack but after too many times of it being pulled off of him and being hidden or defaced, he chose something he could have around him at all times. Nobody could just pull it off of him without dragging him with it. 

He had to figure that out the hard way.

The autumn air added a chill to the air, the crunching of the dead leaves on the ground signaling someone approaching. Typically he kept his head down to ignore the likes of Marcus Frank, Tyler Simpson, and Luke Halpert; three football guys who had a problem with the quiet, more socially awkward male who liked to fade into the background. Instead of being shoved and greeted with various ugly remarks, there was silence. There was the presence of someone beside him, so he let curiosity get the best of him.

What he saw knocked the wind out of him, even more than a punch to the gut from one of the men he dreaded seeing. 

You had recently moved to Las Vegas, your father getting a new job opportunity. It was an extremely hard move, one that drained you. The loss of close friends, family, as well as losing everything that you absolutely adored doing back home was something difficult. 

Your new house didn’t seem so homely, your neighbors were mostly old people who seemed uptight and had too many issues with the knowledge of a family moving next door. It wasn’t a welcoming city in the slightest so far. School couldn’t be that bad though, right?

Right?

Arriving at the bus stop was about as typical as it was back home, except there was only one person there so far. He was quiet and avoided your gaze, so you already felt like this was a bad start. 

‘Maybe I seem unapproachable?’ You thought to yourself. Some people did say that you suffered from a chronic case of resting bitch face, so maybe that was it? You were pulled out of your thoughts when you felt a pair of eyes on you. As your gaze lifted, it wasn’t long until you were facing Spencer. “Hi.”

Your tone was soft, almost quiet enough where Spencer couldn’t hear you. His face was red as he offered a tight lipped smile. “Hi. I’m- I- uh-” He laughed awkwardly while he rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m Spencer.” He finally broke through his stammering. 

It was charming in a way. He seemed so sweet and shy. You suspected he had a hint of social awkwardness.

“Y/N. It’s nice to meet you, Spencer.” With a hand offered in his direction, he was slowly putting a hand up. “Did you know that our hands carry on average 3,200 different germs belonging to more than 150 species?  Your hands can have anywhere from 100,000 to a few million germs at any given time.” 

The sudden fact had your eyes widening as your gaze fell on the palm of your extended hand. “Are you serious? That’s how many germs lay in our hands? Good lord, no wonder why we are always spreading new diseases.”

The tone of your voice had Spencer letting out a soft giggle as he was reaching in his satchel to retrieve some hand sanitizer. “That’s why I always carry this.” He explained, pumping the disinfectant into his hands before offering some to you as well. 

“What other facts do you have?” You suddenly asked, rubbing the liquid into your hands as you were now staring up at the taller male. Spencer wasn’t used to this. Most people ignored him or they didn’t even look in his direction, much less ask him about the plethora of knowledge and statistics that plagued his brain. 

“Too many to name.” He admitted, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Ask me anything and I bet that I can tell you a statistic or a fact about it.” There was a rush of confidence, Spencer liking the idea of the possibility of having a new friend to listen to him.

“Hmm. Scotland.” You spoke while raising an eyebrow. “Oh! That’s too easy. Did you know that golf was actually invented in Scotland? Scotland is the country with the highest proportion of golf holes per capita in the world. The city of St Andrew’s has 12 golf courses.” He grinned proudly.

“Wow, are you some kind of genius or something?” You asked with a smile. “You could say that.”

This whole conversation was refreshing for Spencer. He’d never had anyone actively want to speak to him before. Most girls looked at him like he was an alien, the males would rather use him as a punching bag than speak to him like civilized people. 

He felt alone a good chunk of his life due to the fact he was.. Different from others. 

You were a rainbow shining boldly after a dreadful, miserable storm.

The school bus had rolled up not too long after though, the screeching breaks and the squeak of the opening doors were probably the most familiar thing you’d experienced. “After you.” Spencer spoke, gesturing to the open doors.

The vehicle was packed, other students scattered from other stops in the neighborhood taking up most of the seats, leaving just a mere few at the front being open. “You wanna sit with me?” You asked, the glasses wearing teenager beside you feeling the burn in his face, neck and ears from his blushing.

Despite his brain trying to give him rational ways to deny sitting with you, he couldn’t bring himself to say no. You were nice. You had a nice laugh and smile. You were safe.

Instead of verbally answering, he was taking the seat closest to the window with a soft smile, which prompted you to match his expression and fall down on the outer area of the seat. 

This was going to be the start of an interesting friendship.

[welcome-to-puppet-hell]

Lovingly (Part 1) - Character Study (Puppet!OC)

Content Warning: Disturbing imagery, slight violence, mentions of Dermatillomania (skin-picking disorder), subtle references to OCD, a special appearance of the WH black mold/sludge

[divider credit to @saradika-graphics]

There’s comfort in doing crochet. Something soothing about the motions; the insert of the hook into a hole and the yarning over of the working yarn and the pull and loop, the completion of a stitch. Sure, sometimes a cramp started from the fingers when first working on a project; but once you get used to it, the ache barely comes.

I loved doing crochet. It kept my mind calm during my commute to and from work, muffling away the other voices on the bus. It kept my hands occupied, especially when my mind would begin to wander to nightmarish scenarios that I knew would never happen—but would still result in me obsessing and obsessing until I felt ill—when my fingers would twitch with a familiar compulsion to pick the skin along my body until my nails drew blood. Fortunately, I haven’t done that in years. Therapy had helped a little, learning to organize my life and my mind, even better—but crochet still worked very well.

You would always smile at me when catching me work, eyes soft and full of love. You never figured out why I practiced such a hobby, about the nightmare I carried—the one that killed my father, made my grandmother into a monster—and I liked it that way. I liked having some secrets to myself.

One night, though, worry was wrinkling your forehead. Your eyes looked far away, your mouth twisting with an anxiety that made my own flare up. Then you pulled your lips into your mouth, a shift indicating you were gnawing on them lightly. I finally put down my needle and yarn, unable to take it.

“What is it? Something’s clearly on your mind. Just say it.”

It came out so harshly—sorry, I’m not good with being nice or gentle when I’m nervous—but you didn’t flinch. You never did.

“I got a job offer. Y’know that archiving project I interviewed for? For that old show? I heard back. But,” you hesitated. “It’s going to be in this small town in Montana. I’ll have to relocate.”

Montana? That was so far from New York, where we both came from—where we’d lived our entire lives. That part of the country felt like a whole new world compared to the familiar sounds of trains making the tracks above tremble, of cars honking, the pungent smell of the city streets, the taste of fresh, crispy pizza or the softness of freshly baked bagels. The idea of leaving that behind made me tremble all over.

But when we’d gotten married six months ago, I’d vowed to follow you wherever, just as you had with me.

So, I made sure to force a casual tone when I replied, “Okay, then. When do we move?”

Your eyes blinked, shining as if in shock. Then your mouth spread into a grin, much like I remember, like the first warmth of sunshine in the morning.

And then, the grin continued to grow. And grow. And grow. And grow. And grow. And grow. And grow—

By the time I realized there was something not right about your open mouth, that mockery of your smile, your eyes started to drip with this oily black sludge. I followed the path of the sludge down your cheeks, until it was dribbling down your neck. Then it started dripping from your mouth.

I tried to speak, but immediately felt the urge to gag. My hands slammed against my mouth and my nose. God, that smell. I’ve never come across anything like it, more pungent than sulfur, more insidious than mold. Pure rot, it was. It made me feel so sick, gave me the urge to repel, to run—but I couldn’t. I couldn’t move. I could only stare and watch, tears coming to my eyes. 

What was happening to you? What was doing this? How can I stop it—?

Any more thought in my head froze, my eyes widening. My pulse pounded sickeningly in my veins, despite a chill coming to my fingers.

Because, right from your gaping mouth—coming deep from your throat—was a huge pale hand, dripping with the sludge. Palm open, fingers out and curled, as if in a climbing gesture. Even under the fingernails, I could see a hint of the sludge mixed with the red that must have been your blood or tissue. My stomach dropped to my toes.

What…what is this? Why—?

The hand thrust forward and wrapped around my throat, cutting off my air. I gasped, heaved, and clawed at it, but it just pulled me forward. Spots appeared in my vision, I couldn’t breathe—and yet I still caught how your empty eyes dilated, how you seemed to be shaking with a silent laughter. The tears in my eyes fell as black started filling my vision, my own sobbing voice becoming muffled, drowned.

And then, somewhere in the void, a phone began to ring.

[Next Part]

[honey-crypt]

KEEPER OF THE GLISTENING SEA — a merman!elliott x plus-sized!reader story

00. A NEW BEGINNING

word count: 1.3k

warnings: none

summary: an offer of free housing and a job has you relocating to the remote area of stardew valley, once a beloved summer getaway you spent with family. with your cousin as your guide, you find yourself in a land of new opportunities. what does the valley hold for you?

author’s note: hi!! thanks for checking out the start of my series, i’ve trying to get back into the swing of fanfic writing so lemme know if i make any oops, okay? also for clarification, benny is the farmer (your older cousin, the one to inherit the farm) and uses he/they pronouns

You leaned your head against the bus window, letting the vibrations hum against your skull while you stared outside. The once bustling and hustling landscape of ZuZu City faded into bright mountains and tall trees. A few blue jays flew by and landed on a billboard; slowly passing by, you managed to make out the words written in a vibrant purple ink:

Welcome to Stardew Valley!

The more time passed on the bus, the more green the world around you became. Soon, the bus came to a halt and its creaky doors swung open, “Stardew Valley! This is the stop for Stardew Valley!” the bus driver shouted to the passengers.

You grabbed your suitcase and backpack before standing up, careful not to bump your head on the overhead compartment above you. It seemed that you were the only one getting off, as the other passengers remained idle on the bus. You gave the bus driver a small smile of gratitude and hopped off the bus.

The only sounds that greeted you was that of birds chirping and from the rushing water of a nearby stream. You watched quietly when the bus pulled away from the stop and continued its journey towards the next stop. It was official, you made it to the valley.

“(Y/N)!” a cheerful voice called out to you, “Is that you? (Y/N)!”

You whipped your head around and saw a familiar person jogging towards you. They wore typical farmer attire, a red tee under muddy overalls and worn out work boots. As they got closer to you, you could make out their bottle green eyes and sun-kissed cheeks, a grin slowly forming on your face.

“Benny!” you exclaimed. You released your grip on your suitcase and embraced Benny, your cousin. The two of you hugged one another as tight as possible, “(Y/N), I’m so glad you’re here,” murmured Benny. He soon broke away from the hug and grasped the handle of your suitcase, “I didn’t think you would come.”

“Yeah?” you questioned them. Benny nodded, “Yeah,” he smiled, “But let’s walk and talk, okay? I gotta show you your new place!”

Your cousin wheeled your suitcase towards the right, you took a moment to eye the environment to your left. A shiny oak sign stood proudly in the distance, the name Honey Grove Farm written in big black letters. Benny called out to you, “Hurry up, slowpoke!”

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” you yelled back with faux annoyance. You glanced at the sigh once more before catching up with Benny, crossing the dirt path into a cobblestone one. Brightly colored structures were positioned around the area, a few folks scattered about. Some were conserving among themselves, you caught a few words from the two middle-aged women doing so in the square. A few others passed by you and Benny, casting glances and exchanging whispers towards your direction. You furrowed your brow and frowned at their behavior, but Benny reassured you, “That’s what happened to me when I first moved here. There’s not many people living here so when someone new moves in, it always causes a commotion.”

You let out a hum of confirmation, trying your best to avoid making eye contact with those passing by. You continued walking with Benny until they stopped in front of a divide in the road, cobblestone turning to sand, “Welcome to the beach,” he chuckled softly before resuming his pace and crossing the divide.

Cautiously, you followed behind him, feeling the crackle of sand beneath your feet. Ocean breeze tickled your cheeks, a little smile creeping up on your lips when you remembered a few of the childhood memories made at this old beach. A flash of your younger self and a younger Benny danced across your vision, the distant sound of childish laughter ringing in your ears.

“I’m gonna need you to brace yourself,” your cousin’s voice caught your attention. Benny stopped and gestured to a modest but somewhat dilapidated cabin, “Me and a few folks in town tried our best to spruce it up before your arrival, but you’re not living in luxury or anything.”

“Surely, it can’t be bad,” you commented, hand on the doorknob, “Even if it is, I won’t be complaining. It’s free housing, after—” you opened the door, “—all?”

Well, Benny was right to say that you weren’t living in luxury, but you didn’t expect the inside to be so small. It reminded you of a studio apartment with the bedroom area connected to the living room/kitchen area. You stepped inside and examined your new home. Closest to you was what you considered as the living quarters; a gas stove, a fridge, and a pantry lined the walls while a small table and two chairs remained in the middle. Farther down, there was a bed made of pine wood with a matching end table, followed by a door to what you presumed to be the bathroom. Very… bare bones, you mused to yourself, as you took in the cabin’s lack of decor.

“Like I said, not living in luxury,” your cousin repeated to you, “Nonetheless, I’m here to help you get started,” he handed you a small envelope, similar to the one you received that prompted you to move out here. You opened the envelope and a few coins fell out, your eyes widening when you noticed that each coin read 5000G.

“That should be about 50000G,” stated Benny, “It should be enough for you to get food and other essentials for the next couple of weeks or so.”

“You didn’t have to give me this, Benny,” you spoke softly, face heating up, “I have money,” you fished out your wallet and checked its content, only to see that you had a few 1000G coins, minuscule to the amount of money Benny just provided you.

Your cousin placed a hand on your shoulder and smiled down at you, “Trust me, I could’ve given you a lot more than that but I didn’t want to bruise your ego,” you rolled your eyes playfully at that statement and Benny added, “Besides, we’re family, (Y/N). When I moved here two years ago, I only had 500G to my name and the first few weeks were the hardest. I didn’t want you to be in the same position.”

You returned the smile, “I appreciate you. I’m… I’m glad you still consider me as family, Ben.”

“I never stopped thinking of you as family,” they hummed, “Whatever happened back then is in the past, okay?”

You adverted your gaze, your shoulders drooping slightly. Benny rubbed your shoulder reassuringly, “Wanna know the best part about moving to the valley?”

“What is it?”

“You get a fresh start, a new beginning.”

As daylight shifted into moonlight, you found yourself mulling over your cousin’s words. You sat on the shore near the cabin, dressed in cozy pajamas and holding a cup of melatonin tea. You get a fresh start, Benny’s words echoed in your mind, a new beginning.

“A new beginning…” you mumbled to yourself before taking a sip from your cup. You found yourself growing drowsy, the sound of the waves as soothing as a lullaby. Yet, in the distance and among the dark waves, you noticed something out of place: a flash of red. You blinked and rubbed your eyes, it probably was a buoy, you reasoned with yourself.

Not wanting to fall asleep on the beach, you pushed yourself off the sand and made a beeline to your cabin. Gently, you closed the door behind you and headed to bed; after all, your first day of work was early in the morning. You continued to listen to the soft crashing of waves against the shore, letting it rock you off to sleep.

In the distance, another flash of red appeared across the waves, followed by the swishing of a matching tail. There was no buoy in sight, only the occasional appearance of red hair and a red tail

[souriru-u]

sonder

sonder. a neologism noun that refers to the feeling of realising that everyone, including random strangers, lives complex lives just like your own, and that somehow, we are hardwired to not think about it at all.

when i was little, not even seven years old that year in 2010, my parents decided to relocate our family from dubai to chennai- a risk, because none of us spoke tamil (not that it was really relevant for a 7 year old and a 4 year old to know it). my mother lept at the opportunity to introduce india to us, but i, firmly entrenched in dubai, refused to come ‘home’, talking about how i had friends here and i’d be able to manage all on my own, but regardless of how much i insisted, i was unceremoniously flown back to india, staying with my grandparents in hyderabad for a while before making my way down south to chennai, a land so completely different from the one i spent my early childhood in.

many years later, in that same vein, the bus ride from college back home is an interesting one, especially when i get a seat, free to look around at everyone outside on the streets and standing with exhaustion sagging off of their bones, wondering what they did today and whether they had a good day. now completely desensitised to the various sounds and colours of chennai- finally starting to call it home before i leave, once again, to pursue my master’s degree- i like watching people go about their lives before the higher seat of a bus, filled with a sonder that runs deep- no judgement, no thoughts, only appreciation for the vivid and complicated lives that people lead. i have met you only once, and i will likely never meet you again.

in my opinion, sonder is the most complicated feeling to feel, and it arises at the most random times of day- when i see a couple standing in the shadiest spot of the crowded saidapet bus stand as i wait for my own bus, or a group of young schoolgirls buying each other lemonade or paani puri with promises of repayment or a favour to be carried ahead. or when an old man glares at his nokia trying to see who’s calling him (maybe his kids? grandkids? his wife or colony friends?), and when a reckless driver slows down when his co-passenger, perhaps his wife, girlfriend, or sister, hits him over the helmet to scold him.

it’s interesting to see so many complicated lives pass by in the blink of an eye- you barely get to observe the person who catches your eye the most, and other times, you’re forced to watch tired college students or office workers wearily drag themselves with heavy bags to the bus stop, occasionally knocking at the closed doors of the bus for entry or chatting with a small group of friends and colleagues about weekend plans or tomorrow. i don’t have a particular favourite segment of people to watch- i think even thinking about something like that makes me sound like a stalker- but i enjoy observing people during sunset, when the birds and the squirrels settle for the night, and the skies are silent, save for firecrackers (wedding season, anyone?) and the occasional bat that decides to invade my balcony.

to you, reader, i have a question- when is it that you feel sonder?

written in early 2024 for my college magazine. not sure if it was published, really, so i'm also posting it here :)

[pyropsychiccollector]

Ace Attorney: IF (... Part 2)

The KG-8 incident was where everything started to change for the Faraday's... Kay was too young to pick up on it, but Simon could see the signs all over. The late nights for Kay's dad - both at and away from home. The dark rings around his eyes, the drawn, taut face.... Simon could safely say Byrne hardly used his own bed anymore; he relocated to the couch, and the boy confirmed that multiple times in the first few months following KG-8. After a while he just stopped and accepted this was how things were now. They'd wake up, Byrne would have their lunches prepared, send them off with a wobbly grin, and take off for work himself. They'd go through their separate schools, Simon would catch the bus down to Kay's school where Detective Tyrell would often pick them up and take them home.

"Uncle Badd" as Kay had long since taken to calling him. Simon could see that KG-8 had taken its toll, too. He hid it better than Byrne, but then again, Byrne was always the more positive one between them to begin with. Tyrell was... neutral. More composed. It took more to get under his skin, and if the bullet holes in his jacket were any telltale sign, well... To say he was "shaken" would be an understatement. Is it any wonder that the adults were doing so many checkups these days? Was school going okay? Were they wanting to go out anywhere for the afternoon? What were their plans for the weekend?

"Unfortunately" Tyrell and Byrne were more busy these days than they were free. Simon could read between the lines: Work might be bogging them down, but they have officers checking in on them almost if not daily. It's not so much that they would be targeted by enemies of the police or prosecutors' office, it's that it could happen and those two were done taking chances. They kept up their amicable fronts so as to not scare Kay, which Simon was grudgingly grateful for...

But if they could make it a little less transparent to him what they were up to, that'd be great. Simon understood tragedy can strike at any moment. In the blink of an eye. He damn well lived through it nine years ago! What annoyed him so much was that for all the worry, all the concern, Byrne and Tyrell were obsessed with some bigger picture that Simon couldn't yet see. Something else beyond work was happening, and they were just using it as a sort of...coverup. Not all the time, Simon was mostly sure the daytime shifts checked out.

... It was all the extra nighttime shifts that Simon couldn't be so sure about. Some of it could be police-related, but all of it...? This frequently? There were other prosecutors and detectives, were there not? Why specifically them...?

Not that he minded taking care of Kay in their absence. Someone had to keep her smile safe. It's just... sooner or later, all this hubbub was going to catch up to them, and Kay was going to find out. If they were that blind and couldn't see that Kay needed her father and Uncle, too, then Simon had half a mind to tell them off. Whether he was interested in their secretive activities or not.

So Simon confronted Byrne about it one day before setting off for school. It wasn't exactly a pleasant conversation, more like a hoarse yelling match that thankfully Kay missed out on because she'd stayed over at a friend's house the previous night and would be returning home after school. Hence why Simon planned that confrontation for that precise morning.

He was grateful, in his own reserved way, that Byrne had adopted him out of the goodness of his heart... Simon didn't pretend he wasn't a big-ass hypocrite for calling out the adults on being stubborn and reclusive. Simon knew he needed to work on opening up more. But damnit, Byrne, there's working and then there's living! You couldn't just bring in an outsider and expect him to pick up your slack. Simon was only fifteen, for crying out loud!

That argument... didn't end so well. In that moment, at least. But Simon had gotten one last parting shot in that if Byrne died and left Kay for him to take care of, at least he couldn't have picked a more qualified kid. Simon's dad died, too. And he's sorry if Kay has to suffer that because her dad was too damn proud to back down and take a break once in a while. That they couldn't just enjoy everything now while they were all still alive. When Byrne hadn't said anything back, Simon figured he'd just get an earful later and leave it at that. Byrne was likely venting from lack of sleep; Simon vented just because he was fed up with the way things were headed.

Simon didn't mind the air of mystery around their home these days. The grownups keeping secrets. He did want to see how that panned out. ... But not at the sacrifice of Kay's happiness.

(人◕ω◕) Needless to say, Simon did get that confrontation after school... But it came in the form of Tyrell. Not Byrne. Which was just mean, because Simon found Uncle much harder to read... Unlike Byrne, man had a mean poker face. Of course Simon was unapologetic, and wasn't taking anything he said back. They were being the idiots, not him.

... And Tyrell was grateful that Simon was so candid with them. That Kay actually had an older brother looking out for her, blood in his veins irrelevant. In any other situation, the detective would have chewed him out for being too harsh with Byrne... But fact is, they were getting carried away with their projects and should have dialed it back to avoid complete collapse anyway. Simon grew intrigued with the phrasing, as Tyrell knew he would, but he couldn't elaborate more than that. This was adult business. But he also knew Simon wouldn't stop digging...

This led to an uncomfortable topic as Tyrell segued into asking about Simon's dead father, which Simon kicked himself for bringing up in front of Byrne, fitting analogy or not. He'd only opened up to Kay about that much, and even that was just because Kay was a kid. That she might forget it someday. ... But Tyrell didn't seem to be budging, and well, he's been with the Faraday's a few years. If he can't tell a seasoned detective his hazy memories, who can he trust?

This was what opened up Pandora's box somewhat. Because Tyrell and Byrne already had their hands full with the aftermath of KG-8 and dealing with that smuggling ring. But after hearing Simon describe events so familiar to him they chilled Tyrell to his bones...? A chef asking his son to taste test desserts. A father who Simon assumed died in a murder at that contest venue back in December 24, 2000... The fact that he and Horace were friends who both lost their memories, Simon claiming that he'd been taken hostage by that same friend...

There was no way Tyrell could not look further into this. This took precedence over the smuggling ring - this case was already 9 years old. If they waited much longer, they'd hit the statute of limitations. Gregory was dead, so it fell to him and Raymond to pursue this new lead and get to the bottom of that case. Tyrell wasted no time in calling Byrne to let him know to pick up Kay, and that he and Simon might be late getting home. Tyrell wasn't completely cruel; he assured Byrne that the boy wasn't in trouble, that this could be good news... They just needed to confirm some facts at the station, and talk to Simon's friend Horace Knightley as well.

Long story short, the police confirmed that Horace was the son of Isaac Dover, the victim of the IS-7 incident, and that Simon was the son of Dane Gustavia... currently a world-renowned dessert chef, and a suspect of Isaac's murder. Simon was stricken that his father was not the victim, that the bastard had just literally abandoned him to go become a world-famous celebrity... Tyrell left Byrne and Kay to comfort the boy while he asked Horace if there was anything he recalled, and sure enough, Simon's testimony seemed to jog some old memories for him, too. Horace recalled his father ordering him to tie up Simon, and that he couldn't defy his father... Horace was left rather inconsolable as he recalled that day.

It's not case-breaking testimony, but it's far more than they've had in years. Ray also gets in touch with Katherine and lets her know that they found Gustavia and Dover's sons. Sensing that this could be a huge breakthrough for all of them... Katherine meekly admits to her crime from nine years ago, that of stealing the sherbet sculptures. She confesses to Ray, and consequently Tyrell, where she hid them in the mansion's freezers. They might not have any new evidence they haven't already uncovered, but she's truly hoping for a miracle in this case. Even if she can't be punished for her crime, she still feels awful for concealing even the tiniest bit of evidence that could spare Monsieur Master.

The police get a warrant to search the Masters' mansion one more time - and just as Kate claimed, the sculptures were tucked away in the freezers. To everyone's shock, once forensics got to analyzing everything, they finally found Isaac Dover's body as well as salt and blood on the sherbet lyre, and a luminiscent cloth was used to keep Dover concealed amongst the ice. Blood test analysis came back and confirmed it wasn't the victim's blood, but they were working on comparing it to the other suspects in the IS-7 incident and would find out whose blood it was soon enough.

With the body's rediscovery after 9 years, the police had no choice but to reopen the case after conferring with the prosecutor's office. At that point Manfred knew damn well that there was too much momentum to stop what was coming his way. He was already indicted for that fake autopsy. If he made any moves to alter the blood analysis tests or interfere with the police's efforts, Manfred risked his position as Chief Prosecutor. It pained him greatly... But if the case went to trial again, going up against that whelp Shields would likely land him his first true loss... He would already lose because Jeffrey Master would be freed, but going to court himself would just add public humiliation to that.

Manfred refused to give his most hated enemy's protégé the satisfaction. This was all assuming that idiot Shields could even build a case from all this newly discovered information and testimony from those brats... However, the risk was simply too great. Badd was already up to his elbows in this investigation; he would know the second Manfred attempted anything. No coverups, no denials, no twisting the defendant or the witnesses to his whims... This would be an irremovable stain on his win record. Manfred hated it. Despised it. But he had no choice but to let these fools have this one. He would simply have to ensure that Edgeworth was too busy studying to hear about that case being reopened...

Why did this have to happen so close to Edgeworth's debut as a prosecutor...?!

True to Von Karma's paranoia, the blood tests came back as a positive match for Dane Gustavia... And just as true, all the witnesses and suspects of the IS-7 incident were summoned back to court for a pending retrial. Von Karma appointed Winston Payne in his stead as the prosecutor, which everyone who knew him saw through his actions instantly. This was the "perfect prosecutor" washing his hands of this old case. He may likely never publicly acknowledge this disgrace on his record... assuming that the defense proved their client's innocence. But honestly, this wasn't about winning or losing for Ray, or for Tyrell. This was about finding the truth, and hopefully setting an innocent man free after nine years.

Byrne watched over Kay and Sebastian in the gallery; the Faraday's wanting to support Tyrell, Simon, and Horace; Sebastian wanting to see a "courtroom drama" for once.

... Yeah, Sebastian was as old as Kay, so Byrne wouldn't expect the boy to know better.

It was a painful affair as much as you could expect. Simon and his biological father reuniting, and neither one of them giving the illusion that they cared. When asked in court how Dane justified leaving without even looking for his son, the chef admitted that he disowned Simon nine years ago. The true circumstances of Simon's inability to help taste his desserts didn't move Dane at all, the man had even suspected that was the case. Figured the boy had died, and that his boy being alive was... something, but ultimately irrelevant to him.

Dane put up a fight to the bitter end. He had to. The statute of limitations was not yet expired, and only that wheezy prosecutor was in his corner. However, through Simon and Horace's testimonies they proved that Isaac planned to betray Dane, and thus establish a strong motive for murder. The salt on the lyre was proven to be from the other rock salt lamp that wouldn't light up, and that lamp likely had Dane's blood on it. Dane had no way to argue against that, so he moved to indict Katherine instead, claiming her to be the thief of the body. However, through careful questioning of Katherine and deductions Ray worked out that Dane concealed Dover's body in the sculpture because Kate discovered the body at all; and furthermore, he wanted to freeze it to obscure the time of death. Dane hadn't meant to frame Master for the crime... So that left either Kate or Delicia as his scapegoats, and that meant the murder took place during the tea time break. A lot of it's circumstantial, but Dane's blood on the lyre is the most damning evidence of all, which Dane still hasn't come up with an answer for. Why would anyone else want to conceal it? Logically, only the killer would become that desperate to cover his tracks. The fact the police were able to recover this piece of evidence before him was a huge blunder...

But it also might have been fate, given that Von Karma would have erased it all those years ago. Dane's sentence might've been far overdue, but they got here at long last.

After the verdict for Jeffrey Master was passed down, and Simon got to watch his dad walk away in handcuffs, Horace flagged him down for a brief spell.

Horace asks Simon to be straight with him. How long did Simon remember any of this? And... if he remembered, why not tell him? They were both deprived of everything. Least they could do was have each other's backs. Simon fires back that Horace didn't exactly have his "back" nine years ago, "scary" father or no. But Simon tells him that it was the muddled memories; he figured that because he was taken hostage, his dad got killed. He wasn't too happy with Knightley, and still kinda wants to deck him...

Horace just sighs and grumbles how their dads were both dicks. Only cared about themselves. Horace went all this time forgetting about those traumatic times, but he'd genuinely thought of Simon as his friend. Perhaps as some atonement kind of crap, deep down. Simon's not so easily impressed, and shoots down their illusion of friendship stating he'd stopped thinking of them as friends nine years ago. Horace fires back that they don't have to stay that way - forgive him, don't forgive him, they'll just start over.

They're not their fathers. They can decide to carry on the enmity, or they can just bury the hatchet. Horace has no resentment for what Simon's dad did to his; beyond always making sure they looked fine, his dad was an asshole from what little he remembered. If Dane Gustavia can disown his son for no good reason, Horace can forget about his dad for very good reasons. All he wants is to move up in the world, outta the orphanage and beyond like Simon did.

... A refusal is obviously on the tip of Simon's tongue, but seeing Kay, Byrne, and Tyrell standing behind him, waiting and having heard every last word, Simon sighs and reluctantly accepts Horace's olive branch. They can start over. Doesn't mean Simon will forgive and forget the trauma that shaped them...

But slowly, they're moving to a new future. Little by little. Even Simon can see that he's becoming less jaded. ... Because he actually has family now. And this chapter in his life is over.

The courts are useful for something after all, what do you know?